#even when he's angry at them and ready to spit fire he still has every intention of diagnosing them and figuring out how to treat them

[certifiedwerewolf]

Obsessed with the way Cameron preaches kindness and compassion but the minute a patient does something she deems unethical she turns downright cruel and even vindictive

[kingkunigami]

— rough

Kunigami taking his aggression out on you after wildcard— honestly I want him to knock me around a bit😩

Warnings: 18+, choking, asphyxiation, rough sex, creampie, Kunigami ignores readers request not to cum inside her, semi-public sex, slut used once.

Pairings: Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.5k.

There’s something different about Kunigami when he makes it out of the wildcard program. A darkness that lingers inside him and threatens to consume him whole, stealing the light piece by piece until he’s a shell of the man you knew before.

He’s colder, rougher, more intent.

Ravenous.

As he stalks towards you after a game, focused eyes honing in on you like a hungry lion stalking its prey— ready to devour you whole. A man ready to take out all the anger and aggression that’s been building up inside him, dangling over him like a noose.

And sometimes you can’t even tell whether your kind, caring boyfriend still exists inside him. It’s as though he’s a completely different man.

It’s divergent from the soft, sensual sex you’re used to with Kunigami. Full of reassuring words and touches as he rolls his hips against yours gently, as though he’s afraid you might break. Like a delicate butterfly that he cups in his palms, cherishing you with every fibre of his being.

But this man? He’s brutal.

Hungrily using you for his own lust, calloused hands brusing as he pins you to the wall. Your panties just about survive his rough movements as he tugs them down your thighs roughly, letting the fabric settle around one of your ankles before he’s hoisting your thigh up against his hip.

He’s indecorous as he’s swiping his palm over your naked slit, fingers delving between your folds to see how wet you are for him— and it’s not nearly enough as he’s kind enough to spit in his palm to rub the moisture between your thighs. Nudging your clit with his rough movements, just enough to have your hips bucking with want.

It’s like he’s a different man completely as he’s tugging at his shorts, pulling them down just enough to free his aching cock as the weight of it hangs low and heavy. Wrapping himself in a fist as he strokes the tip through your messy slit, his pre mingles with cooling spit as he knocks your clit. Cold, half-lidded eyes stare down at you as he blindly searches for your entrance.

The hunger and desire that burns molten fire inside him makes it difficult for him to find it, the swollen tip catches against it as he thrusts forward and misses. Sliding his length through your sex as he snarls in irritation, tightening his grip as he pulls at your thigh. Lifting it higher as he almost suspends you from the ground, keeping your weight trapped between him and the cold brick wall as he tilts back to try and see your cunt. To guide himself inside you as he finally catches against your tight, unprepared hole. Canting his hips with one sharp thrust as he buries his cock inside you.

“Oh, fu—” The penetration steals the wind from your lungs as your lips part to gulp air in.

You’re not gifted a moment to adjust to the sensation before Kunigami is using your body greedily— selfishly. His eyes are focused and intent as he curls himself into you, towering over you as he traps you against him. Soft grunts spill from deep in his throat, the sound has your clit twitching as the slight pain begins to morph into sheer pleasure.

“Ren—” You manage to choke out between airy moans as you let him use you how he so pleases.

“Oh, shit,” He exhales through his nose, “Always so tight for me.”

Each thrust is bruising as he pounds his hips forward, heavy balls slap against your ass as you scramble for purchase. Your nails dig into his broad, muscular shoulders leaving angry red lines in their wake, which only seem to goad him on. The sharp pain that ebbs through his veins has his cock twitching inside you, pulsing as he nears his release.

Kunigami gives one of your breasts a rough squeeze, fingers moulding into the supple skin bruisingly as you cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body betrays you as your cunt clenches pathetically from the abuse, begging him for more as your back arches towards his touch.

You reach up to curl your palm over the back of his hand, goading him to squeeze again as he does. Sucking in air through clenched teeth as he bites back a depraved grunt of pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” He murmurs, “Don’t even care that anyone could walk by and see you like this.”

And truth be told in the moment, you didn’t. You were certain his teams had caught glimpses of you in compromising positions before. Most of the time you’d have to coax your boyfriend into doing anything illicit, Kunigami often adamant that this sort of intimacy should be reserved for behind closed doors. But once in a while he’d let you tug down his shorts to relax him at half time, or bend you over before the game started for good luck— but this? This was downright depraved, and he could care less if anyone saw you like this right now. You were one thing that he had that no one else could have, a warped sense of power that consumed him.

“Fuck, such a slut.” He grunts as he brings his palm up higher to your neck, thick fingers wrap around your jugular as he squeezes. The pad of his thumb pushes into your jawline to direct your focus on him, staring into his auburn eyes as you feel the intensity of his gaze as he uses you selfishly. Seeking out his pleasure before your own as he works out every ounce of frustration on your poor, pliant body.

“Look at me,” He growls, “I said fucking look at me.”

Every word is annunciated by a precise, sharp rut of his hips as your eyes meet his auburn gaze. Your cunt pulses at the attention, intense diluted pupils have you writhing beneath him.

“S’too much,” You can barely make out between the hand tightening around your neck, cutting off your air supply as his thrusts become sloppier. Dropping more of his weight onto you as your walls tighten around his cock, your slick now leaks down his thick length as it creams around the base. Dribbling down onto his heavy balls as he anticipates his climax.

Expecting him to pull out at the last minute as always. Kunigami was always careful, always ready to stroke his length to finish himself off and shoot warm spurts of cum all over your tummy or ass.

“Pull out.” You whisper, his palm tightens around your neck as he nears his end.

But this time he was intent, determined.

“Rensuke.” Your voice is barely a whisper as the lack of oxygen goes straight to your head.

“Take it all,” Kunigami snarls as your cunt clenches pathetically at his tone, “Fucking take it.”

And a warmth consumes you as his balls drain inside your trembling hole, pumping globs of his thick release inside your obedient cunt. Continuing to give shallow ruts into you, burying his spend deeper inside your ruined walls.

“Fuck.” His grip loosens around your neck as he fills you to the brim.

You’re almost an afterthought as he pulls back, half-lidded eyes softening as though he’s just realised what he’s done. Feeling your desperate walls continue to pulse around him, desperately close to your own end as Kunigami takes pity on you.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, baby.” He grumbles.

Slipping a hand between your connected bodies as he presses the pad of his thumb against your puffy clit, rubbing swift precise circles against it as he leads you towards your own release. He knows your body better than you know it yourself as he has you teetering on the edge of your climax with minimal effort. The saccharine tartness to your moans has his softening cock twitching inside you as he feels you dancing on the tip of your release, goading you to tumble over the edge.

“Cum for me, princess.” He groans, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he watches you, “Always so pretty when you’re cummin’ for me.”

Feeling your chest tighten as the familiar sensation surges through you in harsh waves, your walls clamp down around his cock as you meet your own release. Kunigami’s grip on your thigh tightens to stop your legs from giving out and falling to the floor as he works you through your end. Cooing words of encouragement and praise as the intense pleasure continues coursing through you.

“Good girl.” He soothes, giving your clit a few more gentle circles until you’re trying to arch away from his touch.

Reluctantly pulling his spent cock from your messy hole as he tucks himself back inside his shorts. Bending down to help you back into your panties as he pulls them up your thighs, feeling the mixture of your release drooling into the crotch as the fabric sticks to your skin uncomfortably as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go home.” You plead, hoping that he’ll leave the building that has effectively stolen his spirit.

“Can’t,” He shakes his head, “I’ve gotta train.”

Kunigami can see the hurt flash through your eyes, but it doesn’t change his decision. You already know you’ve lost him to the Blue Lock program, and you can only hope to save his soul before it’s too late.

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my new series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), imagining some sexy things

Word count: ~2.4k

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

After two weeks in her new position, Annabelle has settled into a new normal at Graceland Manor. It's not one she particularly likes or enjoys, but it's a routine at least. She's finally learned what her responsibilities are and how to do all of them. She's also met everyone in the house and learned who is worth talking to and who isn't. The other maids are not. They're both young and experienced and spend most of their time making snide comments and whispering about her. The cook, Mrs. Hall, is her favorite person, so far. She has a warm, welcoming air about her that makes Annabelle feel at home even in the big house that has no other home-like feeling. She hasn't talked to her much, but she likes her best of all anyway. And the handsome footman that answered the door when she first arrived is the cook’s son. His name is Jimmy and he's been nothing but cordial, albeit maybe a little too friendly. Most everyone else is nice enough, but she doesn't have a real companion among the group.

One of Annabelle's jobs is tending the fires in every room each morning. This means she's up before dawn every day. She doesn't enjoy that part, but it's actually quite nice to move about the house while everyone else is still asleep. Her favorite room is the library, which doubles as Mr. Presley’s private study. She never has much time to spend in there, but she does take a few minutes occasionally to look around at the books, even glancing at his desk a couple of times. He's a mess. There are papers stacked and sticking out of piles everywhere. She's not sure why, but she finds this a little endearing, even if she has sworn to hate him.

About 3 weeks after her first day, Annabelle walks into the library purposefully, ready to light the fire and try to look at the books a little. She's startled when she realizes there is a candle burning and someone sitting at the desk. There's only one person it could possibly be, so she tries to back out of the room as quickly as she can, but she hits the doorframe and it makes a loud thud. He immediately turns and stands up and she gasps.

Mr. Presley has an imposing presence even when he's not angry, so he feels almost terrifying when he is. He glares at her and Annabelle is overwhelmed with the desire to melt into the carpet.

“Where have you been?! It's freezing in here.” She shakes her head and stumbles over her words.

“I-I I'm sorry-”

“There's no excuse.” His eyes are wild and red-rimmed like he's either been crying or hasn't slept or both and his hair looks like he's run his hand through it about a thousand times. Annabelle recognizes the look of distress and her fear turns to compassion.

“Did you… have you been in here all night?” She asks in a small voice. He's obviously disarmed by the fact that she hasn't just run away from him.

“What?”

“You look like… have you slept?” She chances a step towards him and his imposing presence seems to shrink a little.

“That is none of your business! Just light the fire and get out!” He spits at her and turns away. She walks over to the fire and tends to it quickly.

As she works at the fireplace, he turns back and watches her. There was a hint of something in her voice that he hasn't experienced from anyone other than the Mrs. Hall in a very long time. Could it have been kindness?

He softens a bit as he watches her at the fireplace. Her shoulders are delicate and graceful as she works and he has the thought again that she wasn't built for this kind of hard labor. He feels an insane desire to help her, to take the task of making the fire and do it for her, but that would be inappropriate on every level. Still, something about her makes him want to throw propriety out the window and care for her the way men do in stories about knights and ladies. He's lost in this reverie when she finishes and stands up, turning back to him.

Annabelle is shocked to find him watching her when she turns away from the fire. He moves quickly to look somewhere else, but for half a second she could've sworn his expression was gentle.

“Are you finished?” He hisses, not looking at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get out. Be earlier tomorrow.” His attempt to put her in the right place in his mind comes out as unnecessary coldness.

“Yes, sir.” Annabelle whispers and goes to walk from the room. But at the door, she pauses and turns back.

“You could tell me… why you haven't slept… if you wanted. No one would listen even if I tried to tell them your secrets.” For a second, he meets her eyes and the warmth he finds there soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. And then he remembers himself.

“OUT.” He tries to yell, but falters the tiniest bit. She nods and leaves the room.

Falling into the nearest chair, Mr. Presley sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right that he hasn't slept. He's been holed up in the study trying to make sense of some documents since last night. Somewhere around 3am, the frustration had turned to grief and he cried for an hour or so. He was making his way back to frustration when she came in.

Why had he responded to her kindness with such cruelty? He knows the answer but isn't ready to face the reality of it.

******

In the next room, Annabelle sits in front of the fireplace crying quietly into her apron. She's so lonely and tired of the harshness with which she's treated here. There's not even anyone she could tell about her struggles. She's alone.

And why had she tried to connect with him? Not only is he a gentleman, he's her master, and not a very nice one at that. But something about him and his emotional state touched her and she felt compelled to offer herself in some way. And for no discernible reason whatsoever, his rejection hurts worst of all.

She starts to cry big, heaving sobs, knowing they're audible but no longer caring. Let them get rid of her. Maybe she could leave this miserable place and let Mr. Presley light his own fires.

******

On his way to bed, Mr. Presley hears the unmistakable sound of a woman crying coming from the drawing room. He walks quietly to the door and peeks through the crack.

The new maid.

His heart shatters when he hears the depth of her despair as she sobs. She's probably crying because he was so hateful. He lightly puts his fingertips on the door to push it open and go to her. Then he stops. It takes everything inside him to turn from the door and leave her there crying.

******

When Annabelle gets back downstairs, the kitchen is bustling with activity. Mr. Presley is entertaining later that evening, so Mrs. Hall is in a tizzy getting everything ready. Most days she does just fine by herself since she's only cooking for one man upstairs and the help downstairs, but when he entertains, she wishes she had some help. Annabelle wanders through despondently and perches on a bench.

“Love, don't you have something else to do?” Mrs. Hall asks, sweat running down the side of her face.

“Not really. I've done all my morning work already.” Annabelle kicks the floor with the toe of her shoe. She's still having to work to keep from crying.

“Get over here and help me, then. I'm assuming you know how to peel and chop.”

“Yes ma'am. I did all the cooking when I lived with my… my parents.” Her voice catches in her throat and Mrs. Hall stops and actually looks at her with her red little nose and tear-stained face.

“Love, what's got you upset?” Mrs. Hall asks as Annabelle washes her hands and takes some potatoes to peel.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Call me Gladys, dear.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“Oh, I could never.” Mrs. Hall laughs.

“Even Mr. Presley calls me Gladys sometimes.” Annabelle looks up at her in shock. That's far more interesting than her troubles.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure you can. I practically raised that boy. His mother passed trying to birth his twin and I had Daniel who was nearly the same age. Colonel Presley was lost for a good while after the mistress died and he paid very little attention to his son. The nanny they'd hired wasn't a very nice woman and Elvis- I mean Mr. Presley- used to spend most of his time hiding from her down here with me. He played with my boys and I taught him to cook and play the pianoforte. He's almost like a son to me, despite the difference in station.” Annabelle’s eyes widen with Mrs. Hall’s words. She tries to imagine a young Mr. Presley running through the kitchen, learning to cook and playing with servant boys. But more than the image of him as a child, it's the look that Mrs. Hall has when she talks about him that surprises her. It's a look of deep respect and love. She wonders how long it's been since Mrs. Hall has spoken with him. Maybe he has changed. “Now why don't you tell me what's got you so troubled.”

Annabelle looks down at the potato she's peeling and decides that she needs someone more than she needs to keep her own secrets.

“It's funny you mention Mr. Presley.”

“Why, love?” Annabelle sighs.

“He's the reason I was upset. Well, not the whole reason, but kind of the last thing I could handle. No one here has been very kind to me, him least of all.” Mrs. Hall nods and smiles.

“Hm. He likes you.” Annabelle looks at her with her face scrunched in shock.

“No, he does not. I assure you.”

“He likes you and he knows he shouldn't. He's trying to keep you at arm’s length.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“How do you know? Maybe he hates me?”

“If he hated you he wouldn't speak to you at all. I know my boy. He likes you.”

“No, I'm sure that's not it.” Annabelle continues peeling potatoes in silence, but her heart is pounding. Why does the prospect of Mr. Presley liking her make her knees weak?

******

That evening, Mr. Presley has several friends over for dinner. They eat and play cards and have cigars and brandy and recount their most recent adventures in London. His closest friend, Mr. Jasper Davies, asks what everyone else is wondering.

“When will you be married, then?” They're not eager to lose the company of their bachelor friend, but they know the expectation now that he's the master of a great house.

“I have no designs on marriage anytime soon.” Mr. Presley answers, knowing this won't be realistic for very long. He'll have to marry sooner rather than later. Still, he's never found any particular young lady of his station that he liked well enough to marry. There had been one girl, an actress, that he had loved quite a bit before he joined the army, but she was not a viable partner for him. None of the ladies of the county interested him and he found most of them to be rather one-dimensional and boring.

The conversation about marriage continues, but Mr. Presley has a hard time focusing. For some reason, the new maid enters his mind. He thinks about her slender white hands, too delicate for the work she does. And the way her uniform follows her curves down to her waist and then hides the rest. What he wouldn't give to be able to see her legs and feet unobstructed. He lets his imagination go even further and suddenly a picture of her naked and sprawled on his bed appears. His cock twitches in his pants and he has to adjust and clear his throat to bring himself back to reality. That's a thought he cannot have, especially not in present company.

Eventually, everyone retires to one of the many bedrooms in the house. Mr. Presley stops briefly in the library with the vague hope that the maid might be there. Of course she's not, but the brandy he's had makes his logic a little faulty. He makes it back to his bedroom where his valet undresses him and puts him in bed.

It's not long before he realizes he's staring at his fireplace, imagining the maid on her knees in front of it. This image is quickly replaced by an image of her on her knees in front of him. He curses himself for the inappropriate images in his head and the way his dick hardens at the thought of her, but he can't stop his hand from finding himself under his nightshirt. She's so pretty and kind and graceful and oh, God, he'd give anything to see her and feel her pressed up against him as they tumble naked together in the bedclothes.

He moans softly as his hand pumps his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, his thumb sweeping over the tip to collect the beads of precum as they gather. His hips buck into his palm and he strokes himself harder and faster. He tries to focus again on the actress that he normally thought of when he did this, but he can't. There is only the maid. The maid with her hands on him, with her mouth on him, with her thighs on either side of his hips as she sinks down onto him, with her lips parted and eyes closed as she reaches the peak of ecstasy and cries out his name. With that, he whimpers as he cums all over his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing and leaking until his release has fully washed over him. He lays in his bed sweating and trying to catch his breath. The picture of her in his mind is so clear. He opens his mouth to whisper, but nothing comes out.

He doesn't even know her name.

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[charleslelurk]

lestappen + edging + ruined orgasm!!

For you 😘 Probably sappier than "ruined orgasm" would normally be interpreted, but that's sort of my MO

Lestappen + edging + ruined orgasm

From here

If Charles loses his mind, this is how it will happen. Right here, right now. 

Charles has no idea how long Max has been at it. He'd let Charles come once with his mouth, hours ago, to take the edge off, to make this possible, and now he's brought Charles nearly there again a half dozen times. He keeps switching between fucking Charles and licking him, has fully eaten his own come from his first orgasm back out of Charles and slicked him all back up again with spit. 

Charles's entire body is quaking, muscles having minds of their own as his body feels overwhelmed, a live wire ready to snap and crackle. Max has to pin his legs down with an iron grip around his thighs every time he goes back in with his tongue because Charles can't stop from kicking his legs out to attempt to relieve some of the way his body feels on fire from Max's ministrations. 

Max pushes his cock back into Charles. 

"So good for me, so good," Max lisps, and Charles throws his head to the side, eyes closed. Even hearing Max speak feels like too much at this point, knowing he is pushing those words past his puffy lips that have been on Charles's rim again and again tonight. Charles needs to be put in a deprivation tank if he is going to survive this. He is sweating, chest bright pink, cock painfully hard and leaking, mind delirious. He's going to kill Max.

Max grinds into him deeply, not even thrusting, knowing that would end his playtime with Charles. Instead, he presses his hips flush to Charles's and pushes him up the bed with it, uses his hands on Charles's wrists, pinning them above his head, as leverage to force his blunt cock as far into Charles as it will go. Charles is shaking with it; the feeling of being full is everything he needs but also what is lighting him on fire. He's oversensitive and grinding his teeth and knitting his brows and tightening his abs and moaning like he's in pain and–

Max pulls his arms to trap both of Charles's dainty wrists in one of his hands and reaches between them to gently hold Charles's angry cock. Charles just about chokes, could not imagine it could get worse, but Max hasn't touched his cock since the first time he'd pressed into Charles and he'd nearly forgotten his cock existed for the last twenty minutes with how much the rest of him feels like bubbling lava. 

"Max, I–"

Max removes his hand quickly, instead runs it up Charles's side from the dip of his waist, across the washboard of his ribs, and into his arm pit. 

"Color?" Max asks. 

Charles closes his eyes again, focuses to get the right word out of his mouth. "Green."

"Good, good."

Max is still grinding his cock into Charles, slowly and deeply, like kneading bread dough. Charles has proved for hours though. He feels like he's sinking into a tar pit, outside his body as he tries to bear it, tries to be good for Max. He will get to come when Max wants him to, and it will be worth it, it always is. He tries to breathe deeply, past the way his slowly building orgasm is about to bubble over again and he won't get to come again. 

"Charles?"

Charles thinks he hums in response.

"Charles, open your eyes for me."

Charles does. He yanks up his eyelids to allow the light in and see Max above him. His hips have stilled as he looks down at Charles with a knit brow. 

"Color?"

"Green," Charles says quietly. He's fine, he can do this. He just needs his skin to stop feeling like it's going to be peeled off if Max doesn't let him come soon. 

Max pulls out and Charles shakes with the feeling of being empty, missing the pressure and stimulation of something inside him even if it was way too much, had his blood burning and his dick aching and his chest heaving. 

Max pins his legs down and Charles prepares to feel Max's lips on his rim again. Despite himself, he clenches his muscles, preparing for the next torture. He closes his eyes. 

He jerks in surprise when Max presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh, just a brush of lips against his sensitive, ticklish skin. 

"Baby?" Max sounds worried. 

"Max?"

A rough hand strokes down his thigh, his legs no longer pinned. "You're coming."

"I am not."

The hand keeps stroking his leg. "Yes." Max's voice is quiet with shock, but also like he doesn't want to scare Charles, like he's a deer ready to wave its tail in surrender. 

It's not possible. He can't imagine what Max thinks he's seen, how he could mistake it. Charles would know, his body wouldn't still feel like this, ablaze and as hot as the sun's surface. 

Charles peels his eyes open again to look down his body at Max. He follows Max's gaze to the spill of come on his stomach, silvery and glistening, his cock spilling the last of his unsatisfactory orgasm onto his skin. 

Inexplicably, Charles whines. 

"Charlie?"

Max's hand running up and down his thigh is suddenly too much, it's all too much, Charles can't do it anymore. 

"Red," he says, and then lets out a heaving sob from his chest, closing his eyes again. 

Max immediately tries to bundle Charles into his arms, but Charles is too overwhelmed, it just makes everything worse. "No, no, no, no, no."

Max finally figures out Charles is saying no to him and puts a few inches between them. "Baby, what can I do?"

But Charles can't articulate anything else past the way he still feels wound up even though his dick is soft, and somewhere in his abdomen his orgasm still feels mostly built and none of it was worth it. 

Charles finally tunes back into Max when a bottle of water is shoved into his hand. The shock of the cold plastic snaps him out of it for a moment and his eyes stop watering for long enough for him to get the cap off and chug half of it. 

"Can I?" Max asks and Charles blinks a few times and realizes Max is perched on the edge of the mattress, a warm cloth in hand. He wants to clean Charles off.

"I– I don't know." He doesn't realize until the words are out of his mouth that he is speaking French, but it's simple enough that Max can understand. Charles still feels overwhelmed, his brain stings to use too much and his skin is sort of on fire still. He's mouth-breathing he feels so out of it, panting like a dog trying to get a respite. He thinks if Max touches him, he might start having a fucking breakdown all over again.

Max offers the cloth to Charles instead and Charles takes it with a shaking hand. Max watches Charles fumble through wiping off his own stomach, hands twitching like he wants to help the whole time. 

They don't immediately go to bed. Max makes Charles eat, and then makes Charles do his skincare routine so he won't be grumpy in the morning. Doing something a little normal helps calm Charles down even though he can still feel the live wire in him somewhere, like he hasn't come all week long. 

By the time they are back on the mattress, Charles can bear to have Max touch him again. And his brain is working enough to talk. Max questions him about how it felt, all of it. 

"But were you overwhelmed good, or overwhelmed bad?"

"I was being so overwhelmed I was going somewhere else." Charles says into Max's chest, face buried against the soft cotton of his Red Bull t-shirt.

Max takes a shaky breath. "That's when you should use your safeword, of course. That's bad bad."

"I wanted to come when you wanted me to come. I wanted to go as long as you wanted."

Max laughs without humor, chest jumping against Charles's face. "Charles, you don't push through like a workout, that's how you get hurt."

"Oh."

Max cradles the back of Charles's head to hold him more firmly against his chest. "You have to take care of yourself." It sounds like I love you.

[kaytheday]

The Tragedy of being Second Best - Steve Randle

I think @alittlebitofloveliness brought this up back in September but I want to say something else on it. (Thanks for bringing it up by the way!) Personally, Steve Randle is a hard character for me to write because of how similar I feel to him. Like Steve, I have spent a lot of my life bitter and angry, feeling inadequate and second best. This fic was kind of hard for me to write and half of it might just be me projecting but I wanted to write something about Steve Randle and everything that he represents. Enjoy 💚💚

Steve has always had a hard time with keeping his temper.

This isn't news to anyone. He was pretty sure he had come out of the womb spitting curses and ready to punch his way through life. 

It didn’t help that his father hated him. The bruises and bloodied lips he's had since four years old have proven that. His dad is a drunk who beats on him, so Steve learned from a young age how to stay gone. Steve was never is fathers first choice, he isn't even his second choice. Depending on the day, his dad would probably trade him for a six-pack.

Steve was nobody's first choice. It was just one more thing to be angry about. 

His mother was a pretty woman. He knew because of the way people used to talk about her. The way people still talk about her. 

Though, looking back, he never had any pretty memories of her. She left when he was in kindergarten. His dad told him it was his fault and of course Steve believed him. He can still remember flashes of nasty conversation exchanged with her. Why are you so angry? Nobody is this angry and bitter at six years old. If he thinks about her words for too long it makes him want to throw something. His dad said she left for California, she wanted to find the beach or something like that. Steve figured that she chose a state over her own son. Steve was nobody's first choice.

Every time he thinks about either of them,  his veins fill with fire and his chest constricts. 

Then there's Soda. He can still remember the day that they met. Steve with his black eye and scuffed shoes and Soda with his hand-me-down backpack and earth-shattering smile. How quickly they became friends and how quickly everything changed. He was welcome at the Curtis home and more than that they actually wanted him around. Soda always invited him over and seemed to want to be around him at school. Despite what his parents said.

He was glad to have Sodapop around too. Nothing about Soda can make him angry. Irritated? Of course, but never downright angry.  Not like everything else in the world. 

The two of them never could be still for long. They were always getting up to something. Like the time they hid all the chalk out in the school yard so they wouldn't have to do math that afternoon or the time they put a thumb tack on the substitute teacher's chair so she would leave.

They were always moving; moving in tandem, so fast and so hard that the picture was blurring at all the edges.

More than anything, Soda seemed to be the only one around who was not only able to tolerate his biting tongue, but actually liked it. Because what did Steve have if not his biting tongue, fighting fists, and fire in his veins? He had grown up with nothing but those to protect him. Even his mother had seen it. 

When they got older, things got more complicated. Soda was still Steve's best friend in the whole world. He was charismatic, outgoing, understanding, beautiful, and funny. Steve knew this but as they got older, everyone else seemed to realize this too. Steve felt that familiar anger and jealousy creep in. The same one his mom had pointed out so early. The same one that had led Steve to beg for his fathers attention as he drank himself half to death. Steve had always needed some sort of attention, now it was just Soda's instead of his father.

So when those others started to notice how great Soda was, he started competing against them. 

Every time they would get talking to someone at a party or a drag race or even school, people would never come over to talk to Steve. They came to talk to Soda. His beautiful shining best friend who is everyone's first choice. And once again Steve was left drowning as he realized yet again that he was nobody's first choice.

The worst part was that all of it made sense. Why would people not want to talk to Soda? Why would they not look through Steve? As if he wasn't there? Instead focusing on the charismatic golden teenager with the biggest heart in all of Tulsa. And why would they not?

Instead of saying anything or god forbid, bringing it up to Soda, he got angry. Packing it in like a suitcase with too many clothes. And because of that tightly packed anger came guilt, because Steve shouldn't feel angry about people wanting to be around Soda. Especially when he wanted to be around Soda. 

Steve is reduced to the second best, and he deserves it. All these feelings mixing into a nasty cocktail of bitterness. Wasn't that what his mother always told him he did best? Was he still his momma's bitter little boy? So he turned bitter and stopped pulling his punches. Instead, throwing himself into the things he was good at, like fixing cars and fighting soc's and all the other things that aren't worth anything to be good at.

Two weeks after he turned sixteen, he got a job at a DX gas station. It felt good to get that job. The manager liked how much he knew about cars and was impressed with how good Steve seemed to be able to fix them. He was constantly busy and could always do something with his hands. He was so distracted that he hardly had time to think. To think about his shitty father beating him at home or how Soda was so much better at everything than him or how his mother was right about him or how he was nobody’s first choice at all. 

He liked working there but he especially liked that it got him out of the house and got him money. It was one good thing that he had. 

Then everything turned bitter. He did it to himself really. For the three months till Soda turned sixteen, he talked about wanting to work at the DX with Steve. His parents wouldn’t let him until he turned sixteen. Steve encouraged this, half of him thinking it would be fun and the other half thinking about how he would be second best at something yet again. The guilt ate at him, but still he kept encouraging. 

True to both of their words, Soda got the job and things changed once again. What was it that Ponyboy had said before? People were drawn to Soda like flies to honey? Something like that. Steve never said made a point to have a conversation with the kid anyway. He was always annoyed with his lack of focus and his constant hero worship of Sodapop. Though to be fair, he was annoyed with everyone’s hero worship of Soda. 

How will this endless cycle of bitterness and anger end?

The short answer? It probably wouldn’t. Steve would probably always bear those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue like a cross. Like a weight, draped unflatteringly across the scars in his face. He had always been a fighter. Hurting other people was often the only outlet he had. 

“Steve..!” The voice sounds far away. “Steve..! You have to stop…” Suddenly he is being shoved down. “Steve..!” The world is exploding in angry red, his muscles are tense and he turns again, ready to fight. The voice sounds so loud and Sodapop is right in his face. “Steve, what the hell happened?”

“Soda we gotta go man. Get him up and let's go.” That’s Two-Bit. Suddenly Steve looks down. There is a guy laying on the ground covered in blood. He looks half dead with the way someone beat him up. Steve’s knuckles are busted open and bleeding but they don’t sting like usual. He can’t feel anything and his head is still far away. Soda shakes him a little and they hit the ground running. 

They duck inside a greaser joint and head for the bathroom. Soda turns to him, looking sick. Two-Bit starts washing the blood off of his face. But Steve is still angry and ready to fight. His body is tense, like a spring that’s been wound too tight. His fists are pulsating and he’s angry. It’s the only conscious thought his brain can come up with. He’s angry.

“Steve…” Soda is at a loss for words and Steve doesn’t know why. The only thing he can feel is anger. Got red anger as a scream threatens to tear through his throat. His hands want to keep hitting. 

“What Soda’s trying to say is you beat the guy half to death Stevie. I don’t even know if he was breathing when we left.” 

“Shit…” It’s all Steve can say. 

It wasn’t the last time it would happen either. Sometimes he could control it, but sometimes he didn't even realize what he was doing. Steve would beat the guy half to death before Soda or Two-Bit or even Dallas would pull him off. It was like a red haze would go over his eyes and he would operate on auto-pilot. Letting anger take control as a form of self protection. 

It had worked when he was a child and his father would beat him. He wasn’t sure if it was working now, but it was all he had. 

So he bore those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue… not like a cross but like an anchor. He would be strong where Soda couldn’t. He would protect this kids when Johnny and Ace couldn’t protect themselves. 

So he would try to fight, but not so uselessly like he had done all his life. Now, he would fight with passion and purpose. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life fighting; the only difference now was that he would fight for something. Fight for his gang and his sister and Sodapop and all those little greasers who were too young to fight for themselves. He would never stop fighting but he would start fighting for something good. Maybe his mother was right about him being angry, but she wasn’t right about why. 

Steve wasn’t angry for no reason. It was an important distinction. 

Steve was angry because of his situation and the shit he’d seen in his life, the shit he’d let his sister go through. He was angry because of his abusive father and the way he’d always been second best. 

But most of all, Steve was angry because they deserved more. Jonny deserved to not be so scared all the time and Ace deserved to have a childhood filled with love and Soda deserved a girlfriend that wouldn’t break his heart and Darry deserved to go to college and Dallas deserved to have family and Two-Bit deserved not to drink to escape and Ponyboy deserved his parents alive. They all deserved so much more.

And Steve was angry about all of it. Greasers were used to having nothing and Steve was no exception. He’d grown up fighting with nothing and nobody on his side. His anger was his only constant companion. Keeping him warm at night when his mother left and protecting Ace from whatever violence took place that day. The same hot anger that has burned holes through every memory he has.  

Steve had his anger… as well as his flying fists and snarky comments. 

So from that anger, Steve would fight. For his friends and his family and for a chance. Because though he may think he’s second best at everything, there is one thing he’s the best at. Steve Randle always gets up and fights for what he believes in. 

[stxrfclls]

she  wanted  to  rip  her  arm  away  from  him  and  storm  off,  but  as  if  the  cruel  fates  that  brought  them  together  in  the  first  place  were  here  once  more,  she  couldn't  move.  the  party  continued  around  her,  and  lux  found  that  only  the  pair  of  them  were  present.  why  was  he  still  holding  her  ?  he  pushed  her  away,  he  should  do  the  same  now.  saint  confused  lux  to  no  end,  and  she  hated  how  easily  he  seemed  to  find  the  ability.  they  were  never  supposed  to  cross  paths  again,  even  if  lux  may  have  fantasized  about  him  seeing  her,  wanting  her,  and  her  denying  him.  now  she  knew  she  wouldn't  be  able  to  do  that,  he  had  her  even  if  he  was  pushing  her  away  with  each  word  offered.    "  you  never  even  gave  me  a  chance  to  try.  "  she  whispers,  the  hurt  in  her  voice  surfacing  before  she  can  suck  it  back.  lux  blinks,  the  fire  in  her  stomach  simmering  more  than  raging.  she  wanted  it  back,  the  emotions  he  pulled  from  her  weren't  things  she  was  ready  to  feel  again.  "  perhaps  i  wouldn't  be  so  naive  if  someone  had  taken  the  time  to  teach  me  a  damn  thing  before  fishing  me  out  of  the  cauldron  and  shoving  me  off  to  another  court.  "  she  bites  back,  finally  finding  her  fury  once  more.  it's  easier  this  way,  easier  to  stay  angry  at  the  high  lord  of  dawn.  another  bitter  laugh  falls  from  her  lips,  and  she  offers  a  sarcastic  smile  to  the  other.  "  the  cauldron  would  have  spit  me  back  out  otherwise.  "  could  she  have  died  inside  of  it  ?  the  thought  had  never  crossed  her  mind  until  now.

lux  shakes  her  head,  the  echo  of  her  father's  words  in  her  head  too  similar  to  saint's.  many  bitter  responses  flash  through  her  mind,  but  lux  only  allows  one  to  slip  from  her  lips.  "  you  don't  know  what  i  believe,  saint,  you  never  asked.  "  perhaps  she  was  whimsically  still  stuck  in  a  book,  despite  learning  this  fairy  tale  was  not  so  happy.  the  emptiness  inside  of  her  swells  when  he  releases  her,  and  she  almost  wishes  he  hadn't  at  all.  but  that's  what  she  wanted  before  ?  to  be  free  to  walk  away  from  him  ?  and  yet  she  couldn't  manage  it  now.  shaking  her  head,  lux  crosses  her  arms,  and  looks  upon  him  with  too  many  raw  emotions  for  her  to  process,  for  her  to  want  to  process.  "  i  saw  far  more  than  you  think,  saint.  "  she  nearly  whispers,  as  if  admitting  it  was  silly.  as  if  he  would  believe  her  in  the  first  place.  it  hurt  how  little  he  thought  of  her,  but  lux  wasn't  ready  to  admit  that  yet.  lux  swallows,  pushing  back  every  insecurity,  every  emotion  she  can't  stand,  and  she  lets  her  simmering  flame  burn  bright.  she  may  not  have  her  powers,  but  she  still  has  more  than  most.  while  kept  hidden,  lux  relies  on  them  now,  they  keep  her  grounded.  "  do  us  both  a  favor,  then,  and  stop  acting  like  you  care.  "  she  replies,  voice  hardened.  even  the  amusement  in  his  reaction  to  her  comment  of  flame  and  suho  doesn't  pull  a  reaction  from  her,  the  control  she  rarely  has  falling  into  place  for  once.  "  he  was  more  surprised  than  angry.  he  also  seems  to  forgive  a  lot  considering  i  was  human  once. "  she  notes,  shrugging  as  if  it  didn't  matter.  she  refuses  to  think  too  much  into  his  words,  and  she  can't  help  but  blink  at  his  comment.  power,  of  course  that  was  all  prythian  cared  about  so  how  was  he  any  different  ?  "  yes,  high  lord  galanthenea,  the  cauldron  cursed  me  with  color  flames  that  burn  hotter  than  most.  unfortunately  for  us  all,  they  are  too  volatile  to  control.  "  she  rolls  her  eyes,  not  wishing  to  talk  about  her  powers  at  all  even  if  an  inner  part  of  her  was  thrilled  he  was  impressed.

he  should  have  veered  off  the  moment  he  realized  he  approached  her  and  her  frame  came  too  close  that  allowed  her  to  believe  it  had  been  an  accidental  run  in  and  not  one  designed  by  the  high  lord  of  dawn.  that  he  had  no  right  to  intrude  on  her  night  and  ruin  the  fun  she  had  clearly  been  having  before  he  appeared.  saint  had  been  successful  all  this  time,  that  even  seeing  her  in  the  capital  he  had  refrained  from  approaching  her,  settling  for  simply  watching  her  from  afar  and  ensuring  he  did  not  cross  paths  with  her.  when  all  chaos  erupted  he  had  sent  his  spy  to  check  in  on  her  instead  of  doing  so  himself.  he  would  never  deny  that  when  it  came  to  her,  he  took  the  face  of  a  coward,  and  it  was  one  he  despised.  "that  truth  is  far  more  complicated  that  you  would  believe."  he  should  be  relieved  that  she  remained  angry  with  him,  but  he  felt  nothing  close  to  it.  only  an  ache  that  become  a  part  of  his  existence  since  he  left  her  on  her  own.  every  day  that  passed  since  he  became  high  lord,  all  the  what  ifs  never  ceased.  that  what  if  he  placed  his  worries  and  had  her  by  his  side,  but  his  fears  had  a  stronger  hold  on  him.  "you  are  capable  of  fending  for  yourself.  you  are  also  naive  when  it  comes  to  this  world,  you  have  done  well  for  yourself  but  there's  much  you  do  not  know  of  me,  or  of  the  courts  as  a  whole,  specifically  my  own."  a  pause  as  he  swallowed,  his  azure  hues  skimming  over  her  lovely,  features.  "  i  had  no  doubt  you  would  be  more  than  well  without  me,  and  you  standing  here  before  me  as  you're  now,  is  proof  of  that."  saint  didn't  know  how  his  court  would  respond  if  he  openly  was  involved  with  a  former  human  turned  fae,  that  for  all  the  peace  dawn  fae  possessed,  they  could  be  as  malicious.  he  could  protect  her  all  he  tried,  but  he  could  not  close  mouths  no  matter  that  he  was  a  high  lord.

there  was  a  sharp  piercing  sensation  that  made  itself  known  once  more,  "i  am  high  lord,  princess,  it  is  not  easy  for  me  to  give  into  my  whims,  no  matter  how  you  or  others  might  believe."  that  if  she  ever  knew  the  truth  of  him,  she'd  wonder  how  she  ever  loved  him  at  all.  he  didn't  let  go  of  her  arm,  which  somehow  made  it  far  worse  when  she  called  him  out  on  it.  a  muscle  in  his  jaw  ticks,  and  every  so  reluctantly,  he  releases  his  hold.  despite  that  ever  fiber  of  his  being  screamed  in  protest  of  breaking  the  connection.  "what  you  feel  for  me  is  an  illusion  of  what  i  presented  myself  to  you.  you  only  know  saint  the  man  you  careless  and  carefree  high  fae  who  become  involved  you.  you  don't  know  saint  galanthenea  the  high  lord  of  dawn."  a  part  of  saint  envied  her,  in  the  way  she  simply  was  able  to  look  at  the  world  in  such  an  idealistic  view,  a  privilege  that  most  in  his  position  would  never  have.  "because  you  made  the  mistake  of  believing  i  was  your  prince  and  knight  in  shinning  armor."  stars,  had  he  wanted  to  be,  for  a  moment  all  those  years  ago  he  truly  believed  he  could  be  before  that  delusion  shattered.  his  gaze  widened  slightly  at  her  admission  of  nearly  scorching  a  high  lord.  "i  think  you're  safe,  if  he  hasn't  retaliated  so  far."  there  was  edge  in  his  tone  that  implied  that  would  not  be  an  option  that  would  come  to  pass.  "i  knew  you  would  be  a  strong  fae."  it  didn't  change  that  he  had  deceived  her  into  entering  his  world.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Seven)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

A lot of @greeneyedivy and I gif swapping and having interesting discussions brought this chapter about! Hope you enjoy it 👀

So sorry if the writing is a bit iffy and there's some mistakes in this part...this day has been so busy and my eyes are BLEEDING (not literally. I'm fine. Just dramatic). But thank you for all your support thus far, I love this story so much!

Warnings: SMUT! 🌶️🌶️🌶️

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Lucien was avoiding you, and that was fine.

You’d only been aware of his return to the estate two days later, when his horse reappeared in the stables. Where he’d been for those two days, you weren’t sure. And you didn’t let yourself think about it. He would keep out of your way, and you would keep out of his.

And you…you were avoiding Dion, somewhat.

You weren’t ready to talk to him yet — to face his disregard for the victims of the fire. It had jarred you, to see that side of the male you’d come to consider your…your friend. Never mind the fact that you were supposed to be marrying him. The fact that he had complied with Beron’s callousness was so at odds with the Dion you’d actually become quite fond of — and that hurt, more than you expected it to. So you weren’t ready to talk, and you put every effort you could muster into keeping yourself busy. Into avoiding being alone with him, no matter how many times he offered you a stroll around the garden or a private lunch on the veranda.

And thus began what was probably your loneliest week at the Vanserra Estate so far.

Your eyes stared, unseeing, out of the tearoom window, not really focusing on anything from the swaying blood-red trees to the gardeners milling around. You’d become prone to these long stretches of zoning out, of your innermost thoughts trying to coax you to them.

“It’s tradition, in our family, to have orange chrysanthemums at weddings,” The Lady of Autumn spoke gently beside you, a huge florilegium book open on the round table you sat at. “Such a beautiful colour, don’t you think?”

Even if she wasn’t the quiet, soft-spoken female you’d come to know her as, you doubted you would have heard her over the roaring in your head. The warring. Such a battle waged in your mind, it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. But her words went through one ear and out the other as you stared, and stared and stared and stared, at that insignificant spot on the flawless lawn.

“Y/N?” A delicate hand touched your arm. “What do you think?”

You tore your gaze from the window, dropped it to the open page in front of you. You blinked a few times, clearing your throat. “Yes—sorry—beautiful.”

Your mother-in-law-to-be stared at you, those warm, brown eyes somehow softening even more. She shut the book and pushed it away from her, angling herself towards you.

“Don’t worry, love,” She reached out, cupping your cheek. “The High Lord isn’t angry anymore — not really.”

You blinked at her, not quite understanding her words. The direction her mind had gone in.

“I know he shouted, but…” Her eyes dipped to the table. “Well, we never had daughters, and he’s still getting himself used to having a young female like you to look out for. He was concerned, more than angry…he just struggles with how to channel it.”

Studying her, your already-splintered heart seemed to twist even more inside you. She was so kind, so gentle, that you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you didn’t give two honey-roasted fucks whether Beron was angry with you or not. Didn’t have the heart to ask if it was concern that had her husband so often spitting venomous words at her, or injuring her so badly that even her fae healing took a few days to rid of the bruises.

“I know what it’s like, to feel…stifled.” She admitted quietly. “But it will get easier. And Dion is a good male. I’m not just saying that as his mother, I assure you. He’ll take good care of you.”

She was trying — the Mother knew, she was trying so hard, in an environment where she so rarely got to speak her own words, to soothe you. Reassure you. And you weren’t ready to talk to Dion yet, to smooth things over, but you could at least honour the time that the Lady of Autumn spared you. At least show some interest in this wedding planning, even if you had to fake it.

So you forced your shoulders to relax. Forced yourself to smile. Dragged the book back towards you.

“Show me the chrysanthemums again,” You said.

⤲

Two days later, you still couldn’t bring yourself to face Dion.

Not that he was around much. Beron seemed to be running him ragged, and you’d received only a soft goodbye that morning before he’d taken off on his horse to attend to business. Whatever the hell that meant.

With no wedding planning arranged for that day, you spent it trying to busy yourself, to do anything but sink into your thoughts and face the fact that you were homesick. You missed your old life, the way things used to be; missed looking forward to your training sessions and workouts with Linden, to meeting Willow for picnics by the stream near your estate, to just living how you wanted to live. Without yours and Dion’s rapport to distract you, it was harder to face the reality. The changes.

It just…bothered you, a lot, that Dion hadn’t shown more concern for those in need – for people who were literally watching their livelihoods burn before their eyes. You knew it was a terse situation, that it wasn’t easy to go against his father’s word. But if Lucien had managed to do so…

You shook your head to yourself, curling up on the bench in the garden that you’d taken to sitting on the last few nights, watching the stars. Dion hadn’t yet returned from his day of work, and the estate was pressingly quiet. Too quiet. Your loneliness lurked on the outskirts of your mind, threatening to consume you.

You stared forward in deep thought, toying with the single little braid you always wore in your hair – something you’d started because of Linden. You’d always loved his braids, the way they swayed with his movement when they were down, or splayed randomly if he tied them back. It had been on a particularly bad day early-on in your training that you’d broken in front of him, told him you were scared of being weak, of being nothing. He’d sat with you and listened, and then – to your surprise – had taken a few strands of your hair between his fingers and braided them together.

“Whenever I feel weak, or scared, or like I am nothing,” He’d told you, “I imagine myself to be like one of my braids. The strands of hair are strength, and determination, and bravery, all weaved together in one pattern. And that is why I always wear my hair braided. Not just because it’s convenient,” He’d grinned at you then, “but because they remind me that having bad days doesn’t mean that the strength, the determination and the bravery are not still weaved into me. One or two bad days does not make the braid come undone. Does not mean you’re weak.”

Such a Linden thing to say, and yet it had hit its mark. You’d worn that braid in your hair every single day since, and had no longer seen the bad days as an undoing, as the hard work you’d put in being for nothing. You were strong, and determined, and brave.

And Gods above, did you miss Linden. You couldn’t help wondering, as you sat there, pinching your hair between your fingers, what he might be doing right then. Whether he missed you just as fiercely. You wished you could write to him, but…you had absolutely no clue where he was.

The bench suddenly creaked under the weight of a second person, and only then did you become aware of hot, salty tears rolling down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, glancing up to find that Eris had joined you.

His amber eyes met yours, and he angled his body towards you. Held out a small, rectangular object wrapped in paper packaging.

You frowned, slowly accepting it. “...What’s this?”

Eris tucked his legs beneath him, facing you properly. His short hair was tousled, the top buttons of his shirt undone. “Chocolate.”

You glanced down. Sure enough, you held a thick bar of chocolate in your hands – an expensive brand, you knew, from one of the artisan chocolatiers that sold their products in the high-end sweet shops all over Prythian.

You thumbed the paper packaging, your brow still furrowed. “Why are you giving me chocolate?”

“Because you’re sad.” Eris shrugged. “It’s from my secret stash. Not just anyone gets to have some, you know.”

You managed a watery smile. “And why do I get the honour?”

“Like I said – you’re sad. It’s been a rough week for you. And chocolate always makes me feel better. Just don’t tell any of the others. They’re not allowed any.”

That drew a genuine laugh from you – even if it was short-lived. You smiled down at the chocolate bar, peeling back the paper. Eris watched you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

You’d never heard his voice so…gentle. Of your future brothers-in-law, Eris was certainly the one you’d developed the best rapport with. Even though he was quick-witted and swaggering and smirking most of the time, you’d found your sense of humour to be greatly similar to his. There was more to him, than just an eldest son waiting to be High Lord, and you sensed that a great many people underestimated what truly lay beneath the surface.

You tore into the foil around the chocolate, breaking a square off and popping it into your mouth. “Things with Dion are just…strained, right now.”

Eris tilted his head – and also nabbed a square of chocolate. He placed it on his tongue, sucking on it for a moment, before he surmised, “You didn’t agree with his decision not to help with the fire.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I didn’t. And I didn’t understand the decision, either. And don’t get me wrong…I know that you were given orders from the High Lord, but…”

“But Lucien happily went against those orders. Right?”

You begged your cheeks not to heat, begged your scent not to change, at the mere mention of his name. “Right.”

“And you went against them, too. You and Lucien.”

Your eyes flicked up, meeting Eris’s gaze. It was often hard, with him, to tell whether his words held double meaning. Whether he was merely making a solid statement, or insinuating something else within it. He stared back at you, eyes smouldering, and you…you could have sworn he was trying to clamp down on a smile.

“I considered it the right thing to do,” You quickly said – didn’t give him the chance to throw you a witty remark. “To help those people. I’d like to think that…that if I were in such a dire situation, there would be someone who wouldn’t hesitate to come for me.”

Were you in a dire situation? By sheer definition, you supposed not. You were living in the lap of luxury, had people waiting on you hand-and-foot. You were a lady, someone who would garner respect by default, whether you’d earned it or not, just because of who your soon-to-be husband was — and it would be that way for the rest of your life. That easy.

And yet none of it felt easy. None of it felt luxurious. It felt like…like drowning. And you didn’t know how much longer you could last before your lungs gave out entirely.

Eris seemed to read every one of those thoughts on your face. There was nothing of the smirking, cock-sure male as he studied you, his eyes softening.

“You have a kind heart, Y/N,” He said quietly. “…And I know this must be an adjustment. A difficult one.”

You nodded, eyes dipping down. “Very.”

“But just…just try…to go a bit easier on Dion. Because he also has a kind heart…and it wasn’t easy for him to sit back and do nothing while those people lost everything.”

“But Lucien—”

“Lucien defies our father on a weekly basis.” He reached down, breaking off another square of chocolate. “Everyone’s come to expect it of him, and nobody really cares — because Lucien has nothing to prove. But Dion?” He popped the chocolate into his mouth. Chewed. “Well, Dion is the spare, isn’t he?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“As the eldest son, I’m expected to succeed my father as High Lord. And if anything were to happen to me, Dion, as the second-eldest, would be expected to take my place. Which is why he and I receive the same rigorous training as one another. Why he and I have more pressure on us than the other three. We don’t have the luxury or freedom to go gallivanting around fields and making daisy chains, or whatever it is that Lucien does in his spare time.”

You couldn’t help it — you snorted, fighting not to choke on the piece of chocolate you’d been swallowing. You didn’t think you’d be doing Lucien any favours by correcting Eris, telling him that he did, in actual fact, read poetry in the woods, leant against huge, mammoth trees.

And perhaps you liked the visual a little too much to destroy it — of Lucien’s intricate hands weaving daisies together. Tucking them into his red hair—

You cleared your throat, your smile fading — and jolted when Eris suddenly grabbed your chin.

“No,” He said seriously, eyes boring into yours. “No more looking sad. Your smile reminds me of sunrise. It’s too brilliant to be hidden.”

You balked at him — waited for a smirk, for some indication that he was being facetious. But his face was utterly serious and unflinching as he reached for another square of chocolate.

“Excuse me,” You pulled the bar out of his reach, swatting him, “did you bring the chocolate for me, or for yourself?”

He grinned, pulling his hands back. “I brought it for you, lady. But perhaps you could give me something in return.”

“I’m not sucking your cock.”

His hair rippled as he threw his head back and barked a laugh, so loud that it echoed through the night. You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile.

“Not what I was angling for, but thank you for making that clear,” He snorted. “What I was asking for was a promise — that you’ll smooth things over with Dion when he returns.”

Part of you wanted to scowl at the sensible suggestion, but…you could only study Eris, tilting your head. You hadn’t known, when you’d first come here, what to make of the eldest Vanserra brother. You’d heard things about him, of course — that he was cocky and flippant and brilliant at playing the part of a courtier. What you never would have anticipated was the…the tenderness. The clear concern for those around him, that he had no qualms about showing. That he longed for their happiness as much as his own.

And Dion was just the same. Just as kind. Just as tightly-bound with duty.

It was what had you giving a relenting nod. “Okay,” You agreed, “I promise.”

Something like pride seemed to shine in Eris’s eyes. It squeezed at your heart, made you feel…less alone. You’d never had a brother, but this — him — you imagined, was exactly what it would be like.

Especially as he quickly grabbed the chocolate bar from your hand, stole one more piece, and rose to his feet.

“Asshole,” You scowled, but you were smiling.

“That’s me,” He smirked, handing the bar back to you. “You can finish the rest.”

Any sarcastic retort got lodged in your throat as he leaned down, pressing a single kiss to the top of your head. And then without a word, he was turning on his feet, strolling back towards the glass doors.

“Eris,” You blurted, and he glanced over his shoulder. You swallowed your lump of emotion. “…You have a kind heart, too.”

And the words…they seemed to stun him, like nobody had ever said such a thing before. He blinked at you, his shoulders seeming to tense for a moment, before they relaxed once more.

“I can name a few people who would disagree with that declarative.” He said, his tone laced with something that made your heart pinch. “I’ve done many things I regret, Y/N. But I’m trying, now, to be better. To put things right. I only hope that I one day can.”

Once more, he turned, and he didn’t offer another word as he disappeared inside.

You could only stare after him, sit amongst the heaviness that his words had left behind. Clearly, Eris Vanserra had some demons of his own to work through.

But if he could try harder…try to be better…surely you could, too.

You bit down on another square of chocolate and stared up at the sky.

Tomorrow. You’d make things up with Dion tomorrow.

⤲

Dion didn’t return until the following evening.

You were reading in your room when you heard his voice float up from outside. It seemed strange, that such nerves stirred in the pit of your stomach, and yet you found yourself making excuses to put off your conversation for as long as possible. You remained in your quarters as he returned his horse to the stables, and whilst he took a late, solitary dinner in the dining room. You didn’t know where the best place was to even have such a conversation…to smooth things over without the risk of Beron overhearing…but when you finally mustered the courage to leave your room and go in search of him, fate had you quite literally running into him as you turned a corner on the upper hallway.

“Y/N.” Dion blinked, his eyes taking in the sight of you; your unbound hair and nightgown. “I—I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

“I heard you return,” You nervously twisted your hands. “I wanted to check you were alright…”

The hope that alighted his eyes made your heart pinch uncomfortably. Had you truly been so awful to him?

“I know it’s late,” You quickly cleared your throat. “But I was hoping we could talk.”

His gaze met yours, and whatever he read there had him giving a determined nod. “Perhaps in my room? We’ll have more privacy.”

So he sensed, at least, that it was a conversation you’d rather didn’t get back to Beron. You nodded, and followed as Dion brushed past you. You tried not to think too hard about how it may look as you filed through the bedroom door he held open for you. Late at night. In just your nightgown.

Only when the door was firmly shut did you round on him. It seemed both of you were wondering who would speak first.

“Dion—”

“I know you must think me a total wretch.” He released a long, staggered breath. Like he’d been holding it since you’d last spoken to him.

And there — that pinch in your heart again. Because Dion Vanserra was the furthest thing from a wretch. That you’d judged him without considering the complexities of his situation had utter shame stinging you.

“Actually,” You glanced down, “I wanted to apologise.”

Dion blinked. “Why?”

Chewing your lip, you crossed the room, perching on the chair tucked into his desk. He watched you carefully, slowly taking a seat on the edge of the huge bed.

“I’m…ashamed…that I didn’t stop to consider how much pressure there is on your shoulders.” You admitted quietly. “I know that there’s more at stake for you. That you don’t have as much freedom as…some of the others. I should have considered that before judging you when you didn’t join me at the hamlet.”

Dion’s head dipped. “I cannot tell you how difficult it was to sit back and do nothing.”

“I understand that now. And I’m sorry…that I didn’t before, I just…” Slowly, you shook your head. “I didn’t think. I suppose I felt…hurt…that I’d come to you for help, and you didn’t seem willing. Because I think you may be my only true friend here…”

You stared at him. And he stared back. That word — friend — hung in the air between you. A subject that needed broaching; that neither of you could dance around any longer.

“Perhaps we should discuss that, as well…” Dion shifted. “I wasn’t sure if…I mean…this connection between us, is—”

“Platonic.” You finished. “I know. I agree.”

Dion’s shoulders seem to slump — in pure, unguarded relief. Clearly he’d been worrying, too…about trying to forge a connection. About trying so damn hard to turn it into something more than it was. But he couldn’t. And neither could you. You were friends and nothing more, and the fact that you were on the same page allowed you at least a little pinch of relief.

“I’ve been thinking it for a while, now.” You said. “But…I think that as hard as we’ve both tried…we’re friends. Nothing more.”

He nodded resolutely. “…you know, though, right? That it makes no difference…”

You did. Gods, you did. It had only kept you awake most nights, reminding you that however you and Dion felt was irrelevant. That the fact that you were on the same page was a small mercy — but it didn’t change anything.

“Regardless of what we feel…” Dion said, pursing his lips. “We’ll still be expected to marry. To consummate that marriage. To have children…”

You knew. And yet you still felt your shoulders tense. Still felt that familiar cold slithering through you. The thought of sharing those things with Dion…and without love…

“There’s truly no way around it?” You asked quietly.

He shook his head. “The only thing even my father wouldn’t have the power to overrule is a mating bond. Don’t suppose you have a secret mate lurking around here that I don’t know about?”

You snorted. “I’m afraid not.”

He nodded, such…such bleakness on his face. You’d been so wrapped up in your own turmoil since you’d arrived at the Vanserra Estate, you hadn’t stopped to think what this might be like for him. What he was giving up.

“Maybe…maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be the be all and end all.” You said, and he glanced up through worried eyes. “Even if we have no choice about the marriage itself…perhaps we can have our own choices within it. Discrete choices, just between you and I…that offer us both happiness.”

Those weary eyes of his studied your face, and you let him see your thoughts. Let him see some optimism, even if it was hard for you to drag it up from amongst the roiling darkness inside you.

“You mean…”

“I mean,” you said, “that as husband and wife, we can have an agreement between us. That we honour what’s expected of us, but…if you or I find connections elsewhere…that’s okay, too. We’ll support one another. And it’d be between us — no one needs to find out about it.”

It was a relief — to see a little glimmer of hope flicker in his eyes. That you were open-minded about this. About finding a way for both of you to be happy.

You smiled softly. “Are we agreed? That first and foremost, we’re friends. We’ll support whatever the other needs.”

“Agreed,” Dion sat up. “Gods, yes, agreed. You’ll always have a friend in me. I’ll support you however I can.”

And you knew he would. That he was completely serious. That he cared. Perhaps you didn’t understand the true weight of the little bit of freedom you’d just offered him. Perhaps he didn’t understand what it meant for you, either. But that was okay.

“You’ll always have a friend in me, too, Dion. We’ll find a way to make this work.”

He reached out, grabbing your hand and pressing a single kiss to it. And such gratitude shone in his eyes that you couldn’t help wondering, couldn’t help prying…

“…Even if you don’t have a mate…” You said quietly, “is there someone you’re interested in?”

The immediate dusting of pink that coloured his cheeks was all the confirmation you needed. He shifted, like…like he was embarrassed, or something. Pressed his lips together.

“There is.” You grinned. “That’s good.”

“It’s early days.” He quickly said. “…But I feel as strongly for her as she does for me. I should have told you sooner.”

You could hardly feel bitter about it…not with your antics, as of late. And you were happy for him. He was a good male — a male deserving of a connection that went beyond friendship.

“It wouldn’t exactly have been easy for you to bring it up, now would it?” You laughed softly.

He dipped his chin, a soft smile playing on his lips. “And…what of you? Is there…I mean…do you have a connection with anyone?”

The laughter faded from your face. A simple question, and yet…it did nothing but churn you up inside. You could hardly call the mess with Lucien a connection. There was just…a fine line between hate and lust. And that line had been temporarily blurred.

“No,” You shook your head. “I don’t—I have no one.”

Those words sounded aloud as pathetic as they felt inside. And yet so achingly true. It felt…vulnerable. Raw. Empty.

“…you have me.” Dion said softly. “Your friend.”

He squeezed your hand, and it took a surprising amount of effort not to succumb to the tears that threatened you. You cleared your throat, standing from the chair.

“I should…get back to my room…before anyone works out we’re in here together.” You forced a laugh. “We don’t need a scandal on our hands.”

Dion chuckled gently. “No, we certainly don’t.”

“Goodnight, then.”

With a smile, you turned, your eyes mindlessly grazing the room as you stepped towards the door.

And then stopped.

Turned back to his desk.

Dion watched you.

The parchment had been sat in front of you throughout the entire conversation, and yet…yet for some reason, the familiar handwriting had flown completely over your head.

Until then. Until it suddenly clicked — the looping scrawl, the whorls.

The way Willow dotted every “i” with a tiny little star.

You pulled the parchment towards you, and still Dion watched. He’d gone so stiff, so still, on the bed.

“…You’ve written to Willow?” You murmured. “I didn’t know…”

“…Y/N…”

Just flitting briefly over the words, the content of the letter seemed much like the ones Willow wrote to you. Descriptions of books she was reading, a beautiful piece of music she’d heard, what she planned to do with her week—

Until you got to the bottom. Every part of you stiffened.

I think about you every minute of every day. Tell me I can see you soon. I’m sick from missing you. All my love. Willow.

“Y/N…” Dion murmured again. “Listen—”

“My sister?” You rounded on him. “My married sister?”

You didn’t know why your heart was thudding so erratically. Why you felt sick to your stomach. The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on you, after what you’d done, but—

But Willow was married. Your married little sister, who had been such a saving grace for you in your first couple of weeks at the estate, who had—

Who had sought out Dion at any chance she’d got. Who’d spoken to him for hours on end, laughed with him. Who had seen his kindness first-hand.

“Listen, Y/N,” Dion stood up quickly, striding over to you. “I didn’t plan for this to happen—”

“You kissed me at that fucking masquerade only a fortnight ago!”

His eyes shuttered. “I know.”

“And…what? You were pining after my sister the entire time? What am I, some kind of temporary replacement because you can’t have her?”

“No! Of course not!. Let’s just…talk about this—”

“No.” You gritted your teeth as you stepped aside — and so did he, “Move, Dion.”

“Y/N—”

He didn’t stop you, this time, when you pushed past him. Every part of you was trembling; from anger or from hurt or both…you didn’t even know. Nor did you know why you felt those things. Perhaps because Willow was one of your only friends, the sister you were closest to. Perhaps because you’d thought Dion felt just as lonely in this arrangement as you did…and he’d been secretly corresponding with your sister about their feelings for each other.

You heard him curse under his breath as you ripped the door open. And you didn’t care who might see as you stormed from his room, hurrying back to yours.

But you were far too incensed to sleep, or to read. If you laid and stared at the ceiling, you’d cry. Or scream.

Before you knew what you were doing, you ripped off your nightgown and blindly tore some clothes from your armoire, shucking them on. It was far too cold for just a tunic and a pair of breeches, but you didn’t fucking care.

You wanted to feel the fresh air on your skin, biting at it painfully. You wanted to breathe in the frost and chimney smoke. You needed to go somewhere. To do something.

You yanked your boots on. And you ran.

⤲

You walked for what felt like hours, just trawling the estate until your feet hurt. Wending through the trees and keeping yourself hidden, the air was brisk and cutting – a pleasant slicing against your exposed skin, but it did nothing to abate the wrenching roaring in your head.

You needed…something. Something to pour your frustration, your hurt, into. And you knew how hypocritical it made you to even feel such things, but…if this…thing…between Dion and Willow had started during the festival…it had begun long before that one night of fleeting passion with Lucien. And had been going on right under your nose, without him saying a single word.

You just…just wished one of them had at least had the decency to say something.

Across the estate, you heard the manor’s huge grandfather clock chiming two o’clock in the morning. It was silent all around, besides the whisper of wildlife. You knew you should go back – get some rest and face the situation with a cooler head.

But you found yourself storming over to the armoury.

You were far too wound up to care if anyone noticed the light on and came to investigate. The roiling in your brain and heart and veins needed an outlet, and this – this was the best way. The way Linden had taught you.

You felt like you were merely watching from outside of your body as you grabbed a training sword and went to work. Never had you sliced at the air so ferociously, your movements flowing like wind, cutting like ice. Every angered thought that arose in your mind became nothing but a manoeuvre, a strike. You were lithe, and fluid, and dangerous.

And hurt.

Lonely.

Before you knew you it, the cold in your bones had been replaced by the heat and sweat of your exertion. You needed to stop, before you lost it completely. Before you became so riled up that you smashed the armoury to pieces.

You threw the sword down, spinning on your feet to grip the edges of the nearby table. You’d barely taken a breath before something moved in your periphery, and your head snapped up fast as lightning.

Just like before, Lucien leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable as he took in the sight of you, hunched over and panting, a fire no doubt still burning in your eyes. And you stared back at him. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t know what to say, considering the last time you’d looked at that face, he’d been deep inside you.

“I saw the light was on.” He said – seemingly his way of explaining his presence.

You stared at him, your breaths still heaving. “Right.”

With a terse nod, he glanced at the sword on the floor. Then back to you. “Bit of a weird time to be getting some training in.”

“Bit of a weird time to be watching me.”

Those russet eyes dipped, and he released a sigh. Like your attitude was puzzling to him. Like he hadn’t fucked you and taken off and avoided you ever since.

“Listen–”

“Just to clarify,” You cut in sharply. “Are you talking to me now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I think it would be a good idea for us to talk, yes.”

“You’ve done a fine job of avoiding me this week. Why bother now?”

You didn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticked – like he was trying so, so hard to bite down on a whole host of colourful retorts. Because this was what he’d been avoiding. This run-in with you.

Having to face the mistake he’d made.

“To clear things up after—”

“After you fucked me and left?”

“Look,” He gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. But I think we can both agree that what happened absolutely shouldn’t have.”

So that was the game he was going to play.

And…fine. That was utterly fine. Because you were lonely and hurt and churned up and you wanted to go head-to-head with him. To bait him. It was about the only thing you had to cling onto right now.

So you narrowed your eyes. Cocked your head at him. “You know,” You barked a sharp laugh, “You’re acting mighty unaffected, for someone who moaned so desperately while being buried inside me.”

Not what he’d expected you to say – that much was obvious when he blinked. Straightened himself out. He seemed to quickly glance behind him, like he was looking for prying eyes and ears, before he slipped further into the armoury and pushed the door shut behind him.

And you…you approached him. You weren’t unlike a predator approaching its prey as you stepped towards him in slow, careful movements. He studied every single one of those movements like he was committing them to memory, his eyes scanning your sweat-slick skin, the slight curl of your unbound hair–

His gaze snagged on your braid, and he swallowed. He was stiff as a board as you stopped in front of him, a mere hair’s-breadth away. A shared breath would have your bodies brushing.

And when those deep, unending eyes of his moved from your braid, flickering to your lips – you knew. You had him exactly where you wanted him. You had to suppress the smirk that wanted to tug at your lips.

“One would think, Lucien,” You hummed, your breath fanning his face, “That you didn’t enjoy yourself that night.”

“I didn’t say that.” He blurted immediately, the words seeming to just fall from his mouth, out of his control. He seemed to frown at himself, to search for some way to retract the statement–

But those thoughts eddied straight from his mind as you hummed a quiet, pensive noise. And sunk to your knees before him.

“Tell me,” Your head fell into a tilt, your hands brushing up his legs, up and up to the laces of his breeches, “would you have preferred if it hadn’t happened?”

He merely blinked down at you. Like he didn’t know what you were saying, didn’t know that you’d even asked a question. His throat worked on a hard swallow, and his tongue dipped out to swipe over his bottom lip.

And as your fingers began to brush those laces on his breeches…to pull on them…the hardness that awaited you beneath was answer enough.

Your knuckles were a feather-light brush against his stomach, and you heard the slightest, tiniest intake of breath. You couldn’t help smiling triumphantly as you tugged and tugged, the laces loosening, the front flap of his breeches parting.

And when you pulled those breeches down, allowing his cock to spring free, it was pure, steeled determination not to melt into a puddle at the sight of it. To think of how it had been inside you, thrusting into you, giving you the most mouthwatering release–

Lucien just watched, his lips slightly parted, his pupils blown. And at the first brush of your hand over his cock, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You allowed the pads of your fingers to explore the long, hard length of him, and his breath hitched in his throat as you took your time with teasing brushes and touches, tracing over the throbbing vein, learning what he felt like as you wrapped your palm around him and moved your thumb up to brush over the head.

And then you leaned forward. Stared up at him. His head was tilted back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

You smiled. Took the head of his cock into your mouth. His hips immediately jerked.

His head fell forward once more, and he stared down at you, a noise akin to a whimper leaving his throat. But you didn’t move – didn’t slide your lips any further onto him. You held the head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, noting every dip and indentation.

“...Holy Gods…” He gritted out, his voice deep and guttural. And then he was sliding a hand into your hair. His fingers immediately found your braid.

You gripped onto the backs of his sculpted legs as you brought more of him into your mouth, sliding down. And down. And down. A choked, wordless moan was all Lucien could manage as you went to work on his cock.

You wrapped a hand around the base, allowing your tongue to drag slowly, sensuously, over the velvety skin as you pulled him out of your mouth. You pumped him a couple of times, watching every minuscule expression pass across his face. The way his brow furrowed and his lips parted. The way he kept alternating between tipping his head back and wanting to watch you.

“It would seem to me,” You murmured, blowing on the head and causing his hips to jerk, “that you don’t wish it hadn’t happened.”

There was no chance for him to muster a response as you took him into your mouth again. Nothing but pure thrill charged through you as you bobbed your head, licking him, sucking him, the head of his cock damn near touching the back of your throat.

You wanted to feel every bit of it, even as your jaw ached, and you were breathing heavily through your nose. The burn was brilliant — satisfying. And better than anything else, it quieted the warring inside your head.

“Fuck.” Lucien gasped out. You could feel him tightening inside your mouth, feel him growing close. You wanted him spurting on your tongue.

His hands pulled on your hair to near-pain, and you smirked around him. Steadied yourself. Reached one hand up to cup his balls.

As you bobbed, and bobbed, and bobbed, licked and sucked and squeezed his balls and dug your fingernails into his leg, the low growls in his throat became guttural, feral. He wouldn’t last much longer, wouldn’t be able to resist—

He gripped your head, holding you still as his hips stuttered to a stop. And a deep, gasping groan escaped him as he came inside your mouth, spilling all over your tongue, down your throat.

And you swallowed every last drop. Embraced the taste of him, the warmth of him. Licked and pumped him through his release, until he was no more but a spent, whimpering mess.

You allowed him to come down from the high. Allowed him to catch his breath. But as soon as awareness returned to his eyes, replacing the glazed pleasure with a keen sense of knowing, you rose to your feet.

Lucien stared at you, his golden cheeks flushed. His chest still heaving slightly.

And you…you met his eyes. Smiled. Swiped a tongue over your lips and wiped the corners of your mouth with a single finger. His eyes tracked every single movement wordlessly.

“Thought so.” Was all you said, a smile tugging your lips. “Goodnight.”

You brushed past him, not even glancing back to see if he tucked himself back into his breeches, or just stood there, stunned.

Let him see how it felt to be walked away from. To be treated like a mistake.

You strode out of the armoury like the taste of him wasn’t still lingering on your tongue, and crossed the quiet estate, back into the manor.

And when you reached your bedroom and fell between the sheets, the turmoil in your head was easier to tune out.

And you slept.

⤲

You spent the following morning thinking. Reflecting. Nobody came to bother you.

You curled up on the windowsill, your head pressed against the glass as you watched the many staff and servants pass by on their errands. Saw the odd flash of red hair come and go.

It was one person you found yourself keeping an eye out for in particular. Dion.

It surprised you, to wake up and find that your overriding emotion was guilt.

Guilt over your reaction. Over how you’d dealt with it.

Because…because why shouldn’t Dion have feelings for Willow? It wasn’t as though the connection between the two of you was anything besides platonic. Betrothed you may be, but that was out of both of your control. You didn’t have feelings for him. He didn’t have feelings for you.

And Willow may have been married, but…hopefully not for much longer. Not to a beast like Isaac.

She’d be much better off with Dion, that was for sure.

Willow and Dion were both good. Both caring. And if they’d found a connection…who were you to be upset about that? Especially with your own antics…

You weren’t angry with them. Perhaps a little hurt that they’d not shared it with you, but…you realised, now, that you’d wildly overreacted. Kind of been an asshole.

You needed to apologise — again. If for no other reason than that you selfishly needed Dion’s friendship. And wanted it, too. You would be very lonely here, very miserable, without it.

You were just pushing to your feet when the knock fell on your door.

You dragged in a slow, deep breath, ignoring the ache of your muscles as you trudged to the door and inched it open.

Long red hair was the first thing you saw. And for a second, you thought maybe…maybe Lucien—

No. Dion stood there, looking terrible. Like he hadn’t slept. His skin was paler than usual, and dark smudges sat beneath his eyes.

He took in the sight of you, dragging a hand through his hair. “…please can we talk?”

Without any hesitation, you nodded, stepping aside. Dion’s footsteps were heavy, loaded, as he dragged his feet in and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted.

Dion went still, his shoulders tensing. “Wait—what?”

“I’m sorry,” You repeated, slumping onto the bed. “Like…really, really sorry. How I reacted last night…I had no right.” Never mind the fact that you’d then sucked his brother’s cock.

“Y/N—”

“Wait—before you say anything,” You twisted your hands anxiously in your lap. “I slept on it. And I’ve thought about it. And I’m…I’m not angry. I’d have preferred not to find out like that, but…as for you and Willow…”

Dion’s eyes dipped down. “We’d already discussed, before you saw that letter, that I should try and figure out my feelings with you, first…considering you’re to be my wife. I’m sorry that you had to find out that way.”

You studied him. Took in how utterly downtrodden he looked. And if you weren’t so worried that Lucien’s scent still lingered on you — even after bathing and brushing your teeth twice — you would have reached out and hugged him.

He’d done nothing but surprise you since you’d come to the estate. Impress you. With his kind nature, his thoughtfulness…the intricate workings of his brain. He’d become your friend for a reason. You wanted him to be happy. Willow, too.

“Having the title of your wife isn’t going to make you fall in love with me,” You said quietly. “And vice versa. We’re friends, Dion. And I haven’t worked out, yet, how we’re going to make this work, but…we both know there’s nothing between us. I would never expect you to be alone for the rest of your life because of me.”

“I know. And nor would I expect it of you, either,” he strode closer. “But Willow and I…it wasn’t intentional. I want you to know that.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t.” You shrugged. “But intentional or not…why shouldn’t you be each other’s happiness?”

He blinked, studying you. “I…are you saying…”

“I’m saying…we’ll figure this out somehow. Together. Because Willow is my sister, and you’re my friend. You both deserve to be happy. And Mother above, she needs out of that marriage with Isaac.”

The way Dion clenched his jaw told you everything you could possibly need to know about how he felt. That it was killing him, just as much as you, that Willow was where she was. With who she was with.

“I think if Willow were to have you, she’d be a very lucky person.” You said earnestly. “And if you wish to secretly court her while we figure things…you have my blessing. Hell, I’ll even help you. Especially to get her out of that damn marriage.”

Poor, poor Dion looked seconds from tears. And despite all your qualms about the…scent…that may still linger on you, you stood up. Wrapped your arms around him.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before.” He whispered, resting his chin atop of your head. “If there’s anyone that you are interested in–”

“There isn’t,” You cut in quickly, frowning to yourself, “But…thank you.”

He pulled back, studying you with eyes so soft, you couldn’t bear to meet them. “You’ll find someone, you know. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

All you could manage was a smile in response. There was no way you were ready to delve into such a subject – not when you weren’t quite sure what you would blurt out.

So you thanked him. Hugged him again. Your husband-to-be and friend.

Smoothing things over hadn’t quite taken the edge off of the loneliness, though.

You weren’t sure anything could.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lacheri]

Hello Cherry I have a request! Eren always teasing and being a little mean to the reader so she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine (so sorta like a sub! eren x brat tamer! reader) okay that is all ilysm bye bye

hi Kat!! you send me the best prompts 🤤 I hope you enjoy thank you for requesting ily!!!

too much

pairing: sub/brat!Eren x brat tamer!fem bodied reader

content: Eren’s an asshole, established relationship, ruined orgasms, oral (f and m receiving), humiliation/degradation kink, minors DNI.

wc: 3.5k

notes: this is unedited I literally just wrote this up as fast as I could bc this ask drove me WILD

Your fists were clenched at your sides, fingernails digging crescents on the inside of your palms, knuckles white. You were stomping through your shared living room with your boyfriend, curses and swears leaving your lips. Eren had managed to piss you completely off, feelings of humiliation and frustration fueling the fire coursing through your veins.

It all started earlier this morning, waking up next to your sleepy boyfriend, kissing his cheek sweetly. Your half naked bodies wrapped together in a cocoon of blankets, hair messy and eyelids heavy. Usually, Eren would stir awake and return your kisses with enthusiasm, but he had cracked a single eye open this morning, frowned and grumbled, and pushed you off of him. You had pouted, feeling rejected, and immediately flung yourself out of the bed to get ready for the day. When Eren had finally woken up, joining you in your shared bathroom as you brushed your teeth, he made no effort to console you. He saw the wrinkles on your forehead as your eyebrows furrowed together, a tell all sign for what you were feeling. He simply brushed past you, grabbing his own toothbrush and standing right beside you as if he hadn’t been so recklessly ignorant of you.

When the two of you had spit and gargled mouthwash, he cleared his throat, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, “What’s your deal?”

Your eyes flickered to him for a brief second, and you rolled your eyes and stomped off back to your bedroom to get dressed. Fuck him, if he wanted to start the day off so sour, he was going to get the same attitude back.

Eren followed behind you, smirk still growing, “You’re mad I pushed you away this morning, aren’t you?”

“So you did it on purpose?” you couldn’t hide the hurt in your voice, back facing him as you searched through your closet. You really had intended to ignore Eren for a while, letting him stew in your cold shoulder treatment, but he always knew how to crawl under your skin and get a rise out of you.

“Just wanted to see how you’d react,” he teased, coming directly behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder, arms crossed on his bare chest. “I was right.”

Fury licked flames up your throat and you stepped forward, throwing your boyfriend off balance. You didn’t want to play whatever game he was trying to set up, you had things to do today besides bend to Eren’s will. Hearing his response, it drove motivation into the pits of your mind that Eren was not going to get a reaction out of you anymore today.

However, he had other plans.

Today has been your day off from work and school, as well as Eren’s day off. The plan was to straighten up the house, invite your friends over in the evening and order pizza. Nothing too crazy or over the top, just a nice relaxing day.

Things didn’t quite work out that way. After the two of you had gotten dressed and made breakfast, every single time you tried to clean an object, Eren would somehow get in the way. He pulled books of the bookcase and left them on the floor or any surface he could find, managed somehow to fill the sink with dirty dishes, not rinsing them off to put in the dishwasher, and found every article of clothing between the two of you to toss on the bedroom floor. The hour long cleaning session had turned into the entire day, long enough that you had to text your friends that tonight wasn’t going to work out.

Because every time you made progress in your small home, Eren would find another thing that got added to the list. As much as it infuriated you, mostly because Eren was supposed to be helping you, you couldn’t let it phase you. No, you knew he was trying to piss you off. You weren’t going to crack under his pressure, not give him the satisfaction of seeing you wound up and upset.

The last straw had snapped when he walked into the living room, seeing you pick up the last book he had thrown on the floor, and opened his stupid mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” Eren spat. “This house is a complete disaster.”

Your eyes flickered incredulously to the wall clock, six o’clock it had read, your entire day wasted away, “Are you fucking serious right now?”

You searched for a hint of playfulness in his expression, seeing nothing but his stone cold eyes piercing into you as he spoke without hesitation, “I’m entirely fucking serious. How are we supposed to have company over if you can’t clean a fucking house?”

“Already cancelled,” you fumed, standing up from your crouched position, leaving the book on the floor. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that?”

“You. What? Do you need me to use your name at every sentence whenever I talk to you?” Eren kept edging, a feel of gratification consuming him upon learning his friends weren’t coming over anymore. “How am I supposed to marry someone who can’t fucking clean?”

You felt sharp pangs of hurt in your chest, eyes losing their spark, “Eren, that’s mean. Why are you being so mean today?”

He had only smirked, reveling in your mood switch. In the silence shared then, he announced he was getting a bath, he had such a hard working day and wanted to relax. He had left you in the living room alone, and you felt the anger inside of you bubble up, threatening to go over. You snapped, heading straight to the bathroom where you could hear the flow of water into the tub stop.

The door slammed against the wall as you threw it opened, seeing Eren jump slightly at the impact. His hair flowed down to his shoulders, arms stretched out against the rim of the tub, and in any other situation you’d be crawling into the water with him. He’d be so sweet about it too, bringing you to his chest and giving you kisses while you giggled at the attention. Hell, he’d probably even shower you in compliments and appreciation. Not today though, his eyes hardened as you stopped right in front of him.

“Out, now,” you ordered through clenched teeth. You could hear Eren’s breath kick up, but he didn’t move. “Are you deaf? Get out, now, Eren.”

His body moved before his mouth could protest, standing stark naked in the shin deep water. You could see the steam rise off of his skin, your eyes trailed downwards. Although soft, his dick was still impressive, but the longer you stared at the fleshy member, it twitched and rose a bit. You quirked an eyebrow, realization dawning on you. Oh, so this was why Eren was acting like this today?

You made eye contact with him then, his legs shifting over the rim of the tub, before standing directly in front of you. Your hand whipped up to the back of Eren’s head, fisting his hair, and yanking his head back, exposing every line and vein and bulge in his throat.

“This what you wanted? Wanted to get me all angry so I could take it out on you?” Eren’s dick was rock solid, giving you a physical answer, but you still needed the verbal one, “Answer me.”

“Yes,” he choked out, and his Adam’s apple bobbed along his throat.

“Well it fucking worked. I have half a mind to leave you here, like this, to take care of yourself,” you pulled his hair further, a gasp leaving his parted lips.

“No, please, don’t,” Eren’s voice came out whiny as he begged. You smirked, although he wasn’t able to see it as his eyes faced directly up to the ceiling.

“You’re going to drain this tub,” you began to instruct, tilting his head so his eyes trailed to your hard set ones. “And then you’re going to dry off, and go lay flat on your back on the bed. Do you understand me?”

He nodded feverently, happy you released your grip as his neck had begun to ache. You smoothed that same hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble underneath your fingertips, “Good boy.”

Eren set to work quickly, giddy with excitement. This had been his plan all along, to get you riled up enough to take it out on him. Genuinely, Eren hadn’t meant to start this at all today. When you had kissed him awake, he was having a really good dream he didn’t want to wake up from quite then, and hadn’t meant to push you away. Upon seeing your sad pout, followed by a flicker of anger in your orbs, something stirred within Eren. He began to question, just how far could he push you until you caved in?

Eren didn’t stick around to watch the tub fully drain, he was dried off and on the bed just as you had requested. You leaned against the wall, clad only in your bra and panties, and you watched him with hungry eyes as he followed your every instruction. Your boyfriend was a beautiful man, every part of him intriguing and gorgeous to you. He looked like a Greek God, arms and legs spread out, the subtle light from your bedside lamps casting shadows across his abs and into the V of his pelvis. Eren had a beautiful cock as well, thick and long and veiny, it sat perched on his lower abdomen, twitching as you pushed yourself off the wall to loom over your man.

“Look at you,” you mused, letting a dark chuckle vibrate from your chest. “You’re already hard and I haven’t even touched you yet. You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you baby?”

“Yes,” he answered. The skin on his cock was so taut and tight, feeling somewhat light headed as all the blood was rushed to his member.

“You know I’m going to have to punish you, right? For being so mean to me today?” you batted your eyelashes, crawling on to the bed, sitting on your knees by his side, refusing to touch him just yet.

“I know,” Eren whined, trying to reach out to touch your thigh only to be met with the harsh slap of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” you cooed in false security, brushing Eren’s hair out of his beautiful face. “But that’s okay, you’re gonna’ make it up to me, right now.”

You traced the outline of Eren’s plump lips, resting your forehead against his as you muttered in your darkest voice, “I’m taking away your right to touch me. Convince me you’re sorry, and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Eren squirmed under the heat of your words, eyes darting across your face for a hint of a lie, of hesitation. He found nothing, only the glimmer of lust in your eyes as you gazed down at him. Your fingers pushed past his soft lips, and he needed no instruction to latch on and suck. If this was the only touch he would get of you, your fingers pumping into his mouth, scissoring his tongue, he’d take it all so greedily to make you regret putting these rules in place. He never broke eye contact, curling and circling his tongue between your pointer and middle fingers, imagining they were the divine petals between your thighs. You were doing the same, feeling the gush of arousal slicken you. You tapped his tongue, signaling a release. He parted his now swollen lips easily, eyes pleading.

“Can I kiss you at least?” Eren rasped, his hands twitching at his sides.

“No,” you placed a contrasting sweet kiss to his forehead in your dark tone. “That would be touching, sweetheart.”

Eren held back a whine, knowing it was futile. He was simply going to have to lay there, and take whatever punishment he had coming, unable to escape it or bring you pleasure amongst it all. If there was a glimmer of hope, it was crushed as he felt your face travel down to his neck. You were in complete control, just as Eren had wanted.

You sucked and licked at his throat, your dry hand coming up to squeeze what skin you weren’t kissing. You trailed your lips down, kissing his entire torso. As much as you wanted to spend the time working Eren up, you had ideas swirling in your head. Eren had no patience with you today, so you weren’t going to have patience with him. Besides, it was sort of cruel to not pay immediate attention to his swollen cock.

Your hand slicked in his saliva wrapped around the base of his length, a sharp intake of breath heard from Eren’s lips. It came out shaky as you began to pump, his precum oozing from his tip and meeting the warm wetness of your fingers. You twisted your hand up and down, beginning to feel the moisture rub away, his spit drying. This was no good, and you continued to kiss down his stomach until your lips met the head of his reddened cock. He hissed as you spat on it, hand spreading it all over. Your tongue slipped past your lips, kitten licking at his tip. Eren couldn’t think straight, and he settled his hands above him to try and keep his grip as far away from you as he could.

It was nearly impossible to not grab your hair and slam you down as your sweet lips parted and you began to suck his fat tip. Eren succeeded though, knuckles white gripping pillows, and he heaved out a groan. You swiped your tongue along his slit, tastebuds soaking up his salty precum. You prodded in just a little bit, sending a shiver up Eren’s spine. Your hand still doing most of the work, you thought you’d up the game by throwing your other hand in the mix. Eren let out a high pitched moan, throwing his head back at the onslaught of attention.

“It’s so fucking cruel I can’t touch you,” he whined yet again, craning his neck to meet your eyes.

You popped your mouth from his head, “I guess I’m going to be downright evil after what I’m about to do.”

Before Eren could respond, your hands moved to his thighs and his cock was swallowed into the back of your throat. He couldn’t stop the noises he was making as you bobbed your head unbelievably fast, sucking him more and more until your nose buried into the neatly kept curls above his shaft. You were trying your hardest not to gag, your throat entirely full, and Eren was trying his hardest not to cum on impact. You pulled back a bit, tears blinked back from your eyes, and returned a single hand to work what you couldn’t reach.

Eren’s thighs tightened, his breathing hitching, “Fuck, I’m getting so close.”

At this reveal, your pace only quickened, full intentions of bringing him to his utmost height. Your cheeks sucked harder, tongue lapping the underside of his length, and you were covered in your own spit. Sloppy and messy, just how Eren liked it. How you seemed to like it, as well.

“Right there, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Eren called out alongside your name, hips bucking into your mouth. Your other hand met the swell of his balls, feeling them tighten up as his release was right there. As Eren let out the first whine to signal his climax, you yanked your hands away and slipped your mouth off with a pop.

He spasmed, too far gone to stop. His dick stood tall, shooting his load onto his stomach, throbbing so hard and so uncomfortably that tears rolled down Eren’s cheeks. You had ruined his orgasm. His cock was leaking clear fluid, his body frustrated with the lack of contact, entirely unsatisfied. His jaw slacked open, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at you in disbelief.

“That’s what you get for trying to piss me off all day,” you growled, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. “Stay right there, Eren.”

You got off the bed, reaching into your bedside table to pull out two objects — a tiny vibrator and a suit tie. You yanked Eren’s hands up, tying them to your headboard. You undressed yourself quickly, revealing your naked body to Eren’s greedy eyes. His dick hadn’t softened, still painfully erect and needy as he subconsciously bucked into the air. You didn’t comment, knowing how bad Eren wanted you and your attention back to his pulsating member. You threw your thighs around his neck, straddling the lower half of his face.

“You want me to touch you?” Eren nodded, tears still pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Make me cum, and I’ll return the favor.”

Easy enough, Eren thought, lolling his tongue out for you to place your glistening folds on. You sat down fully, letting out a moan as your hips circled his mouth, your hands latched into his hair. Eren heard the soft click of the vibrator in your hands, and moved his south south, knowing exactly what it was you were searching for.

You gasped as his tongue penetrated your tight hole, walls fluttering around his wet muscle as you slid the vibrator right up to your clit. If Eren had only had his hands, you wouldn’t need that little toy to satisfy you. He’d be doing all the work, bringing you all your pleasure up to your climax. All Eren’s work, but you didn’t want him to have that satisfaction.

Because this was you, and you were in full control, there was absolutely no point in teasing yourself. You were rewarding yourself, Eren just happened to be a part of the ride, literally. You thought of all the mean words he had said to you today, all the teases and inconveniences. Your hand in his hard gripped harder, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as you tried to level your moans.

“You pissed me off so fucking bad today,” your head was thrown back as Eren fucked you with his tongue, your hips pressing down harder. “You were so mean. Now look at you, pathetic. Letting me fuck your face like the little brat you are.”

Eren felt his cock twitch, feeling similar waves of humiliation you had felt today. He knew better than to speak, instead, thrusting his tongue even harder into your entrance to show his response. You were right, he had wanted to feel completely powerless under your wrath, wanted you to use him as if he was disposable, to punish him. When he felt your hand leave his hair, feeling the harsh sting of a slap on his chest behind your ass, he was grateful. This is all he wanted, tears brought to his eyes in pure joy.

Your nails dug into his peck, your orgasm fast approaching, “Oh my God, you’re such a good boy, keep going. Oh fuck, Eren I’m about to cum.”

Eren felt pure pride and love swell in his body, ruined by a cold chill of blinding pleasure. No, no, he was not going to cum with no contact, surely? His scrotum tightened, eyes slamming shut. You were going to be livid when you saw the mess he was creating.

Eren’s cock shot thick white ropes into your back, yes, from that far away. It was just all too much, the degradation, it was like your words had been stroking him up the entire time. His body vibrated, but he forced his eyes to open to watch you fall apart above him.

Your wrist flicked fast with the vibrator in hand, feeling your walls clench and tip over the edge. You screamed breathlessly, pushing your entire lower half into Eren’s mouth. Eren could feel the tingle of your toy against his nose, a small goofy smile on his lips as he thought of how funny it would be if he sneezed. You pulled it away quickly though, mind coming back together as you began to worry about how hard you had pushed into his face. Your orgasm slowed, walls contracting at a much lazier pace, and you lifted your hips.

“Good boy,” you praised, eyes full of love as you reached up to untie his hands. “You did such a good job, baby.”

You hadn’t noticed what Eren had done until you felt a cold brush against your lower back and ass. You hand circled around, feeling the wet sticky spots, and your jaw dropped.

“Eren, did you cum from just eating me out?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he was pleading, shying away from your widened eyes. “Was too much.”

Eren thought you would’ve been furious, instead, a soft laugh echoed in your chest. You moved off of him, laying on your stomach to place a sweet kiss to his lips. He eagerly returned it, happiness tickling throughout his entire body. When you pulled away, you rested your head on his shoulder while his arms circled your waist.

“That’s the hottest thing ever,” you admitted, curling a strand of his hair in your finger.

“I’m going to piss you off more often,” Eren joked lightly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I like this side of you.”

“Please, Eren, don’t. Next time you want me to top, just fucking ask me.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[midnight-dreamerness]

Savior

Chapter 2: Finding Strength

(This is NOT my gif. Credit to the creator <3)

series summary: when your protector returns, he finds you broken and abused and helps you climb out of the darkness

chapter summary: you finally have had enough and you find the strength to escape

pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

warning: mentions of death, acts.mentions of abuse, mentions of self harm

word count: 2.1k

-

Quitting the job you love was really hard. After your brother died you got back together with Kade after a short break in the relationship, you moved in with him. You didn’t have the best relationship with your parents, and it only got worse when Danny, your brother, died while overseas.

You walked into the apartment, your head bowed trying to hide the tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. He’s already home, you saw his car in his usual spot in the parking garage when you pulled in. You could also make out the sound of the tv playing in the living room.

You headed towards the bedroom until he called your name, making you turn and slowly make your way into the living room.

“Did you do it?”

There are empty beer bottles everywhere along with a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table. You sighed but nodded nonetheless, playing with the hem of your blouse.

“Good. Start cleaning. This place is a mess.”

And you did what he said, all day. He made you scrub the floor down with a scrubbing brush. You had to clean every inch of the apartment, while picking up the trash he left behind him all day. When night came, you had officially cleaned everything and cooked him dinner. You sat down at the table, ready to eat after not having breakfast or lunch all day.

“What are you doing? You think you deserve to eat? No. You're going to sit there and think about what you did.”

With sad eyes and an ache in your stomach, you didn’t fuss. You didn’t even say a word. You didn’t want him to see you cry so you held it in as much as you could. You hold back sobs, it creates a burning feeling in your chest and throat.

After you got home yesterday, Kade had been enraged. Accused you of cheating, he didn’t even mention you telling Jay about the abuse. It was worse because it was Jay. He knew your background, and how you fell in love with him when you were younger. Last night's memories were fuzzy after that. All you can remember was the agonizing pain and the god awful headache you had after he slammed your head against the kitchen counter. Kade has made you quit your job, you weren’t sure why.

Kade wipes his mouth with a cloth once he’s finished eating. “I try to be nice to you. But you test me. Every single day, you test me.” He stands from his seat at the table, coming closer and closer to you. You look up at him pleading with your eyes.

“Worthless. Pathetic. Get up.”

You do as you're told and stand up. He roughly grabs your arms, dragging you down the hall. You think he’s heading towards the bedroom but he stops at the hallway bathroom. He opens it and tosses me inside.

“This is your new room now. You should get comfortable,” he snarls. You're on the ground now, groaning. He takes the chance and shoves his foot into your chest.

When will it stop! When is enough, enough for him? Why am I not good enough? What did I do that made him so violent?

These things run through your head as he continues his abuse. Pain and suffering, blood and tears are things you have gotten used to.

It’s an hour later when he stops, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he stares down at you in disgust. You look at him weakly and in pain. You're almost positive you need medical attention, but you say nothing.

“Cheating whore,” he spits. With one final look, he’s gone. The sound of the kick in the bathroom door clicking, only making more tears pool in your eyes.

What has my life come to? When did it get this bad? How did I let it get this bad?

The bathroom floor was ice cold, even with a towel laid underneath you, you were still freezing. You know he bumped the temperature down, torturing you even when he wasn’t at home. You twirled the card between your fingers. His name sticking out along with his number.

Deceive Hay Halstead.

You remember fourteen year old you, rushing into your brothers room where he and Jay were playing video games. You remember how excited you were when you told the both of them you got the lead role in your dance group.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jay had exclaimed.

You wondered if he would be proud of you now.

Would he?

There’s so much history between you and Jay, a lot of things your brother never knew about, and now he never will.

It’s been days since you saw him. You can still see his smile and his perfect white teeth as he spoke to you. You can still feel his body against yours from that day he had you against the wall.

You should’ve told him. You're filled with regret. He could’ve helped you get out.

I wouldn’t be in this stupid bathroom if I had agreed to let him help me.

You could’ve called him the day he made you quit your job. You could’ve driven off, anywhere. Somewhere, where Kade couldn’t find you.

Yet, here you are. You have a few - a lot - new bruises that have replaced the old ones. There’s still a harsh pain in your chest and your stomach from not having eaten in days. You know it’s been at least a week.

He comes and goes. Sometimes you can hear giggles pass down the hallway to your shared bedroom. Then…you can hear him pleasing other women in your bed. The ones he would love you on, on good days.

But no…he is with other women while the woman he should be with is withering away down the hall.

You didn’t scream, you should’ve. You know that now. You were scared he would kill you or those girls. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if something happened to them because of you and your stupidity.

So you sucked it up.

It’s been two weeks. Yesterday had to be one of the worst days. You recall the rage burning like fire in his eyes. He was angry, more than usual. Something must’ve happened. Either way, there’s no excuse for what he did.

The cuts along your back sting like hell. You begged him to stop, and it was a mistake. You should’ve let him beat you till it was out of his system for the night. If it’s even possible, he got angrier. He threw you into the bathroom counter, your back crashing into the mirror, causing it to shatter agains you. Your thigh had hit the faucet, creating a huge bruise on the back of it, but nothing hurt worse than the pain in your heart.

“Pathetic slut,” he snapped before walking out, locking the door behind him.

You sit on the floor only a day later, staring at yourself through the glossy flooring. A large shard of glass sat next to you, your eyes wander to it ever so often. It tempts you. Taunts you like a clear voice in your head.

“Do it.” It would say.

Then you would hear the sound of his voice. Familiar, warm, and inviting. Your heart aches. You miss him.

You can see him at the elevator, waiting for it to open while he looks at you.

“You’re strong. Remember that.”

You wonder why you pushed him away. Why you don’t let yourself trust the one man, that still lives, that would never hurt you.

A sob racks through your body as you pick up the large piece of the mirror and throw it across the room. An aggravated scream leaves you as you stand up with trembling legs.

How could I let this happen? Why didn’t I ask for help? The abuse has gone on for three years.

Your throughts were only “why” and “what if’s.”

He’s taken everything from you. Ripped you from your friends, your old life. You didn’t even notice at the time. You just needed someone. You followed him blindly. He told you you only needed him. Nothing - no one else.

I lost myself trying to please him.

You decided you're done letting him win. You're done letting him control your life. Your choices were dying here in this bathroom helplessly, or die trying to get out. You chose the latter.

You searched around the room in a haste, looking for anything to break the doorknob off. Your eyes trained on the top of the toilet. You take it off, arms falling at the weight. You are weak from the two weeks with no food, but you still find it in yourself to raise it over your head and lm it down in the knob.

You weren’t sure the exact time, but Kade would be home soon. So you knew you had to hurry

One hit didn’t seem to do it, so you raise it again and with a grunt, you use all your strength to slam it back down again. Your mouth falls open in surprise when the knob falls to the floor with a loud clanking noise.

It took you a moment, but you dropped the lid and rushed out of the bathroom. You made your way to the home phone, picking it up with shaky hands.

You're hit with a wave of dizziness, but you still dial the number you now know by heart. You were filled with hope when he answered after a couple of rings.

“Halstead.”

“JJ?”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone for a second, but soon he repeats your name.

“I want out. P-Please help me,” you beg, tears streaming down your face as you pathetically spike.

“Address. I need an address.”

The sound of the front door unlocking catches your attention. Your body goes ridged, frozen in place.

Jay repeats your name a couple of times.

“No. No,” you mutter as you begin to back away.

“Hey! What’s going on? I need an address, sweetheart.”

You somehow manage to tell him the address with a, “please hurry,” at the end. You hang up, throwing the phone to the side. You're filled with dread as Kade stumbles into the room, pulling at his tie. You're starting to regret what you just did.

Kade narrows his eyes, ripping his tie from his neck.

“How the hell did you get out?”

He stalks towards you, and although your first instinct is to run, you stay put. You're done taking the abuse.

“I’m done, Kade. We’re done.” You stand your ground, head held high and a new found confidence in your words. He laughs. It’s evil and sickening.

“We’re done? I say when we’re done!” He exclaims, his hand rising and connecting with your face before you had the chance to move. You fall to the floor from the power of the slap. Although you act confident and strong, you're weak. Two weeks without food would be the cause. It didn’t help that you were still in pain from the most recent beating.

You let out a cry as he pulls your hair back with a huff. “When will you learn?” He asked, pulling your head back so you were facing him.

“You look pathetic,” he laughs. You're slapped in the face once more before being dragged towards the kitchen by your throat. You grabbed at him, your instincts kicking in.

“God, your stupid,” he spat, shoving you into the table. Your eyes widen as you feel your skirt, the same one you’ve worn for two weeks now, being pulled around your hips. You felt hopeless now. You only hoped Jay would be here soon.

“At least you're good for something.” You heard him mutter before the sound of his zipper being undone filled your ears. You clamped your legs together and attempted to move, but it was no use. He overpowered you easily. You cried softly as he moved closer and held you down with a deadly grip on your bruised and cut back.

There’s a knock on the door that paused Kade’s actions. He hissed and pulled away, fixing himself.

“Who the hell did you call? Did you call someone?”

The look of fury in his eyes was enough to have you cowering in fear. A scream rips from your throat as he grabs you by your hair again.

“CPD! Open up!” You heard his familiar voice. The same voice you heard as you laid on the bathroom floor.

Kade’s grip on you tightens. “I’m going to kill you, you little bitch.”

~

A/N: Small cliffhanger? Yep. Chapter 3 should be out Tusedsy! If you want added to the Saviors taglist let me know!

@miranada0102 @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @kelelas-life

(Not sure why some of these didn’t work.)

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Can we see red go apeshit :3 like some thing happened while they were split the boys are worried about them all yeah but he's been the most targeted as a suposed weak link up meanwhile blue green vio are slowly backing away while equipping fire protection gear?

Or the suggestion that since their bodies are crafted from the elements they have minor bending powers?

I saw "Red go apeshit," blacked out, and wrote this. Also inspired by the fwof prompt of a very similar kind!

Warnings: Graphic depiction of injury. If this was on ao3 I would rate it Teen so be careful if this kind of thing isn't your bag. Please check the TWs in the tags.

The first one to go down is Vio.

It's a lucky shot that gets him. Not anyone's fault. Wrong place at the wrong time. The purple wearing smith simply leaps out of the way of one of Sky’s lizalfos punches at the same moment that Blue ducks a tail swipe from another.

It’s just bad luck that the mace-like tail of Blue’s enemy connects with the back of Vio’s head.

The sickening crunch of metal on skull that follows echoes over even the sounds of battle. The tiny, punched out gasp that slips from Vio’s shocked, slack lips is somehow even louder. The crackle of displaced grit and rock as he collapses to the ground is loudest of all.

Or maybe it just seems that way to Red.

Red can’t seem to hear anything else; not the hiss of success the monster spits out, not the concerned shout that pushes its way out of his own throat. Even the pounding of his heart in his ears has gone horribly silent.

Red can’t seem to see anything else either. Can't look away from the sight in front of him. It’s like the world has narrowed down to Vio, the pool of red sprouting from his head like a halo, and the monstrous lizard that stands over him, rearing back, ready to throw another punch now that it’s target can’t get away.

Red doesn't even register himself moving forward. Doesn't even think about it, really.  It’s instinct, a burning tangle of fear and anger in his stomach, in his veins, that sends him diving forward, shield outstretched to deflect the blow.

The beast, not expecting to be denied one again, is thrown off balance with a confused hiss, which Red cuts off with an angry shout and a slash to the things belly.

He turns, sword held at the ready to take on the one that had landed the hit in the first place but Blue is already there, a snarling, unrelenting tide of sword and hammer, protecting Vio’s other side. A decisive mallet swing to the lizalfos' head sends it flying with a crack and a tiny whimper of pain.

They lock eyes for a moment, tsunami meeting lava, and with a quick nod, they take up position on either side of Vio, twin swords a blur.

On Blue’s far side, Red catches a glimpse of Green shoving his own lizalfos away with his shield before turning tail, ducking seamlessly under Blue’s latest swing and skidding to a stop at Vio's side.

Something like warm relief begins to flicker in Red’s chest as Green tosses Vio’s arm over his shoulder and begins to drag the other away.

A flickering relief that is smothered out in the blink of an eye.

Or, rather, in the flash of an arrow.

Between the glint of his own blade and the flurry of punches and tail swipes sent his way by the group of lizalfos in front of him, Red catches sight of one of Wild’s lizalfos lining up a shot too late. He barely has time to register the familiar greenish-yellow energy Red remembers surrounding Wild’s shock arrows before the thing is loosed.

The arrow sings through the air, an arc of crackling ozone that flies across the battlefield, through the swarm of lizalfos bearing down on them before finally diving directly between Red and Blue’s shoulders.

Red doesn't have to look back to know its found its target.

The distorted, jittering scream and acrid smell of singed hair and flesh speaks for itself. As does the thump of two bodies crumpling back into the dirt.

Red feels something inside him crackle at the sound. Feels the moment that the fear and anger twine together in his stomach, twin blazes eating up all the air inside him until he feels breathless with them.

Red also sees the moment that the sound registers to Blue.

And sees the second the dam breaks, releasing the flood.

“Blue, no!”

The warning comes too little, too late. The words are hardly out of Red’s mouth before Blue dives forward with a guttural yell, straight into the swarm of lizalfos, leaving Red to take up position in front of their fallen counterparts, feeling less air in his body by the second.

From there Red only catches glimpses of Blue cutting his way through the hoard. Sees a familiar blade coated in blood, the too fast swing of a mallet as it connects with a head, a flash of dirtied blonde hair. And he sees injuries appear on enemies.  A slashed open throat here, a collapsed skull there. Crushed ribs, ripped bellies, torn tails, gauntlets so dented that blood leaks onto metal.

Any that are injured and foolish enough to stumble Red’s way are taken down without hesitation. Red can’t afford to waste his time with them. He’s too busy glancing back at Green and Vio to make sure they’re still okay, still breathing, too busy craning his neck to try and keep track of Blue.

There is a break in the swarm and Blue crashes into the middle of it, looking bruised and battered but standing. Still standing and snarling and swinging at anything that comes within reach. He’s a tornado of strength and momentum and blade and hammer but he's moving too fast, too wildly. Red can see how each swing pulls him that much more off balance, how every frantic turn tangles his legs further and- and–!

Blue swings his hammer into the chest of one lizalfos, pivots to slash at another creeping towards his back and the momentum of both is just too much for him to handle. His front leg slips in the dirt and Blue goes down hard with a growl, his shoulder and face taking the brunt of his weight.

He’s barely hit the dirt before the lizalfos descend on like vultures, gauntlets and mace-tails raised to strike, completely hiding him behind a horde of green scales and unforgiving steel.

The sound of blunt metal connecting with skin and an infuriated but pained shout is the flint.

Or maybe the spark came earlier, from the electric arrow, the jolted scream.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning of this mess, the kindling a crunch and a gasp and a thump.

Or maybe Red was always on fire.

That's what it feels like at least. It feels like he's on fire. It feels like the burning fear and anxiety and anger have left the confines of his stomach, have coalesced, sparked up his veins, charred his lungs and burned up his throat and he’s screaming.

In an instant, his shield has left his right hand, replaced by the searing grip of the Fire Rod.

And now the fire has reached his skin and it feels like he's caught alight. No longer is fear distinguishable from anger, from rage, all that matters is the heat, the power, and the pain. The heat beginning to gather at the end of the Fire Rod. The pain of blisters bubbling on his hands as the temperature swells higher. The power just waiting to burst forth.

Red screams and screams and screams, a mixture of agony and anger and more, bears his teeth for the lizalfos to see despite the tears boiling down his face, raises the Fire Rod, and lets the world explode.

Everything is a blur of crimson after that. Flames lick at the ground and pull themselves swirling through the air, clawing at anything and everything that stands between Red and Blue.

There might be brief moments of green scales and glinting metal in his vision, seconds when claws and tails and gauntlets score him, bruise him, slice him open, but all it does is add more crimson. More places for flames to escape his body, making it that much easier for Red to cut them down and set them ablaze, filling his sight with scarlet once more.

At once, Red can both feel the heat and feel nothing. Pain and power. Each breath in is agony, filling his lungs with sparks and smoke, and each exhale is ripped from him in a scream, burning so hot that it feels like he might actually be breathing fire.

A roar fills his ears, but Red can’t tell if it's his heart or the sound of the flames or the screams of lizalfos as they fall.

He doesn't care what it is either.

Not with the fire around him. In him. Fueling and fueled by him. Breathing his air and stealing it.

All that matters is watching everything turn to ash and–!

A hand, warm but no scalding, catches his wrist.

Red whirls around, intent on wrenching his arm away, in letting the fire burn and burn and burn until it can burn nothing else.

And then he looks down and sees Blue.

Blue who is looking up at him from behind purpled, swollen eyelids. Blue, with blood dripping from his scalp and nose and a cut open cheekbone. Blue, whose left arm looks to be broken even as he holds Red’s wrist tightly with the other.

“It’s okay, Red,” he says, voice hoarse and lips bleeding. “You got them.”

The words enter Red’s ears, but he doesn't quite understand them. The hand that Blue had caught flexes slightly in its hold and the Fire Rod responds to the call of his magic, sparks beginning to sprout of the red gem once again.

“I-” Red coughs, swallows, tries again. “I got them?”

Blue gives him a nod and a weary, bleeding smile.

“You got them,” he confirms in a voice softer than Red thinks he’s heard in a long time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“We’re…?”

Reality, their situation, it all slams into Red and he whips around, looking back. Behind him is a path of carnage, a path of blacked, scorched dirt, torn and burning scaled bodies, metal gauntlets and tails reduced to misshapen, half melted hunks of steel.

But there, behind the burned dirt and cloud of smoke, beyond any danger, is Green and Vio, the former awake if shaky, still holding on to their unconscious counterpart.

“We’re okay,” Red repeats slowly, numbly, turning back to look at Blue. “We’re safe.”

His body must register the words before his brain does because suddenly his knees are hitting the dirt, bringing Red to sit next to Blue, who wraps his good arm around Red’s shoulder and pulls him gently into his side.

The pain in his lungs and the skin of his hands and any other parts of his body that had been licked by flames, unfortunately, flares to life then, overpowered only by the bone deep exhaustion that comes with using the amount of magic he did.

“We’re safe, we’re okay, we’re safe, we’re okay,” the words keep spilling from Red’s lips in hoarse whispers, even as his throat fails him, and his vision begins to blur.

In the distance, Red thinks he sees eight shapes breaking into a sprint to get to them.

“We’re safe,” Blue agrees, his voice barely making it through the cotton that has stuffed itself into Red’s ears. “You made sure of that.”

Red just hums and nods, letting everything go lax.

They’re safe.

They’re okay.

And knowing that, Red drifts off into the dark, a barely there smile pulling at cracked lips.

[slasherscream]

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers 

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair 

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt. 

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives. 

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off. 

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins. 

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood. 

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came. 

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving. 

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you. 

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it. 

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse. 

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep. 

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy. 

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue. 

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on. 

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem. 

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you. 

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle. 

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world. 

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms. 

You and Pelle don’t fight. 

chucky and tiffany 

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos. 

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man. 

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof. 

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house. 

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway. 

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it. 

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point. 

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face. 

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief. 

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now. 

[bringbackthebastard]

Bring Back the Bastard Daily Prompts

Hello, folks! I'm posting these two weeks before we begin our fest, on September 1st, to give folks some inspiration on what to write each day as we celebrate Severus Snape's pettiest, most dastardly moments. I specifically picked out moments Snaters always harp on, that Snapedom personally enjoys--from any moment with Trevor to bitching at Lupin at Sirius, to the moments that Lily turns away and Dumbledore's face flashes with disgust--sure, he's a bastard, but he's our bastard, and that's what we like about him. You don't want him? Good. We'll keep him. Here are 30 scene prompts for 30 days--it's a long list, pulled chronologically from all seven books, but I found that it reminded me of everything I love about this character. The moments where he's called deranged, the moments where he slips into all-caps, the ugliest moments of the soul. Hope yall enjoy. Excited to kick off the fest starting September 1st, and absolutely excited to see what Snapedom will do. Let's Bring Back the Bastard! The prompts are below the readmore.

Day 1: The Scar Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacheer with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes--and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. "Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head. "What is it?" asked Percy. "N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look--a felling that he didn't like Harry at all. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy. "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 2: Bad Impressions Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new--celebrity."

Day 3: Potions Class "Potter!" said Snape suddenly "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand shot into the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut--fame clearly isn't everything."

Day 4: A Horrible Sight Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but-- "POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back." "GET OUT! OUT!"

Day 5: Maybe He's Ill "Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table...Where's Snape?" Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions. "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him--" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Day 6: Slytherin Takes the Field "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "But I booked it!" "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

Day 7: No Quidditch For You! "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest." "Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Snape looked furious.

Day 8: Expelliarmus! "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry--you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at *him* like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our fist spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course." "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. "One--two--three--" Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Day 9: Only Bite Him A Little Bit, Please "Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

Day 10: Poisoning Trevor The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. "Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small op, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. "Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Day 11: Insufferable Know-It-All Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. "Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between--" "We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on--" "Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are..." "Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf--" "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Fire more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Day 12: Your Saintly Father "I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you--your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't gotten cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts." Snape's uneven, yellowish teeth were bared.

Day 13: Don't Talk About What You Don't Understand "KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end o his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent. "Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..." "The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" --he jerked his head at Ron-- "I'll come quietly...." "Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay...."

Day 14: A Great Disappointment "He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have let somebody in the room with him. When this gets out--" "HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, now very close at hand. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE *OR* DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS--HAS--SOMETHING--TO--DO--WITH--POTTER!" "Severus--be reasonable--Harry has been locked up--" BAM. The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey. "Control yourself!" "See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw--" "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. "Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!" "YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT--" "That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the war ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" "Of course not!" said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!" "Well, there you have it, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further." Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward. "Fellow seems quite unbalanced," said Fudge, staring after him. "I'd watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore." "Oh, he's not unbalanced," said Dumbledore quietly. "He's just suffered a severe disappointment."

Day 15: Haven't You Heard? "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er--Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'....Thought everyone'd know by now...Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night...He's packin' now, o' course."

Day 16: I See No Difference "And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain." "Potter attacked me, sir--" "We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted. "--and he hit Goyle--look--" Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly. "Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth--she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Day 17: The Dark Mark Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He struck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled. "There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eater to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Day 18: If You Are Ready...If You Are Prepared... "Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..." "I am," said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. "Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

Day 19: Obviously "Now...how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. "Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. His eyes on Snape, Harry added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. "You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape. "Yes," said Snape quietly. "But you were unsuccessful?" Snape's lip curled. "Obviously." Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?" "Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. "Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge. "I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily. "Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile. "I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. "Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'--er--backgrounds...." She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson, and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber. "No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

Day 20: Very Like His Father "How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?" Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius' wand-tip to his face. "Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him. "I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better." "Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?" "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?" "Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform...gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand. "NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't--" "Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge. "Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

Day 21: Wormtail's Whine "We...we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly. "Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily. The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove. "Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming--" "Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom." Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him. "I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me." "To assist, yes--but not to make you drinks and--clean your house!" "I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments," said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord--" "I can speak to him if I want to!" "Of course you can," said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."

Day 22: A Loving Caress Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? "Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" --he indicated a few of them as he swept past-- "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" --he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony-- "feel the Dementor's Kiss" --a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall-- "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" --a bloody mass upon the ground.

Day 23: Better People "What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like an of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--" "It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--" "They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" "Then why not confide in me, and I can--" "I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!" There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Day 24: Revulsion and Hatred Etched on His Face "Severus..." The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forward and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face. "Severus...please..." Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. "Avada Kedavra!"

Day 25: Don't Call Me Coward Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi-- "No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them--I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, woudl you? I don't think so...no!" Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight. "Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward--" "DON'T--" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly deranged, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them-- "CALL ME COWARD!"

Day 26: The Guest Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowing revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as thought they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!" "Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

Day 27: I Regret It "All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer." Snape did not speak. "Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen." "My Lord--" "The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine." "My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand. "It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last." And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue. "Kill." There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape's face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. "I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

Day 28: You Hurt Her! "Tuney!" said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. "Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What d'you want?" Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. "What is that you're wearing, anyway?" she said, pointing at Snape's chest. "Your mum's blouse?" There was a *crack*. A branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed: The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. "Tuney!" But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape. "Did you make it happen?" "No." He looked both defiant and scared. "You did!" She was backing away from him. "You *did*! You hurt her!" "No--no I didn't!" But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused....

Day 29: Save Your Breath "I'm sorry." "I'm not interested." "I'm sorry!" "Save your breath." It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here." "I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just--" "Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends--you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?" He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. "I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine." "No--listen, I didn't mean--" "--to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I any different?" He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole....

Day 30: Anything "If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for the mother, in exchange for the son?" "I have--I have asked him--" "You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to drink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?" Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore. "Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her--them--safe. Please." "And what will you give me in return, Severus?" "In--in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

[lavenderlucy]

Bite Your Tongue

Hi everyone! Here's a little “truth serum” drabble loosely based on season four (Pre-Silas and Caroline and Tyler did break up). Bonnie and Caroline experiment with a truth spell and Caroline gets stuck with the consequences. I’m still pretty new at this so please be kind. Enjoy! 

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Bonnie Bennett was at the very top of Caroline’s shit list today. Now she knew why vampires hated witches so much. Not that she truly hated her friend, but she certainly understood the sentiment. Ever since Bonnie started working with Professor Shane she had been practicing different kinds of magic that made Caroline more than a little uncomfortable. But never let it be said Caroline was unsupportive of her friends, so when Bonnie asked for a volunteer for a new spell, Caroline agreed and played guinea pig. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Caroline swore to herself that if she found a way out of this she would never get within spitting distance of magic ever again.  

When Caroline got to Bonnie’s house she listened to her friend explain that this spell would be a game changer when it came to dealing with the Originals that were still taking up residence in their town.

“Trust me, Care. This could really work.” If Caroline had a dollar for every time she had been bitten in the ass for trusting her friends, she would be a very rich woman.

“Is it safe? I mean you aren’t going to like accidentally kill me or anything are you?” Caroline asked, nervousness evident in her voice.

“It’s completely safe, Care. I promise.”  Bonnie’s answering smile didn’t exactly put her at ease.

Overly trusting, stupid bitch would be on her gravestone. Before Caroline could actually agree to the spell, Bonnie started chanting. Caroline found herself unable to move and she tried to tell Bonnie to stop, but by the time she could get her friend’s name out of her mouth, the chanting stopped and the spell was complete. Bonnie looked at her like she was examining her under a microscope.

“Well?” Caroline prompted, eyebrows raised. “Did it work?”

“Who really broke my Barbie when we were six?” Bonnie asked.

“What? What does that have to do with any- me!” Caroline threw her hands over her mouth and looked at Bonnie in shock, eyes wide.

“I knew it! And yes, it worked. It’s a truth spell. The subject of the spell can’t lie. Don’t you see, Care? We could ask Klaus or Rebekah or even Kol anything and they have to answer! We could find out straight from them where the white oak stake is or if there’s another way to kill them. Shane thinks this spell could be valuable.” Delight danced in Bonnie’s eyes.

“Oh of course Professor Creepy thinks it’s a good idea. Are you freaking kidding me, Bonnie Bennett?! All of this for witchy compulsion?” Bonnie knew how she felt about her mind being messed with. “How do you know it would even work on them? And how you know they won’t kill us all as soon as they realize what the spell does?” She was fuming. She could feel rage seeping into her veins and she knew she needed to leave before she could no longer control herself.

“Relax, Care. I’ll break the spell right now. Right after one more question.” Caroline’s body prickled with suspicion and she saw something she didn’t recognize in her friend’s eyes. Professor Creepy has got to be brainwashing her.

“Bonnie I swear to God, do not ask me-”

“Do you have feelings for Klaus?” Bonnie asked pointedly. From the calculated expression on Bonnie’s face Caroline knew she had been planning to ask this very question from the beginning. She wondered if Shane put her up to it. Shane had an unhealthy obsession with the Originals. Caroline wouldn’t put it past him not to know about Klaus’s soft spot for her. Caroline bit her tongue until she tasted blood and glared at Bonnie. She hoped she conveyed just how betrayed and enraged she felt through her eyes. “Yes,” she bit out lowly. “Now undo the spell, Bonnie. Right fucking now.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and started chanting again. Caroline waited for something to happen, but the feeling she got when Bonnie did the spell the first time never came. Bonnie’s chanting grew louder for a few moments before she stopped.

“What are you doing?” Caroline questioned. “Why did you stop?”

“I-I can’t undo the spell. It’s not working. I-” Bonnie looked panicked that her magic wasn’t working.

“Figure it out, Bonnie!” Caroline yelled. “Look, figure out a counter spell and call me when you do. I need to leave,” Caroline spat out before storming out of Bonnie’s house, the door slamming behind her with a satisfying smack.

Caroline let out a frustrated growl and continued walking away from Bonnie’s house and into the nearby woods. She needed to take out her anger on something living, and since killing a human was out of the question, a deer would have to do. She let her monster out and flashed deeper into the woods to hunt. She couldn’t tell her friends, but using her gifts was exhilarating. She loved how powerful and dangerous she felt. Within minutes she hunted down a deer and sunk her fangs in.

When she finished feeding she straightened and wiped her mouth, catching any stray drops of blood. She took a grounding breath and turned back in the direction of Bonnie’s house, calmer than before and ready to help her find a solution to her situation. She barely took another step before she caught a familiar blur speeding toward her in the corner of her eye. Klaus stopped in front of her, smirking and handsome. Why today of all days? Caroline tipped her head back to look at the sky, not believing her bad luck.

“Hello, sweetheart. Out for an afternoon stroll? Although by the looks of it you’ve been hunting. Back on the animal diet then?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans and took a step closer, eyes bright and mischievous.

“Yes! I needed to let off some steam so I came to the woods to hunt so I wouldn’t hurt a human.” The words came out of Caroline’s mouth before she could even think about trying to stop them. She rolled her eyes and swore under her breath. “Look, Klaus you need to stay away from me today. I mean it!” She backed away from him as she spoke, eyes wide and looking for her easiest and quickest escape route. She knew she couldn’t outrun him, but she could certainly try to put some distance between them.

Klaus took a step toward her and put his hands out like he was trying to calm a scared animal. “Caroline, love. What’s—“

“No!” Caroline shouted and closed the space between them and pressed her fingers against Klaus’s lips, effectively cutting off his question. His eyebrows rose in question.

“Please don’t ask me any questions. Please.” Her eyes bore into his, silently begging him to comply. After a few more seconds she slowly removed her hand from his warm mouth. In the back of her mind she wondered what it would feel like against her own mouth instead. Bad, Caroline. She shook the thought from her head while Klaus looked at her in silent confusion. Great. Now he thinks you’re insane.

Klaus gripped her upper arms and peered down at her, worry clouding his features. “Love, tell me what’s wrong. I can help you.”

Caroline shook her head and looked away from him. His proximity and masculine, woodsy scent was overwhelming her already heightened senses. Klaus moved one of his hands to her jaw and turned her face back to his.

“Come now, Caroline. It can’t be that bad,” he reasoned. He continued to scan her features for any clues of what she wasn’t telling him. Caroline’s face heated under his gaze. He took another moment to look at her before his face turned hard, eyes sharp, and asked, “Alright what did your little friends do now? What is going on?”

She knew he probably thought her friends were engaging in another plot against him. She bit her lip until she drew blood. Klaus’s eyes were immediately drawn to the action. “Caroline, tell me. What is happening?” He rasped. Caroline could see lust building in his eyes as he watched her lick away a drop of blood from her bottom lip.

“Bonnie worked with Professor Shane to make a truth spell and she tested it on me. They want to use it on you and your family to get information about your weaknesses. She didn’t tell me what the spell was or what she wanted to do with it until after she cast it.” Desire evaporated from Klaus’s blue eyes and was replaced by rage and wolf gold. His grip on her arms tightened almost painfully before he let her go. He walked backward a few steps and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Are you insane?” He yelled. He ignored Caroline’s whispered, “no” before continuing. “You let a baby witch who doesn’t even understand her powers yet experiment on you! You don’t have any idea of the possible consequences of what you’ve done. For fuck’s sake, Caroline!” Caroline was surprised by his outburst. She knew he cared about her, but he seemed genuinely upset that she put herself in danger. He wasn’t even focusing on the plot against his family. “Children,” he muttered under his breath before asking, “Did the witch say how long the spell lasts?”

“We-we don’t really know. Bonnie tried to undo it after I freaked out, but she couldn’t do it.” Caroline bit her lip again, trying not to think about how hot Klaus looked when he was angry. Totally not the time!

Klaus looked her up and down, eyes dark, before approaching her once again. He raised his fingers to her face slowly and pulled her lip from her teeth. He brushed his thumb across her lips before trailing his hand down her jaw and neck. Caroline tried not to let herself be affected by his touch, but it was impossible. All of her nerves were on fire and the heat was spreading. She’d been fighting her feelings for Klaus for months and she couldn’t do it anymore. Klaus didn’t look in any better shape than she was. He was breathing harshly and staring at the porcelain skin he was touching. He met her eyes and spoke, voice deep, “Do you like this?”

“Yes,” she replied, moving impossibly closer to Klaus.

“Do you want me to touch you more?” Klaus looked like he was barely holding himself back from ravishing her right there in the woods.

“Yes. I want you to touch me.” She tilted her head to look up at him before surging up and pressing her lips to his. Yes. Klaus quickly took control of the kiss and deepened it, his tongue licking the seam of her mouth. Caroline gasped and he took advantage of the opening and brushed his tongue along hers. She always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Klaus. After all, he had a thousand years of practice. He definitely did not disappoint. She knew she would be ruined after this. No one could ever compare to the feeling of his lips moving over hers. Caroline bunched the fabric of his dark gray Henley in her hands before running them up to his shoulders and into his dirty blonde curls. Klaus circled his arms around her waist and pulled her firmly into his body. Caroline tugged on the ends of his hair making Klaus growl in his chest. She felt her nipples tighten in response.

Klaus broke their kiss to trail his lips down to her neck. He took his time nipping and licking a spot over her pulse that Caroline didn’t even know existed. She threw her head back to give him better access and let out a breathy moan that sounded almost like his name. Before she could form a coherent thought, Klaus dropped his hands to her ass and pulled her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She wrapped her legs around him, the skirt of her yellow sundress bunching at her hips. He flashed them forward to a tree and pressed her against it, hands moving her waist. The bark scratched her back and sent a shiver down her spine. He returned his lips to hers and stole her breath away. Caroline dropped one hand from his hair to grip his necklaces and pull him even closer. Her other hand went to the back of his neck and she dug her nails in. He groaned loudly and his hips jerked into hers in response. She gasped into his mouth at the delicious friction and rolled her hips against his. Caroline was determined to give as good as she got so she pressed her breasts against his chest and bit his full bottom lip before soothing the sting by sucking on his tongue. The growls and moans he let out traveled straight to her core. Klaus pulled the straps of her dress down her shoulders harshly and peeled the cups of her bra down to squeeze her breasts and roll her nipples between his fingers. Caroline moaned loudly and she could feel herself becoming impossibly wetter. Klaus broke their kiss and pulled back slightly to meet her eyes. His pupils were blown and ringed with gold.

“Klaus,” Caroline whined, trying to pull his lips back to hers. Klaus smirked devilishly at her before moving his lips to her ear.

“Do you want me, Caroline?” The way he said her name was downright sinful. “Do you want me to have you right here in the forest?” His lips brushed against her ear one last time before he bit her earlobe, making her cry out. His eyes met hers again as he waited for her answer.

“Yes. I want you right here.” Caroline eyes were glazed over with lust and she didn’t care that anyone could see them out in the open. She tried to lean in to kiss him, but he held her back. Klaus chucked lowly at the look of frustration on her face.

“What do you want, love?” He was teasing her, playing with her inability to lie to him. Under normal circumstances Caroline would be seriously pissed, but she couldn’t summon any feelings other than desire and lust in that moment. For some reason she found the power he had over her extremely hot. He could ask her anything he wanted and she had to tell the truth.  

“I want you to fuck me and make me come against this tree.” Caroline wasn’t typically this vocal during her romantic encounters, but she couldn’t help it. Even without the spell Klaus probably could have gotten her to make the same confession. Klaus smiled wolfishly at her before rolling his hips into hers, making her throw her head back and moan. She inwardly cursed her panties and his jeans. He’d been hard for her since the second she kissed him and right now she needed that hardness against her, inside her.

“When I have you, love, I want to take my time. I want to spread you out on my sheets and worship you until you can’t remember anything but my name. I want to spend hours between your thighs and brand myself along your body. I want to make you scream until your voice is hoarse and your body is so sated that your vampirism can’t help you. I want to fuck your tight little body right here and make you call my name to the skies, but the first time will be in my bed where I can ruin you for anyone else. I’ll make you so desperate for me that you won’t be able to even think of anything but my cock and tongue in you. But I’ll not deny you the orgasm your body is craving right now.” Klaus’s voice became deeper and his accent got thicker as he spoke. Caroline thought she might combust just from his words.

Klaus moved back from her just enough to get his hand between them. He ran his fingers over her soaking panties before moving them aside and slipping his fingers into her wetness. “Fuck, love. You’re so wet for me,” he growled. He brushed her clit once with his thumb and sunk two fingers inside her core, making Caroline cry out and moan his name. Klaus hoisted her up higher on the tree and began working his fingers inside her before taking her pink nipple into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. Caroline had never felt anything like this before. By no stretch of the imagination was she a blushing virgin, but none of her other lovers had left her as wet and desperate for touch as Klaus. She clenched her thighs tighter around Klaus as she rode his fingers.

“Klaus,” she bit out. Klaus released her nipple and began sucking and biting her neck with blunt teeth. “Tell me what you want, love, and I’ll give it you. Just give me the words.”

“Rub my clit and make me come. Please.” She begged. Klaus doubled down his efforts and put his thumb back on her clit before adding a third finger to her tight pussy. Caroline let out a strangled moan and moved her hips faster against his hand.

“That’s it sweetheart, give it to me. Ride my fingers. Come for me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Caroline exploded around his fingers with a high-pitched moan and saw stars behind her eyelids. She lost track of time while she was coming. When she finally came down she met Klaus’s gaze and he looked like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her chest was heaving and his eyes dropped to watch her breasts move up and down.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. He removed his hand from her and brought his fingers to his mouth to lick away the evidence of her need for him. Caroline thought she might come again from the sight of him licking her off his fingers. She was about to try and persuade him to forgo his original plan of a bed and fuck her in the woods when he dropped her legs from his waist and righted her bra and the straps of her dress. The tree at her back was the only thing keeping her upright. Klaus pressed a gentle kiss against her lips before pulling back with a grin. He looked as wrecked as she did. She could still make out the hard line of his cock under his jeans and she sincerely hoped he wouldn’t make her wait once they got to his bed.

“Alright, love. Come with me. There’s a witch in Charlotte that owes me a favor. I’ll have her meet us at my place. She’ll be able to remove the spell.” Klaus grasped Caroline’s hand in his and began pulling her in the direction of his house. Caroline’s body finally caught up and started moving.

“But Charlotte is hours away,” She said, a smirk forming on her lips.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to entertain ourselves in the meantime.” He looked at her over his shoulder and threw a wink at her before flashing off with her through the trees.

[blzzrdstryr]

Misery

Sadistic!Yandere!Diluc x Fatui Harbinger!GN!reader

Wordcount: 6748

CW: torture, sex, foul language, isolation, sensory deprivation, extremely unhealthy relationships, dubcon, mindbreak, violence

Diluc isn’t a cruel person. Not necessarily. He punishes you only when you are difficult and for the last few weeks you tried to stay on your best behavior. Ragnvindr is nice to you, benevolent even, willing to look past your former affiliations and shower you with love. At times his affections seem suffocating and irking, blood red eyes following your every movement and him absorbing your every word as if it is a holy scripture, but you remind yourself that his love is the best thing that happened to you in your whole life.

Truly, Diluc is so kind to take you in and help you fix the errors of your old ways, even when you were snarling and spitting insults in his face, too stubborn to see how wrong your old life was. You were ignorant and ungrateful back then, seeing nothing but a Harbinger title and service to Tsaritsa. You forced Diluc to lock you up to make you realize that you didn't need your title or your vision or your archon. He is there for you and it's all that matters, you can rely on him for everything and he is happy to provide, persistent in his care for you and even now he is patient with your… deficiencies, waiting when you stop staring into the distance with vacant eyes.

You stand in front of an open but barred window, a typically Mondstadtian landscape revealed to you - bright green grass and patches of dandelions and windwheel asters growing in small groups with tall trees of the same shade finishing the picture. A gentle breeze flows through the opening, playing with your hair and caressing your skin, yet you imagine another type of wind - stronger and colder, relentless and carrying small snowflakes on the way. You close the eyes and see another image - tall, leafless trees covered by multiple layers of snow and the white ground between them. Snow shines and glitters under the pale winter sun, and you feel alive and bitter at the same time.

You know the place, having been there once, but your memory now is too blurry and fuzzy. All of the events prior to Diluc fixing you up are too foggy to make out the finer details and it somehow makes you feel sad, when you should be grateful instead. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t make them stop, rapidly going from silent crying to full on hysterics.

You hear Diluc asking what’s wrong with a concern in his voice, his hands slightly shaking your crying form. You can’t answer him, wailing even louder and stronger, hiding your face in both hands, ashamed from the sudden outburst and overwhelmed from unreasoned sorrow and heartache. Only when Ragnvindr painfully squeezes both of your shoulders and demands to know what is wrong with you in that tone that makes you shiver and gasp, do you stop, looking at him with wide scared eyes, hands that were used to cover your face, are now up in the air in a semi defensive stance.

He seems uncomfortable by your reaction, a slight frown appearing on his face, scarlet brows knit together and corners of mouth turned downward. “I am sorry”, you say, voice small and pleading, eyes casted aside not meeting his out of embarrassment. Why did you start to act so childish out of the blue?

“There’s nothing to apologize”, Diluc takes off the glove, using an uncovered hand to wipe away the tear tracks from your cheeks. There’s no irritation in his voice, just concern, so you risk a glance at him, as he continues: “You are just making me worry”

“I am sorry” you repeat, feeling a prick to your heart, as you process his words - Ragnvindr is so good to you, providing with everything you could ever ask of, and here you are, making him concerned and anxious over some silly daydreams. “It’s really nothing, I just need to be more attentive, that’s it”

You noticed that it’s harder for you to stay in the moment as you start to frequently space out, mind too occupied by the memories of days long past - playing with peers, entering Fatui, receiving a delusion. It’s a futile thing, but images still consume all of your attention and focus, keeping you from sleeping and eating.

“[First], I...” he starts, but then trails off, huffing to mask his hesitancy. Instead of talking he takes your face in one hand and leans in, his lips meeting yours. It's a slow and gentle kiss at first, but just like all other things with Diluc it quickly escalates into something more: his hands now take you by your waist and tug you closer to him, making you press with your entire chest against him, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue freely exploring the confines of your mouth as you moan into his from pleasure and such close proximity.

When you two part, Diluc leaves you flushed and dizzy, with heart quickly pounding against the ribcage. You feel a fire of arousal igniting inside of you, it travels from your chest to belly and soon spreads to the rest of the body. Your cheeks heat up as you stand up on tiptoes to whisper “Can we do it right now?” in Diluc’s ear, voice full of both shame and anticipation.

“Of course, my dear”, there are hints of a smile in his tone and he effortlessly lifts you up and heads for the bedroom and as he carries you you can’t help but zone out again, the memories of past days flashing in your mind.

***

Your first meeting happens during one winter night, as you receive the order to deal with him day prior, at a Harbinger meeting in the Zapolyarny palace. Eleven of you stay kneeling in the main hall, awaiting for Her Majesty to come in as Scaramouche and Tartaglia start to bicker as usual.

“I bet it’s about that mysterious person who’s destroying one stronghold after the other” Childe starts, voice full of bravado and smugness, fake smile blooming on his face: “Fortunately, Tsaritsa has me to take on whatever this stranger is”.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, Tartaglia”, Scaramouche remarks, almost spitting out the last word.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am the youngest here, yet I am also the strongest. Why are you so upset? Feeling envious of my power?” Childe retorts, voice still sounding too cheery to be natural.

“If there was anything to envy. You may be the best at fighting among us, but it’s the only thing you are good at”.

“Huh, it seems I was wrong. Maybe little Scaramouche wants to be as tall as me and that’s why he spits out his funny silly slander”.

It must have struck the nerve, as Scaramouche snaps back with an angry tirade, from which their exchange escalates into a heated battle of barely hidden insults. You, just as the rest of other Harbingers listen to their conversation, half amused and half irritated, lifting the brows at the creative mockings.

“Silence”, domineering and overpowering voice says and you still yourself, eyes casted downwards, as Childe and Scaramouche stop their exchange at the same moment. Footsteps echo throughout the hall, as a feminine figure takes its place on a high throne in the middle of the hall. Tsaritsa has arrived.

“As I can see my children already know about the perpetrator attacking my servants” archon starts, divine power and absolute authority evident in each syllable. You feel how the deity’s eyes look at all of you, despite still keeping head bowed and stance obedient.

“Innamorati”, you hear your title and lift up your gaze, ready to take whatever order the Goddess has for you.

“I entrust you with this task, don’t disappoint me”.

***

Diluc is not a coward and he never was one, but now he can’t help but feel a pang of fear, looking at your approaching form.

“Let’s test our delusions, shall we?”, you almost purr, voice soft, silken smooth and full of unspoken threat. It sends shivers down his spine, yet he still equips this cursed thing and braces himself for the upcoming battle.

There’s a stillness in your moves, a confidence that whatever Diluc has in his arsenal, you can endure and answer with something deadly in return. This dangerous calm both disturbs and excites young Ragnvindr.

He lashes out on you with a stream of accursed chains, filling the air with the sickly sweet scent of mist grass. You easily side step his attack, letting out a cheerless laugh and then come back with a cold gust, frost air currents easily cutting through his skin.

He barely dodges the attack, slowly registering the pain from injury. It’s a shallow cut and a testament to your strength, Diluc thinks, as he touches the scrape, marvelling at your speed. In the end, Diluc can’t stand against you - you’re stronger, have more experience and infinitely faster than him, bringing down one overwhelming attack after the other, a catalyst shining and glowing as you do so.

He jumps and ducks and runs, avoiding one hit after the other, yet there's only so much his body can do. Soon his limbs grow heavier and his breathing labored, Diluc slows down and that's when your attack finally strikes him. It pierces his body, pools of blood quickly forming under him.

Diluc falls down, his battered body no longer able to stand. Memories and regrets alike flood his mind, reminding him of deeds he wishes he did and deeds he wishes he didn’t. He remembers his childhood - all daydreams and high hopes, the world around him bright and friendly. He remembers his father's dying face and Kaeya’s guilt-ridden expression. He remembers overwhelming helplessness and grief transforming into righteous anger and hate.

It all seems so pointless now - leaving the Mondstadt, breaking all bonds with Kaeya or spending years in a mindless massacre, satiating his thirst for revenge by destroying one Fatui stronghold after the other, with no regard for his body or spirit. What was the point of it all, if he's still there, lying and bleeding to death, as you look down on him?

He throws, what he thinks, the last glance at the world, a strange thought appearing in his mind as he looks at you: I want them. As Diluc's consciousness fades he misses a sound of an observer's footsteps.

Later, as he gets saved by the said third party’s observer, who commented and praised Diluc’s methods, he replays the encounter in his mind, getting confused at this particular thought. Why would he want you? Maybe he wants you to die or maybe he wants to see you defeated, but in no way he sees you as desirable. In the end he blames everything on his oxygen deprived brain at the time, explaining the strange attraction he felt for you at that moment.

Having a near death experience and a taste of his own dying regrets, he decides to return to Mondstadt and as he does, thoughts about you continue to pester him. They fly around and buzz, reminding Diluc of your face, eyes and voice, of your body and skills and that terrifying speed you attacked him at. He swats them away like a noisy, annoying flies, suppressing and burying feelings deep, deep down, and naming his interest in you “a desire for revenge and retribution”.

***

Your second meeting happens once the news of a sudden Stormterror attack reaches Tsaritsa’s ears - a perfect opportunity for acquiring anemo archon’s gnosis and a new step in her rebellion against Celestia. She thinks about sending La Signora at first, as your fellow Harbinger is fast and ruthless, able to complete a job no matter the cost, but soon archon changes her mind and picks you instead. For secrecy and subterfuge, she adds, don’t disappoint me.

I won't, you promise more to yourself than her, as Tsaritsa never asks but orders. With your head bowed in deep respect and the heavy gaze of the goddess on your form, you decide that you will do your best to bring cryo archon's vision into reality. You are dispatched to Mondstadt the same week, first by ship, then by carriage. Pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya quickly morph into bright Mondstadtian green, and you finally arrive.

Despite or maybe because of Mondstadt having almost nothing similar with Snezhnaya, it steals a breath from you for a moment - city stands on a lone isle in the middle of deep blue lake, tall windmills and bright red roofs seen from a distance, along with a giant statue of Barbatos blessing the city.

Acting Grandmaster Jean greets you, her stern blue eyes intently observing you, as she says standard Favonius salute and you return your own cliche lines - about Tsaritsa’s concern and a peacekeeping mission, empty phrases that don’t elaborate on what actually Fatui will do. She fails to suppress a frown upon hearing it, sensing your real intentions, but you pay it no mind - Jean has no way or reason strong enough to ban you from Mondstadt without causing a diplomatic conflict.

You turn on the heels after brief negotiations, heading for the Goth Grand Hotel, mind already full of plans and schemes of obtaining the Gnosis. Before you departed, Tsaritsa shared a very interesting fact to you - throughout the centuries Barbatos used only one mortal form, disguising himself as a young cheerful bard named Venti. You dispatch a couple of agents and cicin mage to look for a person fitting the description, and then turn your attention to the rest of the fatuis.

You scold Anastasia for unprofessional rudeness towards Jean. “We need to maintain a benevolent image”, you say to her, right before demoting her and temporarily sending her off to Dragonspine as a punishment. Under your rule fatuis cease sneering and belittling Mondstadt in public, lessening no doubt growing ire of locals.

All goes well, until several events happen. Stormterror attacks the city and some blonde foreigner fights off the dragon, wielding mind blowingly strong anemo powers and riding the wind, like a flying bird. Then your agents finally find a bard, reporting that “Venti" prefers to spend a considerable amount of both time and mora in two local taverns - Angel’s Share and Cat’s tail.

You don civilian clothing, heading for the former tavern and send off a couple of other disguised agents to the latter one. Now, stripped of your mask and harbinger attire, citizens stop gawking and staring at you, their eyes passing your form, as you make your way as an ordinary passerby.

No one pays you attention, as you enter the tavern, save for the strange six fingered bard at the entrance. He tries to sell you his performance, but you wave him off, heading for the bar. And here you see him again - you recognize the unknown attacker, his bright red hair and eyes betraying him the same second. Your faces mirror in recognition as a tense silence settles between you.

“So what is Fatui doing in this tavern?”he asks loudly and half of the customers stop drinking and stare at you. You sigh “enjoying” the atmosphere he created, and utter a premade excuse: “Mondstadt is known for its wine industry and the best wines are sold by Dawn Winery. It would be a shame if I left the city without tasting its finest drinks first”.

You glance at the red gem on his collar, an obvious heirloom of a famous clan: “Didn’t know that Ragnvindr heir would spend his days working as a bartender. You must be Diluc, then. Am I right?". He doesn't dignify you with an answer, preferring to wipe the glasses and serve other customers, his eyes still observing you from time to time.

You quit the tavern early, as “Venti”, as it turns out, leaves the same second he hears about your presence. You order agents to spy on him, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, that you don't get a chance to act on.

You get attacked by Diluc on your way to the Windrise tree, where according to your intel, Barbatos decided to go. He slowly pulls out his claymore and you notice a difference between old and current him.

He is calm this time, his movements lacking fervent hatred and anger that was present during your first battle. He must have gotten stronger then, if he feels so confident, entering a battle with you. Or grown foolish, your mind supplies.

You start to fight, exchanging one blow for another, as he surprises you - there's no barbed chains rushing into your direction, only an orange light fire surrounding the claymore. A pyro vision dangles on his waist, glowing and shining as he activates it's powers. You masterfully dodge his hits, shooting combined anemo and cryo attacks from the catalyst.

Suddenly you step on a burning grass, and hiss and close your eyes from the sudden pain. Diluc uses this time to disarm you, his heavy claymore crushing a delicate catalyst into small pieces. It happens so fast, that you are left speechless at the sudden turn of the battle tides.

With no weapon left, all you can do is dodge and run - you almost reach the city again. it’s walls become visible as you do your best to push your body beyond limits, fatigue weighing down on every muscle. Diluc sends a phoenix - a damn phoenix! - on your way. Fire licks your skin and scorches ends of your hair, but you manage to dodge it too - if only by a small chance - and fall to the ground, mind drifting off to the unconscious world.

***

You come up to your senses slowly and gradually; first there are sensations - a rough rope around your wrists, wet, yet rugged stone walls, then the smells, tastes and sounds - stale, musty air, a coppery blood on your tongue and a shift of a fabric, and then the images at last - dark basement and a bright red blotch, that after a time becomes a head.

There’s a man sitting beside you, Diluc Ragnvindr, your memory supplies. You feel calm and confused for a moment until you remember the fight you both had. Seems, he finally overpowered you.

“You are awake” he says, voice grim and quiet.

“It seems I am. Let me guess, you dragged me here because you want to know what this big bad harbinger plans to do?”. Control your breathing, don’t let him hear the tremble of your voice, don’t let him see the fear in your eyes.

He looks at you with an unreadable gaze and you hold his stare, looking absolutely untroubled in return, a knowing and somewhat self-confident smirk playing in your lips. No matter his status in Mondstadt, Diluc kidnapped you, one of the fatui Harbingers and a close associate of Tsaritsa. His action, no doubt, will force Fatui to severe action, an action that neither his nation nor his people will be able to withstand.

“Think bigger”, he finally says: “I don’t care what you planned to do. I already have you here, weak and helpless. No, what I want is intel on what your goddess and organization are after”.

“Oh, mister Diluc, you want to play a big game? It’s dangerous in case you didn’t know. Maybe after I tell you all of our wicked plans, you will wish you had never asked” you purr, sensing how it grates his nerves, despite him keeping his face and stance impassive.

“How so?”

“Tsaritsa is the greatest of all seven, her vision is absolute. Even if you learn of her plans I doubt you will be able to stop any of them”.

“I asked what the plans were, not what you think of cryo archon”. Diluc’s voice becomes a tone louder, the already present frown on his face subtly deepening.

“Then I am afraid you won’t get any from me”.

He suddenly gets closer to you, his hand yanking you by your head. You hiss, trying to free the bound hands, as he drags you to a nearby barrel with water by hair and then he dips you in it. You instinctively jerk in his hold, a cold water seeping in your nose and mouth as he holds you underwater. Ten second passes, twenty, thirty, you jerk again, your head throbbing and aching from the lack of air, he pulls you upwards.

You nearly black out from the abrupt change, gulping down in the air and coughing out water. He repeats his question and you deny him again. He dips you more, each time becoming a bit longer than the last, only to repeat his query. You lose how many times he lowered you into liquid, absolutely wet and shivering now, when he finally stops and ties you up to the same place you woke up to.

“We will continue tomorrow, I have business to attend to. I suggest you use this time to rethink whether you want to tell me Tsaritsa’s plans or not, as I can get much worse” He heads for the exit from the basement, as you greedily inhale the air.

“Wait”, you say, still breathing heavily: “Aren’t you afraid of the punishment? You kidnapped me, a harbinger, and then proceeded to torture me. Tsaritsa will have your head for this slight against her.”

“Tsaritsa won’t find out. Your Harbingers won’t find out. No one will find out if there’s no evidence”. He steps closer to you, his voice becoming firmer with each word.

“And how do you think you will manage to hide the evidence? You left the knights years ago, you are nothing but a businessman at this point. I doubt they will cover up for you”.

“How did..”

“Oh, Diluc, people talk and I am very, very nosy. That girl, Donna, she told so much to my subordinates about you ”, you mock her, imitating her high breathy manner: “Oh Diluc, he was the youngest captain, but then he left. I wonder why he left? Maybe the knights wronged him!”

“Honestly, with the amount of ire you subject poor knights to, only a deaf and a blind won’t know about how much you despise Favonius Order'', you continue, anger and hatred seeping into your voice.

“I still have connections”, he says absolutely nonchalantly.

“Oh, do you bribe them, then? You criticize the knights for being corrupt, yet you are willing to ask them to hide my abduction? It’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Diluc doesn’t answer this time, finally stepping out of the room and locking the door. You sit alone in a dimly lit room, water still all over you and heart quickly beating in your chest, trying to calm down. Later, when your heartbeat stops booming in your own ears, you pray to Tsaritsa, asking Goddess to grant you strength and endurance.

***

You manage to doze off once your clothes are almost dry. The dreams you see are vague and murky, dripping with a sense of unease and anxiety, you see dark silhouettes that morph into looming shadows that later transform into phantasmagorical monsters. It must be why you wake up the same second door opens with Diluc entering the room.

He looks grimmer now, more determined. You brace yourself for his hands tugging at your hair again and lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but none of it comes. He uses a dagger to slice your clothes off, careful not to damage skin underneath. Out of pure nerves you quip some stupid joke about dining first, but he pays you no mind, his hands soon touching your bare legs and looks at them with a filthy stare, his red eyes consuming revealed flesh.

You still under his stare, heart pounding as you try to distract yourself from the thoughts of what he might do to you right now. Almost a minute passes, when he finally stops staring at your legs and begins to move his arms, caressing your inner side of the thigh instead.

You shift from the discomfort, alarmed when his palms start to heat up. He wants to burn me, you think and barely stop yourself from screaming by biting your lip. A disgusting smell of burnt flesh fills up your nose as tears start to travel down your face. He removes the hand, revealing two angry red imprints with a collection of small blisters already forming. Diluc, again, asks the same question, and just like the last time you refuse to answer.

He does upkeep his threat of becoming much worse, with his hands burning your naked body - he targets sensitive spots or joints,so everytime you shift or move they throb and burn, disturbed at the smallest of motions.

“You're not the one to think about the consequences, are you?”, you ask when he finishes, voice quiet and raspy from screaming.

"No one will find you".

"I am one of the Tsaritsa's most trusted servants, of course they will find me", you pretend you don't hear desperation in your own voice.

"Time will show", Diluc says philosophically, looking as gentlemanly as possible despite him torturing you seconds ago.

"Yes, it will", you agree with him, picturing the bastard's face once he gets thrown in prison.

He leaves the room and you allow yourself to slump, careful not to move burned areas too much, and then he returns again, this time with food and medicine. He works fast at bandaging and disinfecting the burns, seems he is as intent at patching you up, as he is at tearing you apart. As he swathes another burn, you look at the brought food.

It’s unlikely he would drug it to make you tell the truth, given that he already tortures you and he doesn’t seem to be a type to play mind games. It still could be laced with poison though, not lethal one, that would be counterproductive, but the one that can cause pain and tremors all over your body. You’ve seen such substance at work once, when Il Dottore decided to show you the fruits of his experiments - victims were thrashing and shaking on the floor once a five minute mark had been passed, by the twentieth they already admitted to all crimes, regardless of how innocent they were.

It might be even a new torture method, devised by Diluc, just to strip you from the short respite when you are not in pain. He finally looks up to you, finishing the bandage, noticing the stare you look at the food with. "It's not poisoned" he guesses your thoughts, taking a small bite and a sip to prove his words. A minute passes, then the second and the third ones, nothing happens with him, no blushing or paling skin, no wide blown or pinprick pupils, nothing. It still could be a slow acting poison, but you doubt it - they're usually harder to cure, Diluc wouldn't willingly consume it given the long list of aftereffects that remain even after antidote was administered.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stay to feed you, leaving you with food alone. It’s a potato hash browns, absolutely unseasoned and cold. You almost swallow them whole from hunger, realizing how starved you are once the smell of food reaches you. After a day(?) of fasting, satiation hits you full force, drowsiness pulling at every muscle. The tableware he brought is metallic and easily bends, so you can't smash it and use sharp pieces, nor are there any utensils to weaponize. You lay down on the side, as something falls on you. It's a stone.

Your hands take it, feeling its shape - mostly smooth with one angular protrusion. It's not sharp or pointed enough for you to cut through the bindings, but with enough time and effort it can break the rope with friction alone. You begin to work, grating the rope again and again, fighting off the sleepiness.

***

Diluc nods to Adelinde, as he returns from Mondstadt after signing the contract with winesellers from Inazuma. She understands this wordless gesture, starting to talk: “The.. guest you brought has eaten, last time I checked they still were awake. I did my best to be quiet, master Diluc”.

He dismisses her, thanking for her observations and decides to go down himself. A strange sort of fascination fills him, as he turns the key in the lock, that also prompts a burning shame that he grew accustomed to in the last few days.

It’s an awful thing, to find pleasure in another’s suffering - a trait of a heartless monster, as his father once said, but despite the chagrin he still can’t help but feel a quickening of the pulse as a pained whimper escapes your lips. It’s addicting honestly, to have you of all people, naked and trembling and helpless at his total control, when you were so close to ending his life just a couple of months ago. He supposes it's a type of karmic punishment to you, a fatui harbinger, no doubt a killer and horrible person - you deserve it, he tells to himself - you deserve it for being a fatui.

Moreover, you are not only a terrible, terrible person that deserves much more gruesome torture that he allows, you are also a source of priceless information - how many lives will be saved and avenged if you just tell him what fatuis plan to do. You are a harbinger, you are bound to know something, unlike most of the fatui.

Diluc carefully glances at you as he enters - you are still sitting in the same spot he left you in, head slumped low and shoulders relaxed. It seems you are asleep. He still makes his way to you, steps slow and quiet. Your hands are bound with rope and Diluc knows how much the rough fiber pulls and chafes at skin, grating it to the blood and ropeburns - he needs to use this short respite to quickly disinfect and bandage you again.

Diluc crouches down, as you twitch and then something aims for his head, he flinches a second too slow to dodge. You nearly manage to hit him right in the temple. His head almost splits in half from the burst of pain, vision blurry and disoriented.

You quickly stand, enduring the pain from the burns and make your way to the room. Diluc runs after you, panic and anger distorting his face in equal manner - he can’t let anyone see you like that! - but you manage to lock him in using his own keys. He kicks and thrashes the door, angry at himself for not carrying claymore with him, as something loudly collides with the wall at the other side. He hears a short surprised yelp and whimper - your whimper and the too familiar footsteps descending down the stairs- Adelinde.

“Master Diluc? Is everything okay?”, the headmaid unlocks the room, concern in her voice:”I saw.. the guest running out of the basement, so I pushed them back before other maids could see”

“Everything is fine, check on the Harbinger, I still need intel”.

Turns out, you blacked out upon the impact, a small trail of blood making its way down the head. Diluc is still angry at you, head throbbing and hurting, his hands itching to hit and burn you, but he can’t allow himself to lose control: you are hurt and he doesn’t want to kill you.

In the end, it’s all predictable, Diluc muses, you are an animal first and human second, your allegiance testament to that. He was too soft, too forgiving on you and you decided to twist his kindness like a blade in the back. His head still hurts, but he finally calms, reasoning your attack as an outlash of a mindless beast.

He carries your limp body in hands, finally taking out of the basement and takes you to one of the guest rooms at the second floor of the winery - it’s a risky move, but you injured your head and in Diluc’s experiences such traumas almost always carry a great risk - maybe you will even forget who you are and there’ll be no one for Diluc to interrogate to.

Placing your body on the bed he clasps a cuff around each of your limbs and gags and blindfolds you. After a second, he asks Adelinde for cotton and stuffs your ears full of it.

Human mind stripped of all stimuli is such a dangerous thing, tearing itself apart.

***

You wake up to darkness and silence, head slightly pulsing from pain. You lie on some sort of very soft bed, silk smooth sheets consuming and hugging most of your body as you wiggle your limbs, tugging at the cuffs.

A small wave of panic washes over you, as you remain absolutely blind and deaf to the world, but you try to remain calm, unsure if Diluc is standing near or not. The bindings on your hands are made of iron now, so you soon stop, knowing it's a futile thing. The only thing you can do is wait.

You don't know how much time passes between you regaining consciousness and the air shifting around you. Having been stripped of both sight and hearing, your other senses became a bit sharper, mind focusing on them to compensate. It's a subtle change of pressure but you still feel it, it's enough for you to guess where this person stands. Suddenly hands grope at you, touching and probing the place near burns. You would scream if it wasn’t for the gag, from pain and violation alone. It's a smaller palms, judging by sensations, they change the bandages. After whoever that was finishes patching you they leave you alone, their departure evoking both relief and sadness - they were a source of stimulations, stimulations that your mind desperately needs.

You start to tug at the bindings again - this time to procure pain, just to feel something again. You are bored, you are in pain and you are scared - not the best combination. Soon, you decide to distract yourself from ever increasing boredom with memories. Images of your past life flash and change before you - here’s you playing catch and hide and seek, here’s you receiving a vision, here’s you entering fatui and climbing through the ranks, here's you receiving delusion from Tsaritsa’s own hands and here's you battling Diluc for the first time.

I should have killed him, you think, I should have spent less time talking and more time fighting, the bastard wouldn't live to see another day and I wouldn't be here.

A strange feeling of panic settles in your bones, as you try to occupy yourself, it's subtle but never ending, slowly growing with each second. You try to daydream but you can’t, not when you are cuffed and your body burns. You try to reminisce again, but you can do only so much, memories becoming dull and repetitive. Soon, the subtle panic becomes not so subtle and you realize you are gasping and thrashing, limbs achings as you rub them against the rough shackles.

You must have blacked out or drifted to sleep, because the next time you wake up you feel a bit different - a little cleaner and more sated - they tend to me, when I am unconscious you realize. Diluc wants to limit all interactions I have.

You don't know how much time you spend there in the end, but it has a profound effect on you - at first the concept of sharing fatui plans with your captor seems nonsensical and traitorous, but after a couple of days-weeks(?) of being chained to one place with limited movement and perception, it stops looking like such a bad idea to you.

Time distorts around you, you can't tell how long you were lying there, seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into near eternities. At one point you started to cry again, scared and panicked and then you proceeded to scream.

***

Diluc comes to you again, taking out the cotton and blindfold from your person. Your eyes hurt and your head starts to ache again from the rush of noises, and you blink a couple of times to see the man before you. A strange mix of emotions washes over you - you hate Diluc, you truly despise him with every fibre of your being, yet now Diluc is the only person you have, the only person you see. It’s so confusing and overwhelming that you start to cry, unable to process any of the feelings.

Diluc looks as prim and proper as ever, as he shushes your crying and promises to let you go if only you will tell Tsaritsa’s plans. You almost believe him, Fatui secrets dancing at the tip of his mouth, yet you hold on to the pieces of your loyalty, slowly shaking your head. He asks you again, doubt and concern in his voice. It will be better if you tell me, he says, his hand still stroking you, don’t you want to walk and see again?.

His hand stops stroking you, face turning back to stone when you refuse him for the second time. He fixes blindfold and cotton again and part of you is howling - it’s scary, so scary to be left alone with nothing but your thoughts.

This time you start to break far faster, having tasted freedom for a mere second. You break down and tell Diluc everything you know next time he visits. His hand on you feels like salvation and punishment at the same time. At the end of your confession you are too empty, all of your secrets laid before him, no place for sadness or grief left inside of you. You feel whatever was inside of you was scorched off by Diluc and it left you thoroughly burnt. Dead. Made of ash.

“My name is [First]”, you wail and howl, shoulders slightly shaking as you do. You want so much to have some human contact, to hear someone call your name for once.

It’s cathartic in a way, to tell all the secrets your mind has been bustling with ever since becoming a harbinger. He doesn’t flinch or frown when you tell what exactly you witnessed or did, intently listening to each word.

He keeps his promise and uncuffs you from the bed, but you are still not allowed to leave the room, which doesn’t really disappoint you. There are books and a small barred window that opens a view to the wineyard, a feast for the starving mind. You spend at least an hour standing at the window at first, amazed that you can see people working.

He gifts you clothes and other books, assigns a housemaid to look after you, the same one that pushed you down the stairs when you were running away, she doesn’t speak to you, preferring to avoid your gaze.

Sometimes you do feel sad - you betrayed Tsaritsa, you betrayed your homeland, you lost both vision and delusion - but you quickly shove it down, unable to process feelings properly. You know you are defeated, having seen similar behavior from fatui prisoners, and Diluc knows it too, a malice and triumph and satisfaction burning on his eyes, despite the impassive face.

He sees you as a trophy, a reminder of how he reduced the great fatui harbinger to your current condition. He orders you around and punishes when you disobey, calls it reeducation, calls it teaching you how to be a decent person, calls it a punishment for your sins. A part of you wants to retort and point out his own failings, but you stop yourself at the root, unwilling to be stripped from the world again. You comply, you suppress, you break little by little. It all pleases him.

You learn to love what hurt you the most out of pure fear.

***

“First?”, it’s Diluc, shaking you slightly by the shoulders. You snap back to reality, seeing that he already carried you to bed and undressed you.

“I am here, you can continue” you whisper as he leans down to pepper your chest and collarbone with kisses, and then hiss as he bites you.

“Mhm, that’s good,” he says, warm hands traveling down to your thighs, caressing the inner side: “Could you spread them a bit?”

You obey, equally parts scared and excited.

Truly, Diluc is the best thing that happened in your life.

Note: All fatui harbinger names are taken from commedia dell'arte. Innamorati are a couple of lovers, madly in love with each other and with the idea of being in love. I thought it would be ironic.

[its-deputy-caleb]

Four Lord’s with a ftm!S/O

a lot of ppl requested a ftm reader with the four lords so i tried to incorporate them all together here, i know everyone’s experiences are different and for people who are trans everyone is at different stages of transitioning so this may not be for everyone: to try and be as inclusive as possible the four lords talk about different areas of transitioning! As always pls enjoy!!

Alcina Dimitrescu

One would simply assume that because Alcina openly shows her distaste for men that she wouldn’t give you a second glance. But you’d be wrong about that.

She’s extremely overprotective of people that she loves and as a member of her family you hold a special place in her heart.

Alcina has been by your side the whole time you’ve transitioned, making sure you’re comfortable everyday and complimenting you every chance she gets.

She has the maidens make you the finest suits with all the expensive accessories like ties, pins and brooches. Everything has a gold inlay and while it may be overwhelming at times she says that you deserve to be treated like a king.

Alcina makes sure the maidens cut your hair every few weeks so that you’re always looking sharp for when you’re at family dinner with her and her daughters.

If anyone is transphobic or misgenders you she will not hesitate to cut them to ribbons on the spot, her long claws ready to kill whoever could’ve hurt you. She’ll never stand for anyone who offends her family.

“Here in House Dimitrescu, we support trans rights!”

The Castle is your sanctuary where you’re allowed to be yourself. Not only does Alcina love you for who you are but the girls adore you and see you as a fatherly figure to them, you’re the perfect addition to their family and they’d change nothing about you.

Donna Beneviento

Donna is your number one supporter. The minute you told her she wrapped her arms around you and said just how proud she was of you.

She’s quite the seamstress herself and so she always finds time to make you clothes for you to wear. Some of your favourite things to do together is explore the old Manor for fabrics that you might like.

It took her a few weeks to perfect but eventually she made you a binder that you could wear. She spent ages finding the right fabrics and threads to use, even taking trips to the duke to make sure the binder she made was safe for you to use.

She never forgot the smile you had on your face when you had it on for the first time looking in the mirror, a brand new shirt over the top. It was the first time in a long time where you saw yourself for who you are.

You and Angie get on like a house on fire, causing mischief where you can and Donna can’t help but smile when she sees you both return from some adventure in the lycan den, covered in blood and chuckling. Donna and Angie couldn’t be happier to have you in their lives.

Donna loves you so much and is always there for you through your dysphoria. She’s always patient and will listen to you for hours while you get everything off your chest. She’ll sit with you and rub slow circles on you shoulder, an arm wrapped around you as she tells you how amazing and handsome you are.

If Donna so much as hears someone misgender you or provoke you, Angie is coming at them with a pair of scissors and a mini army of dolls behind her. Hearing those things about you makes her blood boil and it’s one of the few times she gets truly angry.

What you love about her is how she sees you for yourself and doesn’t define you for being trans but instead sees it as something that builds to someone who she already loves regardless.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore has the biggest heart when it comes to you. He understands what it feels like to be rejected and to feel like you don’t belong anywhere but he could never imagine what it’d feel like to be a stranger to your own body. That’s why he’s always thought you were so brave for being who you are, no matter how hard it can get sometimes.

He does a lot of research, trying to find ways that he can comfort you and support you. Of course as a physician he’s got some medical background and that’s why he’s never failed to support you through your medical transition, whether it’s hormones or surgery it’s something Sal can understand and wants to be there for you.

If you have scars, he loves them. He’s constantly complimenting your body and telling you just how perfect you are to him knowing that it helps with your dysphoria. If you don’t have scars it’s still the same, he’s still your biggest supporter and doesn’t love you any less.

You love taking walks together or doing activities on the lake like fishing or swimming. There’s been times when you’ve protected him from lycans and other creatures to which he always refers to you as his “knight”, a nickname which has stuck with you.

One thing Salvatore hates is when people are transphobic towards you. He hates to yell and get angry but he won’t hesitate to turn into a giant fish and spit venom back onto anyone who tried to do it to you. Maybe he loses his cool from time to time but you mean the world to him and you bring out his protective side.

Salvatore just wants to see you happy at all costs and he’ll do anything to make you feel more like yourself. Sometimes that involves running to the top of the hill behind the reservoir and announcing to all who’s near that you’re the man and that you’re the most amazing person. And sometimes it means you’re curled up on the couch in front of the television with a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hand and a cheese platter for you to share and cuddle up together afterwards.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl is super supportive and understanding when it comes to you being trans. He’s always chill and makes you feel comfortable but in his softer moments will make you feel loved beyond imagination.

He makes you armour, teaches you how to fight, lets you pick out weapons you like until you’re more skilled and cunning to defeat even him. He’s so proud of you and is always by your side through all your transitions.

The two of you often get up to a lot of mischief together, sneaking into Alcina’s castle for good wine or taking on the giants near House Beneviento. It’s a way for you to be care free and allows you to be who you are without judgment.

If he sees you’re feeling dysphoric about your scars, he won’t hesitate to show you the array of scars he’s obtained from the battlefield. He’ll tell you about how you should be proud of them; they show how far you’ve come and how much you’ve fought for who you are. Of course Karl will also boost your ego by telling you just how tough scars make you look.

You and Karl spend your nights working away on new designs for armour and weapons, welding long into the night and modifying the machinery on Strum. It ends up with you both passed out on the couch, covered in grime and sweat far too exhausted for a shower.

Alcina called it the behaviour of “man-things” and that you and Karl could at least make the effort to bathe but it ended up with you both bursting into laughter and getting right back to work, wearing your boyish behaviour with pride.

Regardless of the fun you had with Karl, he truly cared for you and understood what it was like to have bad days. That’s why he’s always been supportive and does his best to show you that he loves you no matter who you are.

[bakugosbratx]

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write a story when y/n is the crazy one and kidnaps Bakugo. Tysm ! -meena

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Content. Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, cursing, mental illness, blood, abuse, drugs, etc.

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hmm this is a different turn of events. I love it 👀 I hope you enjoyed anon! I went a little wild with this one.

Words: 2.2k

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @miriobaby @lanarist @sickchildren @bakugousbrat @ssplague @ahbeautifulexistence @m779 @vinny-likes-to-play21

“Dear Katsuki,

I watched you save a civilian on television today. I know it’s your job and all, but you did not have to save her. Her life is not as important as mine. Do you not cherish what we have? Am I just a nobody to you? This is my 103rd letter to you and still no response. I know your address did not change so do not give me that pathetic excuse, Katsuki Bakugo. Surely, you must remember we are soulmates. We are one. How dare you fucking forget me? I had to rip all of my posters down in a fit of rage. You know how angry that makes me, baby, but it will all be okay, because you are coming home to me. We will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

You burst into a fit of giggles as you kick your bare feet back and forth on his bed. You wrote in black ink and covered the paper in orange hearts since it is the pro-hero’s favorite color. You could not help but leave precious lipstick kisses on the page. Something you always do in your love letters to Katsuki. The posters in your house are covered in them. Katsuki’s beautiful face is just so kissable. You cannot wait to do it tonight.

All you can think about is Katsuki. That is all your day consists of. Your clothing is all his merchandise and his favorite colors. You spend hours upon hours watching interviews, videos, surveillance footage of the hero. When he is out on patrol, you do your best to hide in areas so you can see the hero up close and personal. Your face just beams with joy at the mere glance of him.

You did your best to meet him several times. Any disaster there was to be had, you put on your nicest attire, do your make-up just how you think he likes, and have your hair freshly done. No better way to greet your significant other after hero work than looking like a beauty pageant queen.

Sadly, all your attempts were failures. Katsuki did not even give you the time of day. He is way too focused on beating the villains to a pulp. You did admire this about him, but your own selfish desires created hatred in you. He should be paying attention to you. Not those pesky villains.

Katsuki is sure to receive forty-five letters addressing the issue. All that he will never even skim over. This is only adding fuel to the fire.

The posters that hang in every single room in your apartment are ripped to shreds. Pools of tears covered your orbs, smudging all of your makeup. You climbed onto your black sofa, taking your left high heel and breaking the glass photo of Katsuki hanging there. Shards of glass sprinkle the couch and hardwood floor below. You don't even care for the pieces that collected into your skin. You will worry about that later.

“Fuck you, Katsuki!” You sobbed, ripping his face with your teeth and spitting out the saliva covered photo onto the litter filled floor.

“Pro-Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite saves another civilians life yet again, taking down another member of the league of villains who was terrorizing the victim.”

The news anchor’s words fell on deaf ears as you went to the television screen. You are captivated by your significant other’s beauty on the tv. Blood leaked from your freshly manicured hands. They are painted orange and black as always.

“Oh, Katsuki,” you sighed with a smile, tracing a heart around his face with your leaking blood, “we will be together soon. I promise, baby. I’ll take you away from this sick, cruel world so we can live happily ever after.”

You were serious that day. You planned it on your calendar. The countdown began on the night you are going to be one with Katsuki. A day you knew you both looked forward to.

“Dear Katsuki,

Did you miss me? I know I missed you. I even stamped this letter in my blood so you can have my DNA to mix with yours. I can’t wait to procreate with you. We will make such wonderful babies, don’t ya think? They will be so beautiful like you. I will be such an excellent mother. No woman can be a great wife to you like I can. Do you understand me?”

You had to pause writing as your blood started to boil at the thought. Your pen is already creating a huge ink spot from the anger consuming your hands. Small growls escaped your parted lips as you began to growl.

“If I can’t have you, no one can, Katsuki Bakugo. I am your one true love. You're one and only. And I’ll make sure that day comes. Just a few more days, baby, and we will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

The day finally came. You knew Katsuki’s schedule by heart. You loved watching him do his morning routines with the security cameras you placed in his home. The poor male never even thought to check. Such a mistake on his part. It only confirmed he needed protection from the world. Only you can provide that. Sure, you may be quirkless, but no one knows Katsuki like you do. No one can love him like you. He knows this. He has to.

You drew a luke-warm bubble bath with nice lit candles, rose pedals, a few drops of your blood, and some freshly made desserts for you both to enjoy while you catch up. You are even so kind enough to fetch him a beer or two so he can relax. You know how he enjoys his alcoholic beverages after a long day of hero work.

You rested on his bed. The natural caramel scent engulfed your nostrils as you wrote letters into your notebook once more. Even when you two are officially together forever, you still love to write out your thoughts. You know he enjoys them as well.

Hours upon hours passed. Frustration arose overtime. You did not want to be angry with your spouse, but he knows better than to be home late on your special day. You have almost filled up your notepad with phrases upon phrases of ‘I love you’s’ and sweet nothings. Along with other things.

You tapped your bandages covered foot on the ground as you began to pace. “What is taking him so long?” You huffed aloud, growing more impatient by each passing second. The bath is beginning to become cold and that is just rude in your opinion. You decided to write out your emotions.

“Dear Katsuki,

What the fuck is taking you so long, huh? It’s so fucking aggervating and just plain rude. I have done so much for you only to toss me to the side like I’m nothing. Are you cheating on me? I do not tolerate disrespect, Katsuki Bakugo. You are going to make me mean and you know I hate being mean to you. You just make me jealous, baby. You know how you do that to me. Make me feel all types of emotion I can’t seem to understand, but one thing is for certain is that you and I will be together.

Sincerely,”

You did not even get to finish your final entry as you hear the front door downstairs unlock. Scrambling to put the diary away, you gather the necessary items from under the bed and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Katsuki’s natural loud ways was helping you locate his every move without even having to look at security footage.

All you have to do is be patient.

Katsuki sat on the couch, propping his sock-covered feet onto the glass coffee table and turning on the television. You allowed him some moments to get settled before gently tip-toeing down the stairs, rope, duct tape, and a blunt object ready in hand.

Just as Katsuki turned to acknowledge your presence, the crowbar hit his head, knocking him unconscious. You quickly attend to his wound — not without dropping some droplets of blood into his — so it does not get offended. You cannot have your husband getting an infection.

You tie up his hands and legs, duct tape his mouth after delivering kisses to his perfectly plump lips, and drag him to the kitchen. You did not realize how much your lover really weighed. Too much time was wasted dragging him to the fridge than preferred, but it will all be worth it in the end. You know it will be.

Katsuki did not wake up until the next day. You stayed by his side the whole time, telling him about your day and how much you have planned for you two. Of course, he needs to build his trust with you. You love a very intelligent man and the last thing you need is for him to be against you.

Slowly opening his crimson eyes, his attention is brought to a grinning you. Katsuki immediately attempts to escape the captivity he is in, but it is no use. You just had to buy special rope that cancels quirks.

“Struggle all you want, Katsuki-poo. There is no escaping me.” You chuckled, loving the way he squirmed and furrowed his eyebrows at you. All of his curses are mumbled by the tape which is probably the best considering you did not want to be insulted right now.

“When you calm down, I’ll take off the tape.” You bargained, shrugging nonchalantly as you kneel in front of the man. Did this calm him down? No. You know it wouldn’t regardless. You know Katsuki better than he knows himself yet you already want to push his buttons. The way he gets so angry turns you on and you can’t just help yourself but want more.

After a couple of hours of Katsuki complaining and you writing even more in your diary, he decided to calm down. This made you happy. You wanted to hear his beautiful gruff voice.

Grabbing the corner of the tape, you rip it off. Katsuki is already barking insults. “Are you fucking insane? Who the hell even are you? This isn’t going to end well with you, you psycho bit—“

A hard slap to his face interrupted Katsuki’s spill. Along with the duct tape you placed back on his mouth. “Such a meanie,” you pout, “and here I was about to be so nice to you.”

This cycle repeated itself for three days. You never left his side once. How could you? He is obviously in distress. He needs you by his side. He cannot do anything without you. Especially with his hands tied behind his muscular back. Katsuki finally decided that playing the game is the only way to win it.

You ripped the tape off once again. Katsuki did not even speak this time. “Did you learn your lesson?” You quizzed with an arched brow. “Y’know being a meanie is not going to get you anywhere, Katsukikins.”

“Why are you doing this?” Katsuki inquired, his gruff voice sounding so weak and hollow. You almost felt bad.

“You’re so silly, Suki. C’mon,” you brought your lips close to his, “gimme a kiss.”

Reluctantly, Katsuki did as instructed. Considering you are straddling his lap and his powers are useless, he has no choice in the matter. You loved the compliance.

“Good boy.” You praised, ruffling his messy blonde hair. Katsuki glared at you. “Will you be good and eat some food for me?”

“I don’t want your stupid ass food.” Katsuki growled, laying his head against the bottom freezer of his fridge.

“Nonsense, Suki.” You giggled, feeling extremely joyful to be with Katsuki. You bring a spoon of Miso soup up to his closed lips, “have some. I blew on it so it’s not too hot.”

“Get that trash away from me, you idiot—“ Katsuki was interrupted by a spoon entering his mouth. Though he would hate to admit this, the soup tasted delicious and he is quite hungry. He put up a fight, but allowed you to feed him properly until every drop was gone. Unfortunately, Katsuki is unaware that the soup is drugged until it’s too late.

His body began to feel numb. He did not even have the strength to ask questions as his eyes became drowsy. Soon, he is slumped over, sound asleep as you manage to drag him up the stairs and into your shared bed.

Planting kisses all over structures, you tuck him in and finish some late night entries in your diary. Skimming through them all and reflecting on how you got here now, it made you smile. Progress has been made and will continue to do so.

Signing off on the final page, you write:

“Dear Katsuki,

These past three days have been exhilarating. I see it in your terrified eyes how happy you are that I am here. I know how much you missed me. I missed you, too, baby. We will continue to grow and soon, we will have children. I even have my menstrual cycle all planned out. I am all yours and you’re all mine. Can’t you see, baby doll? We are forever meant to be.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

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