#if you think that’s not true I’m biting and ripping and tearing you to pieces

[platinummice]

Remember being a kid and watching people play undertale and that being like the first thing I drew fanatic for(will reblog with pics if I can find any) and It was a very good time I can’t remember any real negative interactions I had when I was younger and maybe that’s cause I’m pretty alright at dodging discourse or maybe the fandom was better at the time or MAYBE people stopped just not interacting with content they don’t like idk but I think of those times fondly and if you think undertale is cringe well I don’t care

[readwritealldayallnight]

Home

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.6k words

warnings/tags: fluff, kinda barely angst

Soap has to bite his lip to keep himself contained, absolutely itching to make another comment, take another jab at the Lieutenant sitting next to him who couldn’t seem to sit still. Ultimately he decides he’s rather fond of keeping his nose intact, and refrains from teasing Ghost further, for the sake of not being punched with a little over an hour to go until they reach base, if nothing else.

As excitable as the Scot usually is in any circumstance, he does have a point though, even Price has never seen Ghost so antsy to return from a mission before. The skull faced man keeps checking his watch every other minute as though it would motivate the seconds to tick by faster, he can’t seem to stop bouncing his leg in impatience, casting quick glances out the window every so often. He wants, no, needs this jet to land back at base already.

“Somewhere you need to be LT?” Soap feigns ignorance, a smirk across his face, apparently having refrained himself long enough since the last joke all of ten minute ago.

“Don’t ask me to take you to the medics when we land, mate.” Gaz comments casually, not bothering to look up from where he’s fiddling with a deck of cards in his hands, equally trying to pass the time. “You’re askin’ him for it.”

“Ach, I’m just curious to know wha’s got the big man in such a haste to leave his dear ol’ mates behind, ya ken? Almos’ as if he has somethin’ waitin’ for him back at home.” The blue eyed sergeant replies, casting a mischievous sideways glance towards the man in question.

“Reckon it’s more about who’s waitin’ for him.” The Captain pitches in himself, sending his own knowing glance at the Lieutenant.

Ghost can’t be bothered to acknowledge any of the conversation happening around or about him, checking his watch again. Not when he’s on his way home after being deployed for three months. Not when this is the longest he’s had to be away from you yet. Not when it feels as if a piece of his beating heart was ripped out from between his ribs and had made a home for itself in the fissure tearing through yours, leaving him feeling as though he was wholly and irrevocably missing a piece of himself.

Simon thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning every language that’s ever been spoken my mankind, and never have the proper words to explain how much your absence has shaken him to his core, how much he’s missed you. Utterly and simply, missed you.

The first month apart, he found himself missing the more obvious things. He missed your smile, your laugh, making you laugh. He missed your voice, hearing you hum in the shower, sing in the car, recount your day, talk in your sleep (you refuse to believe him when he tells you this, but he swears it’s true). He missed holding you, you holding him. Missed your touch, your kisses, your body. Missed the way you feel, the way you make him feel. Missed falling asleep to you and waking up to you.

The second month, he found that he was really starting to miss the little things. He missed the smell of your hair fresh out of the shower. He missed the way you always ask him to crack the eggs when baking because you insist he’s just better at it than you are, gets less shell in it. He missed you teasing him about his driving, holding your hand over the console, opening the door for you to watch you smile and roll your eyes every time.

As the mission dragged into its last month, Simon found he just missed you. Simply you. He missed watching you get ready for the day, getting dressed, going about your routine. He missed existing in the same space as you, hearing you move throughout the flat, always there even if he can’t always see you. He missed seeing traces of you, finding strands of your hair everywhere, tripping over shoes left in the doorway, seeing both your mugs together on the drying rack. Evidence of a life lived, together.

The nature of the 141’s work meant that things had to be kept extremely tight-lipped and on the strictest need to know basis, especially in ensuring the men’s safety. This meant never being able to know where Simon was going or was at any given moment. It meant not being able to speak on the phone, because even with the very best protection and programming, phone calls can be tapped, and traced. And while that one isn’t a precaution that everyone strictly follows, taking the occasional quick phone call to a loved one on a secured line, but Simon has been through too much, seen too much to every put you at risk, no matter how minuscule the risk may be. He simply won’t take it. Not with you.

And so you take up the next best thing, a tried and true method through time. You write him letters. You tell him that you don’t expect him to write back, you understand that he won’t want to write down an address someone could track you to, you haven’t put down a return address either, adding that you’re not even sure when and if he’ll be able to read or receive them.

You love this man with every fibre of your being, but you really do know next to nothing about this part of his life that takes up so much of his time. It feels like they’re stealing your time when they call him away, stealing time spent with him. The no contact was especially difficult for you in the beginning of your relationship. It had been the cause of your first fight with him.

You’d told him the time apart (a month, the longest you’d gone through back then) was too much, you missed him too much. Seeing you hurt, and hurting himself, equally as tense about the periods of long distance, Simon had angrily lashed out. He wasn’t used to this, someone caring about him this much, caring about you more just as much. Not only was the intensity of these feelings foreign, but you were wanting to talk about them now.

He’d asked you if you wanted him to leave you then, not wanting to go on hurting you if it really was too much, to which you replied that no, the solution to you being too sad when he’s gone isn’t to leave you permanently. Neither of you knew how to actually navigate this, and Simon was still harbouring deep, slowly healing wounds that made navigating this uncharted territory an endeavour that left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to leave you, but the thought of hurting you was equally as bothersome.

You two idiots in love had your first proper fight, had your first proper makeup, and eventually came up with a sort of placeholder solution. It wasn’t perfect, nothing about Simon being gone was ideal really, but for the two of you, it worked. While he’s away from home you write him a letter, not every day though, per his request (‘So that I don’t start to feel more like homework, yeah?’), only when something worth writing comes to mind. It winds up being about a letter every other day, anyway.

You mail them to their permanent base, and he either gets to read them when they’re delivered, or he’s rewarded with the sight of the envelope atop his desk upon returning from wherever else they may have been temporarily based for the time. He reads them, every single one. Over, and over, and over. He has them essentially memorized, as numerous as they are. Every squiggle of your pen, each little doodle you add in on occasion, depending on the story you might be telling. You usually try to keep them lighthearted, happy, something that can brighten his mood and reassure him you’re doing okay. But sometimes you’re honest, you admit when days are hard and his absence is especially difficult.

In turn, Simon writes his own letters. His process is a little different than yours is. While you’re writing yours as the days of his absence pass, he often arrives back on base to discover multiple envelopes piled atop one another, a sight akin to Christmas morning in his eyes. Still, he always diligently reads through each letter of yours, and for every one you write him, he takes his own pen to paper to write his response to each and every line you draft for him. He adds in comments, witty remarks, the occasional joke or fun fact, sprinkles in stories if he has any that fit. He tells you how he misses you too, wishes he could put these letters in your hands himself.

He will soon enough though.

He has his letters, papers that might seem so insignificant to anyone else on this jet, tucked in between a pair of extra clothes in his pack, in hopes of keeping them as safe as he can. The majority of your letters are carefully stuffed in there as well. The most special ones however, the ones you’ve written for him with your penmanship etched upon page after page of writing, with your lipstick stained kisses across them, with your perfume sprayed on them, those he has neatly folded and tucked under his vest, just above his heart.

Soon as his feet are back on solid ground and he’s dismissed, he’ll be making his way back to you. Where he’ll take out each and every one of those letters he’s written in response to you, and he’ll read them to you as he holds you in his arms, feeling your hearts beating against each others again, where they belong, and that’s how he’ll know he’s home.

[agaypanic]

Baby, I'm Yours (Gideon Graves X Reader Smut)

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Request Something | AO3

Kinktober Day 7: Branding

Summary: You’ve been Gideon Graves’ girlfriend for a year now. For your anniversary, Gideon convinces you to do something to ultimately prove your loyalty to him.

A/N: first gideon fic so might be ooc or bad idk. ik that branding usually means burning skin with a hot iron, but that feels too wild for me to write so it’s a tattoo instead

C/W: needles (reader’s getting a tattoo), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamic, ownership kink(?), improper tattoo aftercare, toxic relationship tbh (it’s gideon, what do you expect???)

***

“Christ.” You hissed, biting your hand to soothe the pain as the tattoo artist started filling in the places meant to be blacked out.

Seeing your tense state, the artist removed the tattoo gun from your tender skin. “Need a break?”

“No. She’s fine.” A hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at your boyfriend, who was looking down on you with a usual wicked grin. Gideon stroked your cheekbone with his thumb, as if the little action would make the pain and discomfort go away. “Right, babe?”

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“That’s my girl.” Gideon patted your cheek.

It could be worse. Gideon could’ve asked you to get a whole back piece of his company’s logo instead of a tramp stamp. 

At first, hearing the request was very strange. His company’s logo permanently inked into your skin? But you soon realized it was more than that. It was less about affiliation with his business and more about affiliation with him. Gideon wanted tangible evidence that you were his, that he owned you. 

Besides, dating Gideon Graves for an entire year without getting entirely sick of him was commendable. So he saw it as a reward for you. But if this damn tattoo was your only anniversary present, you were gonna be absolutely pissed.

***

Thankfully, Gideon seemed to be kinder than he was most days. After the tattoo was finished, he took you out for a little shopping spree. When you left the mall, you were carrying what felt like a thousand bags filled with new jewelry and clothes, mainly low rise and cropped per Gideon’s request as he wanted to see your new tattoo whenever he wanted. Gideon even picked out some lingerie sets, being ever so gracious to allow you to pick which one you’d wear tonight. 

“You don’t need to think about it too hard.” He said while swiping his credit card. “It’s gonna be ripped to shreds when I’m done with you anyway.”

And he kept true to his word. 

“Fuck.” Gideon panted, holding your hips in an iron grip as he pounded your pussy. “So. God. Damn. Tight!” Each word was emphasized with a powerful thrust, making you see stars. 

You’ve lost count of how many times Gideon fucked you today. First was in the bathroom of the fancy restaurant he had taken you to for dinner. Then in the limo on the way home. And now, on every piece of furniture and solid surface he could think of. 

“My pretty girl.” You heard him say, digging his nails into the meat of your thighs before giving your ass a few hard slaps. Gideon grabbed your hair, forcing you to tear away from the pillow you had your face buried in and look at the mirror in front of you. “Such a pretty slut.”

That was one way to put it. Your lips were chapped and bruised, your makeup was running down your face, and your hair was a mess. Gideon looked as roughed up as you with his sinful expression and strewn glasses. 

“Fuck, Gideon.” You moaned as he hit a spot deep inside you. “Please, please, please.” As sensitive as your spent pussy was, you couldn’t help but beg for one more orgasm. And with how sensitive you were, you knew one little push was going to send you flying over the edge.

Gideon knew too, which was why he reached around and started harshly rubbing at your clit. “Come on, come on!” His thrusts grew rougher, and he threw in a slap or pinch to your clit. “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.” You moaned, legs shaking.

“Louder.”

“Yours!”

“Louder!”

“It’s yours! My pussy’s yours!” You cried out, orgasm washing over you. Gideon didn’t let up on his pace, fucking you thoroughly until you were begging for a break.

He finally pulled out when he was reaching his own orgasm, only to jerk off over your body until he came. His cum spilled onto you, and Gideon did his best to aim for the tattoo that you had gotten that morning. 

“That’s right.” He said when he came down from his high, panting a little. “It’s all mine.”

[illusioninfnty]

Outlast: Chapter Ten (Sam Giddings x Reader)

Repentance

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6K

4:47

“Fuck,” you inhale shakily as Mike’s glare remains hard on you. “I’ll explain everything once we are safe in the basement.”

“Don’t even bother.” He rolls his eyes and turns away from you, hurrying behind Ashley. “We already know everything.”

“Everything? Even the—”

“The Wendigos? Yeah, you’re too fucking late. Had to hear about it from that old fucker out there.”

As you enter the basement, you’re met with two arms hugging you tightly—Sam. “Hi, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around her.

“Thank God,”  she mumbles under her breath. You ruffle her hair gently and give her a kiss on the top of her head. Sam turns to look around at all three of you. “What took you so long?”

Mike runs a hand through his already unkempt hair. “It’s not looking good up there. Chris didn’t make it.”

“Shit,” Sam mutters, she turns to Ashley. “Ash, I’m so sorry…”

Ashley nods silently, seemingly not engaged in the conversation.

“What about the old man?” Sam inquires.

“No sign of him. I think he’s—”

“Dead.” You toss the flamethrower onto one of the tables, the weapon no longer needed in the safety of the basement. “Saw it happen. Fucker sliced through his neck in a split second.” You pull out a creaky old chair and take a seat, your body exhausted from the intensity of the night, finally getting your first break aware from all the stress. “We need to stay put here for now. It’s our safest bet.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike scoffs. “All wrapped like a little present with a bow on top for that thing to tear us apart on Christmas morning?” He continues before you can fire back. “Josh, Josh has got to have the cable car key. I can just take it from him and then get the fuck outta here…”

Your eyes narrow, ready to protest, before Sam interjects.

“Mike, someone will come for us! Em said so, she was able to reach them through the radio,” she pleads. “We just need to wait a little bit longer and then it will be safe. You have to trust us.”

“Trust.” Mike scoffs again, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. “Like I can trust anything she says. Been lying to us for God knows how long. Knew about the wendigos this whole fucking time. Isn’t that right?” He spits out your real name like it’s a curse. And it truly does feel like one with the amount of venom spilling from him.

All pairs of eyes in the room turn to you as dread fills your body. Mike made your situation sound a lot worse than it truly was.

“Tex?” Emily is the first one to speak up. “Is that true?” Her voice raises as if she’s trying to contain her anger.

“Listen, guys, I was going to—”

“Oh my God, Em, what is that?”

You’re interrupted by Ashley, who’s gone pale in the face. She raises a hand up shakily, pointing a finger towards Emily. Following the direction of Ashley’s gaze and taking a closer look at Emily, you notice that dark stain around her shoulder, looking like blood.

“Em, oh my God, oh my God—”

“It-it’s nothing, guys. It just bit me—”

“It bit you? What bit you?”

“The wendigo—”

“What?”

“Guys, wait—” you try to speak, but it’s no use. They’re all panicking.

“Em, oh my God.” Ashley continues down her spiral of paranoia. “If that thing bit you…”

“You can turn into one of those things if it bites you.” Mike says, voice scarily even.

Emily looks like she’s close to tears. “Is that how it worked?”

“Em, oh my God, yes, you’re gonna turn into one of those things, and then you’re going to turn us!”

Mike stares Emily down. “You can’t be here with us.”

“Mike!” You and Sam both protest in unison.

“You’re putting us all in danger. I’m letting you do this voluntarily.”

She shoots him an icy glare. “Oh, no, you're just making yourself feel better about sending me to my death. Since you know, there's a Wendigo out there rip me to pieces, like it did with—”

“Oh my God, just get out of here!” Ashley cries.

Mike begins to pace, and then he turns around and grabs the handgun from on the table, aiming it towards Emily, who slowly begins to back into the wall behind her, crawling up on the ledge.

“Whoa, whoa, Mike, calm down!” Sam puts her arms up, trying to de-escalate.

“Mike, you need to put the gun down,” you say, walking closer to him from the side, seeing if you can close enough to disarm him.

His grip on the gun tightens, and his gaze is laser-focused on Emily, ignoring both you and Sam next to him. “This is the safe room, Em!”

“This is not the way we should do this,” Sam says, trying to mask the panic in her voice.

“Mike,” you say more forcefully. “She won’t turn into a wendigo from a bite, okay? You wanted me to tell the truth, you’re getting it now. You can only turn into one through cannibalism. Bites don’t do anything.”

He sneers. “And why the fuck should I believe you?”

“Mike, stop it!” Sam yells. “Do you really believe she would all put us in danger like that? She’s been saving our asses this entire night!”

“We wouldn’t even be stuck in this goddamn mess if she warned us.

“Mike,” Sam tries again, “would you have even believed her if she told you?”

As Sam is distracting Mike you leap forward, trying to wrestle the gun from his grasp. But before you can take it from his hands, the sound of the gun going off has you gasping as a bullet soars through the air and straight into Emily’s skull.

“Holy shit, Mike!” Sam's face goes white and she steps back, in disbelief of the sight in front of her. There’s a gaping hole in Emily’s eye, blood seeping out of it and onto the floor.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

As Mike panics, you quickly take the gun from him and toss it across the room.

After that, you collapse on the floor, legs weak from the completely avoidable death of your friend. “Fuck, man…”

“It was…I didn’t mean to…”

“Mike—” Sam starts.

“I was keeping you guys safe!”

“We weren’t in danger!” You yell. “I fucking told you, she was fine! Emily was—” you choke on your own words, taking a deep breath to regain your composure.

“You want to fucking know everything? My parents are fucking survivalist nutjob freaks. It’s why I made you sure none of you ever met them. Always banging into my head that these creatures existed and they were going to kill us and I needed to be prepared.”

“Oh, Tex,” Sam murmurs. She comes over to you, rubbing her hand over your shoulder. You place your palm over it before you continue.

“I never fucking believed them. Not once. They hammered all of these facts about wendigos and other monsters into my head since I was a kid, and it wasn’t until Hannah and Beth last year that—that I finally realized that what they’ve been saying could actually be true.” 

You finally raise your head, looking up at Mike. He looks distraught, and there’s a faraway look in his eye as if he’s still processing everything.

“I need to…need to get the key from Josh.”

You sigh, knowing there was no getting through to him in this state. “He’s probably in the mines, the wendigo was dragging him off in that direction. If it didn’t kill him then, he’s probably still alive down there.”

There’s a sinking feeling in your gut on just exactly why the wendigo didn’t kill him on sight, but you didn’t want to bring it up and just worry the others more, especially if it wasn’t true.

Mike nods slightly, and starts to leave. “I’ll…I’ll head back here.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room once Mike departs, the door slamming shut behind him. The sounds of Ashley’s faint whimpers are the only thing that can be heard.

“What the fuck was that, Ash?”

She ignores you, wrapping her arms around her midsection and hunching into herself. 

Sam takes the stranger’s journal from the table and starts to page through it, her eyes scanning the scrawly handwriting throughout. She stops on one page in particular, pacing as her hands grip the leather bound book tightly.

“What is it, babe?” you ask, noticing her fixation on that one entry.

“Shit,” she mutters. “We need to get to Mike.” She angles the book that she’s reading so that you can see the page, and you skim it quickly. At first, it seems like ramblings about the wendigos. But then you realize what Sam is talking about.

Within the page, the man details how he had been locking the wendigos up in the sanatorium—there must be dozens in there based on how many he took note of throughout the years.

“If Mike’s going through there…” you start.

“He’s going to be in trouble,” Sam finishes, the stress evident in her voice.

“Fuck.” You stand up, grabbing the gun and jerking your head at both Sam and Ashley. “We gotta go.”

Character Traits: 

Honest: 5/10 ↑ 

Charitable: 9/10 

Funny: 4/10  

Brave: 8/10 ↑ 

Romantic: 7/10 

Curious: 5/10 

Relationship Status:

Ashley: 3/10 ↓

Chris: 7/10

Emily: 6/10 

Jess: 3/10 

Josh: 7/10 

Matt: 7/10 

Mike: 3/10 ↓

Sam: 10/10

Chapter Nine || Chapter Eleven

[tryingtimi]

44 👀

The Crimson Masquerade

One of my favourite songs from NBT, so thank you for the number!❤️ It also helped me finish a piece I started a hundred years ago. This was originally written to this drabble challenge, and it was a nice little time with Lonel and the crew. Plus, I got to explore some of the Phobia too, so it's a winner for sure.

Small Context: Lonel, Selys and Odena go to the Phobia to gather information on vampire activites, after Odena found out about vampirism and werewolves and was adamant on going with the boys.

DYNAMIC AND ENVIRONEMNT EXPLORATION | NON-CANON | WC: 2,278

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Odena held back a smile as she squeezed on Lonel’s forearm. They stopped at the entrance of the ballroom—the biggest room the Phobia held within. Curving concrete twisted into silky fabrics hanging loosely on the walls, and red lightning painted everything into a sensual mystery of the night. The dark, sparkling decoration brought a sinister touch to the environment.

Wicked shadows chased the lights on every idling, masked person’s face.

“The best disguise is standing in plain sight, is it not?” Selys asked, still holding out the wolf mask to Lonel. He ignored the other’s subtle snarling, keeping an oblivious smile on his lips. “Besides, it suits you, wolf. You can rip my head off if it doesn’t work.”

“Don’t tempt me, hellspawn.”

“As much as I enjoy watching bickering men tearing at each other, we should start mingling, don’t we, gentlemen?” Odena offered, putting up her own mask: a beautifully crafted hummingbird with feathers that felt too real to the touch, and a small, gilded beak adorned with gemstones. It was a masterpiece of a true craftsman, just like every other one that VIP attendants handed out to guests.

“The lady is right, of course.” Selys mimicked her, placing the horned, hardened paper over his face. Its red matched with the lightning, and the colours of the Phobia. “Shall we then?”

He gestured with his hand, eyes creased deeply from his now-hidden smile. Lonel huffed, snatching the wolf mask away, and putting up with a disapproving grunt. The creation did fit him, actually. Detailed to the sharp point of the carved fangs, it was no less a sight to the laical eye.

Odena hooked back her arm into Lonel’s as they walked deeper into the enemy’s den.

They earned — very proficiently disguised — glances with their pause, but none of the people seemed to think too much into it. Staying alert, however, never hurt anyone. Therefore Odena pulled out her filigrane cigarettes gifted by Selys and offered one to Lonel as well.

“Thanks,” he said, distaste evident in his tone.

Her smoke slipped through her teeth as she smiled at him, the nearly translucent, forming and disappearing shapes crawling to the thin cloud that occupied the rest of the ceiling.

“And how should we know which one is your kind?”

Lonel emphasised the last words with syrupy venom in his throat. He might have accepted Selys, but not the other… vampires.

Odena found it still odd to name such creatures with certainty.

“You’ll know. This way,” Selys led them to a table packed with bite-sized tasters and tarts. Overwhelming perfume and incense clouds lingered in the air since they stepped into the club, yet here the scent of food finally overruled it. One could nearly taste the salmon salt and lemon sour, champagne sweet and absinthe bitter with every breath. She was glad for that humble dinner they ate before coming so her focus wouldn’t falter. Selys began filling up his plate. “They’re preying, and outnumber the warmbloods. I’m positive you both can spot predators on a hunt.”

Odena ran her gaze over the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone longer than a few seconds. She felt Lonel’s biceps tense a little under her palm, so she gave it a reassuring squeeze. Not that he would need it, she knew him too well to believe it could calm him. But it was something, and it helped her ignore the name Sleys addressed them with.

She took a plate, and packed some fruit and cheese at it, letting Lonel handle the drinks. Orange and red reflectors rushed to embrace them, then slid onward without a goodbye. The sensual, quiet music played relentlessly somewhere above. Odena could barely see the food in the dimness of the room, so she did her best to follow Lonel’s forever advice and let her nose guide her.

A man walked beside her, reaching for another glass of drink.

“Good evening,” he said, clear intention in his voice. Odena turned to him, alongside Lonel and Selys. The man wore a black tuxedo over his wine-red shirt and vest. Chest covered with frizzled cotton, corn blond hair freely flowing onto his shoulders. He looked as if he had stepped out of one of Selys paintings in his manor. “Who are your lovely guests Dumwermere?”

“Mr and Mrs Morninger. A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Odena initiated, offering her hand which the man took with clear amusement. It was the coldest kiss ever planted on her skin.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Lonel’s arm tensed again, pulling it out from her grip and rather resting a hand on her waist. He did not offer a handshake to the man, but after a hidden poke in his side, he nodded as a greeting. The skin creased softly around one of the man’s eyes underneath the gilded fox mask, gaze steady on Lonel’s face. He kept staring with a smile as if he mused about a secret irony.

Selys continued, polite, yet distant. “They’re old workmates of mine. Mr and Mrs Morninger, this is Silvenus Galhart, the Phobia’s event manager. The praise you’ve showered me about the interior Mrs Morninger, they all shall go to him.”

“Oh, marvellous job, Mr Galhart. I’m thoroughly impressed.” Odena mimicked a smile sweet enough. She hoped for an opportunity to pry, but Silvenus simply bowed his head a touch, sipping from his drink.

“You flatter me, my lady. But it’s still early. I should only get a hold of my musicians so the evening could bloom into its full form.”

Odena caught a peek of the moderate stage in the belly of the club. A varnished guitar body and cymbals glinted around the three figures shuffling around the pedestal. The blackness of the stage was lost in the shadowed corner they were put into, making the people above glide on nothing but pure, thick darkness. Lonel joined her gaze for a second.

“Aren’t they out there?” he asked.

Silvenus inclined his brow in what seemed like well-contained irritation. “Only half of them. Our frontman and lead guitarist vanished into thin air, and we’re about to start in ten minutes.”

His tight tone told Odena that it wasn’t exactly the first time they might have done this. Silvenus, also, was surprisingly talkative. She assumed he might be rather ashamed of difficulties concerning the event, yet he didn’t give any indication of that. He simply looked as someone who had had enough.

“That’s tough. Are they playing tributes or originals?”

Lonel’s continuing question earned a subtle look from both Selys and Odena. His body was still tense as ever, yet he sounded nothing short of calm. There was the slightest hint of his distaste from earlier, but that was barely perceptible too. She took a drag from her cigarette, trying to figure out where he was heading — and why. Silvenus, on the other hand, had rearranged his face into the amused expression from before.

“Triubtes for tonight. Some of our guests might not be familiar with their work otherwise, given the large number of new faces,” he said, creasing his brows over his mask, and offering a darkly curious stare. “Forgive me, if I’m frank, but I feel like you have a proposition for me, Mr. Morninger.”

Odena did have the exact same feeling.

The music overhead began to quiet ever so slowly. A sign that the start was near, perhaps. Silvenus glanced up when the lights began to dim, then brighten again.

Lonel put out his smoke on the closest glass ashtray, and his hand pulled Odena a touch closer with a gentle tug.

“If you need people, I can get around a guitar, and she was the lead singer back at home in our school band. We’re also familiar with all the big hits of the last decade, so we could fill in for the time being.”

“A musical couple, I see,” Silvenus purred in a suddenly deeply intrigued manner. He conjured a wide, yet somehow sharp smile on his face. “It must have been fate that brought us together tonight then. It would be much help, if you could do that, Mr. and Mrs. Morninger. Alongside a fair compensation for your trouble, of course.”

Surprise would have been an understatement to what Odena was struck with. She kept her face friendly, nodding along, but she moulded into Lonel’s side sharp as a sign to elaborate on his train of thought immediately when the opportunity arose.

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought what a turn this event would take,” Selys commented, his words edged with jest for the public ear. “Although I had the pleasure of hearing them both in their respective roles separately, and I must say, they are definitely great candidates, Silvenus.”

Lonel spared a sharp glance at Selys, but only for a moment.

Silvenus put his palms together when the next dimming and brightening danced through the room, glancing towards the stage this time. “Excellent, wonderful. I’d like to ask for a minute then, to talk to the present members. Just a minute.” And with that, he slipped into the shadows of the half-lit ballroom.

Odena leaned towards Lonel’s shoulder, half turning to Selys too. “Would you please let in on us, too?”

She let her voice drip with a hint of her awakening frustration. She didn’t mind trying something with more risk, but she was never for improvisation. Not this kind, anyway.

Selys drew up a brow in support of her question.

“He must have been one of him.” Lonel scratched at his short beard, a habit Odena knew to be a nervous movement since he could grow it out. “And he seemed the type who could get us to the rest of them. If not, then the attention will.”

“Always an advantage to make the enemy owe you,” Selys smiled in impressed agreement.

On the far end, Silvenus’s faint figure seemed to finish talking to the assembled band members. His mask gleamed wickedly in the light while he turned to them, gesturing something Odean couldn’t see, but interpreted as an inviting motion. Her skin prickled from the possibility that he might see them clearly even through the shadowed distance.

“If they’re not trapping us first.” Her words met with a half-lidded, waiting set of eyes from Lonel. “Keep the possibility that he realised what and who we are. Just to stay alert.”

A small smile — barely but a smirk, really, found Lonel’s lips. “Look at you preaching caution, after dragging us here in the first place.”

They made their way to the stage, leaving Selys behind, and pushing through bodies at some points. It didn’t go unnoticed how Lonel made way to her with his hands, paying attention to that none of them touched her if it wasn’t necessary.

“I’ve had a great mentor to learn from,” she said, matching his casually accusatory tone nonetheless. It should have been evident that none of them were to sit around and wait until Selys alone figured something out. Not with all at stake.

They climbed backstage, joining the figures waiting in the ominous darkness of the curtains. Silvenus wore a dark smile, but a welcoming posture.

“Band, they would be your mates for the next forty-five minutes, the least. Go easy on them.” He then turned to Lonel and Odena. “Thank you for your offer, again. I’ll make sure our people are here until you finish, and after that, your food, drink and entertainment will be on the Phobia.”

“That is most generous of you, Mr Galhart.”

Odena reciprocated his smile, seeking a hold in Lonel’s warm touch on her back. Her mind clouded just a touch, yet it cleared as soon as it came. So, the cigarette truly neutralised mindreading from the vampires, just as Selys claimed. That, at least, was a relief.

However, it also confirmed Lonel’s previous statement about Silvenus.

“Alright, warm up to each other as much as possible before we start, and make the evening shine,” was the last thing Silvenus said, before he departed to the front.

The three members eyed them with a united gaze that bordered on curiosity and disdain. Two men and a woman, dressed in what seemed a fusion of blackened leather and dark satin. The harsh, expressive make-up on their faces only sharpened their look.

The woman stepped forth first, a gum livid between her teeth.

“Which one of you sings?” she asked in a rather soft voice. It did not go much with the look.

Odena stepped forward, extending a hand. “Livia Morninger, nice to meet you.”

“A delight.” She looked down at her hand, then back at her face. “Sing for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sing for me. We need to check if you match with tonight’s tone. If not, that gruff should do behind you.”

Odena retreated her tongue from her cheeks which she pushed into, and met the woman’s nonchalant eyes. If they wanted to get rid of her, then they should do better than that. She inhaled softly and began a song she couldn’t get out of her head when she first started to wonder about joining the school band. Her voice came out rusty and in clear need of oiling. But, it wasn’t half bad. She sang the lyrics, hitting most of the notes clearly, and the others a touch twisted, yet not breaking the harmony. She added her own flair to many parts, even those that she experimented with the family during holidays.

In the end, the two men stepped beside the woman too.

Odena’s throat dried out, not used to such a use anymore. She felt Lonel’s presence beside her, close and ready.

The woman shrugged, nodding towards the water bottles on a little stool, while the shorter of the men handed Lonel an electronic guitar. “Good enough. I’m Marcelin, this is Jerico,” she gestured to the tall, lanky man. Then towards the shorter, bulkier one. “And that is Bichtra. Here’s the setlist. Study it, while we tune in, and follow our lead outside. That goes to you too, wolfman.”

Lonel grunted, plucking some strings and visibly cracking the arrogant demeanour on all the members for a moment, as if to wordlessly say he didn't have faith in his skill in vain, after all. Odena crossed her arms at the fact he had a more well-maintained skillset.

“Huh.” Jerico didn’t add more, but he did pluck at his own guitar. Soon enough, the two men began a routine of some kind, harmonising, and what seemed to practicing some passages. Bichtra joined them with his drums here and there. Odena, in the meantime, earned a little from Marcelin’s grace. Turned out, she was the keyboardist and one of a kind at that. She could help Odena work out some of the kinks before a staff member arrived to tell them it was time.

Odena felt at her neck. It was a long time ago since she stepped onto the stage, let alone was expected to rule it. She wouldn’t have been nervous for the crowd if she had known there weren’t people — creatures among them that actively feasted on her kind. Yet there she was, about to entertain them.

The things she didn’t do to gather information.

Lonel’s palm touched the small of her back, the soft fabric of her dress thin enough so she could feel the calluses on his skin. She turned to him, finding his overly calm, almost bored expression close. “Ready?”

“Hardly.”

He scoffed a half-joking sound. “Just like old times, then.”

“Just like old times,” she huffed out a short laugh, walking close beside Lonel. The bustling outside began to quiet, people’s chattering softening into a barely audible buzz. “It better work, Nel, or I’m going to rip your head off.”

They took their places at the edge of the stage. Even in this situation, a kind of nostalgia found her. Lonel, wrinkled and hardened with age, seemed to morph back into their teenage years as well. And he truly did, as he leaned over to her ear and whispered like he did back then.

“If it doesn’t, you are more than welcome to. But you wanted to come, and you wanted information. So, it’s time to sing for your supper, Blossom.”

[early20sfailingplenty]

May I request a blurb for Bo? Maybe with the prompt, “I’m thinking about keeping you.”

hhhhh 🥺😍 I went dark!soft Bo for this bc that's my favourite type of greasy mechanic.

WARNINGS - canon typical darkness & violence, Bo does The Chair Ritual (implied pre-blurb), reader is physically & psychologically tortured by Bo (happens pre-blurb & comes to a close within the blurb), swearing (Bo & within narrative), intimidating Bo, possessive language (from Bo).

GENDER NEUTRAL, NO CODED LANGUAGE, "YOU" AND Y/N USED.

Word count: 1, 194.

The pieces had fallen into place slowly. First, you had been nice to Lester, who had rung Bo up as he had driven off the old washed out road and asked him to be nice to you by way of giving you at least a quick and clean death, because you had been so lovely to talk to for the entire fifteen mile drive and Lester didn't want you to suffer for too long. Your friends could be killed however because they had been rude and standoffish, but you, oh... Lester made sure to give Bo a physical description of you so that you could be picked out easily. For your kindness to his littlest brother alone, for usually did Lester phone up the eldest Sinclair in a rage or in tears after dropping 'tourists' off, Bo decided he would give you a chance even before you pulled into town.

Then, you had complimented Vincent's art and made the man blush so hard under his mask that he half expected it to begin to soften in the places where his embarrassment burned the hottest, hidden was he in the shadows of the House of Wax, his only companions being his sculptures other than his elder twin and his sweet girl Jonesy. Your words had made it difficult for Vincent to take the multitude of opportunities to kill you, and in the end your first words to Bo back at the gas station had been your name, followed by a genuine compliment about how beautiful Ambrose was. Your friends hadn't been impressed and so you had insisted to them, even when you had thought Bo wasn't around, that you did enjoy the town and you wanted to come back some day.

Those words were going to bite you on the ass sooner than you knew.

While waiting up at the house for Bo to grab what you needed for your car, small comments and quiet hushed whispers had been heard by the twins while they had been stalking you, hunting you and tracking your every move, but your sincerity during every interaction had been what broke the camel's back for Bo. He had literally swept you off your feet before you knew what was happening, and he had taken you down to the basement underneath the garage. You hadn't made it easy for him to maintain his grip on you; you kicked, struggled and fought as hard as you could, but Bo was the true definition of the word 'ruthless' and none of your struggles seemed to touch him at all.

Unbeknownst by you, you weren't going to die in Ambrose. You had been kind right from the start and separating you from the people you had come into town with had been ridiculously simple, which had allowed Bo to make his sudden move with no build up or forewarning. Despite he and his twin's choice, though, it wasn't going to be easy to become a permanent resident of the ghost town.

You had yet to prove that your kindness and compliments were more than just something you were saying for its own sake. Pretty words were one thing, but pretty words which remained true after the novelty of a new place had worn off were quite another. In but a moment could your stability be ripped away from you and everyone knew it, including you.

You remained in the chair for about a week, though it felt like forever to you. Every second felt like an hour strapped to that chair and your body ached all the time from being sat up for so long. Bo sometimes lowered the chair down so that you were staring at the dirty ceiling instead of the wall full of polaroid's of other victims if he felt like torturing you from a different angle but for the most part, you had been slightly reclined in a mostly upright position.

On the eighth day, when you were sore and achy, psychologically at the end of your tether and physically unable to bear much more, disorientated and unknowing of even the time of day, Bo decided to take pity on you. You had held up well and you had fought your own for longer than most people who ended up in The Chair did and he figured it was about time to get you out and see if your kind words remained after what he had done to you. He doubted it highly but a part of him always hoped that one day he would find someone who wanted to stay.

The door creaked open and closed shut quietly and you heard the familiar scuff of worn boots on a concrete floor through the haze of your threshold consciousness. If Bo wasn't in the basement, then nine times out of ten you lost your grip on your body out of exhaustion. You moaned and there came a light laugh from beside you as a calloused hand brushed your shoulder.

"All righ', darlin'." The tone of voice was softer in an attempt to soothe, but there was still a metallic edge to every syllable which dripped off his tongue.

You opened your eyes as best as you could and winced at the harsh and bright overhead lights, which cast thick black shadows across the walls with every move Bo made. He put one hand on the arm of The Chair furthest from where he was and the other hand on the opposite arm so that he caged you in from all angles, and got right in your face. His wolfish grin made your stomach drop, even with your emotional fatigue.

"Y'know, Y/N," Bo's smirk took on a darker dynamic despite the oddly tender look in his eyes, "I'm thinking about keeping you."

"Wh-what do you - "

Bo leaned in and ran the cool tip of his nose along your forehead, "Would'ya like that, darlin'? Y'spoke such pretty words when y'got here - "

Realisation.

Your survival was dependent on all those genuine compliments? It seemed so ludicrous that you almost wanted to laugh. Almost. But you didn't. Instead, you hurriedly nodded, and did your best to meet Bo's icy blues with your own. You could tell that he wasn't wholly comfortable with that, but he allowed it for a few seconds before his gaze settled on the bridge of your nose.

Neither of you knew were to go from here, but getting you out of your restraints seemed like a good start. Bo seemed to have a similar train of thought, too, for he said, "M'sorry, this is, uh - this is gonna hurt. Even if m'gentle." He shrugged and got to work. Something in his tone told you that what he said was not an empty platitude but it came from personal experience. As the mystery deepened, as the trauma settled into your bones, as Bo bent over one of your wrists to help you out, you wondered what it would take to get you out of Ambrose.

Unbeknownst to you, only your death could do that. But Bo would follow you there, even still. He let go not that which was his.

[weaselbrownie]

U open for a req? Can you do Notice by Little Mix for a Draco smut? Really love your writing aaaaaaa 🙈🙈🙈

notice | d.m

draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary : it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with draco and you are determine to change that

warning : NSFW! smut, swearing, degradation, praising, overstimulation, breeding kink (?) (lemme know if i missed any)

word count : 3.3k

a/n : feels like i’ve been dead but hopefully i’ll be consistent again :) also thank you for requesting and hopefully i didn’t mess this up 

MASTERLIST

You twist and turn in front of a big mirror that sits on the floor, smiling as your fingertips graze over your figure. Looking back through the mirror to see just the ends of your bed in the dimly lit room. You began to fix your hair into a low ponytail so it wouldn't get in the way of your robe. You looked over the mirror one final time to make sure everything is in place before marching to your boyfriend's dorm. Your reflection was a true beauty, standing so still in the cold atmosphere as the delicate white lace decorates your body, covering only the necessary bits.

Oh, he's gonna love this, or maybe not?

Lately, your relationship with Draco has taken a toll, nothing terrible but it's definitely something, an inconvenience if you will. Since the exams are coming up he has not been able to put down his book, perfecting his skills to come out on top of everyone else. Not that there's anything wrong with being ambitious– he is a Slytherin after all. It's just– he's been benching you to the sidelines, though he still gives you attention he's not giving you the attention that you need. Specific attention that only he can give to you.

The throbbing ache in between your legs has been kicking you in the guts for days and you have been so patient but tonight is the night you change things.

You quietly hum as you pick up your house robe to put on over your lingerie, walking delicately across your dorm as you opened your door, heading straight to the blonde's room. It wasn't a long walk and as you approach the door at the end of the corridor you didn't even bother to knock, slowly twisting the doorknob as you let yourself in.

Just as you predicted Draco is sitting by his desk, drowning in hundreds of parchments and textbooks. Like your dorm, his is also dark, only a little desk lamp to unveil his pale face. You were so quiet he didn't even notice you come in, and so you walk closer and closer to his sitting figure.

With every step, a new feature of his is brighter– clearer. How the top of his head is messy– probably from running his hands over it again and again. How his brows knit together as his eyes wander over the page of the book he's reading. How he bites his lips in between those perfect rows of teeth. Or how his long slender fingers toy with the edge of the paper– the veins running down his flexed arms– oh how much you've missed those fingers.

Right as you revealed yourself from the dark he looked up, his bright orbs meeting yours in the dark. He was happy you've come, you could tell by the way the corner of his lips twitches into a tiny smile he likes to hide– thinking you wouldn't notice them.

"I didn't hear you come in" He whispered as he extended his arms out to reach your hips– slowly pulling you closer to him.

"Well, you had your nose buried deep in those books" You replied with an identical tone, hushing to him in the dark.

Draco was about to set you on his lap before you stopped him, picking up your hand as your fingers grazed over his, grabbing onto it softly as you guided his hand onto your chest. You were halfway there before his hand froze,

"Not tonight darling, I've got a lot t–"

"When is it then Draco?" You snapped at him before he even got the chance to finish his sentence. Shocked at your reaction Draco's brows shot up, looking up at you as if you were an unsolved puzzle with a missing piece. "You're always busy studying! I put in all this effort into myself and– "

"Effort? Not to burst your bubble darling but you came exactly in a school robe, what effort?" He cut you off as you did with him seconds ago.

"You haven't even tried taking it off– oh for merlin's sake–" You continued to raise your voice as frustration takes over you, in which you ended up ripping off your robe– showing Draco everything that sits underneath.

From the way his eyes shot open to analyze every aspect of your body, you really thought he was going to put down his book for a second but everything comes crashing down as he parts his lips. "I'm still busy Y/N," He said as if you didn't just strip yourself in front of him.

He sighs as he continued to speak "Maybe if you go and sit down and be quiet like a good girl, I might just consider your little offer" He finished off his sentence.

"Consider? Oh, you've got to be fucking with me" You started again as the palm of your hands flew to your hips, right when you were about to open your mouth again an idea struck you. Maybe if– yeah that might just work.

"Dray please" Your figure softened as you pouted to him, showing him your big shiny eyes. "I miss you" You continued as you lowered yourself to his lap, your hands slithering around to the back of his neck as you move around in the spot.

"Later okay?" He replied as he kissed your nose.

Frustrated with him you shot out of his lap to stand straight. "Fine, I'll do it myself" You hissed at him as you stomped down to his neatly made bed. You continued your way to the bed as you heard Draco chuckle from behind. You knew he was enjoying this, toying you around on a string knowing he's the only one who could really get you there.

You sat right in the middle of his bed as you got comfortable on top of the heavy sheets. You had a few ideas and one of them has got to work, right?

You began to gently trace your hand from the top of your neck, slowly bringing it down to your collar bone and to the valley of your breast where each sat so beautifully on the cup of your lingerie. You squeezed your breasts ever so gently, drawing out the pleasure that comes with it.

You looked up to see Draco still reading his stupid books. You casually rolled your eyes as you continued your actions. With every movement, you imagined it to not be your own but rather the touch of the boy in front of you. How he would run his hands all over your body before ripping each piece of clothing off.

Your hand left your breasts to continue down to the heat in between your legs. Keeping all eyes on him, you slowly drew your legs apart, touching everything that could be reached before placing your cold fingers directly on top of your cunt.

You were soaked– your juices staining the outside of your underwear. Just then you began to put pressure into your fingers, slowly rubbing your clit through your underwear as you let the little moans slip out.

Draco tensed immediately upon hearing your voice, yet he continued to face the other way, keeping his eyes on the long pages of the book. You resumed your actions and moved your underwear to the side, goosebumps start to form on your arms as the cold wind hit your sopping cunt.

"It's not gonna work princess" Draco called out as he flipped a page. You knew that if you answered he was gonna win, and so you push and push until you could get to him.

Your moans and whimpers grew louder by the second as you worked your fingers faster on your clit, you knew it was starting to bother him, but you needed that one last push to really rail him.

"Oh– fuck" Your moans cut in parts as you found a sweet spot,

"Yes– Oh god Theo–"

The second his name slip past your lips Draco immediately stood up, throwing the book that was in his hand across the room, and sprinted towards you just to rip your fingers away. Right when he touched you, you could see flames behind his cold eyes, anger as you moaned out his best mate's name instead of his.

Draco didn't say anything at first, all you could see was his eyes, roughly as he took both your hands and pinned them right on top of your head on the headboard. "So this is how you're gonna play hm?" He asked as his face neared your own. He was so close that all you could smell was him, how his toxic scent of mint and citrus circles around the air as you inhale it.

You looked deep into his eyes, and you knew he would give you what you wanted all along. The air was thick around you as you didn't answer his previous question. All you could do was wait for him as he trapped you under his body and his strong gaze.

"I asked you a question Y/N, now where are the manners I taught you?" He asked as he slurred his words.

"Y-yes! I mean no or I–" You opened your mouth to answer him yet all that came out was blabber.

"Pathetic" Draco basically spat at you as he pinned your hands higher, making you sit straight rather than slouched down like you were earlier. "Open your fucking legs" He continues as you obeyed every order coming out of his mouth.

You slowly opened your legs as your wet cunt revealed itself, your underwear going to its original position to cover your heat. You could see your juices leaking down the side. You switched your gaze back to your boyfriend on top of you, a small smirk formed on the edge of his lips as he looked into your heat.

You stayed silent as Draco carefully picked out his next moves. Slowly he stroked your thighs higher and higher until he rested his palm right on top of where you needed him, he was so close yet so far away, and so it surprised you when all of sudden he delivered a hard smack onto your cunt, jolting your body awake as your back arches.

He didn't stop there, giving you exactly two more slaps before soothing the covered skin. Tears pooled on your bottom lashes as you looked at him, his eyes still bore into your sopping cunt and his hand strong as he kept both your hands in place.

Draco kept quiet as he slowly moved your panties to the side– exposing your burning cunt to him. Your hole clenches as the cold air swoops over it, the mixture of pain and pleasure clung onto you. Your body jolts once more as Draco gave your cunt another slap, right on your clit where you're most sensitive.

"Fucking Theo" Draco said, breaking the silence. His fingers slither around your cunt as he gathered all the widespread juices. Massaging your clit gently as you threw your head back. "You wanna go down to his dorm now? Show him how much of a cockwhore you are?" He said as each word went straight to your core.

You quickly shook your head but that wasn't good enough for him "Use your words" He spat as his hand broke away from your cunt to grab your face.

"N-no" You quickly said as he tightens his hand around your jaw,

"No who?" He asked once more

"N-no D-Draco," You said as you mentally cursed yourself for stuttering so much.

Draco stayed still for a second, looking deep into your eyes before letting go of your face just to shove his fingers up inside you. He didn't give you time to adjust as he started to fuck you with his fingers.

A loud moan escaped your mouth as you threw your head back and your eyes roll to the back of your head. The continued feeling of pain and pleasure didn't leave you as it got more intense from Draco's actions. His long and slender fingers worked themselves deep inside you, turning you into a puddle under his touch.

"Can Theo do this?" He asked through gritted teeth as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt "Fucking answer me Y/N! Can Theo do this to you?" He snapped as you failed to answer his question once more.

"N-No he can't" You finally screamed out as he speeds up.

His fingers continued to assault your throbbing cunt as he felt every inch of you. How your walls tighten around him every few seconds due to how good he made you feel. The fact that it's been a while since you've done this adds to the pleasure, it feels exactly or even better than the first time he went down on you.

It wasn't long until you feel like you were about to burst. The tight coil starts to form at the pit of your stomach as Draco moved to kiss you down your neck. "This is what you wanted right?" Draco mumbled against your collar bone.

"Yes– please I'm so close" You moaned out loud once again.

You were right on the edge, screaming his name as the once silent room was now filled with the sound of your filthy moans and slick heat. Draco didn't have to do much to get you there and so he continues as you felt your walls tighten and your breath hitched. "Oh, I'm gonna cum– Draco fuck.."

Suddenly he stopped his actions, pulling his fingers out of you as you whined at the loss. "But as I remembered you wanted Theo, not me," He said as a smirk grew on the corner of his lips.

A feeling of panic grew within you as Draco started to get up, without thinking twice you grabbed onto his wrist keeping him from standing up, you got up on your knees as your face met his. "N-no no please, I only want you" You brought your hands up to cup his face as you peck his soft lips. "I'm sorry please–". The room fell into silence as you tremble in front of Draco. Just as you were about to speak again, he opened his mouth.

"Get on your hands and knees"

Your eyes widened as you slowly let go of his face, scrambling back onto the bed to get into position. You settled down as you faced the headboard, arching your back just like he taught you. You couldn't see him but you could hear the light shuffling behind you and soon the warmth of his hands on your hips.

"My poor baby, you want to come don't you?" Said Draco as his fingers work to slide your underwear down– the cold air meeting your open cunt once more. "Let's see if you deserve it" You jumped as you felt a tongue flat on your cunt, slithering around as it works down on you. It didn't take long for that one familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach to return.

You arched your back further, shoving yourself to him to finally reach orgasm yet he surprises you once more. You knew you were close but as soon as that feeling came you felt the loss of his tongue on you as the air filled his spot.

"Draco please– I'm sorry" You choked out as another orgasm was robbed from you. He didn't reply as he simply taps your lower back. Before you know it you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance.

"Are you sorry though?" He said as the tip of his cock slips into you "For all, I know you're just a cock hungry whore" He continued as he pushed more of himself into you "Willing to take anyone to fuck you" His hands made way to your hips, gabbing onto them as he rammed the remaining of himself into you, forcing his way in– taking your breath away.

You felt every inch of him, ripping his way through you as the pain and pleasure continued to linger. Just as you were about to answer him, he abruptly pulled back and slammed into you, giving you merely seconds to adjust before repeating his actions.

Then and there he started to pound into you, taking all the air from your lungs. You felt him- his hand as one left your hips to grip your throat, slowly lifting you up so that your back meets his chest.

"You're mine..." He said as the grip on your throat tightens "...And I'm not sharing you with anyone" The feeling that was robbed from you twice started to come back. Your walls tighten as Draco's other hand snuck down to your clit, rubbing in fast motion as you struggled to keep still. "Did I make myself clear?"

You had a hard time processing his words as his cock and his fingers work on you "Y-Yes– Clear Draco" You spat out as the feeling becomes too overwhelming. You couldn't think straight but you knew you were close. Your moans became louder as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the darkroom making you dizzy.

You could hear Draco talk and groan behind you but you couldn't register what he was saying. "I'm c-coming– Please can I cum?" You started to stutter as the feeling sits on the edge of your body. "Please Draco please can I– fuck" You lost your breath as he didn't slow down his movements.

"Go on then, show me how good you can be coming on my cock" He whispers into your ear as you let go. Your hands grabbing onto him as he helps you through your high, continuing the motion on your clit and pounding into you as the feeling grew stronger and stronger. His hand slowly unclasped your throat– letting the air flow through you again. He guided you through it all just like he always does but he doesn't stop there.

"D-Dray too much -p-please" You whined pathetically as he continued to rut into you, overstimulation started to take over you. Black spots started to appear at the edge of your vision and your consciousness started to slip.

"I'm not done darling– you wanted this so be a good girl and take it," He said in between groans as he speeds up once more. You continued to moan and whine as he reached his high.

Finally, his hips began to stutter, his thrusts becoming uneven as his breath hitched behind you. Draco held onto you as he was approaching, making you feel the warmest of love at the pit of your stomach. "Fuck Y/N" Draco groaned as one of his hands reached out to grip the headboard.

Soon you felt him come inside you, shooting white ropes of cum deep into you as he finally stops his movements completely.

His deep breathing could be heard from behind you as he slowly pulls out from behind you and guides you back down onto the mattress. "Hold it in" He whispered as he turned you to lay on your back.

You could feel your eyes stutter and Draco moving from somewhere above you. The warmth of his palm made contact with your skin as he glides them up and down the side of your legs. "Dray–" You whined as you could feel yourself returning from the fizzy headspace, moving around as you slowly sat upright before you were stopped by him once more.

"Oh no we're not done here," He said as a small smirk formed the edge of his lips. You wanted this, and now you will have to sit in for the whole night as you two caught up on what you've missed.

TAGLIST : @microwavedhampster @o-rion-sta-r @willowmores @whenuwereyoung

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

How about a major nsfw scene where they are walking around the castle, just talking, but end up in the dungeon, if ya know what I mean ;)

@krispytidalwavesheep This is the fic I was talking about from your ask!

Warning: NSFW

“...And you’ve contacted the florist? Will the flower arrangements be arriving by tomorrow?”

“Yes, my Lady,” you say, pushing your glasses back over your nose as you check over your checklist for the hundredth time that day. You and Lady Dimitrescu had been going over the preparations for the ball tomorrow all morning. She had followed you around as you walked the length of the Castle, making sure everything was perfect for the occasion. The parquet floor has been swept to perfection, the windows polished, the banisters a riot of flowers.

As you are walking, you turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You turn to Lady Dimitrescu, a question forming on your lips. Suddenly, you hear a guttural growl, and find one of the Moroaicǎ bearing down on you with a Claymore. A scream rips from your throat as you cover your eyes, bracing for impact. It doesn’t come; instead, you hear the slash of metal slicing flesh. You open your eyes and find Alcina standing before you with her claws extended. The Moroaicǎ’s head rolls forgotten on the floor.

Alcina immediately runs over to you, cradling your face in between her large hands, running her thumbs along your cheekbones. “Darling, did it touch you? Are you hurt?” Concern is evident in her golden eyes.

“I’m fine, my Lady,” you say, feeling your face go scarlet at Alcina’s ministrations. “Really.”

The truth was the two of you had gotten rather close over the past couple weeks after the manthings’ attack on Castle Dimitrescu. You had even shared a couple nights together. When you saw Alcina’s muscles ripple as she severed the Moroaicǎ’s head from its body, you remembered what it was like having those arms wrapped around you and you felt your core heaten with desire.

Alcina smiles and kisses the back of your hand. “Come along, pet,” she says, taking your hand in hers. “Surely there won’t be any preparations needed for the dungeon?”

She turns to go, but you suddenly find yourself rooted to the spot. She looks at you in confusion.

“My, Lady,” you say slowly. “I know that we’ve been intimate…”

Alcina chuckles. “Whatever made you think of that, dear?”

You blush further but press on. “When you make love to me, my Lady,” you continue. “You’re always so gentle with me. As if I’m a fine piece of china and you fear I might break.”

Alcina puts her hand under your chin and tilts your face up to meet hers. “And do you not like the way I touch you, ingeras?” Her tone is mild, but her aureate eyes are alert and you find yourself unable to break away from her intense gaze.

“No, my Lady,” you whisper softly, holding her hand in place to your cheek. “I rather enjoy it. But there are times when I wish you would be...rougher with me.”

Alcina’s eyes are half lidded with desire. “And is now one of those times, pet?”

You suddenly find it difficult to breathe as you whisper, “Yes.”

She moves in suddenly to kiss you but you quickly sidestep out of her reach. She chuckles low in her throat. “Feeling a bit of a tease tonight, are we?”

You dance your way back to her, taking her hand in yours and leading her to a set of manacles chained to the wall. “Now just what are you planning?” she wonders, an amused smile playing at her carmine lips.

Taking the manacles in your hands, you clasp them over your Lady’s wrists. Then you pull the chain running through them until her back is flush against the wall, her wrists chained above her head. You turn your back to her but feel her eyes upon you as you turn around in the middle of the room.

Without once breaking eye contact with Alcina, you slide your hand up your skirt and slip two fingers into your core. You know your own touch cannot possibly compare to your Lady’s but it is so worth it to see Alcina’s mouth fall open in shock, her golden eyes burning with jealousy that she is not the one touching you, that it is not her fingers buried in your core.

As you increase the pace of your thrusting, you spot the Moroaicǎ’s discarded Claymore and get an idea. You take it and slash open the front of your dress. You rest the tip of the sword over your collarbone and press in slowly until blood begins to pour down your chest, settling between the valley of your breasts.

Alcina is snarling and railing against her bonds. Her teeth are bared, fangs glinting in the torchlight as she struggles to break free. You feel your climax building as she growls in frustration, spittle flying off her lips.

You hear the sound of metal screeching as Alcina finally breaks free of the manacles with a snap. Within seconds, she has crossed the distance between the two of you. With another slash of her claws, she rips the rest of your clothes off, like they were so much tissue paper. Holding you flush to her body, she runs her tongue over your collarbone, greedily lapping up any leftover blood.

Alcina pins you to the wall, slapping your hand away before sliding her fingers into your already dripping cunt. She does not maintain the pace she usually uses. Her movements are faster, more hurried this time. You rock your hips in time to each thrust, but soon find it difficult to keep up.

The two of you have made love plenty of times before this, but this is one of the few times you’re actually getting fucked.

She leans down and intermittently darts her wicked tongue into your core, stroking your inner walls, alternating her thrusting between her fingers and her tongue. Her nails bite into the curve of your hips as she holds you in place. You wrap your legs around her waist, leaning your head against the wall as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Is this what you had in mind, slut?” she hisses, nipping the shell of your ear with the tip of her fangs. “I hope you’re prepared for what comes next.” She gives you a manic grin as she slips another one of her fingers into your core.

You choke out a gasp as the extra digit is added and Alcina gives you a satisfied smirk. “This is what our stretching sessions have been about, dear,” she cooes. “Come now, I know you can take it.”

You’re riding three of her fingers now and she is continuing her thrusting at a relentless pace. The stone wall against your back feels cold and clammy even as you feel yourself breaking out into a sweat due to Alcina’s ministrations.

When you finally orgasm, your voice echoes along the dungeon walls as you scream out Alcina’s name. Sinking along the wall, you find yourself going limp in Alcina’s arms. You feel Alcina’s tongue rasp along your thighs as she laps up your juices. “How very sweet you are, draga mea,” she purrs. She looks up at you and you see her ruby lips are dotted with flecks of white. Holding out her hand imperiously, she proffers her fingers slick with your orgasm. “You should really sample yourself, dear.”

You take her hand in yours and gently wrap your mouth around each digit in turn, rolling your tongue around each finger, suckling at your leftover juices. You feel her golden eyes upon you as you remove your mouth from her last finger, your lips making a firm popping sound.

Alcina can see that you are happy but exhausted. She runs her dry hand through your hair, now snarled and full of tangles. “Looks like I’ve tired you out, my dear,” she says, kissing your forehead. “We should get you cleaned up. How does a bath sound?”

You smile at her and give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “That does sound lovely. Thank you.”

Alcina carries you through the castle to the Hall of Ablutions and if anyone is curious as to why the Countess is carrying you naked and bloody, they at least make sure not to ask questions. When you finally arrive at the bathroom, Alcina orders the bathroom attendant to draw you a bath and waves her off after the tub is full.

You step in and sigh as the hot water makes contact with your sweaty and clammy body. You lean your head back against the porcelain and enjoy the warmth of the water seeping into your bones.

“Is there room for one more, draga mea?” Alcina teases. You look up and see that Alcina has already discarded her clothes on the floor. You smile and scoot up a little bit to make room for her. Alcina settles herself behind you and you sit on her lap as she begins tenderly massaging your scalp with soap, getting rid of any leftover blood that may have made its way to your hair.

“Do you know why I am usually so gentle with you?” she whispers.

You turn back to look at her. “You tell me,” you return, smiling mischievously.

But Alcina is serious. She turns your face to her, rubbing a thumb along your jawline. “It is because you are precious to me. When I see that someone so kind and so pure as you would want to be with someone like me. A monster like me-”

“Don’t say that,” you say fiercely, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Don’t even think it.”

“Even so,” she continues and you are shocked to see her eyes are starting to pool with tears. “The fact that you know what I am, what I am capable of, and yet you still choose to be with me means more than any words I could hope to express. You are precious to me, my dearest darling. You are a treasure. And I love you.”

You can hardly breathe. Technically this is the second time she has told you that she has loved you. But you are ready for it this time. You kiss her hard, weaving your fingers through her dark locks. You pull away and look into her fathomless golden orbs as you say, “And I love you too, Alcina.”

“Well,” she says, chuckling low in her throat. “After all the the times we’ve spent with each other, it's about time you called me by my true name.” You feel another chuckle ripple through her body as she moves to kiss you again.

[earlgreydream]

loyalty.

| golden era!wolfstar & daughter!reader | angst |

anon requested. but could you do a dad Wolfstar x daughter reader. The reader confronts her dads about how they prefer Harry and how they ignore her. It ends with wolfstar feeling bad and reader just over everyone's bs.

a/n: I altered/expanded on your request a bit, but kept the general idea. I hope you like it!

“Dad!” You called, and Sirius turned to you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, we have to go,” he spoke before following Remus and Harry through a corridor.

“Dad, I need you!”

Remus called an apology back before disappearing with Harry in a swirl of floo powder. You felt like your heart was ripped out of your chest, leaving you broken and alone in the Order hallway.

You loved your dads, and they loved you, but your whole life, they had prioritized their godson, Harry Potter over you. You were repeatedly left and forgotten, even after your biological father escaped from Azkaban.

You always fought for attention, but Sirius and Remus often left you with a kiss on the forehead to run off, saving Harry.

Once again, you were left in the shadows, stuck at the order safe house. You fought back tears, shaking your head as you walked up the rickety stairs.

“Y/N!” Your name was called, and you walked down the hall, leaning into Fred and George’s doorway. They had been practicing magic when they heard your cries from down the hall.

The two gingers looked up at you sympathetically, and George moved over on his bed, making room for you. You walked in, your shoulders trembling as you struggled to hold yourself together.

You crawled into George’s bed beside him, burying yourself in your best friend’s arms. Fred sat behind you, laying his hands on your shoulder and side.

“They leave with Harry again?” George asked, and your weak nod was enough of an answer.

“I hate them,” you sobbed, and George squeezed you.

“You love them,” Fred reminded you.

“They love Harry more than me. Fucking golden boy.” You wept, and George let you cry in his arms.

“That’s not true, they love you so much,” George promised, and you hid your face in him.

You stayed with the twins that night, even after hearing Harry and your dads return. Muffled voices in the hallway told Sirius and Remus their daughter was safe with Fred and George, and you laid in the dark, biting back tears.

Sirius and Remus were waiting for you when you went back to your bedroom, after spending the day holed up with the Weasley twins, the only ones you felt truly cared about you.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Remus spoke gently, and you stepped back.

“You’re right. We do need to talk. Why don’t you love me as much as Harry? He’s not even your real son! You always choose him over me. All your efforts, all your attention, it all goes to him!” You exploded, and Sirius looked hurt at the accusation. Remus, as always, tried to maintain a steady patience, but even he was taken aback.

“Y/N, you know that we love you more than anyone, or anything.” Sirius knelt down in front of you, taking your hands.

“Why don’t you show it?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you swallowed down the sob that rose in your throat.

Sirius felt like his heart was going to break as he felt your pain, and saw the hurt in Remus’s eyes.

“We’re doing our best-”

“Your best isn’t enough! Not when your best is ignoring me, and acting like Harry is your only child!” You screamed at Remus.

“Y/N!” Sirius shouted, fear spiking through you. Your fathers never raised their voices at you, and you were silenced by Sirius’s sudden display of emotion. 

“Padfoot. My love, I’m so sorry we’ve hurt you. We will be better, but you must understand that we’re fighting a war. And Harry is a key piece of it, we’re fighting-” Remus spoke gently to you, but you felt patronized.

“You think I don’t know we’re in a war? I know Harry is the chosen one, and I know that you’re just trying to make James proud-”

“Keep his name out of your mouth.” Sirius’s dark eyes blazed into yours, and you ripped your hands from his. 

“Sirius.” Remus put his hand on his husband’s chest, steadying Sirius’s emotions. 

“I’ll never be enough for you. Never enough like the Potters.” You shook your head, and Harry walked in.

“Y/N, it’s not like that, your dads are doing this to protect you.” Harry defended Remus and Sirius. 

“Leave me alone, all of you. Please!” You couldn’t stand it, and Remus pulled Sirius out before he could yell at you again. Harry followed them, pulling your door closed after him. 

Your chest heaved with sobs, and you blindly opened your wardrobe. You had to leave. You didn’t belong there, in the Order.

You slipped into a black dress, and black shoes, brushing your hair out. You grabbed your wand, and slipped out the window. You grabbed a drain pipe and slid down, landing on the cobblestone street outside. The sky was dark, the sun recently set and leaving the world in the silence of the night. 

You walked far enough away that your magic wouldn’t be tracked or alert the other Order members, and you whispered a complicated transportation spell, waving your wand. 

When your eyes opened, you stood in the courtyard of Malfoy Manor, and you looked up at the large home that stretched out in front of you. Guards alerted the residence of your unannounced arrival, and you were escorted inside the dark, luxurious mansion of your estranged relatives. 

“Y/N?” A soft voice asked, and Narcissa Malfoy walked toward you. Her husband was with her, and Draco came running from behind them. 

“Y/N!” He ran to you, and you threw your arms around your cousin’s neck. Draco hugged you tightly, and you started to sob. Narcissa’s gentle hands rubbed your back, and you held Draco tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Lucius asked. 

You sat near a fireplace, tea in your hands and Draco next to you. Back at Hogwarts, the two of you had been close before your dads dragged you to the Order. 

“I needed somewhere to go. I needed you.” You answered, looking up at Narcissa and Draco.

“And the Order?”

“They probably don’t know I’m gone.” 

“We can’t have-”

“Lucius.” Narcissa interrupted.

“Please, don’t kick me out,” you begged Lucius, who looked uneasy.

“Prove your loyalty, and you have a home with us. A family who will love you.” Narcissa promised, and Draco gripped your hand. You looked him in the eyes, and he shook his head.

“Don’t make her sign her soul over to the Dark Lord. Y/N isn’t a snitch, she just needs family.” Draco defended you.

“It’s okay,” you told him, and Narcissa nodded at you. You took Lucius’s outstretched hand, and you repeated the spell back to him that burned a black snake and skull into your forearm. 

[blackswaneuroparedux]

People are all exactly alike. There's no such thing as a race and barely such a thing as an ethnic group. If we were dogs, we'd be the same breed. George Bush and an Australian Aborigine have fewer differences than a Lhasa apso and a toy fox terrier. A Japanese raised in Riyadh would be an Arab. A Zulu raised in New Rochelle would be an orthodontist. People are all the same, though their circumstances differ terribly.

- P.J. O'Rourke, Holidays in Hell (1988)

RIP P.J. O’Rourke (1947-2022)

I was first introduced to the writings of the late American satirist and journalist, PJ O’Rourke, by a retired American diplomat friend of my father. This particular gentleman had served in various political hot zones of the world back in the 1970s and 1980s.

I was in my late teens and I was about go back packing across North Africa and into the Middle East with a couple of friends to serve my wanderlust. He gave me as a parting gift PJ O’Rourke’s book ‘Holidays in Hell’. It was a sort of travelogue of a roving war correspondent but funny as hell. The book was published way back in 1988. I stashed it away along with other dog earred books to help stave off the boring parts of the trip. I’m glad I took it as it was a funny read. In time, O’Rourke became one of my favourite American writers on satire and politics.

O’Rourke was hard to define. And that’s what I loved about him. He made fun of both the right and the left. His political writing was based on his early change of tack from 1960s lefty to what he could call the libertarian right, libertarian being the escape hatch for those ‘trapped’ within the Republican party.

His changing stance mirrored the course of his career, from the biting satire of the National Lampoon and rock n’ roll hipness of Rolling Stone to more earnest outlets such as the Atlantic Monthly and the conservative Cato Institute.

The recurrent theme in his writing was his place in his generation – the baby boomers. “My generation spoiled everything for you,” he told younger readers. “It has always been the prerogative of young people to look and act weird and shock grownups. But my generation exhausted the earth’s resources of the weird ... all you had left was to tattoo your faces and pierce your tongues. Ouch. That must have hurt. I apologise.” His writing moved from social satire to politics and he reported from war zones, where his knack for satirising the absurd found its true metier.

His 1988 collection, ‘Holidays in Hell’, is perhaps the best of his 20 books.

Back then in the 1980s, PJ O’Rourke worked as a foreign correspondent; or rather, he was “a trouble tourist”. This was a time when magazines and newspapers still shelled-out big money for a correspondent to provide in-depth, first-hand coverage of a major world crisis. Today, the print news media is on life-support. He visited remote places and witnessed “insurrections, stupidities, political crises, civil disturbances and other human folly”. His firsthand accounts will give you a glimpse of what life used to be like in the past.

If you happen to think that the things were better when you were younger, perhaps you will let go of that silly notion. O’Rourke visited Lebanon when it was a hotbed of strife, South Africa under Apartheid, Korea during violent election protests. He saw where various death squads dumped their bodies in Central America and The Philippines, and he was hit with pepper spray, tear gas, and - nearly - a bullet or two. In one sense his writings were a fairly original take on travel, certainly for the time, in that it challenged the myths, lies and BS that surrounded the vast majority of travel related books that were coming out at the time, according to my parents.

What O’Rourke did was infuse serious journalism with irreverent humour. He clearly has his tongue firmly in his cheek much of the time but the journalism is very real. The stories gathered here are not puff-pieces or travelogues. He toured Poland behind the Iron Curtain; Poland is free, now. He toured South Africa under Apartheid; Apartheid is no more. He describes his 1986 attempt to get to Libya after U.S. Fighters bombed there; Libya is under new management. So much of the world has changed, now. I certainly don’t mean this in an old-fartish way like, “These damn kids today don’t know what a riot is,” but as a simple observation. In 1988, there’s no way anyone could have predicted the Arab Spring revolutions, powered by Twitter. There was no Twitter. There was no email. The only mention of computer use in ‘Holidays from Hell’ is where O’Rourke laments the lack of a “brief summation” button on his Apple II.

The humour is what separates PJ O’Rourke from other journalists, then and certainly since. His prose strums with life. As impassioned as he is describing Korean student riots, he describes the Koreans predilection for spicy food hysterically (“After lunch, our breath could clean your oven”).  

What I loved about PJ O’Rourke is the fact that he had absolutely no illusions about the way the world works. Most left wingers tend to believe that all of the worlds problems can be solved and that the rich are to blame for it all.  O’Rourke is completely remorseless about his views and doesn't try and offer any well meaning advice about how to change things, just has fun pointing out life's shortcomings.

In O’ Rourke’s telling, “each American embassy comes with two permanent features – a giant anti-American demonstration and a giant line for American visas. Most demonstrators spend half their time burning Old Glory and the other half waiting for green cards.”

Lebanon’s economy is based on “everyone selling cartons of smuggled Marlboros to each other” and Beirut is “a city of three million people with three stoplights and these aren’t working… all driving is at top speed, much of it on the sidewalks since most parking is done in the middle of the streets” but “fortunately, the Lebanese are a clean people, even the very poor ones. It wasn’t like being packed into a bus on a sweltering day with a bunch of French or anything.” When in doubt, bash the French for guaranteed Anglo-Saxon laughs.

O’Rourke is impressed and amazed by the sheer orderliness of South Korean protestors and, in the next chapter, the excitability of the Panamanians “who have absolutely no immunity to theatrics.” And again, amongst all the jokes, he makes some excellent, and deeply serious points about both countries at pivotal moments in their modern history.

O’ Rourke spends just thirty six hours in Nicaragua but comes up with interesting insights and his theory about how the absence of chickens in Managua correlates with the country’s poverty is both jokey and convincing. This chapter also includes the best quote of the entire book, although it’s not from O’Rourke’s typewriter, it’s from the New York Times:

“They (La Prensa) accused of suppressing freedom of expression. This was a lie and we could not let them publish it.” – Nelba Blandon, Interior Ministry Director of Censorship, 1984.

Classic.

PJ O’Rourke observations and opinions will probably be offensive to many of modern social justice warriors. O’Rourke helped me break free from dishonest constraints of the current mass media narrative and to remind me what good old fashioned journalism used to be like. This book was a breath of fresh air back when I read it as a teen on her own ‘holiday in hell’ trip around North Africa and the Middle East (though our wonderful trip was a fun and involved no flying bullets) and even more so today as a more seasoned traveller. Oh and I laughed my arse off too.

‘Holidays in Hell’ is neither a book of explanations, nor a book of recipes. O’Rourke just observes and often laughs, but he doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body nor did does he have any intention to sermonise. Still, I would not dismiss him as an idle joker. I can only agree when he says, “Civilization is an enormous improvement on the lack thereof. We are fools when we fail to defend civilization”. I can fault him for being uncivilised for using ‘z’ in civilisation but I can never fault him for his wry humour, wisdom, and pathos.

If you're looking for a genuine, insightful and funny book about how messed up the world was and still is, then this is the book for you. And I hope it’s a gateway to his other 19 books and various articles which are also laced with the same self-deprecating Irish-American wit and wisdom.

RIP PJ O’ Rourke, you magnificent bastard.

[corpsekiller]

𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 — 𝐤.𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff, mentions of anxiety, best friends to lovers (kind of), language because it's vakugou

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. your best friend bakugou comforts you during a restless night and helps you with your anxious thoughts.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. ugh, i'm not satisfied with this one either, but i’ve rewritten it too many times to care anymore. please understand that anxiety comes in many forms and shapes and it can be different for everyone.

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.460 words

MASTERLIST

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Blinding light floods through the open door into the darkened room and you squint your eyes with a low groan, scowling at the sudden disturbance of your peaceful snack break. “It’s the middle of the night,” Bakugou throws a proving look at the bright screen of his phone and scoffs loudly. “Actually, it’s 4.30 in the fucking morning, shitty woman.”

“I’m having a snack.”

“Bullshit! That’s not a snack, you’re just sitting on the kitchen floor with a gross slice of left-over pizza, idiot. Don’t you have better things to do?” He glares down at you with crossed arms, looms over your hunched figure like a mountain, and if he wasn’t your best friend since you were little brats, he would’ve been intimidating you like anyone else in your class.

Although he is scolding you with biting annoyance, his voice actually grows softer, loses the gruffness that usually clings to his words like acid until it almost sounds like he’s expressing genuine concern for you. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

“Fuck off, that’s none of your business,” you mutter quietly and hastily avert your gaze to stare at your naked feet with determination instead, before taking a large bite out of your cold pizza and unpretentiously ignoring the disgusted grunt coming from Bakugou. He observes you closely with furrowed brows and a deep frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, calloused hands now shoved deep inside the pockets of his black sweatpants. “Why are you awake anyway? It’s long past your bedtime, explosion boy.”

“I heard steps, thought someone wanted to sneak out,” Katsuki growls defensively as he strolls to the fridge and rummages through the food your classmates stored in there, successfully pulling out a box wrapped in cloth after a few minutes of aimless searching.

When he unwraps the thin fabric, you discover his name in enormous black letters, angrily scribbled on the surface of the box with a permanent marker to ensure no one else dares to touch his food. Though none of your classmates is stupid enough to try and steal his snacks anyway.

Surprisingly, he turns to shove the bento box in your trembling hands, ignoring your stammered protests when he casually takes the sloppy piece of pizza and throws it into the trash. “If you already decide to wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re hungry, at least try and eat something healthy.”

That’s a lie. A bad one, too. Truth is, he’s been lying awake for hours, unable to shut his eyes for longer than five minutes before his thoughts crawled back to you. It’s a fucking curse, he’s certain because he’s never spent this much time thinking about anyone. The only ambition he ever had was becoming the strongest hero to ever exist, but now you seem to invade his mind and distract him momentarily from his true goal.

In other words, he is worried about you.

Yesterday was a hard day for all of you and Mr. Aizawa insisted on training and perfecting your quirks until your muscles were burning with exertion and your lungs were struggling to breathe properly. And while you seemed to be doing just fine during combat training with your friends, something must have happened, gone unnoticed by him despite his attentive observation of his surroundings. No, he wasn't keeping an eye on you. Why would he?

And still, a pang of guilt ripped through his chest when he noticed you stumble out of the restroom, tears clinging to your eyelashes and staining your flushed cheeks, a trembling hand pressed to your staggering heart as you desperately tried to catch your breath. He's seen that look on your face many times before and although none of these annoying extras would believe him, he actually helped you through many panic attacks with an unexpected composure.

By now, Katsuki knows the tell-tale signs of your anxiety and after that little incident in yesterday's break, he just couldn't stop thinking about you. Because you’re his best friend and sometimes, he wishes you two were more than just that. Friends.

Your only response is a quiet hum, lost in thought and withdrawn into yourself. He doesn’t like it, he concludes with a bitter taste on the tip of his vile tongue as he watches your left leg bounce incessantly — up, down, up, down, up, down — and the heavy tremors running through your delicate fingers, hands shaking vehemently with restless agitation that frightens you to the core and kept you awake despite the grievous exhaustion settling in your bones.

If he listens cautiously, he’d be able to hear the screaming thoughts raging through your mind like an impetuous hurricane from where he is standing a few feet away from you.

Certainly, you’ll be absolutely drained later in class and Bakugou will have to feed you to keep you powering through each lesson. Though he doesn’t mind the idea of sharing his lunch with you and even offering you his shoulder to lean against if you need a short nap.

It’s silent for a while. You’re waiting for him to snap at you for being so quiet and leave you in the kitchen with your torturous fears, but he doesn’t seem to move an inch. No, instead he throws a pair of chopsticks in your lap before dropping down to the floor next to you after two, three minutes, a heavy sigh falling from his lips as he tilts his head to stare at the awfully blank ceiling. “C’mon, what is it this time?”

Oh, no.

The question you dreaded so much.

Your fingers anxiously fiddle with the chopsticks, opening the bento box he gave you to inspect its contents. A colorful array of chicken, rice, and all sorts of sushi greets your eyes, neatly stacked into small piles and ready to be eaten, the delicious smell already tempting you to take a greedy bite. “It’s stupid, Bakugou.”

“It can’t be that stupid if it triggers a panic attack during training and keeps you up all night,” he replies with a soft grumble and leans back to glare at his own hands in thought. “I know I’m not the best listener, and talking about it feels embarrassing, but sometimes... sharing your thoughts can help.”

Great, now he sounds like a fucking hypocrite.

“You’re right,” you mumble, poking at the sushi with your chopsticks. Nervously picking at the skin on your lips, you set the bento box aside and take a deep breath, before finally confessing what’s been plaguing your mind for the whole night.

“I just... I just don’t know if I’m good enough to become a hero. I’m really trying my best, but then I look at Deku and you, and I feel so fucking weak compared to you.” The words spill out too fast to fully grasp, too hasty and shaky to understand each syllable strung with frustration, but somehow, relief already eases the tension in your strained shoulders. “As I said, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

“What?” You whip your head around to gawk at him with widened eyes, surprise overshadowing the previous look perturbation on your face. “What did you just say?”

“It’s not stupid,” Katsuki repeats reluctantly and runs a strong hand through his disheveled hair, pulling on a few short strands to ground himself before continuing with visible hesitance. “Sometimes, even I’m scared that I’m not strong enough, okay? But we are both trying our best to become a hero and that’s all that really matters, idiot.”

Scarlet orbs shift to you, catching your gaze with a glint of honest vulnerability. To find this kind of sincerity etched into his sharp features is unexpected, though you can’t quite concentrate on the sentiment of astonishment with your heartbeat thundering in your ears and his handsome face mere inches away from yours.

You swear you can feel his hot breath tickle your flushed cheeks, his eyes flickering to your lips with a devilish grin that contrasts the gentle touch of his fingers when he grasps your jaw and tilts your head up. “You’re good enough, Y/N.”

God, was he always this beautiful?

Although you didn’t listen to any word he spoke, you still manage to nod slowly, the blush on your cheekbones deepening under the intensity of his survey. “Thanks, Katsu,” you whisper with a small smile and lean back against the wall with a chuckle. “Thanks for staying with me.”

Your hand brushes his when you adjust your position, sliding closer to him until your knee grazes his thigh. Tentatively, your fingers intertwine, though neither of you dares to say something. You just stay there and sit on the kitchen floor. Alone together.

[drabblecat]

Yandere!Heisenberg x F!Reader Part 2

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: yandere behavior, slight nudity, drugging

Part 1

Slightly longer than i was aiming for but that's ok! My initial thought was more pwp but then I realized I kinda wanted some sort of plot... Anyways, big plans for next chapters! As always I'd love to hear what you think and the ask box is open!

You took a moment to try and calm your nerves. Heisenberg still had your face in his rough hands, and you couldn’t try to run with that chain holding you down. As his thumb ran across your lips anger built inside you. Mother Miranda was supposed to protect everyone in the village, but as soon as shit hit the fan there was no one that came to the rescue. You parted your lips as if starting to speak, his thumb now pressing down on your lower lip. Tilting your head forward ever so slightly, you bit down on the man’s thumb. He pulled back and sat up in shock that someone in your current position would do such a thing.

“Take care of me huh? Like Mother Miranda was supposed to? Yeah, well look how that worked out!” The hand still next to your head quickly gasped onto your neck, lifting you up to meet his eyes.

“That bitch was just using the village. It was a lie she used to make sure we had the right number of bodies to work with and everyone fell for it!” Tightening around your throat you started to gasp for air, hands pulling at Heisenberg’s grip. He let you go, house bouncing against the mattress. “It seems you need some more time to adjust. I’ll be back later and hopefully you’ll realize your place here.” The bed shifted as he stood up. Walking to the door and closing it behind him you heard a loud telltale click of a lock.

You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, not only to catch your breath, but also in attempt to process what exactly was happening. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, one spilling over your cheek and rolled down to your chin. You let it fall for just a moment, and then gathered yourself. What was done was done. True you saw people that you knew dying in the streets, but you didn’t truly know them. You were just the new girl in town, if they were in your place, they would just be happy to be alive. Besides, Heisenberg was one of the town’s lords, right? It’s possible that this isn’t all that bad, you don’t know anything about him besides owning the old factory. At least he’s not Beneviento or Moreau. The dolls were creepy as hell, and you were never one for going near the waters that looked like they’d eat you if given the chance.

Using the sheet you wiped your eyes, and decided it was best to examine your surroundings further. Getting off the bed, the chain falling to the floor with it, you saw the cuff had a decent amount of length to it. Besides the bed and the heavy door, there were a few other things. There was the chair still at the end of the bed, a small nightstand, a vanity, and two other doors. Walking over to the vanity you were taken back. It had a framed photo of you that you do not remember taking. Especially since it was of you just out of the shower! Hesitantly you tipped it over, not wanting to even think of what that photo implied. Below the vanity were some drawers, opening them you found a hairbrush, and what only could be described as some of the raunchiest lingerie you’ve ever seen. Then came the two doors, one was significantly smaller than the other. Trying the small one first in the back left of the room, no luck. After turning the round door knob a few times you gave it a rest. Next was the larger door, this one opened right away. Nothing too interesting, just an ordinary bathroom. It was a little dirty, but nothing worse than what you’ve seen at certain gas stations.

Starting by opening all the possible cabinets you found they were all empty. Nothing to even try to use to get out. No cleaning chemicals or even medicine in the medicine cabinet. Heisenberg must have thought this through this for some time. The chain finally ran out of length at the toilet, just short of the bath. Seeing as nothing came from this, you returned to the bed to stare at the ceiling and think. Not like there was anything else to do. Who knows how long it took you to explore the room and think your thoughts. Without windows or any sort of clock there was no way to tell. Curling up to one side you snuggled into the blankets. Once again you heard the door click, causing you to bolt upright to face the noise. Heisenberg came through the door, carrying a metal tray holding a plate of food, a fork, a glass with what looked like water, and a small white vase with two wilted yellow flowers.

“Dinner time! Now I know I’m not the best cook, but you should find this to at least be appetizing. After all you must be starving darling.” He sat the tray on the bed and sat back in his chair. The plate was just as he said, didn’t look five stars, but your stomach growled at the mess of food. It looked like some baked beans, accompanied by some thick slices of grilled ham, and a chunk of corn bread. You still didn’t move, despite your hunger.

“Ok ok, you probably think I drugged the food, right? Well, I didn’t. Drugging you would be easier with a dart gun.” He lowered his glasses slightly to look you in the eye. With a sigh he grabbed the fork, picking up an entire slice of the ham, ripping a bite out of it. “See?” he placed the ham with the fork in it back down on the plate, speaking as he chewed. You couldn’t hold out much longer. If now was dinner time, that means you missed an entire day with nothing to eat. Planning any sort of escape or resistance to him couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. Reaching forward you used the fork the cut off a bite sized piece. It was surprisingly well seasoned, and super tender.

“There you go sweetheart! I knew it would just take some time to get used to, I’m not all that bad.” He chuckled and watched you as you ate. Only because he was watching you did you eat just a little faster than you had wanted to. Sure, he was a little off putting, but he seemed happy when you played along with whatever sick fantasy he had conjured up in his head. Once the meal was done, he set the flower on your nightstand and the tray right beside it. He stood up, taking his hat and coat off and throwing it on the chair.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a full day today and I am beat. Time to get some shut eye.” He glanced over to the vanity; a small piece of cloth poked out from where you had rummaged around. “I see you had some fun today as well. Your still in that ragged gown, I think you might want to change into something a little more… fresh.” Shit, you thought you’d put everything back to where it was. You mentally curse yourself as he opened the drawers. He was right though; you were still in the stained nightgown from the attack. As much as a fresh outfit was a good idea, you dreaded what his choice might be.

After a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out a gown that looked like it went down to mid-thigh, in a deep crimson color. It would have been a nice gown, if it wasn’t for the fact that the entire section around the breasts were almost see through lace with slits on both sides that went from the bottom and halfway up.

“Absolutely not.” You blurted out, causing him to chuckle.

“Sweetheart I don’t think you have a choice in the matter. Besides you and I both know that if you stay in that grimy thing, it’ll make you more uncomfortable than wearing this. It’s soft to, pure silk.” He tossed it on the bed and gave you a wink. Giving a defeated huff, you picked it up. He was right, it was incredibly soft. Getting off the bed with the garment in hand you headed towards the bathroom.

“Aww, and I thought I was going to see you strip. Maybe some other time…” He looked at you with his shit-eating grin. Your face became flustered, and you slammed the door as fast as you could, not shutting all the way due to the chain. Once inside the bathroom you began to change, making sure he couldn’t see you through the crack in the door. It was only then that you found the slip came with a matching pair of panties. Sighing in defeat and honestly just tired of all the bullshit thrown at you these past days you just put them on. It did give you some comfort, surprisingly feeling clean in this lewd outfit over your much more covering, yet crawling with filth, night gown. Taking a look in the mirror you looked yourself over. At least your tits looked hot in this, a confidence boost is good, right?

Slowly opening the door further, you became almost timid at what you saw. Heisenberg had also begun to strip down to his boxers for the night. He was in the middle of removing his shirt. His muscular back was littered with all sorts of scars. His muscles flexed as he took of the white stained undershirt, the smallest beads of sweat wicked away by the fabric. His tight ass was also a sight to see. Looking over his shoulder, he locked eyes with you, no longer having glasses obscure the direct line of sight.

“Well well, seems we’ve both found ourselves some eye candy huh.” Tossing the last piece of clothing to the chair he approached the door. Opening it and taking your hand he looked down at you, you quickly looked away to avoid feeling more embarrassment. Suddenly he picked up bridal style, your hands immediately reaching for his chest in attempt to hold on. In doing so your hands felt the warm firm handful of his pecks. He chuckled as you quickly folded your hands back into your own chest. Ever so gently he set you back on the bed, a sharp contrast to what had happened earlier.

Settling down next to you, you turned away from him. As you felt the bed dip with his weight, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. You could feel a slight bulge resting against your ass. You tried to create some sort of distance, but you couldn’t move at all. Resigning to the situation, you tried to settle down, eyes unable to close despite some tiredness. All you could see in the limited range of movement you had was the nightstand, remnants of the meal, and the two flowers wilted but vibrant as they sat in the small vase.

[dadsbongos]

gentle lover

(1)gentle lover (2)burn me to the ground Movie/Game/Show: Loki Dynamic: Loki Laufeyson/Reader Warnings: spoilers for infinity war/1st episode of loki ig, fem pronouns Summary: Loki almost wishes he could've experienced the life he's watching of you and him together. ~~~

There’s something about looking upon the gentle face of a lover and coming to the realization that you’d do anything for them. It isn’t as though you never knew - the knowledge was already there, it just took a few seconds for the thought to become cemented as truth. Loki sees this in himself as he stands before the TVA projection of his life.

He’s paused at a moment on an unnameable planet. He sees himself standing on a balcony in what he assumes to be a late-night, but instead of staring up at the stars, he’s looking upon a woman beside him. She’s looking at him as well. They share the glance with smiles - and that’s what alarms Loki most. The smile he sees is one he hasn’t felt in years. It’s small but it’s more genuine than the leather he was wearing moments ago. It’s a smile he hasn’t felt since before he knew about Laufey. Since before his mother…

He knows that woman. One of Thor’s Midgardian friends. The one assigned to watch and guard him in New York.

He doesn’t know why she’s there with him. He doesn’t know why she looks so content to be on another planet with him. He doesn’t know why he looks so at peace at her mere presence. He doesn’t know why it makes him miss a reality he’s never even known to exist.

He almost wants to be there, just to know what it is about that woman that brings him so much tranquility at that moment.

She’s just another bug, their difference in lifespans is proof enough of that. But Loki knows that look, as much as he hates to admit to his own conscience, he knows that feeling smeared across his own face. It’s caring. Tender. A softness he’s never felt for others is now on full display to a Midgardian.

Loki clenches his jaw and resumes the projection.

He watches the two slide their hands together on a railing, interlocking their fingers.

The Loki onscreen’s eyes flicker between hers and their joined hands. It isn’t even him that speaks first, it’s her.

“When this whole thing is over and Sakaar is ruined and Thor has the throne, where will you go?”

Silence is passed between them, Loki brushes his thumb over her knuckles, tilting his head to the side briefly in thought, “Where will you want me?”

She chuckles and shakes her head, “You wouldn’t want to go to Earth. Unless you’d like the Avengers up your ass.”

They giggle together, ignoring the very real reason why the Avengers would be so onto him in the first place. Loki blinks at the woman, scooting closer to her, “I wouldn’t be fond of that… but for you, my dear, I’d tear the universe apart.”

He kisses her knuckles and she merely jokes back, “That sounds like exactly why they wouldn’t want you. Sorry to say they’re not fond of universe-tearing.”

“I’m charming and romantic and this is how I’m repaid?”

“However,” she stresses with a broad grin, “I can’t say that’s not excellent bargaining to keep you on a leash.”

Loki’s brows furrow and he nearly pulls back, “Like a dog?”

“Well, now,” she bites her lip in thought and looks away at the dystopian city below, but Loki still looks at her.

He looks at her as though she’d sewn the very realms together. As though she’d hung all the moons and suns and stars and planted every sweet flower and harvested every fruit. He looks at her like she’s the beginning of his world - and he knows that it also means that, if she asked right then and there, he’d help her destroy the world too. He looks at her as though she’s the only true love he’s ever known. And for all this Loki, watching himself and this woman be entwined, knows - she probably is. He can feel it through the very projection he’s watching, and so he plays another scene with her in it.

“For a woman who could undoubtedly tear people apart, you master the role of a noblewoman, love.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Her response is dripping in lighthearted sarcasm and it manages a laugh from the Loki onscreen as he lays back in a shared bed.

“I am somewhat on the espionage scene, it’d be a little embarrassing if I couldn’t even pull off a little role like this.”

“Even so, I admire you for it.”

“At this point, it’d be rarer to find something you don’t admire me for,” she lightly huffs, a smile tipping at her lips as she finishes tying up her dress, “Not that I’m complaining. It's a huge ego boost.”

“There certainly is much to admire about you,” Loki shows his palms as if to display a sort of surrender.

Before more can be said, the projection is paused once again. Loki closes his eyes and lets his head down in the silence - almost expecting that voice to creep through his mind again. He can hear her now, in his head. He knows that out there, in those other variations of him on the sacred timeline that haven’t yet become Variants, they can probably hear her too. In a more realistic sense, of course. Because if they’re determined to fall in love, there must be one of her fated for every one of them. And he almost pities the fact.

He plays the projection in bits and pieces.

“My mother…”

“Loki, stop, you don’t have to.”

“I wish to, dear.”

“Loki…”

“My mother, I truly feel that she would’ve adored you.”

He takes in their love story as it comes and he struggles down what feels too intimate for even him to watch.

“Do you ever worry about the day when you wake up and I don’t?”

“Yes, of course, I do.”

“What will you do?”

“I prefer to not think on that.”

“You think about everything.”

“Some things… are better left unplanned for. At least for now, when that isn’t a valid worry in my mind.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t touched that tesseract. Just to live a life where he gets to see first-hand how this human woman manages to creep under the walls he so carefully spent years crafting.

“I love you.”

“Poor choice, really.”

“Loki. Seriously. I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear.”

It’s bizarre to see himself love. It’s bizarre to watch as he cares for a being he once would’ve had no qualms ruling over. It’s bizarre to know that this is what could’ve been the happiest times of his life if he hadn’t picked up the tesseract.

“Did you ever imagine yourself here?”

“On a spaceship with a bunch of Asgardians and the gladiators from Sakaar? No, never.”

“I meant with me.”

“I know, I was just messing with you. And… no. To be honest. I thought maybe I’d have to watch you as a guard or something. With the whole trying-to-take-over thing, but never that I’d be your girlfriend.”

“Eh.”

“‘Eh’? The hell does ‘eh’ mean? I am!”

“It sounds so… juvenile. Girlfriend - boyfriend.”

“What? Wife sounds better?”

“In honesty? Yes, it does. I’d much rather call you my wife than my girlfriend.”

“You can’t joke about that! I’ll get my hopes up.”

“Who said anything about joking, dear?”

And as he comes to the end, as he watches himself be lifted by the titan he’s come to fear more than anything, he hears her. Her mourning. Her screaming. Her pleading. Her gut-wrenching cries.

He watches her and Thor crawl to his body and sprawl themselves over it in heaps of hiccupped tears and choked sorrows.

“You were supposed to out-live me… Loki, please. You’ve come back before, Loki, please, come back again. Come back again… I can’t - I can’t live this life without you, Loki… please… please come back again…” she sounds as though her heart itself has been ripped from her chest and torn in two before her very eyes, “You were supposed to out-live me… Loki...”

He looks away from the screen. Decides that now is too much. He can’t watch her lose what she saw as the world. Loki barely knows her and yet he knows himself enough to know if he watches her grief then he’ll want to mend it.

Looking upon her and seeing how deeply and irrevocably she’d cared for him, knowing of his past and forgiving his ways and loving him anyway, he knows he’d want to end her cries. It’s that feeling of realization that makes him feel ridiculous for wanting to do so much for a Midgardian he hasn’t fallen in love with yet.

Yet?

Yet.

It’s a feeling of realization that he’d do anything for that lover of his, when he gets to love her. If he gets to love her.

And it’s that ‘if’ that makes him understand why Mobius was so interested in making him watch his own life. His own future. It makes him realize what he wants but can’t have. His brother, his love, his happiness - it gives him something to want. Lying just out of reach.

So long as he’s compliant with the TVA, he assumes. Otherwise, he’d have to tear the universe in half to even see that Midgardian woman once again.

[jossambird]

The scent on your coat P5

Summary: Otto spends time to reflect on his life and his encounter with you and decides to go find you… Only to meet someone else.

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: Fighting, mentions of bleeding, NS/FW Subjects, Doc Yearning, Doc Jealousy,

AO3 Link for Previous Parts or on my masterlist!

For the next few days after your encounter, Otto couldn’t shake the feeling inside his stomach after seeing you again, heart beating happily as the image of you sprawled out for him reappeared in his mind. Just how long had it been?

Nearly a year had he been forced into a life of criminality, and no matter how much time would have passed, nothing could have ever changed his ever growing love for you.

The stars over his head remained hidden, just like he had been after his accident. The memory of it all felt fabricated, like a story out of the newspapers, but it wasn’t, and here he was, tentacles and all, no longer living the same life as before.

The night he had broken into Oscorp, everything had felt much too nostalgic for his taste, yourself included. You weren’t supposed to be there, served like a decadent meal on display for anyone to see. But you had been, and now, that image would remain forever ingrained in his memory.

Seeing you again in his lab, panting and touching yourself had caused him to feel all kinds of emotions all over again, mainly jealousy coursing through his system until he heard his own name escape your lips as you came.

“Ive only ever wanted you.” The very words replayed in his mind, heart beating faster at the thought. Did you also harbour a deeper emotion for him, just like he did for you? During your employment together, becoming close to you had felt like heaven, your smiles and gentle accidental touches always making his days better.

Otto sighed, eyes turning back to the endless black sky, and wondered if you were looking up too.

The state of his marriage to Rosalie had laid heavy on his mind, long before your employment as his assistant. Otto could still remember the moment he knew it was done, knew that his heart had stopped beating for Rosalie: You had smiled at a successful test, a simple little thing really, but the beauty in that moment, witnessing first hand your joy, had gotten him.

The love he had once felt for Rosalie had long since passed before that moment, just as her love for him had as well.

He had always felt jealous when Harry would come and see you, touching you innocently infront of him and everyone. Though, the very act of watching you always reject Harry Osborn’s advances left fire in his veins, pride radiating off him when you would turn back to him, smiling shyly as Harry left. Oh how he had always wanted to push you against his desk and take you right there, show Harry who you belonged to.

Now, in hindsight, he regretted becoming distant after the whole Harry hug ordeal, remembering how you would try to talk to him afterwards, worry painting your beautiful features with each passing day.

Most of all, he regretted not being able to properly tell you how much he had missed you, and just how much he loved you…

He started moving in seconds, claws burying themselves into the brick and steel of buildings, making his way towards the hideous Oscorp building. Perhaps, you would be working a late night shift again, and perhaps, you would be open to speaking with a villain and old colleague once more.

‘Speaking’ was perhaps not the right word to employ for what could potentially transpire between the two of you after his previous promise to you but he held no expectations, excitement coursing through his veins at the mere idea of seeing you again.

As he approached the Oscorp building and scaled up to the roof, he was met with a bizarre sight, momentary confusion equally held in the other man’s eyes.

Before him, on the very top of Oscorp Industries, sat Spider-Man. In seconds, Otto launched himself at the younger man, frustration rolling off of him in waves at the idea of not being able to see you tonight because of little Peter Parker.

A few moments passed, attacks flying left and right, yet… Something felt off, Otto thought, watching as Peter merely deflected his attacks and stood out of the way, never stepping forward to actually harm him or to the tentacles. He was taking the hits alright, but never retaliating, only receiving, as if to punish himself-

“S-Say Doc Oc- Doctor Octavius, can I ask you something?” Spiderman stuttered out, barely standing in place, face turned away from the older man. The younger man paused, mind jumbled while the villain remained still before him.

Otto didn't know what to do with this bizarre turn of events, looking at Parker in confusion and suspicion. He must have hit the boy on the head, or perhaps he was drunk, using his name for the first time in ages. Otto huffed out in annoyance, he’d much rather go back to trying to throw him across town then answer whatever stupid questions-

“If you loved someone… TRULY loved them, and you found out they loved another… Would you let them go?” Peter cut off his train of thought, making the elder man freeze at the intimate question.

Otto Octavius, renowned Scientist and villain, felt speechless. Of all people whom Peter Parker could have asked… Why him? Was this why Parker kept missing his attacks, barely avoiding his claws, tumbling left and right like a drunk? A broken heart?

“Yes, I would set them free.” Otto uttered without a beat, instantly regretting opening his damn mouth at the sight before him.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Peter tried to let out, a loud sob escaping as he staggered to the rooftops ground, mask in hand while the other hand furiously wiped his tears away.

Otto suddenly felt as if he were back in his old apartment, answering all of Peter’s questions, laughing and thinking just how bright and kind this young man was. But now, it was another woman roaming the halls of his apartment in his mind, another woman turning the corner to see him, your brilliant eyes shining as you smiled at him.

“Sometimes, to do what's right… we must be steady and give up the things we desire the most. Even our dreams.” Otto threw back the boy's own words that he had told him ages ago, knowing that despite everything, it was true. It was hard not to remember just how human they both were, and just how young Peter Parker was.

His eyes landed on the younger man once more, watching as Peter tried to regain a sense of decorum, despite the sobs that still shook his shoulders.

“Are they the one who told you they love someone else?” He asked after a beat, mild curiosity coursing through him as he tried to remember who Peter Parker had been interested in except that poor Mary Jane. The younger man let out a wet chuckle, surprising Otto as the boy smiled widely, fondly.

“She didn’t need to, she's always loved him, even if he didn’t know.” Peter uttered but shook his head, unmasked eyes turning up to look at the villain.

“She- she worked with him. They were pretty close.” Peter swallowed, sorrowful eyes turning away from the man.

“He left, and never came back, for her or his work. I'm the one who helped her pick up the pieces.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, our wedding is in a few days.” Parker smiled softly as if reliving a memory, eyes and skin blotchy red from his tears. He lifted his hand in the air, wedding band shining in the moonlight.

Silence reigned between the two men, a gentle breeze caressing Otto’s cheek as his mind ran wild, trying to discern who Peter kept alluding to, eyes turning towards the city around-

“You know, she loved you. Really love you.” Peter whispered with a laugh, but it didn’t matter, Otto had heard him loud and clear, body freezing at the younger man's implication.

“She loved you, waited for you. But you never came.” Parker continued, taking the man's silence as an invitation to be quiet.

The silence felt all too stifling, until a tentacle shot out from behind Dr Octavius, grabbing Peter by the throat and throwing him against the brick wall beside them. Emotions swirled in Otto, thoughts and memories flashing before his eyes as he imagined you with Peter Parker, imagined you under the boy, moaning Peter’s name instead of his own. Soon to be married, Y/N Parker.

The very thought of it all and the thought that Peter had had you under him caused liquid hate to course through the Scientist’s veins, wondering if Peter had ever been able to make you cum just as he had, remembering the way you’d gripped his hair and moaned HIS name, crumbling so beautifully under his tongue.

A growl escaped him as he launched after Peter, tentacles whipping right and left to try and catch the little shit.

Most of all, he imagined you disappearing forever, married to a boy, never to see HIM again. Never again would he hear you moan, never again would he hear you say his name, and most of all, never again would he see you smile for him. All of the dreams he had had of a life with you, ripped away because of Peter Parker.

Otto blinked, looking up to see the tentacles enthusiastically attacking Peter of their own volition, reacting to his jealousy, anger and sorrow. Though the scene before him took Otto Octavius by surprise, watching as Peter barely avoided the Claws, taking each hit that landed.

Otto watched the young man for a moment and decided, upper right Claw clasping itself around Peter’s throat, dragging the boy forward. Blood trailed down Parker’s mouth and nose but his quick hands reached out and grabbed Otto’s coat, hazy eyes focusing on his ex-Mentor.

Suddenly, Peter’s blue eyes sharpened, mouth opening to try and speak.

“P-Please, tell me… Could you love someone, be IN love with someone, as you are now?” Peter whispered, coughing up blood as he ground out his words, red splattering over Otto’s black turtleneck and leather coat.

“Pardon me?” Dr Octavius bite out, faltering for a moment at the way Peter watched him, as if trying to discern something important, shaking hands firmly balled in his coat.

“If you had that one chance right now, to tell her- to tell the person that you love that you want to be with them for the rest of your life and make them happy as you are now, tentacles and all, would you do it?” Peter asked, and in the brief second that followed his question, no matter how jealous he felt at the fact that Peter Parker had had you first, images of you coursed through his mind, your voice repeating every sentence you had ever told him. Peter’s little blunder had also not escaped him, the word ‘her’ ringing in his ears.

“In a heartbeat.”

Peter remained still under the claws hold, visibly debating something.

“Sometimes, to do what's right, we must be steady and give up the things we desire the most. Even our dreams.” The boy repeated once more, and even though Peter had thrown those words at him once before, now, it seemed the words weren’t for him. No no, instead, they were for Peter himself. Tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks once more but a smile appeared, tired eyes looking up at Otto.

[trashcanfanfics]

Hmm, Angel Dust with an S/o noble overlord who managed to break Angel's contract with Val and take him away from him. fluff mixed with a little nsfw :)

I'm gonna be honest, whenever I think about Angel, all I wanna do is get him tf out of Val's reach

Also, only slight nsfw because I'm not confident in my abilities to write a full on scene for that, I'm sorry :(

Angel had come home, covered in bite marks and his own blood again. You watched from the couch with your book in hand as he walked in through the front door. It worried you, that he would come home like this, broken and defeated.

"Welcome home, my love," you spoke softly as you rose up to go greet him, setting the book aside. He mumbled out a half assed greeting in response. As soon as you were close enough, you hugged him tightly. Angel wrapped both sets of arms around you and let out a shaky sigh. It sounded like he was ready to cry.

"Would you like a bath? I'll draw you one." You gently let go before you grabbed his lower left hand to lead him to the huge bathroom centered around a giant clawfooted tub. Refusing to let go of his hand, you turned the knob to start the water and waited for the right temperature before plugging the drain.

Once the tub was full, you stood, facing him and gently helped him take off his clothes. You barely grazed your hand across one of the marks, making him hiss in pain. This made your blood boil. You were sick of this. Angel coming home beaten, marked, and in despair. You won't stand for this anymore. He had begged you not to get involved, said that it'd be worse if you intervened. You helped him into the tub once he was fully undressed.

"Ya not gonna join me?" He asked in a small voice, he was tryng to sound playful but it came out sad, defeated. You smiled weakly and shook your head.

"No, I thought I'd just wash you tonight, if that's alright with you." You liked doing this after he came home like this, offering him a choice. Giving him the freedom to ask for what he wanted. There was a sneaking suspicion you had that said he just wanted to wash off and sleep. The bags under his eyes helped this theory.

"That sounds nice." He sank deeper into the tub as you turned the knob off and helped him clean the blood out of his fur. The gentle motions of running your hands in his soft hair was enough to let his shoulders droop in relaxation. Your mind drifted off while you cleaned him. You kissed his head, healing his wounds, a habit now.

Valentino will no longer hurt your beloved. You would not allow him to do this anymore. These past few weeks you've been researching and studying dealmaking. The processes, terms, and ways to look into loopholes. All you have to do is get your hands on the physical contract to see what you can find. If you couldn't find anything, you'd just set the contract on fire and hit Valentino before running away.

After Angel was fully clean, you grabbed his favorite embroidered towel and helped him out of the bath. Once again grabbing his hand, you lead him to your shared bedroom and helped him into the softest pajamas he owns. He laid down under the silky sheets on the plush mattress and snuggled into it. You changed into your own pajamas before snuggling in with him. Your fingers gently brushed through his hair as softly sang him to sleep. You ran your thumb across the slight purple under his eye, noting how exhausted he looked even in sleep.

~*~

You woke up to the early birdsong of the morning glory in your garden and gently disentangled yourself from Angel's many armsnd made your way over to the edge. There, you stood straight and rounded the bed quietly to place a soft kiss to his forehead. With one last glance, and a whispered "I love you", you turned off the light and left the room, down the hall, out the front door. You're going to pay that bastard a visit.

~*~

Angel woke up feeling better and less sore than he expected. He sat up and looked over to his loving partner's side of the bed only to frown. They weren't there. Getting up, he stretched and decided to look in the kitchen. Maybe they had gotten up already and were making breakfast, though they usually would have the staff take care of it. He didn't know why, they were an amazing cook and it was always a treat when you did make meals.

"S/o? Ya in here, babes?" He opened the door to see the cooks already making breakfast, one handed him a coffee when they passed by to get to some more ingredients, but you weren't there. They looked pretty busy, so he decided to take his cup and search elsewhere.

He checked the dining room, library, living room, their study, parlor, hell, even the garden (saying hi to Nuggets in his own little mansion on the way), but they weren't in any of those places! Where are they? He was getting worried now.

"Uh, excuse me, sire?" Angel looked to the speaker of the voice to see a small demon that reminded him slightly of Niffty. "My liege has left a note for you, sire." The demon handed him a small piece of paper, bowed, and then skittered off. Angel will never get used to the treatment here. He shook his head and focused on the paper.

"My dearest love, I will be out for a short while, but don't fret, I'll be home soon with a surprise and a gift. I love you very much, S/o." He read aloud. "Aren't gifts and surprises the same thing?" He decided to not worry about that and smiled as he imagined when you'd be back.

~*~

You entered your home tired and frazzled, but with a smile beaming with happiness. You had successfully gotten rid of the contract between Valentino and Angel. Now it was time to tell your lover and give him the gifts you bought him.

"My heart? I'm home!" You called into the foyer as you went deeper into the house. You checked the living room and parlor before you were wrapped up in an embrace of four arms.

"Babes! Where were ya? I woke up an' you were gone," he mumbled in your ear. You smiled and pat one of his arms to release you. He let go and you turned to face him, holding out all the gift bags you were carrying.

"S/o, what the fuck happened to you? You're bleeding!" At his exclaimation you look down to actually take yourself in and realize he's right. You were so caught up in finally setting him free and getting him gifts that you didn't notice the small cuts. Laughing, you wave your hand and fix yourself up with your abilities.

"So I was, thank you, lovely. Now, here!" You, once again, offer him the gift bags. He takes them in his lower set of hands and uses the upper set to hold your shoulders.

"We ain't gonna roll past that you were hurt, even if ya can heal them. Who did it?" There was murder in his eyes. Your gaze softened and you laughed softly.

"I was going to wait until you opened the gifts and ask 'what's the occasion?' But you seem so eager," you paused to reach up and hold his face in your hands, "Anthony Messina, you are no longer under contract with the overlord Valentino. You are a free man, my love." The expression on his face was nothing short of shock.

"What? Are you serious?" His eyes fill with tears as he breathes and realizes you're right. Angel wouldn't be able to feel Valentino's chains anymore. He was free. "I can't believe it." He lets out a laugh and the tears fall, ruining his make up. Angel lifts you up and kisses you hard.

"My star," you whispered when you parted. He kissed you again with more passion. Your hands travelled through his soft locks, relishing in the feeling.

"Caro mia." He kissed you again, longer this time. The bags fell from his lower arms which then made their way to your thighs, wrapping them around his waist.

"Shall we take this to the room, sweetling?" You asked when you separated again. Angel nodded vigorously and carried you, all the while kissing you.

In the room, you hear him kick the door closed and then lock the door with one of his arms. You continue to kiss and run your tongue along his bottom lip, asking for entrance, which he happily gives. Hands found their way to the other's clothes, ripping them off in urgency to feel each the naked bodies beneath.

You wiggled your half naked form from his arms and separated the kiss. Before he could complain, you grabbed his lower left hand and yanked him over to the bed, effortlessly throwing him onto it. You crawled on top of him and kissed him lovingly, caressing his face and then down his chest and finally resting on his hips, giving a small squeeze. Parting from his lips, you said a sentence that set his body on fire.

"I'm going to show you what a true claiming feels like."

[fleur-de-violette]

And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real

A3O Summary: Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year.

He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

Whumptober 2020 day 6 – Stop, please. Note: Have you seen that the whumptober 2021 prompts are out? They’re super cool and I didn’t finish the 2020 so it’s safe to say I won’t do them. Still, I’m excited for it.

Back to the fic, warning for hallucination, lots of crying and pretty much general angst. Enjoy!

-

Bruce wants a bath.

He wants a lot of things. One of them is a bath. He never considered himself too dependent on the luxuries that came with his civilian identity, but right now, he really wants to be in clean, warm water with a nice scent, maybe a few candles, and some relaxing music.

It isn’t as much about the bath itself, because he had the time to clean himself, warm up and relax his aching muscles in the shower, it’s the idea of it. He wants to be in a moment where he could allow himself to lose time without feeling guilty about the next crisis. These moments are too rare, if not nonexistent, in his life. And now isn’t one of these moments.

Bruce wants a lot of things.

He wants Alfred not to look so tired. He wants to see Tim smile, really smile. He wants to take the next flight to Hong Kong just so he can hug Cassandra. He wants to solve a case with Steph, watch that smart spark in her eyes and find out how much she grew up. He wants to go to Crime Alley and check on Jason. He wants to shake Gordon’s hand and to kiss Barbara’s hair. He wants to feel Selina’s body against his. He wants to understand Damian. He wants to see Dick’s eyes.

He hasn’t seen Dick’s eyes since he came back from time. Batman’s white lenses had left his son’s face sometime between the moment he passed out next to Damian and the moment a neurosurgeon removed a bullet from the inside of his skull. Dick had yet to wake up.

And Bruce hadn’t seen Dick’s eyes in a year.

It’s something that hasn’t happened since that fateful night at Haly’s Circus. Even when they weren’t talking, he always took the time to check on his ward. His son.

He never wanted things to go this way. He has all the money anyone could wish for and more, a position of power, both in one of the biggest companies on earth and in the most famous superhero team in the universe. He’d been trained by the best of the best.

And yet.

And yet he can’t stop his family from ripping to shreds.

The Joker is still loose. He’s got a dozen missed calls on his phone, mostly from Clark. He doesn’t care. Right now, he doesn’t care. He’s tired.

Dick must be tired too. Bruce tries to tell himself that this is the reason he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d been assured by several doctors that the surgery went well. Dick should wake up anytime now, and the confusion and pain will decrease within the next few weeks, leaving only a scar on the back of his head, until that, too, will be hidden behind the thick black hair Bruce hadn’t ruffled affectionately in ages.

Bruce’s hands hover over his son’s unconscious body, as if afraid of touching him. Of breaking him more than he already did. Not for the first time, he wonders what would have happened if he had ensured that the young boy from the circus found a good foster family and left him there. If he hadn’t, with all the vanity of a twenty-four-year-old millionaire, thought he was the only one who could take care of him.

He sighs. He lowers his head once again toward Dick’s face and sees two cloudy blue eyes looking back at him.

He blinks. Tries to control the avalanche of emotions falling upon him. “Hey,” he says, choking on his own voice.

He’s not really expecting an answer, so he’s surprised when Dick opens his dry lips and lets out a small, “Hey. Long time, no see.”

A tear Bruce knows Dick doesn’t even notice forms itself in his son’s eye. Bruce wipes it away gently. “Are you in any pain?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Dick lies. Bruce doesn’t call him out on it.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Dick goes to shake his head but aborts the movement with a pained jerk. “No,” he says instead.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Dick lets out a small laugh. “How would you know? You’re a figment of my imagination.”

Bruce suddenly feels very cold. He takes in both the knowledge that Dick doesn’t think he’s real and the implication that hallucinating him is something he’s familiar with.

His hand presses a little more on his son’s face. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m real.”

Dick closes his eyes and another tear escapes one of them. “Don’t. Please.”

“Talk to me. What can I do to convince you?” Bruce feels a pressure building behind his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” Dick repeats. “I can’t. I can’t believe you.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll take all the time you need. You don’t have to believe me now, but you need to calm down.”

Dick is close to hyperventilating now, and Bruce wonders if he should just leave the room and let Alfred take care of him. But that seems too much like running away for his liking, and he’s been away long enough.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Dick continues, not caring, or perhaps not registering what Bruce said. “I can’t, you’re not. I can’t hope, because what if I wake up and you’re gone? Again?”

Bruce feels his heart shattering into pieces, but he can’t let himself break down. “Breathe, Robin,” he says, immediately wincing when the name passes his lips.

Calling him by a title he hadn’t worn in years probably won’t help Dick’s grip with reality, but he can’t help it. Right now, he can only see a distressed child in front of him. A child who always responded well to this name.

And it seems that some things can’t be erased by time, because Dick gasps and takes a few more deep breaths, calming down. Bruce thinks the worst of it is over. He thinks maybe Dick will fall back asleep, and wake up again in a few hours, less confused this time.

He’s wrong.

Because not a minute later, Dick opens his eyes again, and says, “The real you would be much angrier than that.”

Bruce feels the mass in his throat, the one that appeared at the beginning of the conversation, start to grow again. “What? No, why would I be angry?”

“Let you down,” Dick answers in a way that makes Bruce wish he had never asked. “Disrespected your will. Let Gotham become a mess. Destroyed Batman’s name.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce murmurs. “You didn’t.” When Dick doesn’t seem to calm down, he adds, “You’re a better Batman than I’ll ever be.”

Because this is true. He doesn’t need Alfred of Gordon to tell him what he always knew. Dick is the essence of what Batman should be. He’s the Batman Gotham needs, even if she doesn’t deserve him. And for that reason, Dick shouldn’t have been Batman. He’s perfect, and he’s destroying himself.

Batman had never been a title to pass on, let alone to Dick. Sure, he trusted his son and first sidekick to take the mantle if he was unable to, but he never had wanted him to be Batman. No one but him was supposed to be Batman. Cassandra was the closest to the title, but she wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t let that burden fall on her.

Still, he hadn’t wanted it to fall on Dick, either.

“Why are you saying that?” Dick asks. Bruce can practically see the gears turning in his head. Good. He knows firsthand that Dick is a damn good detective. He will figure this out. “This is not something I believe or fear or want to hear. Why are you saying that?”

“I’m real,” Bruce repeats, and Dick lets out a sob.

“You’re not,” he protests, but Bruce can see his resolve weakening. “You’re not. Tim said, but you…”

He stops. Blinks. A few more tears fall out of his eyes, and Bruce knows his own aren’t dry either. “You’re real. You’re… please, be real.”

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking down. “I’m real,” he chokes. “I promise.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “What about Damian?” he asks. “Aren’t you angry?”

Bruce sighs. What about Damian? This is a whole different question. The kid is sleeping in his room right now, having finally listened to Alfred, leaving his Batman’s side. He had barely said a word to Bruce.

Bruce has been gone for a year, not by choice, sure, but gone nonetheless, and now he doesn’t know where he fits, between his son in blood and his son in everything else.

Batman and Robin, a bond that can’t be broken. A bond that still exists, he hopes, between himself and Dick.

“I will talk with him,” he says because his relationship with Damian, his complicated feelings about the mere existence of Damian and his anxiety about having to work with him as a Robin, aren’t Dick’s responsibility. They never should have been. “I’m not angry with you.”

Dick blinks again. “My head hurts,” he finally admits.

Bruce’s hand hovers over the morphine drip. “Do you want more painkillers?”

“If I sleep,” Dick asks, “Will you still be there when I wake up?”

Bruce bends down, leaves a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dick says. “But thank you, for being here.”

Still, he closes his eyes and his body relaxes a little. Probably as much as it is possible while recovering from brain surgery.

Bruce stays there a long time, his hand still on Dick’s face. He’s broken a lot of promises. But he’s sure of one thing.

He will be here when Dick wakes up again.

He will still be real.

Ending Note: Hope you enjoyed the fic! Many thanks to @ohmytoddhewitt for beta reading!