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ckret2 · 1 month ago

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Pictured above: a shape's eye view of the end of the world.

The second dimension has burned; and Bill's been accidentally setting the second dimension's neighbors on fire. At the moment, the Axolotl is trying really, really hard to convince himself that these two facts are unrelated. Here, have a fic.

This is chapter 5 of an ongoing fic about the Axolotl in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre as Bill just keeps on committing atrocities. If you wanna read the earlier chapters (and/or look at more pretty art of Bill committing horrors and the Ax witnessing horrors), here's chapters one, two, three, and four.

####

As soon as the Axolotl and the Time Giant exited Dimension Zero, they were greeted with a faceful of rain. Apparently the storm cloud with the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force had been waiting for them. "The fires in the remaining dimensions around 2Δ are finally acting like normal fires," it said. "No teleporting around, no more targeting the mortals. We've got the worst ones under control. Think we'll save about 40% of Dimension 2 Zeta and 30% of Dimension 2 Epsilon. Whatever you two did in there, it helped."

"Yeah, well." The Time Giant shrugged, nearly dislodging the Axolotl from his perch draped over her shoulder. "It was one of those problems that fixes itself once you figure out what it is."

So the Time Giant had been right. The triangle's attempts to rescue "his" "people" and to stabilize his strange underworld in Dimension Zero had been what was destabilizing all the other dimensions. As much of a relief as it was to hear the situation was improving... part of the Axolotl had hoped that the fires were still as untamed as ever—because that would have meant the triangle wasn't guilty of perpetuating the blaze.

(If the triangle wasn't actively working to keep Dimension Zero stable, how much longer until it collapsed and erased all its imprisoned souls from existence? Would it be long enough to get them all out?)

The cloud asked, "So, did you find out what destroyed 2Δ?" Right. The Axolotl had almost forgotten that was what they'd originally been looking for.

The Time Giant shook her head grimly. "Didn't see any sign of it. But I've got a suspicion who did it."

The Axolotl said sharply, "All we have is circumstantial evidence." And he'd ripped into more than one god who'd tried to damn a mortal based on circumstantial evidence.

The cloud's sunbeam darted between their faces. Slowly, it said, "I take it you mean our triangular friend. I don't have any proof yet about the original fire; but he's been spreading the fire, I know that much."

"How did you know?" the Axolotl asked. He and the Time Giant had only just learned it themselves inside Dimension Zero.

"We've been interviewing some refugees while you were out. I—think you'll want to speak to them." The cloud directed this statement to the Axolotl.

The Time Giant said, "Later. The triangle says he's willing to move his people to another dimension." She gestured toward VENDOR, flanked by the two cops THEY'd apparently adopted as THEIR personal escorts. THEY were ranting into a phone that the crab-looking cop was holding up for them. "So we've gotta go discuss refugee stuff with Vendy McVendface."

"VENDOR," the cloud corrected.

"Vend 'er? I hardly even know 'er!"

The gods turned to stare at the border of Dimension Zero as the triangle laughed at his own joke until he wheezed. "I had to. It was sitting right there! It woulda been a crime not to pick it up!" His cackles slowly petered out. "What, no laughs? Maybe the joke doesn't translate."

The Time Giant shrugged. "I kinda thought it was funny."

"Ah, whatever."

"Have you been listening the whole time?" the Axolotl asked, not sure whether to be amused or mortified.

"Don't worry about it, I've got something more important to say." He zipped up along the surface of Dimension Zero's border until he was eye level with the Time Giant. "Hey, Hourglass. I didn't say I'm ready to move my people. I said I'm ready to talk about moving. Your guy better sell me on it. If your offer isn't worth it, we're not leaving."

"Are you serious?" She screwed up her face. "Ain't not being erased from existence worth it?"

"I have very high standards. And there are fates worse than death."

"Name one."

The triangle only thought about it a second before he answered, "Captivity."

####

It wasn't until the Axolotl and the Time Giant left the border of Dimension Zero that the Axolotl realized, the moment the triangle had shown up, the storm cloud had disappeared. It was now drizzling surreptitiously near VENDOR, waiting for them to catch up.

As they approached VENDOR, the Time Giant said, "You should give VENDOR the news."

The Axolotl gave her an affronted look. "Why me?" This wasn't his responsibility. He hadn't been hired to do a job here. He shouldn't even be here; he was essentially an over-involved lookie-loo.

"You'd be better at talking to 'em. You move in the same circles."

"I'm not a politician, I'm a lawyer."

"I'm an engineer." She took the Axolotl off her shoulder and nudged his butt to set him gently floating in VENDOR's direction.

The Axolotl twisted around to give her a resentful look, but swam toward the vending machine.

THEY ignored the Axolotl until THEY finished THEIR current call, at which point THEY snapped, "What?" and he explained the situation. Blessedly, THEY didn't ask any further questions or give him any instructions; THEY just grumbled, "Finally," and told the crab cop, "Call the Vitruvian Mandala—we'll need to find places for another ten million 2D refugees."

"And 1D," the Axolotl said.

"Yes, yes." THEY muttered under THEIR fan, "And hopefully we'll get that triangle to the afterlife he deserves and be done with him."

The Axolotl doubted THEY meant a serene eternal paradise. Pointedly, he said, "Which afterlife he goes to is his choice."

Afterlife law was his speciality. Not cases like "based on this mortal's good and bad deeds, which form has she earned for her next reincarnation?" or "has this soul earned entry into his religion's realm of the wicked, the good, or the heroic?" Those were decided on the local level.

Rather, he tended to handle inter-pantheon, sometimes even interdimensional, cases—like, "if a mortal born on one planet lives and dies on another planet, which world's afterlife has claim to his soul?" "Is a soul's right to return to her native afterlife forfeit if she's apprehended in another god's jurisdiction for crimes against reality?" "Can a death god in a dimension where wandering ghosts are banned incarcerate a ghost from a dimension where wandering is legal?" "How does a soul's right to claim an afterlife weigh against an afterlife's right to claim a soul?" "Who has the right to judge a deceased mortal in the first place?"

The Axolotl personally thought that mortals deserved to be treated as mercifully as possible—starting with respecting the dead's own choice of afterlife above all others, and ending with outlawing damnation at the interdimensional level.

The rest of the multiverse... didn't agree with him yet. He didn't intend to stop until they did.

He went on, "Case law has long established that unless the dead made other arrangements premortem, they will be taken to—in order—the afterlife of their birth, their death, or their choice. The afterlife under whose jurisdiction the triangle lived and died has been destroyed, so he can go to any afterlife that says they're willing to take him, whether or not you think it's what he deserves—"

VENDOR's camera rolled and THEY impatiently beeped acknowledgment. "Do you mind, I'm on the phone." THEY turned THEIR back on the Axolotl to focus on THEIR next call. Yeah, most gods didn't like being told they couldn't just smite and damn whoever they felt like.

The storm cloud called the Axolotl's attention with a fork of lightning. It said, "I'll need to help coordinate the rescue efforts with VENDOR. I can get the report on what you learned in there from the engineering inspector; but you need to go talk to some of the witnesses of the fire. Maybe you should ask the Vitruvian Mandala when He's free."

That was the second time it had told him to talk to the refugees. "Why?"

"You said that yellow triangle's your friend, right?"

"I... did, yes."

The cloud didn't explain any further. It only said, "Be careful around him."

####

VENDOR bustled around making preparations to receive ten million new refugees with absolutely no input from anyone else on the scene; the cloud's time was split between coordinating with the ATTF and getting a full debrief from the Time Giant on the conditions inside Dimension Zero; and left alone, the Axolotl found himself staring into the roiling barrier around the bloated singularity.

He swore, no matter where he looked, in the center of his view he could see a tiny, yellow, triangular pinprick of light, like an afterimage burned into his retina. No matter how deeply he looked into Dimension Zero, somehow his eyes always seemed focused on the triangle, making it appear nearer and then farther, like an optical illusion.

Be careful around him. He wished his Oracle were here to ask him questions. Helping her mortal mind make sense of this whole affair might help him make sense of it himself.

He'd seen the horror in the triangle's eye when he realized that he was the one incinerating the dimensions that had once bordered his own. He'd heard the sincerity in the triangle's voice when he said he could feel the deaths of every life that fell into his dream realm—the deaths that he himself was causing. He'd felt the guilt pouring from the triangle when he realized his efforts to save "his people" from being killed were what was killing them. Whatever else the Axolotl knew, he was sure the triangle hadn't meant to cause anyone harm. He hadn't started the fires on purpose. He just... didn't know what he was doing.

And "his people"—what did that mean?

Maybe some of the people in the triangle's dance party were from his dimension. The Axolotl couldn't totally confirm that they weren't; if the triangle had somehow survived, then why not others?

But it was undeniable that the triangle had been "rescuing"/kidnapping people from other dimensions, and he talked about the people he'd rescued no differently from the people from his own dimension.

Why? Had members of his species spread to neighboring dimensions? Or had his species come from another? Had his people established diplomatic relationships with cultures in neighboring universes, enough for them to consider themselves one people?

"Certainly not," said the Vitruvian Mandala.

He was a god from one of the worlds in Dimension 2 Gamma that the ATTF had managed to evacuate before the dimension was fully incinerated. Now, He was just another refugee, huddled with His confused, terrified people on one of the temporary worlds provided by VENDOR, curved uncomfortably atop the spherical planet. He had to be reeling from the loss of His home just as much as His people were—if not more, since He had known and seen and done and loved much more that any single mortal could. But nevertheless, He'd immediately stepped up to assist with organizing the rescue services, acting as a liaison between VENDOR and the 2D mortals to find new homes for them.

And some of His people had been among the ones dragged into Dimension Zero—which was no doubt why the cloud had suggested the Axolotl speak to Him.

The Vitruvian Mandala may have been a minor creation god (He'd only created a galaxy) but He was more than powerful enough to know whether any of His people had ever made interdimensional contact. The Axolotl had waited until He had a moment to spare from assisting VENDOR, and then asked Him about their relationship with Dimension 2 Delta.

"I seeded life on all the populated worlds in My galaxy. None of My worlds have ever so much as been colonized by another galaxy in Our own dimension, much less people from another dimension," He said. "And We're a young galaxy—the most advanced starfarers have hardly ventured beyond their own solar systems; none have left Our dimension."

"And they've never spoken to other dimensions...?"

"No. The first contact We ever had with 'Dimension 2 Delta'—or what was left of it—was when the Magister Mentium began dragging My people into his underworld. The leaders I've had a chance to speak to from Dimension 2 Epsilon and Dimension 2 Zeta have told Me the same. " He called the triangle 'Magister Mentium' without any of the halting awkwardness the Axolotl did, or even the self-consciousness the triangle himself did. The Vitruvian Mandala had never known the triangle as anything but the Magister Mentium—and in His voice, it sounded not like an oversized title for a tiny triangle, but like the name of a fellow god.

But—the Axolotl had only asked the Vitruvian Mandala about Dimension 2 Delta. He hadn't brought up the Magister Mentium, nor mentioned that he was asking about the kidnapped people. "How did you know about the Magister Mentium?"

The Vitruvian Mandala said simply, "Because he introduced himself to My people before he started stealing them."

At the Axolotl's shocked silence, He said, "Do you want to see what they saw?"

####

When the agents with the ATTF had started interviewing survivors about the cosmic fire, naturally, they'd first approached the other gods for information. And then the gods had approached the mortals under their charge to get their testimonies and pass them on to the apoc agents.

The Vitruvian Mandala had telepathically extracted His people's memories and copied them into tiny glassy discs with brass rims. He sifted through dozens of discs before offering the memory of a narrow rhombus from one of His most technologically advance worlds; and the Axolotl stared through the disk to experience the mortal's memory.

The memory started with a sight that had become all too familiar to the Axolotl: a distant line of burning blue fire. It took a moment for the Axolotl to orient himself to the mortal's razor-thin two-dimensional view of her world; but once he did, he realized that, from her perspective, it wasn't a line of light. To her, it was the entire sky. The constellations of faraway flat stars had vanished, and their place was taken by an inferno.

The whole world reeked of a stench that the rhombus didn't recognize, but that the Axolotl did: burning hydrogen. In most dimensions, three-fourths of all the matter in the entire universe—including the very stars themselves—consisted of hydrogen molecules. Hydrogen burned a pale blue. The stench in the air, the pale blue light filling the sky, was the smell and sight of the raw materials of reality itself burning away.

The nearby buildings had emptied into the city streets as people abandoned their work to coming outside and stare at the burning sky. Somewhere—it seemed very far away—people were screaming, sirens were wailing, government proclamations were issuing out of radios and loudspeakers; but on these streets, on the border of the city where the sky was most visible, everyone was horribly silent.

An eerie feeling of unreality hung over the world. It felt like a scene out of a dream. The rhombus's heart filled with dread. She didn't understand why or how the sky was burning, but she felt in her bones that it must mean the end of the world.

She never imagined that it was the end of the entire universe.

And then, more real than reality itself, bright enough to blind, a radioactive-yellow shape appeared in the middle of the crowd. Over the gasps of shock, a voice that echoed between the buildings proclaimed, "Gooood evening! Lines, bis, and tris; quads, quints, and more—my beloved believers and my new friends—I'm sure you all recognize my voice from the news, but it's a pleasure to finally meet you all in the flesh!"

She wasn't sure he had any flesh to meet. He was ghostlike, as insubstantial as smoke—and just as formless as smoke, too: his shape constantly shimmered and shifted and distorted, his skin appearing and disappearing as his internal organs were exposed; one moment a leg visible, the next a hand, then no limbs at all, just his blindingly bright body. His organs were all wrong. When she could stand to squint at the specter's light, in the split seconds that his ghostly form was properly visible, she thought he looked like a triangle.

(She'd never seen the third dimension, never even attempted to imagine what a 3D shape might look like. She didn't realize his appearance shifted because he was a 2D shape tilting in 3D directions trying to lay flat on the 2D plane of Dimension 2 Gamma, and not quite succeeding. )

"Allow me to introduce myself properly: I'm the Magister Mentium, seer of the third dimension! Your gateway to the stars and stardom, your guide to prophets and profits, your mastermind and master of minds; and, if you're lucky, your new eternal party host! I'm sure the honor's all yours—but please, resist the urge to swoon! I have a limited time offer that you cannot afford to miss."

For all his self-aggrandizing, the triangle was still completely unfamiliar. She didn't see recognition in the eyes of any of the shapes around them, either. She doubted he'd ever actually been on the news at all, unless it was in one of those dubious programs about ghost hunting or UFOs.

But the triangle charged on regardless: "I'm here to bring you salvation from— Whoops! We've got a crying baby over here. Sorry junior, I'm on stage right now." She hadn't even noticed the crying until the triangle pointed it out; the whole world seemed dull and muffled and gray except for the triangle. One of his arms stretched in the child's direction and disappeared; there was a split-second flash of black fingers where the baby used to be; and then both hand and baby vanished, the baby's cries morphing into a shriek of terror that slowly faded into the unseeable distance.

"My baby!" a rectangle wailed. She rushed up to the alien triangle. "What did you do to my baby, you—" She tried to seize his arm, and let out a howl of pain as her hands burst into flame.

"Calm down, Mama, your little brat's okay!" He reached out and flicked the rectangle back. His finger hit her with the force of a catapult. She tumbled away from him through dimensions unknown, skins and bone and organs turning inside-out over each other; and slammed into a nearby building, fusing with the wall. All that was visible of her was a thin cross section of meat. The rhombus couldn't imagine where the rest of her had gone—but she could smell the burning flesh.

"Too bad I can't say the same of you." The triangle turned to stare them all down, gaze darting restlessly from face to face. His pupil was bizarrely long, animal-like; and his gaze burned. She was sure that, if his gaze had lingered on her a moment longer, she would have caught fire, too. "We're burning time, people! Would anyone else like to be excused? Last call!"

There were a few whispers, but no one moved. The crowd was petrified with fear.

"Terrrrific! Then you'd better listen close, because I only have time to say this once," the triangle said. "Here's the deal! There's only two kinds of people: the ones who hate captivity, and the ones who love it. Oh yeah, there are people who love it! Some of 'em like inflicting it, some of 'em are too stupid to think for themselves, and some of 'em just want to do terrible things and pretend they had no choice!

"But I'm here to help the rest of you—you know who you are! You're the ones who never quite tessellated with the other kids! The ones who are sick and tired of your family saying you had so much potential and asking where it's all gone! You can feel the barbs of social obligation hooking into your flesh—yeah, you there, you know what I'm talking about, I see you!—and you'd rip your own skin off if you thought it would set you free! It won't, by the way—take it from a guy who knows! Luckily for you, my way's more effective and less painful! Probably!"

In spite of their fear, more than a few shapes had started pushing closer to the triangle. He was speaking to them.

"So if you crave freedom—from work, laws, morality, physics... death..."

More than a few shapes glanced fearfully toward the sky.

"...if you want to see the stars with me—then raise your hand! Reach out to me! Watch your enemies burn and escape to a realm of dreams with no rules and no responsibilities! That's right, this way!"

As soon as he said raise your hand, it seemed like half the crowd stretched their hands out to him —and the longer he spoke, the more reached out.

She recognized some of the people reaching out—some of them were her neighbors and friends. Here was a beaten-down pentagon who'd spent his whole life being controlled, and just wanted freedom from the ruthless monsters who used and abused him. There was a controlling circle who'd spent her whole life using and abusing others, and wanted freedom to be an even more ruthless monster. They all reached toward the triangle just the same—as if they'd been waiting their whole lives for an opportunity to escape. The desperate, the downtrodden, the dastardly, the barely daring to hope. If the whole burning world felt like a bizarre dream, then this must have felt like a dream come true to them.

But to the rhombus, it felt like a nightmare. She had to fight through the crowd to back away from him.

"No need to push! If you can't see me, just hold your hand toward my voice, I can see you!"

The smell of burning existence was growing stronger.

Was this a test? An approaching apocalypse and a shapeshifting god of light and fire offering a last-minute rapture. The sky was burning—what hope did they have if they didn't go with him? More of the crowd was reaching for him now—terrified of him, but more terrified of their fate if they didn't. The rhombus reluctantly stretched out a hand.

"Thaaat's right, this way! I've got all of you!" His voice was taking on an edge of impatience. "Just—come on already! Hurry up!"

She was at just the right angle to catch a split second glimpse of the triangle through the crowd. She saw as the person closest to him reached out and grasped his hand. She saw as the first of the triangle's new followers burst into flames. The unlucky soul crumbled to ash before they had a chance to scream.

"I said no pushing."

The rhombus jerked her hand back and hoped the triangle hadn't seen her through the crowd. He wasn't offering salvation.

Most of the crowd wasn't lucky enough to get a view of the unfortunate shapes at the front who were already learning what a deal with the triangle entailed. The rhombus could hear people, as though from a vast distance, calling out to the triangle: "Take me, take me!" "I'll do anything!" It seemed like the whole world was trying to get closer to him; she thought she was the only one trying to move away, until she made it as far back as she could, where the crowd was thinning out, and caught a few other shapes in her peripheral vision who'd moved the same way. More than half the crowd was rushing in toward the triangle.

But apparently, it wasn't enough to satisfy him. "Come on, people!" That enthusiastic voice, halfway between a salesman and a camp counselor, was gone now. His voice went shrill with anxiety. "What's it gonna take?! I'm offering you idiots paradise, why won't you listen? Why don't you ever LISTEN TO ME?!"

For a moment, even though the triangle was completely hidden by the crowd, the rhombus could feel his fiery gaze sweep over her. She felt the way her skin threatened to burst into flames, and she knew he saw her.

She backed away until her rear angle bumped into the nearest building.

"Fine! You've had your chance! I've found my people!" The triangle's voice dropped to an angry snarl. "For all I care, the rest of you can burn."

For every hand that stretched out to the triangle, a black hand reached back toward them—dozens and dozens of hands. "Let's blow up this popsicle stand!"

He seized his new believers' hands.

Most of them instantly burst into flames.

Most of the rest were either jerked away into some unseeable direction like the baby had been, or else the burning ghost hand they were shaking yanked something out of them, leaving behind a dry corpse.

Reality warped and distorted in ways her eye couldn't make sense of: buildings wobbling and spilling apart like they were made of liquid; people twisting together with the buildings in sickening multi-corpsed abominations.

"Whoopsie!" The triangle let out a shrill, tittering laugh. It sounded pained. "S-still gotta get the hang of that. Oh well!" He spoke louder and faster. "I saved as many of you as I could, doing the best I can here, the rest of you don't matter, anyway byyye!"

And then he was gone.

And then they were all awake. She hadn't known they were asleep. Whatever happened hadn't been a mere shared nightmare; it was as though the layer of existence that dreams happened on had been pressed into the layer of existence where reality happened, and she hadn't even noticed until the pressure applied by the triangle lifted and the layers popped apart again.

The layers had popped apart too hard. Several of the shapes nearest the triangle that he hadn't taken with him instantly died—the tether between their souls on the plane of dreams and their bodies on the plane of reality snapped like overstretched rubber bands.

The fused corpse abominations had been left behind, still tangled and mangled with the architecture. The buildings were charred. The survivors were covered in burns they hadn't noticed—everywhere the triangle had looked was burned. Anything the triangle looked through was burned.

She was covered in burns. She could feel the burning inside her body. She raised her hands to her face and felt it peeling off.

She couldn't even feel the bright blue fires roaring down from the heavens.

And then something else lifted her out of the world, just before the reality around them began to burn.

She didn't know where all the people the triangle had taken had gone. But as she blacked out, of one thing she was sure: this higher dimension he'd claimed to see, this realm of stars and dreams? They weren't there.

Wherever they were, they'd gone down.

####

When the Axolotl emerged from the recorded memory, he was dizzy with horror. He had to lay down on the prefab planet next to the Vitruvian Mandala while he reeled.

"Are you all right?" the Vitruvian Mandala asked.

Broken, the Axolotl said, "he threw a baby."

"I know."

"Is the baby alright?"

Delicately, He said, "It's beyond the dimensions I'm able to sense."

The Axolotl curled his gills. Not the baby. "What about the rhombus?"

"Her body was too burned; she died shortly after this memory," the Vitruvian Mandala said. "But fortunately, only a small part of her ghost suffered third degree burns. With an ectoplasm graft she's expected to recovery enough to have a fairly normal afterlife. Inasmuch as any afterlife can be considered 'normal' for My people now."

The Axolotl had noted how many ghosts were mingling with the living mortals when he arrived on this planet. He hadn't wanted to say anything; he didn't know whether that was normal for their people. "I can give you the contact rituals of some interdimensional psychopomps I respect. Very professional and compassionate gods." Although they'd be cursing the Axolotl's name for millennia for throwing so much work on their desks.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

The Axolotl returned the memory disc to the Vitruvian Mandala; He momentarily stared into it Himself before returning it to His collection. "He gave speeches like this all across My populated worlds. I've retrieved thousands of memories like this from My people." His voice shook; the Axolotl couldn't tell if it was with anger or grief. "There would have been more—if more had survived."

"I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else he could do for the poor god but be sorry. All the senseless, slapdash slaughter. All of it so casual and accidental.

"Why?" the Vitruvian Mandala demanded. "He didn't speak like he meant My people harm, but he couldn't have done them more harm if he'd tried! I've never heard of him before—what is he, some malevolent trickster god? Why did he do it"

"Because... he thought he was saving them." That was the only thing the Axolotl could cling to.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 5 of a 7-or-8-or-9 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl run out of ways to pretend Bill didn't destroy his own dimension.

It's ALSO chapter 65 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: Bill got SO CLOSE to looking like a misguided good guy last chapter, and that's why he had to throw a baby.

No actually it was because it seemed really really funny. Flipped that flat little thing like a pancake.

Due to real-world reasons, this is another chapter that isn't as edited & polished as usual, so let me know if you noticed any rough spots that need buffing. And let me know what you think! Bill with his cult leader persona cranked up to 100% is probably the hardest Bill to write.)

#gravity falls axolotl #the axolotl #(for the actual chapter)#bill cipher #(for the art. and also the chapter)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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drip-p1ss · 4 months ago

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Notes Game - Bladder Torture

notes game to make my bladder stretched to its limits. no cum, just edge and hold like the stupid dumb slut I am (MDNI) wanna help? reblogs, like and comments (any time you want), make me suffer like the useless whore I am

every 1 note is 1 minute to add to my holding

every 5 notes are 100 ml I have to drink

every 10 notes I press on my bladder for 5 seconds

every 50 notes I press my bladder on a counter for 10 sec and release for 5, 3 times

every 70 notes 10 squats

100 notes: after 1 hour I can't hold with my hands or cross my leg anymore

~ after 100 notes:

every 10 notes is a slap on my full bladder

every 20 notes a slap on my open spread pussy

every 40 notes lie on my belly with something under it for 5 min

200 notes: do a workout with full bladder, leaking is not an excuse to stop

220 notes: melt an ice cube in my cunt with panties on, can't remove them (fake pee)

250 notes: body write with humiliating words while sitting on the toilet

+++ I accept tasks, challenges, punishments in the comments/asks

~ punishment

leaking

drink a glass of water + add 10 min + fake pee

wetting / accident

drink 4 glass of water + add 30 min + lay on belly with a small ball on bladder for 10 min

will close on september 11th

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boxheadpaint · 4 months ago

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hello funny pokemon youtube streamer. before you are three chambers containing fan favorite "pocket monsters"- vaporeon, gardevoir, and lopunny. they will be released by dex number.

for each one, you have 30 seconds to make an original joke about this monster that isnt "people are horny about this one". if you cannot accomplish this task for any of them, a five pound explosive charge will detonate in your face. if you can manage to be original and funny, you will be free to return safely to your usual subscribers

you could also not make a joke at all and still leave totally fine but its, like, the spirit of the thing. come on

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desireangel · 4 months ago

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Dark Cherry [2] | Aemond Targaryen

Part Two

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader and also some Aemond x some random girly pop ;o

Word Count: (I'm... sorry?) 7.1k

Warnings: smut - mdni 18+!!! UNEDITED!! infidelity, kinda angsty? second-hand smut? power struggle both in bed and out, reader is a cheeky voyeur, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, degradation, Aemond is a fucking asshole but he's sexy, talk of masturbation. as always, let me know if I have missed anything!

Author's note: Entirely unedited because here I am posting this at 2:30AM having just finished writing this bad boy even though I have to be up for work at 7:30. yay :/. Anyways, thank you all so much for the love on this series so far! I'm thinking there could potentially be some more to come. Reader ain't done with her revenge so soon. I will reblog with the taglist tomorrow! or today I guess--after I've had some sleep! I would also love to hear your thoughts!! So pls hmu in my inbox to chat abt things xoxo kisses!!!! <3

Masterlist!

Part One

Distancing yourself from Aemond was not a difficult task. You’d barely see much of him aside from the meals you shared and your occasional stroll through the gardens anyway. It still felt odd, knowing that you were avoiding him when only days ago you had been grasping at whatever crumb of his attention you could reach.

His existence was ghostly. Always talked about but never seen and it made it remarkably easy to ignore him. You spent most days between your chambers and Helaena’s, idly passing time with embroidery and small talk. But you were distracted - your mind foggy and your usual grace and poise replaced by clumsiness and a constant flustered jumpiness.

It was always on your mind. Always.

Your mind was a problem of its own and as soon as you lay down amongst your sheets for a night of sleep, it took you back to the memory of your name lewdly falling from Aemond’s lips. As days had passed, you could have convinced yourself it was a hallucination - an odd dream of some sort.

And while it had become muscle memory for your hand to find your soaked sex at the midnight hour, the scene of your alluring husband in the throes of pleasure bringing you to a quick peak, the first two nights had been marred with silent tears of humiliation, hurt, betrayal–jealousy and anger.

Maybe it was for the best that you had not seen the face of the whore in his private chambers. If you had any idea of who she was, you would have had half a mind to have sought her out and suffocated her yourself.

You had to remind yourself that if she were, in fact, a whore then you could hardly let yourself seriously consider choking a woman out for simply doing her job.

Frustration was an understatement. No matter how hard you tried, there was nothing that you could do which would calm the mix of emotions inside you. You considered declaring Aemond’s infidelity at dinner–or even at the small feast that was held two nights ago. But it wouldn’t be enough and it was too early to show your hand.

If you had come out and made it known to all at Court, nothing would happen. At all.

Most husbands take on whores and mistresses. And despite the pain and hurt of it that the wives suffer, it’s simply accepted as the way things are. Men are innately animals and so they must fuck like it too. So nobody would bat an eyelid at Aemond. Instead, you knew that they’d turn it on you in one way or another.

On the sixth day, you were surprised when Ser Tunsley knocked on your door to announce your husband’s presence. When Aemond took a seat at the small table where you usually shared your breakfast, he barely spared you more than an inquisitive look before telling your handmaid to bring your breakfasts promptly.

Aemond leaned back, letting his legs rest comfortable but still maintained his effortlessly flawless posture. He reached for the book that lay forgotten on the side-table, holding it open with one hand and his other arm stretching over the back of the seat beside him, where you sat all tense and surprised. A barely-there frown crossed your face at the foreign gesture and you willed yourself not to think much of it.

You would have fumbled to snatch the book from his hands, if this had been a week earlier. But it wasn’t, and with a curious and conniving sense of calm, you let him read the first page of a story riddled with obscenity and romance. The first couple chapters were perfectly appropriate.

The prince looked at you with a gentle tilt of his head, unmoving aside from . “You have been withdrawn.”

Silence. You were sitting beside him, unable to meet his eye as you usually would, scoffing so softly at his words that he almost mistook it for a cough.

Aemond, who was far more observant of you than he knew you believed him to be, found that he was bothered by it. Whether it was because of the loss of the devotion that he had always seen in your doe-eyed gaze, or the flippant shift in your attitude, he did not want to know.

“Have I done something that has bothered you, dear wife?” His eye returned to the book and moved from one side of the page to the other as he read.

Aemond clearly did not see you watching them on that night. The fact that you had faced no repercussions for sneaking up on him and eavesdropping on such a moment was enough confirmation of that.

But Aemond’s presence re-ignited the red hot resentment you had for his actions and the hurt that you felt because of him. How any man could seek out the company of his wife for the first time in a week, sit beside her and pretend so shamelessly as if he cared for the repercussions of his own vile actions was beyond you.

Nonetheless, you forced a polite smile onto your lips and turned slightly to face him better. You let his question linger in the air between you as the maid returned, placing a plate of cheeses, fruits and an assortment of breads on the table in front of you.

Thanking her, you reached to pour yourself a cup of the sweet vanilla and rose tea that had become your favourite part of your mornings in the Keep. When you answered his question, it was purposefully less than what Aemond was seeking.

“I have been ill, lord husband,” you murmured. When you rested against the back of the seat, you tensed at the feeling of Aemond’s arm grazing your shoulder. You had forgotten it was there.

Your reaction to his proximity and while you had initially been shy around him–not so much since you had started your little performance–, you never flinched away from his touch.

Aemond placed the book down beside him and hummed in thought. He reached over you, to take a piece of fresh bread for his plate and to put some fruit on your plate, his chest pressing against your shoulder and his hair brushing past your nose.

If you had moved, just an inch, your lips would be against the milky skin of his throat. Despite your disdain for your husband, you could hear the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears and stopped yourself from dragging your fingers through his hair and tracing your lips across his jaw.

There was an unfamiliar sense of purpose behind what he was doing. It dawned on you that he knew what he was doing. The bread was already on his plate but the son of a bitch placed the fruits piece by piece on your plate, his movements lazy.

He smelled like lavender, leather and dragon smoke. Like an intoxicating drug that overwhelmed your mind until piety and sin were indiscernible. It was far too easy for you to see Aemond as more godly than just a mere man, to feel the need to worship him in the most sinful ways you could imagine.

No man in any realms was as strong, as beautiful, as terrifying, as educated as the prince who breathed fire onto your skin. And he was your prince.

A drop in your stomach was the least of your problems when the image of Aemond enjoying another woman’s passion invaded your thoughts. You wondered if his scent drove her just as mad as it made you and you had the urge to drive a knife through Aemond’s hand for you knew he’d have let her indulge in him.

But when he looked at you, his violet eye a mask of indifference yet still failing to hide something that you couldn’t for the life of you put into words, you hated that your desire for him burned just as strong as your rage.

Aemond’s eye met yours, humming in thought as he brought a cherry to his lips and glancing down at your own. He took a bite out of it first and then brought it to your mouth, dragging the open side across your bottom lip. The soft fruit dripped delicately onto your chin and left a stain on your perfect lips. The sight of you with reddened lips, gazing up at him with blown out pupils, shining with an uncorrupted devotion and a pure desire sent his blood rushing.

The cherry was sweet and chilled, a stark contrast to the darkened, heated want that Aemond watched you with. And again, you had an urge to ignore everything and take what it was that you had been hoping Aemond would give you. You obediently took the cherry into your mouth, holding his gaze, chewing the flesh of the fruit and rolling the pip on your tongue.

When you looked hard enough into Aemond’s eye, you could see the reflection of yourself morph into a reflection of the unnamed woman and you turned from him, turning away to drop the pip of the cherry onto a napkin.

Aemond’s hand fell softly to rest on your knee and he only moved back a nudge. You refused to meet his eye but you could feel his warm breath on your cheek as he spoke, his voice slightly strained yet still calm and smooth. “I’ll send for a maester.”

“Thank you,” you pushed the words out of your mouth and nodded towards the food. “You should eat your breakfast, my prince.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow as you rolled your eyes at him and slid back into his previous posture, sitting against the backrest of his own seat. An infuriating grin played on his lips. “Don’t worry about my breakfast. Why did you roll your eyes at me?”

You rolled your eyes again. “As if I cannot call for a maester myself.”

It crossed your mind that you could have told him right now of what you had seen. And the urge to scream at him became so strong you almost did.

But what would come of it? Not enough. Aemond would only offer you an apology if you were lucky and carry on as if nothing was amiss. Because that is just how it is for husbands–they could cheat and lie all they please to no consequence. And you wanted him to regret the moment he chose to disrespect you.

You wanted him to suffer for it. To feel as insulted, as embarrassed and as inferior as you have.

So he would suffer. But you had to be patient if you were to make it hurt.

A thought crossed your mind as Aemond said something you didn’t quite hear, with that unbothered expression he had mastered years ago.

He didn’t linger long after that. You ate your breakfast in silence, while Aemond, much to your distaste, finished the first chapter of your book. And when he finally left, he took it with him, giving you a knowing smirk as he tucked it under his arm.

One punch. Surely, you would be entitled to that.

Initially, the idea of seducing Jason Lannister was a gruesome one. But upon hearing of his prolonged and unbusy presence at King’s Landing, you recognised an opportunity as it presented itself to you. Simply because of pride and ego, there were few men who enjoyed the idea of his wife turning to another man for what they could not provide.

Alas, if there was any part of Aemond that made him weak, it was his pride and his arrogance.

And so here you were, enjoying your afternoon tea with the Lannister twin, listening to stories of his life at Casterly Rock. You made sure the house staff had known of Lannister’s presence and that the Kingsguard were well aware of the pot of tea you shared in the Courtyard. Easily within sight of where you knew Aemond was training with Ser Cole and some other men you had no interest in knowing.

For the past thirty minutes, you could feel him watching you. But when you lifted your head to look, pretending to the man across from you that you were interested in watching your husband train, Aemond would turn away. Yet he finally seemed to have finally had enough and you could see him walking over from behind Jason, his shoulders stiffer than usual with a sour expression.

“This tea,” you covered your mouth gently, letting out the remnants of a laugh that had been pulled from you. If you were being honest, Jason Lannister was turning out to be surprisingly fun company and the smile you had expected to fake ended up being real. Not bothering to look at Aemond, who was much closer now, you held your teacup towards the Lord Lannister with a pretty, sultry smile. “It is incredible–I’ve loved it so much, t��is the only tea I will drink. Have a taste of mine, I insist.”

With a look of blatant excitement, Jason leaned into where you held the cup, fingers grazing yours as he held the cup but never took it out of your hold and took a sip. It was slightly awkward, the way his eyes held onto yours, but you brightened your smile nonetheless.

Aemond visibly inhaled a sharp breath and cleared his throat, covering the both of you in a dark shade. The prince was looming over Lannister, who never looked away from you even as you peeled your eyes away from him with exaggerated difficulty to meet Aemond’s eye. You dropped your smile so slightly that only Aemond could notice.

There was a tense, awkward silence that lingered. Lannister’s head tilted ever so slightly and a wave of annoyance ran through you at the cocky tilt of his head regardless of the fact that it was exactly what you needed him to do. The two men stared at each other, Aemond’s typical dark repose and Lannister’s challenging chagrin at the disruption.

“How nice of you to join us, my prince,” you beamed. “Lord Lannister has been sharing this pot of tea with me. It’s lovely to enjoy some company for once.”

You took pleasure in the way he squared his shoulders at your remark. Lannister snickered but was quick to cover it up with a cough at Aemond’s narrowed eye.

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Aemond’s voice was sharp. “I happen to have some time on my hands before I take Vhagar to flight, lady wife. Perhaps you would care to join me for a stroll through the gardens?”

Aemond was behind you in a blink, tugging your chair back gently into himself and holding a hand out to help you stand. The air around you became soft lavender and leather and something very Aemond. And despite the slight flutter of your eyelids, you straightened and held strong.

Weakness would get you nowhere. You were out here for a reason and no matter how strong the pull was, your lust to hurt him back was much stronger.

You shook your head gently, looking at Jason who seemed to stiffen under the prince’s eye. “What kind of host would I be if I were to abandon Lord Lannister? Considering it was I who invited him to tea. We can enjoy the gardens another time, my prince.”

The fire in Aemond’s eye rivalled Vhagar’s. It gave you a sense of satisfaction that was much unlike yourself and you wondered how he’d burn with rage if you decided to take Jason to your bed. You’d lose everything you had to your name but you knew it would not be difficult to convince yourself that it’d be worth it.

Jason Lannister was no fool. He understood the wrath of the Targaryen prince but he knew that you would never be subjected to the extent of it. As much as Prince Aemond pretended he did not care, the Lords and counsellors of the Red Keep knew that he had his weaknesses. At the end of the day, Aemond would not dishonour himself by tarnishing the image of his pious, kind wife who was loved by all.

Lannister also had his doubts about you. Again, he was no fool to fall for whatever game you were playing. An honourable, devoted Lady such as yourself would never actually be so easy to adulterate. Whatever it was, Jason was not against indulging himself in some fun here and there.

But he did prefer to keep his limbs and so he shook his head gently and stood from his seat.

“You have my thanks,” he took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles. A bold move from a man who could so strongly feel the Prince’s pointed glare. Jason turned and bowed his head gently towards Aemond. “But I fear I have some business to attend to, so do not stay back on my regard. It was lovely to sit with you, my Lady.”

Aemond scoffed loudly as the Lord took his leave. He waited for you to take his hand to help you out of your seat before dropping it to your waist.

“My prince-”

“If you are so starved of company, dear wife,” he drawled, looking straight ahead with a tightened jaw as he led you in the direction of the gardens. It was a habit now, whenever Aemond had you on his arm, to walk that route. Not surprising seeing how it was the only place where you two would see each other apart from your chambers. “I would expect you to call upon me rather than some toady Lord who would certainly misjudge your intentions. I am your husband, am I not?”

The thought of keeping a list of the times he spoke as if he were faithful crossed your mind for barely a second. Aemond was infuriating.

You offered him half of a smile and pulled him back slightly as you came to a stop. “You are. But your mind is never with me and I am well aware your time is far more precious to you than I am.”

If Aemond’s composure was not so ingrained into his existence, he may have spluttered and gawked at you. Instead, he barely frowned.

There was little he could do about the unemotional, unkind man that he had become perceived as. Aemond understood that it was his own actions that meant people viewed him as little less than a monster. And truly, it was how he tried to be perceived.

So why did it disturb Aemond that his own wife thought him so uncaring? He knew he had only himself to blame for it.

“I am afraid a stroll in the gardens will have to wait,” you continued in his silence. Being alone with Aemond was not how you intended to spend the afternoon. The risk that you’d lose your composure and tell him all that you had seen of him was still high. “I am still feeling fairly unwell. It may be better for me to rest in my chambers with a book.”

Aemond knew that you were retracting into yourself, pulling away from him where you would have been at his beck and call only a week ago. He hummed. “Tomorrow then.”

And with that, Aemond escorted you to your chambers in silence. It was hardly two hours that you had spent in the Courtyard with Lord Lannister but it had been tiring nonetheless. The peace and quiet that came with your reprieve from the man that had set your nerves into a frenzy just at the knowledge of his presence while you pressed at his patience was welcome.

A few hours passed slowly in your own company. Dinner was brought to your room at your request. The mere thought of sitting beside your husband and putting on a display for his family exhausted you.

The sounds of footsteps and conversation outside your door pulled your attention from the embroidery you had forced yourself to practise. Your chambers were fairly secluded compared to the rest and so it wasn’t often that anyone wandered this area. Expecting the Queen or your husband to be the source of the noise, you were hastily at the door, a sudden flush of anxiety shooting straight to your gut.

You waited barely five seconds for Ser Tunsley to knock on your door but your impatience pushed you to step out first. There was nobody there. You could see Ser Tunsley stalking away from the direction of the private chambers. You didn’t question it, assuming he was probably stepping away for a brief break, given that his position hadn’t been replaced.

Footsteps. Again.

Curiously turning your head in the direction of the sound, you saw a flash of brunette hair and a dark grey dress. Fuck.

It was impossible not to recognise her. Even as she walked away from you and clearly in the direction of Prince Aemond’s chambers, you knew who she was.

So with one final glance back into your room you followed her, thankful that you were barefoot so that your own footsteps couldn’t be heard. Even though your body was running hot with a mixture of heartache and rage, there was an icy stiffness that had spread from the back of your neck to your shoulders as you rounded a single corner after her and helplessly watched her enter Aemond’s chambers.

You held back tears. She had left the door open. Again. It did little to ease the knot in your throat when you realised that while she may be good enough for Aemond with her mouth, she was not the smartest.

Unable to move, you stood planted in that one spot a few feet away for what must have been ten minutes before you heard the same shuffling and muffled voices. You could hear her more clearly this time and it took you another two minutes to build the courage to see, once again, how Aemond dishonoured you.

If the circumstances were different, it may have been one of the sexiest sights you had ever laid your eyes upon. But it struck you in a way you couldn’t have expected and it took all of your willpower to stay standing.

But what else had you expected?

This time, the woman was sprawled out, her head hanging off of the bed and if her eyes weren’t screwed shut in bliss then she would have been looking directly at you. Her left hand gripped the sheets and the other was tangled amongst Aemond’s silver hair, her thighs on either side of his head.

Gods, you had never known anything like it.

Aemond was devouring her like he had been starved of her for weeks (you knew he hadn’t), the obscene sounds of his mouth against her sex striking you with distress. He held her down as she writhed against him, a strong, clothed arm keeping her in place at her waist.

You had hardly been watching them for thirty seconds and you didn’t even have time to consider turning around and walking away to save yourself the misery.

Because Aemond’s eye opened and he gazed straight through his lashes, lifting his head so he was looking directly at you. A piercing violet eye accompanied by a glimmering sapphire that watched you dangerously, as if he had seen you standing there the entire time and this was all entertaining to him.

For what may well have been the tenth time that night, you couldn’t move. You stood at the door, chest heaving and jaw slack as you felt a tightness in your throat. How could you feel so powerless in a game you managed to believe you had the upperhand in?

Aemond still held your eyes with his own, pulling away from the whore he was toying with, and fucking smirked.

Like things were going exactly how he had planned.

Red. And a loud gasp and then panic and a flash of arousal and all of a sudden you were running back to your chambers, falling to your knees over your empty bathtub and dry heaving. It was all too much.

The shock, the fear, the jealousy, the fear.

And it dawned on you as you tried desperately to catch your breath. Ignoring your arousal–you cursed your body for reacting faster than your mind once again–panic continued to flood your veins like an ice-cold burn.

Aemond had definitely seen you watching. But had he known all along?

It made no sense. Did he see you that night when he moaned your name instead of that damned woman’s?

You couldn’t even be sure how long Aemond had stared at you from his spot, his attention diverted entirely from the nameless woman, who whined and stirred incessantly at his distraction, to you. Caught like a thief in the act, wide-eyed and dazed.

Aemond knew. And he must have known the entire time. With the way he looked directly to you, as if he were waiting for you. As if Aemond knew exactly where you stood the first night. As if he had finally caught you in his trap.

He wanted you to see.

Aemond had already bested you at your own game with even more cleverness than you. Before you had even started to play.

Sleep did not come easy that night.

You were dressed and ready far earlier than usual the next morning. Even though you dreaded the worst - that Aemond had convened to have you punished for watching as you had, you let your scheme motivate you to take back the control you had lost. If you had ever had it in the first place.

The dress you wore was hardly decent and it left you bare from your chest up, a wide slit running through the skirts. It was a deep green that had a shine to it and clung to your skin, making it clear that you had foregone your smallclothes for the day.

For the sake of decency within the hallway, and because you detested the idea of either of the Cloaks at your doors seeing your attire, you donned a heavy cloak over top. It was Aemond’s; he had left it behind after breakfast once.

Aemond was still asleep when you had talked your way past the guard at his door and pushed through the doors to his chambers. You stood at the foot of his bed, tracing the place where that woman lay with your eyes. Quietly, you dropped the cloak to the floor.

It was your first time in Aemond’s private chambers. And would things have been different, you would have taken the time to observe all the things that made this space his. Instead, your eyes scanned every centimetre of every part of his chambers for any trace of that wretched woman.

There was none. Not a single strand of hair.

You sat at the edge of his plush bed, taking a moment to get your head straight before you stood and walked around to the side of the bed where he lay. The scent of him was overwhelming as you stood above him.

“Well,” Aemond barely moved aside from his lips as he spoke. His eye remained shut. “Look who finally figured it out. Why are you here?”

You let out a drawn out sigh, shivering gently. “I would like to talk.”

Aemond sat up lazily and you noticed he was naked save for the sheet that covered his lap. From the way he was sitting, you stood in between his legs and his head was slightly tilted as he looked at you over the swell of your breasts. His hands found a resting place on your hips and you were hyper-aware of his touch, which felt heavier than boulders and hotter than lava.

He looked at you as if he were ready to devour you. As if Aemond were a man starved of air and you were his only chance at breathing.

The prince let out a hum. “Dressed like this?”

“Since you seem to prefer a whore over your own wife, I figured I would dress akin to one,” you kept your voice stern and stepped further into him so that his chin almost had to rest in the valley of your breasts if he wished to keep his gaze on yours. “If this is what it will take to have your attention.”

Not once did Aemond’s heated stare falter. “I think you are well aware of where my attention lies. What with your childish attempts at seduction.”

“I did not think you cared to take note.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Aemond said, dragging a finger up and down the side of your waist. He enjoyed the soft feel of the fabric and the way your nipples perked through the dress at his touch had him resisting a primal urge to bite. His patience had been astounding thus far but it was wearing thin. “I would have expected that kind of behaviour from a common whore, not a lady such as yourself. You are a princess, after all.”

Trying your best not to squirm under his touch, you held firm in your hardened gaze. “You seem to enjoy whores.”

“I do not.”

You scoffed. “So you have been fucking her just to spite me? Or have you fallen in love?”

“Such filthy language from such a well behaved girl,” he mused. Aemond’s cursed smirk had you holding back from both cutting him and kissing him. “I never would have guessed that my wife is so full of surprises. It seems I do not know you as well as I believed.”

“Answer my question, Aemond.”

“I never fucked her properly, since you insist–”

“As if it makes a difference whether you fucked her cunt or her mouth,” you spat. He was maddening. “You are my husband. I should be the only woman you have in your bed.”

The grip on your hips tightened almost painfully before he brought one hand up to caress your jaw. Aemond didn’t hide the longing he felt, pulling you closer and admiring every inch of your skin tenderly. “If only you had been good and asked me nicely for what you need. Instead of acting like a desperate slut every time we were in the same space. Things could have been so much easier for you, my love.”

Aemond had always spoken to you with respect. And yet here he was, speaking to you as if he already knew exactly what sent your cunt wild with need. He harshly held your chin, forcing you to look up at the roof as he straightened, pressing his nose into the crevice of your neck. The tickle of his hot breath on your skin made you gasp and you felt the velvet of his lips smirking against your throat.

“The whole time,” you panted, bringing your hands to his shoulders and digging your nails into his skin. “You knew. It was-”

“Hm. It was for you.” Aemond let his teeth graze against the dip of your jaw.

There was a fire alight on your skin. You could barely make sense of his words but you forced yourself to hold it together. “You are insane.”

“I was only playing the game that you started,” Aemond chuckled. “Only, I have played it far better than you. Perhaps we are lucky that you did not present more of a challenge, considering I was not above taking her on your bed instead.”

Fuck that. You despised him and loved him and lusted for him all at the same time.

The control you had was slight to begin with but whatever little there was, it was slipping through your fingers. You threaded your fingers through Aemond’s hair–which was silkier than you had expected–and pulled him away from your neck.

When you saw the hunger for you in his eye, the slight pink flush of his cheeks, a warm flood of invigorating energy made it’s way through your veins. You fought the urge to run your hands down his shoulders, his chest, his bicep–any part of him you could reach.

You swallowed thickly. “You should have. I need only one more reason to cut her.”

“I shall have her hanged if that is what you wish.”

For a moment, you thought you might scratch the smug expression off of Aemond’s face. You groaned, pursing your lips at his indifference and squeezing your thighs together at the passion in his eye. “Fuck you, Aemond.”

“I’m going to give you another chance. Ask me nicely to fuck you until all those doubts you have are replaced by the empty space I will fill your pretty little head with,” He pulled at your hips, so that there was no empty space between you, your torso flush to his chest. Aemond felt deathly tense yet strangely relaxed at the feel of you gasping against him. “And we can put an end to this contest. I do regret that I have left you, my wife, unsatisfied but I want you begging first.”

You watched him closely, challenged him with your gaze. There was no chance you would beg and let him win. The air between you was charged with energy, hissing and stinging. It became heavy and despite the way both of you were breathing so heavily, chests rising and falling dramatically, you couldn’t get enough oxygen to fill your lungs.

The thickness in the air only became heavier as you gripped his wrists, and moved slowly so that you straddled his right thigh. Aemond fisted the thin fabric of your dress and when you lightly pressed your leg against the hardness at his crotch, you felt his steady breath against your lips which lingered above his own. The skirts of your dress rode up to your hips.

Lavender, leather and him.

“You want me to ask you nicely, my prince?” You purred, relishing in the way Aemond’s jaw clenched when he felt your bare cunt press against his thigh. It sends a wave of pleasure straight through your body. “You want me to beg you to tear this dress off of me? To fuck me until I can no longer think of any word other than your name? To make me yours properly? Beg you to fuck me how you should have every night since our wedding?”

Aemond’s hands were grasping at the flesh all over your body, pulling at the fabric of your pathetic excuse of a gown until it ripped. There was a weight on his chest that only grew at the sight of your perfect skin through the torn fabric, your nipples slipping into his view.

His voice was low and guttural. “The final chance. Be good and beg.”

“If you wish for me to be good,” you whispered into his ear, moving hastily to grip the back of his neck with one hand and the other holding his chin tightly as he had held yours minutes ago. He let out a strained sound through his teeth as you shifted against his cock, pretending to get comfortable. “You should not have indulged in that whore.”

Aemond scowled at you. And he could have thrown you off of him but his hands continued to scorch the skin on your hips.

You realised you had never been so close to Aemond as you pressed a trail of tender kisses to his jaw. You were infinitely closer to him than all the times you had held onto him while walking the gardes or while he had bedded you with feigned disinterest. And you were aching with want and desire just as he was, your wetness seeping onto Aemond’s thigh.

It was nothing in comparison to the rage that you had pent up. With a gasp you ground down on the strong muscle of his thigh, eyes fluttering at the sensation. Holding back a moan, you rested your forehead against Aemond’s and rocked your hips against him.

You tightened your legs, well aware that Aemond could overpower you and have you under him in seconds. He was allowing you to have your moment and you pulled your hand from his jaw only for it to stay tightly locked as his fingers dug into your hips.

There would be bruises left on your skin for weeks but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, almost groaning out loud when Aemond took control of your movements, pushing and pulling your hips so that your clit rubbed against him perfectly. “Prince Aemond Targaryen. You think you can just do as you like and that there would be no consequences. That I would come crawling back to you so easily?”

A moan slipped from your lips when Aemond shifted his leg. You knew you were getting carried away, that the power you had over him was getting to your head but fuck. It didn’t matter.

You dropped your hand to where Aemond’s cock pressed against one of your thighs, touching him gently over the sheet that covered him. It still surprised you just how perfectly big Aemond was, thick and hard in your palm. And then you held him firmly, rocking your weeping cunt against his thigh even harder when he groaned. It sent shock after shock straight through your core.

“Did you think I would be on my knees for you so easily just like she was?” You spat, whining at the pleasure that was incomparable to the way you had been touching yourself. Aemond hissed as you slid your hand up and then back down so slowly. “After those shows you put on for me, there is not a chance.”

Countermoves. Aemond was good at them, even when struggling to even out his breath and regain his composure. “Tell me, which part did you enjoy the most? Was it when I fucked my seed into her throat? Or when was calling your name?”

You gripped the back of his neck so hard, pushing your soaked pussy harder onto his leg. “Do not-”

Aemond hummed, his grip tightening painfully on your hips as he moved his leg in motion against you. He smirked when you shuddered, caressing your cheek with his nose as he spoke lowly into your ear once again. “I think I know. It was last night, when I had her on my tongue and thought only of how perfect your desperate little cunt would taste instead.”

“Aemond,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rolled your hips deliciously on his thigh. He let out a small, deep laugh at the way you trembled in his hands but you could hear that he was losing himself just as much as you were. “Gods.”

“I wish to know, princess. How many times have you touched yourself since that night, wishing you were in her place?”

You sucked in a breath, rutting against Aemond violently and he only pulled you in harder when you refused to answer his questions. Another moan. “Be quiet, Aemond.”

“Hm,” Aemond nipped at your earlobe. “Do you really want me to stop talking? You know that I can feel how wet it makes your perfect cunt. Desperate little slut.”

Whining and cursing him under your breath, you let yourself really look at him. Aemond’s sapphire eye shone under the early morning light that spilled in from the windows, his eye dark with lust and his jaw clenching as he watched you fall apart on his lap.

Hips buckling as he continued to pull you back and forth on his thigh, spreading your wetness on the soft expanse of his skin, your legs failed to hold your weight and you had clearly resigned to letting Aemond take control of your pleasure.

You were right at the edge and just as you started to ride out your orgasm, Aemond spoke.

“If you do not beg me,” he threatened. “I shall stop.”

“Gods, no–do not sto-”

Aemond held you still in response and no matter how you writhed against his grip, you couldn’t move. He was keeping you at the tipping point, smirking at the way you were gasping for air and squirming on his lap. But he was in no calmer state himself and you could tell his resolve was about to shatter.

“Stand up. I want you on the bed,” He demanded. And when you didn’t move, he let go of your hip to lay a stiff smack to your backside. “Now.”

“No.”

It was almost too easy and you snatched his wrist before he could return it to your hip, moving your hips and rubbing yourself against his leg again now that he only had one hand to try and control you.

Aemond’s leg was slick and your clit was sliding deliciously across his skin. Fingernails dug into the flesh of your hips and you could feel Aemond’s frustration as he yanked his hand out of yours. But you blindly grasped at it again, shockwaves of white hot pleasure striking you suddenly as you came undone, your forehead falling forward to rest on Aemond’s as you let out a loud, drawn out moan.

You shook through your orgasm, holding Aemond tightly. His cock throbbed against your thigh and you almost felt bad.

“You should understand, my prince, if you continue to bring that whore to your bed then I am not above bringing another man to mine.” You struggled to catch your breath and your legs were still trembling as you stood, stepping away to pick up the coat you had dropped to the floor.

Aemond glowered at you, his glare strong enough to have made you crumble before him were you not so high on adrenaline.

“You would not dare,” he all but growled.

“Have I not surprised you enough already, Lord Husband?”

Aemond stood, the sheet falling to the floor, entirely naked and stiff against his stomach as he watched you don his coat. The anger in his voice only served to spur you on. “You will not leave. You would not dare to leave.”

“I am a princess, after all,” you looked at him over your shoulder, lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him bare, hard and infuriated. There was disbelief written all over his expression. “You will need to work much harder than that if you want me to give in.”

There was something new in the way Aemond looked at you. As if he was impressed. Admiring you, even through his frustration. And without giving yourself the chance for second thoughts, you walked right out Aemond’s chambers with a triumphant smile.

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batboyblog · 8 months ago

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Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #14

April 12-19 2024

The Department of Commerce announced a deal with Samsung to help bring advanced semiconductor manufacturing and research and development to Texas. The deal will bring 45 billion dollars of investment to Texas to help build a research center in Taylor Texas and expand Samsung's Austin, Texas, semiconductor facility. The Biden Administration estimates this will create 21,000 new jobs. Since 1990 America has fallen from making nearly 40% of the world's semiconductor to just over 10% in 2020.

The Department of Energy announced it granted New York State $158 million to help support people making their homes more energy efficient. This is the first payment out of a $8.8 billion dollar program with 11 other states having already applied. The program will rebate Americans for improvements on their homes to lower energy usage. Americans could get as much as $8,000 off for installing a heat pump, as well as for improvements in insulation, wiring, and electrical panel. The program is expected to help save Americans $1 billion in electoral costs, and help create 50,000 new jobs.

The Department of Education began the formal process to make President Biden's new Student Loan Debt relief plan a reality. The Department published the first set of draft rules for the program. The rules will face 30 days of public comment before a second draft can be released. The Administration hopes the process can be finished by the Fall to bring debt relief to 30 million Americans, and totally eliminate the debt of 4 million former students. The Administration has already wiped out the debt of 4.3 million borrowers so far.

The Department of Agriculture announced a $1 billion dollar collaboration with USAID to buy American grown foods combat global hunger. Most of the money will go to traditional shelf stable goods distributed by USAID, like wheat, rice, sorghum, lentils, chickpeas, dry peas, vegetable oil, cornmeal, navy beans, pinto beans and kidney beans, while $50 million will go to a pilot program to see if USAID can expand what it normally gives to new products. The food aid will help feed people in Bangladesh, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Chad, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Haiti, Kenya, Madagascar, Mali, Nigeria, Rwanda, South Sudan, Sudan, Tanzania, Uganda, and Yemen.

The Department of the Interior announced it's expanding four national wildlife refuges to protect 1.13 million wildlife habitat. The refuges are in New Mexico, North Carolina, and two in Texas. The Department also signed an order protecting parts of the Placitas area. The land is considered sacred by the Pueblos peoples of the area who have long lobbied for his protection. Security Deb Haaland the first Native American to serve as Interior Secretary and a Pueblo herself signed the order in her native New Mexico.

The Department of Labor announced new work place safety regulations about the safe amount of silica dust mine workers can be exposed to. The dust is known to cause scaring in the lungs often called black lung. It's estimated that the new regulations will save over 1,000 lives a year. The United Mine Workers have long fought for these changes and applauded the Biden Administration's actions.

The Biden Administration announced its progress in closing the racial wealth gap in America. Under President Biden the level of Black Unemployment is the lowest its ever been since it started being tracked in the 1970s, and the gap between white and black unemployment is the smallest its ever been as well. Black wealth is up 60% over where it was in 2019. The share of black owned businesses doubled between 2019 and 2022. New black businesses are being created at the fastest rate in 30 years. The Administration in 2021 Interagency Task Force to combat unfair house appraisals. Black homeowners regularly have their homes undervalued compared to whites who own comparable property. Since the Taskforce started the likelihood of such a gap has dropped by 40% and even disappeared in some states. 2023 represented a record breaking $76.2 billion in federal contracts going to small business owned by members of minority communities. This was 12% of federal contracts and the President aims to make it 15% for 2025.

The EPA announced (just now as I write this) that it plans to add PFAS, known as forever chemicals, to the Superfund law. This would require manufacturers to pay to clean up two PFAS, perfluorooctanoic acid and perfluorooctanesulfonic acid. This move to force manufacturers to cover the costs of PFAS clean up comes after last week's new rule on drinking water which will remove PFAS from the nation's drinking water.

Bonus:

President Biden met a Senior named Bob in Pennsylvania who is personally benefiting from The President's capping the price of insulin for Seniors at $35, and Biden let Bob know about a cap on prosecution drug payments for seniors that will cut Bob's drug bills by more than half.

#Thanks Biden #Joe Biden #jobs #Economy #student loan debt #Environment #PFAS #politics #US politics #health care

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clazaries · 8 months ago

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The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.”

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.

“Stay sharp.”

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”

“Then why isn’t he out?”

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.

“Why the fuck are we here then?”

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”

“Frankie! Do you copy?”

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?

“He needs help!”

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.”

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge.

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.”

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”

“No! No, I-I want to stay.”

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”

“How?”

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.

Your thighs press together beneath the table.

“Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t lie.”

“A…A little, sir.”

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.”

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.”

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”

“No, but--”

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.”

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.”

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.

You sigh. “I know.”

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”

This again. “But Frankie--”

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.”

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”

609 notes · View notes

starlitscars · 4 months ago

Text

All you had to do

Severus Snape x F! Reader

Summary: It's a fateful night, already destined to be full of gloom and chaos. What else may go wrong if you don't listen to the the only thing Severus Snape wanted you to do, and show up at Hogwarts?

Word count: +11k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Half-blood Prince era, loosely focused on the book events, age gap (not explicitly specified at all, reader is in her 20s, Severus in his late 30s), typical violence in the Wizarding World, DEATH EATERS (reader included), fighting, breaking (many things), bleeding, unforgivable curse, Severus Snape needs his own warning, wounds, wine, inappropriate touching (not by Severus), protective! Snape, angry! Snape, degrading, language, angst and fluff and smut (yes, all in one), kinda slow burn (look at the word count), confessions, kissing, unprotected PIV, oral (M), praising, cum play, a bit of rough manhandling, a bit of aftercare, no use of y/n. Let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: I haven't written in ages and this is the first time I do so for the Half-blood Prince. All because Severus Snape is irresistible. I hope you bear with me. You might also check my TikTok content (username: stars.lupin) for more of him and other HP dilfs (if you like). Reblogs and votes are appreciated very much.

Your lack of patience has always been disturbing. Tonight is no different.

The Vanishing Cabinet provides little space for smuggling more than one person at a time. You like to imagine that's the only source of your labored breaths as you stand aside and watch – with a mixture of expectancy and impatience – as silhouettes of familiar faces appear by your side. When the last of your followers drapes the dusty curtain over the Cabinet in a poor attempt at concealing it, you turn with a shake of your head and slip past the wooden door.

It should be easy from now on. The corridor is drak, empty, and you've manged to enter the walls of Hogwarts as unsuspecting as possible. All that you're supposed to do is to take a shortcut towards the Astronomy Tower which isn't too far from where you're standing – the Room of Requirement. It's not, however, the easiest of tasks when a dozen of Death Eaters are on your tail and their master has relied on you to carry them there without attracting anyone's attention. Any sane person would imagine that you had a death wish by accepting it in the first place.

Not only one, but more than ten Death Eaters breaking through the safety of Hogwarts, right under the Headmaster's nose? If you hesitate for a heartbeat and give yourself enough time to reflect on your decision, it definitely is nothing but a death wish.

But your time is limited and it's only a matter of time before the staff realize there are intruders within the walls of the castle. So you don't think of the possibilities as you lead the way and stride down the moonlit corridor and past the numerous portraits on the walls, making a silent gesture to remind the Death Eaters of the plan "Follow me as closely and quietly as possible."

However, they don't abide by your simple rule as their heavy steps is far from being stealthy. When the group of the cloaked figures turn around a corner and reach the tricky staircase that should lead you to the upper floor, you halt by the second step and motion for one of them closest to you to wait by the foot of the stairs so that you can examine the last entrance for any unexpected trap or protective enchantment – which, to your dismay, seems to be a lot of it surrounding every inch of the corridor that directly connected your shortcut to the Tower.

Content with your instruction, some of the Death Eaters snigger and their faces glow with excitement as they huddle and look around for the first time, fully taking in the view of Hogwarts and its eerie air that seems to bother none of them. They don't pay much attention as your shadow disappears into the darkness and you find a hideout away from their prying eyes, letting out the breath that's been strangling you for the past few minutes since your arrival. When you're alone, your steady posture falters for a moment and the anticipation of what's going to happen slowly catches up on you. A green smoky Mark, large enough to be seen from yards away, has been charmed to levitate by the ceiling of the Astronomy Tower. Its penetrative glow easily conquers the pearly light of the moon and breaks through the dead darkness of the night, as if it wants to warn you of the presence of the Dark Lord right by your feet. The gloomy fate that has waited so impatiently for this day to finally consume you whole.

You've tried to not think about him. Him and his final words. But when you're alone and consumed with your fears like this... It's impossible. Your patience is little to nothing, and even that is wearing thin.

All you had to do – which happened to be the same as what Severus Snape wanted you to do – was to stay a safe distance away from this chaotic night, and yet you hadn't paid him a mind when you made your decision. You couldn't, really. The Dark Lord has put his full trust in you and one failed attempt or slipup leads to another, consequently ruining the perfect image you've been trying to craft for him for months.

Taking one more glance at the bizarre shade of green in the sky, you decide that your determination to walk on the same fragile line as Severus still outweighs all the scolding and ignorance he could direct towards you.

If he's going to risk his life tonight, then so are you.

Poor servants of the Dark Lord. Only if they knew what awaited them upstairs, only if they were as invested in this task as you are, they wouldn't be this pleased.

This is all a game of pretence. You won't back down now.

When you're supposedly done with examining the so-called shortcut – and more calm and determined than when you left your group – you retract your steps and emerge out of your hiding spot, not quite catching the attention of the Death Eaters at first. Some of them have gathered around a hairy, reeking figure who is babbling excitedly about-

"... You don't understand. Lots of kids are here. It will be a feast. I can smell the blood-"

You push through the crowd and draw your wand out, glowering at the source of those nasty words who was – much to your disgust – dragging his hairy, filthy hand over the portraits, a sinister smirk dancing on his yellow teeth. If only one of the people in portraits woke up, the whole school would be informed in seconds. And no doubt you'd kill him on the spot.

"No funny business," You hiss harshly, blood rushing to your face at the thought of his unpleasant ideas. "unless you want us exposed." You don't attempt to hide your disgust as you keep on staring him down. His blood-dried fingers pause midair and he scans his surrounding audience for some kind of backup. Seeing as everyone has backed down, the werewolf reluctantly retreats his dirty hand.

A moment or so passes until-

"So strict tonight. Have mercy on us, lady." He mutters to himself, mouth twitching into a nasty grin. It's a poor attempt on his side to justify his carelessness and greed, eliciting suppressed jeers from two of the Death Eaters. But you hear it loud and clear and your wand is poking at his jaw in a blink of an eye.

"You think Nagini will choose you for desert or the main meal, Fenrir? It's going to be a feast, after all." Your eyes trail up and down with repugnance, pushing the wand to dig deeper into his scarred skin to punctuate your words. He gulps in terror and backs down as quietly as possible. You turn to continue before any of them has the chance to spot the faint smirk on your face.

"Brace yourselves for what's to come. Wands ready by your side. This path should be free from Dumbledore's Guards..."

And your statement is partially true.

Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you lean down and march all the way towards the very end of yet another deserted corridor, undoing the protective enchantments and making way for the Death Eaters just as you'd been taught. A few feet away from the spiral staircase – which is located right below the Astronomy Tower – a sudden shout erupts from the opposite direction, bringing your hasty run into an unwanted halt.

"Found them, Granger. This way!"

To be honest, you half expected them to show up here at last. The Headmaster would not let the castle's protection go down without a fight. He wouldn't also let all of this look like a pretentious game planned beforehand and easy to guess by the Dark Lord's servants or the members of the Order, speaking of which, begin to round on you before you can fully turn on your heels.

Thankfully, there is not many of them.

But that doesn't mean it will be easy.

Especially when you witness the stunned expressions of your opponents as they see you not by their side, but rather against them and mingled within a sea of dark-cloaked figures. There's no time for explanations. Soon enough, hell breaks loose and the eerie darkness is replaced with jets of light being shot at different directions.

You fight with reluctance, eyes hopelessly searching for a sign of Severus in every corner. Why do you expect to spot him in the crowd, when all you want for him is to be safe?

The Death Eaters manage to trap two of the Aurors in ropes. A particular curse ricochets off the wall and blows the enormous chandelier overhead, shattering it into pieces. The force of the explosion sends you falling backwards. The stone wall cracks, bricks of various sizes along with shards of glass scattering all over the floor and filling the air with specks of dust. The incident seems to catch the Members of the Order off-guard too.

The pink-haired Auror who had informed the rest of the Members, crouches down to help another Auror whose face you don't quite make out in the momentary darkness.

This must be your chance to reach for the Tower. Calling hastily after Amycus Carrow and his sister, you gesture at the two nearest and mostly unharmed Death Eaters to make a brisk run for the staircase. You are so busy squeezing through the crowd and getting away from the remaining guards that you don't pay attention to a distant wand-waving that sends several shards flying in your direction.

It is probably aimed at everyone who attempts to mount the stairs. It doesn't really matter, as you're the last of the Death Eaters. Waves after waves of searing pain ripple inside you as splinters of glass dig into your skin, inflicting wound after wound on your forearm.

"You're hurt!" Alecto shrieks with panic, making a move to descend and help you.

"Just go up. GO UP. I'll be fine."

She nods and follows your order, disappearing off the view.

You turn your attention back to the chaos, catching sight of two Aurors narrowly dodging flames and spells as they chase after you. That's when it happens. Your knees give in for a split second and you stumble on the second step. Clutching the wand tightly into your uninjured hand, you flick it around and whisper several curses to block the stair.

You can't let this be over very soon.

But then you can't tell how much time has passed when you eventually make it to the Tower. Your head has started to throb with an agonizing pace, and the cool night air doesn't help the fresh cuts on your arm. If you dare a glance over the wooden floor, you'd spot drops of blood on your track. To make it all worse, everyone's attention is suddenly drawn to you. You stand more straight, maintaining an unreadable expression. As it's apparent, your arrival was in the midst of a heated discussion between Draco Malfoy and the Headmaster, whose calm eyes are now fixed on you.

You involuntarily gulp down, hoping your face isn't as pale as you think it is. A wand is aimed at him. He's disarmed. He's about to be killed. And yet all he does is to shake his head incredulously. The pain might've been a push to your delusions, but you're sure it's too subtle for anyone to notice. It's almost as if he's trying to remind you that "He won't be pleased when he sees you here, like this."

Your head hangs low, now finding more interest in the maroon liquid pooling by your feet than anything else.

Oh Severus. He won't be pleased by many things.

"That's right, what you're thinking. She led us to your spot, poor Dumbledore." Fenrir Greyback taunts in a mocking tone, earning the first nods of approval from his fellow Death Eaters.

"I see, and I have to admit it's been quite outstanding on her part," Dumbledore says, pausing for a moment to ponder his thoughts before voicing them, "It must be hurting you. They're putting up a good fight down there, I suppose? I suggest that you leave it to Draco and your friends here, seeing that you have already contributed to their plan..."

Friends. It makes you feel nauseous. These blasted things. All of them reek of blood, sweat, greed, and blind loyalty. If it wasn't because of Severus, you'd never be here.

"No..."

I can't leave it. I have to stay because of him.

"Draco, hurry up. We don't have much time left." Amycus spits, his voice laced with annoyance.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps makes their heads turn. Your heart skips a beat. You don't have to try to guess who it is. Only the person who'd taught you about Dark Arts could pass through the curses you'd put on the stairs earlier. He has a rich, heavy aura about him that effortlessly wraps itself around your whole being, rendering you speechless, breathless and yet alive at the same time.

The helpless shouts and screams coming from downstairs hasn't died down yet.

Silence stretches into infinity as you stand there. Your limbs feeling numb, even paralyzed. He doesn't notice you at first as he grabs Draco by his collar and pushes him aside.

Your eyes sting as you gather your courage and lift your head to spare him a fleeting gaze. He's this close to you. His features are gleaming under the greenish light of the Mark. And yet he's still unaware. Five blinks of your eyes is all takes for it to come to an end. On the first blink, his wand is drawn out and aimed directly at Dumbledore. On the second blink he tilts his head slightly to the right and catches sight of your wounds first. On the third blink he's looking into your eyes. You don't dare to jump to the next one, so you force yourself to stare back, unblinking.

And do you see the tiredness in those sunken, shadowed eyes? His expression is blank, or so he thinks it is. Because you don't fail to detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

When you're consumed by the force of your fourth blink, a pleading voice calls for him and he has to turn and look away from you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Severus, Please."

A jet of green light is shot from the tip of his wand, and on the fifth blink you're being dragged down the stairs along with the other Death Eaters, his grip on your uninjured hand only tight enough to reassure you that he's still there. You're still alive.

On the way down, your spinning head wonders whether Dumbledore had assumed Severus would waver and second-guess his decision if his gaze lingered on you a little longer? Was it really that?

"I'll get us out of here. You'll be fine."

You can't make out his face, but his shoulders are stiff. You nod nonetheless, words failing you miserably. He sounds unsure. His voice is shaking the tiniest bit. No one can assume that, seeing as his features intimidate even the fly who dares to pass by him in the air.

The pain is getting into you.

He takes a much needed turn, avoiding the chaotic fight unfolding as you pass the entrance and sprint into the cold night air. The courtyard is dark and your vision is getting blurry by each passing second, making it incredibly hard for you to watch your steps. You try to concentrate, you really do. You don't try to stop him though. You think that... Your presence along with the rest of the night's events should've caused more than enough concern for him.

You don't see why it would be necessary to risk it all again. It's not necessary to break your steps. You'd be fine, because he said so. You'd be-

A jet of red light soars past your head.

Distant voices call his name. They threaten him to stop. They don't know much about Severus Snape or else they wouldn't direct their threats towards him.

The growing shouts indicate that more students and staff have woken up. A number of Members have somehow managed to drag the fight out into the open. In your dizzy state, Severus dodges those shots with lazy flicks of his wand. He's so strong that he doesn't even need to turn to his opponents to know what they're up to. You wish you could keep up with him. You wish you could tell him how much you adore him for who he is.

It's a shame. All you had to do was to stay away from this.

Just as a rocket force hits you hard in the back, everything takes a quick turn for worse. You don't just stumble on your steps. The spell pulls all the strength from your body, your lungs too tight to breathe. You were just a few feet away from making it to the gate. Then you could Apparate.

Someone shouts "Incendio!" and flames of red-hot fire flash before your eyes before you collapse to the dark ground, vision going blank as you lose your grip with reality. The only warm touch that could leave you breathless, but alive, is gone.

°°°

Waking up in a cold sweat might not have been the best feeling in the world. It takes you a minute or two to register your surroundings as part of you incredulously waits for the ache to make an agonizing appearance, burn a hole in your limp body here and break a bone there. But you feel none of it. You might've just lost all your senses by now. At least you're not entrapped in complete darkness. At least you're alive.

The relief confuses you.

"My dear... He was not mistaken with his timing. He's never been... You are awake just in time." A voice exclaims with wonder and relief, pacing the dimly lit room to sit by the edge of the bed. She slowly helps you up in a sitting position.

"My wounds... my back-"

"You know better than to ask me who healed them." Narcissa Malfoy says in a soft tone. Your face must be riddled with a mixture of question and anxiety. Because when she places a soothing hand upon yours and slowly caresses it, you just realize that you've been clutching the bedsheet tightly in your grip.

"Is he- Narcissa, is he alright?" You ask, staring down at the marbled ground.

She smiles knowingly, still a little overwhelmed in her own world. "He is. He brought you here... I was worried for Draco, and then you. I still am... You must have seen- you understand how it all would've been if any of you failed tonight. But you're alright. Severus tended to your wounds. He sat by your side for a while..."

Something stirs inside you. He was here when you were unconscious. Severus Snape cannot be hating you that much, can he?

Narcissa pauses for a moment, swallowing the heavy lump at the mention of her son. She's right. It would've been a living nightmare if you hadn't succeeded in killing the Hogwarts's Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

"When I came in to visit you, he said you'd be up in fifty minutes sharp. Then he left to discuss the matters with the Dark Lord."

He's alive and unharmed. What else would you want from this world?

"Quit pondering the unknown. The Dark Lord is expecting you. You know you have outdone yourself in this one."

There's a glimmer of hope in the pit of your stomach as she leads you to the drawing room. The sound of chattering and careless laughter grows louder with each step. And before you chance a full glance over your surroundings, you're settled on a chair by the all-too-familiar ornate table that has witnessed many secret meetings within the Malfoy Manor.

All eyes turn to you when Voldemort announces your presence. Severus is in your line of vision, right by his side. An uncomfortable, cold shiver ripples inside you. You don't dare to let your gaze land on him, not yet.

The difference with your usual meetings is that there is no palpable sign of fear or gloom in the air now. There are several glasses upon a tray, filled with bloodred wine and floating around the table, except that no one is really holding it. It's charmed to move on its own accord. When it pauses by your side, you don't hesitate to pick a glass, draining it all at once.

Your companion Death Eaters snigger triumphantly. Their manners are careless, full of greed. It's almost as if they have just conquered the whole Wizarding World. The rough surface of their unbearable faces is consumed by liquor, drunk eyes roaming up and down your body to the point that it disgusts you to the core. It's an unpleasant experience, to say the least.

If only you could draw your wand out and leave a hole in their chests.

"I must say I am honored by your presence." Voldemort says at once, his pleased expression fixated on you. He extends a hand towards the crowd. The horrid noises die down as he continues. "Here our friends were thinking it would be an utter disgrace if you didn't get to share this victorious moment with us."

The comfortable silence lasts only for a moment. Several Death Eaters howl and thump their fistson the table, voicing their agreement with the Dark Lord's statement.

How very charming.

You place your glass down, fighting to gain your composure as you bow your head down.

"The honor is all mine, my Lord..."

Finally, your desperate gaze wavers and finds Severus. He is staring straight ahead. No scolding, no frowning, no nothing. It breaks you harder than the chandelier you'd witnessed hours ago. It cuts through your skin sharper than the shards you'd endured. It's salt to an open wound. You avert your eyes and settle them back on Voldemort who happens to have stood up, nodding his approval at your words. You maintain a respectful smile.

But who are you decieving? You're barely there. The only person you care about is avoiding you.

"However, I require complete heedfulness from you in your next missions – one of which happens to be very soon on your part – and should you need any assistance or advice, Severus here feels much obligated to help you. I trust him to be your partner in your upcoming task." Voldemort states as his skinny fingers trail over the huge snake climbing up his chair. He glances sideways at Severus, expecting an answer.

His beautiful, adorable face is contorted with disquiet. It's buried and gone before his master can notice anything. He forces a nod.

"At your order, my Lord."

When have you let your fingers disappear beneath the table? Why are you fidgeting?

All the heads incline towards Voldemort, glasses raising in midair for a toast.

"To the Dark Lord."

Their wheezing and babbling continues for another hour.

You stare down at your glass, watching as it refills itself with red liquor. Does he ever notice the little details about you? Does he detect the shake in your voice at times when you try your hardest to not choke on your words?

Voldemort is satisfied by what you have done. It should be your best-laid plan. Severus Snape has always forewarned you about early conclusions, but you can't help it when the thought crosses your mind. This has been your best-laid plan to day.

The only difference with reality is that, it isn't. You don't feel triumphant.

A sudden pat on your shoulder breaks your train of thoughts. You give Narcissa a questioning look. She only gestures towards the door, hoping that it's enough to bring your senses back into action. His dark black cloak is flapping as his silhouette disappears in darkness.

You scurry out, hasty footsteps echoing as you opt for the entrance door. That must be the only exit. The hallway is empty and dark. You pause in a corner, calling out his name. There's no answer other than the blowing whistle of the night breeze wafting in through the ground-floor windows. There's no sign of Severus down into the enormous yard or even by the wrought-iron gate of the Manor.

The darkness bugs you as you have to search every possible corner as well as watching your steps. You distinctly remember Narcissa telling you how the level of illumination should be the lowest for safety reasons. Haven't you suffered enough in the darkness?

"Severus, a word... Please."

You quickly retrace your steps, trying another pathway. Maybe he hasn't left yet. You call out again, pausing for a fraction of second to pull out your wand and illuminate your surroundings.

Two big palms appear out of nowhere and shove you headfirst against the nearest wall, the force of it knocking the air out of your lungs. Not giving you a chance to register what's happening, the stranger pushes your shoulders forward, pinning your hands behind your back in an uncomfortable angle. It sends your wand falling and rattling on the floor. You gasp in pain.

"Pick it, quickly."

The rancid voice calls to another stranger by your left. You twist your body from side to side, trying to wriggle out of the Fenrir Greyback's crushing grip.

"Let go of me, you filthy, blasted creature- ahh."

He only tightest his hairy paws, pushing you further into the wall. The cold, iron surface of an ill-shaped decoration digs deep into your cheek. He leans over and grins, his whiskers coming in contact with your skin. "Don't fight it little minx. No one's gonna hear your pathetic whines."

Greyback turns to the other stranger, voice laced with sarcasm and hatred. "Go and fetch more wine, Yaxley. We want to feast like beasts."

You barely suppress a shudder at those words. The other Death Eater seems to nod and disappear down the hallway with quick footsteps, no words spoken.

"Shocks you, doesn't it? I like it when you're frightened."

Your eyes are squeezed shut, heart thudding impatiently in your chest. His mere proximity is making you nauseous. The drawing room is so far from here that you wonder if anyone will ever catch you.

A terrible, drawn-out cry of misery sounds in the distant corner. If you're not mistaken in your miserable state, it's come from the same direction the other Death Eater had marched into minutes ago. The werewolf is too wasted to notice any other sound of the sort.

His animalistic grin only grows wider as he takes in your sight.

"Here I noticed you were leaving too early. It would be disrespectful to not celebrate properly... With a pretty thing like you..."

You try again, scrambling to loosen his grasp on your wrists. But he has just put all his damned weight on you, and his massive frame keeps you locked in place.

"You're sick and psychotic. I should've told- should've, NO!" Your scream is muffled as his hairy hand locks around your mouth. His other hand clawing its way past the hem of your skirt, aiming to feel all the way up to your hips. Tears of despair roll down your cheeks.

You wish you wouldn't live to see this day. It truly is a sickening scene – repulsive even – and full of everything you ever despised. Blood in your veins begins to boil with hatred.

The unbearable weight is suddenly lifted off your shoulders, air filling your lungs as if you have been breathless for a long time. The werewolf is practically thrown against the opposite wall, crashing down with a loud thud.

A wand is illuminated.

Your knees give away in an instant and slide down. You rest your head against the wall, willing the tears to stop.

"What the heck are you doing, Snape?" Greyback snarls, sobered up just enough to sputter an explanation. "Just because you're our Lord's favorite, doesn't mean you could beat up his loyal followers. I was not taking advantage of her. She was wasted and alone. She asked me to be her company."

The blatant lies come straight out of his pointed teeth. You wish your mind was less occupied back in the meeting. Nagini would've wiped any sign of his filth off the planet, as if he never even existed in the first place.

Severus is so angry that you're certain Greyback will have to pick those teeth off the floor if he keeps on mustering up some nonsense. You've never seen him allowing emotions to make an appearance on his face.

But under the dim lighting of his wand, you see him seething. The ferocity in his gaze might set any wrongdoer ablaze. If Fenrir could see the twist of rage and fire in his eyes the way you could, he would've wished to never talk at all.

"You old dungeon bat, get off us now. That slut wanted-"

The werewolf fails miserably. Those slurs are directed at you, and that's what sets Severus off. The next second he's writhing in excruciating pain, squirming on the dark green carpet of the hallway with a beasty wail of pain.

He's Crucioing him.

His rage apparently only intensifies when he turns to you. A slight shake of his wrist has the werewolf howling even harder in agony. But- this time his wailing and hopeless cries are silenced with a charm. No one's gonna hear anything.

Severus knows he doesn't need to ask you to make sure, as he's inflicting enough torture on the wretched brute for putting his hands on you. Still, he wants to stop the giddiness from taking over you. You're light-headed and unbeknownst to you, it's killing him for the umpteenth time in the past few hours.

"Is that true? Did you ask him to?"

His voice is raspy, but not discomposed. You just stare at him. The sheer terror has left you speechless, words foreign to your tongue.

He tries again, more softly. Concern is painting a deep line between his knitted brows. "You should answer me, sweetheart. I want you to keep your focus on me. Did you really want this?"

You shake your head slowly.

"No, Severus. No."

His piercing gaze lingers on your lap for a second or two before he turns. He decides that a broken jaw is Fenrir's payment for leaving two burning red marks on your wrists.

The crack echoes in the air.

Severus leans down calmly, undoing the spells one by one, not in a haste to let the Death Eater feel any kind of relief. Dark hair is covering his features, but his next words are loud and clear.

"Do something as close to this again, and I will make sure everyone lives to see the day I turn your bones into powder and keep it in a stoppered jar, right on the shelf of my cold dungeon. Every. Single. Bone."

Next thing you know is Fenrir's practically running for the entrance door, not even dreaming of looking back.

He must have understood. Severus Snape is a man who keeps his promises.

"I wasn't aware being incautious has become your new luxury."

He states and crouches down before you, examining your bruised cheek with much caution and care before his onyx eyes wander to yours.

"Severus, I- he caught me off-guard. I was looking for you. Wanted to talk about-" You choke back, eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Don't," He lifts a hand, stopping you before it all becomes too much again. "Don't start now. Not here. Can you walk for me?"

You nod wordlessly. If he's not ignoring you, if he's soft with you, if he's here for you, you can do the walking.

°°°

It turns out that Severus had left the meeting earlier in order to find a safe spot where you could settle for your next mission, he explained on the way. Apparently, it had to be located in a Muggle neighborhood, with the lowest chance of being tracked by the Ministry of Magic or the Members of the Order of the Phoenix. You and Severus were well-known among the Members and after the attack to Hogwarts, they'd be on the lookout for both of you.

Hiding out was one of your missions.

"...and we have to stay here until further instructions from the Dark Lord."

He doesn't really reveal much after that, but you assume that this hiding game won't continue for too long under the circumstances that he becomes the next Headmaster. You can only hope it doesn't happen.

More danger for him is a terrible idea, but you don't dwell upon it. For now.

Then he explained that the moment he returned to the Manor, first thing he decided on was to inform the Dark Lord. He then asked whether Narcissa was aware of your whereabouts and the confused Malfoy answered him with "She must be with you by now." It gave him an idea. A very bad idea. Most of the Death Eaters had already fled. But then, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Yaxley's poor attempt at sneaking the wine tray, two wands hidden messily beneath his sleeve. His first instinct was to follow the Death Eater. He had your wand with him.

The night is not as young as before, but still alive when you arrive to your hideout. It's a small Muggle house, not much into it. A dusty bookshelf, picture frames, a small table and a worn-out couch. Severus insists on using "No magic!" before disappearing in another room. You settle on the couch.

He returns with a glass of water and stands over you, waiting expectantly for you to drink it. The scowl is back on his face and it's permanent, but he still cares.

You drink in silence, trying to postpone what's to come, but those dark orbits are glinting with so much reprimand and disappointment that your throat feels dry again. You place the half-empty glass on the small table. His tense gaze follows it momentarily.

"Is there something wrong with my face? You've been staring daggers at me."

He's been teetering on the edge, and your mere question sets him off. "Many things have gone wrong and you were at the receiving end of them. I believe that your brilliant mind has conjured a good enough reason or two to explain this chaos, true?"

Well, you did not expect it to start like that. You're rendered speechless, so he continues, pacing back and forth on the limited space of the room.

"Let me reason then. Maybe the Miss 'capable of everything' in you wanted to ruin me by showing up to the one place I forbade her from?"

"I don't want to ruin you Severus. I never do."

"Then may I know why your actions have become so foolish and careless all of a sudden?" He seethes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I already explained it. I was caught off-guard when I came looking for you. I was worried sick and... I wanted to talk to you. And about what happened in Hogwarts...," you pause for a heartbeat, fiddling with the rim of the glass. You're not sure if your throat feels more dry or heavy with a growing lump. "The plan went mostly fine. I was being careful. The injuries weren't probably that deep or severe-"

That is a blatant lie. He scoffs, shaking his head.

"Please, I beg your finest pardon to stop there. Because I do not remember you being conscious when I had to choose between pulling the shards out first or tending to the rapid bleeding or mending your broken back. Do I have to go on?"

You shake your head, painfully aware of what he would say if he went on. The red imprints have turned into a pink shade, but not totally faded off your skin. Were you really hurt that badly when you tripped over and fell on the ground?

Guilt begins to wash over you. It has been severe enough to upset him, the Severus Snape who cares about very few things in life.

"I'm sorry Severus. I had to be more watchful. But don't you think I'm capable of more than what you want me to do? Don't you believe I can do more than just 'staying away from danger'? I did my job, well I did most of it- and the Dark Lord trusts me."

And if I wanted to be uninjured, I had to stop myself from thinking too much about you and It's never been easy. Not when you look at me like that.

His steps come to an abrupt halt in front of you, dark cloak sweeping mindlessly on the floor. "Capable or not, trusted or not. I cannot care less about your extraordinary achievements, because you happen to have been terribly careless in your acts of bravery. I made it pretty much clear that I don't want you to put yourself in danger like that, and that was final. But you and your cavalier attitude are too stubborn to notice a thing." He grits through his teeth. Your words and explanations do nothing to help the situation. If anything, he's getting angrier by each passing second.

You know he's being irrational. Severus Snape is totally mistaken if he thinks danger is only waiting for him behind the gates and he is the one who should be allowed to enter.

You shoot back.

"If you have made up your mind about finishing this job, me and my cavalier attitude will do the same. Please do not treat me like I'm defenseless or unaware of the danger, and it should only be you who is constantly risking everything. If you don't want me to be hurt, I'm letting you know that keeping me sheltered and away from you is the greatest pain. I want to fight by your side, Severus."

He lets out a frustrated growl, eyes narrowing.

"Merlin... why are you being so foolish? I just do not understand... You're asking to get yourself killed. What are you thinking? Or are you just not thinking at all?"

"I'm thinking that I can handle it just fine," You insist, stubbornly.

"You can handle it just fine," He repeats in a mocking undertone. "How very intriguing. Because if I'm not mistaken, you nearly died on me, not once but TWICE in a row even after I told you I don't want you to involve yourself in it."

You wonder if you're imagining things or that's a teardrop sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his white shirt. Your heart breaks just a little too much at that.

"That's the decision I should make, Severus." You say slowly.

The air is thick around you and you feel suffocated. Even in your worst state of mind, you weren't tricked into thinking that his aura leaves you speechless and breathless. You really shouldn't let the words fail you. You need a moment to gather your thoughts, and you need it now.

The glass is fully drained before you're standing, mere feet away from his rigid posture.

"Do you think I take pleasure in pretending that the violence doesn't affect me? Do you think I enjoy dealing with those creepy Death Eaters? Do you think it intrigues me when I have to die thousand times in a day, just to fulfill a stupid mission? Do you think I relish in the fact that one of them cornered me and tried to... to-" Choking back a tear, you continue. "Do you really think of me like that?"

"Why? Just give me a reason why you're doing this. Why aren't you being safe?" His voice thunders over the quiet stillness of the room.

There is something about the way he is looking at you. You think you'd seen it back in the Astronomy Tower as well, even though it lasted for a fleeting moment. Now it's permanent. It feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at this precise moment when you begin to realize that he's not shouting because he’s angry.

He’s afraid.

"Because I love you."

As soon as the confession tumbles out of your mouth, you're taking a step back, eyes wide. The three words that had been there, for months or even years, are now out. You knew he was different from everyone else the moment you'd laid eyes on him on your very first meeting in the Order. The day you changed sides, those three words never changed. You haven't just admitted it out loud. You've known it for so long.

Under any other circumstance, he would scoff and make a witty remark or even joke on it, 'love in these times is for fools' and honestly, who were you but a fool?

Love is daunting. It brings grief. But it also brings peace. It makes you feel reckless.

"You- you what?" He falters, voice barely audible and equally taken aback by what you've just said.

"I love you," You declare, inching your way closer. "And I know that all you want is to protect me, Severus. I know that I have been incautious. I know that you are worried, but so am I. My hands may tremble on the way, my knees may wobble, my whole being may shiver, but..." You step even closer, until your chest brushes his. The subtle scent of mint invades your senses. You look up, more sincere than he'd ever seen you, "as long I'm in love with you, I can fight and I will."

You love him.

And you know he loves you.

From the way he taught you extra lessons and always made sure you were taking care of yourself, or the way his gaze lingered on you a second or two or three longer on every passing glance, you know it. The soft edge and subtle acknowledgment that he only saved for you, the featherlight brushes of his fingertips on your cheeks, the way he bothered to heal your wounds and then went on to beat up the ones who had hurt you the slightest... None of it was your imagination. He never did those things for others. He, Severus Snape, had willingly waited by your side when you were on the edge of the line.

You don't have to question him about his thoughts in all those moments. You know.

He has shown you what love is, in his own way.

When you turn to give him space, it dawns on you that he might have put a few drops of those comforting draughts of his into your water. You struggle to suppress a smile, not feeling an ounce of regret after your confession.

"Please never try to stop me again."

"Hush now," He scolds softly, his frame towering behind you. He snakes his arms around your middle in a slow, tentative pace, giving you enough space to back down. Ever the thoughtful man he is, "this might just make the matters worse, but I love you too."

He tilts his head and rests his chin on your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest. His warm exhale tickles your skin. He's too close, too broad, too strong and irresistible that you feel an overpowering desire to ask him to imprison you in his hold for a long, long time.

But you wait patiently. You should have patience. The tension hasn't quite left him. He's barely touching you, but he's there, quietly solving the puzzle of anxiety and fear that has riddled his mind.

A ghost of a kiss is pressed below your earlobe, setting a warm shiver trickling down the delicate skin. He tries again, his hoarse voice now more confident.

"I love you," His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he's turning you around. "and I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life, stubborn girl."

He cradles your face between his large, warm palms. His thumbs brush back and forth over your jawline, a stark contrast to the brutal way he'd argued with you mere seconds ago. He ponders, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. When he finds nothing that might stop him, he leans down, brushing his nose against your own. His long fingers travel downward, curling around the nape of your neck. It's torturously slow and thoughtful, similar to that of a snake wrapping its way around its prey.

All you wish is to be his prey. His stubborn prey.

His hands. Lord, those hands of his. Severus could actually smother you with them, and you'd thank him. If you give yourself a moment to ponder the thought, it blows your mind how he has barely done anything and you've already decided to let him be cruel to you.

A sly smirk dances over the corner of his mouth, covered by the stealthy darkness of the room. He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly. It's a chaste kiss at first, experimental even. But he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, fingers squeezing around your neck hard enough to elicit a muffled gasp. Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the cold wall, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved. He doesn't deem it necessary to ask for it, wait for it. Your obscene thoughts are written all over your face, effortlessly guiding his actions.

"So divine. So pretty."

His breathless voice is barely audible, more like a thought spoken to himself as his gaze travels back and forth between your eyes and the lips he so eagerly wants to kiss until he turns you into a swollen, red and bruised piece of art.

His other hand rests over the small of your back, fingers digging deep to emphasize his praise. You whimper into his mouth, all hot and bothered by the warm imprints of his fingertips. You slide your hands up his broad chest and past his shoulders until your fingers tangle in those dark black strands of his. You hold onto him for dear life.

But even dear life crumbles under the intensity of his presence.

"I do not wish to witness what I witnessed today again. Will you promise to be more patient and careful from now on?"

"I'm all yours now. That much I can promise."

It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him.

It washes over him for a split second, the sort of reaction he would have if he were to use a step-by-step instruction to brew a potion only to watch it turn into a totally different draught. It's, however, soon replaced with a sinister desire, creeping closer to the unrelenting hold he has around your throat. He looks at you like he might just strangle you on the spot or give his all to make you feel good. Either way, all doubts and cautious touches are gone in an instant. Up until now, he didn't want to indulge in what he truly wished to do to you. And oh, you do want to be the reason Severus loses his control.

Taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, his firm hold forces you to maintain eye contact.

"That, I can say, is not very clever of you." He states, a tinge of warning, reprimand and lust mingled in his tone. It sends a shudder down your spine. His firm grip on your arm is already pushing you to turn on your hills before you hear his order. "Turn around."

A sudden gasp emanates from you as the side of your face comes in contact with the bare wall. You brace your palms against the cold brick to keep your balance, fighting the sudden urge to grind back into him when he creeps closer, caging you between his arms, still clad in that dark grey coat that you can't wait to see unbuttoned.

But something else is distracting you. You can't fight it from getting into you. Not when it's dark and you're pushed against a wall, locked in a position that sends memories of the prior events flashing before your eyes. You blink a couple of times, willing the blurry images to go away.

You try to focus on the moment, you really do.

His hands rest on either side of yours as he peppers open-mouthed kisses over the crook of your neck, setting your skin ablaze by the slightest friction of his match.

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, closer than before. You have no idea if it's meant to keep you focused on the moment, but then your skirt is bunched up in a fist, the rough pattern of his cotton slacks pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. It helps a little. You barely suppress a gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his bulge between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat over your groin.

"Are you going to stop me or take your lesson the way you deserve it?"

That werewolf was going to do what he wanted if Severus wasn't there to save you. He was going to touch you and no one would hear your hopeless cries.

"Would never stop my master... I would never." You breathe, need and desperation sewn in your words.

Severus hums in approval, "Good," then he brings his hand down to grip your thigh tightly beneath his wide palm, fingers resting dangerously close to where he knows you want them the most. "I shall make it a memorable lesson, then."

You're a mess between your legs, but still pretty much bothered, and Severus is painfully aware of it.

He doesn't relent or halt though, two fingers trailing up over the wet patch on your panties. He pushes the tips of his fingers up slightly, pulling a low whimper from you as they catch on your weeping hole. Then he opts for the languid drags again, feeling the growing mess under his touch. "Is there anything you wish to tell me? Those thoughts are all but bolting in your head."

"I don't know. I- I can't..." You whine, shaking your head. How pathetic would it make you look if he hears about your nonexistent fears and what ifs?

To be honest, you can't hide anything from him forever. Severus could easily read your mind. But he's being patient with you, appearing as nonchalant as ever.

"Is it distracting you? Go on sweetheart. We both know you can tell me what is bothering this pretty head. I'm here to listen." He reassures calmly. Somewhere between the first and last word, his fingers dip beneath the fabric of your panties to gather some of the slick. Then he halts his actions altogether, warm hand covering your mound in a delicious grip, but no friction to ease the tension.

Part of you ponders the double meaning behind his question. Because you're pretty much distracted by the soothing rub of his other thumb over your wrist. It makes the dark wall appear less intimidating than it already is.

You try to move, to create some kind of friction, but he holds you there. 'If you want your reward, you should earn it' was what he usually told you in all those tough, never-ending days of extra Dark Arts lessons. Back then, you didn't know much about him and if the small touches and placating smiles were anything to go by, you can earn this reward as well.

You clear your throat. As painful as it is, you should get the words off your chest. You trust him.

"Back in the Manor... I hated it- I hated the way he made me feel. Him and his- those filthy hands. All I could think about was you, Severus. If you weren't there-"

"Shh, I know sweetheart, I know. I am here now." Finally, finally he touches you with proper care, fingers dragging up the slit and smearing the arousal over your clit. He rubs slow circles at first, all while soothing the near-panic experience out of your body with his unwavering touch. One thing you realize about this man is that he doesn't tease, but rather goes straight to the point. The friction is such a relief. Your knees tremble as his touch becomes more firm and assured. "No one is going to hurt you. I won't let that happen again. Now tell me... you want your master to get rid of those bad thoughts for you, am I right?"

His words placate you. Your nod is quick, without a second thought. It's terribly easy to fold beneath him.

Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it beats impatiently in your chest.

He tuts, not quite convinced. His fingers work faster, making it incredibly hard for you to form coherent lines. Your low moans and whines turn a little louder, filling the silence of the room. The wicked desire in his slow drawl is not helping at all. "My girl should use her words."

But he doesn't give you the opportunity to do so when he fluidly shoves two fingers inside, emitting a gutteral moan from you. Your hands fumble in a clumsy attempt to hold onto a part of him, his arm, his cloak. You take him easily, pussy gripping his fingers with an obscene squelch that makes him cave and let his chest rumble with a sound between a low groan and a curse.

"I, uh- yes, that's right. Please do it."

He hums and pulls out before quickly plunging in again. The sudden force of it pulls you closer into him, if that's even possible. His fingers are knuckles deep, curled in a way that should be forbidden because of how sinful it is. But then he's hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

You practically claw at his shoulders, knees becoming wobbly as the euphoric sensation builds up within your core, the coil threatening to snap at any moment.

But you're making a lot of noise and it cuts deep through the silence of this Muggle house, not aware of the fact that it might give you away. Part of Severus wishes he could use a silencing charm. Instead, his free hand rests on the column of your throat, feeling the way it vibrates beneath each helpless moan, blessing his ears.

You might not see it, but his chest swells with pride. You're a mess, and he's the one responsible for it.

Very reluctantly, his wide palm covers your mouth, muffling your blissed-out cries. "Be a good girl and keep it quite... let it all out for me. I want you to think of nothing else. Just let go." His thumb presses hard against your clit and that's your undoing. Your head falls back, waves of pleasure blasting and rippling over your skin, chest warm with white-hot ecstacy.

You're a sight to behold.

Especially when you're putty in his hands like this.

And there's only so much Severus can do to refrain from bending you over the table and pounding into you senseless 'til the break of dawn.

You pant heavily, still quite entranced by the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you. Pieces of clothing have been tossed somewhere behind, long forgotten. You can't think of anything else.

He slowly pulls his fingers out, shushing your whine at the loss with a chaste kiss. You sigh into his mouth, feeling the thick, stiff shape of him between your cheeks, leaking and leaving a wet mark on your skin. He doesn't rush it as he smears your arousal over his tip and strokes a few times.

You don't brace yourself against the brick wall as he pushes his cock inside you, sheathing deeper inch by inch. He holds you close, left hand grasping your wrests behind your back within the tiny space left between your bodies. He goes a bit slow at first, allowing you to get adjusted to the stretch. You feel so full like this, walls squeezing around him in a delectable grip. He's applying the right amount of pressure in every angle, his grip not too tight to cause pain and not too loose to leave you unsatisfied.

He really knows what he's doing. Everything about him turns you on.

You shudder particularly hard when he pulls halfway out and slides back in, filling you full to the brim. Then his other hand begins to roam around your side, trailing a burning path over your curves. His labored breaths and low grunts echo in your ear with each thrust. He's so large, practically in your stomach as he starts to steadily thrust in and out. Your legs tighten involuntarily when the tip of his fingers brush past the hem of your soaked panties, stomach lurching as it pushes you into a slightly different angle. He curses under his breath.

"Ease up sweetheart," He grunts, voice an octave lower than before. "You'll have me all to yourself."

You try, but it's practically impossible when he's being so good to you. It's his own fault. You should be sorry, because your hunger only worsens as you listen to him.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, little dove?" Severus questions, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises that fall past your swollen lips. He peers down at you. There's this hidden yearning between your brows, moulded into a crease as you fight the urge to thrust back into him. It's so pathetically endearing. He might reward you later for it. "What are you sorry for? Are you sorry for being this desperate or sorry that you didn't abide by my words?"

A chocked out "Both" is all you can manage.

It feels like he's splitting you in half, but at the same time his actions are so measured and empowered that you have no choice but to gush even more.

"Feels good, ahh-"

"Of course it does." He chuckles darkly, releasing his grip on your wrists. You bend ever so slightly, back arching in display and relishing in the way he twitches inside you. "Needed it to the point that you went through the worst, just to have my attention. It's pathetic."

It is pathetic. But you love nothing more than his undivided attention on you.

His wide palms find home on your hips and he begins to pound into you without any reservation, any inhibition. His pace is relentless. Your legs shake on their own accord, swaying back and forth with each merciless slap of his thighs. The familiar coil forms in the pit of your stomach again, head going dizzy as he gives it to you over and over. The room is brimming with wet squelches and mingled grunts.

"You're mine and I will let every single one of them know it. I will have them bewail their useless lives if they hurt you ever again. Just wait... wait and be patient for me. Can you do that?" He rasps, a scrap of anger returning to his voice. In your flustered state, you barely hear his demand.

His fingertips dig into your bare flesh as he takes and takes. You wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's using you like this for his own pleasure. He's neither suppressing his rage over what the Death Eaters did to you nor hiding his lust over what he himself wants to do to you.

"Pathetic baby, cannot even think straight anymore," He tuts, pace slowing and thrusts becoming heavier. "Say it. Say that you're mine. Let it sink into your stubborn mind."

"Yours, Severus... I'm all- all yours. Severus, please-"

He pulls out abruptly. Your eyes well up in an instant, feeling lost at the sudden emptiness. Severus catches you before you could mourn the loss. His fingers tangle in your hair, and he tugs, forcing you to stare into his onyx eyes. "Where do you want it?"

You've never seen Severus like this. Face flushed, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, hair untidy, and incredibly handsome. There's a dark hunger in his gaze, eyes glinting black beneath the faint moonlight that streams in through the window. It takes your breath away.

Your mouth falls open without a word, tongue sticking out in a silent invitation. You hope he grants it. You'd beg for it if he wishes to make you.

His gaze wanders lower, staying there for one or two seconds. A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he releases you.

"Naughty one. On your knees."

You're scrambling to obey his order before he finishes it. Your knees come in contact with the wooden floor, hands fiddling impatiently in your lap as you blink the tears away, taking in the view of him towering above you.

He witnesses the slightest motions like this, so it doesn't go unnoticed by him when your searching gaze passes over his muscles and drifts all the way down to settle on his cock, mere inches away from your face. Your eyes widen. It's big, bigger than you had anticipated. His length is glistening with your arousal, veins prominent and red. You look back up pleadingly, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. It feels like you might just faint if he doesn't stuff your mouth full.

Severus saves you from misery by stroking himself a few times. Without breaking eye contact, the tip of his cock slides past your lips, disappearing in the warmth of your waiting mouth.

You sigh, swirling your tongue all around the shaft, tasting a mixture of precum and your own arousal. A lewd grunt emanates from him as you swallow around the length. His heady scent envelops you, deepening the dizzied state in your head. You want to go deeper, not caring if it might hurt your throat. If the pain comes from him, you want it.

So he allows you, the gentle brush of his thumb on your flushed cheek as his cock is buried deeper, lower, louder. He's past the point of caring if anyone hears these sounds anymore. He's more than halfway in when you reach your limit, opting to hollow your cheeks around him as he begins to move in slow thrusts.

You're being so obedient and measured. That's just the way he likes.

He pulls out with a pop and leans down, eye level with you as you catch your breath. His eyes roam over your face, taking in the wrecked sight of you. His thumb smoothes over the crease between your brows before he wipes a drop of tear off your jawline. You hadn't realized you were crying. "Look at you, silent and obedient, desperate to do what your master told you. Was that all it would take for you to listen?"

Seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them. Of course he knows he is your true master.

He stands back up, not waiting for your answer. It's written all over you. Much to your delight, he guides your head forward and you eagerly take his thrusts as he feeds his cock into your mouth, not once pushing past your limits. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, signaling that he's on the verge of coming undone. He pounds into you once, twice, three times and then you're bracing your hands on his thighs, nails holding onto the taut muscle as your hooded eyes threaten to fall shut. You take him as deep as you can. On the fifth thrust, he stills in your mouth, a string of curses falling from his mouth. He lets out a sound you'd never heard from him before.

It's not a grunt, a groan or even a cuss. He whimpers.

Head falling back as the euphoric waves crash into him, his cock twitches inside your mouth, thick spurts painting your throat. He's a work of art, all you'd ever wished to see in a man. Your jaw is slack, eyes stinging, knees hurting. Hell, even your whole body is limp and overcome by exhaustion. But you're too entranced by him to feel anything less than content. He holds onto you, riding out his high and all you wish for is to do it again and again.

You pull back slightly to watch his expression, more satisfied than ever. One look at his blissed-out and relaxed expression has you aching and longing for him again. Somewhere between your legs, you ache for his touch again, as if he hadn't just wrecked you moments ago. But the sight of him is enough for now. You can wait for more. He loves you and it's enough.

"You're pretty, but prettier when you listen to me, do you know that?"

You nod into him and smile, not quite able to talk as his cock is still buried halfway in your mouth. His eyes rake over your body, confusion quickly replaced with a small frown. He arches a brow, not tearing his gaze from your thighs. You've pushed them together tightly... in search of some friction. Has Severus left his girl unsatisfied?

He glances over his shoulder, catching sight of the unoccupied table in the corner. For a moment he considers lifting you up into his arms and laying you there, so he could gently soothe the ache for you...

But then you're drifting off with his cock in your mouth, body going limp as exhaustion takes over you. He knows you went this far because of him, so he makes a mental note to make it up to you in the morning.

He knows how to give it to you the way you deserve it.

"Will be careful... and, and patient. For my master." You mumble sleepily, arms wrapping around his neck as he envelops you in his hold, lifting you off the floor with extra care.

Severus smiles, gently carrying you to the other room and tucking you in the bed for a much needed rest. "That's all you have to do."

#severus snape x reader #severus snape one shot #severus snape #professor snape #snape #half blood prince #death eaters #hogwarts #order of the phoenix #severus snape smut #severus snape fluff

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pookalicious-hq · 8 months ago

Text

Midnight Love || ch. 3 - white ferrari

Paige Bueckers x Uconnwbb!reader

previous: ch.2 - golden || next: .4 - april || masterlist

a/n: not proofread sorry baes <3

now playing: slow dancing in the dark by joji

She was sat on her bed, the passing clouds cast fleeting shadows over her room, enveloping her in a familiar wave of frustration. Throughout (Y/n)'s life, there had been countless instances where she wished she could freeze time, if only for a moment. In her experience, time never seemed to align in her favour; nothing ever happened at the 'right time,' and she often had to work tirelessly to make things happen. Unfortunately, her life hadn't witnessed any miracles yet, and there seemed to be no signs of any on the horizon to rescue her.

Currently, the clock displayed 5:47 PM.

A river of clothing continued to spill out of (Y/n)’s wardrobe, forming several piles scattered across her floor. Various textures and colours now adorned every crevice of her room. What started as simple 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe' piles quickly multiplied into categories like 'yes-if-the-weather-stays-nice' or 'maybe-but-it-would-look-better-if-my-hair-was-up'. Defeated, (Y/n) slumped from her bed to the floor. Choosing an outfit wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly in this context.

5:50 PM

Now would’ve been the perfect moment for her first miracle.

As she stared at the chaotic array of clothing before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping in. It wasn't just the prospect of selecting the right outfit; it was the nagging uncertainty about the evening itself, looming on the horizon like an unanswered question. After all, it wasn't like she was getting dressed up for media day, it was just the rest of the team. She found herself second-guessing the decision to go at all. With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) pushed herself off the floor, resolving to make a decision one way or another. As she stood there amidst the scattered clothes, (Y/n) tried to rack her brain for what had compelled her to agree to this outing in the first place.

***That morning

"And good Lord, right then and there, I wished I could’ve just gotten killed earlier on when I was in that shark tank because my mom appeared, mad as hell, and was ready to slap the shit outta me-”

Absentmindedly, (Y/n) hummed in agreement as her eyes scanned the fully stocked shelves. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery section wafted through the air, making (Y/n)'s stomach growl in protest at its emptiness. For the past four aisles, KK had been recounting her so-called horrifying dream from the night before, all from inside their shopping cart. While the first 30 seconds had been captivating, (Y/n) soon realized that KK was far from done. This dream had been so 'emotionally and mentally impactful' that KK felt compelled to act out her car chase scene, resulting in her abandoning the cart. After the fateful crash, the two found themselves with a worker trailing them from behind, ready to intervene with KK’s boisterous antics if needed.

The restock of the week was greatly needed. With the pantry, kitchen, and fruit bowl left with nothing but dust, both girls’ moods had increasingly deteriorated from the day before. As KK continued to recount her experience, (Y/n) was left with the task of finding what they needed. “Mhmm, sounds traumatic speaking of that. What else do we need?”

KK gave her a look. “Yeah, it was. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Always for you. But you didn’t answer my question—what else do we need?”

Realizing that KK couldn’t wring out any more sympathy from (Y/n), she shifted her focus from recounting her painful nightmare to recalling the items on the grocery list she conveniently left at home—a detail she kept from the older girl.

“Uh, okay damn. I think like… meat?”

The cart suddenly jerked to a halt, catching KK off guard. She lurched forward, instinctively steadying herself on the shopping cart. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead felt too intense for the early morning, casting stark shadows across the aisles.

KK turned around to face her roommate, ready to berate her for the sudden maneuver. However, the words of distaste dissolved on her tongue as she beheld (Y/n)'s expression. The older girl stood before her, eyes closed, brows furrowed in the middle, teetering between disbelief and strained patience. KK would be grateful to come out of this conversation unscathed.

(Y/n)'s tone was short, “KK.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

With a deep inhale, (Y/n) gripped the shopping cart, her fingers tightening around the metal handle as she suppressed the urge to vent her frustration. Swallowing back all the profanities that came to mind, she managed a strained smile.

“What type of meat?”

“You know, like, bruschetta… maybe some bacon-”

“Maybe?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, her patience waning.

KK chuckled, the sound bouncing off the fluorescent-lit aisles. “Nah, just kidding. We definitely need bacon. And also… Oh shit… Ice?”

(Y/n) blinked, the abrupt shift in conversation catching her off guard. “...Ice? KK, are you good? Because last time I checked, you were the one who brought up meat in the first place.”

In response, KK stood up from her position in the shopping cart, the metal rattling as she shifted her weight. “No look, it’s Ice.”

Following KK’s gaze, she then spotted Ice Brady in the next aisle. The 6’3 forward struggled to fit numerous bags of chips into her shopping basket, her arms stretched to their limits.

With a resigned sigh, (Y/n) began to maneuver the cart containing KK towards Ice's location. The wheels squeaked in protest against the linoleum floor, the rhythmic sound echoing in the bustling store. Despite her being a D1 athlete, she found herself growing weary of playing the role of chauffeur for her friend. Yet, as she glanced at KK’s expectant expression, she knew there was no escaping it.

“Ice Brady," KK sang, her arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture as the cart rolled to a stop. The spectacle drew the attention of nearby shoppers, who paused to witness the unfolding scene, transfixed by the unexpected drama. "Would you care for some assistance today?"

Ice, caught off guard by the flamboyant greeting, turned her attention from the bags of chips to KK's infectious smile. Amusement danced in her eyes as she surveyed the scene before her. With a nod of acknowledgment to (Y/n), who was still navigating the cart into a suitable parking spot, Ice responded, "I mean, if you hopped out of the cart, I could put my stuff in, but I wouldn’t want to trouble your highness."

“Oh!” KK’s hands came together in childish glee, pleased by Ice’s answer, “How considerate of you, but it's alright, I’ve been feeling courteous today.”

“So now you’re feeling ‘courteous’?” (Y/n) deadpanned as she made her way around the shopping cart across from Ice. As KK made her stellar attempt to climb out of the cart gracefully, (Y/n) stood behind her to help lift her out, “I’ve literally been pushing you around all morning, babes.”

She then made her way over toward ice to give assistance with the various chip bags enough to feed a family for christmas dinner.

“So,” KK started her smile towards Ice, selectively choosing to ignore her roommate’s comment “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Y’know, working had to feed the kids, and all that. You guys sure eat a lot”

“Wait,” KK gaped, “This is all for us?”

“Have you checked the group chat?” Ice questioned. In fact, they had not. Though she had been added days prior, (Y/n) had decided to keep her distance from that group chat. The two girls turned to look at each other, proceeded by KK quickly checking her phone.

Soon enough, her eyes ignited from within. “Hell yeah, party time,” she sang.

“K, you’re being dramatic, it’s literally just the team,” Ice laughed.

“Theres a hangout tonight?” (Y/n) questioned, her stomach forming knots at the thought of being in a room with all of the UConn Women’s Basketball team.

“Yup, everyone, including you two, are coming over."

(Y/n) glanced between KK and Ice, her expression shifting to one of mild apprehension. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of resignation.

Both KK and Ice exchanged a knowing look before simultaneously replying, "Nope."

6:15 pm

During her first official collegiate-level game freshman year, (Y/n) led her team to a resounding victory, later that night earning her the coveted title of 'The People’s Princess' of the NCAA.

Beneath the blaring lights of the stadium, (Y/n) was radiant. It was a moment she had long envisioned, the culmination of years of relentless dedication and unwavering determination. With her eyes gleaming and her words flowing with confidence, she effortlessly captivated the reporter and everyone in attendance. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the crowd, drawing them in with her infectious smile and undeniable talent.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/n)'s reputation soared to new heights. However, amidst the high, a subtle unease began to gnaw at her. She quickly realized that the pedestal on which she had been placed came with its own set of challenges.

Despite her remarkable achievements on the court, she found herself confined by the weight of expectations. The public's perception of her became increasingly polarized, with praise often overshadowed by harsh criticism. She was both celebrated and scrutinized for her gentle demeanour, her commanding presence, and even her choice of attire.

The constant contrast between adoration and disdain left her feeling unsettled, she was constantly walking on a tightrope between two worlds. Over time, she became acutely aware of the need to separate her on-court persona from her everyday life, a process that had equally drained but benefited her.

Yet, as she immersed herself deeper into the complexities of her newfound fame, (Y/n) couldn't shake the nagging feeling that appearance had become everything. In a world where perception was predominant, she grappled with the notion that her worth was measured not by her character or accomplishments, but by the image she projected to the world.

All this to say that unfortunately, (Y/n) had been second-guessing tonight’s event over and over again. Only two individuals had truly seen beyond the facade she meticulously maintained: KK and, in a distant past, Paige.

As (Y/n)'s life flashed before her eyes, her gaze fixed on the door before her, its weathered surface worn by years of use. The soft hum of chatter from beyond the door drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of pizza and anticipation that hung in the hallway. Each groove in the wood seemed to whisper secrets, a silent witness to her inner turmoil.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edges of the doorframe. The cool touch of the wood against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, a tangible reminder of the reality awaiting her on the other side. What would they think of her? Did she look presentable enough? Doubts gnawed at her confidence, threatening to unravel the facade she had carefully constructed.

With a steadying exhale, (Y/n) pushed open the door, crossing the threshold into the unknown. The soft click of the latch echoed in her ears, signaling her descent into the realm of uncertainty.

The scene unfolded before her, intimate and genuine, a tapestry woven with the bonds of teammates. The UConn Women’s Basketball team occupied every corner of Ice’s condo, their laughter mingling with the warmth of the confined space. Despite the inviting atmosphere, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder in this vibrant gathering.

With each step forward, (Y/n) sensed the weight of her decision. The events of this evening would undoubtedly shape her relationship with the team for the rest of the year.

Luckily, no one had noticed her entrance yet. As (Y/n) scanned the room, she searched for KK among the multitude of bodies, most of them towering over her. Despite her efforts, KK remained elusive. Frustration etched her features as uncertainty gnawed at her. She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, regarding herself with unease.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Lost in her inner turmoil, (Y/n) failed to notice the door behind her slowly swinging open.

As the door swung shut, the breeze proceeded to cause a shift among her hair. Shoving away all distractions, (Y/n) straightened her back, took a deep breath and prepared for her next step further into the house.

“You gonna move? Or do you need help, princess?” Paige's voice cut through the air, shattering (Y/n)'s concentration. All prior thoughts dissolved from her mind at those words, her focus instantly shifting to the unexpected encounter with Paige.

Despite the familiarity of seeing Paige's face plastered on banners around UConn, the proximity still rattled her. She had thought she'd grown accustomed to it, but the reality of facing Paige in person was an entirely different experience.

She had an image to maintain, (Y/n) wouldn’t shy away at simple words anymore.

With a subtle steeling of her resolve, she turned to face the taller girl, meeting Paige's gaze head-on. Though she found herself looking up at Paige, she refused to give any ground in their exchange.

The tension between them crackled in the air, each word laden with unspoken history and unresolved emotions. (Y/n)'s jaw tightened, but she refused to let Paige see any hint of vulnerability. She squared her shoulders and held Paige's gaze with unwavering determination.

"No need for assistance, thanks," (Y/n) replied evenly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside her. "I can handle myself just fine."

Paige chuckled, taking a step closer to her. "Of course you can, Your Highness," she quipped, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "But it wouldn't hurt to let someone lend a hand every now and then."

(Y/n) bristled at the implication but forced herself to remain composed. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied curtly, stepping aside to let Paige pass.

Paige's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, but she didn't press the issue further.

While Paige moved past her, (Y/n) couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the air. Despite her best efforts to maintain her facade of confidence, there was a vulnerability in her interactions with Paige that she couldn't seem to shake.

As (Y/n) made her way further into the room, she found herself enveloped in a warm atmosphere. Smiles greeted her from every direction, genuine and welcoming, easing the tension that had knotted in her stomach.

“Damn, girl, I was just about to check if you had been kidnapped! What took you so long.” Exclaimed KK as she searched every inch of (Y/n). The younger girl’s gaze soon turned towards Paige suspiciously suddenly recounting the day prior, eyes snapping back and fourth. But then quieter KK added, “Hm, okay, I see, I see…”

A chorus of laughter bubbled up around them at KK’s dramatic statement, the sound infectious and light-hearted. (Y/n) couldn't help but smile in response, the weight of earlier uncertainties melting away in the warmth of their acceptance.

Any lingering tension between them dissipated in the face of the group's genuine warmth, replaced by a sense of belonging and shared purpose.

After making her rounds, (Y/n) went to sit by the couch, where a mini circle had formed as the team watched Azzi and Aubrey in their death match of Mario Cart. The room was filled with the rhythmic clicking of controllers and the occasional whoops and groans as players navigated their virtual karts through the colourful tracks. Azzi and Aubrey were locked in intense concentration, their eyes glued to the screen as they jostled for the lead. The competitive banter between them added to the lively atmosphere, punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful teasing from the rest of the team. (Y/n) leaned back, taking in the scene with a contented smile.

As the night progressed, (Y/n) found herself settling in, enjoying the easy connection of the team. Their genuine willingness to engage with her put her at ease, dispelling any lingering apprehension. After wrapping up a conversation with Ashlyn about her cats back at home, (Y/n) decided to take a brief respite. She excused herself and made her way to the kitchen, feeling a headache creeping in as result of the loud atmosphere.

The cool touch of the glass along her fingers was well welcomed as (Y/n) took a sip of water. From her position in the kitchen, she had a comforting view of the apartment. As her gaze swept from Azzi and Aubrey fighting about wins and losses, to KK and Aaliyah filming their third tiktok of the night, her eyes landed on Paige.

Obviously, people change as they grow up. Physically, Paige was taller. Her dark blond roots peaked out like a halo. But, the space between them seemed to grow as well.

With a sigh, she turned to grab another sip of water. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, hummed with activity. The tiled floor gleamed underfoot, a testament to the cleanliness maintained in the shared space.

Unfortunately, right as she turned, she bumped into the one and only Nika Muhl.

“Oh, shit,” (Y/n) jumped, the water in her glass sloshing dangerously close to the brim.

Before she could react, the collision resulted in the water spilling on Nika, the droplets now flowing from Nika’s shirt onto the tiles below. (Y/n)'s heart sank at the sight

“I’m so sorry, let me help you,” she stammered, scrambling for a nearby towel, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Nika waved off (Y/n)'s apology with a chuckle, her easygoing demeanour putting her at ease. "Don’t worry about it, (Y/n). Accidents happen." Nika took the towel she offered and dabbed at her shirt, trying to contain the spill.

(Y/n) winced, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to, I was just lost in thought."

Nika leaned against the counter, a small smile playing on her lips. "No harm done. Do you want to talk about whatever was on your mind?"

(Y/n) hesitated, not wanting to burden Nika with her concerns. But Nika's warm gaze encouraged her to speak up. "Yeah, I'm just trying to find my place with the team, you know? Sometimes it feels like I'm still the new kid."

Nika nodded in understanding, crossing her arms casually. "I get that. But trust me, (Y/n), you fit right in. Everyone likes you."

(Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest at Nika's words, and she couldn't help but blush. "Thanks, Nika. That means a lot."

Nika chuckled, nudging (Y/n) playfully. "Hey, don't mention it. And you know what? Even Paige couldn't stop talking about how excited she was when she found out you were joining."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Paige. "Really?"

Nika nodded, a knowing smile on her face. "Yep, really. It seems you’re quite the People’s Princess, (Y/n)."

Feeling a mix of emotions, (Y/n) leaned against the counter beside Nika, both of them watching the group outside the kitchen enjoying themselves. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

However, (Y/n)'s attention was soon drawn to the sight of everyone getting up and preparing to leave. "Where is everyone going?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Nika followed her gaze, her expression turning playful. "I guess it’s about that time now.” Nika then stood up to trail the team out of the apartment. “Team tradition."

Now playing: white ferrari by frank ocean

The night enveloped the surroundings in a tranquil embrace, casting a serene aura over the playground. The soft glow of the moon and stars illuminated the path ahead, casting gentle shadows on the playground equipment.

Amidst the laughter of her companions, (Y/n) found herself immersed in the peaceful ambiance of the night. As she followed behind the group, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and distant city lights.

With each step, (Y/n) felt a weight lifting from her shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of serenity. She took in the sight of her newfound teammates friends ahead, their silhouettes dancing against the night sky, and allowed herself to be relax the moment, grateful for the new joys she would encounter with this team.

As they made their way onto the playground, the flash of red and blue metal bars pierced the air, bringing back memories of a time when playing D1 basketball was just a distant dream.

Following close behind, (Y/n) ended her destination at a swing set that shone silver and gold against the night sky. The chains groaned in response of her weight, their link rattling together, forming a melody long forgotten. As her world slowly swung on an axis, (Y/n) couldn’t help but finally be at ease.

As (Y/n) allowed herself to sink into the comforting rhythm of the swing, she became aware of a presence nearby. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Paige making her way towards the swing set, her silhouette cutting through the darkness like a shadow. Despite the tension that often lingered between them, there was something oddly comforting about Paige's proximity in that moment. With a silent invitation, (Y/n) watched as Paige settled onto the swing beside her, the chains creaking softly in protest under their combined weight.

For a moment, there was only the soft whip of the wind that passed by (Y/n)’s ears, occasionally broken by the rattling chains and the laughter that drifted from the playground. Though things between the two girls were complicated, (Y/n) missed their time together.

With a sigh, her eyes searched the distant lights above. Her mind filled in the blanks and connected the dots of the stars in the skies. Unbeknownst to (Y/n), Paige had been doing the same since she arrived.

“Ursa Major,” Paige murmured, the name of the constellation unintentionally slipping from her lips.

At the sudden break in the comforting silence, (Y/n) glanced over to her, giving her full attention.

"Is it still your favorite?" Paige asked, her voice soft with genuine curiosity, her gaze falling to the side to find (Y/n)’s surprised expression within the darkness.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) spoke softly, her mind filled with the countless nights they searched the sky together. An unexplainable wave of yearning and sadness washed over her senses, “it is.”

Paige then turned her attention back to the sky above, all while (Y/n) was still processing the fact that she remembered her favourite constellation.

“You still remember?” (Y/n) asked, the question slipping from her mind out to the world before she could stop herself.

Paige felt her blood rush scarlet. “Yeah, you know… how could I forget?”

Paige’s answer stunned her. She assumed that since they parted ways, Paige would’ve also tried to erase the memories from her mind. For (Y/n), it had been too much to remember.

Paige's response lingered in the air, the weight of its meaning hanging heavy between them.

Paige hesitated, her gaze searching (Y/n)'s face for any sign of recognition. "Do you ever miss it?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind racing as she struggled to find the right words. "Miss what?" she replied, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft glow of the stars.

Paige's gaze softened. "Us," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

A whirlwind of emotions swept through (Y/n) at Paige's question. Her chest tightened, and her breath caught in her throat. The weight of their shared history pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

Yet, amid the turmoil of conflicting emotions, a flicker of longing ignited within her.

Everyday.

She wanted to respond.

I’ve never stopped missing us.

She hadn’t expected such a question from Paige. Though she had been hoping, deep down, she knew that Paige might not have the same space for her in her world. After all, a sun doesn’t need a moon to survive.

Over time, their dynamic had shifted, revealing that (Y/n) relied more on Paige than the other way around. But those words brought into question whether (Y/n) had been wrong about them all along.

Her eyes swept to the side to meet Paige’s expectant gaze, her eyes reflecting the silver moonlight.

“Always.”

Neither Paige nor (Y/n) had been expecting the answer to be spoken. At the revelation, the corners of Paige’s lips curved into the slightest smile.

As soon as the conversation started, silence drifted between them, The two girls drifted back into their quiet comfort. Only now, they both shared the same information. Possibilities of the upcoming sprung up into (Y/n)’s mind. Things would be different then she expected, but maybe that was a good thing.

(Deleted scene)

“Nah, Paige is occupied at the moment,” KK laughed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the group. With a deft swing from the monkey bars, she landed next to Aaliyah, where her phone was propped up to capture their talents. As they continued their antics, the live chat exploded with questions about (Y/n) after the idea of getting Paige on the stream was quickly shut down.

“Damn,” Aaliyah murmured, her eyes scanning the flood of messages, “y’all really love her, don’t you?”

A chorus of affirmative responses flooded the chat. Meanwhile, Azzi's voice cut through the background noise, calling both Aaliyah and KK over to witness her latest feat on the monkey bars. With a shared grin, the two girls left their spot, drawn by Azzi's infectious energy.

In the darkness of the night, the bottom right corner of the screen was illuminated just enough to make ou two silhouettes together on a swing set. The descovery sparked a flurry of speculation in the chat. Messages scrolled rapidly as viewers attempted to decipher the identities of the mysterious figures. Within moments, messages began pouring out as Paige and (Y/n) were finally identified.

(Y/n) and Paige: Sparks Fly on Live Stream

Fans were treated to an unexpected sight during teammate KK Arnold's recent live stream, as basketball stars (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers made a joint appearance. Their presence together immediately set social media abuzz, with fans reigniting dating rumors that have followed the pair for years. Despite both athletes maintaining silence on the matter, the resurgence of speculation has divided fans, with some eagerly shipping the duo while others advocate for their privacy. As (Y/n) and Paige continue to focus on their careers, fans remain captivated by the possibility of a romantic connection between the two athletes.

a/n: yuhh chapter two done! sorry for the wait, it's been a tough week lmao! anyways, im begging you PLEASE LISTEN TO WHITE FERRARI WHILE READING THE NIGHT SCENE ITS SO GOOD

anyways, thanks for all the love and support you guys are the best, loving all the comments <333

also for future chapters, does anyone live in seattle? cuz mc is gonna be from there and i need a highschool that was good at basketball or just one in general. LOVE YALL SO MUCH SEE YOU NEXT TIME

taglist: @kenzie-luvzz , @juphey , @h34rtsformilli , @pinkandlilacroses , @i-bribri-i , @thatonemarvelfan03 , @girlokwhatever , @ihrtthotdads , @kc88888888 , @nfleditsrjustbetteridk , @imsobabygiirl , @vi0lentb3rry , @sejus-wife , @katemlk , @littlelesbianinternujung , @ktaerssoi , @evangelinexo , @c999sh

#paige bueckers headcannon #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #wlw #uconn wbb #wlw fic #uconn huskies #x reader

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