#hate that word cringe but there is nothing else to describe it as for once

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face��� the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[stardustedknuckles]

There was a woman sat on the curb with a typewriter when I left taco bell, with a sign taped to her folding table advertising personal poems written for you on the spot. And you know... Sometimes you have to let people surprise you. I stopped, in my Dyke shirt with my caduceus clay book in one hand, and I told her I've never seen a poem about asexuality that wasn't sad.

We chatted for a good fifteen minutes, in which she - self describing as hypersexual - asked me more about my experience. She had friends who were on the ace spectrum, which was a relief on my part to not start from zero, and I just told her what I could. About growing up with friends who would stop talking to me once they got partners and tell me I would understand one day, about how it feels a little like being in a musical but never having heard the words everyone else knows or learned the steps to the dance they're all doing in unison. We laughed together at the way I'm mystified by story plots that revolve around bad decisions made due to being just that horny, a situation she was intimately familiar with and having a 43-year life full of those stories.

At the end she asked if I happened to have a title in mind and at first there was nothing. I hate titles. I tend to default to song lyrics for ao3. But as soon as she asked, I remembered standing in the cafeteria in eighth grade and being annoyed that all the Greek gods of love were of that kind of love. I remember wondering if there was a god/dess of friendship, and I remember the closest I found was Philotes: goddess of friendship, affection, and sex. In eighth grade I took the last one with a kind of "that's close enough I guess" attitude, but at 30 I think it's perfect actually. Lack of attraction has nothing to do with what feels good. There's nothing out of place about it to me these days.

I hadn't thought about that in years, no idea why it came to mind except I was also thinking of eighth grade me when I talked about my friends fucking off one by one to be with their partners. She wrote down the spelling, thanked me warmly for the talk, and returned to her typewriter.

I spent the next half an hour with a delightful Dyke who gave me a business card, on which her title was printed - no joke - "Lesbian Mayor of (neighborhood)." She was my parents' age and when she remarked with the utmost sincerity and approval that "you're kind of a weird big bang theory" I choked down the feeling of being directly assaulted and said hey, my dad watches that.

At some point Lisa finished her work on her typewriter. When I arrived it was fully light out, but by then it was getting dark. She stood in front of the bench where I was, fumbled on the phone light, and read to me what she had typed. And damn if the first two sentences didn't take me right the fuck out immediately. "I thought in middle school that if I was ever going to write a poem it would be an ode to Philotes," I had told her, a memory that comes with the affectionate sort of cringe reserved for your twelve year old self, earnest as they still were. And the same feeling came over me as she read the poem out to me - but it wasn't cringe I felt. It was the feeling that I had started something in 2005 that was only taking real shape nearly 20 years later.

I don't know if it's a "good" poem. That was never my strength. But it was written for me and for me, and the opening line "build me an effigy that transcends flesh" knocked the breath out of me immediately. I have the paper here beside me on the couch, and it feels like the kind of thing that goes in a treasure box, or maybe a frame.

I also had to remind her to give me her zelle so I could pay her - clearly also affected, she had turned to start on the next poem (a raunchy sex limerick as requested by a guy in a backward ball cap and boat shoes) and had forgotten entirely.

It's gonna overdraw my account when an auto payment hits next Wednesday, but honestly... Worth it. I just wish the fee would've gone to her instead of the bank.

Let people surprise you.

[lightpeak]

How My Depression Got Its Name - Script

If you asked me ten years ago what I want to be when I grow up, I’d probably have a pretty concise answer for you. “I wanna be a writer!” My naive eleven year old self would say. And I suppose that answer has always held true. Though, for reasons I’ll explain, the prospect of growing up seemed more life fantasy to me later on. For that reason, my answer isn’t the same anymore. And it all has to do with my depression, and how and why I named it.

They say blood is thicker than water. I suppose that’s why no matter what I did, I couldn’t escape that depression and mental illness runs in my family. But early on, I coulda fooled you. I was a happy kid, as far as I remember. Sure, life wasn’t perfect, but I was fooled into thinking it was. But I don’t think I’m writing this script, or making this video to tell you all the intricacies of why my life sucks, or sucked. I’m doing it to tell you about how in some part, I overcame it.

My mind is not a very fun place to be. This very fact is what drives people to do what they do. We are all master escape artists. Escaping our own thoughts, and escaping the accountability of avoiding ourselves. This is why, I suspect, many people avoid therapy. You’re basically voluntarily spending an hour paying someone to hold up the most vivid mirror there is. Accountability.

But everyone needs some form of therapy. Turns out mine, however, has been writing deeply personal and honestly dark poetry. For the last five years, I’ve been doing just that. It started out as a new way to express myself and my frustrations. Harmless fun. Although at some point it became a siphon for my darkest feelings towards myself and the world at large. Others found it deeply upsetting to read, and even more disturbing, my willingness to share it with the world. I was creating something I thought was beautiful. Turns out I was just giving a platform to a monster.

I should probably backpedal and describe the scene. I’m 16 years old. I’m in the worst time of my life mentally. And I’m giving a platform to my pain. But this pain sounded like hate. I don’t think I could quantify who it was for. Maybe me. Maybe my parents for creating a vessel for pain to inhabit. Maybe the world. But it was hate, and it was above all else, embarrassing.

I couldn’t have my name be associated with these words. Even then, I knew I’d look back and see this darkness, and my name, and cringe. So I created a pseudonym to scapegoat all of it. Nathan. And he continued to write, and still does. And I feel safe from my words.

Although as time went on, and my feelings began to get larger, and more raw, I needed somewhere to offload those too. After all, up until this point, if I’m fighting my depression, I’m fighting me. So Nathan soon became a name for my depression. An alter ego of sorts. Someone to fight. Someone to hate. Someone to beat.

This helps sometimes. And although sometimes isn’t always enough, especially when looking back, or from the outside. It helps anyway. When I’m alone with nothing but my thoughts, I’m really just alone with Nathan. And at that point, it’s just a matter of who will. And don’t we all just wanna beat the shit outta someone named Nathan every once in a while?

In the end, I’m not the same kid I was ten years ago. I’m also not the same lost cause I was five years ago. I’m someone new. Someone carrying a little less of existence’s problems on his shoulders.

If you learn anything from me today, or ever, let it be this:

Don’t give up. If you need to fight to survive, make sure you fight like hell. Pretend you’re fighting some asshole named Nathan. I promise you’ll win.

[rek88k]

jfc was reading an old email correspondence from like 2012/13 and 

o h boy

the cringe

anyway to the three people i talked to via text the most who are still floating around here- yami, james, and terra i am SO SORRY rip my writing

[hansensgirl]

put me in a movie.

summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.

warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 6.5k.

pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.

You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.

You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.

They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.

You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.

Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.

That was until you saw him.

Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job. Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.

They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.

“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.

You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.

He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.

Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.

“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”

You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.

You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.

You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.

And you hope to God they work.

Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.

Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.

The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.

Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.

You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.

The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.

His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.

And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.

“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.

You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.

You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.

“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.

“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.

You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.

“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.

You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.

“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.

Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.

“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.

There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.

You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.

Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.

“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.

Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.

The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.

It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.

You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.

You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.

Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.

You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.

He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.

Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.

He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.

He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.

He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.

Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.

His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.

Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.

You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.

Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.

“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.

The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.

“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.

You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat. His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.

When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.

“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.

“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.

A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.

“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.

Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.

Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.

Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.

Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.

You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.

“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.

He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.

“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.

You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.

“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.

He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.

“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”

[weasleylangs]

opposites attract - f.w.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff Fem!Reader Summary: The quiet, Hufflepuff bookworm has captured the heart of the mischievous Gryffindor.  Warnings: none! Word Count: 2k

A/N: For the anon that asked for Fred with a Hufflepuff reader who he’s uncharacteristically sweet for! I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you (and everyone else who reads it) enjoys it!! 

P.S let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!

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Y/N sits in charms, completely zoned out. Charms was always her best subject and she was luckily one of those ‘never study, always pass’ students. The same could not be said about her boyfriend, however, who was sitting across the room trying to tickle his best friend with his quill and distract him.

Y/N and Fred were an unusual couple, and no one understood how the shy Hufflepuff girl managed to catch the mischievous Gryffindor’s attention. Fred’s idea of a good time was turning the corridor into a swamp or roughhousing during quidditch practise whilst Y/N’s was curled up in front of a fire, a nice book in her hand. But no one questioned it, because somehow they made it work.

Fred caught her eye and winked. They’ve been dating for six months now and he never gets tired from the shy look on her face when he looks at her. She shakes her head, hiding behind her hair and turning her attention back to Flitwick as he drones on about their assignment. 

When the bell rings, signalling next period, Fred’s across the room in no time. Y/N has her head down, grabbing her notebook and quill when Fred snatched them out of her hand whilst simultaneously grabbing her bag from the floor. “I’ll carry them for you, love,” he said, smiling.

This wasn’t unusual behaviour. Before the couple got together, everyone always thought Fred was a flirt and was hooking up with different people every weekend, and whilst they were right at the time, Fred is absolutely whipped for his badger girlfriend and hasn’t even looked at another girl since their first date. He’s always wanting to carry her books or he’s slinging an arm around her shoulder.

She has him wrapped around her finger and he couldn’t care less.

“You don’t have to do that, Freddie. You know my bag is heavy,” she says trying to grab the bag from him. Fred only takes three classes, considering the three O.W.L’s he received in their fifth year, meaning sometimes he only has one class a day. However, Y/N managed to receive ten, only failing History of Magic (‘Who fucking cares?’ was everyone’s response), resulting in her having multiple classes a day and therefore a very heavy bag. 

Fred, of course, shrugs it off, “I’m a beater, darling. Nice and strong. I can barely tell that you have five textbooks in here,” he says as he winks and causes Y/N’s face to heat up as she swats him on the chest. “I’m just saying you don’t have too, I can carry my own bag,” she pouts. While she knows Fred is more than happy to lug her bag around, she hates the idea that he’s only doing it out of obligation to be a ‘good boyfriend’. 

These insecurities aren’t new. She hears what people say about them and it doesn’t bother her for the most part. Just there’s only so many times she can handle people she’s not even friends with talking about how ‘Y/N isn’t right for Fred’. 

“You have potions now, yes?” Fred asks, pulling Y/N out of her worries as she follows Fred through the corridors. That’s another thing she never expected, Fred learnt her timetable when they started dating so he could always walk her to class. “I do, Freddie. You have a free right, are you spending it with George and Lee?” 

Fred nods, “I sure am, we’re meeting in the One-Eyed Witch passage to pop down to Honeydukes too, you need anything?” Y/N frowns at this. “Freddie, that passage is on the third floor on the other side of the school. You don’t have to walk me to potions,” she tries to grab her bag from him again and he shakes his head.

“Darling, what part of ‘I want to do this’ do you not understand?” While his tone is sharp, he’s not angry. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever seen Fred this serious, a glint of cheekiness is always present in his eyes but right now, he looks about as serious as Snape when talking about proper cauldron care. 

“I just don’t want to keep you from the boys,” she whispers, tugging at the sleeves of her robes. They stop walking, and Fred drags her body into a hug. “The boys are fine waiting, now do you want anything from Honeydukes.” 

She falters for a second, just enjoying being in his presence. Despite the short amount of time they’ve been dating, Y/N knows what she feels for him is love and she can only hope the tall ginger boy feels the same way in return. His embrace can only be described as comfort, all Y/N’s worries rushing away as his familiar scent of firewood and cinnamon fills her senses.

“Some sugar quills, please,” she mumbles into his robes. “Anything for you,” he replies, pulling away and grabbing her hand. “C’mon, you’re going to be late for potions.” 

-

It’s after dinner by the time Y/N catches Fred again. She’s walking out of the Great Hall when she feels her robes get tugged on and she almost falls over. 

“Hi,” Fred says, “some sugar quills for my sugar quill.” 

Y/N cringes at the cheesy nickname as she thanks him, popping the sweets into her robe pockets, “What are your plans for tonight?” Fred shrugs, more quiet than usual as he plays with Y/N’s fingers. “Nothing, I was… I was wondering if I can come and hang in the Hufflepuff common room with you?” 

He’s shy and Y/N almost coos at it. Fred ‘no filter when he speaks’ Weasley is blushing as he asks his girlfriend to spend some time with her in her house common room, this is a once in a lifetime happening. 

“Of course, Freddie. Any reason why?” It’s not that she doesn’t want him spending time with her. But Fred’s never expressed an interest in spending the night in, rather opting to terrorise Filch or another teacher after dinner.

“You like spending your evenings reading in front of the fire. I feel like I’ve barely seen you today,” he whispers. At this, she decides not to torture the poor boy any further and grabs his hand. “C’mon,” 

They arrive at the common room in no time, no one batting an eye at the Gryffindor waltzing into the common room where he doesn’t belong. In fact, he gets quite a few “Hi Fred’s!” from people in their year. He’s always been popular and well known, so of course, the house of kindness is happy to have him.

“I’m going to run up to my dorm and change, are you sure you’re okay?” Fred nods, sitting himself down on the soft yellow chair in front of the fire. It’s Y/N’s favourite chair to read in and Fred knows it. “Sure am, hurry back before I freeze to death.”

Y/N speed changes, switching out her uniform for some sweatpants, one of Fred’s old jumpers and her favourite fuzzy sock. While she’s up there, she grabs a spare sweater she’s stolen from Fred for him to change into and her copy of ‘Frankenstein’ from her nightstand and rushes back downstairs and straight into Fred’s lap. “Hi,” she whispers, kissing him on the cheek. 

Fred hums a hello as he settles into the soft pillows of the couch. Y/N perches herself next to him, slinging her legs across his lap with her back against the arm rest. “What’s it about?” Fred asks, gesturing to the book she’s just opened. He knows Y/N’s love for muggle books and he loves hearing her talk about them, even though he never understands. “A scientist who creates a ‘monster’ through experiments… It’s one of my favourites.” 

She waves the book in Fred’s face and sure enough, the sticky notes and the plastic tabs are sticking out, referencing all her favourite parts. “It sounds cool, can I read it after you?” 

Y/N is shy about this. Books are very important to her and she feels her sticky notes and writing in the margins are her deepest thoughts, a peep into her soul. But the boy in front of her owns her heart, every single part of it, and she decided then and there, she wants to share every part of herself with him. “Sure, but you have to promise to not judge my notes.” 

He could never, the Hufflepuff girl in his lap turns his heart to mush no matter how much he tries to hide it and he can’t even imagine hurting her. He holds his pinky out, “I promise,” he says as she hooks her own with his and he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

They sit in silence for a while. Fred starts conversing with members of the Hufflepuff quidditch team (“We’re going to crush you next week, Kirke” she hears Fred say at one point and she has to nudge him with her knee to not start a brawl in the common room) while Y/N reads. At one point, her hand ends up in Fred’s hair, playing with the short strands at the nape of his neck. 

When she does this, Fred leans into her touch and his eyes flicker shut for only a second. She thinks she’s finally found a way to quiet him down and she makes a mental note to play with his hair next time she wants to get some reading done. 

The time starts to near 10pm as Y/N starts yawning, and as much as Fred would love to stay, he knows he’ll have enough trouble getting back to Gryffindor tower without George, Lee and their trusty Mauraders Map. “I should probably get going, darling,” Fred mutters after a while and when he looks at his girlfriend, she’s pouting.

“I wish you could stay,” she says and when Fred cocks his eyebrow she laughs, “not like that, you git!” 

She quickly stands, pulling Fred’s gangly body up from the couch and into her arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, we have double Defence,” Fred says laughing and she feels his chest rumble with laughter. “Too long,” she mumbles in reply. When Y/N gets tired, she gets clingy which was one of the earliest things Fred ever learnt about her. It’s always one of the cutest things about her.

He walks to the portrait hole, his small girlfriend clinging to his body and he presses a soft kiss to her hairline before detaching her. “Darling, I have to go.”

He feels terrible. He knows she isn’t being clingy to make him feel bad, she genuinely just wants to spend time with him. She yawns again, eyes scrunched closed as she stretches her arms that somehow end up wrapped back around his waist. 

“Okay, you can go,” she gives him one final squeeze before letting him go and looking up at him and before Fred can stop himself the words are slipping out.

“I love you.” 

This wakes her up immediately and her eyes are wide as she looks at him, “R-really?” 

Fred was going to pretend he never said it, worried it was both too early and that she didn’t feel the same way. But the way she’s looking at him, glints of happiness in her eyes and the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face he knows now is the right time.

“I do, I love you.” 

She jumps on him again, pressing her lips to his. Her lips are soft against his, they always are and the kiss is filled with love and adoration. Neither of them is aware of how long they stand there, embraced in each other’s arms until they’re barely kissing anymore, their smiles too wide. 

“I love you too, Freddie. I love you more,” she says, full seriousness in her face. “Oh love, you won’t win this argument.” He presses a kiss to her lips again before slinking out of the portrait hole, leaving Y/N standing with her fingers pressed to her lips smiling. 

[hyunjilicious]

I just read what is and what should never be and it was PHENOMENAL! I love everything you write anyway so I was wondering if you could do a small one where Bucky is alone and depressed and he calls yn because he feels lost and she is just there for him? No worries if you can't! I love you anyway 💕

Omg!! You’re too sweet! I really wanted to do this one justice, but I suck at angst... I love you too!! and I’m sorry if this sucks!

Summary: after the events of Endgame, you and Bucky part ways. Even though you haven’t spoken in months, when he needs you, you’re there ANGST 2.2k

Warnings: overall angsty vibes. Sad Bucky. Idk depictions of depression I guess? shitty writing!

“You came” Bucky's surprised tone pulled you out of your thoughts.

Before saying anything else, you shook your head in disbelief. From certain points of view, he looked exactly the same as when you last saw him months ago, but if you looked past his rugged exterior, it was very easy to tell something was truly eating away at his heart.

“Of course I came” you frowned, “You called me”

“Thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore” Bucky mumbled.

You looked him up and down, thoroughly confused by his statement, but decided to keep the tone of the conversation from going too dark too fast. “Shut up, Barnes” you scoffed, “Don’t even joke about that.” A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips, but it was forced, you could easily tell he wasn’t truly being himself. “What’s up?”

Bucky took a deep breath as if gathering the courage to word his thoughts. When his eyes met yours he flinched, the pain clouding his otherwise bright blue eyes. He started with a long sigh and a shake of his head but then, cringed as he finally spoke up. “I need help”

His confession went directly to the pit of your stomach. “What happened? Whatever it is, you got it, but what-”

“Nothing happened” Bucky stopped you, “I need help”

“I don’t understand”

“I need someone to-” he sighed, closing his eyes as his head fell forward in what could only be described as shame, “I need someone to talk to” and it was funny, considering he just walked out of his psychiatrist’s office. “Someone that’s not paid to listen to me” he added, “Someone who understands”

It was moments like these that you truly wished Steve was still here. Or Nat. Your best friends, yes, but they were the glue that held you all together, and now in their absence, you were all threatening to fall apart. 

But of course you’d be there for Bucky. Whatever he needed you were more than eager to provide, but at the same time, you were fully aware that your capabilities were limited. You didn’t lack the understanding or the experience, but you lacked the words. You had the sympathy, but not the advice he needed. But you were there. Like you have always been and always will be, so, that afternoon you ended up on his living room floor.

Surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol that had no effect on either of you whatsoever, you sat and listened to him rant his heart out until his throat couldn’t take it anymore. And then he broke down - completely. A full on mess, tears staining his cheeks as the temperature dropped in the room with every other pained groan he’d release. But he let it all out and the weight he had been carrying on his shoulder was unimaginable. There were too many things eating away at his heart, but the guilt was what kept him under its spell, what kept him up for the last months, what was physically destroying him.

“Y/n... “ he called for you, face hidden in his hands as he spoke, “I know you’re gonna say no, but-”

“No,” you stopped him, “Then don’t ask me”

“Please”

“No, Bucky” you sighed, grabbing his wrist so you could look him in the eyes, “If you already know it’s a bad idea, please don’t tell me because I’m afraid I’ll actually go through with it right now”

“But i can’t fucking sleep!” he cried out loud, falling back against the couch, arms propped up on his knees, “I keep having the same nightmares over and over again, and I can’t take it anymore”

“You don’t-” you took a deep breath, “You don’t want me to erase your mind, do you?”

The look in his eyes proved that that was exactly what he wanted. And the unshed tears that coated the otherwise pure and radiant blue of his eyes was almost enough to convince you.

“Please-” he begged, “I-”

“No, Buck” you shook your head and shuffled to face him properly, “As time passes, it’s only gonna get worse. The past will eventually catch up to you. You’ll want to know what you did”

He didn’t have it in him to fight you, so silence settled for a while. “You know sedatives don’t work on me?”

“I… never thought about it, but that makes sense”

Bucky gathered his lips into a tight line and nodded his head.

“Lady shrink isn’t of any help?” you asked.

“I have no clue what she’s doing” he shrugged, “Maybe it’s good in the long run, but fuck if I know how she expects me to make any kind of progress right now”

“You are, tho” you reassured him, “Making progress I mean”

“Am I?” Bucky laughed incredulously.

“Yes! You’re almost completely on your own feet. You really pushed through”

“Or maybe I’m just ignoring all of my problems”

“You just told me about them” you chuckled, and threw an arm over his shoulders.

Hesitatingly at first, he eventually leaned in into your hold, allowing himself to completely fall against your chest. “I hate this”

“I think that’s a given” you laughed, curling your fingers around the roots of his way too short hair. “A wise man once said that whenever someone acts like they have their shit together, they’re either lying or delusional”

“Who said that?”

“I don’t know” you confessed, “I saw that on the internet”

For the first time that night, you actually heard him laugh, and it sounded so good - it was short and weak, but it was sweet and honest. “That’s a pathetic attempt at cheering me up, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it” Bucky said as he pushed himself up.

“I wish I could do more” you mumbled, “But I don’t know what, or how, but-”

“Thank you”

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that” you smiled.

He didn’t know that. He’d never stop thanking you for even the smallest gestures. The day where Bucky would understand that kindness, in some cases, is a given, was far away, but you had the patience and determination to work for it.

As you talked and talked, and the topic of conversation kept shifting from one area to the other, the sun set, night settling outside his small windows. It was time for you to leave, and you would’ve done it, had he asked you not to at the last second.

You had your shoes on and one hand on the door handle, when he stumbled over his words, obviously too shy to properly hold his ground. “Actually can you- can you-” he mumbled, pointing to his couch, “Can you stay here tonight?”

And of course you did. The night didn’t last much longer after that, with Bucky settling on the floor, only a blanket to keep him company, and you sprawled out on the couch as silence settled.

But your mind was too busy to drift off. You knew his’ was too, but decided to refrain from speaking up, hoping to let him fall asleep, even for a short while.

It was loud inside your head. You always promised yourself you’d never intrude on someone’s thoughts and read through them without their approval, but you physically felt Bucky radiate energy, and your mind just slipped. But then, your heart almost stopped.

You saw yourself. You saw yourself slapping him back in Wakanda when he decided to go under ice again, you saw yourself moving a car out of his way back in Bucharest, when you risked your life for his because you trusted Steve that much, and because you were that good of a friend. You saw yourself at Tony’s funeral, eyes shiny with tears and then felt an almost uncontrollable urge to hug yourself - and then realised it wasn’t your urge, it was Bucky’s. At this point, your heart beat so fast you were actually afraid he’d hear it. But when goosebumps appeared all over your skin, you realised he couldn’t hear you, that he was asleep and that the nightmares started materializing. 

What convinced you to act on it was the sudden jerk of his body and the way to fully tensed instantly after. So, unable to just sit and watch, you rolled over to the side and allowed your hand to fall by his temple, little specks of light rolling off the tips of your fingers as you forced the thoughts away. Seconds later, you saw him relax and shift around, gathering the blanket he laid on to his chest as he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

His relaxed form and the steady pace of his breathing put a smile on your face. But you made the mistake of thinking this was a one time thing, however, before you realised, you found yourself leaning over him again, ushering yet another wave of nightmares away. And it kept being an ongoing process until the sun rose, and you cursed yourself as you did not get one second of shut eye. But it was worth it. The sight of him finally resting, knowing he spent his night in his happy place that you this time did not intrude on, made up for your tiredness. 

When Bucky drifted out of his deep sleep, you figured it was safe to relax too. But knowing that if you went to sleep right now you wouldn’t wake up until noon, you stood up, determined to give him the full best friend experience.

But all you found in his kitchen was a box of stale cereal, a soft cucumber and candy wrappers. Had he not looked so adorable sleeping shirtless and curled into a ball on the floor, you would have woken him up yelling. But instead, you decided to order some food, and the simple fact that the sound of the delivery guy ringing the doorbell didn’t wake him up, actually terrified you. With a life like yours, no one sleeps that deeply, but then there he was, snoring away the late hours of the morning. 

By the time he finally stirred awake, the food was already cold, and you were bored out of your mind. “What- what time is it?” he mumbled, voice rich with sleep.

“A little bit past 2” you yawned from your spot on the couch.

“2 pm?” Bucky huffed, sitting up in a hurry and rushing to grab his phone. “What the-” he turned to you confused, “It’s 2pm…”

“Yeah” you sighed, “And the food is cold”

“Food?” Bucky gawked, looking over at the small table by the window, “You got food?”

“You didn’t have any” you defended yourself. You wanted to scold him for not taking better care of himself, but he looked so homey and cozy and vulnerable, that you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Eventually, you stood up and walked over to him. “I’ll let you eat, Buck, but I gotta go” you sighed, giving him a hug, “Got some stuff to do” you lied, by stuff meaning sleep, since you were exhausted.

“Yeah, of course” he mumbled in agreement, wrapping his arms around your frame, and bringing you closer. He sank his head into the crook of your neck, holding you to his chest for a moment longer than you would have considered friendly. But you didn’t complain, his hold was stern and loving, and you really needed that right now. “Thank you” Bucky added when he finally let you go. His right palm cupped your cheek as he looked down at you, awe and admiration in his eyes.

“Nothing to thank me for, Buck” you smiled, and then pulled away.

He silently watched you get ready to leave, following you around until you reached the door and turned around to say goodbye. And it was weird. Your heart boomed against your ribcage, and you didn’t have to read his thoughts to know he was feeling the same kind of nervous. And it may have been the one too many stories you read but you actually feared something was going to happen. Thankfully, it didn’t. Instead you shared another hug, and parted ways.

However, all you managed to do was reach the staircase before you heard his door open, followed by the sound of his bare feet sprinting down the hallway. “What are you-”

“Can you stay?” he asked, shaking from head to toe, “In New York I mean, can you please stay? Just a few more days”

“Well, I- yeah, I guess I can” you mumbled.

“I just, I need a few more days. You’re screwing my head back on, I just need you now. Steve is gone, and Sam is all the way in Louisiana and I hate phones and I-”

“Wow-” you laughed, “I’m not even the second choice, I’m the third?”

“Shut up, Y/n” Bucky frowned, “Stop being a smartass for a second”

“I’m sorry” you rolled your eyes, but he didn’t care.

In the blink of an eye, Bucky threw his arms around your shoulders and hugged you close, and you weren’t sure if the ‘I love you’ that echoed inside your mind had actually been spoken or just thought, but it was everything you never knew you needed.

[k-comfyspace]

Care

Star: Son Hyejoo (Loona)

Idea: Yes

Love: Hello~i love your works so much, it's so good istg im not even kidding, I hope you have/had a great day though<3 I just want to ask since a hyejoo imagine where fem reader tells her to at least take a rest because she's exhuasted lately bcs she's been pushing herself (literally all of them is, bbc isn't doing anything) also with her knee injury is taking a toll :<< and tells her to take a rest and takes care of her. Fluff pls😭

A/n: Such kind words

Every step they took worried you, each time you would see them flinch, or look down on their knees as they went off stage.

Though, as much as you were concerned about everyone, your eyes were only drawn to one person, following her every move, concerned that any second she could fall. You knew it wasn’t likely, but it didn’t ease your worries when they had finished.

She knelt on the ground, her face stoic, a chic look on her face. Until the camera moved away.

She let her expression drop, closing her eyes as she breathed out deeply. You stood up from your place, walking past the staff to their waiting room. You were the first one in, sitting on the couch as you waited.

When you heard the chatter behind the door, you looked up. You smiled at each one as they entered, congratulating them on their successful performance.

"Everyone did great!" you commented, raising your thumbs while they smiled back,

"Were you really watching us? As far as I could tell, you only had your eyes on one of us," Hyunjin commented, squinting her eyes, teasingly, while the others laughed at the cat's comment.

A light blush spread on your cheeks, punching her playfully on the shoulder before you padded over to your girlfriend.

Hyejoo was seated on the couch, drinking a bottle of water before wiping her sweat. You took a seat on the table in front of her, looking down at her knees as you cringed, seeing the blood trailing down. You clicked your tongue and looked around, seeing a box of tissues behind you.

Reaching for it, you carefully tapped her knee, careful as to not press too hard, while the girl let you. She only moved her knee when you went to rub it slightly,

"It hurts," you heard her mutter, pushing your hand away. Though you held her wrist.

"It’ll be done in a second," you murmured, focused on your task while Hyejoo closed her eyes, absorbing the slight sting that would come once in a while.

When you finished both knees, you sighed, taking both of her hands in yours. You knew it brought the girl comfort, even though the countless times she pretended to hate the skinship, you could read her eyes easily to know when she needed it.

Right now, you could see the way her eyes softened, feeling her squeeze your hands, a breath escaping her lips as she closed her eyes for a moment.

It was almost as if you two only existed in the room. Thankfully, her members weren’t in the mood for teasing as they busied themselves with packing and changing.

They could see both of you, discreet smiles on their faces, but they let you two have your time knowing that you’ve spent far too long being apart.

"You have to take it easy, Hyejoo," you whispered after a while, rubbing circles on the back of her palms, the latter furrowing her eyebrows at the comment.

"I’m fine,"

She reasoned, a sigh withdrawing from your lips as you looked at her. Who could she fool?

The dark circles under her eyes, the way her voice was getting raspier, and the sluggish movements she would make when both of you got home.

It was all a sign that she was getting tired and, while she would continue to utter that she was fine, everything else proved her otherwise.

"Hyejoo," you started, but she sighed before you could say anything further,

"Y/n, I’m fine, it’s only a few more days till we’re done. I promise as soon as we are done promoting, I’ll rest,"

You stared at her for a while, looking into her eyes, you knew she was stubborn. Oftentimes, it was the reason why you wanted to take care of her, the way she wouldn’t stop for anything.

Though, as much as she wanted to keep going, you also saw the tiredness in her eyes, so with a sigh, you nodded.

Pulling her as you left a kiss on her forehead, giving her one more squeeze before letting your girlfriend change.

When Hyejoo left the room, a sigh escaped your lips before meeting their leader’s eyes. Haseul looked at you with a smile, having seen the exchange between her member.

It made her happy, knowing that someone else could take care of her friend like she does and more. She always relied on you to make Hyejoo happy. Though she had no issues in that regard, the older girl was glad that you could make her happier.

As long as Hyejoo was in your hands, she had nothing to worry about.

Soon enough, a week had already gone by. The girls had finished promoting, which meant that it was time for them to get the rest that they needed.

Hyejoo was at the dorms, packing her things since she decided that she would want to spend some time with you during their break.

Her members had no qualms about it since most of them had no plans, and they could always come to visit if they wanted to.

You adjusted your glasses, as you continued your work in your room when the door opened. You raised your head at the intruder, knowing that you didn’t have anyone over. When you saw the familiar brown hair, you stood up with a smile.

You padded towards Hyejoo and opened your arms, which your girlfriend didn’t refuse. Entering your embrace as she reveled in your warmth, resting her head on your chest, she sighed.

Feeling your arms circling her body. You closed your eyes, letting the silence settle as you left a kiss on her forehead, resting your cheek on top of her head. Both of you stood there for a while, no words exchanged.

Hyejoo was unmoving, sighing whilst she felt you rub her back. Even if both of you were the same height, she felt so small in your arms.

The way you would occasionally leave kisses on her forehead when you whisper sweet nothings, and the warmth you would give her every time you cuddle.

You kept her in your arms before you took a step to the right, then the left. Alternate steps, since Hyejoo had her eyes closed, she thought you brought her to your bed. But after a few minutes, she heard you hum quietly as you continued slowly swaying side-to-side.

Another breath left her lips, everything felt so satisfying

By the end of the day, she was able to come to you when she sought comfort, happiness, and someone to support her. You will always be the most amazing girlfriend ever, she couldn’t put into words how much you mean to her.

She would always feel bad that you were the only one to make sacrifices, but each time she felt that way, you would always say the same thing.

Cupping her cheek and staring into her eyes, "I love you now, I’ll love you tomorrow, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life."

It always successfully flustered her, a bright tinge of pink on her cheeks, which only seemed to grow when you smiled at her.

"I didn’t notice you came in," you whispered, withdrawing from her partially, still keeping your arms around her hips.

"Are you busy with work?" she asked, a look forming in her eyes, but you were quick to stop her, placing a finger on her nose, taking her attention from her thoughts.

"I can go to work later, I’m almost done. We can rest for a while," you said, Hyejoo sighing since she couldn’t stop you. Sometimes both of you were alike, completely stubborn.

You led her to bed, both of you moving to your sides before meeting in the middle. You rested your back against the headboard, while Hyejoo leaned against your chest, playing around with your hair as both of you let the silence set in.

A few minutes later, you heard a yawn, looking down at your girlfriend, you met her eyes. She rested her chin on your chest as she looked back at you.

"Do you want to sleep?" You asked, seeing the nod, you caressed her head, leaving another kiss on her forehead.

"You can rest," you told her, but Hyejoo shook her head, seeing the furrow in her eyebrows before she smiled, reaching up to remove your glasses, folding them, and placing them on her nightstand.

"Nap with me," you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face, shifting down to lay on the bed, your girlfriend taking her place in your arms, head resting in the crook of your neck, half of her body on top of yours.

It was these kinds of moments that made you happy. Even through every challenge you two faced together, you were happy that there was always a good ending.

Rewarding moments where both of you did nothing except bask in each other, it almost felt better to spend a long time apart, that way, when you two come together again, you can cherish it more.

--

Bright lights shone in her eyes, a groan slipping past her lips as she opened them.

Hyejoo adjusted her vision, waking up as she took in her surroundings. She took note of the dark ceiling, matching the small stars that were littered all over, acting as the night sky as some of them sparkled because of the sun.

She turned to the side, seeing you sleeping peacefully. Throughout the night, you moved in your sleep, turning to your side as you faced the girl.

Hyejoo took the time to observe your features, from your soft brown hair to your eyes, your cute button nose and your pink lips. It baffled her sometimes that you always thought she was the prettiest.

But it was always you that she thought was the prettiest in the world. No word could describe you, no number could rate you, and no one could ever compare to you.

As subtle as she could, Hyejoo raised her hand, shuffling it under yours before interlocking your fingers. A smile formed on her lips when she felt you squeeze her unconsciously. She placed a kiss on the back of your hand, putting all the love and gratitude she could ever give.

A few minutes later, she felt you shift, opening your eyes as you met hers. A smile forms on your lips, the smile she never knew she would be addicted to.

[illumilu]

“there’s only one bed” - chrollo lucilfer x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? cringe is heavily underappreciated. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. for the last part, we’re taking a look at chrollo lucilfer! also! this may suck!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with chrollo, your childhood friend and colleague, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part three of a three-part series, with the adultrio. hisoka and illumi are already written so i suppose that concludes the series!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! chrollo being his usual self, charming but kinda dead ,,, except this time he’s not using you (cough neon nostrade) ... no nsfw :)

chrollo lucilfer:

- chrollo lucilfer was an undeniably enticing man.

- you two had just exited the train station, and were now walking to your hotel. 

- why had this trip been planned? well, chrollo had bought reservations, claiming he “had something private to say” one night. honestly, he made you nervous sometimes. just what you expected from the leader of an internationally renowned murder gang.

- the refreshing cold air chilled your face, as you walked along the damp pavement. the large, multistory hotel loomed in the distance, like an upright torch in a sea of gray. you turned to look at chrollo. 

- “it’s cold, isn’t it?” 

- “astounding observation.” he smiled audaciously.

- growing up alongside them hadn’t been easy for you; after all, meteor city was dilapidated. after leaving the place, you had found the estimated population to be around 8 million people. funnily enough, it had never felt like that many.

- you still remembered the day chrollo had formed the phantom troupe. you had watched as he set out the rules standing proudly on the trash-pile; as he described the metaphorical spider and its immortality. 

- personally, you hated spiders. too many legs.

- either way, you stayed there, listening, observing - you had seen them running around the city before, laughing and playing together. how could people be so happy in such an obscure place? 

- meteor city; it was almost... suffocating. the fact that no one acknowledged the residents, even as a collective percentage, chilled you to your core. you wanted to be known. you guessed that was why you were still alongside chrollo today.

- you supposed the only way to get through the maddening sense of compression was with friendship. alas, you didn’t really have many friends. it was always hard to find them. therefore, you would check to see what chrollo’s group were doing together, but would never join unless invited.

- that fateful night, the ignition of the troupe; truly a day to remember. 

- as soon as you had turned around from behind some abandoned trash, chrollo had slowly turned to look at you. you had been listening as he mused about the phantom troupe’s intentions. he had personally seen you around the junkyard many times. always watching. waiting for something? no, just observing. here you were, eyes on him, yet again.

- a pause. you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. but it wasn’t humiliating; it was exhilarating. 

- you still remembered the way you had cursed yourself for thinking like that. why had you come out from your hiding place? you didn’t want anything to do with this group; killing people, stealing things, wandering astray from the path of morality... what was this?

- “did you hear everything?” he had asked.

- “yes.” you whispered.

- your eyes lifted to meet his. you knew almost nothing of where that day would eventually lead you. you shared a long stare that night, almost childish, waiting for him to say something. you could swear his eyes were boring into your soul.

- “you don’t want to join, do you?”

- you gulped and looked at the dirt beneath you.

- “no.”

- things had changed since then.

- you had never did end up joining the phantom troupe. it was too chaotic for you. but, you did end up sticking around and, somehow, you came to know each of the troupe members extremely well.

- whenever they’d rendezvous and cause destruction, you’d always be there, observing from the sidelines. chrollo liked to call it your “unofficial bond”. having spent a lot of your time with the interchanging 13, you knew their likes and dislikes, and often helped them out when they couldn’t get information. for some reason, you felt as if chrollo trusted you with this greatly. 

- rarely, you got to spend time with him alone. you two were undoubtedly closer than any other pairs from the troupe, yet it was more of an unspoken connection than a full-blown one. compared to, let’s say, nobunaga and uvogin, and no one would have even speculated chrollo and you being as close.

- nevertheless, you loved when you got to spend time with him; whenever he loosened his idiotic “i’m the leader and we’re going to kill hundreds of people now!” demeanor, he was actually quite the gentleman. 

- back to the present, you scoffed and continued walking; each breath made a little cloud in front of you, making you grin a little. when you were younger, you had always pretended to smoke whenever it was cold enough for it to happen.

- “you’re such a child.” chrollo said, adjusting his beige headband. you often wondered why he decided to get a tattoo on his forehead. troupe matters, you supposed. finally reaching the grand entrance to the hotel, chrollo pushed the gold revolving door, with an ironic “after you” look. you went through hastily, raising an eyebrow at him on the way in.

- the lobby was truly extravagant, full of grandeur that you had never seen before. you could only begin to fathom how much money the troupe got from stealing. 

- honestly, you really felt like smacking chrollo. what right did he have to take you to such a huge place? with his own laundered money? that he probably earned from making someone else’s life hell? you opened your mouth to protest. he promptly interrupted you.

- “be quiet, y/n. you know have money to spend, so why shouldn’t i spend it on you? just this once?”

- that was a lie. he knew he would definitely do something like this again.

- your mouth closed, knowing the same thing. you sighed momentarily and went off to sit on a weirdly smooth velvet couch in the lobby.

- while absentmindedly checking in, chrollo began thinking about what exactly he was going to say to you. truthfully, there was no real reason for him bringing you here, to the hotel. it was just, lately, he had been feeling strangely drawn to you. you had a certain warm magnetism that contrasted his philosophical coldness. whenever you sat together, he felt some sort of strange exaltation, just by looking at you. whenever you smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back. he had also become considerably happier.

- “wow, boss~ you seem jokier these days~”

- the thought of hisoka made him wince, driving him back to the clerk in front of him. 

- as he stared back at you, who was currently trying to figure out whether you could take the hotel magazines for free, he closed his eyes and let out a light breath. 

- you jolted as chrollo stood before you, tapping you on the shoulder. loosening your grip on the cheap magazine, you glared at him. 

- “keys.” he said, dangling them above you.

- “chrollo. don’t tell anyone. but i think have a plan.” 

- “what? y/n, y-”

- you grinned, grabbed the keys and started towards the stair doors, yanking chrollo’s sleeve along with you. he ran behind you, making quite the commotion as you two thundered up the switchback stairs, shoes scuffing along the floor. through ragged breaths and giggles, he asked you why in god’s name you were going so fast.

- stopping abruptly to catch your breath, you told him to look at your hands, with an impish look on your face.

- the hotel magazine, crumpled in your hands.

- he furrowed his brow at you, laughing confusedly at your antics. you often helped him unwind with your spontaneous, stupid acts, and he was grateful for it. chrollo was someone who didn’t recognize how much they needed a break until they got one. he truly enjoyed how you just treated him as a normal person. since you weren’t part of the troupe, he wasn’t your “boss”. he supposed he was your... friend.

- you slowly made your way up to the room with him. despite him being unnervingly annoying sometimes, you enjoyed every moment with chrollo. every look you shared with him, every joke you had made.

-  even when he was being serious you couldn’t help but admire his twisted resolve. often, you’d brush hands and sparks of ecstasy would rush to your heart. you guessed that was what happened when people were close. but what was “close”? you often found yourself mulling over the classifications of love, even if it wasn’t specifically about him. of course, you could love someone as a friend; what was romance, anyways?

- if there was one thing you had in common with chrollo, it was your interest in human emotion.

- chrollo had always been fascinated by the human psyche; so much so that it seemed like he knew what people were about to say before they even uttered a word. he too found himself musing over love; occasionally, you two would sit together and debate where each emotion stemmed from.

- however, no matter how equal you were, chrollo could always predict what you were about to say, never vice versa. he chalked it down to knowledge and experience, yet he found it ironic that emotions were his interest. he speculated the reason for it, and once, very wisely, said that “humans are always interested in what they do not have.”

- you reached the room fairly quickly, roused from the race up the stairs. half of you had already forgotten about what chrollo “wanted to tell you”; he opened the door and walked in first.

- “hey, wait out here for a second, i have a surprise.” he said, closing the door so it was only jarred open a little.

- nodding, you turned around, waiting in the lit hallway.

- chrollo turned to look at the room.

- wait.

- shit.

- a singular queen-sized bed stood in the middle of the room. 

- chrollo blinked.

- he could have sworn he asked for two twin beds. blinking a few more times, beginning to sweat a little, he jolted as your voice came from the door; “chrollo, is it ready?”

- “no, not yet, stay there!” he shouted, pacing towards the hotel phone, frantically dialling room service.

- “hello?”

- “good evening. how may we help you?”

- “yeah, uh, so you see, i’m in room 444 and i definitely, most certainly booked two beds, not one - would you mind checking?”

- “no problem! it says here that you booked one queen sized bed, with two reservations. are you sure you didn’t misclick? perhaps the room was booked by someone else?”

- suddenly, chrollo remembered; shalnark did all his computer work. that bloody, meddling... no, he shouldn’t say that. he had nothing but gratitude for all the troupe members. some were very, very, very difficult to like, however.

- “are there any spare rooms around?”

- “yes, of course! but moving will cost around-”

- “chrollo?” you interrupted, peeking around the doorframe. 

- you blinked. 

- the bed was... larger... and more... singular than expected.

- “y/n! there’s been a mistake... just; bear with me, okay? everything will be fine. i just need to pay a-”

- darting to where he was, you grabbed the phone and slammed it back onto the receiver. you grabbed chrollo by the shoulders, shaking him violently (rather dramatically, too).

- “what do you think you’re doing? i tell you to stop spending money on me, and here you are, spending the money you got from murdering people?” 

- you did not like the idea of sleeping in the same bed as chrollo one bit. however, you hated the idea of having him use his dark money on you way more. here he was, about to spend it on a simple matter. the persistent bastard.

- “whatever you say.” he murmured.

- “look, just think of it as a fun sleepover. no need for things to be awkward.”

- you were right. nothing would happen. childish as you were together, both of you knew boundaries. despite the recent appeal you had to him, he knew that your comfort was more important than anything.

- both agreeing to get some sleep, you changed into more comfy clothes and met back at the bed. 

- something you often overlooked was how pretty chrollo was. grayish-brown pupils that, to the gullible eye, seemed neutral and boring, but to you seemed like a world of wonder and speculation. his eyelashes seemed almost delicate, unaware of how beautiful they were. his lips always looked cold, with a reddish tinge, yet somehow fit harmoniously with the rest of his features. it was no secret that his muscles were extremely defined, as you had seen whenever he wore his coat. somehow, his skin was smooth and pale all over, not comparable to porcelain, but better; it had the duality to glow with pride or to appear a solemn gray. his hands were almost never without a book, yet when they were occupied with something else, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his elegant fingers. his hair, admittedly odd when slicked back, wisped across his face, fluffy as always. your eyes riveted on his.

- “what did you want to tell me?”

- shit. in the heat of all the issues, he had forgotten to think of something.

- what did he want to tell you? everything about himself, honestly. who he was, what he wished to do, his own personality, his philosophies. the dilemma was, he did not know himself. 

- who am i?

- the pressing question that bugged him so, that tugged at his sleeve like a child he wished he could ignore. the word that fit chrollo best was, “enigma”. he truly wanted to find himself, but what did that even mean? he spent his life growing from nothing, becoming nothing and, despite having the largest reputation in the world, still feeling like nothing. yet, it was something that was locked within you that opened him. the buzz of emotion he had felt from you; that had been something. pride and happiness were good, all in all, but you defined him. you gave him something to live for. of course, chrollo still stood by death as if it was an old companion, but some tiny part of him would feel remorse if he ever died. remorse for leaving you behind. that had never happened with anyone else. the closer he became to you, the more he had a meaning. he contemplated; were you his meaning? two souls meant to be intertwined? 

- “y/n.”

- “hm?”

- “love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. do you know who wrote this?”

- a silence met the air.

- “it was william shakespeare. a midsummer night’s dream.” he continued. “yet i wonder, what would one do if they had no mind? if love looks with the mind, yet had nowhere to look from, how would it see?”

- somewhere within you, you sensed he was talking about something very relevant. 

- love would find a way. it would shoot from every outlet it could, from one soul to another; love would find a way to reach someone. conscienceless or aware, love would perpetuate through every single molecule left in someone’s resolve. two ribbons that were meant to find each other would undoubtedly find each other if they their love was strong enough. that is what you thought as you sat there with him, mutually mulling over the question.

- “i think it would find a way, wouldn’t it?” you said.

- “probably so.”

- “that was random, chrollo?” you questioned after a few still moments.

- “i suppose so... i miss times where we talked about the philosophies of the mind.”

- you nodded. you missed them too, even though they were frequent. you yawned tiredly; it was getting late. chrollo advised you to get some rest, which you quickly heeded. slowly, you headed to the left side of the bed. he took the right.

- “do you mind if i turn off the light?”

- “i think i’ll read for a while.” he smiled. typical.

- you turned to your side, dreams of the awaiting night already outstretching their comforting arms. eventually, you slipped into a peaceful sleep.

- chrollo cocked his head to the side to look at you. he watched your chest rise and fall for a few seconds, before promptly returning to his book. 1984 by george orwell. his eyes skimmed over the page, blurred names and metaphors flying indifferently past his eyes; he wished to find the quote that resonated with him every time he had previously read it.

- bingo. 

- “if you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.”

- chrollo had everything to give to you; yet you did not enjoy any of it. he found that you seemed happiest when you just sat together with him, ruminating, or joking or just sitting there in silence. perhaps the only thing he hadn’t tried was the simplest; the most human. maybe the answer to his infatuation with you was right in front of him.

- a few minutes later, he thought it would be best to sleep. closing the lights, he lay there quietly, falling into a passage of thoughts that soon turned sleepy and incoherent.

- the night passed.

- when morning came, things, once again, were different. 

- chrollo was the first to wake up; fluttering his eyelashes, he soon became fully aware of his situation.

- he was on the other side of the bed.

- something was clinging to him.

- chrollo was clinging back.

- oh my god. he felt your arm wrapped low around his waist, with his doing the exact same around yours. almost like... you were mirroring each other. it was like you were hugging, except, when he looked down, you were still fast asleep. 

- shit. this was weird.

- what did he do? he couldn’t just wake you up and cause a commotion; it was him who had thought “nothing would happen”.

- so much for a goddamned “sleepover”.

- your head was buried in the crook of his chin, so you were cuddling into his chest; the bed had been long enough for you to shuffle down and start hugging him? not to mention, somewhere in the night, you had entirely switched places.

- he couldn’t exactly get up to roll you away, either.

- what a conundrum. silently and rather awkwardly, he waited, still embracing you. this definitely made things exponentially more complicated than they needed to be. 

- after around 10 minutes of waiting, you began to stir a little. 

- blinking a few times to clear your vision, you murmured something unintelligible.

- chrollo, about to pull the biggest bastard move of the century, shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.

- what a jackass.

- pushing away from his body, you stared at him, taking a few moments to register the situation.

- and so, your internal panic monologue began, rapid as ever.

- why the SHIT were you in chrollo’s arms not less than 5 seconds ago? and why had it felt undeniably cosy??? did you hug him? did he hug you? of course he was still sleeping. maybe he wouldn’t get to know. why were you on the other side of the bed? did anything happen? no, you would have remembered. you couldn’t roll him over, either. what the shit. 

- chrollo inconspicuously pretended to wake up, theatrical fake blinking and all. 

- “oh.” he stated blankly.

- you scrunched your face; that was the only thing he could say? meanwhile your soul was rapidly disintegrating?

- “chrollo, i have no idea how that-”

- “certainly interesting.” he interrupted.

- the best decision was to leave it. right?

- “huh? what? looooook... i think i’m going to go change...” you said, suppressing your fluctuating heartbeat. 

- chrollo sat up, nodding.

- as you left, you began speculating what to do; because you definitely couldn’t ignore this. when you woke up, you had felt safer, more comfortable. why was that? as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t drop the feeling that chrollo and you were something more than friends.

- chrollo, still on the bed, mulled over the various quotes and lines he had picked up. he ruminated over fond memories with you, and that buzzing feeling from earlier. he noticed it had skyrocketed. he felt... meaningful. bottling up his feelings wouldn’t do any good, would it? he had to say something. but it was dangerous. getting into matters like this may get in the way of the troupe. was it worth it? somewhere, he felt as if he already knew. this matter wasn’t exactly trivial. so, would he do it or not?

- subconsciously reaching for 1984 once more, he flicked past the cover and turned to a well-loved page of his. 

- “at the sight of the words, “i love you”, the desire to stay alive had welled up in him, and the taking of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid.”

- as people usually do at urgent times such as these, he realized what had to be done.

- let’s just say; chrollo’s library began to harbor a lot more romance.

dear reader, i sincerely sincerely apologize if ur here rn. i wrote a wholeass 3554 words and i dont want people wasting their time LMFAO, this was so dumb?? i am SO SO sorry for being inactive for weeks, i’ve had exams, but i kind of felt obligated to finish off this series. which once again. i am so sorry for. this one felt even MORE tedious than the illumi one. i feel like the characterization was poor, even though i tried  ,,, but i guess we all take Ls. i’m gonna just let this one be chalked down to my sleep deprivation and hopefully(?) continue writing. thx <3  

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

[citydreamgrls]

a simple favour - part one

fred weasley x fem!reader 

summary: it was all in her best interests, fred never meant to catch feelings for her. it had started as a simple favour.

words: 3,371

warnings: swearing , tw: stalking / stalker , smut in later parts (18+)

find part two here

It had started off out of the blue one morning, a letter waiting for me in the great hall when I came down for breakfast. I had been fixing my hair when multiple heads turned towards me, I frowned as I sat down.

“What?”

Hermione held a letter in her hand, passing it over to me with a weirded out look on her face. I shrugged, recognising my name on the front but not the hand it was written in.

I laughed to myself as my eyes scanned over each carefully thought out word, describing my appearance and how ‘entrancing’ I was. Whoever had intended this letter for me was confessing their feelings in an oddly poetic and creepy way, my only conclusion being that it had to be one of the others playing a trick on me.

“Very funny guys, which one of you wrote this? I can’t recognise the writing.” I threw the parchment down carelessly, letting expectant eyes read over it as Ron grabbed it for himself.

“Doesn’t it say?” Hermione asked me, trying to read it over Harry’s head. “It was already here when we came down.”

“Yeah… this isn’t any of us.” Ron scoffed.

“I think you have a secret admirer y/n.” Harry added, handing it back to me.

I squinted, drinking some of my coffee and eyeing up their faces, expecting one of them to snap and laugh. But all I got was stone cold confusion from each of them. If only the letters had stopped there, then I may not have minded. Little did I know, it would only get worse.

-

The letters came every single day, sometimes multiple times. What once was harmless words of my beauty and desire turned sinister, now whoever was writing also seemed to know my whereabouts every day. He would depict times when I thought I had been alone, or claim he’d watched me go for my morning shower. My every move was documented, all with a perfect description of what I had been wearing even days after it had happened. The most disgusting part was the anonymity, the knowledge that this person was getting away with being a massive pervert and torturing me with it day in and day out. Whoever was obsessed with me was keeping it a secret and successfully stalking me from the sidelines.

The day that I found flowers on my bed I screamed like I’d been stabbed, making Ron and Harry quickly race up to the dorm thinking that I’d been attacked. Both of them had cringed at ‘gift’ with the realisation that he’d been in my room, sat on my bed and possibly done worse.

“Make sure nothing’s been taken.” Ron had said grimly, making me shudder at the fear that they could have something of mine.

“Jesus what a creep.” I’d whispered, stomping over to the bed and throwing the flowers out the window with a furious shout.

Since that day Hermione tried putting a curse on the bedroom door, meaning that only those who knew the counter-curse could enter, and those who didn’t would be blown all the way back down to the common room. Poor Ron had ended up being the test subject, which he wasn’t happy about in the slightest, but we had to make sure it worked somehow.

However, even that didn’t work. The letters kept arriving as usual, and the gifts would still appear neatly in my room every day. Not that it stopped me from discarding them in the most public way possible. My anger was growing by the second and throwing them away didn’t feel finite enough, so one night after watching the boy’s quidditch practice when Hermione and I found a teddy bear on my pillow I finally lost my cool.

I could hear voices in the common room, but that didn’t stop me. With the bear in one hand I stormed down, pushed past the small crowd of people laughing and chatting, and threw it into the fire with a grunt. They all fell into silence, Hermione catching up just in time to see its fur crackle away.

I sighed in relief, it felt good to watch the flames engulf around it. Whispers started up from behind me as my friend came over, her hand holding mine gently as we both just stood there. The bear's eyes began to melt, the plastic dripping down its face.

“Come on,” She murmured, taking me back upstairs where I screamed about how horrifying it all was and whether this ‘sick fuck’ thought he was being genuinely romantic.

-

“Who do you think it could be?” Hermione asked me the next night, as I ripped up yet another letter. The sight of my own owl was beginning to instil fear within me.

“At first I thought it could’ve been the twins, but even they’re finding this too much.”

Fred and George knew pretty much everything about everyone at Hogwarts, but when Ron had shown them the extent of this person’s doing, they too drew up a blank, mentioning how weird all of it was.

“They’re not like that,”

“This isn’t a harmless prank anymore is it?” I asked the girl, who wanted desperately to help me solve this twisted mystery.

“I don’t think it ever was,” She hummed to herself, sighing in defeat at the knowledge that the letter I was destroying was in no means the last of its kind.

-

It quickly became common knowledge that I had a stalker after my meltdown in the common room. Professor Mcconagall even offered to help, but there wasn’t much she could do without knowing who it was. Honestly I was weirdly glad she couldn’t, all this frustration had made me determined to deal with the fucker myself.

Hermione didn’t let me go anywhere by myself anymore, with the fear that the creep could pounce while I was without one of them. Most of the time it was fine, I had classes with at least one of them at all times and we had meals together as it was. But it meant that whenever I needed to study, one of them would have to go with me to the library. Hermione also made the rule that she’d sit outside my cubicle every time I showered, especially since the stalker had mentioned it before, keeping watch in case he tried to show up while I was vulnerable.

Despite it making my life a little more complicated, I was glad the others were so willing to look after me. If it wasn’t for them being with me 24/7 who knows what could have happened?

-

It was Harry’s turn to be on y/n watch, as he and Ron had called it, when Fred and George came running into the common room breathless. We had been looking over the most recent letter and discussing more theories on who it could possibly be when they’d burst in. We let them get their breath back, Fred hunching over as George did his best to get his words out.

“We know who it is y/n..” He’d just about managed. I jumped up, letting him sit down.

“Wh-at? Really? Who- how?” I stuttered.

Fred stood up straight, having finally gotten his heartbeat back down.

“Katie bell said she’d seen Cormac Mclaggen writing some letters this morning, then Lavender said something about him buying a teddy in Hogsmeade last week.”

“But they both saw him coming down your dorm tower last night.” George finished, cutting his brother off from the kicker of the story.

“Oi I was getting to that.” Fred grumbled, but I had zoned them as soon as I’d heard Cormac’s name mentioned.

My fists clenched up with absolute aggression, I could kill him. Now I had a disgusting, smug face to put to all the fear and loathing he’d caused and all I wanted to do was break said face.

“That fucker!” I shouted out into thin air, heading for the door. But Fred was the one to catch me before I reached it, dragging me back again without a second thought.

“Y/n it could be someone else,” Harry tried to reason, but it had to be him. It only made sense. The twins didn’t seem too convinced but argued another point against me going to find him myself.

“Besides Mclaggen is a big guy, if you go alone there’s no saying what he’d do to you.” George nodded in agreement with his brother and, as much as I hated to admit it, Fred was right. Cormac had been keeper on their quidditch team for a while now, and didn’t hide how much he liked to work out when flirting with girls. So why was he choosing me to be so creepy and mysterious to, not that I would’ve appreciated him doing it face to face either.

We decided to have a secret meeting later that night with everyone after telling Hermione and Ron what we’d learnt. Ron was mad, wanting to confront him immediately similarly to how I had reacted, but like the others Mione agreed that we should plan something.

“Guys like that are too proud, he won’t listen to y/n if she rejects him in person,” She had explained, cross legged at the end of my bed. I was propped up against my headboard, my knees tucked up to my body with multiple means of murder running through my mind.

“Not to mention you’d be giving him the satisfaction he’s always wanted,” Fred added, sitting on the windowsill beside me. One of his feet was hanging off the edge near me, swinging ever so slightly. Some weird part of me wanted to reach out, just for something to hold onto.

In the end it was decided that Ron, Harry and the twins would go and talk to him in the morning while they were at quidditch practice. This meant that I could go down to breakfast without the worry that he would be there, watching me from down the table. I tried to hide my fear of him, but with so many of them looking after me that night it was inevitable that at least one of them saw the tears in my eyes, if not all of them.

-

Hermione, Ron and Harry needed to go to the library to do homework after we discussed Cormac, leaving me with the twins as bodyguards which could have been worse. They did their best to take my mind off of the boy who had been writing to me about his deepest fantasies, but I wasn’t in the mood for it.

George played around with the perfume bottles lined up on the dresser, using his wand to make them dance. He had always been good at keeping himself amused. Fred had remained on the windowsill the whole time, his foot still going back and forth even when I laid on my side and found it right in my face.

He laughed lightly as I poked it away wordlessly, only to push it back into my face again. Admittedly, our little game of him swinging his foot to me so I could gently hit it away kept my mind busy for a while. Obviously it had sent me to sleep too, as I woke up when Hermione came back to let the twins go. Half asleep I groaned a thank you to them, Fred rustling my hair as he passed by and George slapping my leg in recognition.

-

Breakfast the next morning felt tense, Lavender had told people she thought it was Mclaggen which meant everyone kept coming up to ask if it was true. Some of them even tried to convince me how nice he really was, and that I was lucky to be wanted by him. Hermione of course sent them all on their way, keeping a hold of my hand as I struggled to finish even one slice of toast. All the while, my eyes remained glued to the great hall doors, hoping I wouldn’t see him turn up early from practice. The thought of seeing him at all had kept me away from the common room, a sickly feeling bubbling in my stomach knowing that the boy’s would probably be confronting him right about now.

I felt like throwing up on the spot, my friend’s hand getting crushed in my own as I saw him saunter in, his eyes immediately catching mine and giving me a smug smile. All I wanted to do was go over to where he sat down without a care and break his nose off with one punch. That would stop him from smirking so much like a pervert.

“What happened?” Hermione asked the boys when they finally arrived.

“”He’s a huge git you know.” Ron grumbled, glaring the boy down but the whole time it was me he was watching. I stopped looking after a while, my eyes glossing over as I listened to the twins explain how he’d reacted.

“I don’t think he even cares that we know,” Fred said.

“He’s proud of it really.” George added, making that sickly feeling somehow intensify.

“Even with these two around he wasn’t bothered,” Harry pointed to the older Weasley brothers with a huff.

“Yeah, and we were threatening him quite a lot.” George laughed, no one else really responding to his attempt at a cheery comment.

“We better go,”Hermione said, checking the time and taking my hand “Come on, if we don’t go now he might wait all day.” She whispered to me and I nodded, standing up with her. “Just ignore him.” The girl reminded me as we got nearer to his end of the table, his eyes following my step.

I broke from Mione’s grip, leaning across the table to him with a glare on my face. The fear had turned into anger all over again now that he was in front of me.

“You’re vile Mclaggen.”

“What’s wrong y/n?” He asked, that smirk never faltering. “Didn’t you like my love letters?”

People around him were confused, now learning that he’d been the one to stalk me these past couple of weeks. While some of them were his friends, none of them jumped to his defense.

“You need to get a fucking life, and leave me alone you freak.” I spat, standing up straight again to see a shocked Hermione waiting for me. I just smiled and took her hand again, leading her out of the hall as if nothing had happened.

“Christ y/n..” she scoffed “Well done.” I leant against the windowsill in the hallway, laughing hysterically into my hands.

“God that felt good.” I breathed a sigh of relief, not sure whether it worked or not but glad that I at least got to embarrass him for just one moment.

-

It was my mistake to let my guard down and expect nothing more from Mclaggen that day. Because what happened that very night still is the very reason people check that every door and window is locked before they go to bed.

The commotion had woken me up first, shouts and panicked scuffling coming from two different people. Then the lights were turned on, dragging me out of my sleep in a single second just to see Hermione standing in the middle of the room with her wand outstretched. At the other end, Cormac Mclaggen was backing away slowly with his hands in the air, finally a frightened look on his face. He looked over at me, now awake and frozen with fear, giving Mione a chance to shout out for help.

“RON! FRED!” she screamed, knowing just one of them had to have heard from their beds. With this Cormac ran off, Hermione shooting stunning spells after him but he dodged every one of them as he descended the tower.

“Oh my god,” I finally gasped, swallowing down hard. I broke out into a burst of tears just before the boys turned up at the door George and Harry with them, all of them with wands out for whatever was going to be inside. Hermione wrapped her arms around me, looking up at the boys but still reassuring me that it was all okay now.

“He was in here,” She said slowly, making Ron and Harry race down to the common room to see if they could catch him.

Fred and George came to my side, each taking one of my hands and holding it tight. They sat with me all through the night, letting Hermione sleep for a while. Neither of them dared drift off themselves, certain that this wouldn’t be the creep’s last attempt to get close to me.

“You can sleep if you want,” Fred whispered to me, my head leaning on his shoulder. I shook it slightly.

“I can’t.”

-

{third pov}

When y/n whispered to him that she couldn’t sleep, despite all the people there to keep watch for that dick Mclaggen, Fred decided he wanted to see him dead. There had to be more he could do, something that would make him leave her alone for good. Threats hadn’t worked on him, neither had the girl he wanted so badly confronting him. So the boy felt at a loss, yet fuelled to stop the onslaught of fear that y/n felt.

So he waited until his brother was in the shower to sneak off to the courtyard, hoping to catch the pervert on his way to his daily run by the lake.

“Oi, Mclaggen!” He called across the empty bridge, seeing him appear from the castle.

“You alright Weasley?”

“It’s Fred. And I know what you did last night?” He stood tall over the boy, but nothing seemed to waver his confidence.

“And what would that be?”

“You were there, in her room. You sick fucker.” The boy huffed, feeling himself growing more and more frustrated at Cormac’s arrogance.

“You missed quite a party,” he scoffed, raising his eyebrows. Fred reached forward, grabbing his shirt and pulling it up to his chin.

“You listen to me, Okay? Leave y/n alone.” The boy swore that the pervert’s smile grew.

“And what’s it to you Weasley.” He all but hissed.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

The words had come out quicker than he’d really had time to think over their repercussions, but seeing the look on Mclaggen’s face drop in shock made up for whatever he was going to have to do from then on.

“She.. l-likes you?” Fred dropped him again, making him stumble slightly as he thought it over.

“Afraid so buddy.”

“How long has she been yours?” He hated the way it was phrased as if y/n was a possession for one of them to own.

“Two weeks.” Fred lied yet again, the anger he’d felt pushing him continue this story. At least it seemed to bother the other boy enough.

Cormac had sent one last glare at the ginger, before going off in a huff. Finally something had worked, maybe not for good, but it at least had gotten a reaction out of him. As Fred headed back inside the castle he realised that the only way the creep’s obsessive ways could be stopped, was if y/n’s attention was somewhere else.

Now he just had to find a way to explain that to her, without her getting too mad.

-

My room was now my safe place, somewhere he couldn’t turn up without consequence. Harry had brought me some breakfast from the great hall, and Ron was doing his best to keep what little spirits we had amongst us high. Hermione and George had given up trying to convince me to tell Mcgonagall, as I assured them nothing could be done unless he was caught inside the dorm.

“It’s just our word against his,” I huffed. We were all sitting around wondering where Fred had disappeared to when he appeared at the door, an awkward smile on his face when we all looked over at him.

“So…” He started, his voice wary as if we all might snap at him for what he was abou to say. “I might have done something bad.”

[stra66otkiller]

ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS

sfw:

he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of

poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.

the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane

eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all

in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)

surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see

eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously

he treats you like a god. his god.

everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch

whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter

not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what

he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again

and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try

his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around

around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter

it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening

you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something

but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover

you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions

it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid

so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything

it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye

albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched

you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him

he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more

and you agree, although, hesitantly

you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed

however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed

he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough

he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable

sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before

eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion

he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)

the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.

eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore

nsfw:

sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.

when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out

he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile

kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth

refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one

sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you

he loves initiating small acts whenever too

occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest

you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat

he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him

eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style

you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up

he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him

doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him

again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat

“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock

unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his

even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more

something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly

he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit

loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately

sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand

he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable

[sir-crocodile-smile]

Can We Just Be Happy Now?

Hello everyone! Once again my brain has decided to write content no one asked for... Surprise! It’s a mini songfic (cringe is dead and I’m killing it) for none other than the big sweet mochi man himself, Charlotte Katakuri! The song is CWJBHN by Jake Scott & Josie Dunne. This one is mostly fluff, with a dash of hurt/comfort for flavor. Enjoy! (look at his eyelashes UGH he’s so pretty)

Katakuri x gender neutral reader

    “Not too much farther now,” you called over your shoulder to the Sweet Commander as you lead him through the forest and up the mountainside. Despite how easy it would be for the tall man to keep up with you, Katakuri hung a few steps back. Being close to you brought something soft out of him, something he desperately wanted to hide from his family. He never let his guard down in front of others, but there were moments where your bright eyes and easy smile made his breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t let himself get close to you.

    In fact, he shouldn’t even be here right now, trudging through the forest with you. He should have turned you down when you asked him to accompany you, he really should have. But you said you wanted to show him your favorite place in the world, a secret place you had never told anyone else about. The way your eyes sparkled, how you nibbled on your bottom lip as you waited patiently for his response…

    How can I say no when you look at me like that? 

    So here he was, following where you lead. He was tempted to take a peek into the future, just to make sure it was safe for both of you, but it felt wrong. This was your special place. He wasn’t going to invade it, even if it was just in his mind’s eye. You mattered too much to him for that. You mattered to him, and that was something he was afraid to even think of. Even the silence of a thought was too loud. 

    But my heart is begging my head not to get in the way.

    “Finally! We’re here,” you smiled triumphantly as Katakuri reached the plateau behind you. Carved into the mountainside was a shallow cave, shielded from the wind and rain by a few planks of wood sloppily nailed together. You moved the makeshift door aside. “I remember that door being a lot heavier when I was little. Guess I really have gotten stronger!” Inside was a pile of old blankets and a bed made of straw that started decomposing years ago. The walls had a child’s drawings on them, and there was even a tattered Jolly Roger plastered to the wall with glue that was probably as solid as cement by now. You sat down on a rock off to the side with a wistful smile, the cave being far too small for either one of you to fit inside. 

    “What… is this place?” Katakuri asked gently, trying to resist the temptation to look in the future for your answer. 

    “Home. Well, kind of. I grew up here,” you explained, eyes scanning over the cave with bittersweet nostalgia. “There used to be a village on this island, but I didn’t spend much time there. I lived here, for the most part.”

    “Alone?” He asked, eyebrows popping up in surprise. You nodded your head, eyes downcast.

    “I never had any family, and the townspeople… well, there was hardly enough food to go around already. No one wanted to pick up a stray.” These words hit him like a knife in his heart. Even when he was a child, he always had his brothers and sisters. He couldn’t even imagine a life without them, and didn’t want to. And to hear you call yourself a stray? That hurt him in ways he couldn’t describe.

    “I’m… I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say, though he wished he could say so much more. But before he could think of anything else, you met his gaze with a wide smile. 

    “Don’t be, Katakuri!” You grinned before turning to gaze out across the little plateau. The sun had just dipped to touch the ocean, sending brilliant oranges and pinks streaking across the water. His piercing ruby eyes didn’t stray from you as you spoke. “I brought you here because I wanted to thank you.”

    “Thank me? Why?” 

    “Because… I know it’s you that keeps sneaking my favorite sweets into my room.” Katakuri felt his face grow red hot under his scarf. How… how did you know? He always used his future sight to make sure he wouldn’t get caught! But you didn’t stop there. “I know that you vouch for me to your siblings when I’m not around. You look out for me, and compliment my baking even though I know it’s not as good as you say!” His cheeks could not be any redder. All this time he thought he was being sly, thinking he could keep his affection secret, so that you would never know and no one could see his softness. He wanted to turn into a ball of mochi and tumble off the cliff, he was so mortified. You continued talking, though, so despite his embarrassment killing him, he stayed.

    “I grew up not knowing if anyone would ever care about me,” you explained as your voice grew a little shakier. You brought your knees to your chest. “So… thank you for caring about me. I care about you too.” Tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you held your chin up as you watched the sun set. There was a vortex of feelings in your chest; your sadness from your childhood, your happiness from the way Katakuri cared for you, but most of all, how you loved him for it. You wanted to be so much more than friends.

    Walls were falling down all around his heart as Katakuri watched the sunlight dance on your face, in this moment where vulnerability had struck you both like lightning. Was there a chance… that you felt the same way about him that he felt about you? With every crumbling brick there was hope and fear rising in his chest. Could you even be together if you wanted it?  What about his image as the perfect commander? His responsibilities? Would it paint a target on your back to be with him? What if Mama didn’t allow it? Or worse, if she approves and it doesn’t work out? Would it even make sense for you to be with a monster like him? Would you love him until you saw what he hid under his scarf? What if he disgusted you? What if you hate him for hiding it? What if-

    His spiraling stopped the moment he saw a tear roll down your cheek. Suddenly his insecurities meant nothing to him, they evaporated in the face of his love for you. In a blink, he wrapped you up in his strong embrace, accidentally burying your face in his scarf.

    “I care about you, [y/n]. More than words can say. I thought I could hide it, but,” he whispered to you as he held you tight. “I should have known I couldn’t fool you.” You pushed yourself out of the fluff that was obscuring your vision with a sniffle. You looked up at Katakuri, his normally sharp eyes soft and warm as they stared at you. He lifted a gloved hand to wipe away what was left of a tear on your cheek, cradling your face like you were porcelain. 

    “Kata…?” you stammered, struggling to process what was happening.

    “You’ll never have to be alone again, my sweetheart,” he reassured, leaning down to press his forehead to yours in an intimate gesture that took your breath away. “I’ll be here for you, taking care of you, no matter what. If… if you’ll have me.” You gasped, then immediately threw your arms around his neck and buried your face in his scarf. You were laughing, crying, and telling him yes over and over and over again.

    When both of your heartbeats calmed, Katakuri lifted you effortlessly and sat you down in his lap. The warmth of his arms soaked into you as you both watched the last of the sunset dip into the ocean. For a moment, his insecurities bubbled up, but he quieted them with a glance down at you in his arms.

    Can I just be happy? Even if it doesn’t work out, even if it doesn’t make sense, or even if it all burns down one day, can I just be happy for now?

    Can we just be happy now?

[www-artforoddballs]

Alright, so notice. Most of you probably know this, since you're following me for the Autistic Levi stuff (thank you, we're closing in on 100 followers!!!!), but people with autism can have "tantrums". I've kinda touched on this in a previous post (it's a full meltdown, but you can see that post here https://www-artforoddballs.tumblr.com/post/644803780958879744/autistic-levi-angstkinda-i-guess-this-is-him). For those of you who DON'T know, an autistic tantrum is not the same thing as what you'd think of in regards to a toddler or kid, it's just the word used for it. This is a mistake my mother and I made when getting the paperwork done while I was going through testing that later got cleared up lol

I had a tantrum yesterday, and so I figured that I could post about Leviathan having a tantrum, since it's still ready on my mind. I don't care if anyone else is proud of me for coping with it as well as I did, since it's a major improvement from last time I had one, but I am proud of myself!...with that in mind, here we go!!

There will be some angst in this post, like the last post in relation to this one, but like the last post, it turns out fine.

However.

Trigger warning for things such as self harm, both physical and verbal. If you or a loved one is self harming, either reach out to someone for help or reach out to that person to help, yeah?

OK on with the post.

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

First of all, Levi's autism is part of why his brothers always agree to help when there's a raffle for tickets or something like that on the DDD messages, because he can get overwhelmed if they don't at least help, even if he doesn't win in the end.

They figured out that his autism was the culprit for this shortly after his diagnosis.

Now when I'm writing for Levi, I like to think that his diagnosis was around the early 1990s since, while autism was a separate diagnosis in 1980, it didn't really start becoming fairly accepted and expanded upon until 1987. Hence why everyone is mostly used to it by now, but are still sometimes off put by his odd behavior; for them, as beings that have been around since...the beginning of the universe, pretty much as far as we know, but for at LEAST since humans were around (so at VERY least 2.5 million years now, but potentially up to around 7 million years (if they haven't been around since the beginning of creation)), this would be like...I dunno, give me a second.

Waiting

Waiting...

Okay, so from 1990(earliest year I have in mind) to 2019 (the year it was released) is 29 years. That's a minimum of 1/86,206.89th of their lifespan, and a maximum of 1/475,862,068.96th of their total lifetime.

So this is a VERY recent development for them on the grand scheme of things, but I digress.

So they're still figuring everything out, especially as the human race continues to learn about the condition itself.

So the first time Levi threw a tantrum and they recognized it for what it was...it was certainly interesting.

What had happened was exactly the situation described; Levi had wanted to go to a concert in the human world and they were raffling off free tickets. Except, unlike now, his brothers hadn't offered their support. They hadn't in the past, why would this time be any different?

Except now they viewed it through a different light. Leviathan had an image in his head that he desired so badly and had asked his brothers to support him, hopeful, only to be rejected at every turn. That he was used to, but it was still upsetting.

He put that to the side, though. He really wanted to see this band, and these were VIP tickets where you got to hang out with the band for a few hours after the concert! They'd cost a LOT of human money, and while they COULD afford it, he knew Lucifer would be bringing hell down upon him if he used that amount of family funds on a concert. And his anxiety was already somewhat raised, so he decided to enter the raffle on his own.

He sat there for hours, waiting for the results to come in. He'd hyped this up in his brain the entire time; He'd win, go to an amazing concert, have dinner with the band, maybe even make some friends....!...and then the results came back. He hadn't won.

As per usual, our snek boi went into one of his rants about how unfair it was, but instead of going on a rampage or something like that, locked himself up in his room and cried, hating himself for getting so excited over nothing.

As I mentioned before, I've made another post about a tantrum/getting too overwhelmed slipping into something even more dire, as that's almost always what happens to me. This would be in the 90s, so this would be their first real incident with one of these moments where they had the proper diagnosis, so bear with me, there will be some angst here, but like the other post, it'll be fine.

So Mammon ends up feeling bad for rejecting his little brother, and, not knowing it was too late, decided to go to his room and offer his support. It was almost Leviathan's birthday anyways, and Mammon knew how rejection felt and how much it sucked. So, he knocked on Leviathan's door.

No response. He knocked again...still no response, but a quiet sob.

Right away, Mammon switched from semi-carefree to worried. "Levi...?"

Again, no response. He decided to just go in and check on his brother...

The door was locked. And he smelled blood.

"Leviathan, I need you to open the door," Mammon said with a half hearted chuckle, his voice now becoming slightly strained. "Because if ya don't, I'm gonna have t' break the door down."

"Just go away!" Leviathan cried from inside his room. "Just leave me alone, you jerk!"

"I ain't goin' anywhere. Either open the door or I'm gonna break it down. Those are your two choices."

A moment of silence, before Mammon sighs, stretching, as he transforms into his demon form.

"Alright, option two it is."

He rammed into the door repeatedly, before the wood finally splintered and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Mammon quickly looked around, eyes widening as he saw Leviathan digging his own sharpened nails into his arms, multiple raked wounds, made by the same culprit, carved into his skin.

"Levi...look at ya..." Mammon said, voice faltering, tears welling up in his eyes. "I...how long has..."

"Just shut up! Don't act like you care about me, I'm the freak of our family, remember?! I'm the one whose brain isn't right, I'm just a shut-in, good for nothing, re-!"

He was quickly cut off by Mammon going to him and hugging him.

"I don't care who you are. You talk about my brother like that again and I'll kill you. Alright? You're a little off, but you ain't a freak, and your brain works just fine as is. You're perfect just the way you are, and if anybody else says any different, I'm gonna beat them the fuck up. Including you. Got that? So what if you've got that fancy lable on ya now...? Labels like that matter, but it didn't change ya. You're still my cringe, annoying as hell little weirdo of a brother...and I wouldn't have ya any other way."

Leviathan fully listened to Mammon talk, before clinging to him, breaking down sobbing again, and trying to explain what happened through his tears, the older demon gently rubbing his back and allowing him to cry it out, making sure no more harm was done.

A while later, once Levi had calmed down, Mammon ruffled his hair.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Lucifer is already gonna kill me for breaking your door, but he'd be even more pissed if I just left you here with those wounds."

So they did. And Mammon, after telling a VERY angry Lucifer what had happened hours later, had surprisingly NOT gotten chewed out by the eldest brother. Instead, that day, the entire family had a long discussion, and they all agreed that if it was something as small as entering a raffle, or even if it was bigger but not an inconvenience to anyone in the slightest, they'd all help out from then on. It's not like it was hard, and it would save Levi from hours of stress and negativity toward himself and others around him.

They also made a plan for if a tantrum were to happen while someone was around, or if he became too overwhelmed and started to spiral...because, as annoying as he could be, Leviathan was still family. And they loved him, oddities and all.

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

Alright, so...that was the post! I hope it was okay. I know I've written about this type of thing before a little, but different situations can end up with the same negative outcome, like being in an overwhelming situation, or not being able to change your thinking and not easily being able to get over your expectations. I've personally suffered with both, and it's a regular thing for me, so I like writing about it, because maybe, just maybe, it'll help someone out, or help someone that isn't autistic understand a friend or relative or classmate or employee better. And I love these characters, I really do. The only ironic thing is that I see so much of myself in Leviathan, but I adore him and despise myself. Go figure 😂

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, and if there's anything you guys have questions about (in regards to me and my experience), or any specific writing requests, asks are fully open!

Thanks so much for being here to support me, you have no idea how much it means to a little oddball such as myself.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

When the Chips are Down

Chapter 12 - AO3

Marinette had long since accepted that, to prevent akumatization, she needed surefire ways to calm herself down. The risk of Hawkmoth’s victory was too high if she allowed herself to get too panicky, or too angry, or too scared—

But the average person couldn’t keep their cool all the time. It wasn’t feasible. And, Ladybug or not, Marinette was still an average girl.

The best method she found was the one-minute rule. All she had to do was allow herself to experience the full emotion for a minute, doing whatever came to mind to express the emotion—panicking, yelling, throwing her bag across the room—before wrapping the feeling up tight and forcing herself to relax.

So she only gave herself a minute to deal with Adrien Agreste. Fortunately, a minute was all she needed… and all he could handle.

********************************************************

Adrien flinched at her scorching tone, stepping back as she stepped forward to deal with him. “Marinette—”

“First of all, you don’t get to decide if someone has made Ladybug and Chat Noir’s lives harder. Last I checked, you are neither of them! Ladybug and Chat Noir have never complained about civilians, either the akumatized or anyone else; the only person they have on record complained about is Hawkmoth, which they have a solid right to do so.”

“W-Wait, Mari—”

“Secondly, it is never a civilian’s fault that someone got akumatized!” She jabbed a finger in Adrien’s face. She could feel Felix’s shock. “The only person at fault is Hawkmoth, so don’t you ever blame Felix for something that man caused!

“Third, even if people could be blamed for causing an akuma, there are far worse people you could put your blame on. Like, for example, Chloe, your childhood friend who has been involved with nearly all of our classmates akumatizations, and even some of their relatives.” Her grin was sharp. “So, it’s a good thing we don’t blame people for getting others akumatized, right Adrien?”

“Marinette, that’s not—”

“And finally—” She breathed deep and exhaled loudly, forcing out the rage along with it. “I am sick and tired of whatever this—” She gestured between the two boys—“is. You’re cousins, and sure, you don’t get along, I can understand that. I don’t like my cousins that much ether. But this? Your constant snipping, the regular assassination of Felix’s character…” She sighed and blinked away unshed tears. “It’s too much.”

“I haven’t been snipping at him!”

“It’s true, you don’t do it nearly as often as he does.” She glanced at Felix, who tried to look innocent. “And I tell him off for it. But you’re the one who said that if Felix lost something, it means he doesn’t care about it. You’re the one who said he makes Ladybug’s job harder. You start things, Adrien.”

“I don’t!” Adrien denied. “B-Besides, even if I did, you don’t know what he’s like when we’re alone. He’s cruel, Marinette.”

“Are you sure about that?” She challenged. “Because Adrien, Felix has been a lot better about his behavior recently. You haven’t seen it because you don’t bother spending time with him, but there’s no need to constantly defame him.”

“But he caused that akuma on the anniversary—”

“And that was a really mean thing to do, I understand that, Adrien.” She glared. “But whatever happened to the high road?”

He stepped back.

“Because based on your actions, either you think your own cousin isn’t worth the high road approach, or you never thought very highly of it to begin with.” She crossed her arms. “So which is it?”

He shot her a frustrated look. “Marinette, this isn’t about Felix. This is about you two conspiring to humiliate Lila!”

“Would you prefer she humiliate us instead?” Felix asked, mirroring her pose. He nodded at her. “Because that’s what Rossi tries to do. She makes up her little lies, she gets the class worked up into a frenzy, and points them at us. She wants your ‘good friend’ to be miserable, Adrien.”

“She just… wants friends. Hurting her isn’t going to change anything.”

“But coddling her is only going to make things worse.”

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

She shot Adrien a glare. “You can say that when you’re the one who’s losing their friends because of Lila. But I don’t want to hear a word from you until that happens.”

“Marinette, it’s just a misunderstanding!” Adrien said. “Look, Alya has been really worried about you since you started hanging out with Felix—”

“If Alya is worried, she can say it to me herself. Neither of us need you to interfere on our behalf.” If Alya had something to say, she could say it to Marinette’s face instead of ghosting her for the past month. Marinette hadn’t hear anything from her best friend, not even a request to help babysit or an order from the bakery.

“Marinette—” Adrien reached out to touch her, but she stepped away.

“I’m going home. Don’t you have to go home too?” Adrien winced and Marinette tried not to feel terrible about it. She turned away. “Bye, Adrien.”

“Marinette, wait—”

She left, Felix following her out of the school. Adrien tried to go with them, but his bodyguard caught him the moment he stepped out of school and took him back to Agreste mansion. Marinette caught Felix smirking as they watched Adrien drive away. A horrible, unrelenting ache opened up in her chest. “Well, I think you handled that quite well—”

“Felix? No offence, but I don’t really want to hear it right now.”

“Marinette?”

“I know you said something about celebrating before, but I’m not feeling good. I… Can you leave me alone? Just for a little bit?” Dark clouds swirled overhead, the threat of rain looming as Marinette casted her eyes to the heaven, then back down at Felix.

His expression was unreadable, but he nodded. “Very well. Would you like me to inform the school you’re sick? So you can stay home longer.”

“That’s really nice of you, Felix. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Marinette.” He smiled, a rare treat on a face used to smirks. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Yeah… I hope so too.”

Marinette went home, bypassing her parents, to her bedroom filled with reminders of Adrien. His photos were pasted to her walls, his schedule hanging from her ceiling, his presents in her chest. A single tear streaked down her cheek as another shard of heartbreak pierced her heart.

She felt a little hand on her arm. “Marinette?”

A sob caught in her throat as she savagely beat the emotion down. “Tikki—” Her voice the barest whisper—“I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

Because Adrien, the one she loved, was… against her. It was the only way she could describe it. He had looked at her side and looked at Lila’s and chosen to support a liar, but he thought she was the one in the wrong for… what? Fighting back? Having Felix on her side? She absently wondered if he would support her if she abandoned Felix, since he hates Felix so much, and cringed at the thought. Another example to add to the pile. How could she even consider abandoning a friend just to get Adrien to like her? Who does that?

Marinette does, apparently.

“I don’t like the person I am when I’m in love with Adrien,” she confessed, looking down at her kwami. “I don’t like how he becomes the center of my world. I don’t like how I compromise my morals to make him happy.” Because that’s why she tried to follow the high road: to make him happy. “I… I don’t want to love him anymore, Tikki.”

The kwami hugged her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to like anyone you don’t want to. You just need to let him go.”

The ache in her heart tripled. “How?” she gasped, crying more freely.

Tikki spent the rest of the afternoon guiding her. First, a meditation session to calm her down. Next, she and Tikki went through every present she planned to one day give Adrien, carefully unwrapped each one, and decided what to do with them. Marinette didn’t want them around the house—the memories of her intentions would still be there—so they planned to give them to a thrift store that weekend. She deleted her collage background on her computer. The schedule was then scrubbed clean, the sharpie coming off the laminated paper with hand sanitizer, and Marinette was forced to remember each and every thing she had done to get that information. She was almost crying again at the end, this time with shame.

Finally, the photos. She remembered the hours she’d spent pouring over magazines and the internet. Outside of the few group shots he was in, every picture she had of him was heavily photoshopped. She pulled them off the walls, one by one. This one has most of his smile, she thought, and this one didn’t change his face, but he looked so tired…

She didn’t know why she had these photos. It seemed rational at the time, but… a lot of things seemed rational when she was trying to make him like her. So she placed them in a prototype of her diary box and let Tikki hide it.

“Goodbye, Adrien.” The words were final, but seemed necessary. She couldn’t like him anymore, not if she wanted to stay alive.

The next morning, she woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out. For once she was on time, her mind too anxious to allow her to sleep long. She met Felix at the door to school.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, leading her inside.

She hesitated. “…A bit. But I’ll get better soon. Tikki smiled encouragingly at her from inside her purse. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just another one of Rossi’s temper tantrums.” He rolled his eyes as they walked into the locker room. “Honestly, I have to wonder about her parents if that’s what she considers acceptable behavior. Anyway, I got your notes and—” His voice caught in his throat, cutting off with an inelegant croak as his eyes widened. Marinette followed his gaze and her mouth dropped open.

There was a small crowd surrounding her locker. Written on it in red spray paint was the word “Skank”. Marinette approached it, her mind disassociating and distant from what she was seeing, and opened it. Everything in it was coated in the same paint, ruining the few textbooks and decorations inside. She reached out and touched it. Stone dry.

“Someone get a teacher!” Felix’s furious voice broke her from her trance. He had never sounded angry before. His emerald eyes glinted as he glared at the crowd. “Which one of you did this!?” he demanded. “This is destruction of private property!” She could feel everyone staring at her. Did they think she deserved this? Did they pity her? Did they—

“M. Graham de Vanily, stop shouting.” Mme. Mendeleive was the teacher summoned. “Now, what exactly is going on here—” She stopped, seeing the damage done. Her lips thinned. “Marinette, are you okay?”

“I…” She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. “I don’t…”

“I think she’s in shock, Mme. Mendeleive,” Felix said.

Mme. Mendeleive nodded, concern clear on her face. “Take her to the nurses office. I’ll figure out what happened here.”

Felix was trying to usher her out of room when something clattered to the ground. A can of red spray paint rolled across the floor and bumped into her foot. Marinette picked it up; it was the same shade as the paint on her locker.

Alya, who at just opened her locker only for the can to fall out, stared at it in dread. “Marinette—” her eyes searched Marinette’s— “Girl, you know I didn’t—”

“Alya…?” Did Alya… did she do it…? Tears flowed. Why would she… And Marinette remembered yesterday, remembered making Alya fail, and gritted her teeth. “Alya, how could you?”

She flinched back, betrayal on her face. “Girl, you know me! I would never—I have never seen that can before in my life!”

And now she was lying to her!? Marinette turned away. “Save it, Alya.” Her voice hitched with a sob. She didn’t want to hear anything Alya had to say. She handed the can to Mme. Mendeleive and ran. 

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[dessarious]

What Makes a Family? Pt15

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

Marinette couldn’t speak because it felt like her throat was locked in a vice. Instead she threw her arms around her twin knowing she’d understand. When they’d looked into each other’s eyes it was like coming home, but more. She couldn’t describe it. All of a sudden she realized a piece of her had been missing and now she was whole. When Cass hesitantly returned the hug she felt her anger spike. Her sister should not be so touch starved that a hug was abnormal.

“It’s okay.” She pulled back to pin the other girl with a dry look.

“No it’s not, but it will be. Now that we’re together we can buffer each other from the way fate and chance have been screwing with us.” Cass just gave an acknowledging hum. Looking closer Marinette could see an alarming amount of faded scars. She reached out to trace one just below her right ear. “I’m so sorry… If I had known…” What? What could she have possibly done to help? Nothing, but she couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Me too.” It took her a minute to figure out why Cass would be sorry. Then she remembered that Alfred told her Cass had escaped the League when she was eight.

“As much as I wish you had found me, you couldn’t have known. We were kept apart and kept ignorant of each other. But nothing is going to separate us again.” And anyone who tried was going to be in for a very rude awakening.

“Yeah, they’re definitely related. No one else could understand Mari’s cryptic speech patterns.” Chloe’s comment got chuckles out of Selina and Luka. Kagami and Alfred had almost identical small smiles. Poor Bruce just still looked confused. Before she could comment the Mayor exited an elevator and stormed over.

“Chloe! What have I told you about letting your friends bother guests? If you insist on bringing them here at least take them to your room.” Marinette couldn’t help the eyeroll. She wasn’t certain what had caused him to start thinking that way but every time they came to the hotel now, this was the result. “Mr. Wayne I’m so sorry. Please don’t hesitate to tell them if they’re bothering you, or call me to deal with it.” You would think a man so entrenched in politics would be able to read the room better.

“Your concern is appreciated though unnecessary Mayor Bourgeois. Your daughter has been essential in facilitating our stay and has done a wonderful job of making sure we’re all comfortable.” Bruce’s words seemed to stun the man. As she watched her father analyze the Mayor she could see why his alter ego could be deemed the world's greatest detective. She could also see the moment he decided to go for the kill shot. “Besides, given that Chloe is best friends with my daughter she could never be a bother.” She fought not to laugh as it looked like he’d swallowed his tongue.

As they waited for the man to regain speech, Marinette gauged everyone else’s reactions. Chloe shot Bruce a grateful look while Alfred simply wore a proud smile. Luka and Kagami both looked like they were struggling not to laugh. Selina… she looked like it was her birthday. Cass was studying the Mayor and Marinette had a feeling it was to decide if he was a threat. Once his brain started working the Mayor’s eyes immediately darted to Cass before he put on one of the fakest smiles she’d ever seen.

“That’s wonderful to hear. Chloe you should have told us you were friends with a Wayne.” There was an edge to his voice that everyone caught. The look on Bruce and Selina’s faces was somewhere in between annoyance and disgust. Chloe had apparently just had enough of his shit.

“I’ve been friends with Mari for years and you’ve never cared.” The man glared at his daughter and Marinette almost cringed at what she knew was coming next. At least it would be entertaining.

“That’s different and you know it. She’s beneath you and you’re only friends with her because it annoys your mother. Just like you keeping this information from us is an act of immaturity. It’s time for you to grow up and stop all this nonsense.” Chloe’s face went oddly blank and she knew the girl was trying to keep her emotions in check. Mostly so she wouldn’t get Akumatized but probably a little so she didn’t attack her father. Selina pulled her into a protective side hug and glared at the Mayor. Marinette fully expected the woman to go off on him.

“So you think your daughter should only choose friends based on the amount of money or influence their parents have?” Bruce’s voice was neutral but it still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Once again, the Mayor didn't pick up on the mood.

“There are other considerations of course. Public image and such. But surely you of all people understand worrying about people taking advantage of your children to further their own ambitions.”

“I do worry about that. I warn them extensively against attaching themselves to people like you who see nothing but what they can get out of them. In my experience the more someone has the more they want and feel entitled to. Thankfully your daughter doesn’t seem to have inherited your greed. Otherwise I’d have to advise my daughter, Marinette, to rethink their friendship.” The Mayor’s eyes darted to her and Marinette just smiled sweetly at him. He paled drastically and she could see him trying to come up with something to fix the situation. When that didn’t seem to work he mumbled something about needing to see to city business and went back the way he’d come. Cass snickered beside her but Chloe looked worried.

“Why don’t we go up to your suite? That way the boys won't be able to find us, we’ll have more privacy, and you can pack anything you’re afraid your parents will mess with.” Selina’s suggestion helped Chloe relax. Luka and Kagami were trading looks again before Kagami spoke.

“We can help her with that so you can speak to Mr. Wayne and your sister.” They obviously knew she was keeping things from them, but at least they trusted her enough to not push the issue. As much as she hated unnecessary secrets, she couldn’t just out other heroes without their permission.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll make sure the boys stay occupied until you’re ready for them.” Alfred’s statement caused a slightly panicked expression to appear on Bruce’s face. The older man just pinned him with a stern look. “You’ll have Miss Kyle to act as a buffer. Not to mention Miss Marinette is far less feral than most of your children.”

“I said I’d have the kitchen redone however you wish. It was due for a remodel anyway.” Alfred just glared at him before making his way to the elevator. 

“Honestly Bruce, he was only gone for a few days and that kitchen turned into a warzone. I still want to know how Jason managed to set the fridge on fire.” Selina’s amusement brought a glare from Bruce and given the way his posture stiffened Alfred heard her too. Marinette couldn’t wait to hear that story.

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[fugamalefica]

[@basiliskinmybed I had to make a separate post because Tumblr wasn't letting me comment on that one]

Oh? Just because they might be well written fics, it does not mean they are IC. And you literally proved my point in your very first paragraph! No, Tom cannot be IC and in love with Harry becauseTom cannot love.

I can't -

You really have to ask how can Bellamort make sense but Tomarry can't? Isn't it common sense? So what if he carried his soul? How does that make him his lover? (I cringed). Yes, he could feel his emotions, and when he did he was in agonising pain! How romantic. And yes, Voldemort could see his mind, and he used that power to have his godfather killed. He killed his parents too. And he was after him for years. No, he was not chasing a lover but he was after him because he wanted to kill him. That's their dynamic.

The similarities between them? What, how similar they looked, that they are both half-bloods, and the like? That's the reason Tom would never be with Harry. He hated his muggle origins, all reminders of it, and all Harry would be is a reminder of that. Besides that, there was no other similarity between them, not in their psyche and not in anything else. Bella had the similarities with him that actually mattered.

Bella was his kindred spirit. She was dark, beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, and powerful, but she was also an aristocrat. She was what Voldemort himself would have been if he had been raised in a loving, privileged family. She was what Voldemort wanted to be for she was loved, Pureblood, and an aristocrat as well. She was also the only human being who had ever understood him, accepted him despite knowing him, and loved him still and for it, actually. Only Bellatrix truly understood Voldemort which is hinted several times in the books, like her defying him because she knows what he actually wants and needs at that particular moment even if he is not articulating it and him going along with it. All the others, Dumbledore, Mrs Cole, who wanted to change him or thought him misguided were the Anti-Bellatrix and he hated them. Harry would be the very same.

This is the first time he had ever got love and acceptance and felt comfortable and at home with a human, because he knew she would not hate him for it. He knew she would still be as obsessively, lovingly, beautifully devoted. And not just any other person, but an extremely powerful, capable, and intelligent witch par excellence! She bowed to no one but him and clearly it mattered to him. Even Dumbledore said Voldemort grew closer to Hogwarts than he had ever been to a person and that’s because no person had ever accepted him but Bellatrix did and just like he grew close to Hogwarts, he grew close to Bellatrix, although his feelings for her were stronger and much more complex because she was a human. The reason Voldemort was not able to love in the first place was him never being accepted, understood, or loved for who he was. Only a kindred spirit could do this to someone like him and that was Bella. She was like the bandage to his wound, even if not the cure (because it still wasn't healthy).

The prophecy, you say? It has nothing to do with Tomarry at all.

So he loved Harry? In the canon? He didn't care for her 'because she was just another follower for him' because he didn't care about any other follower of his. He didn't care about Snape, who he killed in cold blood, or Lucius, whose son he sent on a suicide mission only because he failed to retrieve his prophecy, the very same one that Bella also failed to retrieve. Canonically, the only punishment Bella was mentioned to receive for this was Voldemort not talking to her! Funny, no? She was the only one we ever see him doing selfless things for, not once but twice, and in the first case it was even sacrificial. He was always atypical towards her because she was different to him from the rest.

Also, Bella did love him. Rowling herself used the word to describe her feelings for him and no, she did not worship him because that would entail her seeing him as a flawless being which she did not. She thought he made a mistake in trusting Snape which is proof that she saw him as human. Obsessive love is a thing.

Seriously, how old are you?