#i wonder if they ever wake up in a cold sweat over it

[starliers]

if i had a nickel for every time i liked a blonde, american, lesbian boomer who fumbled her bisexual, british girlfriend, i would have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

[beloveds-embrace]

what if duchess!reader is kidnapped... just thinking..

I love your thinking 👁️👁️ fyi writing heavy action is not my thing at all as I’ve found out while writing this 💀 CW: sexual assault (not rape)

Dukedom au masterlist

The day had started like any other. You’d awoken to the soft, warm light filtering through the curtains, greeted by the warmth of your bed and the quiet hum of the household waking up around you. You were the only one still in bed; Johnny and Simon wake up the earliest every day, then Kyle, then John, and you deduce that you must’ve not had much to do on your agenda if they had let you sleep in.

Your heart sighed, happy. They cared for you so much, you adored them.

Everything was normal from then on. You showered and dressed, had breakfast with Johnny and Kyle, got stolen kisses from Simon and John.

Everything was normal.

Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The memory of how it all happened is fragmented- too fast, too sudden. You’d gone to the gardens for a stroll, accompanied by one maid and a single guard, a routine walk to clear your mind, get some fresh air in such nice weather. But the ambush was swift. Shadows that hadn’t been there before moved, voices hissed sharp commands, and then- pain. A sharp, stinging pain at the back of your head before everything went dark.

When you awoke, you were bound. Cold stone walls and floors surrounded you, damp and suffocating, the air stale with the scent of decay. The faint flicker of candlelight illuminated the room, but no one was there at first. You couldn’t even tell how long you had been out. Fear threatened to choke you, but you forced yourself to breathe. To think.

John, Simon, Kyle, Johnny- they’ll save you. They will. That thought kept you from truly panicking, even if your heart thundered against your chest and your body trembled, tears in the corners of your eyes.

The news hit John like a thunderclap. His ears rang, and he almost didn’t believe the words at first.

“She’s gone,” Kyle reported, his usually calm demeanor shattered. His fists were clenched, slammed on John’s desk, and his voice shook despite his best efforts to remain steady. “The guards- dead. The maid survived, but barely. It was an ambush. Everyone is tightening up the security right now, but- they’ve taken her.”

John didn’t stop to ask questions. Orders were barked, search parties sent out, guards work at hard. Simon was already armored and saddling his horse before John had even finished speaking. Johnny abandoned his kitchen entirely, storming out with sleeves rolled up, his eyes sharp and lethal in a way no one had ever seen before. And Kyle was barely holding himself together in his anger, but there was a fire burning behind his eyes that promised hell for whoever dared lay a hand on you.

None of them stopped to think. None of them cared about anything other than getting you back.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, cold and the ropes digging into your skin painfully when the door creaked open.

The man who entered reeked of sweat and desperation, and his grin made your stomach churn. It took strength not to gag as he neared you, grimy fingers grabbing your chin roughly. “The Duke will pay handsomely for you,” he sneered. “And if he doesn’t… well, I’m sure we can find other uses for you.”

The smirk that (dis)graced his face then alarmed you, even more so when he reached to rip off the fabric of your dress, around your collar.

You flinchd, terror clawing at your throat. The tears rolled down your cheeks then, and yet he only laughed, his rancid breath wafting over your face.

“Wonder how much he’ll pay for you, eh?” He mused. “Pretty face and probably a pretty cunt too, don’t think the Duke will let ya go that easily.”

You forced yourself to speak calmly, even if your voice trembled. Shame clawed at you, at his words and the way he talked about you. “You won’t get a single coin from him,” you said, steadier than you felt. “He’s a man who doesn’t bargain with scum.”

The chair you’d been tied to groaned as you threw your weight sideways suddenly, toppling it over and surprising him just long enough for you to maybe- just- knock him out, something to get his hands off you-

But you didn’t have to.

Because then, there was shouting. The door burst open, and the first thing you saw was Simon’s familiar, towering frame filling the entrance. Blood smeared his armor, and his eyes through his mask- normally sharp and calculating- were wild with rage.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

The sounds of swords clanging rang out from outside, and your captor crumpled to the ground before he could even react and you were so glad it was too dark for you to see his blood coating Simon’s sword; the smell alone had you gagging. Though it was forgotten as Simon rushed to cradle you.

Then they were there- all of them. John’s hands shook with rage as he knelt beside you, pulling at your bindings with urgency. Kyle hovered just behind him, dagger stained, and Johnny was at your other side, pressing his hands to your face, whispering reassurances even as his voice wavered.

“You’re safe, love. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

The ride back home was quiet, save for your stressed weeping. They didn’t ask questions- not yet. Instead, they focused on keeping you warm, wrapped in John’s coat as Kyle’s arms held you steady in the carriage. Johnny never stopped touching you, even if it was just to brush his fingers against your hand.

They did not stop your tears; they let you sob it all out, as much as possible. The fear, the panic, everything, and you simply clung to them.

It was only once you were home, surrounded by the familiarity of your rooms and you were calmer, that the questions came.

“Are you hurt, my love?” John asked first, his voice gentle but commanding. “Did they…” He couldn’t even finish the question, his throat tightening.

“No,” you said quickly, voice hoarse, reaching for his hand. “They didn’t. I swear it.”

Relief flooded his face, but it was fleeting. Kyle had already left to prepare a bath, and Simon stood by the door like a sentry. Johnny sat at your feet, eyes locked on yours.

“Ye need to eat,” he suddenly said, as if being reminded. His face softened when he caught the way your lips twisted. “I ken ye probably have no appetite, but ye gotta hold something down, lass.”

They didn’t leave you alone that night. Not even for a moment, and they were the ones to help you shower and dress. They held you close, touches gentle, soothing. Simon’s dogs were there, as well, napping by the fireplace.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, trembling from the remnants of fear, it was Simon’s voice that soothed you.

“You’re safe, darling,” he whispered against your hair, arms wound around you like a cocoon of safety and security. “No one will ever touch you again.”

You believed him. You did. And yet- you still clung to him, to all of them, desperate for any touch that would remind you where you are.

And they were all too willing to soothe your fears (they needed it as much as you did, anyways).

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Will Graham X Reader: Nightcap

Summary: Will needs a little help going to sleep after a nightmare.

Warnings: not proof read, smut, cowgirl, oral (f & m receiving), penetration ( p in v), pet names (baby), cursing, nightmares, cum eating, no use of y/n.

Word count: 1,8 K

He’s sweating through his sheets.

Even in his hazy state he can feel the cold sweat that covers his body. He tries to wake himself up but his body refuses. He’s staring at the stag before him. The animal itself isn't threatening. It's the feelings that come with it that cause Will to shake in bed. He feels something grab onto his shoulder and turns to look at what was touching him. His eyes find you, your mouth is open wide as if you were screaming but no sound comes out. He calls out your name just as his body sinks into the ground. 

Will snapped up from his bed, his heart hammering in his chest. His wet clothes cling to his body uncomfortably. He’s been in this situation before, the only difference is that this time he’s not alone. You're here with him. He feels bad for waking you up but he's glad he’s not alone. The palm of your hand warms his arm, causing him to stare at it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Nightmares.”

“Are they always that bad?”

Will stops staring at your hand on him opting to look at your face. You're looking at him like a wounded animal and he hates it. But he supposes it's better than looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Not always but yeah most of them are…”

“Intense?”

“That's a word for it.”

Of course the only night he has someone sleep over he has one of the worst nightmares he’s had in months. He must have been quite loud for you to be able to hear him from another room.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I was on my way to get a cup of water when I heard you. You sounded scared so I thought maybe I should check on you.”

Your relationship with Will was odd. You weren’t exactly friends but you weren’t just coworkers either. You’d been helping him organize information for his next class and hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Will hated the thought of you driving in the dark because of him so he offered you a place to crash.

It was the first time you’d truly seen Will. You helped him cook dinner and the two of you had shared a bottle of wine. You talked until your eyes started to feel heavy. Will showed you to your bed and bid you goodnight. It all felt very intimate. You weren’t sleeping in his bed but this was the closest you’d been to each other outside of work. Will didn’t really know how to behave around you. He’d flush when you said anything remotely flirty to him and he would often find himself observing you as you worked. He was fascinated by you but instead of telling you that he bottled his desire deep inside himself. 

“Do you have more sheets?”

“Yeah in the closet.”

You moved over to the closet, searching for a fresh set of sheets. Will rose from the bed beginning to tug on the soaked sheets. He bundled the fabric in his hands before throwing it into the hamper. You made your way to him, handing him the clean sheets. The two of you worked together making the bed quickly. You pat Will's pillow lightly before moving away from the bed. 

“There. Good as new!”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Silence fell over the room. You started at the bed wondering if anyone had ever had the pleasure of sharing the space with Will. Will watched you deep in thought. He used the opportunity to observe you. Your body was covered by one of his shirts. It was an old piece of clothing, worn down by time but you made it work. An overwhelming need to move closer towards you consumed him all of a sudden. He decided to act on it. He inched himself towards you slowly, not wanting to break your train of thought.

You didn’t notice him move. When you turned to look at him, expecting him to still be far from you, you bumped into him accidentally. The palms of your hands came in contact with his chest. Will looked down at where your body touched his. Before he could do anything you pulled away, creating some distance between you two. You let out a small laugh, stuttering a bit as you spoke.

“I’m gonna get out of your hair. Goodnight.”

You spun on your heels rolling your eyes at yourself. How could such a small amount of contact flustered you so much? Will reached out to you, his hand grabbing onto your arm. You felt the tug on your arm making you stop and turn. 

“Stay.”

“We have work tomorrow. You need to sleep, Will.”

“I won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Stay with me. We can talk until we feel tired again.”

You knew you should say no but the way Will was looking at you:  eyes glossy due to lack of sleep, hair tousled due to his abrupt awakening, lips slightly parted as he waited for your response, made it impossible. So you stayed. 

What's the worst that could happen?

Things escalated quickly. You’d gone from talking about work, to intensely making out, to Will begging to eat you out in a matter of minutes.

And you let him.

Your hands curled into Will's curls as his tongue moved over your clit. His hands grab onto your thighs as you squirm beneath him. 

“Will ah i can’t-”

“Come on just one more. You can do it baby.”

He’d said he needed to destress a bit before going to sleep again and what better way to take his mind off things than absolutely ravaging you with his tongue. He’d already made you cum twice but he needed to feel you spill your juices one more time. Just a bit more and he’d be satisfied. He’d said that but it was a lie. From the second he’d felt your lips on his he knew he’d never get enough of the taste of you. He was clawing so harshly at your legs you were sure you’d have scratch marks tomorrow. The thought of having a reminder of him on your body, even if for a little while, exited you. Your hips rose from the bed as you reached your third orgasm. Will kept licking at you until you had to physically push his face off you. He laid his head on your thigh, staring up at you like a puppy. A warm smile spread over Will's face as he watched your chest rise and fall. He would have never imagined he’d find himself in this situation.  You let out a content sigh, finally opening your eyes to look at him. He was looking up at you like a god. It was then that you noticed he was waiting for you to tell him what you wanted. You placed your hand on his face, thumb stroking his cheek as you called out his name. 

“Yes beautiful?”

“Come give me a kiss.”

You felt the weight on your legs dissipate as he rose from the bed. He crawled over your body, arms flexing as he moved. Once he’d gotten face to face with you he leant down slowly to place a kiss on your lips. You held his face, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Your legs wound around Wills hips as you made out. He let out a small grunt when you accidentally grazed his hard on. Using all of your body weight you managed to flip your positions around so that you were on top of Will. You grinned down at him, hands splayed against his chest as you rocked your hips slowly.

“My turn.”

You inched your body down his. Will's breath hitched as you gave his hipbone a kiss. His hands gripped at the fresh sheets as you continued to tease him over his boxers. It was only when he let out a breathy “please” that you decided to indulge him. You tugged his boxers down, freeing his dick. You held him in your hand enjoying the weight for a moment before beginning to stroke him. The Will Graham you were currently seeing was nothing like the one you were used to. You’d never seen Will's body so relaxed. Your lips ghosted the tip of his dick causing him to whine.

“You want my mouth Will?”

“Shit baby please.”

He sounded so pretty for you. How could you deny him? As soon as your lips wrapped around his dick Will swore he’d never be able to forget the feeling. You boobed your head, tongue moving over the veins of his dick. Will tugged at your hair roughly, not being able to control his strength due to the pleasure you were giving him. Tears fell from your eyes as you gagged around his dick. He felt the droplets fall on his thighs causing him to raise his head from the people to look at you. A deep moan made its way out of Will as he began to buck his hips. Your grip on his legs tightened as he fucked into your throat. He was getting closer and closer to the edge. You waited eagerly for him to blow his load but then all of a sudden he was tugging you off of him. 

“ Will what’s wro-”

“Sorry baby can’t take it any longer.”

Will roughly tugged you onto him. He positioned himself at your entrance and before you could even process what was going on he sunk into you. You moaned out his name as he filled you up. On instinct you started bouncing on his dick. 

“That’s it baby. Ride me.”

“Jesus Will…you feel so good.”

His hands guided your movements forcing you to move faster and faster as he desperately tried to find release. 

“Fuck i’m gonna cum”

“Give to me Will.”

“Ah shit!”

Wills hips bucked up one last time spilling his load into your. YOu continued grinding on him as he came down from his high. Your hands moved to remove the curls that stuck to his forehead. Will gave you a sleepy smile as you caressed him. You leaned down to give him a kiss. His arms wrapped around your body holding you to him. You closed your eyes hearing the small snores that started to slip out of Will. You nuzzled your body closer to him.

“Good night Will.”

When Will woke up the next morning he found your frame nuzzled into his side, his arm slung over your waist. He placed a kiss on your temple before closing his eyes again. Sleep washed over him quickly. 

He waited from the nightmares to come.

They never did.

[distantdarlings]

ACROSS YOUR SKIN // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.6K WORDS

Theo Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* During a Quidditch practice, you accidentally harm Theo and you both learn something new about him.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Sub!Theo, Dom!reader, Oral sex (male giving, fem receiving), consensual hitting, heavy kissing, language, Quidditch injury, fem reader (lmk if I missed something) (not proofread)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Sweat - ZAYN

- - -

The entirety of this practice had shot by like a knife through air. You could feel the air slicing across your body, penetrating your Quidditch uniform.

The darkened clouds overhead danced along the horizon, concealing the golden sun from the pitch. Your eyes scattered across the field in an attempt to locate the Seeker.

In a flash of green and black, a robed bolt of lightning shot across the pitch, heading downward toward the smallest glint of gold. The Snitch.

You shot your head up, and just as you did, a Bludger sped around the edge of the arena, heading straight for him. You clenched your jaw and angled your broom toward the speeding bullet.

“Blaise!” you shouted over the whoosh of the brooms around you. The boy’s dark eyes found yours quickly.

“Head that off!”

Despite Blaise’s position on the team, he caught sight of the flying Bludger and raced off toward it once he realized you wouldn’t catch it in time.

Today's game was a sort of scrimmage for the Slytherin team to practice. Your team often did this instead of running drills like the Gryffindors. Your teammates found they were better if they practiced the way they played—and you’d have to agree. The game got your heart racing, not stupid drills.

Just as Blaise reached the Bludger, he caught the edge of the heavy object with the tail-end of his broom, using its vortex of built-up speed to send the small ball hurtling toward you.

You gripped your bat, and just before it collided with your arm, you swung wildly. The force of the Bludger hitting your bat sounded like thunder.

You watched as it slung off in the direction of the opposite team’s Quaffle.

You admitted that in the heat of the game, you didn’t consider that the opposite team wasn’t really that; it was your team pretending to be another.

“Watch it! Sorry!” you shouted.

Theodore Nott was in a spiral towards the ground, chasing after the Quaffle Berkshire missed, when the Bludger clipped the end of his broom.

His broom stuttered at the impact and sent him circuiting in the opposite direction. With a deepened yelp, he was thrown violently through the air.

“Theo!” you shouted. You gripped the handle of your broom and pushed it toward the ground. Your hair whipped wildly around you as you rocketed toward the boy who now lay collapsed against the damp sand.

Just before you reached the ground, you pulled up and lept off of the wood, running to gain your balance on the uneven ground. You sped toward the motionless boy, trying to keep your footing.

“Theo!”

The game above you had ceased, and other teammates began to drop behind you, trying to reach the two of you.

You dropped down to your knees beside him and laid your body across his. Your gloved hands gripped his shoulders and shook him roughly, trying to stir some consciousness, but there was nothing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, fretting endlessly. You pressed your cold hands to his face in an attempt to shock him awake. Nothing.

“Fuck, Theo! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

You were shaking him and shaking him and—

“THEO!” You brought your hand down across his face swiftly, skin meeting skin in a fiery clap.

Theo’s eyes shot open with a small gasp. A deep sigh of relief pushed from your lungs, and you leaned your forehead against his in a moment of weakness.

Your skin pressed against his, the beads of sweat intermingling like a crown of frost. Your gloved fingertips were gently against his cheeks. Both of your lips were parted, breaths heavy and relieved.

“I wonder if you’d ever do that to me again, bella,” his raspy voice purred against your ear.

“Ugh!” You wrenched yourself away from him, relief turning to annoyance. Of course, he’d take this moment to say something sexual.

“Alright, that’s practice! Everybody get washed up—I’ll get Nott to the infirmary.”

With that, a few of your teammates helped Theo toward the pitch’s exit, and the rest of you headed back for a cold shower.

***

It was a Friday evening which meant that all of your roommates were out for the evening—flitting about Hogsmeade, studying in the library, or whatever. You’d been invited out, but you were unbelievably sore from this afternoon’s practice. Be it because you’d pushed your body as hard as it could go during the actual practice or because you’d practically dove off your broom to get to Theo, you didn’t know. Either way, you were taking an early night.

You were, anyway, until you heard a knock at your door.

At first, you’d just assumed it was one of your roommates checking in for the night, but you were sure you hadn’t locked the door.

You rolled over and faced the thick wooden door, waiting for another knock, just in case you’d imagined it. You didn’t want to get up if you didn’t have to—especially after you’d already gotten so comfortable.

Another knock came to the door, this time a bit quicker and rougher.

You suppressed a sigh and yanked your covers back, headed toward the door at the end of the room. Whoever it was had better have a decent excuse for interrupting your rest. Every step you took felt like a dagger shooting up your legs and back.

The minute your fingers wrapped around the door handle and pulled it back, a tall figure pushed past you and into the room.

“Hey, what—” you began to protest before a voice interrupted yours. It was the same rasping, deep voice from earlier on the Quidditch pitch—one you knew all too well.

“Please, bella, let me stay,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This was Theo. The two of you had been on the same Quidditch team since you were eleven, you knew everything there was to know about each other. Except how badly he apparently wanted you, it seemed.

“Theo, I—”

“Please,” he spoke, eyes wide and wanting. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let me have you—just this once.”

“We can’t do this…we’re in the same house, on the same team, we’d just fuck everything up!” you tried to reason with him. There were a thousand reasons why nothing romantic should ever happen between you and Theo and zero reasons why they should, yet…the way he stared at you with such desire imprinted in his oceanic eyes had your knees weak.

“Please, I will do anything to have you,” he said. His voice cracked beneath the weight of his desire, the volume little more than a pathetic whisper.

And just as you were about to turn him away for the final time, he sank down to his knees just before you. His hands reached out for you, asking wordlessly to touch you. When you didn’t pull away, his shaking fingers made contact with your bare legs.

One arm curled around one leg, and the other pushed between your thighs. With begging strength, he pulled himself to you, pressing his shuddering, parted lips gently against your flesh. The feeling of his hot breath against your skin sent chills across your body.

Your eyes fluttered for a fleeting second as you imagined the possibilities—ones of you tangled within the sheets and devouring every inch of his body.

“Please,” he practically whined the word, his breath hot and panting against you. His hands clutched your legs endlessly, his lips across your skin, your fingers curling in his hair. You didn’t really recall doing that. Fuck.

“Okay, Teddy,” you whispered. His head shot up quickly, and his eyes searched yours. He looked in disbelief as if he hardly believed you’d ever say yes.

“But you do everything I say.” You removed one of your hands from his curls to trace the knuckles down the length of his cheek.

“Yes, bella,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your hands on his skin.

His breath caught in his throat as your next words hit his ears. His eyes glanced up at you only for a moment before he was slipping his trembling fingers beneath the fabric of your night shorts.

His touch felt like fire along your flesh, melting and scarring everything it touched. Your head tilted back slowly as he worked the clothing down your legs, his movements slow and methodical.

Just as soon as they were on, your shorts pooled on the floor around your ankles, and Theo pressed his nose to your core, eliciting an electric response from you.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as the tip of his nose bumped against you. It was clear from his slowed breathing and caressing lips that he wanted to touch you badly. But still, he listened.

When giving instructions, you had told him to pull your bottoms down and to place himself just before you but not to touch you yet. You wanted him to beg even more. You loved how pathetic he sounded.

“Baby,” he whispered against your skin, hot breath flowing down your legs. His pale eyes stared up at you with desperation leaking around the edges. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, begging you to allow him to touch you. His fingers practically vibrated along the edge of your skin, every other shudder forcing him to come into contact with you.

“What do you say, Teddy?” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Please…,” he whispered, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your nightshirt. “How many times shall I say it? I’ll say it a thousand times if I have to.”

“Just once more, then you can touch.”

“Please, my love.” His voice was soft and cracking. The words he chose made your head spin, making you wonder what kind of feelings he was truly harboring for you. Were they purely sexual or perhaps something more? You weren’t sure. It was a question for another day.

“Touch me, Teddy.”

With a shuddering exhale, he pressed his mouth to the core of your body in a hot, languorous motion. At the feeling, your fingers returned to their station in his hair, pulsating against his scalp. Your head rolled back against your shoulders. Your throat strained against the flesh of your neck, sending sparks of sound down through your chest at every moan that exited your lips.

He destroyed you sweetly from the outside in, feasting on you like fruit in the summer. His desperation to touch you, to taste you, to fuck you was pulsing through him like a bullet. Your legs began to shake beneath the feeling of his lips on you.

When he realized your knees had begun to shake, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed you up and over onto your bed.

As your back hit the length of your mattress, a soft gasp left you as you realized his lips had never left you. He had never pulled away from you despite the motion. He had never pulled away, and your end was rapidly approaching.

“Close,” you whispered to the air. At the word, Theo’s hands clutched around your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to his mean mouth. A yelp escaped your lips at the sudden intensity of his tongue. Nothing could have ever prepared you for the feeling of the boy beneath you.

His eyes refused to leave you. They resembled that of a predator in the wild feasting on his prey, with no regret of what he was consuming. He could have eaten you whole right now, and you would not have felt any less pleasure.

Your fingers wrapped into the duvet beneath you, pressure increasing with each second. The breaths entering and exiting you increased heavily as your body skated closer and closer to the edge.

A small groan from Theo’s mouth sent shockwaves up the length of your body. The fuzzy feeling pooled in your head at the base of your skull and neck. You weren’t going to last much longer.

You glanced down to warn Theo that he would have to move away when you registered what the boy beneath you was doing. His eyes, now peacefully shut, refused to falter despite his body's motion.

His hips rolled roughly into the edge of your mattress, pushing pleasure through the rest of his body. His eyebrows began to knit into a rough line just as you began to tip over the edge of your mind. Your head rolled back against your pillow, Theo’s mouth showing no mercy despite the pleasure he was now giving himself.

You could barely stand to hold onto the comforters above you anymore; the only thing you could bear to grip was Theo’s honeyed curls, and with each tug to the delicate strand, he’d release another moan against you.

In a second, you fell over the edge, cascading into an overwhelming high that rose your body away from the bed. No matter how far into it you were, Theo refused to slow down and moved you through the whole moment, never relinquishing his mouth’s movements.

You finished with a cracking groan and shuddering legs. The weight of Theo’s hands against your thighs barely kept them from rising off the bed.

He chuckled evilly, a mixture of slick and spit running down his chin and neck. His lips were swollen and reddened, begging to taste your mouth.

He began to crawl up the bed towards you, but you stopped him with a foot placed delicately on his chest. You shook your head weakly and angled your head towards the obvious problem that had blossomed beneath his trousers. A lazy smirk spread across his lips.

“Finish,” you demanded, your eyes heavy and lidded, your lips parted and panting. The sweat from your exertion bled down your neck and between your breasts.

“Please, bella, let me touch you—”

“No, you’ve touched me enough,” you whispered. “Finish yourself in front of me.”

He swallowed thickly, the motion of his throat sending a shiver across your arms. He was the perfect specimen of a man, you could hardly stand it.

And when his hands dropped to separate the button and zipper of his pants, you could have come again. His hands slid across his slick stomach and pressed against himself.

His eyes screwed shut, and a slight hiss left his lips at the sensation. There was something so empowering about watching him do anything you told him to. It felt absolutely perfect, and you never wanted to stop.

His free hand rose to his face and slid the remaining sheen from his mouth across himself, the scent of you mixed with the consistency had him very quickly rolling his hips into his fist. He groaned against the feeling, bracing himself on the mattress just above you.

His eyes could barely hold yours, yet every time they fluttered shut, you laid a light slap to his cheek.

“Keep your eyes on me, Teddy,” you whispered. The skin on his face was becoming redder by the moment, but every time your hand came into contact with his cheek, he seemed to get closer to his climax. You never would have pegged Theo as someone who wanted to be hit by his partner, but it seemed to be working wonders for him. He was pathetic and begging for more after two or three hits. It felt perfect.

“That’s it, Teddy, that’s it, baby,” you whispered against his swollen lips. “Take it.”

And within a few moments, he was groaning and releasing himself against his hands, and you were pulling his lips to yours by his hair and devouring him just as he’d done to you.

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch

[giuseppe-yuki]

ice water

oscar piastri x duck shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: a singular curse word- other that that, none

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: mclaren hospitality somehow runs out of cold water; you have to get creative.

picture credits from pinterest :)

the weather at the miami circuit was, simply, hot as fuck. as soon as you climbed out of the oscar’s mclaren, clutching your miu miu handbag, you felt a wave of hot and humid florida air wash over you. oscar, ever the gentleman, clocks your discomfort immediately and leads you toward the paddock entrance. keeping one hand on your back protectively, he scans his badge and guides you towards mclaren hospitality.

being able to shapeshift into a duck at will definitely had its perks, but that also meant you gained some of the more negative aspects too. because ducks didn’t have sweat glands, you overheated really easily in extreme heat. 

“oscar!!” “over here!” “please sign my hat!!!”

before you and oscar could reach the motorhome, a crowd of fans spotted the mclaren driver. they surge forward, pens at the ready and cameras turned on. he turns, apologies at the tip of his tongue and mind running fast to think of a quick excuse so he doesn’t need to stay outside a second longer. before he can say anything, you turn to him.

“its okay baby, you can sign their hats and do whatever you need to- i can find some water by myself!" you smile at him reassuringly, then give him a peck on the cheek. those fans probably paid an insane amount of money in order to access the paddock, and it wasn’t every day you saw the insanely talented mclaren driver, oscar piastri, strolling around. to be honest, it still shocked you sometimes, having the privilege to wake up to his adorable sleepy face in the morning. (even though he does get mad at you for leaving your feathers everywhere on the bed)

“alright.” oscar says hesitantly. he then smiles that polite cat smile that he always does, wraps his arms around you, and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. “don’t get lost!” he quips, before he reaches toward a fan’s open sharpie. 

you roll your eyes and head into the team motorhome. 

as you step inside, you immediately bump violently into lando. its actually a wonder that you didn’t notice him, as he is dressed in his bright papaya hoodie and obnoxiously neon yellow bucket hat with his signature black patterns. he looks irritated, although his annoyed look immediately disappears once he notices it’s you. 

“oops- sorry,” you splutter out, “you okay?” 

“yeah i’m fine,” he says, flashing you a smile. the annoyed expression comes back though, and he adds, “except for the fact that its fucking 40 degrees celcius outside and there is not a single drop of cold water in this entire building!” 

“oh!” you exclaim. “that’s actually why i came in here- i really need water because of my…condition.” lando was one of the few people that actually knew of your ability to shapeshift (it involved a long story involving an animal trafficking accusation, bad timing, and a ton of feathers that you had shed), and he often helped cover for you and oscar when people got a little too close to discovering your secret.

a frown crosses lando’s face, but it is soon replaced by a devilish smirk. “why don’t we go over to the red bull motorhome to ask for some water?” he suggests.

“dressed like this?” you exclaim, gesturing at both your orange colored two-piece dress and lando’s brightly colored outfit. “mark my words, if you take a single step in that direction, skysports is going to notice, and is going to have ‘mclaren driver lando norris sneaks into red bull motorhome to steal important strategy documents’ pasted on every headline online!”

“umm…first of all,” lando says haughtily, “i can win a race by myself without needing to steal any red bull documents. second of all, i’m not going into redbull, you are…” he leans forward, and whispers, “...in duck form.”

you glare at him.

as if sensing a problem, oscar appears behind you. “what’s going on?” he questions, running a hand through his hair and wipes a little bit of sweat off of his reddened face. he turns to you for a response, but you’ve slotted yourself behind his back, using him as a barrier from lando. 

“your dumb teammate wants me to turn so i can go over to redbull and beg for water since mclaren ran out of ice water!” you exclaim. "can you believe it?"

20 dollars, persistent begging, and ten minutes later, you left the mclaren motorhome in duck form in oscar’s arms. the fans from earlier, with their newly signed merch and camera roll full of pictures of your boyfriend, again, rush towards oscar. instead of their attention being on him this time though, they all fawn over you, not even asking why in the world oscar jack piastri is holding a duck in front of the mclaren motorhome before the miami gp. you ruffle your feathers and snap your beak at the fans, playing it up and hoping they give you water. you stop to pant a little bit- the heat was really getting to you. luckily, a fan notices, and pushes forward with a cup of ice water.

“oscar, may i give your duck some ice water? i’ve seen clips on tiktok where this lady feeds her duck ice water and she seemed to really like it! your duck is looking mighty parched too.” 

oscar quickly nods his head. “go ahead!”

you dip your beak into the water, and snap up as much water as you could. the water tasted crisp and refreshing, and felt oh-so-good going down your throat, cooling down your internal body temperature. 

oscar thanks the fan, then excuses himself from the horde of people. “erm…i’m kind of have to go-” he gestures vaguely towards the redbull motorhome, “ that way… so er yeah, bye!” 

you got your sip of water, so it was time to steal get some for oscar and lando. you hop out of oscar’s arms, flapping your wings as you land gently on the ground. waddling, you enter the redbull hospitality. Immediately, you almost collide a second time with someone. lo and behold, it was none other than checo perez.

“why,” he says pointedly, “is there a duck in here?” 

not stopping to apologize, you run towards the fridge, quacking wildly and tapping your beak against the smooth metal. 

as if he understood you perfectly, he opens the door to the fridge, and pulls out a water bottle. he poors the water into a plastic cup and puts it on the floor in front of you. he gives you a few pats on your back (oscar probably would have strangled checo if he saw him touching you, albeit in duck form) and walks away. quickly, you grab the cup and hop/waddle your way back outside to oscar and lando, handing them the water.

the team garages bustled with energy, as there was around an hour left until the start of the miami grand prix. everyone seemed to have a job- adjusting cameras, typing on computers, and pulling on race suits- except you. slowly, you walk out of the mclaren garage onto the pavement  in front, straightening your orange skirt and top and smoothing down your hair. out of the corner of your eye, you see checo heading your way. you turn a little pale from fear- why was he coming your way? he waves to you, and starts some small talk. 

“hey you know, funny story- you’ll never believe me, but there was a duck in the red bull motorhome earlier today!”

a/n: my first ever fanfic story! i hope y'all liked it :)

[yandere-sins]

God I love Drugged! Darling. It's fucked up but I like it. I've been having thoughts about what with a drugged darling escaping but then starting to go through withdrawal for whatever they've been dosed up on leading to their recapture

Mhm, delicious!! Thanks for requesting ^-^

Warning for Yandere and Drugs (+ side-effects like sickness)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

♡ It's been a while since your last hit, and honestly, you've been doing great! You would have run away much earlier if you knew it would be that easy. You feel so damn unstoppable as you make your way through the forest, unable to feel your feet hurting or your heart crying for a break. It's so freeing! Life is suddenly good again! You thought you'd be on the leash of that madman forever, but looking back at it now, you never realized how strong and capable you were of taking care of yourself. He tried to tell you that you were nothing without him, that you needed him. But you don't need anyone; you have all the power you need!

♡ Slowly, you come to a halt. Surely you ran far enough away from the horror house your yan kept you in, right? You've been running for hours, and not even branches or bushes could stop you even though they tried to hold you back by bumping into you and snagging your clothes, little scratches littering your body as you seek shelter from the nightfall in an abandoned building. At least you'll be safe from the wind and rain if the weather changes, it seems suitable for your first night of freedom even though there's no comfort in the cold walls. But being able to choose where you rest for the night is enough to make you feel ecstatic, it's been so long since you've been given the choice to do what you wanted.

♡ Truth be told, you could have continued onwards, maybe even made it back to the city before sunrise if you kept running. Your heart was still pumping the blood through your veins vigorously, and your legs only started to wobble the moment you slowed down the pace. When you lean forward to sit on the floor, your knees cave in, and you drop to the ground, smashing your face into the cold concrete, but all you can do is laugh. It didn't hurt you at all. This is what freedom is all about, and your body knows it. You could have gotten up at any second; you were strong and amazing. You had gotten away all on your own without any help, and life was getting good again. But before you realize the change inside of you, you are overcome with exhaustion. Whatever! You have all the time in the world, now that you escaped! No one can stop you anymore, especially not that psycho who kidnapped you in the first place! A little rest, and you'd be up and running the last stretch, finally reuniting with civilization. Everything would be okay again!

♡ When you wake up just a couple hours later, you feel the cold sweat clinging to your skin like a faint reminder of failure. The sun was still far from rising, the ground hard and icy. Every bone in your body is rigid, and a mighty headache blooms in your head, pushing and punching against your skull as if trying to break out. Nothing could have warned you from throwing up the second you sat up, your stomach too empty to produce vomit, yet you gag and dry heave as if your life depends on it. With tears falling from your eyes, you wipe your mouth, looking up at your blurry surroundings and wondering where you are. Even when you plant your feet firmly on the ground, the second you try to shift your weight onto your legs, you crumple to the ground again helplessly. Despite the obvious pains, you can barely feel your aching muscles, yet they don't let you get up even one inch from the ground.

♡ As you sit there, listening to the bird chirping in the trees above you, every sound feels like a smack over the head, the world spinning madly. You try to recollect what happened and try to think about your intentions and goals. It all seems so far away. You are thirsty beyond anything you have ever felt, your throat clenching desperately every time you swallow. The feeling makes you want to throw up again, but you breathe deeply until it disappears. It's all you can do as you lie inside the dilapidated building. Where have you gone wrong? Why did you feel so free and light yesterday, but now you cannot even move? Life was supposed to be good now... why doesn't it feel that way.

♡ "Look who's finally calmed down," someone remarks, followed by the sound of a foot hitting a bottle. The screeching grates on your nerves, and you cover your ears with your hands, trying to block it out. "What a dinky place..." the voice mutters, and it is so much closer now, even through your covered ears. Someone touches your face, wiping a thumb along your lips. You feel the wet dirt and spit being pushed aside as the warm touch lures you out of your defenses. Your headache has prevented you from realizing it, but when you look into the face of the person who captured you, you flinch. How could they find you? You had run so far!

♡ "Thought you gotten away?" they mock you, grinning smugly at the perplexed look on your face. "Darling, you've barely made it ten minutes from our home."

♡ A small part of you wonders if they are telling the truth, but another wave of nausea hits before you can ponder it. "I feel sick," you mumble as you bend over, crying as violent contractions go through you. "I don't know what's going on."

♡ "There, there," the yan comforts you, rubbing your back with their warm hand, a groan escaping you from how good it feels when their warmth seeps into your frigid bones and muscles. "It's okay now, I got you."

♡ "No..." you mewl, slightly pushing away from your captor. Every inch of your being wants to throw yourself into their warmth, but your clouded, unfocused mind knows better. You push away from them harder, losing your balance and threatening to collapse on your side, but they catch you. "No, I've gotten so far! I left you behind for good!"

♡ "And you got sick and injured while doing it; I'm so proud of you," they mumble sarcastically as they pull you into their arms, lifting you off the ground. You hate how soft they are, how well you can rest your aching head on their broad shoulder. You desire their touch all over you just so you can feel their warmth equally everywhere. "I don't need you... don't want you," you mutter as you sling your arms sleepily around their neck.

♡ "Yes, well, you need a bath and want some of your medicine, I'm sure," your captor mumbles, their steps so light as they carried you through the woods you had run through just yesterday. You know they lied about the distance when it took them forever to get back to the gruesome place they called home. You even doze off as they rub your back, nuzzling your face into their body and making them chuckle.

♡ "I hate you," you whisper as you stay still in the bathtub, letting them wash off all the dirt and blood from your body. The hot water feels outrageously good, and everything smells wonderfully like your favorite soap. They knead all the sore spots on your body, and before they started washing you, they made sure you drank almost an entire bottle of water and ate a chocolate bar from your favorite brand. You never want to get out of the bath again, but although their hands linger uncomfortably on your body for a while, soon your captor pulls the plug, and you whine as the bathwater disappears.

♡ Your captor sighs as they look down at your battered and limb body, your eyes hooded with exhaustion. You still feel sick to your stomach, but with the water gone, a chill rakes over your skin, making you shiver. Before you can try to move yourself, you are wrapped into a soft towel and lifted out of the bath and onto the bed instead. Your captor puts a warm hoodie over your head before letting you fall into the plush around you, and you sigh contentedly. The moment you lay down on the soft mattress, all your resistance and plans to leave are pushed far, far out of your mind. All you want is to bundle up in a blanket and sleep away the sickness that had overcome you.

♡ Complaining when your kidnapper does nothing to help you bury yourself in pillows and blankets, you grumble when you feel their weight dip the mattress to your left. The grating sound of the drawer beside the bed being opened leaves you exasperated and you try to roll away from your captor. "Come on," your captor coos gently, catching your arm that you thought you did a good job hiding from him. Not good enough, apparently, as you feel your sleeve being pulled up, the cold air biting against your skin.

♡ "I'm tired," you complain, and they hum in acknowledgment. "You can sleep in just a second. I just want you to feel better soon and be on your best behavior tomorrow. I hate seeing you so sick and having to pick you up from a random ditch in the forest." With your mess of a mind, you find no fault in what they are saying. You don't want to be sick either anymore; you want to feel light and happy again, able to run and make plans to escape this awful person you hate so much.

♡ "Now give me your arm; stop twisting it," they order, and you comply, pouting. You know you'll feel better soon and can finally fight them again. But not right now. You need to get better first. Some medicine, and surely, you'd be up and running in no time.

♡ "Here we go, and I didn't overdo it this time."

[sugurouge]

— my favourite pain : blade x f!reader

when i became the sun, i shone life into the man's heart

contains! — mdni: DARK CONTENT, smut, angst, toxic + unestablished relationship, jealousy, mentally unstable blade, minor hunter/prey, reader is being carried around, possessiveness, manhandling, physical abuse (strangulation & hair pulling), marking, irrational behaviour, praise, petnames (pretty girl), there's a backstory to explain certain reasons to their behaviour — 5k words

summary: a tale about blade's very own paradise he deemed himself undeserving of. his best intentions harboured rotten fruit, fuelling resentment that tore them apart. until weeks later, a mara-struck blade is out to finish what they've started.

You haven’t seen Blade in weeks, yet he remains plaguing your mind like an ever-looming presence—a forbidden fruit you crave more than you would ever dare admit.

At the same time, you’re also the traitor who called the Cloud Knights on him: it was a desperate, vengeful act born of being once more used for salvation, drained of all the kindness residing in your heart to help calm the hurricane in his mind.

For long, he had done the same thing—appearing uninvited, expecting you to welcome him back into his personal Garden of Eden: the tender warmth of your hold. Forcing you to pity a selfish man who robbed you of the chance to find lasting love when he claimed your heart. He made it clear he wanted nothing more than those fleeting encounters, never trespassing the line that would make you lovers rather than acquaintances.

But your heart wanted something different.

He never touched you indecently, never did what you craved for him to do—only held you in his embrace, lips ghosting along your neck and chest until the drumming of your pulse paled in comparison to the need between your thighs.

But nothing ever happened. Once morning came, Blade was gone, leaving only the icy gift of loneliness in his stead, until the Mara welled up again.

The abomination returned to your doorstep time and time again.

You ruminate about Blade as you pour your cup of tea, wondering if the Cloud Knights truly managed to imprison him again. Is he rotting in the Shackled Prison once more because of your pettiness? The only thing you’re certain of: you’d be the first person he’d kill if he ever escaped.

However, the gust of air kissing the back of your neck and creeping beneath your night robes tears you from those spiralling thoughts. It causes chills to creep down your spine as you cautiously glance over your shoulder, scanning the darkened room awaiting behind the comfort of your dimly lit kitchen.

You’ve grown accustomed to searching for said criminal in crowds, used to meeting his red eyes in places he should never set foot back in. But this is the first time the feeling of being watched greets you in your very home. Blade had always been polite enough to knock before. But back then, you hadn’t yet betrayed his trust either.

Trying to focus back on your tea seems like a good call, to finish the preparations and retreat to the safety of your bedroom—away from the eerie open spaces and dark corners until sunrise. If it wasn’t for your shaking form locking you in place. The stiffness in your shoulders deepens as the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a bead of cold sweat trickles down your spine.

You hear him—hear the skilled footsteps of a hunter stalking its prey, hear the scraping of his blade along the floor—and silently, you pray to the Aeons for a quick death.

Perhaps, if you believe it all to be a bad dream, you can escape this situation, can wake up and blink away the nightmare while tucked into the warmth of your bed. So, your eyes press shut in terror, hands balling into fists as your survival instincts scream for action.

The sound of his weapon hitting the floor shatters your fragile hope and frees you from your stupor. It forces you to turn around upon the first touch of bandaged hands on your skin. But your wrist is caught before your palm can make contact with his beautiful, haunting face. Blade greets you once more with those familiar, empty eyes tearing through all your walls in a matter of seconds.

He looks worse than ever. The past weeks must have taken a terrible toll on his already fragile sanity. You’ve never seen him this conflicted, never witnessed so much pain etched into his features.

The Mara has struck again, and again, feeding on him relentlessly.

How much of the man he once was remains? The thought almost makes you forget your circumstances.

It’s no surprise that he managed to escape the Cloud Knights again. Those feeble guards could never keep him under control—no one can. Unlike the sickness coursing through his very being, tainting him, dragging him deeper into despair with every strike.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you, couldn’t stop yearning for the comfort you provide. He knows he’s hurt you, knows he’s taken advantage of you and robbed you of all that is good. But how could he act selflessly when you’re the closest thing to the sweet release he so craves? In you, he imagines himself embraced by peace, by calm, by freedom from all this hatred—since the nothingness he longs for won't open the gates for him. What a sweet fantasy.

“No, no, no…” Blade murmurs in response to your attempt at violence while his fingers grasp your chin, effectively allowing him to savour the tumultuous rollercoaster of emotions reflected in your worried expression. “You’re not going to rat me out and hurt me,” he mutters, bumping the tip of his nose against yours and cooling your heated cheeks as a low chuckle escapes him. Your body stiffens at his unnerving affection. “I can forgive you for calling the guards. I know I’ve hurt you; I am hurting you—”

“Then stop.” You’re quick to interrupt, eager to regain some fickle sense of control, unfortunately, your eyes betray you. Blade’s brows crease as he seems to stare straight into your soul, as though he is already lost in you. “But I need you,” he mumbles against the soft flesh of your lips before his head dips lower, his kisses branding your neck. Strong arms wrap around your waist as your palms desperately push against his unmoving chest, trying in vain to remain resolute in your decision to cast him out.

You want more from your mortal life than to be a charging station for a criminal.

But the protest of calling his name turns out to be a futile effort as your voice comes out as nothing but a soft plea, a gentle moan born of his selfish deeds.

You fill Blade with an uncountable amount of pride when you melt into his embrace like you’ve always belonged, claiming a space he holds only for you. His hand reaches beneath your clothes, a fingertip tracing the length of your spine until you arch into him ever so perfectly. He witnesses the shivers coursing through your body as his ragged breaths drag you back to a hell you thought you’d escaped.

Any protests you clung on to are discarded. Any scream stuck in your throat as his heaving chest rises against yours while sultry whispers of sweetness lure you down a path of despair. “I need you more than I want to,” the confession vibrates low against your skin while strong hands take hold of your thighs to effortlessly lift you off your feet, pinning you against the nearest wall to allow for a quick ridding of your silk dress. “I need to have you whole—all of you.”

Blade feels nothing but greed when it comes to you. There is no space left for consideration, no room for manners after the time he had spent alone again—not when you look like his personal angel. A sinner Blade has been for centuries, a criminal, a wanted man ever since he returned to this world instead of passing away when he consumed life itself. Yet never, in all this time, has the Mara affected his feelings in such a primitive way.

His lips ravage your skin as he presses himself into you, seeking solace in your warmth, your racing heart, the drumming pulse he can feel beneath his kisses. Every trace of friction is claimed as though it’s his right, as though you truly are his.

Lust clouds your better judgement upon the passion you’re drowning in. Blade floods over you. The fighting spirit you once held is beaten by desire. By everything you wanted from Blade for so long. Too long, all you had was his embrace, but now, tonight, you’re swept away by his need until you can no longer swim against the tide.

Hold onto him.

Your arms find their way around his neck and shoulders, allowing yourself to pull him closer into you and listen to his sounds of satisfaction. Your fingers thread through dark locks, tugging sharply at the roots—just how he loves it, you realise upon the smirk on his face, upon the raspy moan as his hips jerk forward against you. “Careful what you wish for now,” he warns, the words nothing but another breathed sensation against the shell of your ear.

But all you care about is how close he is, how warm he feels, how intoxicating his scent is.

You hum in bliss as your nose trails along his neck, lips brushing against his sharp jawline. The embrace tightens as though you never want to let go. “I only ever wished for you,” you whisper. The sweet words coat his lips like honey as they meet yours in a deep kiss, threatening to steal the very air from your lungs.

A gasp of surprise fills your chest as Blade lifts you from the wall, carrying you through your home while his reckless lips taint your skin. He paints you as his possession through the sting of his teeth against your skin, suckling and licking as if he could taste your pulse if he dug just a little deeper.

You would never be able to admit that you’ve been entirely devoured by his gluttony. Mind and body all consumed by Blade. Even undoing his jacket proves a struggle as your fingers fumble with the buttons.

Blade could find amusement in your clumsiness if it weren’t for the irritation he feels upon walking into your door. Instead of opening it in one smooth motion, he presses you against the hardwood. You seize the opportunity with that old, stuck door, letting your legs wrap tightly around his waist, banishing any distance that once remained between your bodies.

A shameless moan escapes you at the feeling of his erection pressing against your tainted panties once more, the sensation so delicious and promising. And he rewards you with a throaty groan.

“Devil,” Blade groans at your attack. One more move like this and he’ll take you here if you’re not careful. “I need to feel you. I want to taste you, pretty girl.” At that, you grin—it’s the first pet name he’s ever used, and it’s utterly endearing.

“Then don’t make me wait, Mr Criminal.” You can’t refuse to open the door in his stead, fully aware he’s forgotten his earlier plans of carrying you to your bedroom when he can instead feel you fully in this position.

You steal the balance from his hold, catching him completely off guard as you let him stumble into the room. “Careful, Bladie,” you tease further, with a sudden discovery of bravery; mischief laces your soft voice, only to be muted by his advances as he hoists you up onto your dresser.

“Bladie?” he repeats with slight apprehension.

Yet the cheerful expression on your face makes him forget about the somewhat irritating spider that loves to use the same nickname. Why not let you have your fun? Why not lean into it? Why not join you? Blade thinks as he closes the distance, capturing your lips while carelessly brushing aside jewellery and picture frames once neatly placed on top of the furniture to create further room.

But you don’t have time to reciprocate his kiss, refusing his advances like he means nothing as you reach for the frames tumbling off the edge. “Don’t!” you cry in panic, barely managing to catch one before it falls. He watches in confusion as you clutch the frame to your chest like it’s your most prized possession. The reaction wipes the grin off Blade’s lips, leaving him wondering about the importance until, a second later, he snatches the item from your grasp.

Narrowed eyes drop to stare at the photo within—a picture of you with another man, a face he doesn’t recognise. Proudly standing beside the beauty Blade knows is a handsome man, a decent bit older than you, but age doesn't seem to be a concern to you.

What Blade doesn’t know is that this man is someone gone, someone who once saved you. Someone who picked you up from the streets and helped you grow into the woman you are today.

The envy seeps through his veins, bringing his blood to boil with frightening speed, causing his chest to feel heavy, until he shuts out any outside noise as raging questions of your loyalty and his hatred echo in his mind.

Who is this? What is a picture of some other man doing in your room? You’re his. That’s why he came back. For you. To finally give himself to you. But you…

The Mara always strikes in fragile moments, ready to reclaim him. Your hands, desperate and pleading, are brushed off like whispers in the wind. Your voice, frantic and trembling, is drowned out by the storm within him. You’re unable to penetrate the walls that are erecting around Blade’s body and heart.

There’s that familiar expression on his face again, one etched with dread and hatred. That same tell-tale sign you’ve come to recognise.

Calling his name offers no forgiveness, only anguish, as strong fingers snake around your neck, his fingertips pressing down until you’re gasping, until eyes of madness meet your scared gaze as he draws close. It feels eerily similar to the first time your foreheads touched—yet nothing like it at all. The moment holds no tenderness; this time, you fear for your life.

Blade has lost himself before, but never like this. Never in a way that truly hurt you. And hurt it does as he fists a hand into your hair, forcing you further into submission, exposing your near-naked figure to the brutal moonlight while the monster looms over you.

“Someone else?” A near unfamiliar voice questions. It’s nothing like the tender rasp you’re used to. The picture you had tried so desperately to protect shatters against the floor, erupting a sob from your struggling throat.

“Betrayed me for that…” he mumbles to himself, twisting the narrative in his mind, bending it to feed the hatred coursing through him.

His grip on you tightens.

It hurts. Truly stings how you’re being handled; the pain is as sharp as his accusations, branding you as a traitor. “No, Blade, please, just lis—”

Yet, your protests die as the hand around your throat tightens. A little more strength and he might snap your neck then and there. He can feel it beneath his palm—the frantic race of your pulse, your desperate attempts to swallow, your panicked fight for air.

Why is he hurting you? Didn’t he come here for salvation?

Blade stares down at you, the chaos in his mind giving way to something softer—something broken. His grip loosens, and the rage that burns in his chest starts to crumble, leaving behind guilt so heavy it threatens to crush him. His hands tremble once they release their hold, ghosting over your irritated skin in apology.

“You’re all I want,” Blade confesses, voice nothing but a whisper as he stumbles over his words. “What I came back for... does he give you wh—” His voice falters, unable to finish the sentence when your eyes lock with his. It was like a knife to the gut. In that fleeting moment, he felt every ounce of his confidence and ruthlessness crumble.

The air rushed in so sharply that it felt like new life was flooding your lungs, overwhelming you like the man who caused the pain. You gasp pathetically, your body trembling as you struggle to steady yourself—to comfort yourself.

“I’m not seeing another man.” The words follow quietly but firmly, as the pain you experience keeps your voice low. “I didn’t want to see anyone else.”

Blade’s entire being seems to cave in at that. The guilt floods him, pulling him deeper and deeper until it threatens to swallow him. His shoulders sag, his face contorts with an agony he can no longer hide. How had he let this happen? He had sworn to never hurt you, to never let his demons break what was left of the only good thing in his life. And yet, here he was, broken by the very thing he feared most.

He had failed you. Failed himself.

He can’t bear to look at you, not now, not when the consequences of his actions stare right back at him. His head falls against your shoulder, seeking comfort in your warmth—despite everything. Your embrace was the only thing that anchored him to this world.

His fingers tremble as they brush against your back, a futile attempt to atone for the chaos he’d caused. Your hands, though, cling to him. Even as you flinched, your touch remained unwavering.

"I'm sorry," he breathes. The confession is barely audible, heavy with sorrow that cuts deeper than any wound ever could. His forehead touches yours, the gesture so tender, so unlike the man he was just moments ago. "I'm so sorry."

The air hangs thick between you, but instead of pulling away, he stays close. His fingers skim along the curve of your face as though you might shatter under his touch. His lips, so often twisted into a scowl or smirk, brush against the corner of your mouth with a gentleness that takes you by surprise.

The madness that consumed him moments ago retreats into the depths of his soul, leaving a hollow ache in its place. Blade cups your face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streak your cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats.

“Blade…” your voice is soft and fragile, and your hands come up to rest on his wrists. You search his eyes, the wild, unrelenting storm now replaced by a man drowning in remorse.

“It’s… it’s okay,” your voice cracks as you try to speak louder, and Blade's heart twists at the sound. The rasp of your words is like a slap to his face, a reminder of the damage he caused. “You didn’t do it on purpose,” you whisper while you seek comfort in the curve of his neck. Your fingers run shakily through his hair, offering him a softness he doesn’t deserve.

In that silence, a heavyweight settles between you, like a promise unspoken. He can feel your fear, the way your body stiffens ever so slightly against him. You are afraid. Afraid of him, afraid of what he can do. And yet, here you are, offering him kindness despite all.

It tears at him.

His mind fights with itself, battling the guilt, the regret, the shame. All the anger and pain he holds inside, all the monsters he refuses to face, melting away at the sight of you. The truth is clear: he needs you. You are the only thing that can silence the madness inside him, the only one who can put him back together.

“But I need you.” The confession slipped out of him, once again. It was more than a plea; it was the truth that had festered inside him for so long.

You pull away, your hands trembling as they push against his chest. There is fear in your eyes. He can see it. You are terrified of what he is capable of, terrified of what might happen if you let him truly have you. Yet, your body betrays your words, your fingers still fisting his jacket, holding him close as though you can’t bear to let go.

“You will find someone who does the same, better than me,” you say gently, but your voice wavers, a crack in your resolve. “Someone stronger.” He sees the doubt in your eyes, the inner struggle that mirrors his own. You don’t want to let him go, not really. But you are trying to protect yourself, trying to shield your heart from the man who has hurt you more times than you can count.

"Once more, let me hold you... just once," Blade whispers against your ear, his voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of his desire. "Again and again, forevermore. I don’t want anyone else."

His words are like a prayer. A plea. But it is his actions that speak louder as he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering.

"Let me make it right," he murmurs, his voice low, pleading. His hands glide down your body, carefully tracing the outline of your waist, your hips, your thighs. Blunt fingernails drag along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you always wanted him to be most. Your breath hitches, and the sound draws a low hum of satisfaction from him.

“Like nobody else,” Blade whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone as his fingers dip between your folds. “So beautiful.”

A gasp escapes you as he spreads your arousal, his movements deliberate, unhurried. He’s careful, near worshipful, every touch made to remind you of the connection you’ve always craved from him. His fingers pump into you, curling with each slow drag to find that spot that has you keening, your toes curling as pleasure courses through you.

Your thighs instinctively press against his sides, but he holds you there, caged between his chest and the wall, his eyes locked onto yours. Foreheads resting together, his gaze is searching, desperate, as though trying to memorise every detail of this moment before it slips away.

“Let me make it all up. Let me look after you. Let me…” He trails off as he claims your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, slow and intoxicating, before his teeth catch your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you whimper. The sound nearly undoes him, his resolve faltering as he feels you tighten around his fingers.

But instead of devouring you whole, he—ever so carefully—gathers you in his arms and carries you to bed. While his actions remain gentle, as if you might shatter if handled too roughly, his eyes roam shamelessly over your naked figure, addicted to every curve. Your back meets the soft mattress while he remains standing at the edge of the bed, as if contemplating whether to truly infiltrate your sanctuary.

If it weren’t for your hands reaching out after you crawl over to where he stands, to invite him in, they explore his body, gliding upward until you can shrug off his coat, the fabric landing carelessly on the hardwood—revealing scars that criss-cross his entire torso—evidence of battles fought and lost, of the pain he carries every day, of the brutal punishment he endured.

Your fingers brush over them, tentative at first, then firmer as you lean up to kiss each mark. The tenderness in your actions draws a sharp inhale from him. He watches you, his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that might leave you addicted to his attention.

Your lips trail lower, down his stomach to the waistband of his trousers, kisses shameless upon the effect you have on his body. But before you can go further, his hands are on you again. He hoists you effortlessly back into the bed, drawing a surprised yelp from you upon the sudden shift in position.

He looms above you, his lips finding yours again as his hand trails down your body, worshipping every inch of you. "You’ll have to behave, pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice tinged with warmth as he kisses a path down your body.

His trousers join the discarded cloak on the floor, and he drags his nails up your thighs, teasing, coaxing. His hands find the backs of your knees, parting your legs as he positions himself between them. “I’ll give you everything,” he breathes, “Everything I have to give.” Leaning over you, his long strands of hair fall around his face, framing his sharp features most perfectly. His strength presses you gently but firmly into the mattress, holding you in place as he leans in.

The stretch as he enters is slow, every inch of him pushing into you until he bottoms out. A shuddered breath escapes his lips once he stills, his forehead pressing against yours once more.

“I know, I know,” he shushes with a tender kiss to your forehead as you claw at his back, nails dragging ever so perfectly for him to struggle to remain still inside you. “You’re doing so well,” he encourages upon the whimper you let out, your back arching off the mattress upon the waves of pleasure you try to accommodate.

Blade can’t resist moving his hips, pulling back almost entirely only to stretch you anew, to feel you struggle to stay sane. Hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that speaks of both desperation and devotion. His body cloaks yours, his hair brushing against your skin as he leans over, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck. The weight of his guilt lingers in every touch, every kiss, every thrust, as though he’s trying to atone for the pain he’s caused.

The moon casts its silvery light through the window, illuminating the room in a quiet glow. Shadows dance along the walls as Blade moves against you, his body pressing into yours with every deep thrust. The rhythm he sets is steady yet intense, his movements precise while holding you close.

His touch is gentle, like you’re his most prized possession—sacred. Roughened hands, scarred and calloused, trace the curve of your waist, memorising the soft rise and fall of your body beneath him while whispering sweet praise that will remain in your memory longer than his presence.

“So perfect,” Blade murmurs, his voice low, barely more than a breath. The heat of it sends shivers down your spine. “So good to me.”

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer as your bodies move together in a rhythm that feels perfect. His breath is warm on your neck, his lips ghosting over your pulse before trailing fleeting kisses along the line of your jaw.

The drag of his body against yours, the way he stretches you, fills you—each movement sends sparks of pleasure through your body, building until you’re breathless, lost in the haze.

But even in this closeness, even with his skin pressed so tightly against yours, there’s a shadow behind his eyes. A heaviness clings to him. You can feel it even as he murmurs praises against your skin, even as his hands tighten around your hips like he’s afraid to let go.

“Blade,” you moan his name gently, as if you could ground him here, keeping him from slipping away if you just showed him how good he makes you feel.

His lips claim yours again, deepening the kiss upon first contact for his tongue to move against yours, drawing a soft moan from you that only seems to affect him further. His hands take hold of your thighs as he thrusts harder, his resolve faltering over the sound of your voice, the way you breathe his name—it’s too much, and yet it’s not enough.

“Stay with me,” you murmur against his lips, though your words are muffled by his kiss.

His response is a low, guttural sound as his hips thrust harder, faster. He’s unravelling, his need for you dulling every other thought. Equally, the pleasure builds in your core, coiling tight until it snaps, until you fall apart beneath him, with him.

The way you tighten around him draws a shudder from his body, and he follows you moments later, his release consuming him as he buries himself deep inside you. His forehead rests against yours, his breath ragged as his body shakes with the force of it.

For a brief moment, everything stills. His weight on top of you grounds you in the quiet aftermath, his chest heaving in time with yours as your breaths meet in the space between your sore-kissed lips.

But the silence stretches, and the weight in your chest grows heavier. Even as his hands remain on your skin, tracing mindless patterns along your hips, he feels distant, like he’s already slipping away.

You lift a hand, brushing your fingers along his jaw to lure his gaze back to yours. “Blade?”

His gaze meet yours, and for a brief moment, his expression softens. But it feels safer to let his eyes fall shut, as if he were to try and shield himself from your influence, from the words you might say.

He presses one last kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than he should.

When the two of you finally untangle, Blade doesn’t leave your side. Instead, he lies beside you, propped up on one elbow as his other hand brushes the hair from your face. 

“Sleep,” he commands softly, almost tenderly. 

But you hesitate, your fingers curling into his arm as if to tether him to you. “You’ll stay?” The question cuts through him like iron. He forces a small smile. “I’ll stay.”

What a sweet lie.

Yet, the exhaustion overtakes as his warmth surrounds you. You allow your eyes to flutter shut, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel safe. Blade, however, remains awake, his eyes fixed on you, drinking in the sight of you at peace. There’s a softness in your features that makes his heart ache. 

He doesn’t leave a note. There’s nothing he could say that would make up for what he’s done, for what he’s about to do. All he can do is disappear, sparing you the burden of his sickness, his sins, his darkness. 

dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/anitalenia

[natalievoncatte]

Even in the vast softness of Caitlyn’s bed

(their bed)

Vi felt the jolt. It was either that or the soft, pained exhalation that woke her, but it didn’t really matter. She snapped awake with the sudden alertness she’d been taught by Vander and had honed in Stillwater. Even though she came around in an instant, she still expected to feel a cold concrete floor beneath her aching side and smell the charnel stink of sweat, desperation, and blood. Waking up to soft linens and the clean, fresh smell of sheets washed in lavender water, and *Cait* felt fresh and new every time.

“…no…” Cait mewled. “…no… stop… Jinx… Cupcake! Cupcake she calls me-“

Vi hesitated, unsure whether to wake her. She’d seen plenty of people cry out in their sleep and knew that eight times in ten it was better to let them ride it out instead of waking them in the middle of something that might make them lash out or hurt themselves.

When Cait let out a blood-curdling scream, Vi lept wxross the bed and pressed a hand to her cheek, finding a cold sweat sheening her skin.

“Cait, wake up.”

Caitlyn’s eyes (*eye*, a bitter voice added) snapped open and she looked around, jerking up from the bed, her chest heaving as she drew in ragged, pained breaths.

Vi pulled her into an embrace, wrapping Caitlyn up in her arms and bending her body as much as she could to form a shield around her while Caitlyn desperately hugged her back and buried her face in Vi’s neck.

Sometimes they said more this way than they did by talking. Vi sat up and gently rubbed the back of Cait’s neck with her fingertips and pressed light kisses to the crown of her head, for no other reason than she loved her and she was free to show it.

Finally Cait said, “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Cait didn’t answer, instead resting her head on Vi’s shoulder while her finger aimlessly traced the tattoo on Vi’s arm, sort of half-humming on exhalation. Vi had learned that Cait wasn’t being rude when she didn’t answer her and that these little things she did to soothe herself were just as important. That Vi could savor Cait’s touches forever was incidental. Vi hadn’t touched her enough and would make up for it for the rest of her life.

“Do you remember the… the tea party.”

Vi swallowed hard. That night had been one of the most painful of her life, when all her sins had marched out of the darkness to revenge themselves on her tenfold. It was the terror she felt when she saw Cait’s eyes that shattered her, but the worst, the worst…

(I paid your girlfriend a visit…)

It hurt to even summon the thought, like touching the edges of a barely healed wound, feeling the scab lift and pull at the raw flesh beneath.

For a moment Vi knew that Jinx was going to lift that lid and Caitlyn’s severed rotting head would be sitting there staring at her with blank eyes and she cringed in horror and fear, a shiver ripping through her.

Cait knew; Vi didn’t have to say yes.

“Did you ever wonder how she knew you called me cupcake?”

Vi shook her head. “I thought she must have heard me. On the bridge maybe or…”

“She might have, but she delighted in making me tell her. I was helpless, terrified. She spent hours hurting me, but she kept saying she wouldn’t kill me because she was waiting for you. She said you’d do it.”

“Did you believe her?”

“No, never.”

Vi let out a long, slow sigh in relief.

“I hurt you. I hit you, but you would never hurt me.”

“We talked about that, Cait.”

“I know.”

There was a brief silence in the dark. First light was beginning to peek through the curtains and soon it would be time to get up. Most nights Vi hated waking now. She wanted nothing more than to spend then rest of her life in soft sunlit moments with Cait, making love under the warming sunlight as often as not.

Cait’s hand worked between them and traced over the scar on Vi’s belly, in the same spot where Cait’s rifle butt had smashed the air from her lungs and left her begging, sent her spiraling into a booze-fueled nightmare of longing where the pain of a fist to her face was the only thing that kept her awake long enough to keep looking for someone to kill her in the ring before the drinking did.

They held each other a little tighter.

“No one is going to get you now,” Vi promised.

“You’re not my keeper, Vi. You mean more to me than what you can do for me.”

“I meant you can hold your own. You took me out, remember? Do you know how many people can say that?”

“You let me win because I’m me.”

Vi shook her head. “Not until I was already face up on the ground. You took down Ambessa.”

“I had help.”

“You’ll have help if someone comes at you again. My help.”

“I told you, Vi, you…”

“No. It’s not because I owe you something, it’s because I love you.”

Vi hadn’t said the words yet, despite all this time, but it shocked neither of them.

“We protect each other, then.”

Vi nodded in agreement. She could see Cait’s eye growing lidded and the tension slit out of her body as Vi lay down with her. She was asleep in a few minutes, snoring lightly against Vi’s neck.

Vi vowed to stay awake, Cait was too soft.

[chloeangelbaby]

Dr Rafe Cameron

Crybaby! Reader x Rafe Cameron

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The clock on the bedside table glowed dimly, the numbers reading 3:17 AM. Rafe stirred awake, his eyes cracking open to the faint light of the moon filtering through the curtains. His hand instinctively reached out, brushing against soft, warm skin.

Too warm.

“Dolly?” he murmured groggily, blinking down at her.

Reader was tucked against his side, her body pressed close to his. Her little pink pajamas were clinging to her, damp with sweat. Her hair was stuck to her forehead in messy, fevered strands, and her face was flushed even in the dark. A soft, wheezy cough escaped her lips as she shifted slightly, nuzzling closer to him in her sleep.

Rafe’s chest tightened with worry as he sat up slightly, brushing his hand across her forehead. She was burning up.

“Baby…” he whispered, his voice soft and coaxing, his hand moving to gently shake her shoulder.

She stirred with a tiny whimper, her heavy eyes fluttering open. “Rafe?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and small.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, cupping her cheek. “You’re burning up, Dolly. Why didn’t you wake me?”

She sniffled, her eyes glassy as she looked up at him. “Didn’t wanna bother you,” she whispered, her voice breaking at the end.

“Bother me? Babe, you’re literally sweating through your pajamas,” Rafe said, his tone soft but firm. He reached for the blanket tangled around her legs and peeled it back. “No wonder you’re roasting—you’re all bundled up like a burrito.”

“I was cold earlier,” she mumbled, her lower lip wobbling slightly as her body started to shiver now that the blanket was gone.

Rafe sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to her clammy forehead. “Stay here,” he murmured, slipping out of bed and heading to the bathroom.

She whimpered in protest, her hand reaching out toward him. “Don’t leave…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with cool water before returning to her side.

He sat down and carefully pressed the cloth to her forehead, dabbing away the sweat clinging to her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the coolness soothed her fevered skin.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

She nodded weakly, her hands clutching at the hem of her damp pajama top. “I feel gross,” she whispered, her voice breaking again.

Rafe chuckled softly, brushing her hair back from her face. “You’re still the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he teased, earning a faint pout from her.

“Not funny,” she muttered, her lips trembling as her emotions threatened to spill over.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Rafe said quickly, leaning closer and tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. “We’ll get you cleaned up, okay? Let’s change you into something dry, and I’ll grab you some water.”

She nodded again, sniffling as he helped her out of her sticky pajamas and into one of his old t-shirts, the fabric soft and cool against her overheated skin. He tucked her back into bed with just the sheet, making sure not to let her overheat again.

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————

When he returned with a glass of water, she was already half-asleep, her hand resting on the spot where he had been moments ago. He slid back into bed, pulling her gently into his arms.

“You’re not allowed to feel like this and not wake me up,” he murmured, his voice low as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t care if it’s two in the afternoon or three in the morning, Dolly. You tell me.”

“Okay,” she mumbled sleepily, her head resting against his chest.

Rafe stayed awake long after she fell back into a deep sleep, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. If she was going to keep him on his toes like this, he’d gladly stay up all night just to make sure she was okay.

[whatever-lmaoo]

Sweet Life Of Mine

Summary: Life works in mysterious ways and Bucky would go through it all again if it meant he’d get to experience the rest of it with you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!reader

CW: fluff, a bit of teasing, flashbacks are italicized and thoughts are in bold and italicized[2.4k]

A/N: As always the cute line dividers were made by @firefly-graphics 🌸 I’ve decided to turn this into a two-parter 🙂‍↔️ Special recognition to @buckys-wintersoldier without her encouragement I probably would’ve trashed this fic early on in the process😂 and @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me yap and helping me come up with ideas when I would get stuck😍I am so thankful for both of them and y’all should check out their works because they are wonderful!!!💖 With that being said this fic has grown on me a lot and I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do🥹 Dialogue is not my strong suite so I apologize if any of the lines sound corny🤧 I don’t give anyone permission to copy, translate or repost my works on here or other sites😊 Comments and constructive feedback is always appreciated!!

Bucky absentmindedly breaks down the last few cardboard boxes, taking in your newly furnished living room. Photos of you and your respective families are scattered along the walls and on top of your antique furniture. Plants strategically placed around the room and the gorgeous lamps you picked out created a welcoming atmosphere.

He throws the last box on top of his makeshift pile, wondering how all of the broken roads of his life led him to this moment, how he got his dream girl, a woman who accepted him with his baggage and loved the parts of him that he deemed unpleasant, physically and mentally. It all felt so surreal to him.

As the time grew closer for the wedding to start, Bucky couldn’t help but pace his dressing room floor. He occasionally looked in the mirror to fix his hair or wipe his face with another paper towel before throwing it away in the almost-filled trash can. He felt like his throat was constricted and began fidgeting with his tie. Eventually, he gave up and hunched over a table, trying to remind himself that everything was okay.

The weight of a hand rubbing his back, slowly grounded him for a moment. Steve’s voice sounded muffled in his ears but grew clearer as Bucky took in deeper breaths and continued to focus on the circular motion of Steve’s movements. “Buck, do you want me to get her for you?” The small “please” he lets out is all it takes for Steve to rush to your room.

Bucky stood up and grabbed a bottle of water from on top of a dresser. He was almost finished with it when a soft knock caught his attention.

“Baby?” You say opening the door slightly and sticking your hand through the gap. A clammy palm rests on yours as you massage his knuckles with your thumb, imprinting your touch in his mind, a silent reminder that you’ll always be there when he needs you.

“You ready to be stuck with me for life, Hotshot?” You tease, grinning as you hear him let out a quiet laugh.

"I should be asking you that, Gorgeous,” he breathes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for something than I am at the thought of marrying you. I’m just worried that I’ll somehow mess this up or this is one big dream. I’m afraid that at any second I’ll wake up in a cold sweat and find myself sitting on that old apartment floor, where instead of hearing that lovely voice of yours, it’ll be the older lady next door yelling because she muted her TV again or the loud honks from angry New Yorkers." He rests his head against the door and clutches the doorknob with his metal hand.

“Can you feel that, Bubba?” you say, placing his hand on your chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of your heart beating against his fingertips. “My heart beats like this when I see or listen to you. When I think about being able to wear your ring on my finger, taking your last name, and one day being the mother of your children. My heart beats for you, Bucky, and that's one of the realest feelings I've ever experienced.”One thing Bucky loves about you is you’ve never judged him for expressing his fears, and you’re always there to support him when his insecurities eat away at his progress.

He can hear Natasha's distant voice calling for you and smiles softly.

“I’ve got to head back for last-minute touch-ups, but I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, right?” You reach for his hand on your chest, gently kissing his palm before reconnecting your hands together.

“I’ll be there waiting for you. I love you, Gorgeous.” He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over your fingers.

“I love you too, Hotshot.” And with that, you slip your hand from his loose grip and through the door, your hurried steps echoing in the hall. Steve enters a moment later, noticing that the previous tension in Bucky’s body has almost completely disappeared.

“Let’s go make you a married man, Buck.”

“What are we waiting for, punk,” Bucky says, slapping him on the back playfully, laughing with each other as they walk out of the room, ready to make his dreams come true.

“Hey Gorgeous, I’ve got a question for you.” Bucky groans out as he starts straightening up his mess.

“Ask away, Hotshot.” You utter, your voice resounding slightly in the foyer as you hang up a picture of the two of you on your wedding night.

Humming along to the soft music from the living room while admiring how Bucky’s skin glowed under the golden hues from the sparklers your friends and family surrounded the two of you with. You can still feel the love radiating from him just by looking at his tender smile and remembering how his deep blue eyes twinkled with fondness as he gazed at you with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“How do you feel about going on a date tomorrow?” You smile at the steady sound of footsteps approaching you. A pair of hands enclose your wide hips, and Bucky’s chin rests on your shoulder as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Bubs.” The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through your body, and you can feel your cheeks heating up as he places a sweet kiss below your ear.

“Where are you going to take me?” You ask, grabbing his hands and placing them on your plush belly, leaning back in his embrace.

“Let’s see, I could take you to the movies, an amusement park, or maybe a pumpkin patch. The possibilities are endless.” You hear his grin before you see it, turning your head towards him.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” A pout forms on your face, and you twist in his arms as he straightens up, clasping your hands together behind his neck.

“You would be correct, Gorgeous,” he says, smirking and pecking your lips. You hope he didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes as an idea popped into your head.

“How am I supposed to know what to wear if I don’t know where we’re going?” You ask sweetly, letting your fingertips play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll pick out something for you.” Your head tilts and eyebrows raise in amusement.

“You…are going to choose what I wear?” Bucky rolls his eyes and licks his lower lip in thought.

“Are you questioning my fashion sense, Doll? If I remember correctly, you wear my clothes more than I do.” His hands slip down to the top of your ass drawing your body in even closer, and you roll your eyes this time.

“You’ve never put together an outfit for me before, and I like wearing your clothes because they’re comfortable and smell like you.”

“Don’t want that pretty little head of yours worrying about a thing tomorrow. And I’m not complaining; they look better on you than on me. You make anything you wear look amazing, especially when it's in white.” A warm smile is plastered across his face, his eyes darting up to the photo behind you, another memory from the best day of his life playing in his mind like an old film.

“Do I look alright? Am I beginning to smell?” Bucky questions Steve and Sam as he tries to smoothen out his already-perfect suit jacket. The chattering from the guests did little to calm his nerves.

“You’re lookin’ snazzy, Bucknasty,” Sam says, giving Bucky a lighthearted slap on his ass.

"You look great, Buck." Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, bringing him into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you, man." He whispers, giving Bucky a brotherly kiss on the side of his head and a pat on his back as he lets go. He thanks the both of them before turning back around, eyes scanning the crowd as he tries to grasp the idea that all of these people are there for the both of you.

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off the door as the orchestra played the familiar tune of the song you chose for your entrance. After all the practices and months spent planning for this moment, nothing could prepare him for the overwhelming feeling he got when the ushers revealed your figure standing at the opposite end of him.

His bottom lip quivered, and he began to blink rapidly, but his gaze never strayed away from you. The dress you picked was beautiful, the shade of white complementing your complexion, and the way it hugged you in all the right places made you look like a goddess in his eyes.

He hadn't realized he was crying until you cupped his damp cheek in your palm, gently wiping away his tears while your own began to well in your eyes.

"Hi," you whispered through your watery smile, and it took everything in him not to crash his lips against yours.

You lightly glide your fingers down the side of his face, beaming up at him, already knowing where his train of thought took him. Gently tapping the side of his glasses, you watch as he slowly comes back to you, the affection in his eyes creating a warmth inside you that only he can ignite.

You wrap your arms around his midsection, and he kisses your temple before resting his cheek on top of your head, holding you against his body a little tighter.

“I think I look good in white too.” You say casually, a giggle escaping the two of you.

“Oh, yeah?” He says, a crooked smirk forming on his face, and you pull away slightly. A smirk of your own playing on your lips as you lean up next to his ear.

“So much so that I could be convinced to recreate the boudoir photos I gave you.” You take his earlobe between your teeth, pulling slightly, a low growl rumbles in his chest, and you do your best to keep your thighs from clenching. Bucky’s hands cup your ass as he lifts you in his arms.

“I’m sure it won’t take much to persuade you, pretty girl.” You roll your eyes at his cockiness, causing him to chuckle as he connects your lips, blindly making his way to your bedroom.

You felt a sense of tranquility despite the chilly breeze nipping at your exposed skin as you strolled through the desolate yet animated park. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind and the soft chirping of crickets fill your ears, while you watch the beautiful glow of fireflies encircling the bushes lining the pathway.

You admire the way the clear water of the pond shimmers softly in the moonlight as you take a seat on your favorite bench. Your eyes close and the tension in your body slowly fades as you allow yourself to enjoy Mother Nature and the safe feeling she provides you.

The hairs on your arms stand up as an unsettling feeling washes over you, and the squelching of grass confirms your fears of not being alone. You open your eyes, turning your head, searching for the source that disturbed your peace. Your eyes land on a figure standing at the edge of the pond.

He must have felt your stare because the next thing you know, a pair of striking blue eyes connects with yours. He watches you curiously as you assess whether he's a threat, and a ghost of a smile crosses his lips when he notices the slight drop in your shoulders before turning his gaze back to the still water.

Your lip rolls between your teeth as you consider leaving. You stand and start to walk away, but then you hear the stranger speak.

“You don’t have to leave.” He says, and you turn around after a lengthy moment of stillness, wondering if you should trust him. You observe his relaxed stance, face devoid of malice, but it's his captivating eyes that draw you in and tug at your heartstrings.

There was a silent plea within them, a look you've grown used to seeing in the mirror over the years. Hoping for someone to fill the kind of emptiness that comes with having experienced too much, even if only for a short while.

You stand in silence as a family of ducks begins to swim by. A twinge of pain surges through your chests, as you both watch the last one struggle to keep up, feeling like Mother Nature is reminding you that you were once in similar positions.

The wind grows colder, causing you to cross your arms in an attempt to conserve body heat. He notices this and starts to rid himself of his leather jacket.

“What are you doing?” You squeak out, taking a step back.

“Relax, you’re obviously cold and I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let you stand there shivering.” You go to protest but he’s already wrapping his jacket around your arms.

“I’m not supposed to take things from strangers.” You exclaim, although, grateful for the makeshift shield against the cool weather.

“What are you? Ten? Would you feel better if I gave you my name?” He mocks and your eyes roll.

It’s always the pretty ones that are annoying.

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” He says, your eyes grow wide and your mouth gapes open.

I didn't mean to say that out loud.

“Fuck off. I think you’re annoying too.” He barks out a laugh at that, startling you slightly, you turn your head away from him feeling a small grin make its way to the surface.

“The name’s James, but you can call me Bucky, or pretty if that’s what you want.” He winks and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you tell him your name.

“Gorgeous name for an even more gorgeous girl,” he pauses as his phone goes off and a deep sigh leaves his lips when he checks the notification.

“I hate to depart like this, but duty calls.” He says backing away slowly, waving his phone in his hand. You go to give him his jacket, but he starts making a disapproving noise.

“I’m not supposed to take things from strangers, Gorgeous.” A sly smirk forms on his face before he spins around, gradually disappearing from your line of sight.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself, pulling the leather around you tighter as you begin to head back to your car, wondering if you’ll ever run into him again.

[earthtooz]

x : DON'T GO :*+ﾟ

in which: blade has always felt cold, but even more so without you.

warnings: 1.9k words, HURT/COMFORT with a sprinkle of angst, gn!reader who calls blade 'ren' once, mention of blood, ooc!vulnerable!blade, he's like a kicked puppy in this one

a/n: perhaps the most intimate piece i've wrote to date, this is nothing but pure yearning and longing on blade's behalf, and a nice fix-it fic with the most vulnerable i think blade could ever be. enjoy!!

in his new life, blade has always felt cold.

he is not spared from the constant feeling of goosebumps prickling his skin, not even for a second as the cold bites the tip of his fingers and sink their teeth into him to send shivers up his spine. but he has never felt colder than he does right now. 

your side of the bed is untouched, perfectly made, and devoid of any indication that you had been there. the blankets and mattress are cool to touch, with hardly any wrinkles in the sheets, and an ache declares itself home in blade’s chest.

the sun spills on his bare skin when he kicks the covers off, illuminating his scar-ridden chest as he gazes around the room, as if waiting for an sign that you were still here, and that he wasn’t too late. however, an immediate soreness tickles his throat that causes him to wince, serving as a reminder of the unpleasant discourse you had last night. 

it was hardly over anything of importance, but blade, a man of pride and relentlessness, had refused to back down, and you went to bed angry that night. he did too but woke regretful and cold under the covers, your warmth taken with you.

today was the day you had to leave for a mission, and although he knows you have a strict schedule to follow, he just wonders why you couldn’t have woken him up to say goodbye, especially after everything. 

he didn’t even get to say sorry or try to at least make amends. the swordsman only hopes you didn’t leave furious with him, and that you at least had something to eat before leaving.

to distract himself from the heartache, blade forgoes lying around and decides to start his day before the absence you left overwhelms him and the only thing his mind can do is think about you. 

not that he’s successful, because despite dedicating a monotonous afternoon of drilling sword techniques, the rampant thoughts about you did not decrease. rather, with each swing and sway of the cracked blade, his mind finds more and more to think about, with you at the epicentre of all of them.

it’s sometime around sunset when blade receives update on your status.

the swordsman is sat on a stone ledge, gold rays from the sun spilling on his skin as he waits for the sweat and fatigue to roll off. blade thinks of how you’d normally be seated nearby, watching him train to supply water and energy bars. although he never used to like the company or the doting, it doesn’t feel the same without you beside him, he misses you and wonders when you’ll return. 

“how long have you been here?” a raspy, female voice asks, breaking blade’s train of thoughts.

“since noon,” he responds merely. he doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s kafka talking to him.

“right. makes sense. i thought you’d be lonely since y/n’s gone.”

“need you remind me?” he huffs, voice teetering a threatening gruffness that would make ordinary people shudder, but does nothing to kafka.

“oh, spicy today, aren’t we?” she coos, ignoring the immense pressure radiating off blade effortlessly before taking a seat beside him. “what’s up? is there trouble in paradise?” a scoff comes from the swordsman. “i was only joking, did something really happen between you two?”

“none of your business.” 

kafka shrugs before her phone begins vibrating violently. when she reads the notifications, her face pulls the closest expression to concern that blade has ever seen her wear. 

“y/n got ambushed.”

his world freezes over.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sunlight is gentle in blade’s eyes when he wakes up.

clothes are strewn on the floor, bedsheets are half off the bed, ceramics lie in pieces along the cracks of the planks, and despite the mess blade has made of your shared space, he is the most crumpled of them all. a kaleidoscope of volcanic anger, tsunamic worry, and mountainous yearning, the only place that has remained untouched by blade’s destructive touch is your side of the bed, lest your scent disappears. 

it’s been five days since anyone has received a live update from you, only hanging on to tracking notifications of your spaceship as any indication that you were fine. for the duration of it, nothing has been able to calm him, with kafka and silver wolf needing to stun him before he could do anything brash, like running off into the infinite cosmos to find you.

elio’s promises had never felt emptier, his constant claims of how you’d return very soon turning into dust in blade’s ears because how could he hold on to hope when you are alone amongst the stars? 

his texts are left delivered, but never read. in fact, it has been five days since your contact displayed to be online, and he finds himself staring at it in case that the circle will illuminate green, that you’ll give him some sort of update on your liveliness. 

so that you’ll see how sorry he is and all he wants for you is to return home. 

he doesn’t remember when he became so dependent, but perhaps this is another cruel punishment from fate with another inconceivable price of repentance.

for someone as unforgivable and despicable as blade to love means to mutilate the universe with aftershocks that tear through boundaries of what’s possible. for a man like blade to rebel, it means that the consequences will return tenfold.

and there is no crueller damnation than tearing you away from him. 

he turns on his side, arms reaching over to where you would normally lie, and dozes off again, feeling colder than ever.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blade wakes up a second time. the sun is no longer the thing that awakens him, but rather, the sound of footsteps that echo outside the bedroom. disgruntled and still trying to gather his bearings, he shoots awake at the sound of your door opening.

you stand on the other side.

is this a dream?

“oh,” you breathe. you sound winded, caught off guard by the sight of your lover who stares at you like a bewildered deer. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would be here.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you, unnervingly unresponsive.

you look miserable. fatigue clings to your skin like a second skin, your eyes lack the brightness they usually have, and you are, evidently, very battered and bruised, blood staining your ruined clothes. 

but you are like sunlight, and blade thinks he can breathe again. 

“i guess i’ll leave,” you murmur, interrupting blade’s momentary assessment.

“don’t.”

turning back around, the swordsman is now slowly stalking towards you, seemingly teleported from the bed to halfway across the room in the blink of an eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask and he holds back a scoff from the irony of your question. he’s the one that should be asking that, not you. 

but yes, there is something wrong; you left him alone. you went somewhere he couldn’t and then made him feel helpless because he didn’t know whether or not you were going to come back, stranded in the cosmos forever. 

stopping before you, his hands gravitate upwards with the magnetic need to touch you, to ensure that you were real and not some figment of his hazy imagination. blade raises a hesitant hand to sit on the back of your neck and the frostiness of his fingertips causes a shiver to run up your spine. gently, he presses you for a pulse and visibly gulps when he finds it, suffocating you in the tense silence that has occupied the air (you’re real, and you’re okay, delivered back to him in one piece).

then, he looks at you with the saddest expression you have ever seen him wear before engulfing you in his embrace. the stellaron hunter is hesitant with his touch, hovering around you in fear of overstepping, for blade would never forgive himself if he were to scare you off again. 

because you’re finally back where he can reach, and he never wants you to leave. 

“ren?” you pause, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and closing the gap he left, meeting him halfway. the little action floods him with endless relief. “what’s the matter?”

he shakes his head against you and his hold tightens mercilessly, squeezing all air out of your lungs. 

“you had me worried,” he confesses, no louder than a whisper because otherwise he would crack under the weight of his own words. the constant fear that has plagued him for the last few days would finally break him and he’d be in shambles in your arms, making a mess of something gorgeous with something hideous. 

so instead, he will continue simply holding onto you where you are safe. in his arms, you cannot leave, you cannot go places that danger you, and you cannot break his heart and choke him with the emptiness of your presence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, rubbing his back and he tugs you closer. “i didn’t mean to worry you, everything jus-”

“-you left without saying goodbye.”

you’re silent and guilty, but so beautiful. “i thought you didn’t want to see me. we were pretty mean to each other before i left,” you say after a second of contemplation. “i didn’t know where we stood, i wasn’t sure if you still wanted me.”

whatever is left of his heart breaks, crumbling into shambles that ring at your feet. there are a multitude of things that blade wants to say, yet no words come to fruition, to his dismay. he wants to offer you the comfort and promises you want to hear, and he wants to express the overwhelming relief he feels, but he can’t, and he curses his own inability to be heartfelt. 

instead, his grip around you tightens, like you’ll slip away otherwise and have him search for you throughout the cosmos. 

“don’t do any of that again,” he pleads instead, hoping that you’ll understand. “i beg of you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “i won’t.”

“don’t leave like that,” he tugs at your ruined shirt, grasp gentle and careful in fear of scaring you away with the intensity of his emotions that are hanging on by a thread

“i wont.” 

“please don’t go.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

blade sighs, nodding. you smile at him and it feels like a warmth powerful enough to drive the cold away. 

“but first, i need a bath,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “please, keep your distance, i’m pretty sure i reek.”

he doesn’t say anything and clearly doesn’t listen, because instead of letting go, he simply leads you to the bathroom without ever unwrapping his arms. soon, the bath begins to run, and the sound of water streaming down ceramic echoes off the tiles, but the warmth of your laughter and tired words overpower it. blade sits at the edge, nothing but an oversized shadow that watches as you relax in the water, frowning when he catches the frequent bruise or fresh scar. 

afterwards, you both stumble onto the bed (careful to avoid the mess that blade as made, which you scolded him for, and he listened dejectedly before promising to clean it all up), and blade reaches over to your side, chest warming when he finds your figure to tug close. 

you fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. your lover, on the other hand, stays awake for a few moments longer, simply trying to commit you to memory. 

“don’t go,” he repeats, tugging at your shirt as the evenness of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

he doesn’t feel cold anymore. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

last 5 years running out my mouth

katsuki bakugou x reader

one night, amongst the crowds and the music, katsuki wonders why he’s looking for you- he knows you don’t go to parties, anymore. themes of (katsuki’s) depression and substance usage

i love you 5sos nation 🪐 inspired by you dont go to parties

5 am.

katsuki’s clinging to his couch. everyone on his contact list, and everyone on their contact lists and so forth, stood in his house. red, drunken eyes dart around, as if looking for someone. though he knows its futile. you’re not there. at least, not anymore.

he groans, sitting up. he needs to vomit. this isn’t a good look for a new, fresh-faced hero. he pushes through the crowds, starting to kick people out. he didn’t care where they went, just not here.

he knocked over a vase. he’s probably offended a bunch of people. he’s trying to make it to a place in the apartment that doesn’t reek of alcohol and dead dreams- an ambitious attempt, to put it nicely.

he groans, bumping into someone. he grows even more frustrated when he sees who it is.

“katsuki, you’ve gotta sit down, man.” kirishima says, directing his friend to the bedroom. kirishima is a party goer, but lately, he knows to stay sober enough to keep things in check. someone had to be bakugou’s jailor.

katsuki doesn’t protest, sitting down while the redhead ushers everyone out of the house. he sighs, returning to the bedroom, seeing bakugou sitting there, his head in his hands.

“fuck… i don’t know.” he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn’t curse out of anger or hatred; he curses out of sadness. katsuki sits there, like theres vultures spinning around him, waiting for their time to strike.

what a tragedy.

bakugou opens his mouth to say something, but the overwhelming urge to vomit takes over. kirishima walks over, pushing him onto the bed and making sure he lays on his side. he stares, heartbroken, wondering where it all went wrong.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

you prayed he’d just talk to you, about his fears and about his doubts. you wish he’d be honest about his panic attacks, especially after the war. he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the fighting, remembering the tears. but some invisible barricade caged his feelings inside his heart. this had to be his battle.

he’s still there in the darkness, feeling like a heartless monster. he’s starting to come undone, the sadness in his bones seeping into the security and confidence once embedded in him. maybe he isn’t who he set out to be in the first place.

but he’s not gonna let you know that.

“told you i’m find, moron.” he says, spooning you. he hopes you don’t notice how glossy his red eyes are, but you do.

“katsuki, please-“

“i’m fine.”

you bite your lip. if you can’t get him to open up, maybe you can take his mind off of it. a party never hurt anybody, right?

“…denki’s throwing this get-together tomorrow night.” you say, proposing the idea to him. “its a reunion for our class. we should go. it’ll get your mind off of… whatever it is.”

he scoffs, musing that he’s too good for parties. “yeah, a bunch of lightweight assholes i have to drive home? no thanks.”

“oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.” you pout.

it’ll be fun, and because you’re desperate to see a smile on his face again, even if its from laughing at his friends drunken antics. anything that’ll have even a semblance of your katsuki back.

“i’ll think about it.” he can’t say no to that face.

and that was the first time you ever saw katsuki drink.

he can handle his alcohol well, actually. he keeps you close by him, starting with one shot, and then another, and then kissing your neck in front of all your friends while his bitter breath tickles your skin.

he was laughing, enjoying himself. he was surrounded by people who diminished his doubts. a night of partying and fun did him some good.

what you didn’t anticipate, however, was how often he was attending them now.

the fame followed him everywhere. katsuki would end up in different celebrities’s basements, with close friends or even strangers. at first, you went with him. but it were as if the alcohol formed oceans between you two, separating you from katsuki.

he’s spiralling and you can see it. he’d chase down all that pain with shots, and all that trauma with drunken dares and released inhibitions. at first, you went with him to have fun. then, you went with him to make sure he didn’t take his foot off the breaks. now, you couldn’t bring yourself to go at all.

“katsuki, you need to stop.” you say, following one of his nasty hangovers.

he groans, clutching his temples. “don’t… god, you’re making my head spin, [y/n].”

“i’m making your head spin?” you scoff. “no, thats because you were out till 3 last night.”

“it was denki’s birthday.” he tries to excuse himself.

“no, it was sero’s, and they told me you were shitfaced for most of it!” you raise your voice, tears brimming.

his eyes widen, seeing how upset you are. he knows its irresponsible, but he also knows being drunk was a way to feel something, anything other than sad. given the choice between drowning in whiskey and drowning in tears, he chose the one that was capable of poisoning him.

“please.” you plead. “stop with the parties, with the drinking. its hurting you!”

“i have it under control!”

“you don’t!”

he stands up, his hangover more evident than ever. “god fucking damnit, [y/n]. if all you’re gonna do is bitch and moan like a fucking extra, just go!”

exactly 2 seconds in, katsuki realized what he said. but he’s too late.

theres a palpable silence in the air, followed by the sniffling crinkle of your nose as the tears cascade down.

“[y/n], babe, baby, i’m sorry. fuck, i-“

you slap him, cutting him off. his head whips to the side, just taking it. he wants to argue back, but he knows he deserved that.

you pack up your things, and he doesn’t have it in him to try and stop you. he begs in his mind for you to stay. secretly, you’re begging that he’ll beg.

but he doesn’t. and you leave.

subsequently, katsuki’s partying habit goes from controlled to dangerous.

he’s never not drunk, never not out doing something with people he doesn’t know. he’s always staying just a bit too late, but always manages to kick himself out in time to get to work. he’s always irritable, in part to the hangovers but largely in part to your absence.

people are starting to catch on. maybe not the fans, who adore him and his looks no matter what, but his colleagues have noticed a shift. the no-bullshit, toughed out dynamight sunk somewhere beneath his rising blood-alcohol levels.

still, he looks for you. he wonders if you’re still on the couch, singing karaoke with your friends, belting and humming along to the tunes. he thinks you might be in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and calling an uber in advance. or maybe you’re in the washroom, overstimulated, your anxiety taking over. anxiety he knows all too well. the anxiety he tried to hide beneath parties.

some nights, he’ll drunkenly stumble into the washroom, whether its his own or someone else’s. he’ll wonder if you’re there, sitting on the sink, ready to leave with him to your shared home.

but its another lonely night.

you don’t go to parties anymore.

because you’ve stayed at home, crying over photos, wearing his hoodies. everything you’ve learned about katsuki during your split had been against your will. there was silence from him, but the whispers of news and gossip tabloids could scream. you’re mad, yes, but you also pray for his safety.

selfishly so, you hope he still looks for you at those parties. at least there, he cares a little. maybe even more than you realize.

right now, he’s sitting on the couch with kirishima, denki, and sero. though all of them have had a bit to drink, katsuki is undoubtedly the worst of them all. he’s bitching about you, about missing you, about how you left him.

“she just.. got up and fucking left.” he slurs, leaning his head back. the mood is killed, and no one really has the energy to argue. except maybe for denki, who points out the obvious.

“you told her to leave. and she had a good reason for bringing it up to you, dude.” denki says. “can’t blame her for walking out on you.”

silence. the calm before the storm.

exactly 5 seconds later, katsuki is positively losing his shit, yelling at denki who just sits there, dumbfounded. kirishima is holding his friend back while sero attempts to position himself between the two. its one thing to be yelled at. but being yelled at by katsuki bakugou? thats something else.

“i don’t know what to do, man.” sero says, looking at eijirou for answers. the redhead honestly isn’t sure either. one thought crosses his mind, but he’s worried.

“get him to sit down.” eijirou says. “i’m calling [y/n].”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“hello?” you say into the receiver. theres a pit in your stomach hearing ejirou’s voice, knowing he wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.

“hey [y/n], listen… katsuki’s drunk, and he’s yelling at denki… i’m so sorry, but… you think you can come get him?”

god, its exhausting being a good person sometimes.

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” you huff, grabbing your car keys. eijirou thanks you, knowing you might be the one thing that calms him down right now.

all 3 boys help get him into your car. your heart clenches, seeing just how badly he’s been doing. he’s sick, and he’s tired. his eyes are swollen from crying, you know it.

eijirou leaves you with a long hug, arms embracing you. “take care.” he says. “call me if he acts up. he might need someone to kick his ass.”

you chuckle, for what feels like the first time in forever. “yeah, he could.”

when you re-enter the car, you don’t start it right away. you look over at katsuki in the passenger seat. maybe he’s starting to sober up, or he’s drunk enough where he’s starting to be honest.

“i’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe.” he says. you just nod, eyes welling up with tears, words failing you.

he laughs bitterly, head leaning your way. “i’m a mess, [y/n]. like, a real mess. doctor told me i have depression. i didn’t tell you ‘cause i didn’t wanna look weak. pathetic, right? i feel pretty weak right now.”

you look over at him, already wanting to cry all over again. you should have seen the signs. right now, they are so glaringly obvious- the detachment, the avoidance, the drinking….

“and i miss you more than anything.” he says. “i wish i just… talked to you more. even if its your shitty knock-knock jokes.”

you’re crying, but you do scoff a little, holding his hand. “my knock-knock jokes are not stupid.”

“knock knock.” he says.

“who’s there?”

“i still love you. and thats the worst part about all these damn parties… you weren’t there. i don’t care about parties if you’re not there.”

that might have been the most sober thing he’s said all night.

you don’t say anything, not ready to forgive. but you do place a kiss to his cheek before driving him home.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

a few days later, katsuki shows up to your house at 9 o’clock sharp- a new record considering the recent events. he called in advance, but your heart still skips a little when you open the door and motion for him to enter.

the bags under his eyes have reduced. he’s nor slurring his words, and he’s not snapping at all. he seems… better.

“i uh… brought you coffee.” he says, awkwardly handing you the cup. “i got you some sugar and creamer, cause i didn’t know how you like it.” he shoves his hands into his pocket and takes out the packets.

“katsuki, i have that all here.” you almost laugh at his nervousness. its clear that this has taken a hold on him. as he sobers, he feels the need to rebuild himself again.

“right, sorry, smartass.” he says, he sounds like an asshole, but its a nickname you’ve both grown used to.

physically, he seems like he’s finally gotten some rest. on the inside, however, you can see the turmoil in his eyes. he had spent weeks drunk on distractions. now, he’s facing all the things he’s fucked up.

you think back to what he said in the car. about his diagnosis, about his struggles. you wonder just how long he’s been feeling that tv static in his head, how long he’s been bullying himself. you wonder how strong his demons are, how they’ve got hands and how he was struggling to fight them.

it breaks your heart.

“i… i know what i told you the other night.” he huffs, hands in his pockets. “i remember that much.”

“…why didn’t you say anything?” you dare to utter, wanting to see his pain and wanting to shield him from it.

he pauses, finding the right words. “…i don’t know. i’m a hero, i’m the god damn best. i didn’t wanna look weak.”

“depression isn’t a weakness, kats.” you remind him, that familiar nickname rolling off of your tongue in a way that makes his heart ache. “especially after everything you’ve been through.”

he knows what you mean. the relentless training, the fights, all the times he thought he was going to die. honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. everyday could have been his last.

“it just… hurts.” he admits, wincing at the vulnerability in his tone. “so damn much… like… i don’t know. like i’m trapped.”

his voice cracks at that last part.

“i don’t know what to do. how to deal with this. i just know i’m sick of parties. i’m sick of being away from you. i-“

you cut him off with a hug there, enough to get his eyes misty. he hugs you back instantly, fitting in with you like a puzzle piece. burying his face in your neck, he inhales and lets himself get lost in you.

“you don’t have to know what to do.” you say, stroking his back. “as long as you’re done hurting yourself. i’m here, you asshole.”

you shed a few tears as well as katsuki sobs that he’s sorry. but as you hold him, he admits to himself that vulnerability didn’t kill him- it just brought him closer to you. after days of searching for you at parties, during lonely nights, you’ve got him again.

and he’s never letting you go.

[muniimyg]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ chaebol!jungkook (4) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist closed.

note: have safe sex & don’t be like these two <3

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @kekerrreke @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

monday

jungkook comes home around lunch time. no words can describe how happy he is to see you half asleep on his couch with bam curled up with you. it's weird. his heart has never matched the pace of his dick before.

he wakes you up by joining you. as he lays his body on top of yours, you wrap your arms around him. he snuggles in closer, leaving kisses on your neck. "what'd you tell your husband?" he murmurs. you sigh as you play with his hair. "told him i went to visit my cousin, jiun."

he nods along, "that makes sense. didn't she just give birth like three months ago? three months is a good time to visit a new born." you're shocked by his memory. "how'd you remember—"

jungkook laughs hearty as he sits up and pulls you with him. "you wouldn't let me cum in you for like two weeks then. got all paranoid about having my baby or some shit."

you shrug. "having your baby wouldn't be so bad."

jungkook's eyes dim. "if you didn't have a husband, right?"

tiptoeing, you plant a kiss on his lips. "aren't you my husband?"

that night, jungkook fucks you like you're the only thing that matters to him. he missed you so much that he had no time to buy condoms. his heart goes on overdrive when you tell him it's okay. you say, "you can fuck me raw. i wanna know how you feel... give this to me, okay? give me all of you."

so he does. in so many ways, he gives you himself.

tuesday

the morning starts off with sex.

the coffee you brewed for the two of you goes cold as it sits on the nightstand, untouched. tangled in his bedsheets, you can't help but giggle at every gentle touch he places on you. it's different. sex with him has never felt like this before. it feels like lightning.

jungkook shoves his cock inside you for the nth time, causing you to squeal. as he towers over you, you moan at the sight of his chain dangling. you feel every inch of his cock pump inside of you, each stroke hitting your g-spot. it's so insane. like, you've never liked sex so much before this. before him.

in the back of your mind, you wonder if you can ever let this go. could you ever forget about this? how tuesday morning sex feels like with the man that you're practically forbidden to be with?

it doesn't matter.

right now, it's him. he's the only thing you see and feel... and he feels like a dream.

as the day goes on, jungkook does a lot of sweet things you never expected him to do. he helped dress you. he started you a bath. he made you lunch. he asked you a lot of questions about your family, ultimately trying to get to know you more. at one point, he looks at you a little too fondly.

"what's with the look?" you ask, hiding your face with your hands.

jungkook moves them, bringing them to his lips. kissing your hands, he looks at you with the sweetest eyes. "you're... evergreen. you know that? you blow my mind. that's all."

you cover up the fact that your heart melted by smirking and taking his hands back. "yeah, yeah... you know what else i can blow?"

wednesday

jungkook can't say he hates this.

you tied him up and spent the past hour edging the shit out of him. between you two, your sweat and pre-cum could fill buckets. he loves the way you're out of breath. he loves the way you're gliding your pussy against his dick, struggling not to cum.

"j-just put it in, wifey." you feel shivers go down your back as he calls you that. "fuck me like you love me."

you freeze.

"like i what?"

jungkook hisses. "s-shut up."

you shake your head. "no. say it again."

jungkook struggles with the rope. "untie me."

"no. say what you said again."

"why don't i show you instead?"

that's all it takes. you untie him and he fucks you like he loves you. as you cum and feel him throbbing inside of you, you want to say it. you want to make a confession. instead, you mumble his name in between kisses and hope he simply knows.

thursday

jungkook spends most of his day at work. he textes you a million times, acting all clingy. you text him back with the same energy and enjoy your day with bam. you clean his penthouse a little and start on dinner.

you make his favourite.

when he comes home, his fatigue posture goes away the instant you greet him at the door. "jungkook?" you peer out of the corner, bam following you.

"hey," he smiles, collapsing into your embrace. "d-did you cook? it smells like—"

"yeah," you flush. "i did. i also made seaweed soup."

"it's not my birthday," he laughs, taking his shoes off. he holds you by the waist, guiding you to the kitchen. over the stove, he watches as you lift the lids off the dishes.

"i saw your calendar when i was tidying your study. your birthday was a few months ago but the date was empty? you didn't celebrate with anyone, did you?"

jungkook blinks at you.

"so i made you seaweed soup. at the very least, we can celebrate together. i hope that's okay—"

jungkook kisses you.

then, he fucks you against the kitchen counter. against his kitchen island, he has you bending over. at one point, you jump on him, legs wrapped around like it belongs there. he brings you to his couch, and lifts your legs. jungkook eats you out for a good hour. he plays with your pussy, switching from fucking you to fingering you until your squirt. when you do, you stain the cashmere throw blankets he has on his couch. it's okay. he'd display them if he could.

jungkook has your legs in the air for so long, they hurt so bad. to soothe them, he runs you both a bath. sitting in his bathtub together, you two giggle uncontrollably over the bubbles and bath salts. you two are so close. so intimate.

he kisses your shoulders. he kisses behind your ear. he kisses every part of you that he can.

by the time you two clean up, the meal you prepared is cold. as you put on your pjs, jungkook reheats the food. you join him by wrapping your arms around him, hugging his back. his heart is filled with so much love as you two sit down and eat together. you feed him a few bites of the soup, sing him happy birthday, and cuddle him to sleep.

that night, he hates your fiancé the most.

friday

jungkook invites his friends over.

at first, you're nervous. completely confused why he would do such a thing, but when you meet them.. you get it. they're all so funny and sweet. it confuses you how jungkook has such a douchey personality when he has such amazing friends.

"i've never seen him like this," his friend jimin comments. "he explained the whole thing to us... and obviously, we've been begging him for months to give up and stop bothering you... but after meeting you; i get it. if i were him, i'd hate your husband too."

you don't know what to feel. a part of you is upset that jungkook would talk about your life with others but another part of you can't help but feel flattered.

when his friends leave, you pick a fight.

jungkook doesn't yell. he apologizes instantly and tells you that he would kill his friends if they ever outted you. you take his word for it, but still hate the feeling.

"make up sex?" he suggests.

you roll your eyes and shove his chest. "get over yourself, you big mouth, ignorant chaebol kid—"

jungkook grabs a hold of your wrists and pulls you close. he throws you over his shoulders and takes you to the bedroom where he shows you just how sorry he is.

you accept his apologies 5 orgasms later.

saturday

jungkook makes an effort to make sure you aren't seen exiting his penthouse. he hires security and makes sure your husband isn't around. for the first time ever, jungkook takes you on a date.

he brings you to an outdoor movie. it's set up on this little hill that overlooks a field of flowers. he tells you that it's his grandmother's field. that he grew up running through them with his brother and one time, he got stung by a bee. he refused to come back ever since.

"why are we here then?" you ask, feeling a little bad at the memory he has.

"they're pretty," he answers simply. "you're pretty. it made sense."

you smile at him. tilting your head, you kiss him. he chases your lips when you pull away. moving closer to him, you lean against him. he holds you as close as he can, watching the sunset and wondering if this is how it will feel like forever.

if every flower field and every sunset from here on out will remind him of you.

sunday

he was dreading for this day to come.

he hoped the world ended by now... because it will. the moment you walk out his door tonight, it will.

jungkook is an angel the entire day. you two wake up slow as the sun shines through his curtains. you two have a quickie in bed. you make brunch together. lazily cuddle on the couch and watch each other's favourite movies.

just like that; it's over.

he looks for every excuse in his head. he wonders if he should just print the divorce papers for you already—but that didn't make any sense. you weren't even married to him yet.

he still had a chance.

jungkook thinks fast. he wonders if he should do it. if he should take his grandmother's ring out from his nightstand and offer it to you. he should, shouldn't he?

then, just as he's about to excuse himself to get the ring—your fiancé calls. you pick up after the second ring.

"hey, love..." you say gently, offering jungkook a smile and excusing yourself to his study.

he curls his fists and wonders just how selfish he could be. he concludes that it doesn't matter. if he could have you—he'd give everything else up. he'd do it. he really would.

but when you come back, your warm eyes break his heart.

"what'd he say?" jungkook asks, breaking the silence.

"he asked how my trip was going. he asked when i'd be coming home... and if we could move the wedding up."

jungkook's heart breaks.

"up by how much?"

you gulp. "next month."

he has no words. all he does is nod and back away. you move forward, wrapping yourself around him.

"we have a few more hours left," you comfort him. "let's be together for a little longer.. okay?"

he looks at you, utterly conflicted.

then, you kiss him and his mind clears.

you'd win.

no matter what he says or does, you'd win. you'd win him, you'd win your fiancé. but fuck that because it doesn't matter who you choose. you'd always have jungkook.

he kisses you until you're out of breath. he fucks you in such a fulfilling way, you swear you see stars. it's so different from the other times. it's loving. it's wishful. every handful of your breast he squeezes, every lick of your pussy, and every thrust he shoves his cum in deeper inside of you—it's mesmerizing. it's unforgettable. it's everything you've ever wanted and ever thought to want.

jungkook gives you everything. every plea you whimper, every kiss, and every touch in between you two—he tries his best to remember.

jungkook fucks you like there's no tomorrow.

because there isn't one.

this was the end.

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does. cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Part 2 here!

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[tayraedoll]

Chivalry Is Alive and Well in Hell

Welcome to part 3 of Old Man!

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Swearing, fluff, mature themes

Word Count: 1,675

You feel your mind start to reach consciousness before your physical body. You feel like you are floating, time and space mean nothing in this zone. Slowly, the outside world begins to register to you, and it is less than fucking pleasant.

Your entire body hurt like hell- your skin feels like it is on fire, your joints feel like they were stretched in a medieval torture device, your throat was raw and dry, and it felt like you have not had any food for weeks. With an undignified groan you stretch out, wincing as your nerves shoot lighting bolts through your sore muscles. What the fuck happened to you? Were you hit by a train?

Suddenly, your memories wash over you and your eyes shoot open. Oh yea, Conductor Alastor was at the controls, and you rode that crazy train for 72.FUCKING.HOURS.

You look around, you were alone in bed; Alastor's side was cold letting you know he has been up for awhile. The bed itself was a disaster. The sheets were ripped and torn, the pieces chaotically strewn around the mattress. Both yourself and the bed were covered in sweat, blood, slick, and cum- the mixture dry and clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You bring an arm up to your face and take a whiff, recoiling immediately at the atrocious way you smelled and wrinkling your nose. Disgusting, a shower was definitely first on the agenda. But before that, where was the man responsible for this mess?

As if answering your unspoken question, Alastor suddenly appeared next to the bed. "Ah Darling, there you are! I was wondering how long you would sleep for", he gives you a wide grin. "How are you feeling Ma Biche?"

You take a moment to look him over, he was as pristine and put-together as ever. He was freshly showered, no bodily fluids covering him at all, his hair neatly styled, and his perfect, red suit pressed neatly over his form. Not a single trace of evidence of the last 3 days was anywhere to be found on him. Worse yet, his movements were as lithe and graceful as a panther's, no hint of any bodily soreness in his gait. It all left you feeling extremely self-conscious and rather inferior. You grab a scrap of a blanket and bring it up to your chest in an attempt to hide yourself and throw a glare at his perfect form. "Everything hurts, and I'm pretty sure I am dying." He wouldn't get the reference but you did not care, it fit your mood too well. "How long was I out for? You look...well.", you narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, his microphone playing an upbeat jazz tune, his whole demeanor was light-hearted. "You have been asleep for about 24 hours." Your jaw drops, "24 hours?! Why the fuck didn't you wake me up Al?!"

He reaches down and wraps his hand around your wrist, bringing it up to his lips to plant a tender kiss on the back of your hand. "You needed your rest Sha. Your first mating session took a lot out of you."

You look down, there was a tenderness in his eyes that tugged at your heart and you were not ready to not be annoyed with him. "And what about you?", you ask, subtly accusing him of leaving and making you wake up alone after all you two did together.

"I do not require the same amount of rest as you do. Additionally, I had to reassure our companions that we did not run off after our inexplicable absences the past few days. I do believe our resident fallen angel still thinks I have consumed you", he laughs at the last sentence. "Well, I suppose I have, just not in the way she is thinking", his eyes trail over your arms and throat, cataloging every scratch, hickey, and bite. Without warning, he swoops down and scoops you up into his arms.

"What are you doing?! Put me down!", you screech. Not only were you still a little annoyed with him, but you did not want him to smell you at the moment!

He just laughs, still in a good mood, and begins whistling as he enters his bathroom. He sets you down on the counter and gives you a curt "stay" command that you roll your eyes at- you are not a dog!- but you stay there anyways, fearing that your legs would buckle under you again if you tried to stand.

You watch as he collects things from various cupboards and drawers before turning to his huge bathtub. He turns the water on and dips various liquids into the tub as it filled. The warm steam felt amazing, the scents of lavender and eucalyptus reached your nose and you sighed. He finishes the bath off with a bright pink bath bomb, the fizzing sound it made so satisfying to your ears. Alastor then turns back to you, scooping you into his arms again before gently lowering you into the hot water. You wince and let out a hiss as the water makes every mark on your body sing momentarily. But you are soon able to relax and lean back, enjoying the sense of calm that envelops you. You close your eyes and let out a contented sigh.

You hear the rustle of fabric beside the tub and peep one eye open, seeing Alastor place his jacket neatly on the countertop you were just perched on. He rolls up the sleeves of his crimson dress shirt to his elbows and grabs a small pitcher before settling on the floor next to the tub. He places a hand on your shoulder and directs you to sit up slightly before placing a finger under your chin and tipping your head back. He dipped the pitcher into the water and poured it over your hair, using his free hand to run his fingers through it to make sure he wet every strand.

"What are you doing?", you asked as he lathered shampoo between his hands.

"Upholding my end of our deal My Doe," he explained as he scrubbed the shampoo over your head, carefully using his claws to scratch the base of your skull. Gentle jazz filled the room at a low volume, just barely loud enough to hear, furthering the relaxing ambiance.

When he began combing the conditioner through your hair you side-eyed him. "I do not remember bathing me being a part of our deal. I assure you I am perfectly capable of doing this myself Al."

"If I remember correctly, I said I would protect and love you with all I am. I am simply looking after your well-being, it is not an attack on your independence. I feel better when I can take care of you the way a man should take care of his lady. I believe we have had this conversation about men no longer being chivalrous before." He picked up a fresh sponge and began rubbing it in small circles down each arm, careful not to hurt your healing flesh. Then he gently turned you by your shoulders to face away from him as he ran the sponge down your back.

"I really think you are a rare breed. I doubt all the men from your time did this. They may have been chivalrous in public- but how many of them turned into completely different people behind closed doors alone with their wives? You are probably one of only a handful of men in history to act as servant to their partner." He turned you back around to face him, moving the sponge down you chest and abdomen, working his way down to your legs.

"Isn't that the foundation of love Darling? To provide for another's needs? To serve them?" When he was satisfied that you were clean he reached for a towel, beckoned you to step out of the tub as he pulled the drain, and wrapped you up burrito-style. It felt as if he had just taken the towel out of the dryer it was so warm. "I promise to treat you the way my mother would want me to treat you." Alastor said that last part so softly, you were sure you were not meant to hear it, the only reason you heard it was because of your ultra sensitive doe ears. He hardly ever spoke of his life, he would really only talk about his mother when he would cook you a dish she had taught him how to make. You hoped that this small admission would open the door to more intimate discussions about his past. For now, you would not press him.

You leaned up onto your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Well, I am glad my old geezer has held onto his old-fashioned chivalry", you smirked up at him devilishly.

"Oh, we are reverting back to our ageist feud now are we Fawn?"

You gave him a shrug. "So, that was mating season huh? So what do we do the rest of the year until your refractory period ends?" you wink and laugh at your own joke.

Alastor's eyes flash menacingly, his smile turning more Cheshire before responding "Oh it's not over yet Little Doe."

Your own smile fell, "Er..what? But we did it, for the entire 72 hours!"

The demon buck stalked towards you, backing you up into the bathroom vanity, placing his hands on the counter on either side of you to cage you in against him. "You are but sated for now Darling. But does are polyestrous creatures. I suspect you will have at least one, if not two more heat cycles before the mating season is up."

Your eyes grew wide and you let out an incredulous laugh, whispering under your breath "Oh fuck me!"

Alastor let out a sinister laugh of his own, eyes turning to radio dials and antlers sprouting out from his head,"Trust me my doe, you will be. THOROUGHLY."

The end! Hope you enjoyed it!

@stattikdemon

@vxllys

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@lady-intellectual

@shealizxx

@cryssyd

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 3

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,8k words | masterlist

"She is waking up."

Someone is talking, but you don’t know who it is, have never heard that voice before. 

"Is she?" But that voice, you have heard before. And it makes your heart race, panic surging through you and gripping your insides with its invisible claws of fire and ice.

"Yes, Cassian," the female voice states. "She is waking. Thank the Mother."

You shudder — both from feeling cold and the mention of his name. 

"Don‘t worry. Nothing will happen to you, you are safe." The female close to you must have felt your slight tremor, trying to soothe you. Under different circumstances you would have been grateful for this act — now, you can’t really accept it. You don’t know what to do with it. Can you trust her? The stranger? She is so close and it scares you, your eyes not yet opening. But you need to see, to know where you are, and what is going on. 

You ponder over her words, the mention of the word safe…

Nowhere is safe, you think. Not while Cassian and Azriel exist. With them in your life you are nowhere safe. And why the hell did you allow yourself to fall asleep?

You can’t allow yourself to let that happen again. You can't allow yourself such reckless mistakes. You always need to be focused, one step ahead of your enemies. 

Ignoring the voices, you struggle to rise, but your throbbing head spins you off balance.

"Where am I?" you breathe, not recognising your own voice. It sounds weaker than usual, hoarse and ragged. "What do you want from me?"

Blinking against harsh light, only shadows greet your blurred vision. You can only make out silhouettes, no faces, no bodies. Some people stand close to you, some a little further away and one lone figure at the door. You don’t have to see them to know who they are. 

You would always recognise him. Azriel. You start to tremble, your knees feeling wobbly despite sitting down. Blinking rapidly, slowly the haze starts to fade, and everything becomes clearer.

"We regret what occurred. Regret the measures we had to take."

The voice, oddly familiar, leaves you unsettled and cold sweat builds up on the back of your neck. 

"You…" Your breath catches as a large, towering figure appears. Imposing, graceful, powerful.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his trousers, his violet eyes trained on you. His features are sharp, but his expression is oddly soft.

"Are you…?" Your voice breaks before you can finish your question. 

"Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court." The male's voice is loud and strong. "Lady Y/N, I am sorry for what my father—"

"Gods!"

Rhysand. He looks different. Older. More mature. Like his father. You had only seen him a few times back then, never really talked to him, but you knew what he looked like. Everyone did.

You lift your hand. "Don‘t. Don’t apologise. I don’t want to hear that. It was centuries ago and...I don't want to hear it." You can't hear it. Not some silly apologies for things no apologising would ever be enough for.

You don’t want to talk about it — about what happened to you, about what has been done to you. You don’t want the memories to turn up again. You can't let them reach the surface ever again. And most definitely, not now.

Not with Azriel present.

There is unresolved business with everyone in this room, but in this moment it can’t be dealt with. You are not strong enough, your powers still haven’t returned, and there are too many people protecting each other in this moment. 

Rhysand dips his chin, slowly assessing you. "You may wonder why we freed you?" he changes the topic. 

The High Lord surrounds the couch and claims a seat on the couch table in front of you, but you remain silent.

"We need your help." Again, you offer no response.

"It concerns Koschei, the—"

"Death God." Your lips part, meeting his violet gaze. "Why me?"

And so they explain. Everything and in great detail and you listen. To everything that is said until your head feels heavy and starts to spin. It is too much, too many people, too many noises, too much information. 

Azriel stays at the door, and you fight the urge to look at him, not trusting yourself to not lunge at him again and try to claw his eyes out. Your hands are still shackled and telling by the scent of it, the High Lord of Night definitely put a protective shield around you — not to protect you, but rather the others from you.  

You listen carefully to every word that is said, but sometimes your thoughts stray. To Azriel. To the Prison. To what has been done to you and to the betrayal. And to what you know of Koschei. It is so much, your brain nearly breaks your through skull. 

"The bone carver, his—"

"Brother." Another female appears in your vision, she looks beautiful and young and there is a child on her arm. "He is dead. Gave his life for the sake of Prythian."

You speak a silent prayer to the Mother for another old friend you lost. Whispers of Stryga‘s death reached you some time ago and it sent a pang of hurt to your heart. Slowly, everyone is fading from this world, also Lanthys whose charm and lethality you truly came to love in the Prison and mist desperately when he no longer was.

"Meet my wife, my mate and High Lady of the Night Court." Rhysand’s reaches his arm out, curling it around the young female. "Feyre Archeron and our son, Nyx." Rhysand also introduces all the other people in the room, but your mind catches on the High Lady part and for one moment you can ignore Azriel and what the mention of his name and title does to you. 

You furrow your brows when he is done. "A High Lady?"

There had not once been a High Lady when you— Your thoughts are cut off rapidly…that was centuries ago. Obviously things would change — have changed.

You give your head a little shake, chest heaving with a deep inhale. You've missed so much, it hurts. It is a sharp pain, almost like a dagger cutting into your chest, shredding it apart. You have missed centuries in this world. Only because of him. Because of the male who promised you the world. The male who you gave everything to you. Your soul. Your heart. Your body. You loved him and he broke you. Azriel… Your head whips into his direction, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw starts to ache. He is already looking at you, nothing but pain his eyes, his shadows nervously swirling around him. You don't even want to kill him anymore. In all honesty, you never really wanted to. But you want him to hurt. As much as you hurt. 

Inhaling deeply, you clear your mind, ignore your vendetta for a moment, and blow out a long breath.

"What do you need me for? I can’t fight Koschei. I don’t have my powers back, the amulet—"

"In our possession." He hadn’t got ridden of it. Your head whips to Azriel and then to the short, black-haired female standing next to him. She was the one speaking and now her lips are pursed, eyes narrowed into slits through which she assess you. She takes a few steps forward, gaze not once straying from you. 

"My amulet." You almost want to lunge at her, grasping the family heirloom in your hands, never letting go of it again. "I want it back…"

The amulet of Oorid had once been your most treasured possession, the only thing you could keep of your mother, and it will bring your powers back. It is right there. So close and yet so far away. Never will they give it to you just like this. Your hands lift a little and you are reminded of something else — something else that restricts you from being in full control of powers. 

"And apart from that I still have those. I want them removed." With a frown on your face you lift your hands, making the handcuffs and chains clatter. "Even with the amulet back, I can’t do much if I have to keep wearing those." You avoid Azriel’s gaze, but you give Rhysand a reproachful look. 

They want your help, then they must do something for it.

The High Lord once again shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. "If we have your trust, you will have your freedom back."

This sounds good...and fishy. You can’t trust them. And it won’t be freedom like you are used to. Freedom meant riding with them. Hunting and haunting with them. Travelling from one court to another in the dead of night. Freedom—

"Forever?"

His eyes crinkle, and you feel a talon scratch against your mental shields. Did he truly think you would let him roam around in your mind? You had no idea he was a deamati but your wits made you react within mere seconds when you felt his power. Obviously you won't let him in.

"What do you mean…forever?" Cassian is the one asking and you bristle at him. 

"That I am allowed to be free after he is defeated. That you won’t put me in the Prison or in shackles ever again. That I am allowed to lead a life on my own."

"If you can defeat him." 

A female who resembles the High Lady jabs him in the ribs so quickly the general has no time to react, and you almost want to laugh. Serves him right. 

"Yes." The short-haired female says.

"I once was a Prison inmate as well. If you earn our trust, you shall roam freely."

"And how do I earn your trust?" you spit and each word is punctuated. You rise to your feet, suddenly towering a little over the black-haired female. Your gazes lock, power clashing with power. You flash your teeth, fangs showing. 

She has the audacity to smile. "I like her fire," she says to no one in particular. "When you prove yourself useful in destroying the Death Lord and don't spoil our loyalty towards you, then you shall have our trust."

You nearly grimace at the word loyalty because no one in this place, safe for the people you don't know, has ever been loyal to you. 

"But I can't defeat him if I don't have my powers back."

"A bargain it is then."

The black-haired female reaches out her hand and you raise a brow. You have made many bargains in the past, mostly over not that important things. Never over your freedom. 

"You regain your powers, and have your amulet back and you shall have freedom and for that you will help us with Koschei, starting with one special task now and then aiding us in ultimately defeating him."

The thin, loose nightgown suddenly feels so tight, too tight, making it hard to breathe. This decision is grand and should not be made on a whim, but you haven't got time. 

You hold her gaze…She used to be a Prison inmate too. Why would she lie about it? You think you can trust her…or at least partly. There is no one you can fully trust in this world. 

But this bargain will remove the shackles and give you your powers back. And your freedom. 

And so you accept. There is no other option anyway. You bow your hand and reach out both shackled hands, sliding one cold palm against hers. Lightning zips between your bodies and only mere moments after, a tattoo adorns the marred skin of your upper arm. Your gaze lingers on it for a long moment until—

"So shall be it," Rhysand bows his head and fetches you back to the moment. "Follow me into my office."

"First, I want these removed. We made a bargain!" You bare your teeth, holding his gaze while lifting your arms. 

His answer unsettles you.

"Az, remove them." The High Lord tilts his chin at his shadowsinger. You almost want to tell Rhysand that you are actually quite fine with keeping them only to avoid having Azriel touch you, but it is too late. And you won't ever be weak again. You hate him, and he should have any effect on you. He has touched you before, he can also touch you now. 

With the raise of one brow, you turn to Azriel and wave your handcuffed hands into his direction. "Now?"

He says nothing as he pushes off the wall, and slowly makes his way over to you, nothing but grace in his walk. Once again you clench your jaw, worried you'll grind down your teeth to nothing. 

And it doesn't get better. Not when his scarred hands carefully reach for your arms, broad fingers accidentally brushing your skin. It tingles, little sparks flying from his fingertips to your skin. 

Your breath catches.  

Using his shadowsinger powers or whatever, he opens the shackles, catching them before they fall to the ground. "Y/N—"

You step away from him, not giving him a chance to say anything. "Let's go to the office."

"Y/N, please," he tries again and seemingly he doesn't care that his family hears it.

Do they know?

Rhys and Cass didn't know about your relationship back then. Do they know now.

Slowly, you tip your chin up and meet his gaze. It is all in the look you give him, the hurt, the pain, the anger, the hate. You let him see it all and it is answer enough. You don't need to say anything.

He steps away and bows his head.

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

You almost shriek when your sharpened nails brush the onyx box, it’s power strong, electric, radiant, stretching out like a dark force that makes your lungs coil. It feels like death itself. 

Your breath catches in your throat, the power the little box holds so similar to your own. Death. 

You analyse the box, assessing it. How can such a little box, hold so much power? You don't even allow yourself to imagine what could be in it. 

"I think I need some books," you breathe after a moment. "And time. As much as I can have."

"We thought so," Feyre says and in the corner of your eye you see how she curls her hand around Rhysand's elbow, their little babe now peacefully asleep in another room. "Hence why we thought it will be a good idea for you to start looking for all the necessary books in our big library. You can work with all of them, whatever you need shall be yours."

You dip your chin at her, once again focusing on the box. It could be opened with old runes…maybe. Or some spells. Witches spells? You are not really acquainted with them, but maybe you need to have a look into those as well. 

"And speaking of the Library…" You turn to Feyre and Rhysand, an expectant look on your face, waiting for the High Lord to continue. 

"After a conversation with the priestesses living in the Library, you are allowed to have a room there. The Library is beneath the House and can only be accessed through the House of Wind.“

How kind, you think. You are allowed to. You almost bristle at the way the High Lord phrased it, but you veil your face in indifference and merely shrug. 

Freedom…right. Being locked into a Library. Underneath this house. That is what freedom looks like. Not. 

"Am I allowed to roam freely there."

The High Lord bows his head. "You are to stay away from the priestesses living there, but you are allowed to roam freely. The females who live in this place have experienced terrible things, we won't allow anything to happen to them again. As long as you don't cause any trouble, you have all the freedom you want to have in there, but if you do something, consequences will follow." 

You almost want to laugh. Consequences…They need your help. And why the hell should you cause any of the priestesses living there trouble? You are deadly, but you are not heartless. Not cruel in that sense of the word. 

You want to say something, to retort something, but the High Lord beats you to it. 

"I think it is a good idea for us to call it a day. You shall rest, you have been through a lot, and getting you out of the Prison and to Velaris most definitely wasn't easy for you."

Velaris…Velara. The High Lord's daughter. Rhysand's sister. Where is she? Why isn't she present. You haven't known her that well, but…you will ask about her another time. Another day. 

"I assume you want to bath and then sleep?"

You do, you really do. Today has been too much and you only want to fall into a bed, now that there is the possibility of actually having a bed again. And warm water to wash. 

Instead of answering, you only hold Rhysand's gaze and then slowly dip your chin. 

"Alright. Then end it here for today. Nesta will escort you to the Library."

You are so very tired. So exhausted. It is all draining. All too much after the century-long imprisonment. And you want to get away from them. From him. You no longer want to be in a room with Azriel. You can't stand to be near him. You can't stand his closeness.

So you find yourself following after Nesta into the Library without saying another word to anyone. And most definitely without deigning Azriel another look. 

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