#i mean it doesn’t look bad it just wasn’t what i was going for exactly

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

HIIII do you have anymore tid bits for you au.... (share all of them. go ham. I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

So many. SO MANY!!

— After Ford gets his body back, Bill makes excuses to himself to watch over Dipper and Mabel when they’re dreaming, and interjects if they have any nightmares. This is definitely important to his evil plans, okay.

— McGucket definitely knows something is wrong with Stanfraud, and makes a scene whenever he sees him, claiming him to be the ‘devil in disguise’, or ‘the beast with one eye’. When Dipper and Mabel ask about it, Bill brushes it off as McGucket’s memory loss making him recall their fallout as worse than it was.

— Bill was roped into helping Stan teach Soos boxing when he was younger. He thought it was stupid at the time, but Stan wasn’t taking no for an answer. Soos still appreciates both of them for it, and Bill doesn’t mind the kid as much anymore. He’s smarter than he looks. He just has to put his mind to it.

— Bill actually likes stargazing. Stan’s surprised when he first catches Bill on the roof doing it, and Bill gets defensive when Stan pushes him on the matter, but he doesn’t exactly hate the company. When he’s left alone with his thoughts and the stars, his mind goes to a place that’s too dark, even for him. So, sometimes he and Stan will grab a drink — usually beer for Stan and some barely drinkable cocktails for Bill — and they’ll watch the stars. When Mabel finds out about it, she joins him. It’s one of the few places that he seems a lot… calmer. Not by a lot, mind you, but it’s noticeable enough for Bill.

— During Headhunters, there’s a lot of conflict between Stan and Bill. Bill thinks it’s weird how Stan is treating the wax figure, that just because he can’t pretend Bill is Ford, doesn’t mean he has to go speaking to a lump of wax. He has a lot of uncomfortable feelings surrounding Ford as is, ones he prefers to bury deep in the back of his mind, and this whole funeral deal, Stan’s genuine grief, it’s really putting a damper on his mood. Plus, he may be a little bit jealous. And maybe, just maybe, a bit concerned. I don’t have the details figured out yet, but I know for a fact they get into an argument over it, and the subject of Ford comes up again — no more avoiding it.

— Stan and Bill are banned from one of the town’s main bars for life. Why? That’s between them and the raccoon.

— I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Bill actually dyed his, or, well, Ford’s hair brown, though he’s pretty bad at keeping on top of that so the grey roots tend to be showing.

— Dipper Vs Manliness actually has a small bonding moment between Bill and Dipper, where Bill essentially deconstructs gender and also tries to boost Dipper’s confidence, in his own Bill way.

He’s a strangely good influence in general when it comes to masculinity and gender and what not, being as he doesn’t conform to any human expectation. And he would absolutely sing Disco Girl with Dipper too. He loves that song, bitter memories be damned. Why would he let Sixer kill his groove.

And I shall leave it at that for now! If you’d like anymore tidbits I’m always keeping a thousand up my sleeves! And if you’d like any about specific characters, let me know!

[kupidachillea]

Could we have more Olympians x Reader? Maybe some slight nsfw and perhaps some time with Apollo?

Olympians x You (Hcs or imagines )

Author note: I usually do SFW but that doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally do NSFW if it’s light or not full on smut. I don’t think I’m brave enough for that and if I did I’d make a separate blog for it😭🙏 but I hope you enjoy

TW (trigger warning):This may have a few Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: readers either18+ (to read this I mean). This work contains NSFW themes, mentions of nudity, molesting and sexual harassment and assault, non-con, dubcon, toxic behaviour. General (hinted) Yandere behaviour, feeding of bodily fluids (blood[?])Reader’s discretion is advised.

⚠️ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE ⚠️

🏺- You had been growing use to it..if that was the right term. Perhaps not ‘use to’ it but more along the lines of growing more accustomed to it. Being on Olympus wasn’t exactly all fun and games.

🪡- But of course you weren’t allowed to complain about it. You certainly weren’t allowed to complain when one of them would suddenly just pick you up and take you to their chambers. You already knew what that meant.

🏺- You’d find yourself pinned under one more more god, their hands caressing your body, their teeth leaving deep marks that you wouldn’t dream of calling ‘love bites’ there wasn’t nothing ‘loving’ about those bites. No matter how much they preach and repeat it.

🪡- Some days it would be one god after the other, other times you’d get a break. But there’s only some much a human can go through. One moment you’d be in the garden or somewhere with Hermes, his lips on your nether regions, sucking and licking at you while another moment you’d be bounced up and down on Ares while Aphrodite made out with you.

🏺- It made your head spin at times. Most times you were scared, who wouldn’t? It’s not like the men here had manhoods that looked anything like human..maybe an enough to look familiar in shape but still. Zeus was one such example, you actually remember begging him not to go through with it- afraid that the thing between his legs would split you in half but he would only laugh and hike your legs over his shoulders and whisper: “It’s okay little mortal.. we’ll do this as much times as we need for you to get accustomed to my size..”

🪡- Those words alone sent a shiver down your spine at the time. After that you weren’t able to walk properly for a few days. Not that the gods care, most of them found it funny. To see their little pet struggling to walk after such intense intimacy. “Poor thing, can’t even walk properly.” Poseidon would coo while watching you carefully ease yourself into the pool of water.

🏺- The sight alone made him excited and decided at that moment he wanted to help you ‘relax’…it wasn’t very relaxing to you. You would whimper as he sunk under the water and immediately attracted his lips to your hole.

🪡- Of course there were many instances like this but there were times where they did leave you alone and you did get time to yourself. Today was one of those days.

🏺- You were sat outside in the garden, fiddling with flowers and and grass blades. It was quiet for awhile and you actually had time to reflect on everything you’ve experienced. Sometimes it was good, other times it was bad..very bad and thought the Olympians tried to make you feel comfortable, you think that they don’t necessarily understand the word.

🪡- While you were thinking, you didn’t notice someone approaching you until a shadow of a man was cast over your body, blocking out the sun. You already knew it was one of the Olympians but you didn’t know which one until he spoke and that’s when you turned around.

🏺- “Ah, there you are, mortal..” Apollo spoke, a bright smile on his face as he crouched down next to you. “Relaxing in the garden I see..” He would mutter and you immediately got an off vibe..he wants something. As most of the gods did when they approached or summoned you, regardless you nodded to his statement as you fiddled with a petal of one of the asters that were growing in the garden.

🪡- Apollo smiled in response before speaking once more. “That’s good, that’s good..but perhaps you could relax with me? We could go to my chambers where no one would bother us…” The golden haired god spoke, his voice smooth as he held your chin between his larger fingers. You tried your best not to seem apprehensive at his request but you couldn’t exactly deny him..could you? You opened your mouth to try and voice your opinion but Apollo spoke before you.

🏺- “Please, my dear?” He pouted a bit, trying to make you agree and after a mental back and forth you reluctantly agreed. This made Apollo beam and he wasted no time in picking you up and dashing over to his quarters.

☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️.🎵.☀️

☀️- After Apollo got you situated and ‘comfortable’ in his room, he laid on the bed in the spot next to you.

🎵- You were quiet as you fiddled with your chiton and he tilted his head curiously. “Relax, my dear. It’s just us..” He spoke.. you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the slightest bit charming. Apollo would shuffle closer to you and wrap his arms around your body. His fingers moving to caress your skin causing you to tense up a bit.

☀️- Apollo figured you’d still be apprehensive, but he thought he could get you to loosen up a bit. And so he continued to gently feel up your body, trying to coax you to relax a bit.

🎵- You were going to protest about the touching but Apollo quickly covered your lips with his own. He did this on purpose..wanting to silence your words that might ruin the moment. Your eyes widened and on instinct you tried to push him away, but he kept himself firmly against you. Kissing your lips and letting out a soft groan as his hand slipped under your chiton.

☀️- You obviously flinched, letting out a muffled squeak that caused the deity of light to chuckle. He could tell you were starting to slowly give in and kiss back, even if he could still feel the anxious beats of your heart. He decided to take things a step further.

🎵- Pinning you down to his bed and and moving his fingers to your hole. Teasingly rubbing his thumb over the opening as he moved his lips over to your neck, placing gently kisses as you whimpered. He then slowly fed you one of his fingers and bit his bottom lip at how your body tensed and gripped his index finger. He could never get tired of the way your body felt.

☀️- “There you go…that’s it…~” He would purr before adding another finger and scissoring your entrance then slowly pumping his fingers in and out. Curling them and stroking the spot inside you he knew would make you cry out. Your back arched a you whined, calling out his name as your hands immediately reached to grab for something..anything.

🎵- Apollo grinned and kissed your lips once more..adding a third fingers and moving them at a steady pace..not hard enough to hurt but not too slow either. All this was getting to him too but he wanted to focus on you mainly. For now at least…

☀️- He had you twitching and shivering from all the pleasure and the deity had drawn a few climaxes from you as well. You were panting and out of breath by the time he was done and he finally gave you a break..removing his fingers from your women out hole as he peppered your cheek with kisses.

🎵- “Mmm..such a pretty mortal..you did so well…you deserve a reward..” He would say before firmly pressing his lips against yours once more. At first you thought it was just a normal passionate kiss..but you suddenly felt a liquid like substance run down your tongue and down your throat.

☀️- Your eyes slightly widened as a slight burning feeling started to engulf your body. Your hands immediately reaching to try and push Apollo away, but he just groaned softly and caged your body between him and the bed. His tongue running over yours, sucking on the wet muscle and coating it with more of the golden liquid..

🎵- The more of this liquid he fed you the more your body started to feel like it was burning from the inside out. Your heart beating faster as the substance dribbled and leaked from the corner of your mouth. Tears burning in your eyes as you ingested every last drop he gave you.

☀️- Soon enough your heart stopped as you let out a muffled cry while Apollo gently rubbed your hips..pulling his lips away from yours and whispering that you’d be okay. He held you in his arms as you laid ‘dead’ for a minute or so before your heart started to beat once more; and Apollo smiled.

🎵- It was done..he had fed you his immortal blood..his ichor and now you’d never die. Or maybe you did..your old self..but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’d never be able to escape them ever again..not even in death…they made sure of that.

Author note: Oof, sorry this took a long while. I’ll admit I wasn’t very focused and I procrastinated a bit. But on top of that I had things at home doing. Though I’m glad I finished it, usually if things take this long I like to post screenshots to show ppl I haven’t forgotten. I was just so slow to get this out. Sorry again but I hope this is to your liking, Anon! And to everyone else.

[peterman-spideyparker]

The Great War (Babe Part 2) (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! At the risk of forgetting to post part two, I'm doing it now! Like I mentioned in the first post, it's only a part two if you want it to be--you can just have read Babe and leave it at that, but this is just more idea to go with it that I couldn't stop my brain from working on. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been almost a month since you left Matt. Everything hurts, and you're doing what you can to get through. Foggy calls, and it turns out Matt's not doing much better. For the first time, you have no idea what your future with Matt Murdock looks like.

Listening rec: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, Matt and reader are separated (Matt cheated), they’re both heartbroken at the situation, swearing, fighting/shouting/anger, throwing, Matt grabs reader (NO VIOLENCE, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen pokes out), depression (mention of the word "borderline suicidal" in reference to season three Matt), Matt being reckless, lots of crying, drinking

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 2,820

Before you can even say a feeble hello, Foggy is already speaking. “Matt’s devastated,” he breathes. 

You’re hurt. Offended, even. You left because of what he did in California, and he has the audacity to feel sorry for himself? “And I’m not?” you say, probably with more venom than appropriate. “Goodbye, Foggy.”

“Wait, hold on!” You don’t know why you don’t hang up, but you stay on the line. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to start this. How have you been?”

“I’m awful, Foggy. My marriage is done, my heart hurts, I’ve lost the man I love . . . I’ve never been worse.”

“(Y/N) . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Fog. All this is between me and Matt. It’s why you called, I’m guessing? Get all the answers for what exactly happened between us?”

“That’s between you guys. It’s none of my business or anyone’s. I’ve already ripped Matt a new one for doing what he did, and so did Karen and Frank, but he’s . . .” He stops and lets out a sigh. “Do you remember hearing from Maggie what Matt was like after Midland Circle? Despondent, depressed, borderline suicidal?”

Of course you remember, how could you ever forget? You’ve never seen him like that in your life. But the term “borderline suicidal” makes a pit grow in your stomach as you straighten up.

“He hasn’t tried to—?” you start to ask. 

“No, no, that was shitty wording on my part. But Matt’s not himself. It’s like watching a hollow corpse with a temper move about. He either doesn’t care at all, or a little thing will set him off. He’s being reckless on patrol, he’s drinking more than he usually does. I’ve been covering for him at the office, but . . . You need to talk to him.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheek. “I can’t, Foggy.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“He broke my heart, and I broke his in return. I stomped on it. I love him and I hurt him. If I talked to him . . . That’s salt on the wound for both of us.” More tears stream down your face as you think about it. “We both vowed not to hurt one another. H-He hurt me, but he wanted to fix it. I hurt him and don’t have that same courage to try.”

“Try now,” Foggy pleads. “Try now, help one another. Even if it’s for the last time.”

“O-Okay,” you say before you can realize it.

Foggy breathes a sign of relief. “Come to the loft.”

The loft. The scene of the crime.

You breathe a quiet confirmation before you hang up, taking time to mentally prepare yourself before you grab your purse and leave your sister’s place to talk Matt off whatever ledge he’s currently perched on. 

It’s a short trip, and Foggy meets you in the lobby of Matt’s building. He pulls you in for a long hug, and you actively tell yourself not to cry. 

“He’s that bad, huh?” you sniffle.

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I’ve never been for him like this before. It’s like he’s not the same person.”

“I know what you mean,” you say quietly. “I haven’t felt like myself since that day.”

Foggy looks at you with a crestfallen expression, and you give him one more hug before you make your way up to the loft. 

Your key still works—you’re afraid if you knock, he won’t let you in. Hell, he probably heard you turn the block on your way here and wouldn’t answer out of anger or annoyance. Your stomach churns when you see Matt sitting in the chair. He’s in sweats, his posture is curved, his hair is disheveled, and he’s growing a thick beard. Beer bottles are on the table in front of him mixed with trash.

“Matt?” you breathe, but he remains unmoved. As you move closer toward him, he sits there like a statue, not caring to look your way. “Matt, it’s me.” Still, he doesn’t gaze your way. 

Putting your purse in its usual spot, you make your way over to him in the chair, gently cupping his face in your hands to tilt him up toward you. You suck in a small breath when you see the bruises and cuts on his cheeks, nose, and chin. If this is what his face looks like, you can only imagine the other injuries that his clothes are hiding.

“Matt,” you breathe. “What happened?”

He just closes his eyes in shame, starting to turn. You don’t let him, though, bringing his face back to center.

“Matty,” you plea. “Matt, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“You’re not my sweetheart anymore,” he finally says, and it burns like acid. You deserve it—you gave it just as good to him when he came back from California. “And I’m not yours.”

“We didn’t sign any papers yet,” you breathe, trying to lighten the mood as you hold back your own tears. “So, legally, I am.”

Matt peels back from my touch like he’s getting out of an itchy sweater. Okay, you deserve it. You deserve all of it.

“Matt—.”

“You left,” he spits. “You left just like everyone else, even when you swore you wouldn’t.”

You sit back on your heels. It hurts, but it’s the truth. “I did.” He turns back toward you like he’s shocked you actually admitted it. “I didn’t try to hear you out, and I’m sorry. I should’ve. It was . . .”

He turns toward you, ice in his blind gaze. You’ve never seen Matt like, this, and as he starts to slowly rise from his chair, it’s the first time you can say that you’ve ever been afraid of him. 

You spring to your feet as well, trying to at least keep things on the same level posture wise. 

“Now you’re trying to make things better?” he growls low. “You’re the one that tore it up in front of us. I wanted to stop the breakage, but you readied the wrecking ball. This shit is your mess. It’s like this because of you.”

Now you start to get mad. “Oh, just me? Any breakage that was the breakage that you started. Those images and videos were circulating for two whole days before you came home. I didn’t hear a single word from you—a ‘good morning’ or ‘I’m boarding my plane’ or otherwise. You just showed up here expecting it to all be fine—.”

“You don’t get to assume in this,” he grits, the space between you dangerously nonexistent as one of his hands tightly grab on to your wrist.

“Yes, I can. There’s two people in this mess. I’m saying what it seemed like on my end,” you say, your heart thundering in your chest. Matt wouldn’t hurt you—he’d never do that. But with how his hand is on your arm and the mood he seems to have been in since you left, you’re not entirely confident in that statement anymore.

“You never really knew a damn thing about me, did you?” he frowns. “You just kept a version of Matt Murdock in your head and lived with it this entire time, huh?”

“Maybe I did. Because this isn’t the Matt Murdock I came over to talk to. This is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. So, if you’re gonna let the Devil out, let him out on me, Murdock. Do your worst.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he threatens, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. 

“No. I came here to talk, and that’s what we’re gonna—.”

Before you know it, his hand is off your wrist, wrapping around the neck of a beer bottle before he whizzes it past your head like a threat. You flinch, moving to cover your head before the bottle leaves his hand, and you remain curled as the glass hits something behind you, knocking it over as they both crash to the ground. You slowly turn to see what was caught in the crosshairs—the beer bottle had hit a picture frame, knocking it down off the side table and breaking it. You can tell by the shifts in his body language he immediately regrets it, his shoulders slumping as tears start to sting your eyes. You notice he starts to take a step toward you out of the corner of your eye, but you’re on the move toward the broken picture frame. One of the pictures from our wedding.

Huh, you think. How fitting. 

You lower yourself to your knees, carefully picking it up and looking at how your faces were beaming with nothing but joy, how you held onto one another with love . . . and now how it’s the opposite. How you’re broken. You wouldn’t look at him the day you left, and he won’t look at you know. You curl over the photo, freely weeping on the pile of glass. You just want it things to go back to normal.

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting as if he wants to put a hand on your back to soothe you, but he backs away to let you cry. Tears pour out of you like a geyser, a constant flow down your cheeks as you sit alone in the living room. Maybe it was an accident that he hit the picture, but his senses are so sharp . . . maybe he did want to hit it. Maybe he was trying to prove a point. Maybe he wanted to show you that by you leaving, you were the one who put the final nail in the coffin of your marriage.

Maybe he really doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he stopped wanting you before he went to Los Angeles. Maybe he stopped wanting you a long time ago.

You’re still crying when you hear Matt come back over toward you. Through your limited vision, you watch him clean up the broken glass from the bottle and the frame. It takes him a few trips, but it’s eventually all cleaned up. He leaves again before walking back toward you, holding out a box of tissues. With a shaking hand, you grab one and wipe at your nose, desperately trying to calm yourself. 

“This is my favorite picture of us from our wedding,” you sniffle. “This is what I would grab if I could only take one thing from the loft in an emergency. This would be it. And now . . .”

You can’t finish your sentence, just weeping uncontrollably in your little ball on the floor over your two deepest treasures—this photo and your marriage. Shattered. 

“Angel . . .” Matt says so softly, so tenderly, you almost forget that your life has essentially imploded.

“This is all my fault,” you cry, spiraling, trying to trace it all back to you, your actions. The big explosive things all seem to have their root in something you can place back to yourself. Matt slept with someone else, but it goes back to something you did— you had a short attention span and a bit of a short fuse before he left because a bunch of shit at work that kept piling up, and you knew he was frustrated . . . how much he hates planes. You egged him on. You did nothing to help, and when he left to go to California, he found someone who understood him in a way you couldn’t. You need an answer for this, and that seems to be it.

“This is my favorite picture of us, and it’s all my fault,” you sniffle, repeating what you said earlier, your chest burning from the tears and hyperventilation. 

“It’s just a picture—,” he starts to say softly.

“It’s not just a picture,” you weep. “This, us, it’s all my fault. We’re broken because of me. This is all my fault.”

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting down and taking the picture from your hands, putting it on the arm of a nearby chair before pulling you in for a hug. All you can do is sob against his shoulder as he holds onto you. 

“This isn’t because of you,” he tries to soothe, sounding like he’s about to cry as well. “It . . . It was my poor judgement, it was my shortcomings that did this. You’re in the flaming wreckage, and it’s not fair.”

“I just want things how they were,” you sniffle. “I want to come home. I want us to be okay.”

Matt’s silence is terrifying. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt rage like that. Darkness like that,” he says softly. You feel a tear fall from his cheek to the top of you head. “Shit, I grabbed you . . . Fuck, I’m so sorry. I-I would never—(Y/N), please—.”

“I . . . I,” you start. He’d never hurt you. For all his anger, for all his strength, Matt would never hurt you. But when you’re facing off with the man that patrols the streets? The man that brought down Wilson Fisk not once, but twice? You just didn't know. 

“I scared you.” Tears are flowing down his cheek. “I could hear your heart race . . . I knew you were scared and for a moment, and I didn’t care. It’s like I wanted you to be scared, and I liked it. I was glad you were scared of me.” He sounds disgusted with himself. “You really thought I was going to hit you.”

“I did. For a moment,” you admit. It catches in your throat, but there’s no use in lying if you’re trying to fix this. 

Is that what you came over to do? To fix this? 

He lets out a long breath, slumping to the floor. “What happened to us?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” you say. And it’s the truth. You don’t really know how you got to this point. Yes, you know why you walked out, but it’s like there were the small hairline fractures in glass—so fine that you couldn’t see them—and then a hammer came down on it and a million little pieces was left in its wake. But how he sounds . . . you know that tone. When it’s been a rough night on patrol, it coats his words like sap—he’s going into a dark headspace, and when he gets too far in, it’s hard to get him out, and you need to get him out. You move around to carefully sit next to Matt, putting a hand on his forearm. You can feel a thick bandage on his arm before you can process that he winces, so you move to slide your hand in his. 

“I know you’d never hurt me,” you breathe. “I know you’d never lay a hand on me like that.”

“But I did, though. If I added more pressure, I could’ve snapped your worst. It would have been easy for me to do.” You see him swallow the lump forming in his throat, his own self-hatred inflating at a dangerous rate. “I was full of rage. You were scared of me.”

“I’m scared of all of this,” you admit, your voice small. “What’s happening to us. How it’s effecting you and me. We’re . . . We’re not ourselves. I-I don’t recognize either of us. I don’t like it. I want things back how they were.”

“But they can’t go back.” He sounds broken, hollow—just how you feel. 

“Are . . . Are we too far gone?” you ask just above a whisper, terrified of the answer. 

“I don’t want us to be.”

You hang your head. “I haven’t been sleeping,” you admit. “It doesn’t feel right without you, your arms around me.”

He places a gently hand on your chin, lifting your face up and wiping tears off of your cheeks before pulling you in for a hug. It feels like warmth. Like love. “I can’t sleep in the bed. It smells like you, and with you gone . . . I just patrol all night.”

It’s like when you think your heart can’t break any more, it does. “I still feel so upset, but, I feel hollow more than anything. Like part of me is missing.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I-I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of your head. “I should’ve listened, I shouldn’t have left like that, but I was just so upset. I couldn’t be around you without feeling like screaming or crying or both.”

“We . . . We can get through this. Can’t we?”

You think about it. Is this something you can do? You’ve been through worse— you’ve seen him near death more times than you would like, you’ve seen how the toll of Daredevil and the stress of being an attorney wear him down. Even the debate on how we should bring up our children should you choose to have them strained you both. But your happiness, your life together, it’s bigger than your low points. It has to be.

It has to be. 

Right?

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[bloodyinkandquill]

Folly x Reader

grapes are here!! time to munch, also new merch for something i love me and my best friend are going to get each other it as Christmas gifts! we did the same last year for something else we both love, still one of my favorite shirts i have

- How the hell you managed to bag a nine and a half foot tall primordial being is a mystery to everyone, even you in all honesty

- Folly is interesting to say the least, at first she treated you no different then anyone else but as time went on and she begun to take more of an interest in you, and finding that your kindness towards her was genuine, not any sort of trick, slowly she became less cold and malevolent towards you, eventually it got to a point where if you were having a nightmare she’d use her powers to stop it

- Eventually when you do get together, how official it was is up to debate, she still acts the same bit has a certain kindness to her voice, her insults and hate aren’t actually real, she’s just scared to truly let her guard down around anyone, no matter how much she’s beginning to trust you now, you understand and are very patient with her letting her say bad things since you know she doesn’t truly mean them

- Since she’s so large she picks you up like a plushie or teddy bear, it would be funny if you weren’t squirming as she smirked, we’ll you’re assuming she’s smirking, she doesn’t have a mouth so based on her eyes you assume if she could smirk she would be smirking

- Speaking of her lack of mouth she can’t exactly kiss you, she was very against the idea of you kissing her mask at first, it is one of the most vulnerable parts of her, eventually when she grants you permission you cover her entire mask in kisses, you don’t kiss where it broke though for both of you, she gets very flustered by it and disappears in her cloud of smoke, now though she’s more chill with it, it still does fluster his but if you ask if you can kiss her she lets you, and leans down, or stands next to something you can stand in to reach her face without her having to hunch down more then she already done normally

- On top of holding you like a stuffed animal she doesn’t really do small touches, her touches are go big or go home, holding you mostly, especially since her hands are so large small touches are harder, whenever you try and hold hands you just hold one of her fingers instead, or grab the edge of her sweater sleeve, which like her mask she was hesitant about but less so since it wasn’t broken like her mask

- If Folly can’t be around you she watches you through the aspens, it was really creepy at first since you felt like you were being watched then you realized it was her so you when alone will hug the trees as if hugging her to say thanks for watching over you, it doesn’t get less creepy watching the fake pupils on the trees move to follow you though, you will never get used to that

- Her dates aren’t conventional, they still happen but they’re not the usual dates people think of, some are close but not quite, like tending to a garden, granted it’s a forest of aspens in the dark expanse of where she comes from but it’s close enough, or a sleep over, which just means you fall asleep on her and you do something in your dream together, another is baking, that happens at your place which she doesn’t fit in that well and she can’t eat anything you bake but it’s still nice, she helps you bake and gets stuff on herself that you wipe off with a laugh

- She sometimes tells you of how her home use to look like, beautiful and comforting, it was like a dream, till it became a nightmare, you tell her that even if everything’s changed you love her no matter what she’s gone through, and no matter what she still may go through

- You occasionally visit Wallter with her, he’s the closest thing to a friend she has but she almost always sees him in his dreams, so they don’t usually see each other in person, when they do she does her usual thing of being all edgy and brooding but while discussing poetry and listening to piano music, and pretending to drink tea, she lets you actually drink it she just likes to pretend

- Her love language is closest to quality time, granted most of that time is in your dreams, but based on how often she visits them just to be close to you and spend time with you, so your best assumption is quality time

- She knows many languages, comes from being a primordial being, so if you want to speak in another language or need help learning or translating one she can assist you, her favorite language however is any of the slavic languages, which is why she has a Russian accent, so she enjoys teaching you words in Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, etc

- She makes you read her poetry, you don’t get a choice, you don’t mind but it can be inconvenient sometimes if you’re doing something and suddenly she appears telling you to read the newest poem she wrote, she’s really good at it though so it’s not too much of a bother since it’s an enjoyable read, to some degree, it’s very graphic and disturbing on occasion, or a lot of occasions

- She’s cold to the touch, after the cleaving her body no longer produces natural heat, which is a part of the reason she’s such a big cuddle bug, you’re warm and she quite literally parasites that warmth from you, she’s the kind of person to stick her cold ass hands on your exposed back when you aren’t expecting it making you shout at the sudden freezing touch

- Folly thought she’d never be happy again, she was broken, destroyed, used, abused, she never thought she’d ever feel like how she once did, which maybe she never will, but she has truly started feeling better since meeting you, maybe not truly happy but you do make her feel warm, literally and figuratively, so even if she knows she can never go back to that innocence and joy that once was her entire life she’s getting there

i love folly, not as much as mach but i still love her, and holy shit the cleaving was insane, also literally such a good depiction of a certain type of trauma, iykyk, which props to catjam, also just in general for creating folly, anyways imma probably nap, i am not immune to the afternoon naps

[overallbrainrot]

max why are you so hard to draw..

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

How long can Toji go without touching you...?

“Nuh-uh,” you lightly swat his hands away from your waist. “Paws off…” you flash him a small, teasing smirk, finding joy in the little game you two are playing. 

“Woman…” Toji groans, plopping his hands to the bed with a dramatic sigh. His jaw clenched as he takes a deep breath, trying to control the urge to just touch you. His broad shoulders slump just a little, a small pout appearing on his lips– a rare sight on Toji indeed. 

It’s a scene you’re not used to—seeing Toji like this, so soft, so yearning, so desperate. Such a strong man, that could easily manhandle you if he wanted to, straddled under you, looking up at you with such a pleading expression. Just begging for permission, to feel your soft skin on his fingertips. 

“No pouting either…”  you mumble, leaning in to give him another sweet kiss. He wastes absolutely no time kissing you back, eagerly meeting your lips. His kiss full of hungry desire for you, the way his tongue managed to slip inside your mouth, and how he occasionally bit your lip, tugging on it just a little. He could barely contain himself, but he did… 

His hands remained off you, the only difference now is he was gripping the hell out of the bedsheets. You pull back slightly, breathless, your heart racing and you hoped he couldn’t tell. He chases your lips, not happy you broke the kiss, not happy at all. “This is so unfair,” he glares at you with half-lidded eyes. His chest heaving up and down as he pants to catch his own breath. 

A chuckle leaves your plump lips, as you look at him. Face red and flushed, and his boner as hard as ever. “What do you mean, baby?” you tease him, the words dripping with playfulness as you move your hips against him, just enough to drive him crazy but not enough to give him that relief he oh so craves.

Toji groans, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet yours. “You know exactly what I mean,” he mutters through clenched teeth, the frustration in his voice just making him all the more hot. His rich deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You were driving him insane but that was the plan all along. It was exactly what you wanted. 

“You want to touch me so bad, huh?” you purr as your hand comes up to cup his chin, tilting his head so he could face you. His pretty green eyes could burn into your skin with the way he was looking at you. His jaw tightens slightly under your touch, lips part slightly as if he wants to say something, but the words don’t come out. 

You lean in closer to him, placing kisses on his jawline, trying to coax him into speaking. "Is that what you want, Toji?" you murmur, your thumb tracing his bottom lip slowly. You only feel him grow harder under you, his cock speaking for him. His whole body twitches, he couldn’t hold back anymore but he doesn’t want to lose the game… or maybe he doesn’t want to disobey you. 

"Say it, baby" you whisper into his ear, your voice low and sultry, each word full of temptation. You look down to see his poor knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the sheets. He was such a good boy for trying to hold off, but he was at the brink already. 

“Please… let me touch you, already,” he finally blurts out, his voice hoarse and strained with embarrassment. He held on longer than you thought, you could give him that. The sound of his begging was like music to your ears.

"Good boy," you giggle, letting your fingers trail down his chest, sending tingles through his body. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the��numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ghostfacd]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.

[indulgentdaydream]

protective!jason hcs or blurb 🥰

Ok so I kinda touched on these in my latest fic but anyways i WILL elaborate bc those were just background

We all know that man is touch starved. We ALL know it.

We also all know he’s hesitant with sharing touch

It’s only once you both have been dating for a bit already, maybe three months in, that he really starts to show his protectiveness through his touch

Or at least when you notice it

He’s always at least holding your hand as you guys walk around Gotham. Depending on exactly whereabouts in Gotham is when he changes whether he’s between you and the road, or you and the alleyways.

You watched him change it up one time halfway through your shared walk, him letting go of your left hand, stepping behind you and around to grab your right instead.

“Oh? So you want me to get hit by a car and die?”

Jason only keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and the ones coming up, “The chance of that is much lower than somebody trying to mug you in this area, love.”

One day you’re both out at the bar together. He’s sitting on a stool behind you as you babble to oke of yours friends.

From over their shoulder, you see a man approaching, but don’t think anything of it.

Suddenly, you see the man stop in his tracks, freezing. You glance over at him. He looks terrified. He glances at you, his original target, then behind you again. He spins on his heel and walks back the way he came.

You look behind you, feeling Jason’s hand still resting on your hip. You almost feel a little scared yourself, seeing that killer glare that Jason’s pointing at the guy’s back.

He switches immediately the second he looks down to you, a soft smile and kind eyes, not a hint of the previous bloodlust a mere second ago. “What?” He asks, like watching his expression change wasn’t the biggest turn on in the world.

You’re sitting in your apartment at your desk typing away on your laptop. You’re trying to file your taxes, and Jason had come over to help you with it (surprisingly he knows how even though he’s still legally dead at this point and hasn’t had to pay any taxes. Ever.)

He had stood and was wondering around your room a bit while he waited for you to fill the next part out. You can hear shuffling, but you’re too focused to tune into it.

“Jay? What does this line mean?”

Jason grunts for a moment and you hear your window slide open.

You turn back around, “Jay?”

“One second.” He shuts your window again. You watch as he fiddles with the lock before easily sliding the window back open. He throws his hands in the air and looks at you. “How long have you lived here?”

You shrug, confused, “You helped me move in.”

Jason waves his hand through the air, “When?”

“Almost a year? Last November.”

Jason fiddles with the window again, slamming it back down, “This lock doesn’t work. You been sleeping in here and anyone could’ve just broken in?”

You shrug again, “I didn’t know it was broken! I don’t really lock my window often.”

Jason looks like he almost broke his neck by how fast his head whipped back to you, “You don’t lock your window????”

He finishes your taxes for you before he leaves, saying he’ll be back. Within the hour he’s knocking on your door again, a duffle bag in hand full of power tools, screws, and different assortments of heavy duty locks. He spends the rest of the night installing them.

A new one on your bedroom window that actually consisted of two different locks. A similar two on your kitchen window. Another three on your bedroom door itself. Then four on your front door.

As he leaned over your kitchen sink, screwing in the lock and blocking your way as you tried to make you both dinner.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I’m not having you practically open to every bad thing the city has to offer, love.”

“Then how are you going to come in through my window now?”

“I’ll learn to knock.”

That’s all I can think of right now okay byeee

[donatellawritings]

if requests(?) are open what do you think about bff!rafe whos absolutely down bad for reader ☺️

bff!rafe is honestly the most obsessive man ever and has no sense of boundaries ngl

truth be told, you and rafe haven’t even known each other that long, barely a year, to be exact. when you had moved into the pretty little baby blue house that overlooked the busy docks and calm waters, rafe had just made his long overdue return to figure 8. you were fresh out of college, and as free as a baby bird — with a somewhat matured rafe who was patiently waiting on the perfect moment to swoop in and teach you to to fly — his way.

you see, rafe was the man of his family now, and as the leading man of the cameron lineage, he had no choice, but to become painfully aware of the damage he could cause. you shared the likeness of a baby deer — naive, dainty, and a little too welcoming … much to your own detriment, at times.

so, rafe took it upon himself to take you under his wing, making sure that he always had you in his line of vision. i mean, if he didn’t look out for you, who knows what kind of trouble you’d get into? which is exactly why he settled for being your best friend in the whole world, as you like to say — that is, until you’d finally snap out of the pink tinted dreamland you seemed to live in, and realize that you were better off just being his — being rafe’s girl.

“y’wanna try some?” you hummed, your manicured hand holding out the wand of your new tube of dior gloss as you mushed your swollen lips together, puckering your now shimmery lips in the mirror as you adored your new lipgloss.

met with silence, you rolled your eyes as rafe remained stood tall and authoritative behind you, his eyebrows furrowed as he fiddled with the collar of his polo shirt, “c’mon, kid — don’t have time to play games,” he shrugged his shoulders, before nudging the side of your jaw with the side of his ringed finger.

to anyone who wasn’t aware of your unique dynamic with rafe — the sight of a young girl dressed in nothing, but a mesh bralette that displayed her hard nipples and tiny silk shorts that sucked up into her ass, a bit bent over a vanity with a much taller man’s tented crotch ghosting right behind the curve of her ass, would be pretty incriminating.

but, in your eyes, it was just you and rafey, your very best friend in the entire world.

leaning back onto the balls of your sore feet, you completely missed the way rafe took in the ripple of your asscheeks as you let out an entitled huff, “i don’t want to go golfing,” you mumble, your arms crossed firmly across your swelled tits as you send rafe a bratty frown in the mirror.

mocking your bratty behavior with an exaggerated pout, rafe lets out a feigned whimper, “aw, baby doesn’t wanna hang out with rafey anymore?”

shoving the gloss-coated wand into the tube, you toss it onto the vanity, your bouncy blown-out hair whipping against rafe’s chest as you push your weak palm into rafe’s hard torso, earning another condescending laugh from the blue-eyed man, “i don’t want to hang out with you, anymore,” you announce, eyes glazed with frustrated tears.

“y’sure? got lots of pretty girls who would love for me to be their best friend,” rafe cocks his head to the side, a knowing smirk tugging on his pink lips as he watches you carefully think about your next words.

with a hesitant nod, you sniffle, “i’m sure.”

“okay — i’ll miss you, princess,”

your doe eyes widened with genuine concern as rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, before taking a few steps backwards from you, turning to reach for the handle of your bedroom door. he can’t leave — you were only kidding!

“stop! i was just kidding,” you panic, perky tits bouncing as you rush over to rafe who is biting back a cocky grin.

forcing a solemn expression, rafe gently raised a ringed hand to hold your jaw, “can’t joke like that, huh? almost made me get a new best friend, pretty girl,” rafe twists the knife, his stomach growing warm and fluttery as he watches you lightly bounce on your feet, before accepting your outstretched arms as he carries you back to your pillow and squishmallow-covered bed.

“sleep over?” you questioned sweetly.

“of course, kid.”

｡⋆୨୧˚

wet lip smacks and muffled moans filled the four walls of your bedroom as you laid semi-underneath a now shirtless rafe. one leg hooked over his hip as your hands cupped each side of his strained neck. your puffy lips were nearly raw and tingly from rafe’s constant suckling and nipping at your mouth. rafe’s hand kept a light grip on your throat as he kept you engrossed in the slippery kiss, tongues dancing together wildly as rafe fucked your mouth with his.

pushing out a sleepy whine, you said your delicate hand to rafe’s collarbone, gently pushing, “rafey — m’lips hurt,” your words were jumbled as rafe groaned into your mouth, his lips continuing their relentless assault.

your sloppy little makeout sessions with rafe were a common find when it came to spending a day with him, and you didn’t see anything wrong with it — i mean, he was your best friend forever, he would never steer you in the wrong direction.

shutting you up with a slip of his tongue inside of your mouth, rafe’s hand sliding to cup your cheek as you are quick to wraps your swollen lips around his slippery tongue, gently suckling the pink muscle. you continued sucking on his tongue for a few more minutes, your mixed spit shining on the corners of your mouths and messily smeared on your chins from wet lips.

sliding a calloused, ring-clad hand to cup your soft ass underneath the silk of your shorts, rafe patted two light slaps to your skin, earning a needy moan from you as your wrapped your slick lips around his tongue once more, in a sealing kiss, “sorry — y’taste good,” you mumbled, your sore lips pulled into a sorry little pout as rafe nods knowingly, gently pulling your head to lean against his chest.

rafe never missed the way you gazed up at him, your doll eyes sparkling with adoration and respect — you never judged him, and he appreciated that.

“s’okay, kid.” he responded, mushing your cherub cheeks as your lips remain in a silly smile.

you really had the bestest friend in the whole world!

[celeryb1tch]

innocent!reader x experienced!pervert!abby is rotting my brain tonight!!!

18+!! this is lesbian smut!

you sit at a table in the mess hall, abby’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and her friends all enjoying their dinner. casual conversation is thrown around the table, until manny’s new fling is brought up.

“-and i mean, SOAKED the sheets. i couldn’t believe my eyes,” he recounts proudly.

everyone is laughing along or rolling their eyes, but abby notices your hesitance. she leans down toward you with a concerned look. “something wrong?”

you shake your head lightly, looking up at her. “jus’ don’t get it,” you reply.

abby feels her stomach twist. she had known there wasn’t great sex ed on the WLF base, but she and her friends had grown up around doctors like her dad and she realizes she hadn’t know the full extent of just how ignorant you were. and admittedly, it made her excited.

“she squirted when she came,” she tries to explain gently. but you still look utterly confused, even as she goes on.

“…come? and she didn’t pee?” you seem so utterly lost. abby wonders if it makes her a bad person to expose you to these ideas, but you’re both already adults. still, that knot is twisting inside her deriving a sick pleasure from all of this. you had always looked up to abby, and she wondered how wrong it would be to corrupt that relationship with talk of sex- or even a demonstration?

that night, you’re laying in bed thinking about what abby said earlier. with all the training and violence you’d grown up around, you hardly had time to pay attention to the ache between your legs, or how it would usually occur when abby was around. but as you recount that conversation in your mind, it appears once more. you think of her arm wrapping around you, pressing you into her hard front. how she was still warm and sweaty from the gym, and how her flyaways stuck to the sides of her forehead because of that. something inside of you is saying you should be embarrassed, and you don’t know exactly why- but a louder, much louder, part is telling you to confide in your best friend. she would never judge you, right?

you shuffle down a few hallways in your fluffy socks until you reach one of the bigger accommodations: abby’s room. and with a bit of hesitance in your knock, you step back as the door opens immediately.

abby is clearly groggy, and must have also been getting ready for bed. she’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and the usual black sports bra she has on during patrols and workouts. her hair is tied in her signature braid, with more wispy pieces that have come out throughout the day. “hey, you. everything okay?”

you nod and push past abby inside as was usual. she joins you on her bed, your bare thighs touching as you both sit. her eyes are on you and you can feel it again- that heat. you pull away slightly, squeezing your legs together as it’s the only thing you know eases the feeling.

abby pretends not to notice, just like she does any other time you blatantly stare at her muscles or blush when she touches your waist. she doesn’t want to scare you off, especially when she thinks she can tell what you’re going to ask about.

“you remember earlier at dinner?” you say, biting your lip slightly as unease turns in your tummy. and abby just nods, still looking right at you. “how manny said he made a girl, uh…”

“squirt?” abby offers. she says it so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. like she’s never in a million years thought about fucking you until you do. like she wasn’t hoping this would happen every second after dinner.

“yeah, well, i realized there’s probably a lot of sex stuff i don’t know, and since you… y’know…”

poor baby, she thinks. how will she ever work up the courage. and abby thinks of all the times she’s teased you about all the women she’s fucked. called you jealous that you had to split quality time with her one night stands. seen you pout about her missing games night because someone asked her on a date in front of you. surely you were going to ask for her expertise- for her to help you out, to show you?

“since your dad was a doctor.”

oh. that was it? you wanted a little anatomy lesson. then what was all the embarrassment for? were you that ashamed of asking for a little bit of guidance?

abby gives you a soft smile and an assurance that she can help. and your body floods with relief. this is normal. you can tell her what you’re feeling and she won’t act weird. she can help you.

you stand up and strip off your pyjama bottoms and big shirt you had likely stolen from abby so long ago you don’t remember whose it was in the first place. and she just watches, small smile still on her face as she looks you over.

“okay, so right here? boobs, obviously.” she points to your chest, and you roll your eyes.

“i know that, stupid. show me the more advanced stuff.”

“you’ll have to take your underwear off then.” so you do.

abby instinctively reaches for it, stroking her fingers between your puffy, wet lips. her eyes are shining with admiration and her cheeks are hot.

you pull away slightly at the bolt of pleasure that spikes through you at her touch. “is it… supposed to look like this? i think there’s something wrong.”

she shakes her head fervently, eyes never leaving your pussy. “you’re just wet, that’s all. did something turn you on?” and at your confusion at the term- “get you excited? when girls see something attractive, they get wet.”

oh no. you can feel dread flooding your senses as you try to scramble for an explanation. that it just happens sometimes. that’s normal, right?

after a pause, and a look at your face, abby knows exactly what happened. “oh. you got wet from me, huh?”

you want to run away and disappear. you swallow a sob, but strangely, you feel that pulsing sensation again. all of this attention from abby isn’t working in your favour.

but she isn’t grimacing in disgust, or even asking you to leave. in fact, abby has a shit-eating grin on her face as she watches you cower in front of her.

“you’re not… mad?” you ask sheepishly.

abby reaches out to you, pulling you onto her lap. “no, baby, of course not. it’s cute.”

relief washes over you, but before you can really relax you feel abby’s hand once again on your folds.

“so wet for me, baby. how long has this been happening?”

a finger skims against a particularly sensitive spot, and you choke on your words, succumbing to the blissful feeling. “s-so long, abs. like forever.”

“poor girl. so pent up, so needy. and too embarrassed to tell me.”

“yeah…” you whine. you’re clinging to abby like a lifeline, overwhelmed by the building tension. it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. so intense, so all-consuming.

abby’s fingers are expertly caressing your pussy, steadily adding more pressure so as not to overstimulate you. “this is the clit,” she murmurs, and you feel that electric spark again as she glides over one specific spot at the top.

“it’s too much,” you cry out, wriggling under her grasp.

“that means you’re cumming soon,” she explains with a chuckle. “feels so good, trust me. just ride it out.”

and you trust abby with every ounce of your being, so you try to relax your muscles as much as possible while you feel that climbing feeling come to a boil. and she was so right. you’re huffing tiny sobs into her chest as you come down, her strokes easing as you’re finally able to catch your breath again.

abby cradles you into her, clean hand running through your hair. you can feel the puddle between your thighs dripping down her own and onto the sheets, and you’re so exhausted.

“that was so hot, baby. did such a good job for me.”

“abs, that was… wow.”

she’s smiling down at you, admiring your sweat- wicked face. “bet you wish you’d asked me sooner, huh?”

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I thought I’d shoot this over. If you don’t vibe with it don’t worry about skipping it. I was wondering if I could request a James x reader where they are living together and definitely love each other but they’ve kind of slipped into a roommate phase. Like they’re just living around each other and reader starts feeling insecure and scared and doesn’t know how to get back into normalcy. Maybe a little angsty with some fluff at the end

Thanks lovely!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k words

When James comes in the front door, his shoes squelch. You look him up and down, dripping wet and mud caked up to his knees. You wince. 

“Rough practice?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” James says, dropping his bag by the door and heading for the kitchen. 

There’s an exhausted slump to his shoulders, and his shoes leave a muddy trail of footprints, and you hate to do it, but—

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?” 

“Oh.” James looks down. You see him follow the trail with his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say if it wasn’t fine. And yeah, you’re a bit peeved that he’d track mud inside after you’d mopped the floors just yesterday, but you know he wasn’t thinking about it and you’d promised yourself just this morning that you were going to be nicer to him and now he’s sitting on the floor looking like his day is getting worse instead of better. 

You try again. 

“Um, I made dinner.” You step over him awkwardly, setting a hand on his head to help yourself. James doesn’t shrink from the touch, but he doesn’t lean into it like you could swear he used to either. The stove turns off like it’s relieved to do it, having idled for close to a half hour while you waited for James to get home. You wanted to try and eat together tonight; you used to do it all the time, but lately you’ve been having too many couch dinners by your lonesome. “Macaroni and cheese, is that alright?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You jolt a little at James’ hand on your back as he reaches around you for a bowl, and he looks at you, lips quirking like you’re funny. 

You find yourself smiling back by muscle memory, a reflex almost forgotten. It lifts your heart. 

“So, how was practice?” 

James glances up at you, then goes back to filling his bowl. “I’ve already told you,” he says. “Rough.” 

“Oh, right.” You huff out a little laugh. He passes you the spoon, and you take it without really looking at him. “Sorry.” 

His answering smile is weaker this time. More a press of his lips than anything. 

“Don’t be.” He kisses you on the cheek, then goes, pulling out his chair at the table. 

You take your seat, too. A lot of these base routines have begun to feel empty lately. They used to be an assurance for you, like if you always wore your same paths into the carpet you’d become so entrenched in this house, in James’ house, that neither he nor it could ever let you leave. You loved knowing that if he was back from his run when you woke up in the morning, there’d be a glass of orange juice waiting for you on the counter. That when the flowers on your kitchen table started to wilt you’d come home to a fresh bunch, and that if you called and told him you were having a bad day lunch from your favorite sandwich shop would miraculously show up at your work. Those things used to make your heart feel full to bursting, because they meant he was thinking of you. 

Now you’re not sure what they mean. They seem like things James does because he’s supposed to, like part of a script, a routine. Chores. 

As soon as he’s sat down, he’s digging into his dinner. James eats like a boy. Wolfing, like someone’s going to take it away from him. You hope it means he likes it. 

“What’d you do today, m’love?” he asks through a mouthful.

And see, he says things like that. Calls you his love, asks about your day. It’s all started to fall flat. You know he’ll take whatever answer you give him, because you’ve begun to suspect he doesn’t really care. 

“Nothing crazy,” you answer honestly. “Shayna’s baby came early, so I’m taking on a bit more at work until they can find someone to fill in for her. So that’s a bit stressful, but it’s not awful.” 

“Mm.” James nods, but doesn’t offer more than that. His mouth seems to be perpetually full. 

You fork a macaroni noodle, pretending you have more appetite than you do. Truthfully, you’ve felt weird and off and vaguely nauseous all day. 

Last night had been a bit of a breaking point for you. It came on rather suddenly. You’d gone to bed long after James, but you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from him, the way the moonlight snuck in through the slats in your blinds to fall across his sleeping face. He was so beautiful, and you loved him so much you didn’t know what to do with it all, and then you were crying. 

You’d wept silently, wishing James would wake up, but you were unwilling to rouse him and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep with your pillowcase damp and cold under your cheek and woke to find James’ side of the bed empty as usual. Orange juice on the counter. 

“I was wondering if you might want to watch a film tonight,” you say lightly. “I saw they’ve put that sci-fi one you like back on Netflix.” 

“Ah, have they really?” James swallows, forks another bite. “Wish I could, but I’m supposed to meet everyone at Spoons in a few minutes here.” 

Oh. The realization hits you like a dull thud, smack in the center of your chest. He’s not eating quickly because he likes your food; it’s because he wants to leave. 

“Can’t you stay here?” Your voice is small. James looks at you like he’s not sure what to make of it. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He offers you a smile. His fork clinks in the bottom of an empty bowl, and his chair screeches as it’s pushed back. James brushes his lips across your cheek as he goes by. “We’ll have to do it this weekend, though, definitely.” 

You know by now these sorts of promises aren’t meant to keep. They come written in disappearing ink.

He heads upstairs to change, and desperation grips you. It forgets he’ll be home later and puts you hot on his heels, your own dinner left on the table barely touched. 

“Jamie, wait.” He pauses with his shirt half off, looking over at you in the doorway of your bedroom. “Don’t you feel like we’ve not had much time together lately?” you ask. 

The plea is naked in your tone, and James’ eyes soften. He tugs his shirt off, straightens his glasses. “I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” he says, shrugging good-naturedly. 

It’s true. He’s been busy. His new coach seems to think the team has nothing but time, and as captain James is expected to commit even more than most. When he’s not at training, he’s keeping fit on his own or running errands for his mum or sleeping it all off in your bed. 

“But you should come tonight,” James goes on brightly. “Dorcas and Marlene will be there, it’ll be fun.” 

He tosses his clothes in the laundry bin and makes his way over to the dresser. You cross your arms, then uncross them. Parse your words. “I don’t…I just feel like you hung out with your friends last night, you know?” 

“You could’ve come then, too,” he says, stepping into a pair of jeans. “They all love you, you know that.” 

“I don’t want to hang out with your friends.” It comes out sharper than you intend, though not less sharp than the look James gives you. He’s finished getting dressed but doesn’t make to leave. “That’s not what I mean. I like your friends, but it’s not…the same as spending time with you. It doesn’t count, for me.” Your voice softens on the last two words, knowing that for James, it might very well count. 

For him, you’ve gathered, social time is social time. So long as you’re there, he’ll feel just as connected to you as if you were curled up on the couch together having a private conversation. You wish your brain worked the same way, but it doesn’t. 

He’s looking at you with something like trepidation now, so you state it plainly. 

“I really miss you, Jamie.” A blockage rises in your throat. You swallow it back down. “I feel like…I don’t know what’s going on with us lately.” 

“We’re the same as we have been.” He looks confused, worse when your face pinches painfully. 

“And that’s all?” You try to blink them away, but tears burn in your eyes. “This is just what we do now?” 

“No.” James looks appalled, but you catch the quick glance he gives to the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s only for now, just until the season’s over and Coach mellows out. Where’s this coming from?” 

You blink hard, angling your head away from him. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just being emotional.” Your breath scrapes on the way in. You pretend it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you have to go.” 

He shakes his head, and when you start back towards the stairs anyway, he says, “No, come on.” In a few long strides, he’s got your elbow. He tugs you gently back into the room. “Let’s sit down, okay? What’s going on?” 

“Sorry.” Your voice is pitchy and tight. You think you hear James inhale softly before he’s drawing you into a hug. It doesn’t feel quite like it used to, but it’s still warm, still nice. 

He sits you both down on the edge of your bed, arms still wrapped loosely around you. “What are you sorry for, baby?” 

“I was going to try not to make your life harder today,” you laugh wetly, pulling back from him to swipe under your eyes. 

“You don’t make my life harder,” James says, somewhere near to dismayed as he slides his hand to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t.” 

You give him a look meant to say, Oh, come on, but you’re not sure how it comes off with your face blotchy and snot starting to run from your nose. You take in a big breath, trying to calm yourself. 

“I think I’ve made it harder more than I’ve made it easier lately,” you admit, looking at your bedcover and also at nothing at all. “I didn’t even really realize until recently, but I’ve just felt so…disconnected from you lately. It’s like even when you’re here, I’m just around you and not with you, and—” Your voice catches, and you inhale again. “And I know you’re really busy, but I’m just trying to find ways to fix it.” 

James’ hand drops from your shoulder, into his lap, and you lift your gaze. He looks crestfallen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, his own voice starting to sound raw. “I can’t control these things. And we live together, I see you all the time. It doesn’t seem fair to ask me not to see my mates.” 

“I’m not asking you to do that.” You’re horrified. “But that’s just it, Jamie, it’s like we only live together anymore. Saying hi when you come in, waving when you go back out, those don’t count as quality time for me. And I wish I could get the same feelings from being in a big group that you do, but I can’t.” 

James looks at you helplessly. You shrug, just as powerless. 

“I know it’s not your fault,” you tell him, and a tear drips off your chin. “I don’t know what to do, either. I just want you to know that I’m trying, okay?” 

James nods for a minute. Thoughtful, heartbroken. He lets out a big breath. Your arms come around each other at almost the same time, so in sync you can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. You’re trying not to get snot on his fresh shirt, but he palms the back of your head, pressing your face to his shoulder. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right, we should both be trying more. I think I’ve let myself get so overwhelmed that I’m not…almost not even thinking throughout the day, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this by yourself.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, and a little laugh rumbles through James’ chest. He hugs you tighter. 

“It is a little bit, though, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying attention. But okay, let’s make a plan for now.” His hand splays out between your shoulder blades, and you clutch at the material of his shirt, both of you wordlessly trying to get closer as if you can make up for lost time. “Come with me tonight, please.” You go still, but James goes on, “I know it’s not a solution, but I can’t back out and I’d really feel so much better if you were there. Please, angel. And tomorrow, we’ll stay in and watch something. Not a film only I like,” he gives your back a teasing little squeeze, “but something we can both get into. Or we can just talk, or play a game, I don’t care. Tomorrow is our night, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniff, nodding and pulling away slightly so you can wipe your face. James joins in, pinching your nose clean for you and wiping the snot on his jeans carelessly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to clear my busy schedule.” 

He smiles. It’s like the sun beaming through clouds. “I’d appreciate that. Really hard to get ahold of you these days.” You let out a little laugh, and his grin spreads. “Good, so that’s for now, and at training on Friday I’m going to talk to Coach about cutting down on our hours.” 

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Jamie, you don’t have to—” 

“I do,” he says. “I’ve been a wuss about it, but everyone on the team is miffed and it’s really my job to handle it. He doesn’t know everything yet, so I can at least give him some advice about how we operate best.” 

James palms the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and meeting you halfway. His forehead presses against yours. 

“I’m really glad you said something. Thanks for being the smart one, as usual.” Your smile is small at first, but James nudges his nose against yours until it blooms in full. “We’re gonna make it better, okay?” 

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Don’t thank me.” His voice takes on a tender quality, and you push your forehead into his. He palms your cheeks in response, stamping his lips to your forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“I love you, too.” 

That was never up for debate. 

[pucksandpower]

You Owe Me

Day 9 → Overstimulation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The door to the hotel suite slams shut with a sharp click, echoing through the quiet space. You freeze just inside the entryway, one heel still half-off, your body already half-turned toward Charles. You can feel the tension before you even look at him — an unmistakable tightness in the air, like the room itself is holding its breath.

“Baby?” You ask softly, already sensing this isn’t going to be a conversation that ends with laughter or a kiss. He’s standing by the window, arms crossed, the lights of the city casting a harsh glow over his face. His jaw clenches, and there’s something stormy in his eyes, something that makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t turn. “You had fun tonight?”

It’s a simple enough question, but his tone carries weight — far too much for something that should be innocent. You take a breath, trying to ease the knot building in your chest. “It was fine,” you reply, stepping out of your other shoe. “The sponsors were … you know how it is. They want to feel important.”

He laughs, but it’s sharp, humorless. “Oh, I saw. You made them feel very important.”

You blink, thrown by the bitterness in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finally, he turns, his eyes locking on yours. There’s fire there, a barely controlled flame flickering in the depths. He takes a step closer, then another, his movements deliberate, calculated.

“You spent the entire night,” he says, his voice low, “flirting with everyone in sight.”

Your mouth falls open, words caught in your throat. For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. “Flirting?” You repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. “Charles, I wasn’t-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, pacing now, back and forth across the plush carpet. “I’m not blind. I saw how you were with them. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, touching their arms. Acting like they’re the most interesting people in the world.”

You stand rooted to the spot, the accusation swirling around in your mind like a bad dream. “I wasn’t flirting,” you say again, more firmly this time. “I was being polite, trying to sweeten them up for you. For the team. That’s why we were there.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Bullshit?” You echo, incredulous. “You think I was flirting with them? For what? To get a free drink? To make you jealous?”

“Maybe you wanted to make me jealous,” he spits out, stopping dead in front of you. His presence is overwhelming, a towering force of frustration and anger, and you feel it pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate. “Maybe you like the attention. You like how they look at you, like they’re ready to do anything for you.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch. “You really think that low of me?”

For a moment, the anger in his eyes wavers, something else flickering behind the fury. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the hard, cold expression you’ve never seen from him before. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

Your chest tightens, and for the first time, you feel the burn of tears threatening to rise, but you refuse to let them fall. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was there for you, Charles. I was trying to help.”

He snorts, turning his back on you again. “You call that helping?”

You shake your head, stepping forward. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to stop talking to anyone else? Should I just sit in a corner and be invisible?”

His silence stretches out, and you wish, for a moment, he would just say something, anything, that isn’t loaded with accusation.

“You don’t get it,” he finally mutters. “You never get it.”

“What don’t I get?” Your voice is rising now, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Tell me what I’m supposed to understand here, Charles, because right now all I see is you punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

He turns sharply, eyes locking on yours. “You don’t understand what it’s like, watching them look at you like that, knowing that at any moment, they could sweep in and-” He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as if he’s said too much.

You stare at him, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

Charles’ eyes flash with something dangerous. “I’m not worried,” he snaps. “I know how this works. You think they’re just being polite, just being nice, but I see it. I see how they look at you, like you’re a prize they can win. And you, you play right into it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips. “You think I’m some object? Some … trophy for them to fight over? That’s insane, Charles. You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” His voice is sharp, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in the way he says it. “Because tonight, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for the right words. “I was doing my job as your date, Charles. I was talking to sponsors, making connections — for you.”

He shakes his head again, the muscles in his jaw working. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “Then what did it look like to you? Because from where I’m standing, all I did was try to help, and now I’m being accused of God knows what.”

His eyes darken, the fire in them burning hotter now. “It looked like you were enjoying it. Every second of it.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. When you finally do, your voice is quiet, a sharp contrast to the storm raging between you. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He steps closer again, his presence overpowering, like gravity pulling you in whether you want it or not. “You think I didn’t notice the way your hand lingered on his arm, the way you leaned in when you laughed? You think I didn’t see him watching you?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I was making conversation.”

“With his arm?”

“Charles-”

“I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Your chest tightens at the way he says your name, so cold, so distant. The Charles you know isn’t like this. He’s fierce, yes, but not like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you repeat, your voice low but firm. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for a lie, for something that isn’t there. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, measured, but it carries a weight that makes your stomach churn.

“You flirted with eight men? You owe me eight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, their meaning unclear at first. You blink, your confusion only deepening as you replay the sentence in your mind.

“Eight?” You ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate. His eyes stay locked on yours, cold and unyielding, and you know there’s no point in asking again. He’s already decided — whatever it is he thinks you’ve done, however he’s convinced himself of it, he’s not backing down.

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

For a moment, you want to fight. You want to argue, to demand he explain himself, to push back against this irrational anger that’s tearing him apart. But you’re exhausted — emotionally, mentally, drained from the evening and the unexpected accusation.

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the moment. “I don’t know what you think I owe you, but this … this isn't fair.”

Charles’ eyes don’t leave you as the silence stretches unbearably thin between you. His breath is steady, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way he stands — coiled, waiting. His gaze sharpens, and you feel it like a current, an invisible pull dragging you back toward him.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. You take a step toward him, hesitating for a fraction of a second. His eyes darken, daring you to defy him, but you can’t. You don’t. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that holds you in place, that demands your obedience without ever saying the words.

His hand reaches out, curling around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and he pulls you closer. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unresolved tension and desire. You know what he wants. There’s no mistaking it now.

“You owe me eight,” he repeats, and this time, the meaning behind his words is crystal clear.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the heat rise in your body, your skin prickling under his gaze. There’s no room for argument, no space to deny him. He’s made up his mind, and you … you’re at his mercy.

He doesn’t waste time.

His hands are quick, efficient as he pulls at your dress, the fabric sliding down your body with an ease that makes your pulse race. Every brush of his fingertips ignites something in you, something you can’t control. His touch is rough, but not cruel — dominant, but laced with something deeper, something that sends a thrill down your spine.

You open your mouth to speak, to say something — anything — but the words are gone before they form, lost in the haze of his touch.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your neck. “Not a word. Not until I say.”

And you nod, because what else is there to do? You’re already under his spell, every part of you tuned to him, to the way his hands move, the way his eyes never leave your face. You’re his. For this moment, for as long as he decides, you’re his.

He starts slowly, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin, teasing, coaxing your body into submission. Your breath hitches, and you feel the heat rising in you, the anticipation building with every calculated touch. He’s methodical, deliberate, focusing entirely on you, on what you’re feeling, how you’re reacting. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

“Charles,” you whisper, a breathless plea escaping before you can stop it.

He pulls back just slightly, eyes narrowing. “What did I say?”

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, trying to regain control of yourself, but it’s slipping fast. His touch is too much — precise, intentional — and you can already feel your body unraveling beneath his hands.

Then he starts in earnest.

His fingers move with purpose, finding that spot that makes your breath hitch, your body jerk involuntarily. It’s a slow build at first, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it’s all you can focus on. Your mind goes blank, every thought consumed by the sensation coursing through you.

The first one comes hard, fast, and you gasp, your body arching into him. He doesn’t let up, his fingers relentless, pushing you higher, faster. You barely have time to recover before the second one crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling.

“That’s two,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

You’re barely coherent now, your body no longer your own as he drives you toward the third. He’s focused, unrelenting, and you can’t stop the sounds escaping your lips, broken, breathless moans that fill the room as he pulls you closer to the edge again.

The third comes slower, more drawn out, and by the time it crests, you’re shaking, your body trembling under his touch.

“Three,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost possessive in the way he says it, like he’s claiming each one as his own.

He doesn’t stop. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, and you can feel yourself slipping, your mind clouding with the overwhelming pleasure building inside you. The fourth one crashes into you harder than the last, and you cry out, your body jerking as it hits.

He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “Four.”

You’ve lost count, your mind too hazy to keep track anymore, but Charles hasn’t. He knows exactly where you are, and he’s not done. He won’t be done until you’ve given him everything he’s asked for. Everything he’s demanded.

By the time the fifth one hits, your legs are weak, your body trembling uncontrollably. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure is overwhelming now, consuming, and you’re teetering on the edge of losing yourself completely.

He slows down just for a moment, letting you catch your breath, but the reprieve is brief. His hand moves again, more purposeful now, driving you toward the sixth with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

It hits harder than you expect, your body spasming as it crashes over you. You can’t control the sounds escaping your lips, the soft whimpers and moans that fill the space between you.

Charles is relentless, his fingers never pausing, never giving you a moment to recover. You’re incoherent now, your mind a blur of sensation, your body completely at his mercy.

The seventh one comes before you’ve even had time to process the last, your body convulsing under his touch. You’re barely holding on, your mind fogged, every nerve ending on fire.

And then, the eighth.

It’s slower, drawn out, the pleasure building and building until you’re sure you can’t take any more. When it finally hits, it’s like an explosion, tearing through you, leaving you trembling, incoherent, completely undone.

Your body goes limp, every muscle weak, every thought gone. You can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even breathe properly.

Charles finally stops, his hand withdrawing as he leans back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you, taking in the sight of your trembling body, your flushed skin.

“You owe me nothing now,” he whispers, and there’s a possessive satisfaction in his voice that makes your heart pound, even through the haze.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like warmth spreading across your skin. For a moment, everything is soft, gentle — the sheets tangled around your legs, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of breathing beside you.

And then you feel it — Charles’ fingers.

Your heart skips a beat as you become fully aware of the slow, deliberate movements beneath the sheets. He’s there, under the covers, his body pressed against yours, and his touch … God, his touch is focused, intentional, right where he knows you’re most sensitive.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes flutter open, but everything is still blurry, your mind foggy with sleep and the sudden, electric sensation coursing through you.

“Charles …” your voice is quiet, husky with sleep, but there’s a hint of surprise mixed with something else — something warmer, something stirring deep within you.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his fingers move with more purpose, flicking lightly at the bundle of nerves that’s now fully awake. Your breath hitches, your body responding immediately, instinctively, arching slightly into his touch.

You can’t see him clearly, but you know the look on his face — the intense focus, the way his eyes darken with desire, the way his lips curl into that knowing, smug smile when he knows he’s affecting you.

A soft chuckle escapes from under the sheets. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice low, the words vibrating against your skin. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give you time to adjust to the sudden onslaught of sensation. His fingers continue their work, teasing, circling, flicking, until your body is already trembling beneath him.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out. Your legs twitch involuntarily, and you’re about to speak again, to say something — anything — but he presses down a little harder, his thumb joining his fingers in perfect rhythm.

“Charles-” you gasp, but it’s barely a word, more of a plea, your breath hitching as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely. “What … what are you doing?”

He hums, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he speaks. “Making sure you start the day properly,” he says, the words laced with that unmistakable arrogance that only he can pull off without sounding insufferable.

You can feel the heat rising in your body, spreading from where his fingers work their magic. You’re already sensitive — too sensitive — and he knows it. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, exactly where to touch, how to touch, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

Your hips shift, bucking slightly as his fingers quicken, and you let out a soft whimper, your hand gripping the sheets beneath you. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every precise flick of his fingers, every teasing circle.

“Charles, please …” you whisper, but you don’t know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. The pleasure is already overwhelming, your body still exhausted from last night, but the heat building inside you is impossible to ignore.

“Please, what?” He asks, his voice teasing, almost playful, but there’s a darker edge to it, something commanding. His fingers slow for a brief moment, and you take a shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, his fingers pausing just at the edge of where you need him most, his breath warm against your skin.

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “No,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaky.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what I thought.”

And then his fingers are back, moving with even more purpose than before, faster, more insistent. Your hips lift off the bed, your body moving of its own accord, chasing the sensation, chasing the release you know is coming, but Charles is in control — he’s always in control.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s a command hidden in the softness. “Let me take care of you.”

You try to comply, but your body isn’t listening. Your legs twitch, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers work you closer and closer to the edge. It’s too much, too soon, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the tension in your core coiling so tightly it’s almost painful.

“Charles, I can’t-” you gasp, your voice breaking as your body tenses, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, his voice a mix of gentleness and command. “Just let go. Let me.”

And you do. You don’t have a choice — your body gives in, the tension snapping all at once, and the release crashes over you like a wave, leaving you breathless, trembling, your vision going white for a moment as the pleasure ripples through you.

Your fingers grip the sheets, your back arching as your body rides the waves of your orgasm, and Charles doesn’t stop. His fingers slow, but they don’t stop, drawing out every last bit of pleasure, pushing you through it until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

You’re gasping for breath, your mind fuzzy, your body limp and uncooperative as the aftershocks roll through you. You can’t even form words, your lips parting uselessly as you try to catch your breath.

Charles emerges from under the sheets, his eyes dark and satisfied, a smug smile playing on his lips. He hovers above you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, letting you taste the satisfaction on his lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice soft now, the roughness replaced by something gentler, more tender.

You try to respond, but your body is still too weak, too overwhelmed by the sensations still lingering in your skin. Instead, you just nod, your hand weakly reaching up to brush through his hair.

He chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face, your trembling body. There’s something possessive in his gaze, something that sends a shiver through you despite the heat still coursing through your veins.

“You can take another,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“You can,” he insists, his hand slipping between your thighs again, fingers finding that sensitive spot immediately, and you whimper, your body twitching involuntarily.

“I’m … I’m too sensitive,” you gasp, your hips shifting away instinctively, but he follows you, relentless.

“I know,” he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, teasing circles. “But I want to see you fall apart again. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

There’s no real room for refusal in his voice, and despite the sensitivity, despite the overwhelming pleasure still buzzing in your veins, you find yourself nodding, your body already responding to his touch.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his fingers pressing down harder, and you moan, your body already trembling again, the sensitivity only heightening the pleasure now.

It doesn’t take long — your body is still on edge, still too raw from the first orgasm, and Charles knows exactly how to push you back to the brink. His fingers are relentless, flicking and circling in a rhythm that makes your legs shake, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely.

You try to hold on, try to control it, but it’s impossible. Charles is too skilled, too focused, and your body is too weak, too sensitive. The second orgasm crashes into you faster than the first, more intense, more overwhelming, and you cry out, your body convulsing as the pleasure tears through you.

You’re shaking uncontrollably now, your body completely uncooperative, every muscle trembling as the orgasm rips you apart. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you, leaving you breathless and incoherent.

Charles slows his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re nothing but a quivering, trembling mess beneath him.

When he finally pulls his hand away, you’re gasping for breath, your body limp and useless, your mind a hazy blur of satisfaction and exhaustion. You can’t even open your eyes, can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

Charles leans over you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “That’s my girl.” His breath is warm on your skin, sending shivers down your spine even though your body is already wrecked, trembling, barely holding on to the remnants of what he's given you.

But it doesn’t stop there. You can feel him shifting beside you, his body pressing closer, his chest brushing against your back as he moves. The anticipation builds again, that familiar, heady pull tightening in your core even though you’re exhausted, overstimulated, every nerve in your body screaming that you’ve had enough.

And then you feel it — him. Sliding between your legs, the head of him nudging against you. Your breath catches in your throat, the sensation sharp, almost too sharp, like your body can’t take any more, like you’re already too far gone.

“Charles, I-” you start to protest, but the words come out broken, barely a whisper, swallowed by the overwhelming feeling of him pushing into you, slow, deliberate, but still relentless.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “I know it’s too much. I know.”

But he doesn’t stop. He slides in deeper, stretching you, filling you completely, and the sensation is so intense it feels like fire — burning, bright, consuming. Your body tenses, your fingers gripping the sheets as the overstimulation turns into something almost painful. The pleasure from before mixes with the sharp edge of it, and you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as he presses further in.

“Charles, I can’t-” you try again, but the words are lost, drowned out by the sound of your own breath hitching, your body tightening around him involuntarily, every muscle clenching as you try to cope with the overwhelming sensation.

“You can,” he says again, his voice low and firm, like he’s coaxing you, pulling you through the pain, the pleasure, everything at once. “You can take it. Just breathe.”

You try to listen, try to breathe, but it’s so much — too much. Your legs twitch, your hips buck involuntarily as he moves deeper still, every inch of him sending shockwaves through you. Your vision blurs, your head swimming as the pressure inside you builds again, twisting tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

The overstimulation is like electricity, buzzing under your skin, every nerve on fire. You can feel everything — every inch of him, every stroke, every push — and it’s overwhelming. Your body is trembling uncontrollably now, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teeter on the edge of something you can’t control, something that feels too intense, too much to handle.

Charles’ hands are on you, firm, steady, holding you in place as he thrusts deeper, his movements slow but unyielding, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and pain until you can’t tell the difference anymore. Your mind goes blank, your senses consumed by him, by the way he’s filling you, stretching you, pushing you past every limit you thought you had.

“I know it’s too much,” he whispers again, his lips against your ear, his voice a soft command. “But you can take it. You’re mine, and I want all of you.”

Your vision goes white, then black, the edges of your consciousness fading as the overstimulation hits its peak. The pleasure is so sharp it hurts, a throbbing, pulsing ache that sends your mind spiraling. You can’t see, can’t think, can’t breathe properly. The world tilts, and for a moment, everything disappears — the room, the bed, Charles, all of it swallowed by the overwhelming sensation crashing through you.

It’s like drowning in fire and light, your body suspended in a haze of overstimulation that blurs the line between pleasure and pain. You’re lost in it, your body convulsing as he pushes you further, deeper, until you break.

And then, nothing.

The world goes black.

***

You come back slowly, your body heavy and limp, the overwhelming sensation fading into a dull hum. Your eyelids flutter open, the room coming back into focus, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the sheets. Everything feels distant, like you’re floating just outside of yourself, disconnected but still aware.

Charles’ arms are wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady and warm against your neck. He’s holding you close, his fingers brushing lightly over your arm, grounding you, pulling you back from wherever you had gone. His touch is soft now, gentle, as if he knows you’ve already given him everything, as if he’s calming the storm he unleashed.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but it’s the sound that pulls you fully back, anchoring you in the present. “You with me?”

You nod weakly, though your body still feels like it’s not entirely your own, like you’ve been hollowed out and filled with something entirely different. You’re trembling slightly, your breath coming in shallow, shaky inhales, but you’re here. You’re with him.

Charles shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace. His lips brush the side of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath, the tenderness in the way he’s holding you now. It’s such a stark contrast to the intensity from before, and you cling to it, to him, as you try to gather yourself.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, filled with a deep, quiet pride that makes your heart flutter weakly in your chest. “You’re perfect.”

You can’t speak yet, can’t form the words, so you just nod again, your eyes slipping shut as you let yourself sink into the comfort of his arms. The aftershocks are still rippling through you, small tremors that make you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the storm that had torn through you moments ago.

He’s stroking your hair now, his fingers gentle as they thread through the strands, his movements slow, comforting. “I’ve got you,” he says, as if sensing the lingering haze in your mind. “Just breathe, okay? I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs slowly, and you feel your body start to relax, the tension ebbing away little by little. Charles’ presence is grounding, his steady touch bringing you back to yourself, and you’re grateful for it. For him. For the way he knows exactly how to take care of you, even when you’re completely undone.

“You scared me for a second,” he admits quietly, his voice soft, almost vulnerable, as if he’s sharing something he rarely lets anyone see. “You went somewhere else. I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

You swallow, your throat dry, but you manage to whisper, “I’m okay.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough so he can look at you, his eyes searching your face. “You sure?”

You meet his gaze, your body still weak, but your mind clearer now, and you nod. “Yeah … I’m sure.”

The concern in his eyes fades, replaced by that familiar intensity, the quiet possessiveness that’s always been there, lurking beneath the surface. But now it’s softer, tempered by the care he’s showing you in this moment, by the way he’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “You know that, right?”

You smile faintly, your heart swelling at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re everything. “You don’t make it easy,” you murmur, your voice still shaky, but there’s a hint of teasing in it.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound warm and low, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy, mon amour.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound weak but real, and you close your eyes, leaning into him, letting the comfort of his presence wash over you. Your body is still recovering, still trembling slightly, but you’re safe here, in his arms. You’re okay.

Charles shifts again, settling back into the pillows with you still wrapped in his arms, his hand never leaving your skin, always touching, always grounding you. He holds you like that for a long time, the silence between you filled only with the sound of your breathing, the quiet intimacy of two people who understand each other on a level that words can’t reach.

And as you lie there, cocooned in his warmth, his arms around you like a shield, you hope he finally realizes that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[wheneverfeasible]

Awakenings

wc: 2.3k || rating: T || cw: none || summary: Steve, Robin, and Eddie discuss their queer awakenings with (not-so-) surprising results. || ao3

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Eddie grinned from where he was draped over the Buckleys’ couch, socked feet crossed against the wall as his head hung upside down off the cushions. “Jodie Foster is a babe. Did you see her in Carny?”

Steve laughed at Robin’s red face. “More times than she would like to admit,” he teases her, throwing a half-popped piece of popcorn at her face. Her resulting shriek was worth her throwing an aptly named throw pillow at his head.

Steve doesn’t know exactly how they got on to this topic, but it wasn’t unusual. Ever since Robin came out to Eddie, resulting in Eddie coming out to her in a panic at seeing her look so uncomfortable, which then resulted in Steve having to come out when Eddie panicked about him, well, a lot of their conversations when they were alone devolved into queerdom.

They had been watching music videos on TV and discussing who was hot, which resulted in them talking about how they had discovered they were queer, or maybe should have realized it sooner. Apparently Eddie had been obsessed with this one Irish singer/bassist dude who had recently passed away, which now that he knew he was bi, he realized now had been a celebrity crush.

Which prompted Robin to tell them who had been her lesbian awakening, another celebrity crush.

“Ugh, too bad I don’t have a chance with her,” Robin bemoaned from where she was now trying to smother Steve with the pillow she had thrown at him from their spots on the floor in front of the TV. “Not only is she a celebrity, but she’s also straight!”

Steve laughed, pushing Robin away. “I don’t know, man, you saw that interview she did years ago when asked about boys,” he teased her. “She probably likes boobies too.”

“Stop saying boobies!” Robin shrieked again, grabbing another pillow to smother him with.

Eddie laughed at them, well used to their sibling dynamic. “Well, we all know who awakened little Stevie, don’t we?” he teased, causing the two roughhousing to pause. Which was just as good since they’d ended up knocking over the popcorn bowl, though thankfully it was mostly empty already.

Steve hesitated, wondering if he’d been that obvious. “I truly don’t think you know,” he said dryly, almost mockingly. He wasn’t ashamed of it or embarrassed by it, but he also hadn’t wanted to make anything weird in their friend group.

“C’mon, dude. It’s obvious! Tom Cruise!”

Steve froze. Processed. Let out a groan. “Oh my god, I’ve had a crush on Tom Cruise this whole time,” he whined, dropping back onto the floor on his back. “No wonder Nancy always gave me a look when I wanted to watch his movies.”

Robin and Eddie both laughed at him, though at least Robin had the decency to try to hide hers.

“You mean you didn’t know?” Eddie asked, obviously delighted by that turn of events. “Christ, Harrington, I thought you were going to cream your pants when we watched Top Gun.”

“Well I know I like him now,” Steve complained from his spot on the floor, waving a hand in the air. “But he wasn’t the one who made me realize I was bi.”

“Oooh, then who was it?” Robin teased him, poking him in the ribs to watch him squirm.

Steve rolled his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been obvious then. He sat back up and propped himself up on his hands with a small shrug. Like he said, he wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. Well, maybe embarrassed by what had made him realize, but not the who of it. Never the who.

“Jonathan,” he answered simply.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to squawk, tumbling ass over tits from the couch to the floor as he tried to lift himself up to stare agog at Steve. “WHAT!”

Steve just let out a chuckle, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, pretty early on actually. Well, I didn’t realize it was a small crush yet, but yeah.” He let out a heavy sigh with another roll of his eyes at his two friends’ gaping expressions.

“When was this!” Robin exclaimed. “How could you not tell me about all of this!”

“I just didn’t think it was important,” he huffed. His cheeks turned slightly pink at her first question, however. “Uh…it was…whenhepunchedme,” he said in a rush.

“Sorry, could you repeat that, because it sounds like you said when he punched you!”

Steve could only give her a sheepish grin and another small shrug. “It was kind of hot,” he admitted, causing Robin to throw herself back with a small wail. Eddie was just staring at him with wide eyes, but what else was new. “He liked Nancy and was trying to defend her honor, and then I said those really shitty things about his family when Will was missing.”

Steve sighed. Honestly, he regretted those things the most. Sure, he’d been wrong about what Jonathan and Nancy had been up to, but Nancy hadn’t given him another excuse than cheating on him at the time. Saying those hateful things about the Byers though, when he knew they were hurting? That had been fucked up, especially when he saw what an amazing person Joyce was, and how sweet Will was.

He’d apologized to them all after that first time (minus Lonnie of course because that guy does suck) but he still feels bad about it.

“I just thought it was hot at first though, the strength and male aggression, which made me realize maybe I was the queer. Then I started thinking about how Jon protects those he cares about, and by the time I realized that I felt jealous of both him and Nancy, they were already dating.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie muttered, scrubbing a palm over his face. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a crush on him now,” Steve complained. “But yeah. Jonathan Byers was my bi awakening,” he added with a grin.

“I can’t believe you never told me this,” Robin hissed, smacking him in the arm. “And after the Russian drug confessions and everything!”

“Hey!” Steve said, swatting back at her. He pointed an accusing finger at Eddie. “What about Eddie! He never told us who was his awakening. Just that he should have known sooner than he did.”

Robin’s gaze immediately swerved to take in Eddie’s pinking expression, a wicked grin curling her lips. “That’s right. Who made you realize you were a big fat homo, Munson?”

Eddie chuckled nervously, his gaze darting back and forth between them. “Uh…does it matter?” he hedged, causing Steve and Robin to roll their eyes in sync.

“I told you about Jonathan,” Steve pointed out. “And Robin told you about how she’s been a useless lesbian all her life.”

“Hey!”

“So who did it, Munson? Who made you realize you like boobies and dick,” Steve grinned.

Eddie continued looking at him, eyes wide and face turning pinker by the moment. “I…” An excruciating moment passed before his face crumpled and his squeezed his eyes shut with a nose scrunch Steve had always found adorable. He covered his face in his hands and let out a pained sigh. “It was you, okay,” he said, voice cracking.

Silence.

Steve felt a stutter in his chest, turning to look at Robin who was staring back at him with her own shocked expression. As one, they turned back to look at Eddie.

“Me?” Steve softly asked. He probably shouldn’t feel so smug about that, but he also couldn’t help it. To think that he, Steve Harrington, had been someone’s queer awakening. It was totally going to his head.

“Yes, you,” Eddie huffed, dropping his hands but not raising his head at all.

“When?” Was it back in high school? Back when he was wearing his gym shorts or speedos for swim? Eddie thought he was hot, whenever it was. He tried to keep a smile off his face at the thought.

“When you…” Eddie let out a groan, obviously embarrassed, which…ow? Was he embarrassed he thought Steve attractive? Was this just because Steve was a normie or because of who he’d been in high school?

“When I what?” Steve asked just as softly. He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer now.

“When you bit the bat in the Upside Down,” Eddie admitted in a tone like pulling teeth.

Yeah. Okay. Steve definitely didn’t want the answer now. Because what the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

Eddie flinched a little at Steve’s response. “Look, it was hot okay!” he tried to protest. “At least you weren’t punching my face Mr. I-have-a-crush-on-Jonathan-Byers.”

“Had. Had a crush,” he reflexively corrected. He blinked at Eddie who still refused to look at him. “Are you shitting me right now, Munson? That was when you knew? I thought you’ve known for years!” Steve complained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Did you have a crush on me, or did you just think I was hot?”

He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. Of course Eddie never had a crush on him. Finding a guy attractive was one thing, but actively liking him? Yeah, Steve knew better than to think Eddie could ever like him like that.

“Have,” Eddie whispered.

“What?”

“I have a crush on you,” Eddie mumbled, and then he was finally looking up Steve through his bangs. “I used to think…I mean, you’d never go for the weird guys. But then Byers?” he asked, tone still quiet, but now with a note of derision to it. “I have much better hair.”

Steve blinked. Blinked some more. Then he drew in a shuddering breath. Eddie has a crush on him. As in currently. As in right now.

Oh.

A warmth blossomed up in Steve’s chest, something he’d never imagined possible actually coming true. He cleared his throat, ducking his head a little to try to get a better look through the curtain of Eddie’s hair?

“Do you know what’s hotter than a punch to a face?” When Eddie lifted his head some to stare at him more fully, giving a small shake of his head, Steve grinned. “Being manhandled against a wall with a broken bottle to the neck.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, his face now fully flamed red, and Steve figured that maybe he really did have a thing for dorks. Considering how he was wanting to smother Eddie’s red cheeks with kisses and love devotions, maybe Eddie wasn’t the only dork here, however.

Carefully, slowly, Steve reached out to settle his hand on Eddie’s knee, his thumb lightly stroking the exposed skin there through the other man’s ripped jeans. Eddie stilled beneath him, scarcely seeming to even breathe, which boosted Steve’s confidence. He let his grin settle into something softer.

“So…it was the bats, really?” he lightly teased. “Not my school speedos, or even me shirtless and throwing my sweater at you?” He raised his brows at that. “I really wasn’t being subtle there dude.”

Eddie lifted his head fully then to stare at Steve aghast. “I didn’t know you liked guys! You were practically throwing yourself at Wheeler!”

“Well yeah, you weren’t giving me anything to go off of,” Steve complained rolling his eyes. “And I wasn’t about to make our friendship awkward by telling you I had a crush on you. Why do you think I never told Jonathan? I thought it didn’t matter. Even when you came out as bi—which, you’re welcome, by the way,” Steve added smugly, causing Eddie to scowl and pick up a discarded pillow to throw at him, “you never showed me any interest. Even when I came out as bi.”

“Well, yeah, you’re like…outrageously hot and an ex-jock. I knew better than to get my hopes up,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I should have bit more bats then,” Steve grinned. “Given you more of an incentive.”

“Yeah, okay, Ozzy, but I didn’t—wait, you have a crush on me?”

Steve knew it was mean, but he still laughed at Eddie’s owlish blinking. “Have since the boathouse, but thanks for finally catching up.”

“Oh my god, you are such a bitch!” Despite his words, Eddie was smiling wide, his eyes full of that sparkle Steve loved so much.

Steve could have said something snarky then, but instead he just slid his hand into the hair at the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled the metalhead into a kiss, smiling against his startled lips. It only took a moment for Eddie to respond enthusiastically, however, bringing his own hands up to grab onto the collar of Steve’s shirt as they tumbled backwards.

It took a moment for Steve to even realize Robin was no longer there, didn’t even know when she had left, too trapped in Eddie’s confession. He didn’t truly even acknowledge her absence until she yelled from the kitchen to keep hands above the waist and they only had five more minutes before she was spraying them with water.

Steve chuckled happily against Eddie’s lips, whose answering soft laughter was a balm to his nerves. Eddie liked him back.

It was six minutes later, when Robin really did come back with a spray bottle and forced them apart, that Steve had Eddie curled up on the floor against him with their backs to the sofa, Robin keeping the spray bottle nearby just in case. He didn’t think he had ever been happier.

“Oh, and Oz?” Eddie murmured softly, looking up at him from where he rested his head against Steve’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” Steve answered, feeling something warm and sweet at his apparent new nickname that held so much meaning for the both of them now.

“I am so telling Jonathan you had a crush on him.”

~

I’ve long thought it would be amazing if Eddie nicknamed Steve “Ozzy” and finally I got the chance to put it into a fic. It will definitely be a reoccurring thing though whenever I get the chance tehe

Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

[obsessedwithceleste]

Flowers

soft! Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: You just wanted your boyfriend to buy you flowers. He got a bit confused along the way.

word count: 1.2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You’d never been the type of girl who particularly enjoyed flashy, grand gestures. In fact, the mere thought of all eyes on you as a boy professed his undying love for you made you want to toss yourself off of the astronomy tower. And yet, here you were, watching as Lorenzo Berkshire presented your best friend, Daphne Greengrass, with yet another huge bouquet of gorgeous flowers and wishing your own boyfriend would do the same.

You let out a soft sigh, glancing at your boyfriend whose arm was wrapped securely around your shoulders as the two of you lounged on the sofa in the library. Matteo wasn’t a bad boyfriend by any means. Really, you loved the way he showered you in attention, always eager to please. However, he wasn’t exactly up to speed when it came to romantic gestures. Normally you didn’t mind, but every girl wanted to be treated like a princess sometimes you supposed.

“Oh Enz, these are beautiful!” Daphne gushed, giving her boyfriend a peck on the lips as he smiled adoringly down at her.

“Anything for you love,” the boy replies easily, taking the seat next to her, and pulling her in so that she was leaning into him.

“Geez, get a bloody room would you?” Theodore complains as the two cozy up together.

You roll your eyes at your friend. “Shut it Theo, I think it’s sweet.” You then turn to your own boyfriend. “You know Matteo, Enz gets Daphne flowers every week. I wish you did that.”

Matteo’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives you a confused look.

“Really?” He asks.

You nod earnestly. “I think it’d be nice.”

Matteo gives you another concerned glance before shrugging his shoulders.

“Alright, love.” He says, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You smile warmly at the boy, resting your head on his shoulder before continuing your reading for ancient runes.

“I’m proud of you for finally sticking up for yourself, y/n.” Daphne says, placing her bag down as she takes a seat next to you in the Great Hall.

“Oh? What chapter did we miss?” Pansy asks from across the table where she and Astoria sat.

You furrow your eyebrows, also confused as to where Daph was going with this.

“In the library this afternoon, y/n finally got on Matt’s case about how he never does anything romantic for her. I mean, you’ve been together for what? Almost a year? And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring you flowers. Not once!” Daphne says, filling her plate.

“Oh. I mean, I really don’t mind all that much to be honest. You and Enzo just always look so sweet, I thought it’d be nice for a change. I don’t really expect him to do it every week like Enzo does,” you reply.

“See, but it’s the principle of it all isn’t it? Of course I like the fact that Draco is constantly buying me random gifts, but I would be fine without them. It’s that he’s thinking of me, and taking a bit of time to go out of his way to show me that, yeah?” Astoria says.

You tilt your head, considering your friend’s words.

“I suppose I never thought of it like that,” you tell her.

“Well you should. The bloody bullshit we put up with dating those boys, buying us nice things is really the least they can do,” she replies.

You let out a snort, laughing at your friend’s candidness.

As if to illustrate her point, the rowdy laughter of the boys could be heard from the entrance as they made their way over to your table. You frown as Matteo takes his usual place beside you, seeing a fresh cut on his cheekbone.

“Matteo Bartholomew Riddle.” You sigh, reaching up to touch his face.

“Bartholomew? Bloody hell mate, I’d have to avada myself with a middle name like that,” Draco laughs, plopping down next to Astoria.

He doesn’t even flinch as your finger tips make contact with the cut, only sighing as he glares at Draco before looking down at you with his large puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck off Lucius. And you know that isn’t even my middle name, love,” he says, reaching across the table to steal a roll from Theo’s plate.

“Well you won’t tell me your real one, so I’ll continue making up ridiculous ones until then. Now what on earth did you get up to now, and how many days of detention did you get?”

Matteo frowns, jutting out his bottom lip at you.

“What makes you so sure I got a detention?”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at the boy.

“Three days. With McGonagall.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head and turn back to face Astoria whose face practically read ‘you see what I mean?’

“Man got into a scuffle with some Hufflepuff. Swear those yellow bastards look unassuming but they’re demons,” Theo says filling you and the other girls in.

Matteo glares at his friend.

“Snitch,” he mumbles, stuffing the roll into his mouth.

“Like she wasn’t going to find out anyway,” Theo replies, brushing him off.

Once again rolling your eyes at your boyfriend, you focus on finishing your meal, listening to the idle chatter of your friends as Matteo’s hand finds yours under the table.

By the following week, you had all but forgotten your request for your boyfriend to bring you flowers. When you saw Matteo enter the Great Hall with a large bouquet of assorted flowers however, a smile grew across your face. Then, your smile wavered slightly, growing into confusion as Matteo made his way to the other side of the table, tapping Daphne on the shoulder.

Daphne and Enzo look back at Matteo with utter confusion as your boyfriend thrusts the flowers towards your friend.

“Uh. Here.” He says awkwardly as the two stare up at him with bewilderment.

You blink once. Then twice before Daphne breaks the silence.

“Matteo, respectfully, what the fuck?” She asks.

“Look, I don’t know either. I’m just as confused as you are,” Matteo says, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

You look incredulously between your boyfriend, the flowers, and finally Daphne before realization hits you and your head drops into your hand. This bloody idiot.

“Matteo. Love. When I said, Enzo brings Daphne flowers every week, you should too, I meant for me. As in, you should bring your girlfriend flowers too,” you say with exasperation. Lord help you.

Matteo’s mouth forms an ‘o’ before he smiles sheepishly at you, rounding the table and now thrusting the flowers towards you.

“For you, my lady,” he says proudly.

You let out a laugh, accepting the flowers as your boyfriend takes his seat next to you.

“Matt you are so lucky y/n puts up with your shit,” Daphne sighs, shaking her head fondly at the two of you.

“But also, ever try giving my girl flowers again and I’ll curse your bed. I know where you sleep.” Enzo adds.

“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t scared of you Berkshire you big softie.”

“I’ll Avada you.”

“I’d write you letters in Azkaban.” Daphne says sweetly as the boys continue to throw threats each other’s way.

You shake your head at your friend’s antics, smiling softly as your fingers grazed the soft petals of the flowers your boyfriend had finally presented you with.

“Thank you Matteo,” you say, briefly interrupting the boy’s loud chattering to place a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek.

I know this is so short, but I’ve been wanting to write this scene for the longest time, and couldn’t find a way to fit it into a longer fic 🫠

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

A Father’s Love?

Sam Winchester & daughter!reader, Dean Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You (9-10) are left alone with your dad, who currently is missing his soul, and it doesn’t go well

Update: part 2 is here

“Uncle De, please don’t go.” Your voice was low as you tried to keep your dad—who was in the bathroom—from hearing. “I-I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

Dean felt awful for leaving you like this, but he had no choice. You hadn’t been comfortable with Sam since the moment you’d found out he was back—the same time Dean did. You’d been living with Dean, Lisa, and Ben, and when Sam revealed that he’d been back all along, you instantly didn’t trust him. Dean had been angry, sure, but somehow he just hadn’t seen what you had—that your dad wasn’t really himself.

Of course, eventually the three of you—including Sam, who hadn’t been sure what was wrong with him—discovered the truth: he was soulless. As soon as Dean find out, he felt horrible for not understanding your hesitance before. Now that he knew, he tried to avoid leaving you alone with Sam whenever possible, especially since he didn’t really trust Sam without a soul.

But sometimes it was unavoidable.

“Kiddo, you know I don’t have a choice,” Dean said.

“I don’t like it here with him,” you insisted, refusing to let go of Dean’s sleeve. “He-he’s like daddy’s evil twin or something.”

Dean swallowed. “Sweetheart, he’s not evil, ok? He’s just a little weird right now.”

“Daddy’s weird,” you argued. “This guy is bad.”

Dean ran a hand over his face.

“Baby, please. You know I have to go. He’s gonna be good, I promise, and soon enough he’s gonna be back to regular-old dad, I swear.”

Dean left without another word, and the silence that hung in the motel room was deafening.

“Dean left?” Sam asked as he exited the bathroom. You ignored his question—he didn’t actually care, after all—and you went to sit on your bed. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you went. The motel stayed the worst kind of silence as you pretended to read while Sam just stared at you.

“What do you want?” You demanded finally, dropping the book. Your voice was nowhere near as firm as you wanted it to be.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question.

“You hated me first.” Unlike Sam, you couldn’t look at him while you accused him. Even without looking at the shell that used to be your dad, you could feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes as you waited for him to speak.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffed. “I mean, I don’t particularly care about you, but I don’t hate you.”

Somehow, apathy was even worse.

“Just leave me alone,” you mumbled. You shouldn’t have been surprised when Sam shrugged and obeyed. You felt your eyes drifting to him as he pulled a beer from the fridge and took it to his bed. His eyes caught yours and he frowned.

“What? You said leave you alone.”

“Dad wouldn’t have listened,” you mumbled, but Sam heard you anyway.

“Well, I’m not your dad,” Sam shrugged. “I’m not Sam, not anymore.”

“Ok.” You turned to face away from him. “Now I mean it. Leave me be.”

But Sam was suddenly intrigued, and he ignored your request.

“You and Dean wanted me to stop pretending to be him. This is just me not pretending.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you,” you said, your eyes downcast.

“Exactly, and I don’t like you either. I mean, you’re kind of a brat.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” you said, finally looking up.

“You beg Dean to keep you with him all the time like I’m gonna hurt you or something, it’s pathetic.” Sam seemed to be getting a real kick out of finally saying all that he’d been thinking over the past few weeks.

“I said leave me alone!” You yelled at him, but he didn’t listen.

“I mean, I remember caring about you when I was that other guy, I just…I just can’t remember why.”

“Go away! Leave me be!” You were on your feet now, shoving and pushing at Sam, but the giant man didn’t even flinch.

“I mean your just a little pest!”

“Stop it! Just go away!”

Crying, overwhelmed, and so unbelievably hurt, you started to slap at the guy who used to be your dad, smacking his neck, his face, whatever you could reach. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t having so much fun anymore.

“Hey!” Though your slaps had little effect on him, one harsh blow from Sam had you flat on your back, dazed and breathing hard. You could still feel the impact of his palm against your cheek, and you couldn’t scramble away from him fast enough.

“If you’re gonna give it out, you should be prepared to take it,” Sam muttered gruffly.

You were on your feet in an instant, and you were out the door before you’d even made the decision to leave.

“Hey!” You could hear your dad—no, not your dad—following after you, and you barely made it five steps out of the room before his arms were around you and dragging you back in.

“Stop it!” You were crying now, and you couldn’t remember when you’d started. “Let me go!”

“If I lose you, Dean’s never gonna help me,” Sam grunted, shoving you back into the room and closing the door behind him. “So how about we all just calm down here.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. “You don’t hit me, I won’t hit you.”

That would’ve sounded reasonable enough, if not for one thing—your desperate smacks to his skin had done nothing to him, they hadn’t even hurt, but you could already feel the side of your face swelling where he’d hit you. But you didn’t argue with Sam. You didn’t even speak. You just sat on your bed and turned your back on him, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your knees so you could cry in peace.

Sam left you alone for several minutes, but his sudden hand on your shoulder had you flinching back violently and scrambling away from him.

“Would you calm down?” Sam huffed as he let go. He was holding out a frozen bag of peas. “Put this on it.”

You took it hesitantly and slowly pressed the cold bag to your face.

“Look…” Sam’s hand was back on your shoulder, only now his giant fingers were right at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and they were squeezing way too hard. “Dean would kill me if he figured out what happened, ok? And he certainly wouldn’t be helping me anymore. So maybe…maybe you just tell him you fell in the shower or something, ok?” He said it like a question, but the grip on your shoulder and the ice in his eyes told the truth; he expected you to lie to Uncle Dean, and you didn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

“Ok,” you whispered, and his hand was gone in an instant.

“Ok,” he said firmly.

Then he turned his back on you and left you alone to cry.

��

The swelling was down by the time Dean returned, but you’d looked in the mirror long enough to see a black and purple bruise forming along almost one whole side of your face.

You resisted the urge to run to your uncle the moment he stepped in the door—if you acted scared, he would figure it out, and Sam would be mad. Instead, you stayed where you were with your head down, your hair covering most of the bruise.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. “You guys ok?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said simply. You’d been hoping that he would lie for you, so you didn’t have to, but he seemed content to leave things quiet.

“You sure?” Dean was watching you now, noticing your uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m ok,” your voice was hoarse from crying, and Dean wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong?” Dean was in front of you in an instant, brushing your hair behind your ears. His hand recoiled when he saw the bruise. “What happened?”

“I—“ you looked up to face Dean, and your voice caught in your throat when you saw Sam staring daggers at you from behind your uncle’s shoulder. “I f-fell.”

“Fell?” Dean frowned.

You nodded. “In-in the shower.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Out. Now.”

“Me?” When had Sam become such a good actor? He looked as innocent as ever. “What did I do?”

Despite his acting, Dean wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Get out! I need to talk to her alone.”

The moment Sam was out the door, Dean was tilting your chin up with a feather-light hand at your chin.

“He hit you, didn’t he.” Dean wasn’t asking.

“I fell,” you lied, the tears in your eyes giving you away.

“Don’t lie for him,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t kick him out,” you pleaded. “We-we have to help him get his soul back. This isn’t him, Uncle Dean.”

“I know it’s not,” Dean sighed. “But I need you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe when my dad is back.”

…

“You stay away from her.” Dean didn’t give Sam a chance to speak when he let him back into the room.

“Fine.” Sam was done lying—it hadn’t done any good.

“And if you ever touch her again, you’re gone, understand?”

Sam didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t argue.

“I understand.”

…

You slept in Dean’s bed that night—you hadn’t shared a bed with your father since he came back soulless—and Sam went out to do whatever it was that he did while you guys slept. Apparently being soulless meant you didn’t sleep.

“Are you ok?” Dean asked. “And don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” you mumbled. “I just…I just miss him.”

Dens pulled you into his arms as you started to cry.

“I know, sweetheart. I miss him too. We’re gonna get him back, ok? I promise.”

“Ok Uncle Dean.”

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