#i don’t feel threatened or stalked or anything

[tinybeetiny]

Drummers Bang The Best: J.W

SMUT | 18+ | MDNI

I truly believe this man will yap through anything

->Starring: Rockstar!WooyoungXafab!Reader

->Genre: Smut

->Cw: Explicit language, degradation, unprotected sex,

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Rock Never Dies Masterlist

Wooyoung was cocky, that much was painfully obvious but not many knew that he actually could back it up. It frustrated you to no end but deep down, deep deep down, you loved it.

You walk into the practice room and see Wooyoung banging away on his drum set, not even noticing your arrival. The sound doesn't bother you anymore; you're just happy to hear something louder than his voice. You watch as sweat drips down his forehead and the veins in his neck protrude. A rush of heat spreads through you with every bang of his drumsticks, he looks so serious, and seeing him in his element was something you'd never fully get used to. You're not sure when or how your little situationship with Wooyoung started, but you weren't complaining, and neither was he. There was something about his loud personality that seemed to annoy yet keep you hooked at the same time.

You walk over and sit on the little couch against the wall waiting for him to notice you. When he finally looks over at you he doesn't stop, sending a smirk in your direction. After about 6 minutes he finally finishes "Did you come all this way for lil ole me?" he asks dramatically "Why are you like this?" you shake your head at him “Admit it. You love me” He teases as he walks over to you “Just hush and give me what I came here for” you sigh rolling your eyes. His eyes darken and he stares at you almost like a predator stalking its prey. “You’re really something you know that? Not so much as a hey. No how are you doing? You really know how to make a guy feel special” his lips hover yours and neither of you move to close the distance “If you don’t like then tell me to leave” you sass back, you he would never “Why would I do that sweetheart? You know I love it when you’re mean to me” he smashes his lips against yours, his tongue invading its way through. Your little moans are muffled but his lips and he lowers you down onto the couch. Hand grabbing at whatever clothes you can get your hands on.

His hand comes down, fingers gliding through your slick folds “You’re so wet, need to taste you” he starts to make his way down to the ground but you stop him “No no I need you. Need you to fuck me” you beg not wanting to wait any longer “Shiitt you want me so bad” he laughs “I will leave right now” you threaten “No you won’t” he pushes his tip in without warning causing you gasp “Told you” he pushes in a little more, feeling your tight walls mold against him. He lets out a sigh when he bottoms out not wanting to move yet or else he’ll cum too soon. He gives you a couple slow thrusts “I love this pussy you know that? It’s mine. Only mine” his hips begin to move faster, the sound of skin slapping against each other and loud moans fill the room

"I knew your slutty pussy couldn't resist me" he taunts pushing your legs further into your chest and the tip of cock goes deeper just barely kissing your cervix. “S-slow down Woo” you moan pushing at his stomach. He pushes your hands away with a scoff “Weren’t you the one begging me to fuck you? Yeah thought so.” His thrusts get meaner somehow going even faster. The pleasure knocks all of the oxygen out of your legs and your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out “Look at you. So fucked dumb on my cock you can’t even speak” You clench at his words and you hate that your body is so responsive to him. The way he knows every sensitive spot, he knew you better than you knew yourself.

His fingers grip your thighs, leaving little bruises and from the way his moans are getting higher in pitch you know he's close as if on cue his thrusts become sloppy “Oh god m’gonna cum. Fuck. You gonna take my cum. Take it like the slut you are.” “Yes yes fuck Woo cum in me please. Gonna take it all for you” his hips stutter and he spills into you with a deep, pornographic moan. His breaths are heavy as he pulls out and you whine at the emptiness. He bites his lip when he watches his cum pour out "So hot. Can't let it go to waste" His two fingers come to shove it back into your overstimulated hole.

You both quietly get dressed until he decides to open his mouth "So are you gonna admit you're in love with me now?"

Taglist: @e3ellie @yoonshiiu @yunlazia @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie

@lemonkait00 @ginevrsstuff @atztrsr @honsans-atiny-24 @zaynsfl4m3s

@life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

[littlemisssatanist]

Hitlist

the jackal x fem reader

~ i am a whore for eddie redmayne so you should thank his face for being so gorgeous

~ this is 2k words of poorly written and unedited smut. if you see typos,,, no you didnt.

~ i need his face in my chest thats like the only reason i wrote this

~ ty for everyones lovely comments on the last part!

~ look at my art of my beautiful husband who is too old for me

~ BEFORE I FORGET. i have a longfic idea for this sorta universe,,, a mr and mrs smith type of situation crossover w sherlock bbc as a case fic. what do we think

part one | part two

You lead him back to a hotel room. Your hotel room, though not for much longer. The people who had hired you paid for everything, and once they heard you had betrayed them, they would eventually be able to track you down. The faster you left, the better.

The Jackal kept you in his sight the entire time, staring into the back of your head as if he was trying to cut a hole right through it.

It’s not like I would have hurt him anyways, you thought mulishly, poking your tongue into your cheek, troubled. Your mind had already been made up before you had even stepped into the room.

You could never hurt him.

As you walked into the room, he stalked past you and started examining everything, keeping an eye on you all the same.

“It’s clean,” you offered, but he only shot you a side glance, not bothering to acknowledge you had said anything. You worked hard to keep yourself from letting the hurt show on your face.

Instead, you ask: “Married?” 

Trying to lighten the mood, you couldn’t help but notice the ring on his finger. By the way his face tightened, you knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Divorced,” he muttered. “You?” he added, as an afterthought.

“No,” you shook your head. You had thought about it once, a long time ago, but it never worked out. You simply could not stop thinking about him.

The Jackal sat down next to you on the bed, done with his search. He was close, closer than you would imagine comfortable. This close, you could see every freckle and mark on his face.

You are definitely not complaining.

“Her loss,” you whispered. At his questioning glance, you clarified: “Your wife.”

The tips of his fingers brushed over yours and you shivered.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No, it was my fault. She deserved better than me.”

His eyes flickered shut as he leaned in closer. You could feel his breath on your face.

“Probably,” you agreed, tilting your head away to admire the earlier hickey you had left. He blinked a couple of times, confused by the sudden distance you had put between them. Then you pressed your hand into the purple mark, and he hissed and pulled away. 

He went to lean against the headboard and you followed him, climbing into his lap. His hands immediately found your waist even as he tried to push you away.

Instead, you only pressed his hips against his, hands caging him in on either side of the headboard.

“Come on, J,” you crooned. “Don’t you miss this?”

“You tried to kill me!” He snapped. “Forgive me if I’m not so forthcoming.”

You frowned. “You were literally all up in my business not even five seconds ago. Besides, if I wanted you dead, then I wouldn’t have announced my presence,” you cupped his cheek as gently as possible. You couldn’t stop looking at his freckles. “I was never going to kill you.”

He paused, eyes threatening to flutter shut at your touch. Then he pushed you away again, seemingly remembering why he was mad at you. “Then why did you take the job in the first place?”

You resisted, pressing your forehead against his. “I was trying to protect you,” you said mockingly slowly, as if trying to make him understand something very simple. His cheeks reddened with humiliation and anger. “I knew that taking the job would give you some time. And the only reason I threatened you was because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

The end of your words turned into a soft whine, and you nosed his face into his. Your thumb pressed past his lips and into his mouth, gagging him. His tongue immediately met your thumb, swirling around it on instinct. You moaned, kissing the edges of his mouth.

“Get off,” he managed to mumble through his make-shift gag, saliva dripping past his chin.

“Alexander,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

His name, his real name, snapped him out of the lustful haze your actions had put him into. It had been so long, how had you even remembered that? He should have never told you.

He pushed you away and you finally relented, letting him throw you back onto the mattress and climb on top of you.

“Fuck you,” he said, before swooping down and capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was hot and searing, and you could feel his large hands feeling up your body.

“That’s the idea, J,” you mumbled into his mouth, running your own hands up his back and tugging on his shirt. You needed him naked. Now.

He pulled away, biting your bottom lip as he went, tugging his shirt above his head. You watched from beneath him, admiring the ways his abs flexed before he dropped his hands and caged you in between them.

“You look nice,” you breathed, your hands creeping up his chest. “Ah… I remember this. But the background was different. Ah-!”

J buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting down harshly onto the soft skin there. At the same time, his hand slipped down your pants and underneath your panties, finding the growing wetness between the apex of your thighs.

“It… it was something like,” you sighed as he slipped two fingers inside, “a desert scene? R-remember that, J? Fuck!”

He curled the fingers inside you, his free hand making a large bruise the way it pressed into your waist so tightly. He kissed up your neck and jaw and eventually found your mouth, muffling the words that couldn’t help but spill out.

He remembered it too. The Al-Qaeda operation, the wedding party, the car bomb. You had been a junior sniper working with his team, and he could not help but notice the way your quiet gaze kept falling on him. You met him in his room that night, slipping past the door silently. You weren’t so quiet then, and you weren’t so quiet now.

When he killed the rest of his team, he let you live.

Maybe it was a mistake to do that. But the way the moans kept falling from your mouth, he wasn’t in any position to regret his decision. His thumb pushed at your clit, circling it faster as your voice grew to a higher pitch, as moans and gasps filled the air quicker. He swallowed your sounds as they came out, not letting you get in any air.

The hand holding your waist came to rest at your neck. It was so thin, so easy to just wrap his fingers around it and choke the life out of you. He began to apply pressure, just the tiniest bit, but the way your breath hitched, he knew that you knew the power he had right now.

Your chest heaved up and down against his. Dimly he realized that he had neglected to take off your blouse and bra.

He pulled away slightly, continuing his circular movements on your clit. A thin strand of saliva connected your mouths, and he broke it with a soft flick of his tongue. The hand on your neck tightened, and you released a strangled groan. 

You were vulnerable. Completely at his mercy.

But you found that you didn’t mind. You wanted it. A relationship with him, one in which you could trust that he wouldn’t hurt you, the same way you could never bring yourself to hurt him. 

The pressure on your neck furthered, and your hands instinctively went to his wrist, gripping it tightly. He stared into your eyes. You could feel the wave of pleasure in your stomach growing, legs twitching subconsciously, tightening around the hand in between your thighs.

“P-please…” you managed to choke out, arching your back and rolling your eyes as the pleasure passed the precipice and washed over, stringing your body taut before allowing it to collapse into what felt like a melting puddle.

His hand left your neck, brushing over the dark bruise he had left behind. Something in him felt vindicated, glad to have caused you pain. He kissed the deepest part of the bruise, smiling against your skin as you inhaled sharply at the touch. 

You bring your hands to brush through his hair, gripping it tightly to pull him away from your neck, half heartedly throwing him away. He rolled off, groaning, painfully hard.

“Give me a moment,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. Wow. “Fuck.”

“Good?” He asked.

You nodded, before realizing he probably couldn’t see it. You let your hand find his instead, squeezing it. He sighed.

“I need to go take a cold shower,” He said, moving to get up.

By some miraculous show of strength, you managed to sit up before him and pressed your hand against his abdomen, shoving him back down.

“No. We’re not done yet.”

He stared at you as you swung your leg over his lap, hovering above him. His face was still flushed red, making his dark freckles stand out against his skin. His eyes flicked from between your face to where his erection made a tent in his pants.

“Ok,” he muttered. “Take off your shirt.”

You obeyed immediately, fingers thumbing to undo the buttons on your blouse. The Jackal watched you hungrily, hands coming back to hold onto your waist. They were burning hot against your now bare skin, moving up your spine to unclip your bra and let your breasts free.

He cupped them; the heat making you gasp as you worked to take off your pants. You managed to get them to hang at your knees, finally sitting down on his lap and pressing against his clothed cock.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips pressing upwards.

You circled your hips, mouth falling open at the stimulation to your clit. It was still overly sensitive from his fingers earlier, and the roughness of his jeans did nothing to help soothe it.

“I need your cock in me,” you moaned. “Please.”

The Jackal let out a strangled sound at your words, managing to sit up and push down his pants. His cock sprang free, nudging against your soaking wet panties. You grinded against him, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his back muscles.

He pulled at the band of your panties, allowing them to snap back against your skin. One of your hands finds itself back in his hair, pushing his face into your chest. You can feel him grinning, a low laugh rumbling from his throat.

Finally, finally, he lined up his cock with your pussy and pushed inside. Your mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ at the feeling of complete fullness. He was burning you up from the inside.

He pressed kisses to your bare skin, face still buried in your chest as he kept his hips moving against yours. Pleasure began to build up in you once more, and you knew by the soft grunts and moans that fell out of the Jackal's mouth, he was close too. 

“Inside,” you whimpered, clutching onto him so tightly you wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't ever be able to separate from you. “P-please.”

You raised your hips, his cock slipping out completely, before slamming back down. Your lips met, more clashing teeth than a kiss. His tongue consumed the inside of your mouth, stealing away your breath as you came once more.

Still riding the high, you had enough sense to realize he had also come, just seconds after you, cum filling you and dripping out slightly. 

You swayed slightly, and the both of you fell to the side, his cock still inside you.

Your chest fell up and down. The Jackal shifted closer towards you, placing his head back in the valley of your breasts. Your hand immediately comes to his hair to keep them there.

The two of you lay like that for a while, before you groaned.

“We need to go,” you muttered.

The Jackal mumbled something you couldn't hear. You begin to get up, but he doesn't move, the heavy weight forcing you to flop back down. 

“J,” you patted his back.

“... give me five minutes.”

You sighed. “Yeah, ok.”

part one | part two

tags: (for those who commented they wanted a second part (if you didnt want to be tagged,,, uh lmk) @affective-disorder @simp-ly-writes @freya260

[patheticandmiserable]

Nobody Misses Sinsmas! (A/lastor, L/ucifer, C/harlie)

I rushed through this to get it out before Christmas, so just- ignore all the issues

I was originally planning on writing 📻🍎, but it turned into friendly fluff instead. I just want characters to nice to Al 🥺

A/lastor gets sick right before S/insmas, and L/uci doesn’t want him to feel left out during the celebration.

slight mentions of contagion and mess

Charlie sat the last box of Sinsmas decorations on the floor, opening it and beginning to pull out black and red wreaths and strands of festive lights. “Al, can you get the tree?”

Alastor, standing beside the pile of boxes, snapped his fingers, and a fake pine tree appeared in one corner of the lobby. It was black and scraggly, like many of the plants in Hell were, and tall enough that not even he could reach the top. All he had to do, though, was summon a tendril of shadowy magic to place a pentagram on top of the tree for him. He could have just used his magic to decorate the entire hotel in an instant, but Charlie liked getting to spend time with him. That was why he was helping her do most of it by hand, and why he was moving at a bit of a slower pace than usual.

As Charlie got to work decorating the hotel’s entrance, she found Alastor to be a little less talkative than normal. She thought that maybe he just wasn’t very excited about the holidays, but didn’t want to dampen her mood. At first, she paid no mind to his sniffling, or occasional coughing, or even the first sneeze, but it became more and more persistent. He wasn’t as subtle about rubbing his nose as he thought he was, often pausing just before grabbing something in one of the boxes as he fought against the ticklish sensation. The more he resisted it, the worse it got. As he reached down to pick up a wreath, his breath hitched again. He pressed a finger against his itchy nostrils, stifling a sneeze into his shoulder.

“Hhngx-shhht!”

“Bless you,” Charlie called out, ignoring the fact that blessings weren’t a good thing in Hell. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, my dear. It must be that these boxes are a bit dusty,” he waved her off, his voice a little dulled from congestion.

The Sinsmas tree was the last thing they got to, and by that point, there was no hiding how often Alastor had to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his red-tinged nose. He went to hang another ornament, but hesitated, rushing to cover his mouth with his free hand as his eyes fluttered shut. “Hihh-ihnxzzhihh—! Hhhnk’zzzhht!” The lights flickered as his head snapped downward, nearly knocking something off the tree.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she questioned. “It sounds like you’re getting worse…”

“You have nothing to worry about; I’m—snf!—perfectly fi—hiii—hhiehk’shhhu!” He turned away from Charlie before grabbing the cloth from his pocket and cleaning up the watery mess that was threatening to drip.

“Maybe we should take a break…” She didn’t want him accidentally breaking anything—or spreading his germs around the hotel. She started gathering up the empty boxes and moving them aside, while he stalked off into another room.

Lucifer soon came over to her, looking around the lobby. “How’s everything going?” It was his first Sinsmas with his daughter in a long time, and he knew how excited she was to have everyone together.

Charlie was sitting on the sofa, on her phone, and looked up at him. “It’s going good! I just need to finish the tree.”

“I thought Al was helping you.” He took another glance around the room—no sign of the Radio Demon.

“He was earlier. I told him to take a break. I’m a little worried about him—he sounds like he’s getting sick… I don’t want him to be all alone tomorrow.”

Lucifer could share her sympathy, because he’d been looking forward to spending more time with him, too. “How about I help you finish decorating, and then we can plan on doing something for him tomorrow.”

Alastor continued to insist he wasn’t ill until evening. Everyone in the hotel already knew, but were worried about how he’d react if they said anything. He was starting to shiver from a slowly rising fever, choosing to eat dinner alone in his room before it became too noticeable. He sat in his chair, struggling to concentrate enough to read. He was just about to give up on finishing the chapter he was on when he heard a knock at his door, then saw Lucifer poke his head inside with an anxious smile. “Heyyy, Al, just checking on you.” He walked over to him, noting how his plate of food had much more left uneaten than it should have, how Alastor held onto his book tighter to stop his hands from shaking, and just how exhausted he looked. “You really don’t look too good… Can I—” He tentatively reached out to touch his forehead, but the sinner halfheartedly swatted his hand away.

“Sndff—I kndow I’mb runni’g a fever,” he snuffled.

“Well… there’s no need to try to hide it and overexert yourself, because we all know you’re sick. Make sure you get lots of rest tonight—I’m not gonna let you miss the Sinsmas celebration entirely.” He turned to leave, hoping that his efforts weren’t about to go unappreciated.

In the morning, Lucifer knocked on his door. As expected, there was no answer. He found that it was unlocked, though, and quietly entered. The Radio Demon was still asleep, the sound of his breathing crackling with static.

“Al, wake up,” he said softly, gently nudging his shoulder. The sinner responded with something between a hum and a groan, blearily opening his eyes to see Lucifer standing over him with a broad smile. He was wearing his rubber-duck-print pajamas—because it was Sinsmas, and he deserved at least one day to show them off. “Hey, Bambi—or should I say Rudolph? How’re ya feeling?”

Alastor sat up, a yawn turning into hoarse coughing. “Rather poorly.” Despite how long he’d slept for, he didn’t look like he’d gotten much rest. His ever-present grin was strained, his ears were lowered, and a sickly flush painted his face.

Lucifer gave him a worried look. “Let me take your temperature.” He magically summoned a digital thermometer, earning an eyeroll from the sinner, who reluctantly took it in his mouth. Once the number registered, he read, “101.8… Do you feel like sitting downstairs with everyone else, or do you want to go back to sleep?” Alastor could at least be in the same room as the others, though preferably not too close to them. That is, if he even felt like getting out of bed.

He sniffled, the sound wet and thick, and said, “I suppose I could join them for a little while… I can’t sleep the whole day awa-hay—hehh… Hh-HEHTKZZZ-SHUEWW!” He buried his face in his sleeve, resorting to wiping his nose on the damp fabric, too.

“Take some medicine, then I’ll bring you downstairs.”

A portal opened in the parlor, and Lucifer stepped out with the sick deer. If the others couldn’t tell how he felt just by looking at him the previous night, they could now. He was still in his pajamas, his hair unbrushed. Chills wracked his narrow body, and his movements were slow and lethargic. He didn’t like letting anyone see him this weak, yet it felt inconsiderate to ignore everyone on a holiday, and Lucifer really wanted him to get to celebrate with them. The King summoned a blanket, a cup of tea, and tissues for him. Alastor sat on the sofa, wrapping himself in the blanket before taking the tea.

The parlor was far more decorated than he’d left it, the walls lined with garland and red bows. Lucifer had conjured up several real plants, with potted poinsettias and pine shrubs adding some much-needed greenery. The bar was covered in colorful lights, a few scented candles were scattered across the hotel’s first floor (that Alastor didn’t even notice), the tree was covered in ornaments and had actual presents clustered beneath it.

“Al, you’re up!” Charlie called out, sympathy evident in her face despite her cheerful tone. She was wearing a red and white sweater and even had on a Santa hat. “Look, Dad made it snow outside!” She pointed outside, where snow could be seen falling only around the hotel. Peaceful weather like this didn’t naturally happen in Hell. Pentagram City only occasionally got snow, and it was always a massive blizzard that took out at least half of the city’s power.

“We should go out there an’ have a snowball fight!” Angel Dust shouted, standing in front of one of the windows.

Husk narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s not fair—you have more arms than the rest of us.”

Alastor tuned out the others as a familiar itching filled his sinuses. He grabbed a handful of tissues and held them up his face as his breath shuddered. “H-hhih—IHGK’SHHHIEWW! HEHGKZZH-shhu!” He bent forward with forceful sneezes that scraped against his irritated throat, a few weak coughs following after. The lights on the tree flickered, momentarily flashing to the green hue of the Radio Demon’s magic. Everyone turned to look at him with varying degrees of concern for the hotel’s electricity. He shot a withering glare back, then took a drink from his cup.

Charlie quickly diverted everyone’s attention, saving him from the embarrassment of them drawing attention to how awful he sounded. “Let’s open presents! I got something for everyone.” She started looking through the gifts under the tree, picking out the ones from her and handing them to their recipients. As she gave Alastor his, she quietly added, “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well today…”

“Dond’t worry about mbe,” he croaked, clearly beginning to lose his voice, “This is—snrff!—just a mbindor indcodvedience.” Everyone began opening their gifts, and Alastor unwrapped a box containing a new overcoat. It was the same style as his current ones, except it was a darker red with white sleeve cuffs, and it wasn’t torn along the bottom hem. The fabric felt thicker, too; perfect for keeping him warm during winter. “It looks wonderful, dear.”

“I’m so glad you like it!” Charlie beamed, giving him a quick hug before moving over to the others. He stiffened under her touch, but the added warmth made it much more bearable.

Lucifer sat down next to him. “So, did I do a good job decorating?”

His smile softened into something more admiring. “Showoff.”

“I wanted to make it feel more like your holiday celebrations on Earth. Is this what it was like when you were alive?”

His gaze scanned over the room. It looked nicer than his house ever did on Christmas, and New Orleans didn’t get much snow. Yet some things felt the same both in life and afterlife—he was with the closest thing he had to family, he was comfortable, he was being taken care of, and there was plenty of food waiting for him once he got his appetite back. He sniffled a few times and looked back at Lucifer. “It was something like this.”

[catbureau]

my parents are so oblivious… i ended up working with one of their friends for a few months a while back and in the process of that job he asked me out like five times despite being as old as my dad and having a girlfriend. And now he’s always asking them about me and what shifts I take and they think it’s just him being friendly. Like come on man.

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Lucky Undies

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: oral sex ( f -> receiving) m.masturbation, mentions height difference (reader implied shorter than Aizawa), reader implied big belly, thighs + ass (ie. not skinny), prev. established relationship, sooooo self-indulgent don’t look at me

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Note: disgusted with myself honestly.

“What are those?”

You stop in your tracks, toothbrush lodged in your cheek and foam threatening to drip down your chin.

Aizawa stands behind you in the bathroom doorway, eyes trained dark on the tug of your sleep shirt over your ass. Spitting into the skin, bending lower and offering more of a view, you finish washing your mouth with heat all over your face,

“I didn’t have anything else clean, s’all I got,” you explain yourself, eyes connecting with his in the mirror,

“And they’re your last resort because?” Arms folded over his broad chest sprayed with dark hair, Aizawa cocks his hip against the doorway, eyes never leaving the peak of your asscheek from beneath the t-shirt. It’s his and it’s soft and he offered it to you on your first sleepover years ago, a little tighter round the middle now but still long enough to pass as a nightie.

“They don’t fit!” You resort with embarrassment, “they pinch my hips and they go up my butt ‘nd roll down my belly if I bend down or even move,” you feel as though there’s steam hissing from your ears, suddenly regretting even putting on the offending underwear. You’d miscounted your laundry days and found yourself wearing either silky lingerie or old high legged cheeky style undies that were a very adorable baby pink and sported a little red rose at the front. Usually you wore comfortable high rise with a trusty band and often times sensible colours so to not show through your chosen trousers or skirts of the day. Maybe you’d wear a thong if you felt adventurous but comfort was key in your relationship with underwear, and being with Aizawa for so long helped you not only explore that a little bit but also enabled you to stay comfortable without judgement or ridicule.

And Aizawa liked your plain underwear, didn’t care much for it really because all he often wanted was them off or not even on in the first place. Complaining about his partners choice in underwear was beneath him; he’s a man, he’s mature and he’d much rather eat your pussy than muse over what’s covering it.

But these? He’s not seen these before.

“Cute,” he says with a gravelly voice, stalking forwards slowly, “you look cute,”

Biting your lip, you shake your head,

“I’ll just put some gym shorts on and do a quick wash, s’stupid to even try to do anything in these,” you grumble dejectedly, turning and even in your limited movements, the seam tugs over your cheek and makes you cringe.

But Aizawa is as sturdy as he is stubborn, a wall preventing you from leaving and a large hand sits heavy and inviting on your hip.

“I said you look cute,” he says pointedly, “not just the underwear, but you in general, seeing your skin makes me - desperate,”

That hand smoothes under your sleep shirt, fingering the thin, stretchy band of the panties with a heavy breath in his chest. The harder he pulls the band, the higher up your hip they go and the further up your -

“They’re just panties Shouta,” you blink up at him, leaning closer to ease his fondling, “stupid uncomfable panties that is,”

“Shh,” Aizawa kisses you quiet, a peck to keep you satisfied while his other hand drifts over to your ass, fisting the fat and spreading you meanly, “just - lemme look for a sec,”

His eyes catch the flash of your asshole in the mirror, panties caught taught and high over your ass and he groans low and deep from his belly. You clear your throat and whimper when he buries his face into your neck, teeth scraping the delicate skin there. Then - his hand rounds to your stomach, fiddling with the little silky rose before tickling the exposed skin of your belly from where the panties had dislodged and folded down.

He doesn’t often explore you this selfishly, having listened to your qualms and insecurities over your body, doing it to prove that no weight could distance him from desiring your body. But he touches you with a filthy selfish agenda and filthier moans.

Thick fingers tease you over the fabric, slippery with your arousal, sliding between your folds and circling your clit with loud little click. It’s shameful how turned on you are at his exploration of your underwear, but he’s no better; hard and heavy and leaking against your hip. ‘Nd when you look down, mewling at the thick forearm jammed between your cushiony thighs, you can see the flushed tip of his cock peaking from the sagging waistband of his underwear, black and tight and baring a hole just above the seam on his thigh.

And suddenly you understand exactly how Aizawa feels with you in underwear he’s never seen before. Because those are boxers you bought him three christmases ago and are also a result of not doing laundry often enough. And when you look up at him with your hand squeezing him through the thin fabric; your shameful desperation is reflected in his eyes.

All too suddenly, Aizawa is on his knees and your lower back is cradled uncomfortably against the bathroom counter, and he’s all up between your thighs with devastating groans and grunts.

“Taste’s fuckin’ divine,” his tongue is hot and so wet against the gusset of your underwear, pulled tight over your cunt and practically frothing with how aroused you are. One hand cups your ass and spreads you, the other is crude and sharply tugging on his cock. At the taste of you. At the smell of you. Nipping your clit through the fabric and sucking hard enough to send you shuddering and shaking right down to your toes.

“Shouta ! S’too much !” You grip the top of his head, hair tangled from sleep but the tugging of the knots seem to encourage him, groaning into your cunt and huffing deep agonising breaths against your pubis. You’re on your tiptoes, one leg lifting a little even to give him space and Aizawa shuffles closer on his knees, haphazardly throwing your leg over his broad, sinewy shoulder.

It’s almost like the sensations are muted, dulled through the thin fabric of your panties. But they’re still there and you fumble with your shirt for a moment before lifting it and tucking the hem beneath your chin so you can look down, down at your boyfriend so eagerly and so messily slurping at your pussy.

He’s feral like this, eyes fluttering and nose pressed hard into your clit, tongue trying to rip through into you but failing miserably. Or not, as it seems that wasn’t his goal, simply content with tasting you through the panties that had entrapped him so suddenly. You couldn’t even feel confused and weird at his random bout of arousal over your too-small panties, too thrummed with pleasure and the shivers of an orgasm to really deep dive it.

It rears its head slowly, but with a strength you’d yet to experience before. All suction and desperate licks, moans and grunts vibrating you just enough to send you jerking into his mouth. Hips moving on their own, tits falling from the grasp of your shirt and shuddering with your movements. Your underwear slips and tugs harshly as you grind through your orgasm, pulled taught only by Aizawa’s insistent tongue and fingers. He seemed to have given up on his own pleasure, or got enough from watching and tasting you, both hands clutching your thighs around his head.

“Let up, oh my god, give me a sec Shouta,” you’re still panting hard, limbs boneless and belly throbbing with every aftershock, cunt fluttering against the sodden and stained panties, “you’re such a - now I really don’t have anything to wear today,”

Your words die from a telling off to a small sigh at the sight of him, drunk on the sight and taste of you. His eyes are heavy, mouth open and shining with your spend, cheeks flushed and chest heaving,

“Good news for me then,” he stands with a grunt, coming in close enough for you to smell the remnants of your orgasm on his lower face - but he doesn’t kiss you. Instead massaging your hips and the tangled band of your underwear, “I’m having you on my face next, ‘nd keep these on,”

He’s a pervert really, snapping the band and making you tut in disapproval. But as you follow him into the bedroom with a sheepish grin and nervous lust building in your chest; you realise you are too, for letting him indulge in this and letting him.

all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤobsession bound

pairings. m!yandere x gn! reader

warnings. yandere, mature explicit 18+ content, MDNI, suggestive content, toxic obsession, stealing clothes, stalking, the whole yandere package.

a/n. i don't condone this irl guys!! please do not fantasize about this

wc. 2.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

he knows everything about you. not just your favourite foods, hobbies, or the songs you play on repeat, but the details you wouldn’t even think to share. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought, the pattern of your breathing when you sleep, the subtle twitch in your hand when you’re anxious. he’s studied you as though you were a divine text, each quirk and habit catalogued and committed to memory.

your presence is his religion, and you, his deity. he doesn’t just love you—he worships you. to him, you’re the very essence of perfection, the axis on which his world spins. every smile you offer, every word you speak, is a blessing he clings to with an almost fanatical devotion. if he could, he’d bottle the sound of your laughter and keep it close, playing it on loop in the quiet hours when he can’t be near you.

his obsession began innocently enough—a fleeting glance in passing, a shared space for mere seconds. but those seconds were enough to ignite something dangerous within him. from that moment on, you consumed him.

your image invaded his thoughts, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. it wasn’t enough to see you from afar. he needed to know you, to possess you, to make sure you could never leave.

he follows you everywhere, his footsteps as silent as a predator stalking its prey. he’s always there, just out of sight, ensuring you’re safe—or so he tells himself.

when you stumble, he fights the urge to rush forward and catch you. when someone dares to get too close, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, and dark thoughts swirl in his mind. no one has the right to invade your space like that. no one but him.

every trace of your existence is precious to him. he’s collected everything—strands of your hair caught in your brush, the lip balm you left on your desk, even the receipt you crumpled and threw away. he keeps them in a secret box, hidden away like a dragon hoarding treasure.

he’ll run his fingers over them, murmuring your name like a mantra, his mind spinning fantasies of the life you’ll share once you finally see the truth.

he keeps a journal where he writes about you obsessively. page after page filled with your name, detailed accounts of your daily activities, and his dreams of your future together. he’s planned it all—your wedding, the house you’ll live in, the names of your children. he knows it’s premature, but in his mind, you’re already his. the only thing left is for you to realise it.

his jealousy is a violent, uncontrollable thing. anyone who gets too close to you is a threat that must be eliminated. he doesn’t care who they are—friends, coworkers, even family. they don’t deserve to share your attention.

they don’t love you like he does. he’s not above sabotage, spreading rumours, or even more drastic measures to ensure they stay away. it’s for your own good. can’t you see how much safer you are without them?

his methods of surveillance are disturbingly meticulous. cameras hidden in your home, trackers on your phone and keys, even your favourite coffee shop isn’t spared. he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, and who you’re with at all times. if he sees something he doesn’t like, he’ll act without hesitation. a threatening text to someone he perceives as competition, a “chance” encounter to remind you he’s always there—it’s all part of his carefully crafted plan.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are the most sacred to him. he’ll sit in your chair, run his fingers over your belongings, and breathe in the faint scent of you lingering in the air.

when he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll lie in your bed, his heart pounding as he imagines you beside him. the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs, and for those moments, he allows himself to believe you’re already his.

despite his madness, there’s a tenderness in his obsession that makes it all the more unnerving. he’ll leave gifts on your doorstep, thoughtful things he knows you’ll love, but always unsigned. he’ll take care of things you don’t even realise—paying overdue bills, fixing a broken lock, replacing the lightbulb you forgot about. in his mind, these are acts of love, proof of his devotion. he’s your saviour, your guardian. why can’t you see that?

his darker thoughts are carefully hidden beneath a façade of adoration. but they’re there, lurking just below the surface. he’s imagined what it would be like to keep you locked away, safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.

a place where it’s just the two of you, where no one can hurt you or take you away. he’s convinced himself it would be for the best. you’d be scared at first, but eventually, you’d understand. you’d love him like he loves you.

he’s a master of manipulation, always a step ahead. when you start to suspect something, he’ll play the perfect confidant, the shoulder to lean on. he’ll comfort you, reassure you, and subtly guide you into his arms. every move he makes is calculated to draw you closer, to ensure you never look anywhere else but at him.

his love is suffocating, overwhelming, all-consuming. it’s not just a feeling—it’s a need, a compulsion, a fire that burns so fiercely it threatens to destroy everything in its path. he doesn’t see the danger in it. to him, it’s pure, untainted, the way love is meant to be. and if you ever tried to leave, he’d see it as a betrayal so profound it would shatter him. he’d do anything to keep you. anything.

he’s utterly captivated by every little thing about you—your smile, your voice, the way your clothes hug your figure just right. his eyes linger longer than they should, memorizing every curve, every subtle movement. he tells himself it’s just admiration, but the way his thoughts wander late at night says otherwise. the image of you is burned into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape it.

his fantasies are vivid, detailed, and deeply personal. he doesn’t just imagine holding you close or brushing his lips against yours; his mind ventures further, into moments that would make your cheeks burn if you knew. he’s thought about how your skin might feel against his fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed to his. he knows it’s wrong, but the idea of being the one to make you blush, to see the shy tilt of your gaze, is intoxicating.

he’s fascinated by the small, intimate details of your life—the scent of your shampoo, the way you unconsciously adjust your clothes when you’re nervous, the way your lips part when you’re lost in thought. it’s not enough to simply watch; he wants to know what it feels like, what it tastes like. the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, a mix of guilt and desire twisting in his chest.

your photos are his most cherished possessions, though he’d never admit it aloud. he’s saved everyone he’s found, both those you’ve posted and those he’s taken without you noticing. they’re his solace on nights when his need for you becomes too overwhelming. his fingers will trace over the screen, wishing he could reach through and pull you to him, to claim you as his own in ways only he dreams of.

his touches are deliberate and lingering, though he always makes them seem innocent. a hand brushing against yours when you pass him something, a too-long hug where his hands press just a little lower than they should. he tells himself it’s harmless, that he’s just expressing his affection, but the heat that pools in his chest whenever he’s near you betrays his true intentions.

he’s memorized the way your clothes fit, the way they shift when you move, and he often imagines what lies beneath. it’s an intrusive, maddening thought that he tries to push away but can’t. he tells himself it’s only natural to wonder about someone you love this much, but the intensity of his fixation borders on obsessive.

his jealousy takes on a darker edge when he sees someone else earning your smiles or making you laugh. he imagines pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to your ear, and whispering that you’re his, only his. the idea of someone else touching you the way he wants to sends a wave of anger through him, but it also stokes the fire of his need to claim you in every way possible.

he’ll leave little hints of his affection, gifts that seem innocent at first glance—a necklace that sits just right against your collarbone, a dress that hugs your body in a way that makes his heart race. he wants to see you wear them, to know that he had a hand in how you look, to feel like you’re his in some small way, even if you don’t realise it yet.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are where his darker fantasies come to life. he’ll stand in your bedroom, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, his mind wandering to places he knows it shouldn’t. he wants to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm, but he stops himself. not yet. it’s not time yet.

he’s thought about what it would be like to have you entirely to himself, away from prying eyes and other distractions. a place where you wouldn’t need anyone else but him, where he could show you just how deeply he feels for you. his fantasies are tinged with possessiveness, imagining you looking at him with flushed cheeks and soft whispers of his name, the way only he would ever deserve.

he knows your body as well as he knows your habits, even if he’s never touched you the way he dreams of. the way you stretch when you’re tired, the curve of your lips when you smile, the smooth expanse of your neck—he notices it all, cataloguing every detail to revisit later in the privacy of his own mind. you’re a living masterpiece, and he’s the only one who truly appreciates every stroke of your beauty.

his obsession isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. he craves the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way you might gasp if he were to press his lips to yours. it’s a hunger that grows stronger with every passing day, consuming him until he’s left trembling with the sheer intensity of his desire. he tells himself he’s patient, that he can wait for you to come to him, but his restraint is wearing thin.

he imagines the way your voice would sound, breathless and needy, calling his name. the thought alone makes his heart pound, his breaths shallow. it’s a dangerous game he plays, teetering on the edge of madness, but he can’t help himself. you’ve become his addiction, his obsession, and he knows there’s no turning back.

he loves jerking off to photos of you taken by him. he flips through the steamy photos on his phone, a wicked glint in his eye begins undoing his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. a low groan escaping his lips as he wraps a hand around the thick shaft and starts stroking it slowly.

steals your clothes. he's practically grinning maniacally as he rummages through your dresser, his fingers trailing over the fabric of each garment with a possessive touch. he snatches up your most intimate items - panties, bras, and even that cute little skirt from last night - holding them to his face and inhaling deeply before tucking the stolen clothes into his bag like precious treasures.

—

the sound of footsteps trailing behind you wasn’t unusual. you had grown accustomed to the presence of people bustling through the streets or even just the echo of your own shoes against the pavement.

tonight, though, something felt...off. the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, thin shadows that seemed to stretch and waver unnaturally. you clutched your bag tighter as a cold breeze cut through the air, the faint rustle of leaves amplifying the eerie silence.

unbeknownst to you, a figure lingered a safe distance behind, his breathing steady, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. he had followed you every night for weeks now, taking meticulous care to remain unseen.

you never noticed the subtle changes in your routine—the slight chill in your room despite closed windows, the faint smell of cologne that wasn’t yours, or the way your things never quite seemed to be where you left them. he made sure of that.

when you finally reached the safety of your apartment, fumbling with your keys, a wave of relief washed over you. the feeling of being watched dissipated the moment the door clicked shut behind you. you didn’t know he was already inside.

hidden in the shadows of your closet, he crouched silently, listening to your every move. your obliviousness only deepened his obsession.

he had memorized your schedule down to the minute. he knew the way you stirred your coffee in the mornings, the playlists you hummed along to while cleaning, and the books you kept on your bedside table. each detail was etched into his mind as sacred knowledge, proof that you were meant to belong to him and only him.

his fingers itched to touch the belongings he had stolen—your hairbrush, the shirt you thought you lost, even the empty chapstick tube you tossed away without a second thought. they were treasures to him, pieces of you he could keep close when he couldn’t have you entirely. not yet.

you were so kind, so trusting. it amazed him how naive you could be. When he brushed past you in a crowd, intentionally grazing your shoulder, you had offered an apologetic smile as though it were your fault. when he sent anonymous gifts to your doorstep, you accepted them with gratitude, never questioning their origin.

you had no idea who he was, but he knew you. he knew everything. He watched as you unknowingly consumed his devotion and smiled sweetly, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calculated calm.

the days passed in a blur. you noticed small things—a lingering glance from a stranger at the café, a text from an unknown number asking if you’d gotten home safely.

you chalked it up to coincidence, even as unease began to settle in your chest. little did you know, he had orchestrated it all. the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. The text wasn’t random. everything was deliberate. everything was for you.

one night, you woke to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. heart racing, you crept out of bed, clutching your phone tightly. the light from the hallway illuminated the edge of a shadow—a tall figure, unnervingly still. your breath hitched.

before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, and you were pulled into an unrelenting grip. his voice, low and desperate, whispered your name like a prayer.

"shh, it’s me," he said, as though that explanation should bring you comfort. "i couldn’t stay away anymore."

you thrashed against him, but his hold was iron. His tone turned sharp, frantic. "stop. please don’t fight me. i've done everything for you. don’t you see that?"

your heart pounded in your chest as his words spilled out in a torrent of obsession. he spoke of how he had protected you, how he had eliminated those who dared to insult you, how he had waited so patiently for this moment.

it didn’t make sense—none of it did—but the sincerity in his voice was chilling. He believed every word.

when he finally loosened his grip, you stumbled away, trying to catch your breath. his golden eyes shimmered with something between adoration and madness. he took a step closer, and you backed away instinctively. "don’t look at me like that," he pleaded. "i’m not a monster. i love you. i've always loved you."

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. fear constricted your throat, making it impossible to form words. he noticed your hesitation, and his expression darkened.

"you don’t understand now," he said softly, almost to himself. "but you will. i'll make you see. you don’t have to be afraid of me—i’d never hurt you. i'd only hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

your legs trembled as you pressed yourself against the wall, desperate to find an escape. he tilted his head, watching you with an unnerving calm. "you’re so beautiful when you’re scared," he mused. "but i don’t want you to be scared of me. i want you to love me back."

the realization of how deeply unhinged he was hit you like a wave. this wasn’t just a stranger breaking into your home. this was someone who had been in your life—lurking in the periphery, shaping your reality without your consent.

you had no idea how much he had already taken from you, how much he was willing to take to keep you his.

and he wouldn’t stop. no matter how much you begged or how far you tried to run, he would always find you. because in his eyes, you were already his.

you are his world, his everything. and in his mind, that’s not obsession—it’s love.

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[olivianott]

BRAIN CHEMISTRY

Tell me I’m not the only one happily not recovered from the deatheatertok (yes that’s why I’ve been MIA😬) and the Lorenzo Zurzolo gifs from the other day? 😭 I could not help myself with this one.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, OCTOBER CAME EARLY TO ME.

ꕤ 1.6k words 

ꕤ deatheater!Theo Nott x fem!reader

ꕤ warnings: toxic ex, deatheater Theodore, pure smut, unprotected sex, explicit content, not for minors, 18+

ꕤ all characters are adults

You knew you were in trouble. That you fucked up. You somehow found yourself at a party in an unknown manor. You and your friend got talking with some people at a pub and now you are surrounded by glimmering Death Eater masks. Everyone is acting as if they are just having fun at a party. But you see their eyes following the two of you everywhere. 

You already know what is going on at these parties. You heard stories, awful stories, from him. You wonder if he is in attendance. No. Stop thinking about him, he didn’t want you anymore. He is one of them after all. 

You try to think of a way out for you and your friend. Get drinks, but don’t drink them, discreetly inch towards the entrance while smiling and acting like you’re having the time of your life, getting through the door and the few steps over the anti-apparition wards and poof, you’re both safe. 

That was the plan. Everything went smoothly, until just before getting through the door, your path is crossed by a tall Death Eater with an overly decorated mask. “Hello, beautiful.” He says while you watch your friend successfully execute the plan and disappear with a crack. 

You turn around and try to escape the lewd gaze of the big Death Eater, but there is another one in your path and you realize you are surrounded. Fuck. This is not good. No, don’t panic, don’t panic.

You panic.

Your vision starts to blur and you can’t seem to think straight. Heart in your throat, the ground becomes unsteady. Another mask enters your field of vision, too close to your face. This mask looks elegant, not overly decorated, but with artistic lines strategically curved around the planes of the artificial face. He grabs you by the upper hand and starts to drag you away from the crowd that formed around you, barking something to the other Death Eaters. You try to fight him off but it’s not working, his grip tightens and when you don’t stop, he loses patience with you and puts his wand under your chin. It doesn’t hurt but the threat makes you tremble in fear.

The man leans down next to your ear and hisses: “STOP IT.” The voice is so hard and threatening but at the same time familiar. 

You momentarily freeze and that gives him time to drag you through the hall and into a bedroom. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He closes the door after you and you finally have time to compose yourself, because he goes to the other side of the room, leaving you alone. While he locks the room with his wand, your mind clears slowly. You suddenly realize why the voice is so familiar. 

Theodore Nott. 

You’ve never seen him in his Death Eater robes and a mask before, but now you can’t stop looking at him. 

Theodore turns around, throws his mask on the bed, and stalks to you so fast, you actually step back in fear until your back is against the door. “Why the fuck are you here?!” He spits in your face, his eyes are feral and full of anger but also fear. 

“It was an accident, my friend thought it would be a good idea to-“ 

“To what? To enter a devil’s lair full of fucking Death Eaters that enjoy killing too much and don’t ask for permission to do anything? Don’t you fucking know what’s going on at these gatherings? Fucking hell!” He is talking quietly but with so much anger, you can actually feel his magic vibrating between you. 

“What’s it to you? You’re one of them now, you look like you’re right at home at this vile party, huh?” 

“Do you really think I like it? That I wanted this? Do you even know where you are?”

“In some nasty pureblood’s manor?”

“Yes. Welcome to the Nott manor.” His sarcastic smile falls off his face as he looks down and backs off of you, finally letting you breathe air. 

Oh. Nott manor. It’s his home. 

“Are you actually hosting this party?”

“Well, as I said, those people don’t ask permission for anything, so here we are. But now you are here and you made this night even more difficult for me. They have set their eyes on you now and they are hungry, in more ways than one. The Death Eaters need their food, and they like to play with it before eating.” 

He says this so matter of factly it takes a while for your mind to catch the whole truth of what you’ve casually walked into tonight. 

“You’re a Death Eater too now.”

“Exactly.” He smirks. 

You’ve missed him so much. His scent brings back memories, and you feel your body heat up despite his arrogant behavior and attempts to scare you off.

“What- what are you going to do to me?” You say breathlessly. Without your permission, your mind shows you pictures of you and him from the past, the little bit of fear just heightening your excitement. 

“Oh please, you know I’m not like-“ he stops himself mid-sentence and focuses his glare on your throat, pulsing with blood rushing through you, your red cheeks, your trembling hands, the rise and fall of your chest. 

“Now I remember.” His mouth curves in this arrogant smirk and his eyes look mischievous at the same time as dangerous. 

“You like danger… you like being scared, amore? Does it turn you on? Tonight you bit more than you could chew though, princessa. And now…. You are trapped in here. With me.” 

You can’t respond to him, but your body does. Your breathing gets more labored and you can’t help your gaze falling to his lips. 

His hand starts roaming down your body while again hovering over you, leaning against the door, the height difference between you more obvious than ever. 

“I- uhh…-“ you are unable to say more. But you close the distance between you and crash your lips against his. 

Theodore groans loudly, takes both your hands in his, and slams them against the door above your head. 

“Oh princessa, you don’t know what you just started, do you?” His hard kisses resume and your mind is filled up with sensations. 

The feel of his body against yours, the hardness of the door digging into your back, his teeth biting your lips, dragging against your throat, his lips sucking on your pulse point. 

Your eyes are closed, but you feel your feet leave the ground as Theodore picks you up and sends you flying on the bed. While crawling over you on the bed, he picks up his mask and puts it on his face. 

Fuuuuck. 

You can barely see his eyes staring down at you from behind the mask, in between the short strands of hair falling down around it. 

The world is a blur now, clothes start flying off of you, his hands tracing your curves. Suddenly he loses patience and flips you over, on your hands and knees on the bed. With his hand under your chin, he makes you look up. A mirror. Your moan is embarrassingly loud. The vision of him in his mask behind you, admiring you through the mirror, hand grabbing your throat… you’ve never seen anything hotter. With his other hand he traces your wetness and groans into your ear: “So ready for me princessa, you really do get turned on with fear and danger. How nasty of you. Was this your plan all along? To get fucked by a Death Eater?”

You can only manage to shake your head no, since he is already opening his Death Eater robes and taking out his beautiful cock. 

“I bet you were hoping to find me here, right? Wanted to make me take you back? Make sweet love and be together forever?“ He chuckles condescendingly at that thought. „Look at you now, writhing under me, dying for me to fuck you like this, with my mask on. Scream for me, princessa.” You can’t see the expression on his face since he is wearing his mask but his words are so degrading and harsh. And still, your eyes roll back into your head. 

And you do scream for him, you can’t help it, you are overwhelmed with sensation, his hands, his cock, his scent. After a while, your arms give out and he pushes your chest down into the bed, holding your hands crossed behind your back, you can’t even move. You are completely at his mercy and the feelings in your head are so confusing. You feel pathetic, under him like this, your body getting rocked by his trusts, but still, the way his cock feels inside you, the way he seems so powerful and in control of you and your pleasure with the way he manipulates your body and mind creates a fog inside your brain. Surrounded by his grunts, you realize he is using you for his satisfaction, seemingly oblivious and uncaring about your comfort or pleasure. You being completely naked, with your face in the mattress while he is still fully clothed behind you is just another layer of the humiliation. But your fucked up brain makes you love it so much that with his whimpery moans in your ear you finally lose control as you feel him lose the rhythm and push all the way inside you, so incredibly deep,  as he spills himself inside you. 

There is no cuddling after. He unceremoniously pulls out and sits in his bed propped up against the headboard, a trembling hand bringing a cigarette to his mouth, while you try to find your clothes and dignity on the floor. 

“Nice show. You were loud enough, so now they know you’re mine and hopefully leave you alone. Doesn’t change anything between us though. You can use the floo to get out of here and I hope to never see you at these things again, you understand me?” He says all of this so coldly and without even looking at you at all, so you quickly throw on your clothes and leave through the floo, throwing a “you’re still the same asshole” at him over your shoulder. 

Sitting on your sofa two days later, you are replaying everything that happened that day in your head. Your brain keeps getting stuck on the fear in his eyes when he dragged you to the room, a shaking cigarette in his hand after the sex, a slight tremble in his voice while he kicked you out of the manor after fucking you into oblivion. 

Maybe everything is not as he wants you to believe. He saved you from them after all. 

As always, thank you for reading, hope you liked it. I’m not done with deatheater!Theo though 🤭.

moodboard

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ Your principessa ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚

If you want more: 🖤here🖤

If you need more death eater Theodore 😌

[luvsupa]

tags: neighbour!nanami x fem!reader, fluff-ish, crack, reader is in mid 20s and nanami is mid 30s, readers obsessed with nanami w.c: 800

you peek through the blinds in your living room, squinting for a better view of your neighbour. a frown crosses your face as you notice a gathering of children and mothers around his front door, which is beautifully decorated for halloween. you watch as the mothers twirl their hair and giggle in unison, but you still can’t see what your neighbour is wearing. you feel like a creep, lurking behind the blinds just to catch a glimpse of the new guy.

your heart races when you finally spot nanami. damn, he looks incredible in his costume—a vampire. you’ve heard whispers about the mysterious man who just moved in, and even the married women have been known to stand outside early in the morning just to greet him.

“do i seriously have to dress up?” you retreat from the window as you hear your nephew whine while entering the living room. you burst into laughter at the sight of him squeezing into the ghostbusters costume he wore a few years ago- the sleeves barely reach his wrists.

“well, yes!” you reply, snapping photos of him as he glares with frustration. in one picture, he slightly raises his middle finger, and you gasp, realizing he’s picking up on your habits. oops.

“i’m too old for trick ‘r treating! i don’t even wanna stay here,” he grumbles, his temper flaring as you giggle at the photos and send them to your sister, his mom, just as he threatens to rip off the costume.

“can you just behave? i’m trying to meet the love of my life,” you say, putting your phone away to prevent him from ruining your plans.

“he doesn’t even know you exist, dummy.” your jaw drops at his bluntness, and he starts pointing at you, laughing like a little brat.

“tch, you’re laughing a bit too much for someone who lost his girlfriend to a stuffed animal,” you retort, laughter spilling from your lips as he shoots you a ‘really’ look.

“at least i was in a relationship! dunno about you, hag,” he fires back, leaving you choking on a laugh. seriously, who’s teaching this kid all this at twelve years old?

you don’t say anything as you pull him toward the front door, making him put on his shoes and grab his trick or treat bag before stepping outside. your gaze is fixed on nanami’s house, now swarming with kids and mothers.

i know why you mothers are here…

“ow, let go!” your nephew winces, pushing your hand away from his shoulder as you realize you’ve been gripping him too tightly. you both end up in a long line in front of his house because these mothers won’t leave! impatience gnaws at you- you just want a chance to see him.

finally, you reach the front of the line, and you scold your nephew to behave before giving him a gentle push toward the door.

“trick or treat.” he says in an unenthusiastic tone, while you stand behind him, practically buzzing with excitement. nanami steps outside with a fresh batch of candy, smiling at your nephew’s costume. when his hazel eyes shift to yours, your breath hitches.

he definitely wants me.

“your son is so adorable,” he says.

what?

oh hell no.

“son? n-no, he’s my nephew! he was dying to come to your house,” you stammer, and he chuckles, revealing his fake fangs.

“what? you forced me—” your nephew starts, but you quickly cover his mouth to prevent him from ruining everything, sharing a warm chuckle with nanami as you stand awkwardly on his doorstep.

“d-do you have any kids?” you ask, hoping he says no. your heart would shatter if he did.

“ahh, no, i don’t—though i do wish to have a family of my own someday,” he admits, and you nod, intrigued by his almost wistful tone.

“yeaaa, i want a family with you—of my own too!” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words as his smirk widens, and your eyes practically sparkle with embarrassment.

“she stalks you everyday,” your annoying nephew pipes up, and you feel your face heat up as you wish you could disappear. nanami quirks his brows in surprise, bursting into laughter, while you stand frozen, your eyes twitching. seriously, someone needs to watch for this kid.

“heh, she’s not the only one,” he replies, and you swear you must be dreaming. nanami quickly grabs something from inside his house, scribbles on a notepad, and attaches it to your nephew’s bag of candy before handing the candy directly to you.

you’re so starstruck you can’t move as your nephew tugs on your arm, dragging you away while the interaction feels surreal. you walk past the mothers, who scoff at you, and hear him wish the two of you a happy halloween.

you glance down at the notepad he gave you:

I’ll be waiting for your call, stalker

nanami kento

you gasp, noticing his phone number written beneath it. you just bagged the hottest man alive and these mothers didn’t.

“you two are a buncha freaks,” your nephew comments as he pulls you back toward your house. honestly, you don’t care—you’re just so thrilled that you’re the one he chose.

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Depressed Reader X Yandere

Nsfw ; manipulation ; yandere ; female reader

Yuta Okkotsu is not a normal man — he knows this better than anyone. Because what kind of man stalks the object of his affections 24/7, showers them with gifts just to be rejected every time, contemplates kidnapping them, and waits and waits and waits in hopes that one day, they’ll change their minds and love him back? 

Call him a simp, but his love for you is heavy, suffocatingly so. And when it comes to words, he can’t even begin to describe what he feels for you. He loves you. He wants you. He needs you. He’s absolutely obsessed. 

You don’t love him, but he knows he can change that now. Because tonight, you finally sought him out. One text sent him driving to your neighborhood at 2 AM at ungodly speeds. It was three words. “I need you”. 

Finally. Months of waiting, yearning, pining, going insane, have finally come to fruition. 

He stands at your apartment doorway nervously, wringing his hands while he waits for you to open the door. A nervous habit he never grew out of. When the door slowly creaks open, he quickly smooths his shirt and tries to hold back his excitement. 

Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, he could tell, but you look gorgeous nonetheless. You’re in nothing but a crop top and some shorts - a look he decides is absolutely ravishing, and it takes everything within him to not jump you right then and there. 

“Oh angel, what’s wrong?” 

Yuta immediately holds you tightly in his arms, unabashedly breathing in your scent and relishing the closeness of your bodies together.

You cling onto him like he’ll disappear, and a swell of contentedness blooms in his chest. You’re too adorable. 

He shuts the door behind him and ushers you into the couch in the living room, as if he’d been there before. 

He has, but not when you were present.

You eventually calm down enough to talk. 

“I just, I feel so fucking empty, Yuta. I hate myself. I feel ugly. I’m lonely. There’s like a big whole in my chest that won’t go away.”

Oh, you poor thing. He asks you if you’ve taken your meds lately, and you give a tiny nod, face pressed into his soft, white sweater. 

You’ve struggled with depression for the longest time, this he knows. He doesn’t quite understand what had made it worse lately, but that was okay. He’ll make it all better soon.

“I’m sorry for crying and calling you over. I just feel so weak right now, I—“

“Hey,” He lowers his head to meet you at eye level, hands gently caressing both of yours, “You are not weak—You’re the strongest person I know. It’s okay to not be okay, got that?”

You only sniffle in return.

“Is there anything I can do for you, angel?”

It’s quiet for a minute, but you eventually open your mouth to say pathetically, “Make me feel better. Help me make all this go away.”

Finally. You’ll let him take care of you. There’s no going back now. 

He could protect you. Maybe not fix you, but he’ll do whatever he can to help. 

“Sweet thing, of course. I’ll give you whatever you want…c’mere, I’ll take care of  everything, okay?” He wipes the tears from your eyes, placing a kiss atop your head. 

“I know how to get rid of that hollow feeling in your chest.” He smiles sweetly, but his next words possess a threatening undertone to them. His eyes filled with love, he proposes, 

“We just fill your body up with something else.”

——————————————————————

“Too big,” You mewl pathetically.

The two of you are in your bed, clothes strewn across the bedroom floor. You look so beautiful underneath him, Yuta thinks. He stares at you with adoration as you take in what he has to offer. 

Your eyes are teary, face flushed, with your body wriggling under him. You try to move from him, to escape the intense stimulation you feel, but the young man holds onto your hips tightly, his member sheathed all the way inside you. 

“Shhhhh, you’re okay baby. Just relax,” His sickeningly sweet voice coaxes you to give under his hold. “See? You’re doing so good right now.” 

Yuta is a gentle lover. He took his time undressing you, and he takes his time fucking you. Slowly, he pumps in and out of you, letting you feel every inch of his cock enter and leave your pretty pussy.

It feels good, you think. So fucking good. For the first time in a long time, you feel full. 

Through your tears, Yuta looks like an angel. 

His delicate, pale skin seems to glow with sweat in the night, and for a second you wonder if he’s a being sent from heaven to turn your life around. A pang of guilt hits your chest when you think about all the times you’ve rejected his advances. Was this okay? Deep down you knew that once this was over, there was no going back. 

“It’s okay,” He hums when he sees another tear fall from your eye, “You’re okay.” He leans down to smother you with kisses, hands having left your hips in favor of playing with your breasts instead. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You feel so good.” He coos. 

You’re so soft and pliant under his hands, just like he’s always thought you’d be. It takes everything in him not to come inside you yet. Your soft moans aren’t helping, the seductive sounds turning him on so much that he wishes he had your room bugged with a recording device so he could save them for later. 

He can tell you’re close when your legs start shaking, and he sings you praises as he coaxes you into an orgasm that sends you to the moon. 

“There you are,” He speaks softly into your ear, “Doing so good for me. It’s okay now, just cum.” 

He’s not long after you, pulling out to pump thick ropes of white onto your stomach.

You’re all tuckered out afterwards, and he finds it endearing when he comes back from the bathroom with a clean towel to wipe you down, only to see you out for the night. 

He loves you so much. And whether you’re ready for it or not, he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. 

(Sorry if this was too short guys, I haven’t been doing the greatest creatively and all but gave up on this fic until I saw the latest JJK chapters. Love you all! )

[snowyh2o]

Just a random thought about how Alastor and Vox must’ve been really good friends before everything fell apart. Because Alastor knows how to make a video ad, he knows how to set things up for a movie/video shoot, things that had nothing to do with his medium, that he probably learned how to do because of Vox, because he was willing to try and learn from or for Vox. And Vox literally welcomes Alastor back home when he finds out he’s returned, has literally counted the years Alastor’s been missing when no one else seemed to know, and fashioned his clothing style to match Alastor’s (assuming it’s not just a case of everyone gets a pinstripe suit!), uses the same techniques Alastor taught Charlie about how smiling can be a tool to keep you ahead of the game.

And how it all fell apart and it wasn’t just Vox that was hurt in the process. Because you can’t tell me the man who hates TVs and modern tech due to its association with Vox doesn’t feel anything for what friendship they had and lost. Who snarls at the mere sight of him on a screen (admittedly while also dissing Alastor), who went straight back to his radio tower to diss Vox right back (and absolutely crush him lol), before threatening him against taking action, privately, twice. Alastor’s just better at hiding how much it’s affected him, and doesn’t let the bitterness of what used to be consume his every waking thought.

And maybe that’s the difference between how they view their old relationship and how the fandom seems to view it. Alastor’s upset about it, sure. He’s bitter now about Vox and everything Vox represents because he’s a past friendship that failed, but he’s also moved on with his life. Vox hasn’t. Vox still obsesses over Alastor, in the way he dresses, the way he talks, how he presents himself. It’s all reminiscent of Alastor. And when he finds out Alastor’s returned, the first thing he does is draw attention to how Alastor’s back! Talk in a roundabout way about how much he’s missed him! Has wondered where he’s been? Sends a spy into the hotel to, well, spy on Alastor! And when that doesn’t work, Vox continues to stalk Alastor through his drones instead. (And then gets off on seeing Alastor get beat up.)

Vox very much has not moved on from whatever friendship they’d had before. He hasn’t moved on from Alastor. (Or from his heavily implied obsessive crush).

We don’t know what happened between them, aside that it’s complicated and sad, that they were friends, and now they’re very much not, and that maybe part of the reason why is because Alastor rejected Vox’s request to join his team (upend his entire life to partner with Vox, assuming Alastor always worked solo and what the Vees currently have is what Vox had wanted with Alastor with his request). We can assume maybe part of why they fell apart was because Vox wanted something more from his relationship with Alastor, something Alastor could not and did not want to give him. Or maybe they just grew apart, grew distant. Vox constantly upgrading and changing and keeping up with the newest trends, chasing whatever new Thing that’ll keep him relevant, while Alastor remained set in his ways because he’s not looking for the approval of the masses.

Anyways, all this to say: when I, and I assume most other OneWayBroadcast fans talk about one-sided radiostatic, it is specifically about how Vox has a one-sided romantic/sexual attraction/crush on Alastor, that Alastor does not return, that has now turned into a one-sided obsession over Alastor. Not that their entire friendship was completely one-sided. I think saying that Vox was the only one who was ever invested in their relationship is a rather bad faith interpretation of Alastor’s character, but also does not do their relationship justice at all. It minimizes Vox’s responsibility in the fallout of their friendship, and puts the blame only on Alastor. It takes away all the juicy complexities of Vox’s character, how he’s bad person who’s done and is doing bad things, and paints him as an innocent victim to “Alastor’s manipulation”.

That’s not to say Alastor was completely innocent in the fallout either. But I hear a lot more about how the fandom woobifies Vox in their relationship than I do Alastor.

[sadly-in-active]

maybe yandere beast cookies? or just Shadow Milk if you cant do them all

Bet 😘

Yandere Beast Cookies x Reader hcs

Summary: My, my, my. The former five Cookies of Virtue, all fallen from grace are…attracted to you? Yes, and very attached. Almost to a point where it could just be considered unhealthy and unhinged. Well, good luck my dearest reader! Try to survive in this world of chaos and doom! ❤️

TW: The usual yandere stuff, stalking, murder, manipulation, gaslighting, threatening, and some other SUPER cool stuff :D

(Sorry if ooc 😭)

Eternal Sugar Cookie

Quite the clingy gal, that’s for sure. She knew you loved her from the start…but she loved you before you even knew her. She had her eyes on you this entire time, watching your every move with a giddy smile. It almost makes her giggle when she remembers the situation.

Eternal Sugar enjoys holding you close and wrapping her wings around you. She wants you to feel content and safe, but she also wants you to get attached to her as well. She knows that if she was going to try something more extreme, it would have to be when you’re becoming more vulnerable and soft towards her. Then she’d strike.

“Oh, sweetie…that unfortunate Cookie spoke to you too long. They looked like they were flirting with you, and I just couldn’t have that! I love you dearly, and I’m never letting my darling go again~!”

All in all, you’re probably too busy looking at how beautiful she was, how her sweet eyes were filled with care for you…and…then…

Were you getting sleepy just now?

Burning Spice Cookie

He’s not the type to really stalk you, but he’d demand to know where his little peppercorn is at all times, who you’re with and why you’re even there in the first place and not next to him. (yes he nicknamed you that and no I’m not talking about the canon Peppercorn Cookie don’t come at me)

Burning Spice probably gets really aggressive when you try to go somewhere without his permission, even trying to burn you once or twice to make you stay with him while he treats your wounds, love-bombing you afterwards and holding you close to his warm chest while he bear-hugs you. This tactic is usually done on your legs and especially your knees, giving you second degree burns and ending up with you being unable to walk for about a week or so.

“C’mon, toots! It’s just a few burns, no need to cry when you’re around me! This only happened because you aren’t being a good partner… Hey, look, maybe we could cuddle after if that’s what you want?”

How could you stay mad at a guy who looked so sure of himself? So warm and confident…

But the temperature was increasing more, you just didn’t realize until it was a bit too late.

Silent Salt Cookie

They’ve always been, well, silent. Even when around their peers, they’re known as the quiet one. Their situation with you is probably a lot like Eternal Sugar’s, watching you since the very beginning. They’re definitely light on their feet, a sound rarely coming out of their mouth as they watch you go about your day.

Watching you was something that made them feel a bit of hope in the quiet silence they’ve had during their time as a Beast.

They’ve never tried to hurt you, but they’ve hurt many cookies that have interacted with you. Haven’t you noticed all the missing posters? Well, Silent Salt is sure happy that you didn’t see the papers or notice anything off about the world. After all, how could you when you’re in their home, wandering the salt flats from time to time?

“…it’s not to hurt you.”

They had whispered in your ear while keeping you close on their lap, the two of you embracing each other and the silence that came with it.

The Beast of Silence had even felt some…guilt, being this attached to you.

They could kill armies and hundreds of innocent civilians…but never raise their sword at you.

Ever.

And it would be best to keep it that way.

Mystic Flour Cookie

So, I don’t really know what to write about her…because she’s basically a nihilist and the literal Beast of Apathy..

But she’d definitely try to guilt trip you into making you care about her and worship her by telling her story, wanting you to feel sympathy for her even if she doesn’t want to care for you. (She does, in a way.)

“Don’t stop the flow of life, dearest. Join me and become flour…”

Anyways, she’s probably going to turn you into flour in the end.

But watching you cough out flour as you collapse next to her was…a strange sight indeed. Not even she knew how to feel.

Shadow Milk Cookie

(Nightmare nightmare nightmare)

He’s certainly a flirt, ever since the two of you met. Shadow Milk has always been thinking of you as his little toy, someone that he could play around with and face little consequences.

Because how could you resist a face like his? With a pout on his lips as he tries to justify harming the ones who’ve wronged you a long time ago, whether it be a childhood bully or even your parents… Heck, he even swears that it was for your sake and not because he’s a sadistic piece of shit.

“But [name]! How could I rest well knowing that my sweet, sweet doll still has enemies all around them? It’s my duty to protect you and keep you safe. Besides, don’t you love me?! I know you’re not chickening out now, sweetheart!”

He’s definitely tried to control you, making you into a mindless puppet without your knowledge. It’s something he only does when he’s feeling particularly pissed off at you because you’re not listening to him.

Well, if you’re not listening to him, he’s not planning to listen to his little doll anytime soon!

And he swears he’ll change. Every promise he makes is another lie from the jester. Those kisses he gives you before he goes off doing who knows what? That’s just to keep you entertained.

It’s his duty to protect you, but it’s his job to keep everyone entertained— especially himself.

[strawbeerossi]

Let Me Love You

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Unsub!Spencer Reid

Description: You've always thought Spencer was a sweet guy. What happens when he shows up to your apartment unprompted?

Content/Warnings: Dubcon, mention of stalking, oral (f rec), some crying, obsessive!Spencer, perv!Spencer, mentions of past panty theft.

Word Count: 1.5K

Kinktober Day Twenty: Dacryphilia

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Hearing a knock on your front door at ten in the evening pulled you out of your movie, deciding on having a ‘Scream’ marathon with the rumors swirling about a seventh and final film coming out. You didn’t think anything of it, pushing yourself to stand before heading to look out the peephole. 

You were met with Spencer Reid, one of your neighbors standing with his hands in his pockets while glancing around the hallway. The both of you had talked a few times, however it wasn’t enough to build up a friendship to the point he could feel comfortable randomly showing up though. 

“Spencer?” The sound of the door unlocking inside had him letting out a soft breath of relief. He couldn’t kick down a door like Derek so that idea was out. “Hey, I was stopping by to talk to you about something important. Do you mind if I come in?” You were letting your shoulders bounce. Why not? You stepped out of his way before gently closing the door behind him. “What did you need to talk about?” You asked while sitting back down on your couch with a smile, hand reaching for your mug of hot chocolate. 

“I know it’s none of my business but I was worried about you. I noticed you’ve had a new guy in the area, he just had a sketchy look about him. He already knew it was your ex boyfriend, doing his research via Penelope as she unknowingly helped Spencer fuel a delusional relationship between himself and his neighbor. Hey, if she didn’t like him, then why did she always talk to him when she saw him? She would bring him coffee sometimes or share any left over treats she’d made the night before. 

Nobody was that friendly unless they were interested. 

“You mean Josh? Oh, Spence..” Spence. The nickname was like music to his ears. She said it so sweetly, her words like honey. “He’s just a friend. I know it seems shady how late he leaves but I promise it’s nothing. You have nothing to worry about.” He knew that he didn’t. Spencer wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. “I just worry about you, you know?” He spoke while heading over to cup your cheeks. It had you a bit stunned, you never had him get this close before. Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest as you gently pushed him away. “You should get going.”

It wasn’t that you weren’t interested, you just didn’t like this newfound confidence and forwardness towards you. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was low as he was moving to rest his hand against the couch as you were quickly leaning back. “Just.. I don’t know why you fight it, you know? We have a connection. A special one.” 

“I-I don’t know if I’ve given you any false intentions but I’m not-” You’d been cut off by the frustrated huff coming from Spencer’s lips. “Just let me love you, bunny. You won’t even need Josh to come around here anymore. You have me. Consider Josh taken care of. He isn't gonna come bother us at all, I promise.” The words had your eyes brimming with tears. “What are you talking about?!” You’d asked, trying to push him back again although this time he was gripping both of your hands.

“Come here.” He murmured, now closing the gap to let his lips smear against yours. You were trying to hold back from returning the kiss, yet your body was betraying everything your brain was yelling at you not to do. He’d let go of your hands as he pulled away slightly, pressing a few kisses across your jaw before moving to your neck. 

“See? No woman lets a guy kiss their skin if they aren’t interested. Do you believe me? You want me just as bad as I want you.” He spoke while bringing his hands down to grip your hips. The force had you squeezing your eyes shut. “Let’s move this to your room. Don’t worry, I know where it is.” He’d paused your movie before lifting you in his arms, your arms draping around his shoulders quickly while you were looking around. “H-how do you know where my room is?” It was a dumb question, making Spencer laugh. “The key under the mat trick is so old. You’re lucky that I have the key, after all, a random person could come in at any time if they wanted.” 

He’s been inside your apartment. 

Your brain was screaming at you to use your bedside lamp to smash over his head once you’d made it into your bedroom, however your stunned state had you as stiff as a board, body being tossed on the mattress as you watched the male with wide eyes. “I’ll take care of you. Let me prove it, bunny. Please? Let me show you that I can do what Josh can’t.”

You didn’t make an effort to stop him or shove him away, instead letting him tug the fuzzy Halloween themed sleep pants down your legs. “These are so cute, by the way. I really love the ones you have for Christmas though. The one with the reindeer on them.” He clarified while he was tossing your pants somewhere behind him. He looked over your clothed pussy, a soft sigh of content leaving his lips. “These are my favorite pair. I’ve always wanted them but you wear them every time I get a chance to swing by.”

He’s been stealing your panties. That is where they are all going, the washing machine hasn’t been eating them like you thought.

The thought of him stealing your panties was enough to make your eyes well up with tears. What if this man tried to kill you? You didn’t see him doing it but you also didn’t expect for him to break into your apartment and steal intimate articles of clothing from you either.

“Oh, bunny. You look so beautiful when you cry.” He gushed, one hand wiping the tears escaping your eyes. The sight of tears in your eyes had his cock swelling in his pants. He could just imagine making you cry as he fucked you deep into your mattress, you sobbing from overstimulation and the need for more. He didn’t skip a beat as his hands were going to the waistband of your panties now.

“Here we go.” He spoke as he was pulling the red underwear down your thighs with a soft hum, lips pursing as he blew cold air on your glistening cunt. Your body worked against you in this case, pussy being wet and ready for what was to come after the kiss you’d shared in the living room. He didn’t waste time as he leaned down, lips pressing sloppy kisses to your inner thighs. His tongue was licking a stripe up your slick folds, taking in your essence while groaning lowly. So much better than he could’ve ever imagined. Your hand was moving to tangle in his hair, head tilting back against your pillow as his tongue was licking your skin. His mouth had soon after wrapped around your throbbing clit that was begging to be touched, his tongue lapping over it before he was hollowing his cheeks and suckling.

“Oh,” You moaned while letting your eyes flutter shut, hand shoving his face into your cunt more once Spencer was diving in. He ate you like you were the last meal he’d had, drinking up every ounce of arousal that you had flooded his tongue with. “I told you,” He spoke, two fingers delving into your pussy as he was curling them almost immediately in an effort to brush against the button inside of you that you so desperately needed him to find. “You like this, don’t you? Such a dirty girl, letting your neighbor tongue-fuck your pussy.” He growled, a shiver going through your body as you were thinking about the situation now. 

However every ounce of thought was out the window as his fingers prodded against the sweet spot he was in search of. “Fuck,” You whined while letting your hips roll against the thrusts of his fingers. Your slick was running down his hand now, a third finger being added to give you a pleasurable stretch as his tongue was lapping and sucking at your throbbing clit. “I’m gonna cum!” Your nails were digging into his scalp, shoving his face more against your cunt even if it did nothing in the long run. 

As his tongue was greedily licking and sucking your clit, it wasn’t long until you were letting your back arch with a moan of pleasure. You could swear that you saw stars as you were orgasming on his tongue, the male not skipping a beat to lick up your mess while sighing dreamily. 

“See bunny? Didn’t you like that? I know exactly what you like.” He spoke while pushing himself to sit up on his knees.

“Why don’t we keep this going, hmm?”

[infamous-light]

Their Eyes, Your Chains

Yandere Agatha & Rio Headcanons

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: Their Eyes, Your Chains

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Possessive/obsessive behavior, yandere, manipulation, threats, stalking, jealousy

| Agatha

Agatha first discovered you on the outskirts of Westview. The instant her eyes landed on you, something primal stirred deep within her – an insatiable hunger that she couldn’t quite place. You looked so fragile, so misplaced in a world that would sooner consume you than offer kindness. At that moment, she knew she had to have you. You were perfect.

To ensure your safety – and her claim on you – Agatha placed a magical sigil on you, visible only to her. It would flare up if you strayed too far from her or if someone with ill intent approached you. You were hers and she would not tolerate anyone or anything that dared to threaten that bond.

Agatha controlled every aspect of your life – where you went, who you spoke to, and how long you stayed away from her. She masked her actions as “protection,” but the truth was clear: her obsessive need to keep you close drove her every move.

She was territorial. To Agatha, you belonged to her, and she allowed no one else to get too close to you.

Despite her possessive nature, Agatha showered you with attention, gifts, and affection, but her love still felt suffocating.

When you pushed back against her control, she alternated between cold fury and honeyed words, making you feel guilty for wanting freedom. “You don’t understand, darling. I do this because I love you. No one else will protect you the way I can.”

If you ever did manage to leave her, Agatha would go to terrifying lengths to bring you back. She would track you across the ends of the earth, twisting reality itself to prevent your escape. She might even cast a powerful spell to trap you in a dreamlike illusion, where you were blissfully happy and unaware of her manipulations, ensuring you would never wish to leave her side again.

Agatha’s most severe threat was to bind you to her permanently with a soul-link spell, tethering your life force to hers so escape would be impossible. “You are mine.” Yet, unbeknownst to you, she had already decided to cast it the moment she met you.

She frequently called you terms of endearment like “darling,” “my love,” or “pet.”

Agatha wanted you, and she would stop at nothing to ensure that you were entirely, irrevocably hers.

| Rio

As the personification of death, Rio saw you as someone destined to be hers. All living things would inevitably belong to her in the end, but she didn’t want to wait for that – she wanted you now and forever. Her obsession with you felt timeless, as if it had always existed, lying dormant until the moment it could finally flourish.

Rio preyed on your fear of mortality to keep you dependent on her, constantly reminding you how fleeting your life was and how frail you were compared to her eternal nature. “They’ll all leave you eventually. But me? I’ll always be here. Isn’t that what you want – someone who’ll always be here for you?” Her words burrowed into your mind, twisting your emotions until you could no longer tell if remaining by her side was truly your choice or hers.

When she was in a particularly indulgent mood, Rio could be achingly sweet with you, though her sweetness was always laced with a dangerous possessiveness. She would hold you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, her hands cold but her touch inexplicably soothing. Yet in the same breath, she would whisper unsettling things like, “You're mine, sweetheart... forever and always. No one else can ever have you.”

Rio doesn’t tolerate anyone getting too close to you. She was convinced that she alone was worthy of being by your side. After all, she was inevitable, eternal – the one destined to claim your soul in the end.

If she perceived anyone as a threat to her claim over you, they had simply disappeared. When you confronted her about it, Rio’s dark eyes narrowed, and her voice carried a chilling warning: “I don’t like sharing. Do I need to remind you what happens when people overstep?”

If you dared to defy her, Rio would turn volatile. She would threaten to bring death to those you love or cause harm to innocent people, showing you the lengths she would go to keep you bound to her. She would make you feel like you were the one in the wrong, insisting that only you could “end her loneliness” or that no one else could ever understand her the way you do.

In extreme circumstances, Rio would remind you in a low, bone-chilling voice that no mortal can escape death – and by extension, her.

No matter how far you fled, no matter how cleverly you tried to hide, Rio would always find you. 

She didn’t just crave your love – it was deeper, darker than that. Rio demanded every piece of you, body and soul.

To her, you were the flickering light in an eternal void. You were her meaning, her obsession, her undoing.

| Agatha & Rio

God help you.

Agatha and Rio had both claimed you as their own. Neither of them could imagine a reality where you belonged to anyone but them, and each had made it clear that you were theirs and theirs alone. “You belong to me, just as you belong to her.” They would whisper, almost in sync.

Agatha’s possessiveness was passionate and fiery. She would often press herself against you, her hands grazing your arms or waist to remind you of her presence. Rio, on the other hand, had a more subtle approach – she would lean in close, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured soft, possessory words or let her fingers lightly trace the back of your neck.

Both Agatha and Rio were quick to notice any tiny change in your behavior. If you were quieter than usual, Agatha’s gaze sharpened, and she would press you for answers, “What’s wrong? Tell me.” Rio, however, will casually drape an arm around your shoulder, murmuring, “Who upset you? Just say the word.” Neither will rest until they know what’s troubling you and how to make it right.

Together, Agatha and Rio were a constant reminder that no matter where you go or what you do, you belonged to them and they’ll ensure that it stayed that way, forever.

[targaryenluvs]

LONELY WATERS

pairings: dark!finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: even if you resided in the fishing district you only ever got close to the water for swimming late at night. it was your favourite time of the day, but it leaves you open and vulnerable to predators and people, the water won’t save you. silly girl, don’t you remember? finnick odairs a champion swimmer.

warnings: nude swimming, nc voyeurism, stalking, scaring someone, inappropriate touching, chasing in waters, threatening and manipulation?? false misconceptions about victors, nc kissing and implied sexual intimacy and technically kidnapping?? (not forever) passing out from exhaustion due to sexual relations

a/n: THE VOICES 👹👹 italics is your thoughts!!! not proofread!

the water was cold, just how you liked it.

you’d been taking care of your cousin davine who’d literally put a hole in her finger trying to spin around the finnick odair’s trident since it was on display in a local gallery. but she’d overestimated her strength, let go of it whilst it was still in the air and it sliced her good. you met her outside as you’d been getting groceries and scolded her the whole way to the hospital.

“are you crazy? did you honestly think you could handle such a weapon on a whim? why the hell would you want to hold it anyways it’s just a trident.” you investigated as she whined and moaned, “why wouldn’t i want to y/n? it’s finnick! i just didn’t know it’d be that difficult.” you sighed as you halted her walking, bending down to look up at her, “i know it seems super cool okay. but the things he went through? the reason he has that trident? not cool. don’t idolise the games and the victors. the games are barbaric and those poor victors live their lives because the capitol lets them. i don’t want you anywhere near them okay? they’re dangerous.”

davine shook her head, “how? they’re just victors, they had to kill to win the games you know that y/n.” you sighed again, “they’re not dangerous because of the games they’re dangerous because of their time in the capitol. they care about themselves, after the hunger games they’ll probably do anything to keep themselves safe. act nice to us, earn our trust and support i- it doesn’t matter, just try not to go around him okay?”

finnick was watching you from the balcony as you explained your worries to davine. now now, who’d gone and told you all those lies? he wasn’t dangerous, as long as you were on his good side.

honey, he’d show you dangerous.

as you took off your dress you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, so you stopped. your head zipped around , trying to look for a glimpse, a person, an animal, something. but you couldn’t see anything. and that should’ve been your first sign. someone that you could hear but not see.

as you lowered yourself into the water you felt at ease. the water was the one place you were by yourself. you thought you were. everyday had you, and everyone, surrounded by people all day. but here? peace.

“isn’t it dangerous at this time of night honey?” finnick emphasised as your hands shot up to cover your top half. “don’t hide now, i was enjoying the view.” you couldn’t believe your eyes, finnick odair, in the flesh. god the screens didn’t do him justice. i get it davine, why you wanted to hold the trident. his eyes were so green.

“w-what are you doing here?” finnick tilted his head as he crossed his arms, still on the land, “can’t i come down here? if i knew it was reserved i wouldn’t have come, but it isn’t, and i can do as i please. you never know who’s around sweetheart, not the best idea to come out alone.” you didn’t even notice that he was slowly taking off his own clothes till he was walking your way. “i swim here every night. no one’s ever here.” he was in the water now, and you’d begun to slowly back away, the water engulfing you slowly. chest, shoulders, neck. “well that’s going to change, don’t you wanna swim with me?” you shook your head as he mimicked you, shaking his head slowly, “no? you gonna stop me?” he was making his way towards you, cutting through the water like glass.

you were hyperventilating and your mind was foggy. you obviously weren’t thinking properly since instead of swimming towards the shore you swam further out. you could hear his laugh as you began to swim, “do you really think you can swim away from me? the place in which i excel? i’ve chased down tributes in water, fit, healthy and much more athletic than you. trust me, you’ll tire yourself out before you get any further.” but you didn’t listen, all you could do was try.

the rocks were large and created a huge wall, it was a rocky area of the beach which you were using as refuge from finnick. if there was one thing you never expected it was this, being chased by finnick odair through opens waters for- what, exactly? you had no clue.

you’d mistakenly began to relax, thinking you’d lost him when you dove under the water but the unrelenting pressure on your ankle had you wailing as you were yanked under the water. your eyesight was muffled and muggy, but you knew who’d dragged you under. finnick swam back to the surface, his hands right around you.

“should’ve listened to me.” he smiled, perfect teeth on show, barely puffed out, where as you felt as if your heart was going to burst from exhaustion and fatigue or plain fright. “now, i’m going to make sure, you remember me, remember what i’m going to do, and will continue to do.” you were sure his face was going to haunt you, everywhere you went. every time you saw a trident, even a damn fork. blonde hair and green eyes would send you spiralling every time you plucked them out from a crowd.

your tears were hot and streaming as you felt his hands roam, lower and lower. the rocks cut you as he pushed you into them, manipulating you into the positions he wished for. your body was so cold but his presence was like fire, his hands were warm and undeniable as they grabbed and kneaded at soft skin. his kisses were unrelenting and you were sure he’d leave a trail of bruises all over you in his wake.

you’d passed out at some point of the night, you were in the water, then on the rocks, then on the land yet you woke up in an unfamiliar home. maybe someone found you laying on the ground, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left you there, naked and ruined.

what were you going to do? if he approached you in public? in private? in your home? who in panem would believe your truth? that finnick odair, the capitols darling was capable of such unbelievable, vile actions. they’d probably turn it around you. he’d let them.

at least he’s not here. you thought to yourself, you could do your best to avoid him. it’s not like there aren’t plenty of women, gorgeous girls that could take his attention. he’d probably picked out another girl to go after, to charm and take the normal way.

your thoughts had taken you away from the present, the present being you laying besides someone. their muscular arm draped over your waist, the sheets covered your and his bare body. “had a good sleep did you?” finnick murmured into your neck as you froze up.

no no no no no. please no.

“yes honey. you’re here with me. now let me hold you.” he whispered as he pulled you into his chest, cautious of your patched up cuts. everything hurt. your shoulders, arms, thighs. your hands traced over the bite marks, the skin all over you, tainted.

just wishing for lonely waters in which you could relax led to you be trapped in his arms. and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go. not when you brung him so much pleasure, yeah, he’d be using you for a while, if not forever.

if only you’d been nicer.

[bucksangel]

temptation

pairing: softdark!stalker!bucky x reader

word count: 12.5k (I PROMISE IT’S WORTH IT)

summary: “I found some land in upstate New York, it’s a quiet, woodsy area, with no neighbors for at least three miles. And when I saw her I knew I needed to go through with it. So I bought the property and I’ve been building the cabin myself, I just need a few more weeks to finish it and then I can bring her there with me.” or - bucky’s trying to get his life back in order, but everything changes when he sees you. He’s going to make you his, whether you like it or not.

warnings: 18+ only, kidnapping, stalking, bucky is weird and obsessed and full on delulu but not violent, implied abuse/threatening abuse (from steve), stockholm syndrome, solo masturbation, panty sniffing, mental manipulation, bucky’s trauma is brought up, steve makes an appearance and is weird and Not Nice At All, brief mention of arson for like one sentence, don’t read if any of these warnings trigger you

masterlist | tip jar | ao3 | part 2

a/n: this is for @jessybarnes writing challenge! my prompts were angst #6 "don't you dare leave me!" and fluff #6 "kiss me again"

also thank you to my lovely @vase-of-lilies for helping me plan this out and @fandoms-writings for helping beta 🤍🤍 i might do a part 2 with smut if anyone is interested!

Tucked away in a reading nook at the back of the library, your legs are curled into your body with a blanket thrown over your lap. You’re faced toward the window, occasionally looking up from your book to stare out into the empty street, watching as the rain pours and splatters against the window. By now you’re three-quarters of the way through your book, having spent the last several hours reading quietly, the lack of other people around also helps keep the serenity of the moment.

You come to the library every Thursday and Saturday and have been for years. It’s one of your safe spaces, one of the only places in the city where you can relax from the usual everyday chaos. It’s your home away from home, the books surrounding you acting as your friends that keep you company. Surely if you had enough room in your tiny studio apartment, you’d have your own library.

Although lately something’s been… off. You can’t escape the feeling of being watched, followed. There’s no proof, only an instinct, one that makes you scan your surroundings every so often no matter where you are and what you’re doing. It’s been setting you on edge for weeks, doing double-takes when walking along the sidewalk thinking you saw someone staring, constantly checking your rear-view mirror because you swore this car has been trailing behind you for several miles.

And the worst part is that no one believes you. You’d tried telling your friends, all of whom said you were being paranoid, you’re just exaggerating, projecting. You asked the security guards at your apartment building if they’d seen anything weird and they rolled their eyes at you. It makes you frustrated, especially since it’s been getting worse, and going to the police isn’t an option. If your friends don’t believe you, why would they?

It’s happening now, you realize, your head snapping up and your gaze leaning to the right. But nothing is there, just like always. Nothing is ever there, only the voice in the back of your head yelling at you that you’re not safe. It takes a few moments for you to shake the feeling away, but it only lasts for maybe ten minutes. Eventually, you decide to give up on reading for the day, packing up your things as quickly and quietly as possible to get out without being seen.

It’s only when you’re at the front door that you realize you didn’t bring your umbrella. You’d gotten to the library before it started raining and had foregone watching the news this morning so you didn’t even know it would rain. But you still have that lingering anxiety, so it only takes a few seconds before you decide to brave the rain and make the two-minute walk to your apartment.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you quickly dash out the front door, speed walking to your place with your head hung low. And, luckily, it doesn’t take long to get to the building, being quick to rush up the stairs and unlock your door to get out of your soaking wet clothes. 

 ____________

It’s wrong, so wrong. Logically, Bucky knows that, knows that his actions aren’t normal. Some people would call him toxic, a creep, a stalker. And they’re all right, Bucky is very cognizant of his actions and thoughts.

He knows, he just doesn’t care.

You see, Bucky Barnes has been through a lot, has endured pure and utter pain for decades, has lost everything and everyone that matters to him. Bucky has never had anything to call his own, has never had anything that’s solely for him and no one else. Even now as he’s in recovery, as he’s finally gotten full control of his mind, as he’s seeing a therapist once a week, none of it fills that void.

Sure, he has a decent-sized apartment, though he has to admit that it’s pretty bare. He has one chair in his living room, one set of cutlery, a few select shirts, and the other bare necessities to live. He doesn’t really know how to decorate, doesn’t feel the need to considering it’s just him.

Bucky’s learning, though. He has a corkboard on his bedroom wall with pictures of different room layouts and complimenting wall colors pinned to it. He got a new computer, three to be exact, standing on a desk underneath said board. He even has a forty-inch tv mounted on the wall across from his bed. 

Bucky’s at his desk now, sitting in his chair as he transfers all the photos he took today from his camera to the computer. It took him quite a while to figure out how to do that, and it took even longer to learn how to use photoshop. But, like the decorating, he’s learning.

But as soon as the last picture is uploaded, his phone rings with a special tone, one that alerts him whenever your front door is opened.

Bucky sits up straight, grabs his phone, and races to the bed where he quickly grabs his remote from his bedside table. Settling in, he rests his back against the headboard and lets his legs splay out in front of him. He then turns on his TV, switching from regular cable to the screen that shows all angles of the cameras he placed in your apartment.

It’s almost as though he’s a dog hearing Ivan Pavlov ringing the bell with how his cock involuntarily twitches to life upon seeing you, clothes soaked and acting as a second skin. You’re wearing a dark blue shirt though, so he can’t see through it enough to get a glimpse of what’s underneath, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen it before.

He’s seen all of you.

And right now he sees you rushing into your room and to your dresser as you peel off your shirt, dropping it to the ground. You open your drawers and pull out a new set of clothes; skimpy shorts and his favorite tank top that leaves little to the imagination.

Bucky’s cock twitches again when you start pulling down your jeans, pre-cum already starting to form as you wiggle your hips in an attempt to peel the soaked denim off of your legs. When you finally manage to take them off, you throw those on the ground as well, and Bucky would be upset with how messy you are if there weren’t more important matters at hand.

Quickly, he switches to the camera in your bathroom, all forty inches of his TV showing him an extremely clear view of you taking off your bra and panties, panties that he’s aching to steal, to smell, to really soak in your essence. But, since he doesn’t have them, he uses his next best option: the panties in the top drawer of his bedside table that he snatched from your hamper a few days ago.

Bucky lifts them to his nose and, thankfully, they still smell of you, they smell of heaven, and Bucky makes quick work of shoving his sweatpants down far enough to get his dick out, already fully hard at the sight of you stepping into the shower. Bucky then switches to the camera he placed in your shower head.

And there you are, naked and utterly beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking, like the only thing Bucky wants to look at for the rest of eternity. He’s been awestruck by your beauty since he first met you. Well, met is a strong word, it’s more like he saw you sitting and reading in the window of the library you always go to as he was passing by. For all Bucky knows you hadn’t even seen him.

Still, he’d known you were the one for him from the first time his gaze landed on you.

Bucky can hear your relieved sigh over the spray of the water, his hand holding your panties wrap around his cock as you close your eyes and tilt your head back, giving him a very good view of the water cascading down your breasts. Bucky’s tongue peeks out and swipes along his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth, letting out a low groan and pumping his cock faster. This specific pair is smooth satin, making it for an easy glide up and down, a twist of his wrist every so often.

It doesn’t take long for his stomach to start tightening, his breathing to become faster and his thighs to tense as he tries to hold back his orgasm. It never takes long when it comes to you. Before you, he thought he liked sex enough, it was as pleasurable as most people say it is. Now, though, he hasn’t even had you and he’s already addicted.

Bucky lets out a low groan, a soft “fuck” falling from his lips as you start running your soapy loofa across your chest and arms. More pre-cum builds and spills over the tip of his cock as he strokes it faster, squeezing at the base of it several times to try and ward off his impending orgasm. The cold metal of Bucky’s left-hand travels down his stomach, fingers creeping under his cock and taking hold of his balls. In unison, Bucky tugs at his cock as he rolls and squeezes his sac, his breaths coming out even faster when you move the loofa to your legs, running it on the insides of your thighs.

“Oh, my angel…” Bucky whines softly, eyes honing in on the way you rub your skin in small circles, every nerve in his being lighting on fire as he focuses on really feeling how soft your panties are around his dick. He wishes it were your pussy, and is imagining it is now as he gets closer and closer to coming. His mind floods with visions of you; laying on your back and naked in his bed ready to take him, or your face pressed into the pillows and ass high in the air with your fingers clenching the sheets. His favorite one, the one that can make him cum just by thinking about it; you, round and swollen with his baby - babies. Because Bucky isn’t going to stop at one, oh no. He’s going to give you baby after baby until your shared house never knows even a second of silence.

And as the image of your naked and pregnant body lying on his bed flashes through his mind, Bucky’s thighs tense, his teeth dig into his lower lip, and he continues stroking his cock at an inhuman speed as cum spurts out from the tip of his dick. And, dear god, he can’t help how much cum there is, always so much - just for you. His eyes roll to the back of his head, only taking his hand away when his dick starts getting a little too sensitive.

Bucky comes to a few moments later, and when his eyes wander back to the TV he sees you washing your hair, eyes closed, and head tipped back. As Bucky’s breathing evens out, his mind goes a little hazy, eyes unable to tear themselves away from you for the rest of your shower - and after, when you’re drying off and changing into clean clothes.

His mind doesn’t snap out of its trance until you turn your lights off and get into bed. When you do, he grabs the remote and switches the camera to the one he placed in the stuffed bear you keep on your bed, making sure to turn on the night vision mode.

Bucky then gets ready for bed, which merely consists of him stripping his clothes and washing his hands, then folding your underwear and placing them back in his dresser.

And when he falls asleep, he does so with the TV on, the way the camera is angled allows him to see you as his mind falls into slumber. He clutches a heated body pillow with your perfume sprayed on it and puts headphones that are connected to the audio sensor in the camera in the teddy bear in his ears. And it lets him imagine that you’re actually in bed with him, lets him pretend he’s holding you and can hear your soft snores in person.

He sleeps peacefully through the night.

____________

It’s another ordinary Saturday, the Brooklyn sky clear of clouds and showcasing the sun at full capacity. It’s unseasonably warm considering it’s well into fall, so you decide to wear a simple sweater and shorts to the market. Even though your outfit may be simple, your makeup is done perfectly and your hair pulled back from your face, and the perfume you sprayed is no doubt going to reel your date in.

Because you’re going on a date today. Johnathan was a friend of a coworker, you’d met him when he came into your cafê and started chatting mindlessly with Sara. You thought he was handsome, and apparently he found you attractive as well - because, according to Sara, he asked if you were single when you left the counter to go help a customer.

She’d given him your number that day and you’ve been talking with him every day ever since. Finally, after a week and a half of texting and calling, your schedules aligned perfectly so he could take you to the farmer’s market just a little bit outside of the city.

He offered to pick you up, but completely understood when you said you’d rather meet him there, the unspoken “just in case because I don’t know if you’re a murderer” hanging in the air. But, again, he hadn’t minded.

On your way to the date you began to develop a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach, once again feeling like you’re being watched. You look in your rearview mirror, but find nothing, of course you don’t. You never do.

But it’s when you actually get to the market that legitimate anxiety settles in. Getting out of your car, you look around to find Johnathan - but also to see if you can find anybody suspicious. You’re gazing to the left, eyes frantically roaming the crowd, and jump nearly five feet in the air when someone taps your arms.

You have to physically refrain from screaming, only to sigh in relief when you see it’s Johnathan, a huge smile on his face and a wicker basket in his hand.

“Sorry for startling you,” He laughs, causing you to laugh as well, desperately trying to shake off the feelings of being watched.

“N-No, it’s fine.” You smile back at him, then nod to the empty basket. “What’s that for?”

“Well,” He starts, his smile turning sheepish. “You said you needed more fruits and spices for your thanksgiving pies and I figured this market would be good to get them at.”

After a second of silence, Johnathan speaks again. “And don’t worry about buying them yourself, I’m here to treat you. Just pick what you want and it’s yours.”

You can’t help the wide smile that plasters itself across your face because, genuinely, you don’t even know if a single potential partner has been this kind, especially so early on into the first date.

So, with a small ‘thank you’, you take his outstretched hand and let him lead you toward the entrance.

And it’s probably the best first date you’ve ever had, and not just because Johnathan has insisted on buying everything, not even letting the thought of paying yourself cross your mind. It’s fun, walking up and down the stalls, and even going to the pumpkin patch at the back to pick miniature pumpkins to decorate your apartment with.

It should’ve been the most fun you’ve had in months, but it’s hard to fully focus and stay in the moment when the feeling of someone’s eyes on you grows higher and higher as the day turns into night and it’s time to leave.

Johnathan holds your hand the entire day, or wraps his arm around you every once in a while to keep you close when you’re walking through a crowd. He’s holding your hand as he walks you back to your car, and the entire time you can’t help but search the parking lot for any signs of danger, becoming more cognizant of your surroundings as the sky grows darker.

“Today was fun,” Johnathan says, pulling you away from your thoughts. You both stop next to your car, turning to face each other.

“It was,” You say, dropping your date’s hand so you can fiddle with your fingers nervously. “Could we, um…”

“Yeah?” He asks, prompting you to continue when you pause.

“Could we do this again?” That question brings out a bright smile on the man’s face, his eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, yeah I’d love to!” Then, he coughs, clearing his throat and cooling himself. “I-I mean, yeah. That’d be nice.” His response makes you giggle, and you nod along in agreement.

You both go silent, though it’s not an awkward one. But after a moment of quiet, Johnathan speaks up again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!” And you don’t have time to be embarrassed about how enthusiastic your response was because the man is immediately leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, one you deepen while your hands come up to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. It takes a good minute for you two to break apart, both of you giggling. 

“I guess I should get home,” you say regretfully, and Johnathan also looks kind of sad when he nods.

“Text me when you get there?”

You nod, then whisper back, “you too,” before he kisses your cheek. With a final smile and nod of his head, heads to his car.

And Johnathan’s absence is quickly filled with anxiety, your head snapping to the right at hearing footsteps approaching you. But, just like every other time, there’s nothing except a family passing by. It takes no time at all for you to get into your car and speed out of the parking lot, not wanting to waste anymore time out in the dark.

And when you do get home and send your ‘got home safe <3’ text, you get ready for bed. All the while periodically checking to see if he texted back.

You’d gotten back to your apartment around nine, but by the time you’re turning in for the night around eleven he still hasn’t texted back. So, you resign yourself to waiting until tomorrow morning to see if he texts because he could have just got caught in traffic.

The next morning comes with still no text.

____________

It’s about a week later when Bucky wasn’t able to follow you around for the day, he ended up having to go to the tower for some work on his arm. But he’d checked the cameras before he left, watching as you changed into your outfit and left before he got ready to leave as well.

But Bucky gets back to his apartment around noon. And even though the only thing on his mind is getting to his room so he can get back to online shopping for things he needs for his cabin he notices something is wrong right away. There’s no noise, but the light in his kitchen is on when he’s positive he turned it off before he left. Plus, his hyper-sensitive ears pick up a heartbeat, and not his own.

Bucky is immediately on high alert, and he quickly and quietly grabs the knife he keeps tucked in his pants as he follows the heartbeat to his room. And when he opens the door, he lets out a soft curse and tucks the blade away.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Steve?” Bucky snaps at him, and he knows his harsh tone isn’t warranted, but Bucky hasn’t invited Steve to his apartment since he fell in love with you, and for good reason.

Steve turns to Bucky, though he stays standing by his corkboard, a concerned look on the blonde man’s face.

“Bucky…” Steve pauses, glancing at his friend and then back to the wall next to him. “What is all this?” He reaches forward tentatively, only stopping when Bucky damn near shouts at him.

“Don’t!” And Steve can tell Bucky already feels guilty for raising his voice, because he adds “please,” in a softer tone. So, Steve pulls his hand away, though his eyes continue to roam around the entire room, staring at what must be at least seventy pictures of you pinned to Bucky’s walls, nearly fully covering them.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Bucky asks again, eyes cast downward as soon as his friend looks at him so he doesn’t have to see the no doubt concerned look on Steve’s face.

“You’ve been off, Buck. We’ve been best friends our whole lives, I know all of your tells. In the past four months we’ve hung out maybe five times, not including when we see each other at the tower every once in a while. You’re always canceling plans, making excuses for why you can’t go out, or why I can’t come over,” Steve pauses, his gaze traveling to the desk to look at a large framed and very poorly photoshopped picture of you and Bucky.

“Now I see why.”

Bucky sighs, then trudges forward to sit on the edge of his bed next to his bedside table. He looks over at another framed photo of you that he took from your Instagram - a close-up of your face, eyes scrunched close, and mouth split in a wide grin, and it’s clear that you’re laughing - happy. The sun in the background adds a beautiful solar flare effect, bringing out the absolute beauty you hold.

“Steve, you have to understand…” Bucky sighs again, looking up at his friend with desperate, pleading eyes. “You know better than anyone about what I’ve been through, all the pain I’ve suffered. I don’t have clear memories from… before. All I can remember is pain, and having no control over my own mind, let alone my life. I love you Stevie, I really do. But, even though you found me, even though I’m no longer him, I haven’t found true happiness. In anything. Marissa, my therapist, suggested I needed to go out and dabble in different hobbies until I could find something that would give me even a little bit of joy. I like hanging out with you and Natasha, sometimes Sam, but it just wasn’t enough.”

Bucky looks back over at the picture, delicately picking it up and focusing on your joyful expression - one he so desperately wants to be the cause of.

“But then I saw her. It was about four months ago; I’d actually been walking back from your place and saw her sitting in the window of the library a few blocks over. She’d been curled up with a book in her lap and was drinking out of a mug, not wearing anything fancy, but I remember thinking she was the most beautiful person I had ever and would ever meet. I remember stopping, being frozen in place as I just watched her read. I remember thinking about Marissa telling me to find something purely for me, something I could call my own, something that would make me happy.”

Steve hums, walking from the desk to stand a few feet in front of Bucky with his arms folded across his chest, something Bucky sees when he looks back up at his friend.

“She’s my happiness, Steve. I haven’t actually talked to her, but she’s the one for me, I just know it.”

Both men are quiet for a long, tense moment, with Steve mulling over Bucky’s words while the latter is worried beyond belief his friend will somehow keep him from pursuing you. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like that will happen.

“Buck…” Steve trails off, sighing. “I mean, you’re right, I can’t deny that you’ve been through hell, that you deserve happiness and love. But, don’t you think this is a little… creepy? Like, why can’t you just go talk to her?”

Bucky immediately shakes his head, his heartbeat picking up slightly at the mere thought of actually talking to you. He doesn’t think he’s ready to make a complete fool of himself by trying to talk to an angel like you.

“I-I can’t, Stevie. It’s not that simple. I can’t just… I can’t just approach the woman I’m in love with. I’d just be awkward and shy and I probably wouldn’t even be able to say more than a few words to her. No one wants someone who can’t even be out in public for more than a few hours at a time, let alone someone who can’t even talk.”

Steve makes a small, pained noise, his eyebrows furrowed. But when Bucky doesn’t continue, the blonde man moves forward and sits precariously on the edge of the bed next to his friend. Steve then slowly lifts his hand, palm up, to the picture Bucky is holding, glancing at him for permission to take the frame. When Bucky nods, Steve takes it. It’s quiet for a moment as Steve ponders, then hums softly.

“She’s pretty.”

And Bucky knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, doesn’t have any want or intention to take you from him, but he can’t help but get jealous. Though he tries to hide it by forcing a smile.

“She really is.” Another pause, a deep breath. “I have a… plan, though.”

Steve hums again, looking up from the picture and handing it back. “Which is?”

“You see, even before I met her I was looking to move out of the city, there’s too much noise, it’s too busy, just too much. I found some land in upstate New York, it’s a quiet, woodsy area, with no neighbors for at least three miles. And when I saw her I knew I needed to go through with it. So I bought the property and I’ve been building the cabin myself, I just need a few more weeks to finish it and then I can bring her there with me.”

With another longing gaze at the picture, he blinks rapidly to get rid of the moisture in his eyes, joy filling his entire body at the thought of you finally being his and his alone. “It’ll just be us,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” Steve starts, chewing on his lip for a moment. “So, if you can’t even talk to her, how are you going to convince her to move into a house in the middle of the woods with you?”

“I’m not…” Bucky trails off nervously, his left leg now bouncing with anxiety.

“Buck, please don’t tell me you plan on kidna-”

Bucky cuts him off by standing up abruptly.

“It’s not kidnapping if she’s supposed to be with me anyway! She’s mine, Steve. Mine! She might not like it at first, but - but she will eventually. She’ll love me like I deserve, and we’ll be happy together.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Steve, something Steve picks up on.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this.”

Bucky’s damn near close to shouting, a sudden undeserved anger coursing through his veins at his mind jumping to conclusions by assuming his friend is trying to stop him. But Bucky is determined, and he has no problem cutting off ties if anyone stands in the way of the life he craves.

“Please, Steve, you have to understand! She’s the only thing I’m certain of in life, I… I need her.”

“Okay,” Steve says after a few very tense minutes, nodding along to Bucky’s words. Because, truthfully, Steve would rather this be the problem than Bucky slipping back into a major depressive state. Bucky does deserve happiness and love and anything else his heart could ever desire. And if he wants you, then goddamnit Steve isn’t going to stand in the way.

“Okay?” Bucky asks nervously, fiddling with his fingers.

“Yeah, Buck. I don’t really… agree with all of this, but if this is what you think you need, then okay. You’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you. So if this is what you want then I’ll help in any way I can.”

A wide smile plasters itself across Bucky’s face, his eyes lighting up. If Steve is offering his help, who is Bucky to deny him?

“Thanks, Stevie.”

____________

One month later everything has seemingly gone downhill.

Things would go missing in your apartment one by one, something you actually hadn’t noticed until one day you were cleaning and found several articles of clothing gone. Chalking it up to getting them lost in transit to the several trips to the laundry room in the basement of the apartment complex, you try to shrug it off.

It doesn’t totally work.

Then, the feeling of being watched only got worse. You’ll be walking down the street to the café you work at and feel the instinct to walk faster, but it doesn’t stop there. Some days you have to restrain yourself from staring out of the window in a vain attempt to catch the stranger you’re absolutely positive is following you.

You’d also asked Sara if Johnathan was okay, to which she responded with a sympathetic smile as she told you he decided he wasn’t interested anymore and decided to go back to Pennsylvania to spend an indeterminate amount of time with his family.

To make it even worse, a few days ago you’d gone to meet with a therapist for the first time, hoping they could ease your anxieties. He, in fact, made them worse by accusing you of overreacting, of being another stereotypical woman freaking out over nothing. ‘It’s probably just your hormones acting up’ is what he said, utterly pissing you off, and it took everything in you to not scream at him for being, rather bluntly, sexist. You didn’t want to give him a reason to prove his point. 

Well, it got even worse today. You’d woken up around ten in the morning, giving you about an hour and a half to slowly get ready and get to work. Except, it looks like you don’t have a job for the time being, because when you checked your phone right after you woke up you saw a text from your boss.

There was a fire last night, the building burnt to the ground. Everyone is safe, but we can’t work until it’s fixed.

Well, fuck. It’s nearly impossible to find another job right now, let alone quickly, so tears immediately spring to your eyes. What the fuck are you going to do?

Cry, first of all. You can’t help it, so much has happened these last five or so months and all of your negative emotions come pouring out as you lay back in bed and turn so you’re in a fetal position clutching a pillow. And your crying doesn’t cease for an indeterminate amount of time.

As your crying tapers off to short whimpers you hear your bedroom door creak. You want to disregard the sound, figuring - hoping - it was because the air conditioning just kicked on. Though you know you’re foolish for thinking so, something deep in your bones knowing that something is seriously wrong.

With your heartbeat quickly picking up and your anxiety spiking it’s nearly impossible to hear the door creak again, but you hear it nonetheless. But by the time you decide to turn around and see what it is, something - someone - falls on top of you, a piece of cloth soaked in some kind of chemical is pressed against your mouth and nose, and you’re forced over to lay on your front as the stranger straddles your hips to keep you pinned to the bed.

It doesn’t take long for your world to fade to black.

____________

A door slamming shut wakes you from your slumber, your eyes flying open and your body sitting upright as you enter fight-or-flight mode, preparing for whoever is coming. You curl in on yourself, pressing yourself into the metal bed frame your wrists are chained to.

You’ve been here for two weeks, maybe. Actually, you’re not too sure, you haven’t seen the sun in a while, nor have you seen your captor. Once a day the door at the top of the stairs of this dingy basement will open and someone will come down to give you food, but not before turning off the light so you can’t see who it is.

The lights stay on this time. And the person is walking down the stairs with abnormally heavy footsteps, letting you know that they want you to know they’re coming. When the person does finally come downstairs, you gasp, your eyes furrowing in confusion.

It’s the therapist you met with a few weeks ago, the one who told you that you were being irrational for thinking you were being followed. The wicked smirk underneath his beard mixed with the dark look in his eyes reek of malice, of no good intentions. His blond hair is pushed back, only a few strands framing his face.

“You… You’re-”

“Your therapist? Yeah,” He stalks forward, stopping at the end of your small bed. “Technically, though, I’m not a therapist. I’m not a doctor of any kind.”

His smirk widens as he says, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

Your eyes widen comically, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Because this is impossible, just absolutely impossible that Captain America himself has kidnapped you. This… It just doesn’t make sense, especially since the man in question doesn’t seem super concerned with you, clearly. This is the first time - well, technically second - that you’ve ever seen him yet his demeanor screams indifference.

“Wh-where am I?” You ask frantically, tugging on your restraints in a vain attempt to break free, though you know full well you won’t be able to get out of them considering you’ve been trying ever since you got here. “What am I doing here?”

Steve laughs, bending down and squatting so he’s eye-level with you.

“Where you are is of no concern to you, sweetheart.” He says the name condescendingly, teasing you for your confusion. “As to why you’re here… Well, that’s a story for later. Right now we’re going to go upstairs so you can shower.”

Your body tenses when he pulls a key from his pocket and leans over you. Though, surprisingly, he doesn’t harm you, he only unlocks the chains and drops them to the side of the bed. However, he grips both of your wrists in one of his large hands and holds them in place as he leans back and looks you in the eye. Holding up a large knife in his other hand, he gently taps the tip of the blade against your temple.

“If you try anything, anything, I have no problem teaching you a lesson.”

Your stomach drops, and though every fiber of your being is screaming at you to fight back, to kick and punch him with all your might, to grab the knife and stab him, the logical part of your brain knows you wouldn’t win. He’s a super-soldier, could literally break your neck with one of his hands, and his threat makes your anxiety spike, so you slowly nod. Fear rises in your body when Steve raises his eyebrows, gritting his teeth in frustration.

Clearly, he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“O-okay,” You whisper, trying to maintain eye contact, but you can’t help but look away due to how intense his gaze is.

Steve nods with finality, yanking on your arms and causing you to trip over the thin blanket as you’re pulled from your bed. Since you haven’t walked in several days - other than shuffling to the toilet just a few feet from your bed - your legs are a little numb and sore, almost fumbling around like a baby deer.

It’s a chore walking up the stairs, but when you do get to the bathroom, Steve’s laid out clean clothes for you on the bathroom counter - clothes that look surprisingly familiar to some that you own, and a towel is right outside the shower. You’re extremely uneasy as Steve instructs you to undress and get in the shower, though he turns around so he’s unable to see. You feel like crying, everything you feared was right, you were right all along, and you can’t help but feel ire towards everyone who downplayed it.

“Hurry up,” Steve demands when he realizes you’re simply standing under the spray, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth in annoyance.

So, instead of crying, you decide to speed through showering, turning off the water after five minutes. It’s very awkward when you get out, always keeping your eyes on him to make sure he doesn’t turn around as you dry off and get changed.

“O-okay, I’m done.”

Steve hums, turning and grabbing your arm so he can pull you down a hallway, the whole way he’s carrying his knife in a very visible manner. When you turn a corner, it’s into a room with very little furniture, only a large TV and a simple wooden chair right in front of it with a small coffee table in between the two.

“What is this?”

“Will you fucking stop asking questions?” He snaps, yanking you further into the room. He takes you over to the chair, pushes you down into it, and quickly straps your forearms to the arms of the chair. He does the same to your ankles - securing them to the legs of the chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You retort, somehow mustering up a confidence you’re sure is about to dissipate with whatever is about to happen. “I guess I’ll just go along with you kidnapping me.”

You can’t see him but you’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, and your sudden confidence causes you to wiggle frantically in the chair, tugging at your straps in an attempt to break them, though the straps only seem to dig into your skin. Steve huffs then turns on the TV, pulling a chair out from the side of the room and setting it next to yours. As he sits, he places folders on the table, staring into your eyes with an unsettling gaze.

“Listen, I’m not the one that wants you, I’m merely here to get you… prepared for who I’m gifting you to.” Steve smirks as he says it, picking up a folder and opening it before placing it in your lap.

In the folder is a picture of a man with shoulder-length brown hair, beautifully piercing blue eyes, and stubble covering his jaw, the upper part of his body that’s visible shows you that he’s wearing a tight red henley with just the faintest hint of some sort of black metal where his left arm would be. In any other circumstance you might have found him attractive, he might have been someone you’d pursue. But knowing that he’s probably the one who had you taken just makes you want to meet him so you can stab him.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve says, interrupting your thoughts. “He’s my best friend, has been for my whole life. We’ve always had each other's backs, I’d do anything for him, I’d give him anything he wants or needs.” He speaks fondly of this ‘Bucky’ person, and your eyebrows furrow because you’ve heard that name before. You’re not sure where, but you know it.

“And what he wants,” He continues, pulling out the knife and tapping the pointed tip of it against your knee. “Is you.”

“Fuck you,” You hiss, immediately tensing when the knife digs into your skin. It’s not hard enough to pierce it but it gives you just enough pain to get you to stop talking.

Steve ignores your cursing, simply taking the file from your lap and placing it on the coffee table. He starts pulling more pictures out of other folders, spreading them out until the entire table is covered in pictures of this man.

Your stomach drops immediately, some pictures are of him in an army uniform when he was younger, and some are of him and Steve, though it’s cropped to show mainly this ‘Bucky’ person. But what makes you tense is several pictures of the man strapped to a chair with what looks like metal securing his arms to the arms of the chair, some contraption around his head. He has something in his mouth, and his face and neck are tense to suggest he’s trying to scream - presumably from pain.

“Wh-What is this?”

Steve sighs, nearly unable to look at the pictures himself.

“This is Bucky, but you may know him as the Winter Soldier.”

Gasping, your eyes widen in fear. You’ve read the articles, you’ve heard the stories, you’ve just never seen his actual face. Even though the government pardoned him, the general public doesn’t have the most positive view of him. You, yourself, didn’t really have an opinion of him, if the government said he was better then you took them at their word.

Clearly, you were wrong.

“You see, I wasn’t initially on board with this whole thing, I thought it was a little obsessive and toxic. But, he loves you, I can see it every time he talks about you, I see his eyes light up whenever he even looks at a picture of you. And, quite frankly, the longer this went on I knew he needed to have you. And I’d go to the ends of the earth for him.”

Steve seems to think for a moment before he speaks again. “He’s been watching you for a while, knows your routine, knows how to break into your apartment unseen. However, he’s been assigned to an extended mission, so he’s tasked me with watching you and updating him on everything you do. He doesn’t know I’ve already taken you, I’ve been lying to him these past couple of weeks, but it’s for the greater good.”

He pauses, smirking when he notices you’re frozen, trying to take all of this in.

“As you can see,” Steve continues, picking up one of the more gruesome pictures, “He’s been through a lot. He’s endured pain and torture no man should ever go through, he’s never been in control of anything. His life, his actions, his own mind. And now, through therapy and time, he’s finally gotten to the point where he’s ready to take his life back. And it starts with you.”

With that, Steve sets the picture down and stands, grabbing a remote next to the TV and turning it on.

“No. Fuck no, fuck you,” You suddenly snap at him, anger rising, but it doesn’t seem to outweigh the fear coursing through your veins. You’re trying to fight the dread, though.

Steve rolls his eyes, then pulls a cloth out of his back pocket as he walks over to you.

“Since you don’t know how to shut up, maybe this will work.” With a smirk, he grabs your face and forces your mouth open, quickly shoving the towel in to stifle your noises.

Then he turns back to the TV, blocking your view of what he’s doing. After a few moments, he moves to stand behind you, placing both of his large hands on your shoulders.

“We have about two months before he comes back, which is when I’ll… gift you to him. So, in an attempt to get you on board with this whole thing before that, I think it’s best if I show you these tapes so you can truly understand what he’s been through. And maybe this will help you see that he does deserve happiness and love, and that you will be that for him.”

With that, he clicks a button on the remote, and the large screen displays Bucky, once again strapped to a chair in the middle of what looks like a glorified warehouse. Then, Steve puts noise-canceling headphones over your ears, fiddling with the sound so it’s just loud enough that it’s impossible to even think about anything, but not so loud as to damage your eardrums.

You don’t notice Steve leaving the room, all you know is that as the door closes Bucky’s screams start echoing through the headphones. Your eyes squeeze shut, desperately trying to tune it out, the truly agonizing sounds he’s making are shaking you to your core and causing you to want to vomit.

But it’s no use, you can’t hear anything but the people around him saying words in what you assume is Russian and Bucky’s pained groans. And as you listen, only one thought passes through your mind.

Why me?

____________

This goes on for weeks. Twice a week you’re allowed to go upstairs to shower, though Steve stays in the bathroom with you to ensure you don’t try anything. Then he’ll take you to that room, strap you down, and force you to listen to Bucky’s cries, force you to read the files on him during his time as the Soldier, force you to sit still and endure this for hours at a time with tears constantly streaming down your face.

At first, you felt anger and ire towards the man holding you captive. And while you want to fight him with all your might, you know you wouldn’t win, especially since he’s shown you his quite extensive collection of weaponry. It terrifies you, rightfully so considering Steve has been nothing but awful to you.

And at this point, despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to do something to at least try and escape, you really can’t help but feel sympathy for Bucky. He’s a victim, you’ve come to realize—a victim of horrendous crimes at the hands of some of the most depraved people to ever exist.

It’s confusing and frustrating beyond belief. Yes, you’ve concluded that he does deserve a good life, but that doesn’t mean you want to be a part of it. However, a small part of you does feel inclined to believe Steve when he talks about how wonderful his friend is, how caring he is, and how much he loves you.

Of course, the ‘love’ part of that statement isn’t actually correct, it’s fallen beyond that into obsession, delusion, and downright insanity. Steve doesn’t seem to care about that though. In fact, at this point, he seems to encourage it. The perfect hero the outside world sees is all a facade, because the longer you’ve been here the more you’ve seen of his true nature, one he doesn’t even seem to know the extent of.

You’re allowed upstairs today, Steve is unusually quiet as he drags you up to the bathroom. But when you’re done showering, instead of making you get dressed he turns slightly so he can hand you a razor while still looking away from your naked body. With a shaky hand, you slowly reach out and take it, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s this for?”

“To shave.” Even though you can’t see his face, you’re pretty sure Steve’s rolling his eyes. When he hears that you don’t move, Steve reaches into his pocket to pull out a knife, not too big but just big enough to scare you into getting with the program. “Hurry up.”

“O-Okay,” You mumble, getting back into the shower. You’re confused as to where he’s expecting you to shave, so you start with the basics; your underarms and legs. Through the fogged glass of the shower door, you see Steve lazily twirling the knife, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

You’re extremely confused as to why you’re being made to do this, though a small part of you has a suspicion. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been here, it feels like months, though that may be caused by the fact that you’re seldom allowed out of that deadly quiet and dark basement unless it’s to shower or watch those videos. Most of the time you’re left to yourself, simply waiting in the dark.

You’re careful to not cut yourself but the anxiety of what Steve would do if you weren’t quick forced you to rush.

As though Steve can tell you’re done, he makes sure to add, “Everywhere.”

Oh God, you think with tears in your eyes. I am meeting him today.

It’s awkward, extremely so, and you try your hardest to forget that Steve is in the room while you shave the rest of your body. That takes a few tedious minutes, something Steve seems to be aware of because he’s not rushing you through that part.

After finishing, it takes a few moments of deep breathing before you gain the courage to step out of the shower and take the towel next to it. And, as usual, it doesn’t take long for you to dry off, though you notice the lack of clothes on the counter.

What you do see is what looks like a light pink teddy-style lingerie set. The body is a see-through fabric yet the lace-covered cups, thankfully, cover your breasts. Very small panties rest next to it, so small you wonder how they can even be called underwear.

When Steve turns to look at you, you quickly wrap the towel around your body, vibrating with anxiety and dread. He nods to the set, then says, “I’ll be on the other side of this door, if you don’t come out in two minutes I’ll come and get you myself.” However, his dark tone and evil smirk let you know that he actually means he’ll forcefully drag you out.

As soon as the door closes and you’re alone, you pick up the thin underwear and slowly slide it up your legs, then you pull the teddy over your head and adjust it so the cups cover your breasts and the rest flows around your body, thankfully covering the underwear by just a few inches. It’s still see-through, so there is very little that’s left to the imagination.

And as you’re standing in the bathroom, you finally look at yourself in the mirror, but you don’t see your reflection. Someone else is staring back, someone with sunken eyes, no life to them at all. This body is thinner than you remember, though lack of proper food will do that to a person.

The person you’re staring at isn’t you, it may resemble you, but it’s not you. Although, who are you anymore? You’ve been alone with this man for months with no connection to the outside world, you haven’t had any positive human contact in what feels like forever, and your withered physical state seeps into your mental state.

You’re so tired. Sleep never comes easily, but even without that everything is just too much and overwhelming and all you want to do is curl into a ball on the floor and sob and try to forget that you’re being held captive, that you’ll probably never see your friends and family again.

A harsh knock on the door snaps you out of your daze. With one final look in the mirror, you turn and go to the door so you can open it and see Steve standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. You have the strong urge to cross your own arms to try and hide from his piercing gaze, but you don’t want to upset him any further by doing so. Quickly, Steve pulls out a blindfold from his pocket, his stare is a silent command to not move.

You’re shaking now, trying hard to stay still as he adjusts the blindfold over your head. Next, you feel a soft fabric wrap around your shoulders, and Steve moves your arms so he can slip what you assume to be a robe around your body. This, at least, you’re grateful for.

With that, Steve takes your arm in his grasp, pulling you along, though mindful of the fact that you can’t see.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

____________

‘Come to the cabin’

That’s the text Steve sent that Bucky received right as he stepped off the quinjet. Curiosity rises, and his eyebrows furrow, and he types out a quick response as he walks towards Tony’s lab.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it’

Bucky huffs, texting back that he will after he gets his arm checked out. And now, knowing that Steve probably has something waiting for him back at the cabin he built, it seems to take forever for Tony to quit tinkering with the wires in his arm. His leg was bouncing the entire time, simply glaring at Tony any time he asked “What’s wrong tin-man?” But, finally, the work is done about an hour later and Bucky is quick to grab his bag and head down to his motorcycle.

It’s a couple hours drive from the tower to get to the cabin, and after he drives through the entrance of the land he purchased the roads get a little rockier, and Bucky curses softly every time his motorcycle wobbles slightly. It takes entirely too long for him to actually reach the house, and the entire ride over had him on edge, his natural anxiety peaking with every unanswered text he sends Steve.

Finally, finally, he gets there, parking his bike next to Steve’s car and taking note of its emptiness. Something seems off, and Bucky has to fight the urge to take out his gun, Steve’s here after all, nothing is going to happen.

Still, something is going on.

Bucky enters the cabin cautiously, silent footsteps traveling down the front hall to the living room where Steve stands, tall and proud and smiling wide.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, the joy in his voice clear as day.

“Hey, Steve. What’s going on?” Bucky sets his bag down on the couch, looking around to see if anything is out of place. He’d finished decorating before he left for the mission, planning on taking you soon after he came back. But when his friend doesn’t answer, Bucky’s heart starts speeding up with anxiety.

“Steve?”

“Just…” Steve stops, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Just come with me.”

With that, Steve starts towards the hall, ignoring Bucky’s questioning gaze. With no other choice, Bucky follows down the hall to his bedroom, where his friend stands in front of the closed door.

“I have a… welcome home present for you.”

Once again, Bucky’s eyebrows furrow because Steve has never given him a random gift before. Well, he likes to get Bucky little trinkets if he’s off on missions, but he’s never been this excited for a gift.

“Okay…” Bucky draws out the last syllable, walking forward with slow and cautious steps until he can step past his friend. With a deep breath and a questioning look to Steve, Bucky opens the door, his eyes automatically drawn to his bed.

“Steve…” Tears fill his eyes immediately, and if he wasn’t a super-soldier he’d think he was having a heart attack with how fast his heart is beating, how borderline painful the tightness in his chest is.

“Do you like it?”

Bucky ignores the question, simply walking forward until he reaches the side of the bed, sitting on the edge precariously. His hand reaches out, scared that this is a dream and he’ll wake up soon. He couldn’t take it if this was a dream, it’s too real to be a dream.

Because you’re finally here. Lying on his bed in a beautiful silk robe wrapped around your body, each of your arms and legs tied to the bedposts of the canopy bed. Bucky feels like fainting, like collapsing to the ground in tears.

“Steve,” Bucky chokes out, looking back at his friend who also has happy tears in his eyes. “How?”

“After you left for the mission, I just knew this was the perfect time. I lied to you about where she was, and I’m sorry for that, but I wanted to make sure I had time to get her ready.” Steve steps forward, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I told you I’d do anything for you, Buck.”

Bucky starts actually crying then. Oh how lucky he is to be surrounded by love, by his girl and his best friend who wants him to be happy. Steve squeezes his shoulder, letting Bucky lean into his stomach and cry for a minute. When the crying tapers off, Bucky manages to lean back so he can look Steve in the eyes.

“Thank you, Stevie. I mean it,” Bucky hiccups, wiping away his tears before looking back at you. You’re blindfolded with a cloth in your mouth, preventing you from seeing what’s going on, and unable to protest this whole thing.

“I’ll go now. You go enjoy your present.”

With that, Steve turns and leaves, giving his friend one last smile before it’s just you and Bucky.

“Angel,” Bucky whispers softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. He strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, staring intensely yet lovingly at your quivering form. Slowly, he brings both of his hands up so he can untie the blindfold and throw it to the side. Your eyes blink open, immediately squinting at the harsh light. Something which Bucky seems to notice.

It’s scary, almost, how Bucky can seem to read your emotions because he rushes over to the light switch and dims them, letting your eyes adjust properly. He walks back over to the bed, deciding to lay down on his side next to your body, propping himself on his elbow so he can run his other hand over your covered stomach.

A muffled whine causes him to stop, his eyes looking up at you with a concerned gaze.

“What’s wrong, angel?” But then his eyes widen, seeming to realize that you can’t speak. He does something surprising, at least to you. He actually takes the gag out of your mouth, throwing it to the side as well. “Is that better?”

He asks so softly, so warmly, that it confuses you greatly. You’d heard about how much Bucky ‘loves’ you, but you didn’t realize exactly how far it went until now that you’re witnessing it for yourself. For a moment you’re not quite sure what to do. Do you beg him to let you go? Do you lash out at him? Do you cry?

You want to do all three, but you can’t. Your voice is caught in the back of your throat, you’ve gone mute, not even a whimper escaping your lips. There’s really nothing you’re able to do other than stare directly into Bucky’s eyes, still filled with tears of what must be joy.

“My angel?” He asks with a concerned tone, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

Again, confusion. But you haven’t spent more than a few minutes with him so you’re not quite sure how he’ll physically react if you do anything like you did with Steve. You decide to play it safe.

“My… My wrists hurt.” Your voice comes out smaller than intended, and you have to force yourself to keep eye contact with Bucky as his eyes widen again.

“Oh, shit,” Buckyy curses to himself, quickly shuffling onto his knees. “Don’t worry, baby.” Another surprise comes when he willingly and without much thought starts untying the rope binding your arms. And though your wrists are now freed, your ankles are still tied. On instinct, you shift your right leg, slightly tugging on the rope.

Bucky sees this too, though he hesitates for a second. Should he untie your legs? Bucky likes to think you wouldn’t run, but, realistically, he knows this is all new for you. Ultimately he decides to only free one ankle. Once he does so he starts rubbing and massaging the slight burn the rope left on your foot.

Bucky’s frowning now.

Leaning down, he presses a delicate kiss to the area, then he straightens up again. Bucky resumes his position next to you, though, this time, he rearranges you both so you’re lying in between his legs with your back pressed to his chest. For a moment, everything seems frighteningly normal, with Bucky pressing kisses to your temple and cheek as he starts soothing your wrists.

Your heartbeat is speeding up, and you’re so frozen with fear and confusion that you can’t do much else but let this all happen. Until, eventually, you’re able to find your voice.

“Um. I - Wha-”

“Oh, angel,” Bucky cuts you off with a coo. “I know you must be so confused, and I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

With care, Bucky moves your arms so he can hold both of your wrists in one of his hands. With his free hand he leans over to grab the picture frame on his nightstand, and brings it up so you can see it. And it brings tears to your eyes, one of concern for not just your physical safety but Bucky’s mental state.

Because it’s a picture of the two of you, horribly photoshopped to make it look like it would be a normal picture a couple in love would take. And this serves as a reminder of all the trauma he’s been through, and that maybe this is his way of coping.

A sick and twisted way of coping.

“I’m not too good with technology, as you can see,” Bucky huffs out a little laugh, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “But we don’t have any pictures together yet, so, until we could take some, this is the best I could do.”

Still unable to really say anything, you let out a cautious hum and let him continue.

“Looking at this picture, at all of the pictures I’ve taken over the last several months… it’s what helps me get through the day. Looking at you, knowing that one day you’d be mine, it’s that that keeps me sane. Knowing that I’ll get to love you for the rest of our lives is what makes all the pain I’ve endured worth it.”

“Why me?” It’s the first thought that crosses your mind at the moment, one you need to know the answer to.

“Oh, my angel,” Bucky coos again, placing the picture back down on the table so he can wrap both of his arms around your body, cuddling you close to his chest. “Why not you? You’re so beautiful, so kind, so innocent and sweet. I knew it from the moment I first saw you in that little library, curled up on that couch with a book in your hands. You were so focused on reading that you didn’t even realize I’d been staring at you for several minutes.”

Bucky chuckles again, squeezing you tighter to his chest until you let out a noise of pain. He immediately loosens his hold, murmuring an apology with his lips pressed against your temple. After a moment of tense silence, Bucky speaks again.

“Are you hungry?” That question receives a ‘yes’ in the form of your stomach grumbling. The man behind you laughs, then shuffles out from under you.

“Okay, darling, I’ll go get some food. You just lay here and look beautiful,” Bucky leans over you, gazing down at you with such intense devotion. “Beautiful,” he mutters to himself, almost as if he’s unaware he’s even speaking. With no warning, he leans his head down, and you’re narrowly able to dodge his kiss by turning your head.

Bucky sighs dejectedly, clearly not happy with that decision. You can feel the bedsheet next to you twist as he grips the sheets in frustration, and your heart rate spikes again in fear of what he might do.

He doesn’t do anything, merely moves off of your body and gives you one final longing look before heading off to fetch food.

As soon as he’s out of the room you’re sitting upright, hands immediately going to the rope and trying desperately to untie it. But it’s no use, of course it’s not, because Steve’s too smart to make the binds loose enough to even wiggle your foot out of the loop.

It takes no more than five minutes for Bucky to come back, returning with a bowl of soup and a glass you’re hoping is just water. Upon hearing his arrival, you resume your original position, hoping that Bucky won’t notice the fact that you were desperately tearing at the ropes.

He doesn’t seem to because he just moves you both into position - your back to his chest. When you try to take a sip of the water, Bucky gently swats your hand away, taking charge by being the one to hold the glass to your lips, the one who feeds you your soup, the one that holds you tight to his chest as though this is all normal.

And as you’re eating, so many emotions are running through your body. Fear and confusion are the more prominent ones. Though, you’re so exhausted that part of you doesn’t appear to care.

So, for the time being, you let this happen, let yourself be held and hand-fed by the man holding you captive.

____________

Six months. Or has it been seven? Hell, a year? You’re not too sure. Due to your… situation, you haven’t been allowed outside, nor are you allowed to watch the news. The only true concept of time you have are the clocks littered throughout the house.

There’s nothing good about any of this, but at least Bucky has been nothing but kind to you. He treats you with care, gives you soft kisses in the morning, and leaves you little love notes in random places he knows you’ll see. He’s infuriatingly perfect, and you so desperately want to forget that you didn’t come here of your own free will, that you’ve been forced away from your family and friends and normal life. Because if you’d met him naturally you’re sure you would have loved him, you would have cherished the way he dotes over and so clearly adores you. It’s the life you’ve always wished for.

That wish was granted in the form of being held captive by a man who is so clearly in mental distress. His obsession with you almost makes you feel sick, like if anything happened to you he’d mentally break, and that scares you. It’s frightening because you don’t want anything to happen to him. Sure, you’re not in love with him and you’re still on slightly guard, but you know what he’s been through. You know all the pain he’s endured, all the torture and torment.

He deserves happiness, and you’re getting kind of scared of what will happen to him if anything happens to you.

Fuck, you think, what’s happening to me?

You’re not too sure exactly what day it is, but Bucky has been giddy ever since you both woke up. He let you sleep in, cuddling you close for a good thirty minutes and giving you absentminded kisses every once in a while before he decided to get up and make breakfast.

When he leaves the sane part of you forces you to quickly glance around the room in an attempt to find a way out. You know you won’t though, all the doors in the house are locked and there’s only one window in this room that’s made of bulletproof glass that’s bolted shut - something you found out when you desperately tried opening it when you first got here.

You’d been here for about two weeks, walking on eggshells around Bucky in an effort to not upset him. Sure, he seems to be the opposite of Steve in his actions, but you’re still unsure of how he’d truly be if you acted out - his metal arm is a major factor in that anxiety.

At the time Bucky was in the kitchen setting things up for your first ‘date’ and had been researching different recipes for the last week to make this meal perfect. He placed candles on the table and had glasses of your favorite wine set up, red rose petals littering the cloth-covered table.

He went back to the room when he heard loud thumps, and when he did get there he saw you banging on the window - rather aggressively. Tears filled your eyes as you whimpered sadly, unable to break the glass.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks with a confused tone.

You whip around, eyes widened in fear because surely this would get you into major trouble. Now the tears in your eyes aren’t out of despair, they’re out of fear. What is he going to do to you? Hopefully nothing worse than Steve’s already done, but there’s no way for you to know.

“Are you… trying to leave?” What’s weird is that he sounds sad, heartbroken really. Like he can’t believe that you’d want to leave when he’s shown that he can provide for you.

You’re unable to find your words, so you simply back up until your back hits a wall, and your arms come up to your chest as you cower away from him. Your eyes betray you by glancing back to the window. 

“No, you - you can’t leave me!” Bucky’s voice raises, now almost angry - though you’re not too sure if it’s directed completely at you.

But then your eyes glance past Bucky toward the door, assessing the situation and making a quick determination on whether you could push past him and run out of the room.

“No. No, don’t you dare leave me!” He begs loudly, taking three large steps forward until he’s right in front of your shivering form. “Not like this, I - I just… I just got you.” One of his hands comes up to gently hold one of your wrists, his other hand moving to caress your cheek, though you can’t help but flinch when his hand gets closer.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whimper, clenching your eyes shut to avoid looking at the absolute despair evident on Bucky’s face. “I - I didn’t… I was just… I-” You can’t find many words, you’re just hoping your begging will prevent this from escalating.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Bucky sniffles, causing you to peek an eye open. And Bucky, well, he looks concerned, confused, hurt. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, bringing your wrist up so he can place a kiss on your palm. “I would never hurt you. I don’t… I don’t know what Steve said or did but I - I promise! I won’t hurt you, ever. Just…”

At your wide eyes and worried gaze Bucky falls to his knees, placing his forehead against your stomach and wrapping both of his arms around your waist to prevent you from moving.

“Just don’t leave me.”

You felt so guilty that you hadn’t tried again since.

You sighed, rolling over and laying on your back. Looking to your right, your gaze lands on a framed photo of you sleeping on Bucky’s chest from a few months ago. While there are plenty of pictures of you and him scattered throughout the cabin, this one is Bucky’s favorite. Because this was on your supposed three-month anniversary.

Bucky had woken up early that morning, fully intending to start the special day by making you breakfast. However, he knew from the moment his eyes opened that it would be nearly impossible to physically move for a while. Your body was almost completely lying on top of his, pinning him to the bed with your face tucked into his neck. Of course, he could easily move you without even waking you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave his version of paradise.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a soft whistle, the noise getting louder the closer Bucky gets to your room. Sitting up, you look to the door and see him entering with a tray filled with coffee, orange juice, pancakes, and your favorite assortment of fruits. The single red rose in a small vase is the cherry on top.

Fuck him for being perfect.

Bucky sets the tray down on the table next to his side of the bed then crawls under the covers again, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap.

“Good morning, my angel,” He mumbles as he presses small kisses to your cheek. You force a smile, though you can’t deny that part of it is real. It feels good to be loved and cherished, and you’re trying so hard to remind yourself that this isn’t that, this isn’t where you’re meant to be.

But Bucky is good at making you forget that part.

“Um, what’s all this for?” You ask timidly, your eyes glancing from the food to Bucky, whose eyes soften with sympathy.

“You didn’t know? It’s our anniversary!” His smile brightens, his arms tightening his hold around your body to hug you closer to his chest. “Six months ago, Steve gave me the best gift I’ve ever received.”

Six months? Time sure flies when you have no perception of it.

“Oh,” You whisper, fiddling with your fingers. “I-I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.”

Bucky shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he says, “It’s okay, darling.”

“But I didn’t get you a gift,” You say remorsefully, glancing around the room as though you’ll find anything.

“Oh, no. No baby, you don’t have to get me anything. You being here is more than enough for me.” Bucky’s smile widens, placing a hand on the back of your neck so he can angle your head in just the right position that he can lean down and press his lips against yours. It’s soft, gentle, just like how Bucky treats you.

When he leans back he rests his forehead on yours, letting your lips brush against each other.

“I love you, angel,” He murmurs, not wanting to ruin the serenity of the moment.

And you have to try so hard not to tense, because those words always make you remember that you’ve been kidnapped and taken to some house in the middle of nowhere. It reminds you that this man is deeply disturbed, that he needs more help than he probably thinks if he thinks that this is true love.

But you smile anyway, trying to not let it waver when you reply with, “I love you too, Bucky.” And Bucky looks like he’s about to cry, just like every other time you tell him you love him.

There’s a few moments of silence, tears of joy in Bucky’s eyes while yours are filled with tears of exhaustion. You’re tired. So fucking tired of pretending. But for the time being, you’re just going to let yourself be held, you’re just going to let go of all of your negative emotions and melt into the moment.

“Angel?” When Bucky pauses, you hum in curiosity.

“Can you kiss me again?”

[temilyrights]

43) “god you’re so emotionally constipated.” for Emily x Reader please.

history smothers us

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: years of unspoken words and misconceptions threaten to destroy what remains of a once close relationship. you couldn't imagine your life without emily. now you look at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. featuring prompt "god you're so emotionally consitpated" from my prompt list.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mention of blood. no use of y/n. set in season 12. unit chief prentiss.

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 sorry it took me a while I struggled to find the right idea. I imagine this wasn't what you had in mind but I do hope you enjoy it anyway. also side note: i've deleted my taglist, i'm restarting because it was years old so if anyone would like be re-tagged or anyone new would like to be added pls lmk!

The police lights flash in the midnight sky. Agents and local police spread across the farmhouse. And you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, blood dripping down the side of your head, the beginnings of a headache making itself known.  

The bright torch shining in your eyes makes you wince, but the EMT clears you of a concussion and hands you pain meds to swallow. You drag your hand through your hair, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. 

The unsub had come out of nowhere and whacked you over the head with a metal pole, and he probably would’ve done a lot more if it wasn’t for Tara being two steps behind you. 

Honestly, you were fine. A little banged up, with a nasty bruise already forming, but the blood had been wiped away and it was almost like it had never happened.

Well, apart from the very angry Unit Chief Prentiss stalking towards you. 

You wish this was an unfamiliar sight, but god she’d been back months now and you don’t think her smile had been pointed in your direction once. 

“What were you thinking?” She scolds, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. You don’t miss the shaking of her hands as she holds them tightly on her hips or the rising flush of her cheeks, both she would blame on the cold but you knew they were born out of concern, not that she’d ever admit it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise the FBI now required its agents to have the abilities to see through walls.” You roll your eyes, the half-joke an attempt to fix her glare, but you know even as the words pass your lips it’s futile. Your shoulders slump, already too tired for the fight ahead,  “He came out of nowhere, Prentiss.” 

Her lips purse, “They require you to be able to clear a room. It seems you might need a refresher course. Maybe until you can be trusted and I deem you requalified it’s best you stay back in quantico.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. Of all the dumb things- “Let me get this straight, you’re benching me over nothing? Tara was through that door seconds later. I wasn’t defying your orders. You have no reason to do this!”

“I want you to redo your basic training so I know you can be trusted in the field.” She demands, stoic, serious, and so far away from the soft woman you used to be able to reach out to. 

You laugh, but the noise is sad and wild. You shake your head in disbelief, watching the woman in front of you that years ago used to be the person you were closest to in the world. Now you stare at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. “God, you’re so emotionally constipated.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You push yourself off the end of the ambulance, bringing yourself to your full height and meeting her gaze. You knew the day she accepted the unit chief position this wouldn’t end well, there was too much history, too much the two of you had left unsaid, hurt and anger smothering any possible relationship left. 

“Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my performance.” You begin, words low enough that if she didn’t listen the words threatened to disappear with the wind, “It’s because I got hurt and you’d rather damage my career and ruin the tatters of our relationship than admit that me getting hurt scared you.” 

Emily steps backwards, face stricken. Her hands fall from her hips, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles for words. 

You decide there’s nothing left she can say. You excuse yourself and grab a lift with Luke, happy to leave the crime scene and your boss behind. After everyone’s finished at the farmhouse and packed up at the police station it’s nearing two am and everyone is ordered back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep before the flight in the morning. 

Your feet are dragging by the time you make it to your room. The meds have done their job though and your headache had faded away, but nothing but sleep was going to help your heavy and aching bones. You wave a tired goodbye to Tara, who unlike Emily had no issues checking in and making sure you were okay, and then retreat to your room. 

You slump into the chair at the desk, telling yourself you’ll find the energy to get ready for bed in one minute. But so thankful to finally be off your feet. Your reprieve lasts only minutes before a knock sounds at your door. A withered sigh leaves your lips and you consider ignoring it but still find yourself pushing yourself upright and making your way back to the door. 

When you open it, you wish you’d listened to your thoughts. 

“Hi?” You say hesitantly, staring into the tired face of Emily Prentiss. There’s no anger, her shoulders are almost slumped, defeated maybe? You look away, too scared to analyse further. 

“Can I come in?” 

You open the door further allowing her entrance. She smiles, tight lipped at you, nodding her thanks. You close the door and wait for her to speak, pondering how in the hell you both got to awkward silences and forced tight lipped smiles when years ago you two could share looks across the room and know what the other was thinking, spent hours talking and laughing together, how you had built a life and never thought there would be a day that she wasn’t in it with you. 

“We can’t go on like this.” She starts eyes meeting yours before flickering away, “Things between us have not been right since I returned and I think maybe we should clear the air. I want to be the Unit Chief, I want to be back here at Quantico but that only works if we can be a team.” 

You scoff. It slips from your mouth, uncontrolled and harsh. Emily’s gaze snaps to yours, her surprise at the sound clear. You shake your head, “What is there to say?” Where would we even begin?

“I-” She chokes, blinking as the emotions claw at her throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Your brows draw in confusion as you shake your head, “What are you talking about?”

“After everything that happened with Doyle-”

Your eyes bulge, “You think I'm still upset about that? God, do you think I’m a monster? You survived. You lived. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her gaze shifting to the wall as her fingers pick at a hangnail. She looks back at you, still picking, gaze more open and lost than you’ve seen in a long time. “Then why? I hurt you. I can see it in the way you can barely stand to be around me, like it hurts you to even be in my presence.” 

You blow out a breath, eyes moving around the room before they land back on her and then away again. “It’s not your fault.” You breathe, emotions lodged in your throat and heart beating wildly against your chest as you try and force the words out. “You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself. There was never going to be a life I led that you weren’t right with me, you know?” You laugh, wet and broken. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, her eyes emotional pits that you don’t dare hold. 

“And then you left for London and I couldn’t exactly be upset because I had no say in what you did with your life. We were just friends. I knew it’s what you needed and I don’t resent you for that. I just…” You take a breath, “I was so angry at myself for missing you, for thinking that I could be someone you would stay for.”

And there it was. The truth. Because at the end of the day, you’ve always just wanted to be enough for the woman in front of you. For her to see you as more than just your friend. To one day have your feelings returned. 

She’d left and you’d both been busy and you’d deliberately tried to separate yourself as well, drawing back from the painful reminder that you weren’t enough. And since her return, all those emotions have been resurfacing, however much you tried to keep them buried. Because falling out of love with Emily Prentiss was just not something you were capable of, and you’ve spent years trying too. 

Emily approaches you, the space between you closing ever so slightly. Your gaze sticks to the ground, scared to see the easy to read emotions across her face. She takes a breath, the sound muffled by the beating of your heart.

“After I came back from Paris, I used to find myself looking at you and knowing I couldn’t be that woman you remembered, the one you sought for. I wanted to. Desperately.” Her voice hitches, and then lowers to a hoarse whisper, “I wanted to be the woman you fell for.” 

Your eyes finally rise, against your will. Tears make their way in delicate paths down her cheeks, she looks every bit as lost as you feel. The only thing stopping you from falling apart is the fear that if you let go you may never recover. 

“I didn’t need you to be anyone. I just wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to trust me.” You respond gently.

She shakes her head, “No, everyone was looking for that version of me that I couldn’t grasp onto.”

“Emily,” You sigh painfully. Her face crumples, eyes squeezing shut at the sound of her name from your lips. It’s been so long, you know. “You were healing from a trauma. I’ve always wanted the authentic you, whatever that includes. Why would that suddenly change?” 

She nods, a deep frown on her face as she accepts your words. Then a wet laugh, as she wipes away her tears. “I’ve missed you. Every day. I hate being in the same room as you and it being awkward. I used to be able to look at you and know what you’re thinking. I want that back.” 

A small smile curves your lips, “Me too, more than anything.” 

“Yeah?” She questions. Her teeth run across her lip, as she dares to hope. “You think we could get back there?” 

Your heart hammers. “I just need you to be really clear here. What exactly are we getting back to?” 

She steps forward, finally close enough to touch. Her hand hesitantly reaches out and touches yours, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. Your body remembers her touch, relaxes and leans into it automatically. You eat it hungrily, tracking the movement before your eyes rise to meet hers and find soft, open eyes watching you. “I want to make you fall in love with me again.”

Your breath catches in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand shakes in hers.

“And this time, I promise, I’ll be there to catch you.” 

“We might have a slight problem with that plan.” You laugh, trying your hardest not to sob.

She frowns, nose wrinkling in the way you adore. “What’s that?” 

“It’s pretty difficult to re-fall in love when I never stopped loving you in the first place.” You huff, and Emily laughs, rich and free and bright. Her face joyful and happy, and with the wide bright smile you’ve waited months to feel pointed in your direction. God the sight makes your head spin.

“Is that so?” She asks, hand moving up to cup your cheek, eyes full of love and pointed at you. 

You can only nod, dizzy from her attention and the emotions coursing through your body. 

When her lips find yours it feels like finally coming home. Soft and delicate, both too scared to push too hard, exploring slowing even as her hand holds your cheek and yours fists in her shirt. You’ve waited years for this, and if you get more of these than it will be worth it. Everything is worth it for the feeling of Emily in your arms. 

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. You follow her mouth and she concedes and gives you a couple more slow kisses before she stops herself, resting her forehead against yours.

“I just want to say sorry for earlier.” She whispers into the safe space you��ve built. “You were right, I was scared when you got hurt. Dave’s already kicked my ass for my response, you won’t receive any disciplinary action.”

You nod slightly, her forehead moving against yours, “Thank you.” 

“It won’t happen again.” She promises, sealing the words with a kiss to your lips. 

“I know.” You kiss her again, but this time you break out into a yawn midway through. Your momentarily forgotten exhaustion, making itself known. 

She melts against you, caressing your cheek. “Oh, you need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to take over your face, “A date?” 

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, a date. But only if you sleep first.” 

“Your wish is my command.” You can’t stop the grin from taking over your face anymore. You press a peck to her lips and lead her back towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees, eyes fluttering over your face as if she’s committing every aspect to memory. “Sleep well.” 

“You too.” 

She presses one last kiss to your lips before she opens the door and makes her exit. You close the door quietly behind her, sinking back into it and allowing the giggle to finally escape your mouth.

What the fuck had just happened. 

Emily Prentiss kissed you. 

Emily Prentiss has feelings for you. 

You weren’t alone.

You bite your lip and push off the door, finally ready to get ready for bed and praying come morning that this would still be your reality.

taglist: @aburman03