#its what he deserves after practically ghosting him

[lanesrequiem]

people disliked it when lou went back to propose to ivo and bending on one knee for him but

girl id do the same thing

[snoopyhq]

Can I request smut headcanons where his gn s/o worships Jayce, Viktor, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko's bodies please?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god

type: misc. arcane characters x gn reader

summary: different body worship with different arcane men

warning: explicit content, mentions of restraints (silk), guided masturbation, mirror play (i think?? idk the name. uh, involves mirrors. viktor's part), implied sex positions, etc. i don't think i can write full blown smut, mainly because i'm not practiced, so i'll try to make it as romantic as i can with extra zealous passion

minors dni, thank you !!!

word count: 1555

a/n: false god is objectively a banger and is one of lover's most underrated tracks.

dividers used made by @/diviniyae

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

he's getting tied to the bedposts

no rope, no handcuffs, no nylon

red silk ribbons adorn his wrists and ankles, contrasting the warm brown of his skin like a trail of your freshly applied lipstick

which is now making its way down the column of his throat

he needs the stability and reassurance

you're restraining his limbs, not to hinder his movement, or as a play on his autonomy, but to hold him down so you could hold him close to you and dote on him like he deserves

he's completely shameless his breathy whimpers and gasps

which is great! it's exactly what you want

you want him to feel safe enough to express himself with you, especially during such an intimate setting

he's the most beautiful canvas in the world, and you're going to turn him into your next masterpiece

he's a marked up mess by the end. lovebites litter his inner thighs and upper body, and god forbid you's skimp out on his neck

each one is a physical reminder of the message you want him to carry with him everyday

i love you, jayce talis. don't you ever forget that

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

mirror, mirror on the wall. who's the fairest of them all?

it's viktor

this man would be living off work if he could. he doesn't take the time necessary to just spoil himself, so you're taking matters into your own hands

quite literally

after weeks of contradicting schedules, you both have a couple nights completely free

the floor length mirror had its cloth taken off and now stands opposite your shared bed, gleaming faintly in the dim light

you'd taken off his clothes too, slowly, murmuring praises about each newly revealed part of his body

viktor isn't one to blush, but your words always make a softie out of him

you sit behind him, your legs on either side of his as you two look at your reflections. he wants to look away, but your encouragement keeps him from shying away from the revelation of his naked form

your hands find his, and as the jazz music continues its sensual crescendo, you trail them down down down, letting the tips of his fingers ghost over his skin in a featherlight caress

you're kissing his neck and telling him just how great he's doing and how gorgeous he is, and how much he deserves to see himself from your point of view (i love you chappell roan)

his head is thrown back. his soft brown locks are on your shoulders, shifting slightly with his labored breaths as he finally takes the time to love his body the way you always have, with your steady hands over his, guiding his motions and coaxing him to climax

you see now, viktor? can you see just how beautiful you are to me?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ STEB

i'm sitting here cycling through a myriad of options for him

my first thought was hot springs, but then hmm. gross lowkey. i am a hot springs enjoyer, leave the scenic nature place alone! i berated myself

and then i moved on to a luxury bath

but then i remembered outdoor jacuzzis are a thing, and baths inside in like a house or apartment kind of became boring compared to this

so picture this: outdoor jacuzzi, secluded in the shade of your guys' garden

the giant trees sway in the wind and the sunlight filter through the leaves to create dapples that dance on both your slick skin, your hands on either side of his face as you two move in sync to the slow lapping of the water

he isn't a vocal one, but he has his tells

the way his breath hitches, the half closed eyes, the fluttering his gills when you add extra emphasis on the next roll of your hips

this man's an enforcer (unfortunate)

the stress of work often carries over to other aspects of his life, but he's been trained to remain stoic in the face of adversary

these stolen moments of intimacy are the few times he truly relaxes. be gentle and patient with him, and you'll have him beyond whipped

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VANDER

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like the man of mine and sza's dreams

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like a fucking snorlax

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ SILCO

it's a game of tug-of-war

silco is a drug lord and basically rules the underground. he's not relinquishing power without a fight

crafty wit? physical passion? maybe even a game of chess. you choose

the game changes every time, which he finds refreshing and mentally stimulating

it eventually gets to a point where you're finally given the reins

your neck is covered in hickeys and there are scratches down your back by the time it gets there, but they're routine by then

you didn't leave him unharmed either

you may both be panting from the adrenaline and exhilaration, but the true reward comes from the deprivation of senses you love so much

the blindfold goes over, and silco's yours for however long you want to go tonight

you worship him the same way a feral animal would

it's pure instinct and desperation and hurts so good

the consequences can be felt in full later

when you've had enough of your fun, you finally remove the blindfold and let him see the wreck he's made of you, and you of him

make sure to remind him with extra kisses to the left one that he's the apple of your eye, no matter how rotten

aftercare. duh.

he's gotten his hands on the finest creams and bath oils, so you get cleaned and patched up in luxury. rivals a piltovan spa, really

the settle down from such ferocity to something so tame is the perfect balance for your stormy relationship

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

worshipping ekko is an event that takes place over the course of the entire day

you've planned it down to the letter

similar to vander, he's in charge of so much and takes care of so many people, so you wanted to be the one pampering him for once

breakfast is brought to him in bed, and the watching the sunrise is a relaxing start to the day

here comes a medley of dates

a walk down his favorite street and hitting the shopping district

you insist he get himself something from at least three different stores

then treating him to lunch before heading off on your hoverboards as you guys race through the sky

back home, you'd put together a skincare basket to do together. the whole routine of exfoliate, moisturize, and then the face masks

you talk about the exciting day you just had, fingers intertwined the whole time until it's time to take the masks-and clothes-off

he doesn't let himself relax often, but around you?

completely gone

you make slow, leisurely love, taking every second as a chance to appreciate him, his body, his voice and that brilliant mind of his

everything about him really

as for aftercare, you'd go to the kitchen, and cook a simple meal to enjoy together before falling asleep right in the living room, too tired to trek back to the bedroom

he's the little spoon tonight

you left no room for argument, wanting to be the one to cradle him close to you and make him feel just as safe and protected as he makes you everyday

[sheepispink]

Comforting Warmth

supersoldier!reader x ghost/tf141 (part 7)

cw: mentions of experimentation on kids, nothing explicit though

honourable mentions: ty to @kittygonap & @pythonmoth for some animal ideas. ty to @kittygonap and @silas-aeiou for scents, and @pythonmoth again for a lovely plot idea i wont spoil 😉

A/n: yes i did write 5.9k words in a day, yall deserve it eat up

PREV NEXT

————————

After scarfing down twice your normal breakfast this morning, Soap and Gaz had come by

and nudged you out of bed, handing you an outfit for the day. You’ve never dressed up as a civilian before, having never done an undercover mission, so you’re quite glad they picked it out for you. After all, if it was up to you then it’d be the plain old uniform again. It’s a simple outfit, jeans and a hoodie, and you look into the mirror to find that it weirdly looks like it fits you perfectly. Out of necessity, you neaten up your hair, fixing up the strands that just didn't want to stick no matter what. You’d much rather be on the track than anywhere they had wanted to take you, but after two whole weeks of being stuck in bed, and two weeks before that forced to ‘recuperate’, you’d take absolutely any form of exercise than walking circles around your room.

So, there was understandably a very clear disdain written across your face when you were faced by a car, Gaz ushering you to get into the passenger seat.

“Seatbelt on?”

He asks when you’re settled, in the back since you were quite annoyed about this whole arrangement. His words didn’t amuse you like it once would’ve, instead now staring daggers through the back of his seat. Soap wanted to laugh, and he did at first; they all knew you were increasingly restless as the days carried on. But as you continued, he realised you were in fact quite serious about all of this, face not shifting from its blank look and voice so monotone it could be artificial.

“Yes, I'm not a child.” It’s still a flat statement like before, but this time it even packs a bit of a punch, your eyes naturally shifting away from them towards the window. “Are we going to leave now?” When Price told them you had shifted overnight, they had hoped that meant you were back to talking properly again, but they were not expecting a change this way. “Not so fast. Still waiting on someone.”

The car door across from you opens, cold air washing over you until the seat slightly dips from the weight beside you. “Got caught up with rookies again.” Your teeth grit involuntarily at the gruff voice beside you, not even having to turn to know who sat there. Ghost, of course, noticed immediately when you didn’t turn to look at him, deciding not to comment on it as he strapped himself in. This time he was going to make no mistakes, and as the one person who had read your files in and out practically every night to decipher what he could do better, what they could all improve on, he decided he has to go with you everywhere. It doesn't matter if he trusts the two sergeants with his life– you were his charge, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take that responsibility seriously this time around.

Gaz starts the car, light chatter passing between the three of them whilst you lean your head on the window, staring at the scenery that passes. You’ve only travelled like this a few times before, but never casually. To be honest, you’ve never actually headed to town before either, so this was definitely a day for a lot of firsts. The old you– or rather the real you.. Or the fake you?-- would’ve loved all of this, the spring breeze over your face and the feeling of people who don't look down on you surrounding you. But that’s all different now–you just want this all over and done with, for this pain to leave your system and to go back to normal. You’ll take absolutely anything over this.

“We’re here.” He parks, and you look around noticing that you seem to be in some kind of retail park. There’s not many options, but they do have a diy store and a home furniture one, as well as a few fast food restaurants scattered around. But you weren’t really allowed food as greasy as that—Not that you particularly wanted it anyway; you much prefer the high protein, high carbs diet Soap currently had you on, especially with all the flavourful sauces he seems to find. At first it was cool–discovering all of these things, until you realised just how out of touch you are with society. Who the hell hasn't tried barbecue sauce?

You follow behind the two sergeants besides Ghost, who will not let you walk behind on your own, until they lead you through the home furnishing store all the way to the bedding aisles. There’s long shelves of duvets in different sizes with sheets in a range of colours, feels, and even patterns. Truthfully, you weren't bothered by most things, but with your restlessness the bed sheets really have been getting at you. You never really got a good sleep even before all of this; the duvets were practically the exact same as the infirmary ones, scratchy and thin. And you didn't want anything that symbolizes the infirmary in any way.

So, as much as you didn't exactly want to comply with this, you take the opportunity to actually look at the options, feeling the thickness of each blanket and considering colours for the first time in your life. “This one.” You pull out a thirteen tog duvet, the soft and thick combination drawing you in immediately. Soap tosses it in the basket, and you look at him expectantly, like you’re ready to leave.

“Oh… no, no, yer getting a new everything. C’mon, no one has only one blanket anyway, let's get a throw too, hm?.”

You’re promptly dragged off to another aisle, leaving Ghost and Gaz behind looking at pillows. “They’re not actually.. Angry, right? At us?” Gaz asks, having noticed your closed off attitude and Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t think they’re even capable of that. Everything’s just a bit muddled for them right now–they’re at war with themself.” Gaz nods quietly, trying his best to understand what’s going on with you, but it just seems impossible— every information revealed is more inhumane than the last. He decides to carry on for now, praying that you’ll end up alright in the end.

When you’ve left the store, you have to stop by the car to drop off the heavy bags full of things Soap deemed ‘absolutely necessary for a good night's sleep’ or whatever. You were started to feel a little agitated again, one part of you hating that his words made a little part of you want to laugh, and another part of you angry that you hadn’t screamed and demanded they let you do what you want. Shaking your head, you try to keep those thoughts away and focus on following along as they walk back towards the arrangement of shops.

Though you’re caught off guard when Soap suddenly blurts out something that you did not want in the slightest.

“Price wants me and Gaz to get some super top secret uh…. Boring stuff, ye know? Nothin’ interesting.”

He mumbles, whilst Gaz jabs him in the side with his elbow, muttering something angrily in his ear. “Point is, we should split up. Ghost’s got the rest of the list, and y’know maybe if we get back early, we can..go for a run?” That snaps you into the current moment fast enough, and you’re already turning on your heel, leaving Ghost rolling his eyes at the blatant bribery before he catches up to you.

—-------------

You don’t look at Ghost once, still being indifferent towards him after everything that happened between you. You can't deny that you’re upset, angry even, that his own words had caused you to spiral to a state of no return, just from overhearing one sentence. At first, you were slightly ashamed that you had run solely off an assumption, but then as your mind cleared and you considered it further it was fairly clear that the way he pushed you to the brink of exhaustion solely to please the higher ups was nothing short of inhumane.

But then again, you’re not exactly human. Again, you shake that dangerous thought from your head as you follow Ghost into the.. toy store?

“Why are we here?”

He would have explained it before, but he wants you to ask questions—he needs to bring you out of your current state of indifference before you’re stuck there. He’s read the files; he knows about the past time this happened and he’s nervous that it’ll only grow worse until you’re apathetic too. “Price suggested you try keeping warm at night, a hot water bottle is usually a good way.” He hums, tone noticeably softer in terms of volume but still his eyes are cold as ever, trying to keep his focus and not sink into guilt in front of you. Thankfully, you don’t challenge his answer, intrigued by the thought of a hot water bottle; you’re so used to being just barely comfortable, what if it’s too hot?

Following behind, your eyes are caught onto the colourful displays across the store and the excited laughter of the little children tugging on their parent’s hands, dragging them to their current favourite interest. Your eyes don't leave them, watching a pair of twins get excited over matching figures, whilst their younger sibling is just happy whenever they're grinning. It reminds you of better times, with the other experiments children and all the stupid things you got up to with your wild imaginations. Sometimes you’d pretend that you were really spies, to be given cool gadgets and you’d pretend to ‘escape’ the small room you had been placed in between testing. Every thought was an active effort to not acknowledge the real pain you were all in, and only on one summer day had you all clumped together, needle pricks stinging as you lay beneath the warm sun, leaves slowly falling around. It was the first time you chose to nap instead of playing, but it wasn't the last.

“Reaper? Something wrong? Ghost’s voice immediately snaps you from your thoughts, making you realise you had come to a stop in the middle of the aisle, still staring at the place where the three children had once been. You turn back to him, eyes hazing over just slightly before you convince yourself to knock it out. “No, I just thought I heard something..”

“Right, over here. You gotta pick one out.” There’s not many kids around thankfully— not that your face would’ve shifted much anyway— but he had led you towards what seemed to be a stuffed animal ‘mini factory’, according to the sign. He gestures towards the unstuffed animals lay waiting, all different types with their beaded eyes and soft fur.

“I thought you said a hot water bottle.” You challenge him, looking at him with narrowed eyes as if questioning if he really thought of you to be this childish.

“They fill it with special beads that can be microwaved. Besides, it’s safer and much more comfortable than them.” You seem like you want to question further, and as much as he’d just like to force you to get one, you should be allowed to speak. Since he didn’t let you before.

“Can’t I just get a bottle shaped bag of beads then? What’s the need for the plushies?” He does his best not to sigh, he really does, but you’re making it difficult for him now. How is he going to explain that yes, they totally do see you as an adult, and no, they’re not trying to treat you like a child? You’re already bordering the edge of just turning away now, no he has to think fast— he feels like he’s the one being interrogated.

. “Don’t think it works like that. They do it on purpose to make more money— I mean, this is more appealing than just a plain grey bag.” He holds up one of the premade plushies, a penguin with floppy arms. “See, it’s cute.”

”Then why don't you get one?” Now you’re just trying to piss him off, aren't you?

Ghost lets out a long sigh, turning his back to you for a moment as he places it back down. This is the reason he got into this trouble in the first place. Sure he shouldn’t t have to agree with everything you say, but he can't dismiss you so easily like you were Soap just trying to rile him up. A part of you genuinely meant it, and it was also entirely possible that you didn't even mean to take a jab at him— after all, your state of mind was a total whack after the breakdown, you’re barely figuring out the pieces yourself.

“Could do. Don’t think they make a ghost one unfortunately and it probably wouldn't fit on the bed either.” Finally, you take his answer as satisfactory, shrugging it off as you move to look through the ones available. Though you still don't seem entirely keen on this at all, and he’s slightly worried you won't even bother falling asleep with it at all.

A worker soon comes over, all smiles like they usually are in kid’s shops like this but there’s a faint flicker of fear in her eyes when she looks between Ghost and you. He did contact the store beforehand, explaining the situation as vaguely as possible only to warn not to try any funny business with you at all. “Welcome to our mini factory! Anything you two are interested in?”

Your eyes snap up, a little too fast and you have to forcefully settle yourself to not seem intimidating to the new person. Thankfully the scratches on your face had cleared up, leaving the naive face behind that Ghost had once hated. You looked hesitant to speak though not quite shy, and you looked at Ghost’s way for once, having usually avoided his gaze. His chest ached with guilt though, knowing he had controlled you in such a way before in which you could barely speak for yourself, but he was wondering if this meant you still thought of him as your ward to some degree. Though, the way you looked at him was almost a test, asking if he’d continue with his old ways or not. Either way, the point is that you’re allowed to ask your questions now, and so he gives you a nod.

“Do you have any plain ones?” Damnit, maybe he shouldn't have given you freedom of speech just so quickly.

The worker pauses, not usually asked for things like that but eventually shakes her head as Ghost motions a no simply by the harsh look in his eyes. “Well, originally the company started out like that! But as more customers came they asked for different designs and options, so we decided on animals!” It makes sense to you, at least partially. You can't exactly question her words when you barely know anything about the outside world yourself. “So, any animal in particular you’d like?” Before you could respond, Ghost had walked off and returned with a fox shaped plush, black beaded eyes and pointy ears. It made something in your chest flare and definitely not in a good way. “No. I don't need another.” It’s monotone, blank, but it’s sharper than usual, and the way you turn away from him is enough to prove that it’s your final decision.

Seeing as you looked pretty content with talking quietly to the worker, he decided to leave you alone for a while, giving you space before he went ahead and ruined anything else. Besides, they’d been allocated so much budget for your care that this wouldn’t change a thing in the bank even if you bought ten. Soon enough you’re walking over to the machine with the lady, still looking a little conflicted as you hold two of the empty animals. A wolf, and an eagle. The former has a tuft of fur on its head, and a mischievous looking face, whilst the latter had long wings and a determined demeanour. That gives Ghost dèja vu for a moment.

He’s happy to see that you’re intrigued by the process, even going as far as to help the lady when she shows you how to stuff the animals, the large machine pushing the filling through a tube. “Wait.” You’re about to fill the eagle when Ghost cuts in, making you both stop to a halt. “These instead.” It’s the heavier type of beads, similar to the feeling of a weighted blanket. You had denied one in the store, but he wouldn't let you escape it now, not when they said they’d try everything to get you sleeping normally again. The worker doesn't complain, switching to the other machine, and you help again, filling the eagle up until it’s a comfortable weight in your hands.

“So.. Do you wanna add a heartbeat? Our customers love this add on!” It’s shaped like a heart, a small electronic covered by felt, and it pulses on your hands as you hold it, testing out the feel. To be honest, it makes you feel rather uneasy, and almost strange but Ghost speaks for you this time. “We’ll have one with the heartbeat.”

“What?”

He looks down at you, noticing your questioning of his sudden decision. “It’s all or nothing, you heard the Captain.”

So reluctantly, the wolf gets stuffed with the heart beat, and then the worker turns to you again. “Alright, and any scents too? We have some here and oh— we have a new batch in the back, i’ll grab them!” She hurries off through the warehouse, whilst silence hangs between the two of you. You pick up the scent testers available, curious, until you stop on lavender. Weirdly enough, you’ve never actually seen the flower before, only knowing the scent, and you’re not surprised it’s purple. It’s been years since you’ve smelt it properly, the lingering scent on the small fox plush having faded out to a mere thought now, especially since Gaz fixed it up. Will it smell just as comforting? Will it smell different?

You lift it to your nose, immediately hit with the powerful yet calm scent, exaggerated for the purpose of the stuffed toy. It’s so strong it feels like you’re back in that medical room, the young intern before you as you clutch the sheets desperately. His face is a blur, in fact most of his attire is, but you remember his words and the touch of his hand as he clutched your weaker one. It was near impossible to forget the great pain you had been in that day, having been pushed to your limits and left twitching, but somehow you had forgotten him.

Until now you had failed to remember that someone had been there for you first, and he had promised you a future of happiness. For a while you put your hope in him, letting him hold your hands, soothe you to rest and help you walk around your room again. The story isn't quite the same as when you last recalled it, stuck in that cabin with the threat lingering near. He hadn't been there the weeks before you had been sent off to Ghost, no, but you wished he had. For four whole years after his mysterious disappearance, you held that fox tight, begged and pleaded for him to come back to you, to soothe you again. But he never came, and even though the nurse had broken the news to you, you had refused to believe their words. Until they brainwashed it out of you, well most of the memories anyway, so you had forgotten practically everything, until now.

Until the scent returned.

It did not only bring back good memories though, because, with each visit from him, you had always been in some sort of pain prior. Experiments, rough handling, forced exercises to strain yourself, or even sliced into, crimson coating your skin. Instead of hurting, it overwhelms you, the sudden barrage of thoughts and experiences, all that made you the person you were today. You’ve lost so much of yourself over the years, and this probably is only a quarter of it, but still it feels so so good, and yet horrifying at the same time. Again, it’s the same feeling as before, like your body was in a battle with itself. Your head wanted to push it all down, beg for those memories to stay sealed by healed incisions and faded scars, but your heart yearned for otherwise. It needs to know, to feel and live through every emotion that’s been shoved down, and for a mere second it gets that freedom— pure joy swelling your heart until anger fills it, for everything the scientists have done to you, to the younger kids there, to all of your innocence. Soon it shifts to fear, one that’s already been creeping through, before it becomes jealousy, when you didn't understand why the other kids got to play freely whilst you went under anesthesia again, on that cold table for another day. Finally, it’s the sadness that’s lingered near every day since you became aware of your true purpose. Pure misery that lingers in the soul.

And then it’s gone, as fast as it came.

—-----------------------------------

Your eyes blink to a strange feeling, having been positive that you were just in that stupid ‘mini factory’ place, and not still in the car. Something rests beneath your head, like when you used the window as a temporary pillow, watching nature pass. But this isn't that now, and you haven't gone back in time, so you must’ve gone forward. Confused, you attempt to move, only to find you can’t, trapped in your own body like you’re.. paralysed. Fear spikes your heart, unable to even move your head until you hear a low noise, rumbling near your ear. It’s a pulse, a steady one that rises and falls with soft breaths..

“Reaper, you awake?” You’re not sure if you’re better off paralysed or not because that’s definitely not the voice you wanted to wake up too. What if all of that had been a dream..? Everything was still hazy, and you couldn't even make out the shape of the steering wheel or the music playing low from the radio; so what would happen if this really was all some stupid figment in your head again?

Something moves against you, fingers that were once resting against your back moving upwards to tap you gently. Brown eyes follow, leaning down to peer into your open ones, as if testing you somehow. “You blanked out when you had smelt that scent.” His voice is lower, quieter than usual in a somewhat crappy attempt to soothe you. Though you could at least tell that he knew what was wrong here–he was the last person you wanted to be leaning against after practically losing yourself again. “Went totally still too, had to muster up some excuse to the worker before getting those other idiots to take over..” Even though he wants to stay with the same dry tone as usual, he can't, involuntarily trailing off as he looks down at you again. “You wanna sit upright?”

You don't answer, because you can't, still stuck within your own body like an intruder. It scares you slightly, you know sometimes that your body thinks your organs aren't actually yours, and so it attacks them. And just now you’d been so conflicted with yourself… what if you had been kicked out of yourself? Was that even possible?

“Hey–you gotta speak to me.” He murmurs, but not nearly as stern as he’d be with anyone usually. Your eyes are darting around frantically, as if searching for something and he can't help but grow even more concerned at your ongoing silence. Even more worrying, you haven't moved once, not even a twitch. “Can you hear me?” He asks a little louder out, and you still don't reply but your eyes snap up to him immediately. Well that’s good

“Can you move? Look right for yes, other way for no.” He watches as you look left, his brows narrowing as he carefully adjusts his hands around you, one of them rubbing your shoulders slowly. “It’s a trauma response, I'm guessing something suddenly startled your brain when you blanked out,” Your eyes are still darting, occasionally looking up at him but at least you can move your eyelids to blink. He just needs to calm you. “Alright– do you want me to sit you upright?” He watches your pupil shift to the right, and his hands carefully lift you upwards, your head away from his side and leaves you resting back against the seat, tilted slightly towards the car door.

The first sign is the long gasp you let out, your eyes blinking longer until your head finally moves, looking around properly. Then you pull yourself straight, hands rubbing at your face as you push through the blurry haze and back to reality.

“Y’alright there Reaper? Heard what happened, doesnt sound too good.” The car door had opened, Soap’s mohawk brushing against the ceiling of the car as he climbed into the passenger seat, looking back at you in concern. He glances at Ghost, who gives him a look and then over to Gaz who’s climbing into the back, having just swapped seats with Ghost. However, they all freeze when you let out a small noise, almost like you’re choking on air itself.

“Deep breaths, okay? Look at me– look at me.” Ghost is already in the backseat again, his hands on your arms as he pulls them away from your chest, watching as you breathe frantically, eyes unfocused. “Can’t–”

“Yes you can.” He’s firm this time, almost commanding and you take in a long breath, before exhaling it just as deeply. Again, he instructs you, over and over until your hands are just trembling on your lap, held down by him before you attack yourself again, like you had done for months prior. They squirm against his large palms but he insists, keeping them far from you. “Look at me.” Finally, your eyes snap up to him, pupils frantic and darting around, but they find no solace in his empty face, unable to calm themselves in someone who looks like death themselves.

He curses loudly as your pulse screams against his hands, your eyes frozen on his, whilst Gaz sticks the key into the ignition, waiting for some family to pass by so he can pull out of the parking lot. Ghost is running out of options, especially as your hands are trying harder to break free, unable to fight off the urge to tear into yourself. He can tell you’re overwhelmed, the squint of your eyes showing that you’re trying to fight against yourself. So he does the next best thing possible to keep your eyes on him.

One hand leaves yours, allowing you to finally ease that urge, to attack relentlessly at yourself just to rid of the hatred caused by everything you’ve come to feel in the past hour. Your nails are perfectly blunt but they’ll work, you’ll make it work if it means your heart will stop trying to come out of your throat. You look up on instinct, fingers curled into your hair when you are suddenly still at the sight before you.

Blonde eyelashes, yes, but also the curve of a nose, the wrinkles of concern in a forehead and the parting of worried lips. Unmasked, emotions written in the hitch of his Adam's apple and cheeks paled, faded marks etched into them like a scripture lost to time. You pause to stare, the sight enough to let your hands drop down into his, and for your own face to relax. It’s the same expression you wore when you first met him, oddly curious and strangely naive.

He lets out a long sigh and doesn't wait another second to strap you in while you’re still distracted, promptly tugging you into his side along with one hand to cover your own just in case you get the slightest itch again. “Think it’s time we get home now.” The two sergeants are slightly shocked themselves, despite already seeing his face many times before. “Right… um, buckle up.” Gaz mumbles, finally pulling out and heading through the greenery back to base.

—------------------------------------------------

You had slumped against his side for the rest of that journey; whether you wanted it or not you’re not really sure,but you definitely needed it. The drive back had helped you clear your mind as well as the generally quiet atmosphere, apart from the occasional talking, and now you’d finally returned to your room. Soap had unloaded the first haul of things from the car, only letting you carry a few bedsheets, and brought it to your room. They had painted the walls the day prior, making it a lot brighter with a simple light blue, something you had chosen given how intrigued you were by the sea the first time you saw it. Plus, it didn't hurt your eyes to look at either.

“You sure yer alrigh’ on yer own?” He asks, genuine worry written on his face but you really needed some time to process all of this.

—

You pull off the last pillow case cover, discarding the worn material to the corner where the rest are piled up already. First of all, you couldnt remember half of the things that happened after you smelt that lavender card. It was weird, you remembered everything you felt during the moment, the raw intensity but absolutely nothing that followed after. Almost as if you were never meant to know at all.

And had Ghost really dragged you out of the shop? It seemed impossible that you could get that preoccupied, but seeing as how you are after extreme levels of stress in the evac vehicles, it makes sense the same thing could occur. Even you can't deny that everything has been way too overwhelming recently, from the seizure to the panic you went through earlier today, it felt like all your past problems were amplified.

As exhausted as you were from everything that happened, you couldn't help but feel strange knowing that for once in your life, you didn't suffer alone through that episode. It’s terrifying every single time, and it would’ve been much easier to deal with if Ghost had just commanded you to stop. But he had chosen the safer route for you, and the more difficult one for him. It felt wrong seeing his face like that, in a time of your own desperation, but it was his choice at the end of the day and a small part of you really hopes it was actually to help you.

Not just to shut you up.

Regardless, you may have not originally wanted to go on this trip but you came out of it feeling strangely lighter, the hole that normally eats at your chest feeling oddly satisfied today. Maybe it won't tomorrow, but for now you don't want to think too hard on the specifics. You can just accept it this time.

———-

Evening comes quickly, and he knows the sergeants had brought you to eat dinner in the mess hall. It was always good to see you up and around, but he had matters to discuss with Price considering the plan forward, potential involvement in missions. The higher ups were satiated by the golden results produced by you before your painful breakdown, but they’d start getting suspicious by the lack of results depending how long they left this. That’s not exactly a current issue though, and the conversation was more of a report for how you were doing today.

Ghost makes sure to stop by the common room before he checks on you tonight, the microwave whirring softly. You’ve still had steady nightmares all week, and also never go into detail about what they include nor do you go to them about it either. It frustrates him slightly, since he wants to know every occurence and understand the patterns and so, but he knows he can't push this. He doesn't have the right.

—

“Reaper? Fallen asleep yet?” You’re laying in bed, exhausted out of your mind from the day’s events and the episode earlier. Eyes drooped as usual but, just like other nights, you were in a half haze between awake and asleep. He’s not sure if it was something to do with being afraid of having more nightmares, or simply insomnia, but either way you wouldn’t ever give a proper answer.

“..No.” It’s less monotone this time, quiet and soft as you lay beneath your brand new duvet, head sunken into the soft pillows. This is heaven for you, if you’re being completely honest but something still keeps you up, mind whirring.

“That’s ‘cause you forgot these.” You’re staring at the bedsheets, not bothered with whatever method he wants to try today, when the two plushies are tucked in right beside you. A wolf with it’s stupid tufts of fur on it’s head and a.. scottish flag? Ghost stifles his chuckle at your sleepy confusion, pulling the blanket a little higher over you. “I left the sergeants to buy it after you conked out. Soap had a bit of fun with the accessories.”

Your fingers graze over the little flag playfully tied over the wolf’s shoulders like a cape, the soft material rubbing against your raw hands from the struggling. Then your gaze shifts to the eagle, which has a matching cap like Gaz’s, along with a makeshift dog tag hung around its neck. You like it, a lot actually, it’s soft and fuzzy, similar to how the fox plushie used to be. Unfortunately it’s practically all matted now.

Both of them are warm through and through, the beads inside providing a comforting heat that feels like a hug… similar to the one Price gave you before. What gets you the most is the scent though; the eagle has an orangey citrus but the tang is cut off with notes of pine It hits you straight away like the lavender but it’s calming this time, like switching your brain off. Although the wolf has a different one, like freshly cut grass, seasalt and wood. The combination makes your head swim, quelling the thoughts that had once contaminated it, and even the weight of the eagle’s heavy beads forces the breath you’ve been keeping in for too long out of you.

But just as you’re settling, Ghost reaches forward, gently pressing the chest of the wolf. A soft pulse vibrates against you, muffled yet so present.

He leans against the door as your eyes flicker shut, content by the stuffed animals tucked beside you. Your breaths even out quickly too, expression practically melting as you give into the exhaustion that’s eaten you up for a month and a half now.

It had been years ago, but he had once talked to a K9 handler, one who had the responsibility of temporarily looking after some vulnerable pups after they had been found on the field. “They miss their parents a lot.” The man had said, carrying the puppy in his arms as it wriggled and squirmed.

“But you know what trick always works? Something warm— a hot water bottle maybe. Stick an old timer beneath it and it imitates the mother. They knock out every time.”

The man had chuckled, and just as he said, the puppy had fallen asleep instantly, feeling safe and content where it lay.

———————————

NEXT

support me on kofi!

tags:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay @fasoaurore @starfish-sandwich @arael-asuka @pinkpickle @toxicgutz69 @pythonmoth @harmonycricket @sneezypandu @ctrlofurheart @ssc7514 @terrifiedanimegirl @rayrayyio @silas-aeiou @uhhevie @enfppuff @sirbonesly @nobodycanknoww @bitchyzombienacho @justdamnpeachy @harley101399 @w1theredr0se @whoisnthere @lexi2005 @nnsissys @el-salt @ttznlett @thebumbqueen @thriving-n-jiving @fluffysmiko @vioxsoo @alex1011sdzfgh @honestlymassivetrash @defronix @eclipsedcherry @thatpersonnamedrook @mortem-writes @2bdamnedmadnesscombat @princessiris147 @taylorrrig @tessakate @faeriepigeons @blackhawkfanatic @cryingpages

[dumb-ster-fire]

Azriel x fem!Reader - Between Shadow and Sunlight - Part 1

Azriel x fem!reader , Helion x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N has always danced around the tension with Azriel—but how much longer can he deny it? When Helion pulls her into his arms at a Day Court ball, Azriel tells himself it doesn’t matter. But as he watches her laugh, watches Helion’s hands linger, jealousy coils tight. Shadows stir, and for the first time, Y/N wonders if Azriel will finally stop running from what’s always been there between them.

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helion watches Y/N with open fascination, a slow smirk curving his lips as they move together across the dance floor. He had expected her to be intriguing—after all, anyone who kept company with the Night Court’s infamous inner circle had to be remarkable in some way—but this… This was beyond what he had imagined.

She moves like she was born for this, like she’s always known the rhythm of power and seduction, her steps fluid, deliberate, exuding an effortless confidence that most could only dream of. There is fire beneath her cool exterior, a carefully restrained power, and Helion—lover of knowledge, of untold secrets—wants to unravel her, to see what lies beneath that wicked smirk and knowing gaze.

His thumb brushes the back of her hand as he twirls her, and he notices the way her eyes glint—sharp, amused, like she knows exactly what game he’s playing and has already decided whether or not to indulge him. Smart girl.

“The Inner Circle has been keeping secrets, I see,” he murmurs, his deep voice rich with amusement. “No one told me the Night Court had such a hidden gem.”

Y/N tilts her head, an almost lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe they didn’t think you were worthy of knowing.”

Helion chuckles, utterly delighted. Oh, she is sharp. His eyes gleam with intrigue. “Then I should count myself lucky to be standing here now. And luckier still that you haven’t yet decided to put me in my place.”

Y/N hums as they turn across the floor, her silvery gown catching the light like liquid moonlight. “Oh, I’m still deciding.”

Helion throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and unabashed. She is a storm wrapped in silk, a force as deadly as it is mesmerizing, and Helion—who has danced with queens and whispered to goddesses—feels something rare stir in his chest. Not possession, not conquest, but pure, unfiltered appreciation.

He had met many powerful women, had adored and worshiped them as they deserved, but there was something different about this one. Not just power—no, power was easy to find. It was the way she carried it. The way she wielded it with no need to prove herself, no need to demand attention, because she simply was.

Helion’s golden eyes flicker toward the Night Court’s table, where shadows curl and shift around a familiar figure watching them intently.

Ah.

A knowing smile ghosts across Helion’s lips. So, the shadowsinger watches. He had wondered what kind of claim, if any, Azriel had on this female. The unreadable spymaster, who gave away nothing, is not unreadable now.

Fascinating.

Helion leans in slightly, his breath warm against YN’s ear as he murmurs, “Tell me, starlight—do the shadows know how close you dance with the sun?”

Y/N laughs softly, not missing the way he angles his body, deliberate in his teasing. But she is no blushing courtier, no wilting flower wilting under golden heat. She meets his gaze with that same knowing smirk. “The shadows are always watching,” she muses, voice silken. “But the sun should be careful… Linger too close, and it might find itself eclipsed.”

Helion grins, utterly enthralled. Oh, this one is dangerous. And gods, if he doesn’t love it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the dance nears its end, Helion twirls Y/N one last time before pulling her back to him with a practiced ease, their movements seamless, almost as if they had done this a hundred times before. The music slows, and for a brief moment, the world seems to quiet around them, leaving only the golden warmth of the Day Court High Lord and the cool, sharp brilliance of the High Fae before him.

Helion studies her with open admiration, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand before he finally releases her. “A rare delight, indeed,” he murmurs, offering her a dazzling smile. “Perhaps, next time, you’ll allow me more than just one dance.”

Y/N arches a brow, tilting her head as if considering his words. Then, with an infuriatingly slow smirk, she leans in just enough that he catches the intoxicating scent of dark cherries and lilac. “Perhaps,” she echoes, voice like velvet and shadow. “If you can keep up.”

Helion laughs, the sound deep and rich, utterly delighted. “Oh, starlight, I do love a challenge.”

With a final glance—one that is equal parts intrigue and mischief—Y/N steps back, turning on her heel with effortless grace, leaving Helion watching after her with something almost akin to reverence.

He is still smirking as he makes his way back to his table, golden eyes flickering toward the Night Court’s usual corner of the ballroom. Cassian and Mor are murmuring amongst themselves, Feyre and Rhys are watching Y/N with quiet amusement, and Azriel—ah, Azriel—is still seated, his fingers lightly gripping the stem of his untouched wine glass.

Helion catches the spymaster’s stare, unreadable and dark, shadows curling protectively at his shoulders. A lesser male might have been intimidated by such an expression. But Helion is anything but lesser.

So he smirks. Raises his glass ever so slightly in a silent toast.

And Azriel… does nothing. He doesn’t react, doesn’t shift, doesn’t move a single muscle. But the shadows? They do. They curl tighter, darker, whispering things Helion cannot hear.

Oh, Helion muses as he takes a slow sip of wine. This is going to be very interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Y/N steps away from Helion, the Inner Circle erupts into hushed murmurs.

Cassian is the first to break the silence, his arms crossed over his chest as he grins. “Well, well, well. Y/N really knows how to make an entrance and an impression.”

Mor snorts, taking a sip of her wine. “Did you see his face? I don’t think Helion has been that enchanted in centuries.”

Feyre hums in agreement, her lips twitching. “It’s not often someone manages to leave him wanting more.”

Rhysand, ever the picture of cool amusement, merely watches Y/N from across the ballroom, swirling his wine lazily in his glass. “Helion’s intrigued,” he muses, his violet eyes gleaming with something knowing. “Not that I blame him. Our Y/N is… something else.”

Nesta, seated beside Cassian, raises an elegant brow. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Amren chuckles, sharp and knowing. “It isn’t. But it is entertaining.”

Elain, ever observant, glances at Azriel, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. His posture remains relaxed, but she doesn’t miss the way his grip tightens ever so slightly around the stem of his glass, his shadows coiling restlessly at his shoulders.

Mor notices too, her golden-brown eyes flicking to him. “Az, you alright there?”

Azriel doesn’t look away from Y/N. Doesn’t even blink. “Fine.”

Cassian smirks, nudging his friend’s arm. “You sure? You look like you want to shadow-walk over there and drag her away.”

Azriel finally tears his gaze away from Y/N and pins Cassian with a flat look. “If I wanted to do that, I would have already.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.”

Mor, never one to let an opportunity for mischief slip by, leans in toward Azriel with a wicked grin. “You could just ask her for the next dance, you know.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, merely tilts his glass to his lips.

Rhys chuckles, clearly enjoying the entire situation far too much. “Ah, but then where’s the fun in that? I think our dear spymaster enjoys the slow burn.”

Y/N, unaware of the attention still on her, finally makes her way toward them, a victorious little smirk still playing on her lips. “Did you all have fun watching?”

Cassian lets out a bark of laughter. “You were practically putting on a show.”

Y/N shrugs, completely unbothered. “Helion’s entertaining.” Then, casually, “And a good dancer.”

Azriel, who had just taken another sip of wine, sets his glass down with a little more force than necessary.

Mor barely holds back a laugh. “Oh, this is fun.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N settles into an empty chair, crossing one leg over the other as she picks up a glass of wine from the table. She takes a slow sip, her smirk deepening as she feels the weight of everyone’s eyes on her—especially one pair in particular.

Cassian, ever the instigator, leans forward on his elbows. “So, how was it?”

Y/N swirls the wine in her glass, pretending to consider. “Mmm… smooth. Confident.” She grins. “He knows how to lead.”

Azriel doesn’t react outwardly, but Mor—who has been watching him like a hawk—catches the slightest twitch in his jaw.

Rhys lifts a brow, his amusement only growing. “And yet, here you are, sitting with us instead of twirling around the ballroom with Helion.”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder, her gaze flicking briefly—deliberately—to Azriel. “I prefer a more… challenging dance partner.”

Azriel, to his credit, meets her stare with an unreadable expression. His shadows, however, betray him—coiling subtly at his back, shifting like restless smoke.

Mor presses a hand to her mouth to hide her grin.

Nesta smirks into her drink. “I’d say you have your pick of dance partners, Y/N.”

Cassian nudges Azriel—not hard, just enough to be obnoxious. “Yeah, maybe someone here should take the hint.”

Azriel finally speaks, his voice smooth, unwavering. “Are you asking, Y/N?”

A challenge.

Y/N tilts her head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Are you offering?”

The tension between them tightens like a drawn bowstring. A flicker of something dark and unreadable flashes through Azriel’s hazel eyes.

Rhys chuckles, shaking his head. “Careful, shadowsinger. She plays dangerous games.”

Azriel doesn’t look away from Y/N. “So do I.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Y/N’s lips. “Good.”

Cassian whistles low, leaning back in his chair. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Mor just grins. “Oh, it’s been interesting for a while.”

[decojellyfish]

Whimper

Hi everypony! This is the official part 2 of Bite!

You guys have no idea how much I appreciate all the love I've been getting for my past fics! Thank you all so much :)

------ Hybrid AU! TF141

Retired Fight Dog! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst to fluff

Warnings: Very brief/occasional swearing, mentions of self-hatred and depression

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Come Wander with Me - Jeff Alexander" 0:09 ━●────────── 2:47 ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

───♡───────────── Beginning It had been a week since you’d run away from the Price household. You couldn’t bring yourself to ever turn around, to ever look back at the house. You temporarily returned to your old lifestyle, hiding in the shadowy alleyways, dumpster diving for food, etc. But as the days passed, the guilt and shame would eat away at you. Your portions of garbage food would grow smaller and smaller before you gave up on eating altogether.

Any kind of food, no matter how clean or rotten it was, never felt like it was deserved. You would rot away in a pool of disgrace, staring up at the sky. Whether it was the middle of the day or two in the morning, you were lying in a dirty alley and gazing at the never-ending sky. You couldn’t even retreat to your happy place, it was corrupted now. Whenever you tried to run into escapism, you were abruptly snatched back into reality as images of your attack flashed across your mind.

You weren’t deserving of your happy place anyway. You were given a chance to live in a warm home, warm fresh food whenever you wanted it, clean clothes, and even a bath. And you threw it all away because you were too scared, you couldn’t escape the past. You would rather stay willfully trapped in the past than lean into the future’s welcoming arms. You had practically slapped the future in the face. Spit in its face, even.

You couldn’t go back there, not after what you did.

The boys had been looking for you, any chance they had. You knew this because you had close run-ins with them before you would run as far away as you could from your current alleyway. You were right back where you started—square one. You hated square one, but now, you felt like you deserved to be permanently chained to it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Price household was barely holding it together. That faithful afternoon, when Price and Gaz returned from their trip to the grocery store. Price had worried he left the door open, then seeing Soap’s patched-up state and Ghost residing on the couch, his head in his hands. Until that is when Ghost and Soap retold what happened. Albeit, Soap interrupting constantly with tears in his eyes.

He felt that it was all his fault. He was the one who reached out to you, violating your comfort zone without even realizing it. Soap just wanted to scoop you up in a tight bear hug, with your consent, and apologize to you over and over again. None of them knew where you were. Your scent was hard to track down, even for Soap or Ghost. Nevertheless, they would all look for you whenever they were out. Sometimes even Gaz would stay up late, ruining his sleep routine as he stared out the window, hoping he could see you in the distance.

He never did, but that didn’t make him give up. When he came back home from the grocery store that day, Gaz was so excited to share his favorite treats with you. The box of treats remained on the countertop, waiting to be opened. Gaz was waiting for you to come home to open it, like a welcome (back) home surprise.

Even Price would lay awake at night, wondering where you were. Which alley you were in, what you had found to eat. Sometimes he would wonder if you were even alive at this point. The first place he thought to check was the pound, maybe you’d turn yourself in. Next, he checked the shelter, maybe you were brought there. But alas, you were nowhere to be found.

Ghost was even starting to sneak out at night, patrolling the area for any sign of you. Soap would often tag along with him, he felt that since he was responsible for your departure, he was equally responsible for seeking you out and bringing you back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The sun was beginning to rise. The sky, hour by hour, gradually brightened up from dark indigo to light blue. It had been nearly two weeks since your sudden escape. You were sure that you were far away from the Price household, maybe even a town away from them. Waiting for the day to pass again like it had the other ones, your monotonous schedule was interrupted by a little sound. A little ‘clink’.

Looking over, you saw an ivory plate with four treats on it. You looked up, finding the perpetrator who dared to give you food. It was a woman, she looked kind. But you felt that her kindness was deserved elsewhere, maybe for another hybrid that didn’t fuck up the chances the universe gave them.

“Go on, sweetie.” She smiled at you, “It’s okay to eat, you look hungry.” She was knelt by your seated form, showing no signs of leaving. After nearly thirty minutes of just staring at the woman, the plate of treats, and a spot on the sidewalk, you hesitantly approached the plate. Grabbing a treat, you looked up at her, almost as if wanting her approval. “There you go, eat up.” Her voice was like a campfire, warm and safe.

You had slowly eaten all the treats and now, were following the woman like a lost puppy. Well, you kind of were one. Only that you were willfully lost. Your sunken eyes followed her as she walked up the few steps of a hybrid shelter.

Staying at the bottom of the stairs, you looked up at her as you began to protest. “Oh, no, I- I don’t need a home…” “Well of course you do, lovie.” She smiled down at you, not understanding what was going on in your head. Of course, everyone needs a home, it’s just that you were a bad pup. Bad pups don’t deserve homes or food. You only ate the food she offered you because she wouldn’t leave you alone.

“C’mon, pup, it’d nothing to be scared of. Everyone is deserving of a warm place.” She smiled down at you, quickly trotting down the steps and grasping your hand. Despite your constant protests and objections, she pulled you into the building and you were suddenly hit with so many smells of different hybrids. It was overwhelming, you wanted to leave more than you already did. But you were now in the custody of the shelter, there was no getting away now.

At the shelter, you didn’t do much. You didn’t do anything. You never left your cage, you always had your back turned to everyone but the wall, even when sleeping. Even in captivity, you didn’t eat, didn’t play, and you never communicated. There was even a rumor around the shelter that you didn’t have a voice or face. That was only with the new members, though. It’d been another week since you were brought here, and you were growing more and more hopeless by the day.

Why? Why was the universe giving you more and more chances? You’d only end up throwing them away, why wasn’t the all-knowing universe catching on?

You didn’t get it. You didn’t get why they kept trying to feed you, replacing the uneaten food in your bowl with new food. Food that would also stay uneaten. You didn’t get why they made sure you drank at least a little water each day. You didn’t get why they cared. Why did they care about you so much?

Why did they care so much about someone who threw away every chance they got, because they couldn’t trust anything supposedly good in this world?

You had grown quiet. What was once a fearsome fighter dog, one that was well known for their vigor and bloodthirst, was now a meek little pup. Scared, not knowing what they did to deserve this life, this pain, this distrust of every single being around them. You would find yourself getting angry again, angry that you didn’t get a cozy life like the other pups, and when you were offered one, you ran away.

Bad pup. Bad pup. Bad pup. It repeated in your head like some twisted earworm that had engraved its home into your brain.

Unfortunately, your only outlet for this anger was your tears. But you didn’t want anyone to hear your suffering. You still wanted to be seen as a scary fighter. So you waited till everyone in the shelter was asleep, this meant everyone, so you would end up waiting till three or four in the morning to just silently cry your heart out.

You would grip at your hair and the clothes you still got from Price, and you would sometimes clutch your entire face as you desperately hid it to muffle your sobs and hiccups. You would cry for an hour or two, then you would be asleep by sunrise. It was your little routine by now. Hey, at least that meant you were getting used to this place.

Sometimes, there were nights when you would cry harder than other nights. Mostly ones where a hybrid was adopted, a constant reminder as to how unwanted you were, or the ones where you couldn’t stop the constant flashes of your past fights. All of them. Ones with actual fighter dogs, ones with domesticated dogs that were just trying to live their lives, and Soap. None of them deserved what you did, not even the fighters that wounded you that you ended up wounding back just as harshly if not, worse. They didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. Soap didn’t deserve to be the victim of your outburst. No one did.

You didn’t deserve this life, you didn’t deserve to be a bad pup. You didn’t want to be a bad pup anymore. You would desperately cry out to the universe, in your head, that you didn’t want to be a bad pup anymore. You wanted to be a good pup. You wanted to play in the park with other dogs, you wanted to have a bath every week, to go on walks, to eat your favorite treats, to wear your own clothes that didn’t have holes from rotting away. To have a kind owner.

You wanted Price. You wanted Gaz, and Soap, and Ghost. You wanted to take back that chance, you would plead every night to get it back.

But as much as you wanted to get that chance back, it didn’t come.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price never stopped his search. None of the boys did. But while the boys would sleep throughout the night, Price was now spending his time in bed constantly searching for any sign of you on his computer.

Finally, he came across a photo of you. He had to do a double-take when he saw the date of the photo. It was recent, and you were still wearing the t-shirt from your first day at the home. He had to make sure he didn’t wake up any of the boys with the slight cry of joy and relief he let out at the revelation that you were safe and in a shelter.

He made sure to save the address of where you were. It surprised him that you were so far from his home, but he was happy you looked like you were safe at the moment.

That morning, Price was up and early. Already dressed, he began to cook breakfast for his boys. They all had their morning routine of having breakfast and usually chatting with each other. Gaz and Soap, however, had grown quiet the past few weeks. Price and Ghost could tell they were heavily affected by your disappearance, Soap was more guilty than Gaz was saddened as well as missing you.

Price would interrupt the difficult silence that they’d all grown accustomed to with a clearing of his throat. “I’ll be out for a while today. I’ll be visiting an old friend.” He didn’t want to say who he was seeing specifically as that would make all the pups want to come with him. It would overwhelm you if all the dogs came in with him just to see you. He knew you would need a slow reintroduction to the idea of becoming domesticated.

A few murmurs of acknowledgment made their way around the table as the boys ate their breakfast. It was clear they were all trapped in their heads, stuck in their thoughts.

An hour later, Price got in his car and drove to the shelter where you currently resided.

He stepped into the building, already beginning his search for you again. He looked at each cage, wondering which one you were in. It wasn’t until he had finally caught a glimpse of a familiar t-shirt that he let out a sigh of relief. Kneeling by your cage, he carefully watched your back slowly rise and fall with each breath you took. He could vividly imagine the empty look on your face, how you were trapped in your head and stuck with your thoughts.

Price couldn’t blame you for wanting to be alone, he could sense the guilt dripping off of your curled-up form.

“Hey there, pup.” He spoke softly, you could hear a little smile in his voice too. You couldn’t help yourself, you looked over your shoulder at his gruff face. You did it so quickly that it made Price chuckle a bit, “Yes, it’s me. The old man.” He joked, running a hand over his facial hair. You stayed quiet, your head returning to its original position of staring at the back of your cage.

Letting out a little sigh, Price got slightly comfortable by your cage. “...the boys and I, we- we’ve missed you. We’ve been lookin’ all over town for you…” He continued to speak with a soft tone, his voice almost like a gentle, forgiving embrace. “I wanted to let you know that- we’re not mad at you. Nobody is, not even Soap. He misses you, I think, the most.” He laughed a little. “I know you’re scared, pup, I don’t blame you. You and the boys came from a very scary and cruel place. I’ve seen, multiple times, what that kind of life can do to a dog.”

Looking over at you, Price took in your tired appearance. “What you did… yes, it was bad. But you were scared. You did what you felt was necessary to protect you.” He paused. “Soap feels guilty himself, he didn’t mean to set you off. And he wants nothing more than to apologize for himself, and forgive you too.”

“He wants nothing more than to keep you safe. You know, he’s already been going on and on about being your guard dog when going on walks and at the park.” He laughed a little, looking over at you again.

That made you think to yourself. Soap wanted to protect you. Soap, the dog that you violently attacked in a fit of fight or flight senses that flooded your brain at that moment. It made you feel even more guilty, causing you to clutch at your shirt as a form of biting back the tears that were forming in your eyes.

“Now, you have every right to answer this question however you please, okay?” He looked at you, noticing how you looked over at him again, a subtle sense of curiosity in your dull eyes.

“Would you like a second chance to come back home?”

You were riddled with embarrassment as you followed Price out of the shelter, your tail could not stop wagging. And it was wagging hard. Your tough exterior was being betrayed by your brain, directly wired to your tail and making it wag like you had just one first place at a dog show.

It didn’t stop even when you were seated in Price’s car, audibly swishing against the material of the car seat. You were just so happy. You were happy Price had given you a second chance, the universe gave you a second chance to have a go at this whole domestication thing. After you had convinced yourself you weren’t deserving of one, the one person who you wanted a second chance from had come in and given it to you.

You weren’t going to mess it up this time, you weren’t going to lash out, you were going to see your old foes as new friends, and you were going to cherish this second chance for the rest of your life.

Price chuckled at your swishing tail, putting his phone down after sending a text. “I’m glad you’re happy, pup. You deserve to be.” He smiled at you, his thick, greyish mustache curling as if smiling too. He put on some jazzy radio station and began to drive back home. He even held your hand for comfort, after he offered his hand over the cupholders anyway. “It’s gonna be okay, dear. You’re gonna be okay.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The boys were all waiting by the front door, waiting for you to step through that door at any moment. After Gaz had received a text from Price, saying that he’d found you and was bringing you back, he had quickly informed the other two. Gaz had taken the liberty of setting up your little bed on the couch, lighting a little ocean-scented candle on the coffee table, and even setting a small plate of his favorite treats next to the said candle. The treats were just for you, like a little welcome-home gift.

His only orders for Ghost and Soap were to look sharp, making sure they weren’t still in their pajamas when you arrived, as well as having Soap fix up his mohawk.

Once all was said and done, the house was ready for your long-awaited return, the boys stood near the front door with bated breaths as they waited to hear Price’s car pulling into the driveway. It was about five minutes of waiting when they finally heard a vehicle arriving at the house.

Gaz’s tail was wagging, he was excited to greet you and hold you once again, happy that you were now safe and sound. Ghost was happy too, not as much as Gaz was, but still happy to have you back with the rest of the group. He was a little excited to see how you would adapt to a domesticated life, he could tell you were starting to like it before you left.

Soap was nervous, almost terrified. His tail was halfway tucked between his legs as he tried to maintain a good posture. He didn’t know what your reaction was going to be to see him again, he could already see you adamant on avoiding him like a virus. Maybe even barking at him to leave you alone, calling him a bad dog. In his eyes, he was a bad dog. He didn’t respect your boundaries when you were just settling in, he was the main reason you were gone in the first place. As much as he tried to keep himself straightened up, his eyes were full of shame, guilt, and worry.

The front door would open with a quiet click of the handle, and a tiny creak as it opened. Price was the first to step inside, letting you come in at your own pace. As you entered, you would look at the boys with surprised eyes. You hadn't expected them to be waiting for you, you thought they would be doing things around the house.

Gaz was smiling from ear to ear, opening up his arms as he silently asked for a hug. Taking a bit to get used to being in the house again, you eventually walked closer to him, accepting his embrace. “Welcome back, friend…” He hummed, resting his head on your shoulder as he closed his eyes. You slowly returned the hug, wrapping your arms around his broad frame with a gentle squeeze.

After nearly a minute, the two of you parted from one another. Ghost would gently pat and rub at your shoulder, a silent way of welcoming you back. “Good to see you back. We missed you.” It was the first time you’d seen Ghost smile at you. It felt… strange. But in a warm, welcoming way. Those three words nearly tore you up, ‘we missed you’. After weeks of imagining the group saying ‘good riddance’, ‘finally, they’re gone’, and ‘I never thought they’d leave’ constantly in your tortured mind, ‘we missed you’ blew all those thoughts away. It made you tear up, but you managed to blink them back and gulp down that burning lump in your throat.

You turned your gaze to Soap. The minute you locked eyes with each other, it was almost as if all your guilt and shame were shared with him, and his was shared with you. The day you saw Soap cry seemed to be an impossible thought. But it was happening right in front of you. Although he wasn’t a sobbing mess, you could tell he was holding back. And you were sniffling just as much.

With a deep shaky breath, he mustered up the courage to finally tell you what he’d been choking back ever since you’d run away.

“I’m sorry, pup. I’m sorry for not respectin’ your boundaries. I should’ve known you needed a bit o’ space, especially around Ghost and I. I- I just-” He sniffled, regaining himself when he felt his voice cracking. “I just wanted you t’ know that you’re safe here. No more fights, no more fear, no more worryin’ about when your next meal is gonna be. I just wanted you t’ feel safe, I… I want you t’ know that you’re safe, pup. We all are.” He sighed.

When Soap finally looked back up at you, staring at the ground in shame, he saw you choking back tears and sobs that were tearing at your throat. His eyes widened, “Are you okay, pup…? ‘M sorry if I said anythin’ that made you feel- bad.”

You shook your head in response, “No, no… I’m sorry too.” You wiped at your eyes as you sniffled. “I shouldn’t’ve freaked out on you like that. I had zero right to attack you, to hurt you the way I did that night. Especially after all you guys have done for me. I just- felt so guilty, I couldn’t come back. I thought all of you were gonna be so mad at me, you were just gonna kick me right out onto the streets again.” Your voice began to shake and crack, and your concrete walls began to crumble down. “I didn’t wanna face that, so I figured I could just do it all for you guys.” You hid your face away into your hands.

“I don’t feel deserving of the food, of these clothes, of anything you offer me.” You sobbed. “Not after what I’ve done, what I did.”

Soap watched the way your scarred ears folded back against your head, your tail nearly tucking itself between your legs, the way your shoulders shook with every uneven breath you took in or let out. He lightly brushed his calloused hand against one of your arms, making you look up at him with your red, puffy eyes.

“...do you need a hug?”

Your throat burned more than it ever did, causing you to whimper and nod as you began to audibly sob and cry, not being able to hold back anymore. Soap opened his arms and held you. He held you in such a gentle, forgiving way, that it was almost as if you were made of thin porcelain. Clinging onto him, you sobbed into his shirt. Your muffled cries and violent hiccups were soothed by one of his hands slowly caressing circles into your back.

“You do deserve all these nice things, pup. With all th’ shit you’ve put up with?” He chuckled slightly. “You deserve it all…” He smiled down at you, softly nuzzling into your hair.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Putting on a new set of clothes that Price had gotten you from the store, you stepped out of the bathroom after having your first bath back. They were comfy, nice, soft, and baggy too like wearable blankets. You had snuggled into your makeshift bed that Gaz had set up, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

Gaz happily watched as you tried the treats he’d set out for you, his tail wagging when you gave him a nod of approval. “Don’t spoil dinner just yet, pup. Food’s here!” Price called out from the front door. Price decided it was an order-in kind of night, so the group settled on take-out Chinese food.

Soap and Ghost made sure to handle the food order, their appetites combined making them wannabe food critics. Your mouth watered when the smell of it hit your sensitive nose, as well as the other dogs. Soap had also picked out a movie for the group to watch on this special night, he loved movies.

The group was sitting around the coffee table, their plates and mouths full of delicious food. Yours too. You were all sitting silently, captivated by the adventure unfolding before your eyes on the TV screen. For a brief moment, you were brought back to reality when you went to stab some more food with your fork.

You took the moment to look around. You were surrounded by what would be your new family, all in warm clothes, with nice hot food in your stomachs, and a nice warm home with decent air conditioning.

You were clean, you weren’t hungry, and your wounds from the streets had been taken care of. The you from a few months ago wouldn’t believe it, even you couldn’t believe it a little bit. That you were safe. You were looked after. You were loved.

And you deserved it all. ───♡───────────── End

Again, thank you so much for the love and support! If you have any requests or asks, feel free to submit them!

------ Taglist: @venavanup @draculauraspage @tf141gloryhole @obnoxiousbag @chanel-princess-world @ssc7514

If you would like to be added to the taglist so you can read my latest fics, let me know! Thank you :)

[gratelove]

Take Me

Jon Snow x Reader

In a secret rendezvous, Jon Snow and his lifelong friend confess their love, struggling with the societal barriers that keep them apart. Faced with Jon's impending departure to the Night's Watch, they decide to give themselves to one another, stealing a moment from the world, a moment that was theirs and theirs alone.

Warnings: 18+, p in v, virginity, fluff, smut

The dim glow of the fire was the only light in the room, casting shadows on the stone walls of Jon Snow’s bedroom. The flames danced and crackled, filling the silence with their rhythmic song. The winter wind howled outside, its icy fingers clawing at the castle’s sturdy walls. But inside, beneath a thick pile of furs, warmth reigned supreme.

Jon lay on his back, his bare chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. His dark hair spilled over the pillow, framing his face in a mess of curls. You lay beside him, propped up on your elbow, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. You watched your own movements, the way his skin felt warm and smooth under your fingertips, like silk stretched over steel.

“Remember that time you tried to ride Ghost like a horse?” Jon asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice was soft, as if he were afraid of breaking the tranquility of the moment.

You chuckled, your hand pausing mid-circle. “I was sloshed, Jon. I thought he was big enough to carry me.” Your eyes glinted with the memory, the corners of your mouth curling up into a smile. “To be fair, he didn’t seem to mind until you came running out, screaming like I was trying to kill him.”

Jon shook his head, his smile widening. “You could have broken your neck. Ghost may be big, but he’s no horse.”

You laughed softly, the sound a melody against the crackling of the fire. “And who taught him to knock me off with a nudge of his head, hmm? You spent weeks training him to do that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe. I couldn’t let my best friend go around thinking direwolves were for riding. What kind of man would that make me?”

“A smart one,” you teased, leaning down to rest your head against his shoulder. Your finger resumed its lazy path over his chest, tracing the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin. “You’ve always been a better man than you gave yourself credit for.”

Jon’s expression softened, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I don’t know about that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a lot I don’t know. So many things I’ve done… mistakes I’ve made.”

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. “We all make mistakes, Jon. It’s what we do after that matters.” Your hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against his stubble. “You’re a good man, Jon Snow.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the truth in your words. Finally, he sighed and nodded, his gaze softening. “Thank you,” he said simply, and the warmth in his voice matched the fire’s glow.

You fell into a comfortable silence, the firelight flickering over your faces. Outside, the wind howled again, a reminder of the harsh winter beyond the walls. But here, in this room, you were safe, wrapped in warmth and the familiarity of each other.

“Do you remember the day we first met?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Your voice was low, tinged with nostalgia. “You were what, ten? And you were trying to shoot an arrow straight into the heart of that practice dummy.”

Jon chuckled, nodding. “I missed every shot that day. I was so nervous.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes sparkling with the memory. “You were there with your father. He introduced us, and you didn’t even say a word. Just stared at me with those big eyes of yours.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I was so shy back then. You were the one who broke the ice. You said I looked like a lost pup.”

Jon grinned. “And you kicked me in the shin for it.”

“And you deserved it,” you said, giggling. “I was not a lost pup.”

“No,” Jon agreed, pulling you closer under the furs. “You were always stronger than you looked.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “And you still are. You’ve been with me through everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. Jon’s arm tightened around you, his thumb stroking your shoulder in a gentle rhythm. The action caused a shiver to rush down your spine. His fingers were like fire on your skin, burning hot with each touch.

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face, softened in the glow of the firelight. Jon’s eyes were closed, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His features were relaxed, more at peace than you had seen him in a long time. Your heart ached with the love you felt for him, a love that had always been there, growing silently until it could no longer be denied.

“Jon,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

He opened his eyes, turning his head to meet your gaze. “Hmm?”

You smiled, your hand reaching out to touch his face. Your fingers brushed over his cheek, down to his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips. “I love you,” you said softly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Jon’s expression softened, his eyes darkening with emotion. He turned his head to kiss the inside of your wrist, his lips warm against your skin. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice a low murmur. He peppered kisses down your arm and the sensation caused you to squeeze your thighs together at the ache it created in your core.

The look in his eyes sent a shiver through you, a longing you had been trying to suppress rising to the surface. You shifted closer, your body pressing against his, your hand moving from his face to his chest, once again. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the heat of his skin as your hand traveled lower.

“Jon,” you whispered again, your voice trembling. Your hand moved farther, finding the hem of his trousers. “I want to be with you,” you said, your eyes locked on his. “All of you.”

Jon stiffened at your words, his eyes searching yours. “Y/N, we can’t,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

You bit your lip, your eyes filling with a mixture of sadness and desperation. “But you’re leaving soon,” you said, your voice breaking. “To join the Night’s Watch. Once you take the black, you’ll be sworn to celibacy. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever see you again. I want to be with you, Jon. Before you go. I want you to be my first.”

Jon sat up, his face tightening with conflict. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with pain. “I can’t,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re a lady of the North, and I’m a bastard. If we did this… if anyone found out…”

“No one will find out,” you interrupted, sitting up as well, your voice trembling. “I don’t care what people think. I don’t care about titles. I care about you. I want you, Jon. I want my first time to be with someone I love. With you.”

Jon looked away, his jaw clenched. “If I did that,” he said quietly, “I’d be taking something from you. Something that can’t be given back. If you lost your maidenhead to me, it would ruin your chances of finding a husband. A good man who can give you a life, a home, a family. You deserve that.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “What if I don’t want that?” You asked softly. “What if I don’t want some lord, or a life that means nothing to me? What if all I want is you?”

Jon turned back to you, his eyes filled with sorrow. “You think that now,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “But what about in the future? What about when you want children, a real home? I can’t give you those things. Not openly. I’d always be a secret. You’d always be living a half-life, hiding in the shadows.”

“I don’t care,” you insisted, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about the future, or what might happen. I care about now. About this moment. I don’t want to look back and regret not being with you when I had the chance. Please, Jon. Just this once.”

Jon’s face softened, his eyes filled with love and sadness. He reached out, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than anything. But I can’t let you ruin your life for me. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”

“You’re not ruining my life,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You’re the only thing that makes me happy. If you leave, and we never… If we don’t share this moment, I’ll always regret it. I’ll always wonder what it would have been like.”

Jon closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall. He knew the truth, even if he wished it were different. In the eyes of the world, he was nothing more than a bastard, a stain on the Stark family name. He had no lands, no title, no claim to any future. The best he could hope for was to join the Night’s Watch, to live out his days in service on the Wall. He had nothing to offer you but a life of secrecy, of stolen moments and hidden love.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t. If you regret this later, I’d never forgive myself.”

You looked at him, your eyes pleading. “But I love you,” you said, your voice cracking. “And you love me. Isn’t that enough?”

Jon pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “It is enough,” he whispered. “It has to be enough. Because I can’t lose you, and I can’t be the one to take away your choices. I won’t be the reason you’re unhappy.”

“I am a woman that is capable of making my own decisions. You do not decide for me. I decide for myself. I get to choose what I will regret and what I won’t. I get to choose the life I lead and burdens I carry. And I choose you, Jon. You, and no other. Let me be sullied. Let me be stripped of maidenhead, as long as it is by your hand. Take me, Jon. Take me before we never get the chance again. Take me before you leave me. You owe me that much.” Your eyes burned with determination as Jon sat in silence for a long moment. The air between you was thick with anticipation. You could see Jon’s resolve beginning to crumble at your words. He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped your cheek.

“What if I do this and I can’t let you go?” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “What if I need this too?”

Your eyes softened, and you moved closer, your face only inches from his. “Then don’t let me go,” you whispered back. “Be with me, Jon. Here. Now. Forget the world outside, even if just for tonight.”

Jon’s breath hitched, his heart in his chest. He knew what he was about to do had consequences, but in this moment, he couldn’t find a reason to care. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. This kiss was filled with years of unspoken feelings and hidden desires.

The kiss deepened, your bodies pressing together as the heat between you grew. Jon’s hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, needing to feel you against him. You responded in kind, your hands sliding to the hem of his trousers, hooking into the band, then ran your nails up his abs. Your touch sent shivers down his spine as he groaned into your mouth at the pleasure and the pain.

You broke apart and your small hands found the bottom of your slip. He watched you pull it over your head and throw it to the ground. The firelight cast the shadow of your, now bare, silhouette against the stone walls. While the fire was warm, the cool winter breeze floated through the window to send bumps up your skin. Jon licked his lips as he drank in every inch of you. He lifted his hand, but stopped before his fingers could reach your exposed breasts. You looked down to see his hand trembling, his breathing shallow. He was just as nervous as you were. This was his first time as well. You grabbed his wrist, moving his hand until it rested on your chest. You sucked in a breath at the sensation of his warm palm against your nipple. Slowly, his hand ran across your sternum, up and over your collarbone, and down to your other breast. It moved down the curve of your waist and down your abdomen, mapping out every inch of your exposed skin. Your hand gripped his shoulder as he pulled you onto his lap.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked, his voice rough with desire and restraint. You could feel his bulge pressed against your core as you straddled him. He needed to hear you say you were sure, needed to know this is what you truly wanted.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes locked on him. A pool was forming in between your thighs. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With a groan, Jon captured your lips, flipping and lowering you both onto the bed. He moved slowly, reverently, as if you were something precious and fragile. You wrapped your legs around his wait, pulling him hard into you. You needed to feel him now. You had dreamt about this moment for too long, and now that it was happening, you couldn’t contain the need. He ground against you, earning a moan, in between kisses. He pushed his cock against your exposed center again, making you buck your hips. You felt Jon smile into your lips and you had to pull away for air.

Jon took the opportunity to rid himself of his trousers, leaving him fully exposed. You propped yourself on your elbows, eyes traveling down the v that was perfectly chiseled into him as it led straight to his hard length. He was large and the idea made you nervous. You were told it would hurt, but were worried he may not fit. He ran his hand through his black curls to give him better vision of you gaping at him. A devilish smile made its way to his beautiful face. He crawled on top of you, placing his hands on your shoulders to gently push you against the mattress.

“Are you nervous?” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his question. Your eyes went from his, to his length, and back up to meet his gaze.

“Yes. It’s going to hurt,” you said, trying to swallow to bring moisture back to your dry throat.

“I’ll go slow, my love. As slow as you need.” You nodded, taking a deep breath. You braced your hands on his shoulders and watched as he used one hand to align himself with your entrance, the other next to your head. You felt the pressure as his tip struggled to enter your tight core. You clenched your teeth at the pain and sensation. You shut your eyes and squeezed his shoulders. The further he stretched you, the harder you squeezed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You winced as his full length entered you. You felt a large hand caress your cheek and you opened your eyes. You met a worried gaze, as he searched your face. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m ready.” You nodded and he hesitated for a moment, then slowly began to pull out. He slid back in and your back arched at the pain and pleasure that filled your belly. His thrusts became even as you adjusted to his size. Jon moaned in pleasure when your nails ran down his back. His cock filled you whole. Your legs wrapped right around his waist, pushing him in as far as you could. You wanted to feel all of him, take all of him.

“Y/N,” he growled your name in your ear, his hot breath hitting your exposed skin. He kissed and sucked on the nape of your neck, causing a loud moan to escape your lips.

“Oh gods, Jon,” you whimpered, feeling a ball of sensation being to grow in your lower belly. The pleasure started to feel so overwhelming, you didn’t know if you could take it. Your hands pushed against his chest, not able to bear the sensation. Jon grabbed your wrists, softly pinning them to the bed, one of either side of your head. He picked up pace, you almost screamed at the pressure threatening to burst.

“Hearing you moan my name is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.” His words made your toes curls and your back arch.

“Jon,” you moaned louder, wanting to say it over and over. He groaned, his grip on your wrists getting tighter.

“Say it again.” Your lip quivered with over stimulation. Your head was swimming in a mix of pleasure, not able to form any other thought than his name. He thrust into you harder than before, pushing the deepest he could. This won a scream of his name from your lips. Your eyes met his and they were full of passion and desire. His curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “You’re so beautiful.” Those words sent you to your undoing. You felt yourself finally burst, waves of pleasure and shivers rushing up your body all the nerves in you going limp from stimulation. Only a few moments later, Jon pulled out, releasing onto your bare stomach.

Your eyes were closed, but you felt warm fabric brush over your skin. You opened them to see Jon cleaning his mess off of you. Once he was done, he left a trail off kisses from your bellybutton down to your bundle of nerves. You squeezed your thighs, not being able to handle any more. He smirked and collapsed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.

In this moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing a love that defied the rules of your world. You clung to each other, as if trying to imprint this moment into your memories, knowing that it would be all you had when the morning came.

Jon’s fingers gently stroked your hair, his heart still racing. Peace washed over you as your head rested on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. “For giving me this. For being with me.”

Jon kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll always be with you,” he said softly. “No matter where I am. No matter what happens. You are a part of me.”

“And you, me,” you replied. You smiled against his chest, your heart filling with love. You had stolen a moment from the world, a moment that was yours and yours alone. Though the future was uncertain, and the outside world may never understand, you had this night. And for now, that had to be enough. It was enough.

[c4hr4yz3e]

Puppy Love - George Clarke Drabble

George Clarke x Reader

_____________________________________________

The second you step through the threshold of your cosy apartment something in the air feels tense. Not a harsh or dark tense, more like the kind of tense you get waiting for someone to blow out their birthday cake candles.

Stepping quietly through the hallway, you shed your coat and bag. The quick scurry of claws against the floorboards softly sounds through the flat before stopping abruptly. Growing curiouser, you hung your coat on its hook and placed your bag in its cubby, moving to peak out into the living room.

Nothing.

Huh.

Brushing loose hair from your eyes, you wander further into the room, walking to the fridge to grab a well-deserved drink. Choosing a seltzer can, you cracked it open and brought it to your lips, closing your eyes as the first sip hit your tongue.

As you relaxed a little, you immediately caught sight of a familiar mop of curly brown hair just sticking out from beside the armchair of the couch. Leaning over the kitchen counter, George came into view. He was kneeling on the floor, huddled close to the couch with his hands bracing against the fabric to keep himself steady. A giddy, excited smile ghosted his face.

“Um, what are you doing?”

George’s eyes dart over to you, smiling widely to greet you before holding finger to his lips.

You stood confused until the returning scurry of paws against the floor stole your attention. Your dog ran into the room, head looking in every direction as she practically spun in circles. She looked around the room before collapsing in defeat.

Looking to George, you watched as he let out a quick whistle. Your dog’s ears immediately perked up and she jumped to her feet. She ran further into the living room, searching under the coffee table and sniffing the air. Bowing her head to sniff under the couch, she quickly straightened and rounded the furniture in a sprint. When she finally spotted George, her tail wagged wildly, seemingly propelling her through the air as she jumped into his waiting arms.

“Good girl! You found me, you clever girl!” George showered the dog with pats and praise, laughing as she attempted to lick all over his face.

Oh, my gosh.

"You guys were playing hide and seek?" You couldn't help the bubble forming in your chest upon seeing how much your dog loved George.

"And she's getting so good at it, aren't you, girl?" His baby voice was strong as he spoke to the dog, ruffling her ears playfully.

He looked up at you from the floor, the most infectious grin making his eyes crinkle. Seeing him smiling so happily as your dog bounded around him excitedly was just what you needed after your gruelling day.

With a final ruffle of her fur, George stood up, resting his hands on his hips. "I think we're ready for another round, huh girl?"

Your dog sat at his feet, adorably panting up at him.

"Okay, stay," he spoke with an intent that showed you he'd been at this a while. Training your dog to play hide and seek. How cute.

Without taking his eyes off the dog he backstepped to stand beside you, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

"Stay."

He led you with him as he walked backwards, smile unwavering.

"Good girl." After making sure she was concealed by the couch, unable to see you both, George turned and pulled you down the hallway with him.

He yanked your arm to hide beside him as he crouched on the floor against the far side of the bed, out of sight from the doorway.

Sneaking a kiss to your cheek, your boyfriend smiled lovingly at you, "Welcome home, my love, I forgot to say. How was your day?"

"You're going to ask mid hide-and-seek?" you couldn't contain the giggles that escaped at the prospect - you were really playing hide and seek with your dog.

"Well, better late than never." His grin was infectious. "Come!"

It didn't register until you heard the scurry of paws that you realised he was calling your dog.

You laughed quietly to yourselves, listening intently as the claws against the floorboards and panting floated through the flat.

Nestled against each other in your hiding positions, you allowed your head to fall against your boyfriend's shoulder, sighing contently as his familiar scent enveloped you and his hoodie cushioned your face. A soft smile etched George's face as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, thumb swiping gently across your hand that he had yet to let go of.

You hadn't expected to play hide and seek with your boyfriend and dog when you came home from work, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

[concretejunglefm]

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 1).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies -> playlist, part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst.

WC: 3.2k.

Dividers: Silent-stories.

Had Noah cheated, you believe that you could've handled everything a lot better, but somehow what he did had been worse.

It wasn't cheating, even if you couldn't ignore the pit in your stomach when you thought about him and her together.

Noah's ex had joined the last leg of his tour as an opening act, and while under any other circumstances it wouldn't have bothered you, his nonchalant attitude about it did. 

This had been a man who spent time after time cursing her out to you, pushing aside any doubts or worries you had felt when it came to her, and now he didn't care if she was joining him in the most important aspect of his life.

Even worse was how he’d knocked back your own suggestion of joining him.

"It's only for a few days. I'll get to watch you play, and we can see it as a vacation." "You can see it as that. For me, it's work, babe. You know that, and you know how important it is to me." "I know I just thought." "Well, don't. Not this time. Maybe next time."

You did your best to brush off the hurt at the time, and now again as the memory resurfaces.

Noah didn't cheat, but what he did was close enough to make you feel heartbroken and forgotten about.

Messages and calls came less and less during this leg, and now you were sitting up early Saturday morning going through the posts on your Twitter feed like a fool, allowing yourself to be more hurt with each one that you came across.

@badoxmens: Did you see Noah and his ex on stage last night?

@ieatconcreeete: I hope this means they're finally getting back together !!

@artitficalsuicide: If I were his girlfriend, I would hate myself right now.

@deduckingthrone: Noah has a girlfriend? Are you sure? Him and his ex looked pretty cozy if he does.

The videos and pictures which accompanied the tweets did nothing to ease the rising bile in your throat, and every attempt to reach Noah was left unanswered.

Noah ignored every single text and call you made to him, not bothering to even make it obvious that he was ignoring you, the delivered and read notifications driving you mad until you had to stop yourself altogether.

Instead of breaking up with you, he ghosted you, your only proof of this coming a week later when another set of videos and photos showed up on your feed of him attending the album launch party of his ex.

There was no ignoring the closeness between them, the way he lingered by her in the one video, the way they were caught slipping off together and hovering a little too closely in another.

You almost went to write out a long-winded text, one full of all your feelings for everything that had transpired over the past week, but instead settled for a simple 'fuck you'. Even going as far as to block and delete his number to not allow for any temptation in reaching out to him.

You deserved better than this, that whatever had transpired for Noah to play with your feelings in this manner and you decided then that you'd do whatever it took to move on.

"What you need is a girls’ trip." The suggestion from your best friend came as no surprise, Sloan would always choose a spa day or a girls’ trip whenever she felt a need to unwind, which was practically every week according to her.

"Huh?" You snap back from your own thoughts, mindlessly stirring a spoon in your latte.

"Babe, please tell me that you are not still hung up on that guy." You hear both the pity and disdain in her tone.

To Sloan boys were nothing more than toys to be played with, to be thrown down and picked back up whenever she wanted. That was her trick to not being hurt.

"It's been two years."

"I know." You don't even need to give her a real answer for her to know, but it still doesn't stop your mind from wandering and from the pang in your chest each time you think about him.

“Girls’ trip, this weekend and I'm not taking no for an answer."

You wish that she had taken no for an answer.

A girl’s trip sounded delightful until she suggested Vegas and you were squeezing yourself onto a last-minute flight there. You wouldn't have minded had it not been for the fact that your seats were apart from one another and you had been given a middle seat, which meant you were now stuck in between two strangers.

Moving along the aisle towards your seat, you slide your weekend bag from your shoulder and toss it into the overhead bin. Looking down at your ticket, you confirm the seat number and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you tap on the shoulder of the man sitting on the end seat, covered up with a black hoodie.

"Excuse me. I'm 33B." You gesture to the empty space beside him, and the minute you catch a familiar pair of brown eyes gaze back at you, you feel your heart plummet into your stomach and bile rising up your throat.

Noah.

You're ready to make a dash towards the back of the plane, either to throw up in the bathroom or attempt to throw yourself out of the emergency exit.

"Sor—."

He cuts himself off on the sight of you, and you huff as he moves himself and allows for you to squeeze past.

When you fall into the middle seat, you find Jolly sitting on the other side of you and realize that they must be on their way to a show. 

In Vegas? 

You almost turn and ask him but decide not to. You spent the last two years ignoring his and his band's existence; you can do that for another hour on this flight.

When you dare a glance in Jolly's direction, he's already sliding his headphones on and looking out of the window, completely disengaging himself. You're almost jealous. You'd do anything to disappear from this moment's event, even exchange seats with the Swede so as not to be sat next to Noah.

As the flight pulls out to taxi, you feel Noah's leg bouncing against your own. You know it's his nerves. He's always been a nervous flyer, and it makes you wonder why he's choosing to fly instead of driving to Vegas.

You mentally smack yourself because it's not your place to wonder these things or even care about them anymore.

"Will you stop that?" You finally voice your annoyance as the plane begins its descent down the runway.

"You know I'm a nervous flyer!" He retorts, and yes, you do know, but he's not supposed to highlight that fact.

“Yeah, but it's annoying." You snipe beneath your breath.

"I can't help it!"

You sound like a couple of squabbling kids, and you hit your knee against his as if to prove a point for him to stop, but he only bounces his leg harder.

It's as if he's purposely trying to piss you off, and unfortunately for you, it's working.

"Just—" You reach over and press your hand down on his thigh, forcing his leg still. "There. Stop."

He does stop, but then you feel his larger tattooed hand atop yours, and his fingers slip beneath and around your own as if choosing to accept this as you giving him some form of comfort.

You're not, but you can hardly pull your hand away as the plane begins to take off and you feel his fingers tightening around yours, signifying his general fear and discomfort over flying.

That is until you're hit with the reminder that this guy ghosted you, and you owe him nothing.

You snatch your hand back, glaring at him as he looks down at you.

"What was that for?"

“Oh, please, you're a big boy. Hold your own damn hand if you're that scared." You don't hold back on the mockery in your tone, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I was always there for you, and this is how you repay me?"

“Oh, please, you were there for your own ego."

You feel Noah lean in closer to you and you edge yourself away as best as you can without causing too much disruption to Jolly tucked in the window seat.

"You could at least try to make this work."

You hear him whisper, and your mouth drops open due to the utter audacity this man has to even suggest such a thing.

"Why would I do that when you did such a great job proving you're not worth the effort?" You snipe back, keeping your voice low.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're really choosing now to play dumb? God, you really are all muscle and no brains now, aren't you?"

You couldn't ignore the fact that over the past two years he had buffed out even more than you can remember.

Noah had always been physically fit during the time you were together, with muscles coming in, but there was something more toned and larger about him now. 

It was a noticeable enough sight that could have any girl drooling over him.

But not you. 

You refused to engage with the thought.

"So what you're saying is you think I look hot?"

You don't need to look at him to see it; you can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes you shake with anger at how unfazed he appears by all of this. 

You can't resist jabbing your elbow into his side, resulting in him letting out a whine which draws the attention of passengers around you to look over.

"What was that for?" Noah grumbles, bringing a hand to his side as he rubs the spot you’d caught. 

"Because you're a dumbass." You spit out between gritted teeth.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" You haven't even noticed the seatbelt signs turn off, and when you look up, you spot a young air hostess peering in at you both. The moment her eyes catch sight of Noah, you spot that sudden flash of recognition in her own.

"Here we go," You mumble under your breath, rolling your own eyes as you direct your head forward and press back against the headrest. 

You wait to hear it, his charm that he always uses whenever there's a fan who recognizes him in a place he doesn't want to be noticed.

He's suave with it, and it always made you swoon in the beginning because you believed that he was merely trying to seek out his privacy for you both, but now you realize it was just one of his many tactics for keeping up some reputation he felt the need to uphold.

"Well, well... It looks like someone has good taste in music. You just made my day… but if you don't mind keeping it between us?"

You scoff and press your lips together when feeling the heat of a stare on you, but the air hostesses' quiet giggling is enough to prove that his little charm worked.

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes. "Real smooth." You remark once she leaves down the plane aisle to attend to another passenger.

"It worked on you, didn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself. That was after five drinks, and I'd been eyeing up Folio all night."

"Oh—"

"Will you both quit it before I bang your heads together!" Jolly cuts Noah off, interrupting your squabbling.

"She started it." Noah argues, and your head turns back to him as you shoot him a glare. 

If looks could kill, you'd have done it multiple times by now.

The rest of the flight wasn't any easier, between playing elbow hockey with Noah over the armrest and more snide remarks, you were thankful the moment the plane came into land, unbuckling your belt and attempting to move the moment the seatbelt sign turned off.

"The plane hasn't even come to a stop." Noah points out as you attempt to stand, ushering him to move out of your way.

"I don't care, just move." You huff and glare down at him as he remains still, his tattooed hands sitting and tapping on his thighs, barely giving you a brief glance.

"Not even a please? You're so rude."

You know that you shouldn’t, but you begin to attempt climbing over him, holding onto the seat in front as you try to drag yourself past him and over his lap, muttering as you go. "And you are absolutely incorrigible."

"Wow, that's a new one. Is it your word of the day?"

You glance behind him and see him attempting to push back into his seat more, as if that's helping you in any way, and when you see his hand raise, you instinctively swat at it with the assumption he's going to touch you. 

"Ow?! There was no need for that."

Finally free from your row, you huff and pull yourself together, reaching for the overhead bin and pulling out your bag. 

“Well, this was fun. I really hope we never have to do it again." You glare at him and begin making your way down the aisle with the rest of the passengers towards the exit door.

You've never been happier to see the back of a plane in your life, moving as fast as your legs will let you through the crowd of people, almost missing the sound of Sloan's voice as she calls after you.

"Wait up, speedy!" She laughs as she finally catches up, and you come to a slow down, shaking your head free of all the thoughts which had been swirling around in there due to the unexpected reunion you just briefly had with your ex.

"Sorry. I just had to get out of there."

"That wasn't who I think it was, was it?" You spare a glance over at Sloan, and your irritated expression gives that answer away. "It was? What was he doing on a plane to Vegas?"

"I can't say I really cared to ask him, Sloan." Your tone has a bite still left over from the sniping that you and Noah had done. "Sorry, he just really gets under my skin."

"I can see that."

"The sooner we're at the hotel, the better. Then I can wash this whole thing off me, and we can finally start enjoying our girls' weekend."

"Yes! Girls’ weekend. No talk about stupid boys." Sloan slips her arm around yours, linking you together as she lets out an excited 'woohoo'. It makes you laugh, and you finally feel the tension that being sat next to Noah for the last hour had caused, slipping away.

It's a feeling which is short-lived, however.

After making your way through the airport and standard checks, you reach the taxi rank outside, and as you open the door, you turn back to call for Sloan, only to be met with the 6'3 asshole who's covered in tattoos.

“Oh, thanks, you shouldn't have." He flashes you a grin as he slides into your taxi, followed by Jolly, who offers you a brief apologetic look. Maybe you should've been giving him a harder time if he was enabling this stupid behavior.

You stand speechless as they pull the door close, tossing daggers at the cab as it drives away and a scream rumbles in your throat. 

"Where's the taxi?" Sloan asks as she chooses now to join you. You grumble something incoherent under your breath as you turn to wave down the next incoming taxi.

She's now joining Noah and Jolly on your shit list.

"It's going to be perfect! There's a spa, three pool areas. One of them is an infinity pool off the balcony upstairs." Sloan continues to drone on about the hotel and everything it includes. You only have a weekend here, but she's already planning multiple ways for you to take advantage of everything.

Currently, your mind is back on Noah and his stupid, smug ass face as he stole your taxi. You try to distract yourself from it, shaking him from your thoughts and coming back into the present, to this weekend.

Seeing him was a blip, but you refused to allow him to derail your plans or excitement.

Counting the room numbers down the hallway, you look up as you come closer to yours, room number: 308. 

Sloan has the room opposite you, disappearing inside after making plans to knock on after shower and changing. A shower sounds perfect right about now, not only to wash off the plane smell but also with being in such proximity to Noah in general.

As you fiddle with the room key, you hear a familiar voice, which causes your back to raise. Turning your head, you peer down the hallway, watching a group of familiar faces grow nearer to you. Noah is the one trailing behind, while Folio and Matt's voices are the ones you hear echoing down the hall.

You hastily attempt to open your hotel room door, being met with the red light before trying again.

You huff and close your eyes to calm yourself from growing irrationally angry.

Hearing the voices past you, you open your eyes and look back to find Noah standing at the door next to yours, room number: 310.

"Hey, neighbor." Noah flashes you a grin, and you shake your head in protest.

"No."

"No?" He repeats back at you in a question, his brows knitting together. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean no, we are not neighbors, and you cannot be here. Not in this room, not in this hotel. Hell, not even in this state." You're being irrational, but you never did quite have much rationality when it came to him. You always found yourself diving in headfirst to whatever thought crossed your mind.

"And who said this? You?" Noah raises a brow at you, taking a step closer as he leans a hand against the wall.

He easily towers over you, and under any other circumstance before now, that would have you weak at the knees and buckling for him, but right now it has you infuriated that he's somehow here, ruining your weekend and attempting to charm you.

"Yes."

"Still as bossy as ever, I see."

"And you're still an asshole." You snipe back, your eyes narrowing, still attempting to get your keycard in your door and slip away from this conversation.

"Ouch, that hurt." Noah raises his free hand, bringing it to his chest, feigning a tone of disbelief and hurt while you roll your eyes in response.

“Oh, please, that would insinuate you had any feelings to begin with."

"I have a lot of feelings, actually. Such as feeling sorry for you while watching you struggle with something so easy. Here, let me."

Before you have a chance to protest, he's reaching out to take your hotel room key and slips it into the swipe, drawing it out to a flashing green light.

You huff as you open the door, pushing forward, and the last thing you hear before the door slams is another final snarky remark from him; "Not even a thank you?"

Once in the safety of your room, you let out a loud scream of frustration, only to hear Noah's chuckle from the other side of the door, and you gently bang the back of your head against the door as you lean back on it.

Great, now you really can't escape him this weekend.

[vieoeil-riae]

the taste of you on my lips

steb/gn!reader

warnings: blow job, paramedic!steb, light ptsd mentions, steb has a hemipenis + cock frills, come swallowing, submissive!steb, post canon, selectively mute!steb, 18+ MDNI, 3k words

synopsis: Being a paramedic is tiring; you think he deserves a reward. (you eat him out then suck him off <3)

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection | masterlist

You’d barely seen a lick of Steb since his career change. It wasn’t unexpected, you’d talked for a long time about what it would mean — him becoming a fully fledged paramedic — but words were nothing like the reality you were waking up to.

It was for the best, so you couldn’t say you minded it too badly, it certainly beat watching him freeze up for moments at a time as he put his old enforcer uniform on in the mornings. The fight against Noxus had done a number on him; not surprising, you knew what he’d lost, two of his few friends as well as a significant amount of faith in himself. You didn’t miss the subtle fight in his expression, like he was cutting through the memories of a similar uniform, bloodsoaked and pressed to the floor by a cooling body.

You couldn’t say you minded the new uniform either, Steb certainly cut a stunning figure dolled up in paramedic cargos and a thick, deep blue button-up. Boring, yes, but he made the practicality of the look pop. You’d tell him how nice his shoulders looked most days, hands sliding lazily around his pretty waist — fingers ghosting his belt buckle but never giving it more than a playful tug.

Neat, he looked neat and you were loving it. You’d mess him up if he wasn’t coming home already bedraggled most days. 

Steb would walk in, usually long after dark, with his hair falling out of its slick style and an exhausted look in his eyes. He told you it was satisfying, to be able to help people without thinking about how he could be hurting more people than he was helping; tired, sore hands waved, speaking of how he’d always had an interest in medicine, that it was a good feeling to learn and practice it more.

You’d smile at him, unbuttoning his shirt to get it away from his neck and the gentle dorsal fin that decorated the back of it, slipping below his collar, when he slumped next to you on the couch. It was hot to see him so dishevelled, the slight but still noticeable loving smile he’d shoot back at you, but at the same time it pained you to see him so run ragged, you didn’t want to completely exhaust him but you’d been sorely missing him.

There was only so much the drag of your pillows could replace, even when all your sheets smelled of Steb. The clinging scent of his soap only made you salivate more, dragging frustrated whines from you when fabric failed to live up to skin.

You didn’t want to tire him out more, but you wanted your hands on him, you wanted your skin on his with more motion than just late night cockwarming, it was getting desperate. You missed the way his body reacted to you, the gorgeous arch of his back and the way his head would tip back in a silent moan — the sweetest reward you could ever earn. You ached for more, to see it, to have it again.

It was a craving that made itself apparent in your dreams, leaving you sweaty and needing when you woke up with him in time for his early shift. You closed your eyes as you calmed down, arm slung over your face like you weren’t sure you could trust yourself if you saw his bare body as he got dressed — you’d hate to make him late. 

You missed the way Steb wanted you too.

It felt like he was struggling to swim, he wasn’t in possession of the highest libido ever but even a man who isn’t hungry will start to feel a tug in his gut when he’s around pure temptation for so long. The lack of action was starting to rattle his skull, you were so close but so far out of the reach of his aching arms, and he found no release of his own.

Steb found a new side to you, not much different than anything he’d seen before, but through his blurring vision you looked like an angel when you unwinded next to him. So soft, his, for the taking if he wanted. The way he found himself barely able to function through the fog of a hard day’s work was torture when he could be pulling pleasure from you. As nice as the warmth that gathered in the line between your bodies was, it was searing him with a lewder kind of heat. 

Thank god you finally snapped under the weight of your desire, falling onto the couch with him for a few long moments before the itch to smother him in lusting touches got too intense to bear.

You swung your leg over Steb’s narrow hips, sliding into his lap with delicious ease. His hands cradled your hips, your weight not unfamiliar on top of him. It sparked a fire in his groin, even though there wasn’t anything that suggested sex explicitly, and he swallowed as his fingers dug into the flesh beneath them — even while quietly wanting, he was polite enough to consider that maybe that wasn’t what you were intending.

That train of thought was thrown out quickly as you whispered how much you missed him against his lips, arching into his slouched body with a roll of your hips. There was an enticing smile, sultry to the point of almost being smug, that stretched across your lips when he shuddered at your fingertips ghosting the sensitive tips of his ears.

The burn was low, but it soaked into all his muscles as you kissed him deeply, pushing his head back far enough for his neck to rest comfortably against the back of the couch. Your tongue in his mouth felt like heaven, satisfying in ways he hadn’t realised were missing the feeling as you licked your way past bitten-soft lips.

You moaned against his tongue, the sound tasted sweet and it nearly made him tremble, tiredness exchanged for raw exhilaration as he felt his cock jump. The roll of your hips as you grinded against him made him purr on the inside, happy to get you off, happy to be the one dragging pretty noises from your throat.

Your fingers slid over his shirt, reaching for the rest of his buttons and nearly tearing them off, fingertips meeting the skin beneath  — featherlight and warm. 

Pulling back with the slick feeling of your tongue slipping against his, from his lips, you let your hands skim down his sides, halfway under his uniform shirt. You watched his chest heave as one of your hands brushed the curve of his spine, the other planted firmly on his stomach and delighting in the feeling of the muscles underneath it tensing and stretching as he subtly arched at your touch.

“You’ve been so busy,” you murmured, a seductive lilt in your tone as your fingers made tingling trails towards the belt of his cargos, “so good, let me take care of you…”

You trailed off, going from staring at the frosty blue of Steb’s eyes, fogged over with heat that soaked through the rest of his body like a hot bath, to burning a path all the way down to his crotch; pressed to yours where you could feel his cock, not quite out, but swelling inside enough for you to feel the twitch against your pelvis. You ached to touch him, want pooling deep in your gut, and you swallowed; licking your lips at the thought of having him in your mouth, having your tongue in him.

Steb hands groped your hips, grinding against the curve of your ass until you knocked his hands off with a loving giggle.

“Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything, you just have to take it.” You whispered, gentle smile turning sharper with the promise of making him feel good and the high of making him writhe under you that never got old. How hard the image of Steb coming down your throat, built up of obscene memories, hit you almost surprised you — the shiver racing up your spine felt like several hundred volts at least.

You waited until he nodded, cheeks painted with a thick blush, before you let hushed praises tumble from your lips as you slid off his lap onto the floor.

The press of your knees against the living room carpet felt more apparent than ever as you let your hands drag down Steb’s body, watching his eyes flicker, conflicted with the want to watch you and your hands as they made a show of playing with the buckle of his belt at once.

There was a move to shuck his shirt off, but you stopped that quickly; your hand caught his wrist in a flash, pulling his hand towards your head instead, and you shot him a sly smile as you drawled him, “leave it, it looks good on you.”

The frills decorating his cheekbones pulsed in surprise, blush travelling to his ears that flicked at your boldness as well as the thought of how much sweat would end up soaking into the back of his uniform. It shouldn’t have sent another blistering wave down his sides, but there it was, making him squirm — frills standing on end at the thought.

Your hands stopped at his zipper, and he became distinctly aware of how laboured his breathing had gotten. So pent up, but so sluggish he hadn’t even noticed how badly he was affected by you, your hands, and the way you eyed him like he was the most mouthwatering cut of meat you’d ever seen. It was so different to how you usually took him in, staring like you were drunk on the sight of him, captivated — right now, you looked hungry, like you wanted to play with your food.

“You’ve had a long day.” You uttered, staring almost unblinkingly into Steb’s eyes — bordering on predatory. Your breath warmed the skin of his stomach, dangerously gentle, dangerously close to his waistband, and he nearly shivered. “Can I taste it?”

A silent whine caught in the back of Steb’s throat, eyes blowing wide as his cock stirred lazily in his gut — neediness rising all the way to his chest, burning consumingly hot and knocking any thoughts of being too tired away with ease. He didn’t even recognise when he’d started nodding so vigorously, chest starting to judder with each slow heave.

Satisfied, smug, starving, you descended to trail kisses along his navel, spreading his legs wider apart to claim the space — chest nearly flush with the crotch of his uniform cargos as your hands and lips brushed up and then down his quickly heating, mostly clothed body like the wash of a wave on the shore. 

Your hands made quick work of his fly, glancing up only to get an eyeful of the desperate, blushing mess forming above you. It stroked the smouldering coals of your ego, watching him start to fall apart so easily — he wanted you, your mouth on him. You didn’t watch your hands slide his cargos down his smooth, supple thighs, too caught up in the arch and rise of his body; achingly graceful despite the obvious desire that quickened the sight. 

You nearly licked your lips at the thin string of slick that clung to Steb’s underwear as you pulled them down too, he was so eager — god you wished he’d told you sooner. You’d have been more than happy to please, always.

You tugged him forward by the hips once he’d settled again, forcing him to lay back as best he could against the back of the couch, with the slit hiding his cock — wet, swollen and parting — scant centimetres from your face. The heady scent of his sex was mouthwatering, you almost felt literally hungry as your tongue darted out.

The tip of it ran along the slit so gently, feeling the slight pulse of Steb’s soft flesh under your tongue so distinctly. Not enough, he nearly bucked against the feeling — so sensitive. You couldn’t help but smile, self-satisfied with how you could tease him so deliciously easy.

A fuller lick of your tongue had his head tipping back with a gasp, thighs twitching around your jaw, hands jerking to grip the arm of the couch. It encouraged you to take another, then another, slowly, tenderly working him up on your tongue before you dipped your tongue inside his folds. You chased the lowering tip of his cock in the slick, internal sheath it resided in, your eyes fluttering shut with the roll of Steb’s hips at the intrusion — bodily tang coating your tongue thickly, you moaned quietly against him.

The flick of your tongue over his cockhead set a loud groan loose, falling to your ears so beautifully, and you gave his slit a parting kiss as you pulled away. He whined at the loss, foggy eyes glistening as they gazed at the sheen of slick decorating your chin and the sight of your mouth still open and panting as you reached for the hem of his open shirt.

“You don’t want the neighbours to hear, do you? It’s pretty late, you know?” You coaxed, almost condescending as you balled the fabric in your fist and reached up to shove it between his teeth. Spit soaked it obscenely quickly, a muffled whine caught in the somewhat coarse threads. You hummed approvingly, “good.”

The same teeth bit down hard at the feeling of your soft tongue returning to lavishing him with your tongue, borderline making out with his wet slit — luring out his cock with a thick blush stuck on both of your cheeks at the growing feeling of it, the push against your tongue as it stiffened on its way out. You lapped at it wetly, saliva melting into the slick that coated it, then hollowed your cheeks around the throbbing flesh in a way that had Steb scrambling to grip at any of the plush couch he could reach.

The slow but desperate cant of his hips pressed his cock further into your mouth, like the simmer of pleasure in his gut — your mouth felt so good. Hot, almost too hot, and never letting up on the way your soft cheeks brushed against the frills pulsing down the sides of his erection, chased by the savouring tease of your tongue. The way you worked him up was purposeful, dragging the build up to his orgasm out like a nice glass of wine, like you were more focused on worshipping him than getting him off until a breathy whine from his throat made your pace stutter.

Your eyes, glinting in the low light, pupils blown so wide he could mistake you for being drunk, stared up at him — utterly fixated. It, and the begging look he could feel on his face, seemed to spur you on, and he watched as you swallowed down his wholly emerged cock until the overwhelmingly lewd feeling of his tip pressing against the back of your throat tipped his head back in a silent groan.

Quicker, like you were running out of patience, too hungry to tease, you bobbed your head and ignored the sting of tears in your eyes — the lightheadedness making the feeling of Steb’s cock so satisfying, fulfilling a need you hadn’t realised was so neglected. The tensing of his thighs under your fingers, nails pressed lightly into the skin for leverage sparking pretty sensations just underneath, was like the sweetest reward.

His heaving and panting grew more laboured, interrupted by caught breaths and quiet moans as you sucked him off, pulling the coil in his gut tighter, pushing tiredness to the very edge of his consciousness along with his worries. The buck of his hips was earnest, knuckles turning white against the fabric it clutched — trying not to grip you by the hair, he didn’t trust his hands, too jittery with the way it felt like his blood was electric. The way his abdomen tensed was almost unbelievable compared to the unravelling feeling from just a minute ago.

You perked at the sound of Steb growing louder, latching onto every every note and giving him more; you tongue laving at his frills until he writhed under your palms, twitching in your mouth as the burning feeling consumed him entirely. The way his mouth hung open, eyebrows knitted together, was addictive — so pretty, obscene and perverted in absolute contrast to his usual self. There was a sense of pride when it came to tugging reactions like that out of him.

His writhing stuttered, hips jerking as he came hard, much harder than he thought he would but the thought was lost to the electric, boneless, feeling that cleared sense from his head that fell back against the couch.

You gagged on the come gushing down your throat, swallowing around his cock in a way that made him twitch violently — stomach muscles convulsing in front of your blurry eyes. You kept Steb in your mouth until you saw him start to come down from his high, pulling away — he jerked in oversensitivity, thighs almost clamping around your head.

Teasingly, because you knew he preferred to be neat, you showed him your tongue as you leaned back — thin strings of saliva keeping you connected to the flushed head of his cock. You wiped them away with a grin at the way he blushed impossibly brighter, and laughed a little hoarsely when he turned his face away from you, ears pointed bashfully downwards. 

As spent as he was, you could see some of the tension slip from your shoulders which made your heart twinge; he was doing so well, working through so much, changing — you thought he deserved the world.

You heaved yourself from your knees onto the couch, slumping into Steb’s side as you caught your breath, closing your eyes in contentment.

“Stay like this for a while, then shower?” You hummed, posing a little plan that stated what was somewhat obvious, and Steb leaned into the feeling of your voice — blissed out sleepiness soaking into his muscles. You snorted, “then bed.”

He smiled and nodded, which you felt as his warm cheek brushed the side of your head. He tilted his head slightly, nose brushing against the space just above your ear, and murmured a contented little ‘thank you’ against your skin that you couldn’t help but lose yourself in. A tiny kiss was pressed to the shell of your ear, a little ‘I love you’.

A/N: here's the self indulgent fic, my excuse to write about sucking off a healthcare worker, sorry it took a moment but heyyyy glitter divider!! shiny sparkly!!!

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[obxsprincess]

imagining mattheo and bratty, girly kitty reader because she deserves a tiara

🎀₊˚ʚ ᗢ🐈‍⬛₊˚✧ ﾟ.

your the slytherin princess, all prissy meow, no claw. every single one of the slytherin boys would do really anything for you really, your dark whiskery lashes, and sweet purry voice — they always make sure your safe n sound. though they’ll always do the same for pansy, your bestfriend, they treated you like overbearing older brothers, cus your all of theirs little sweet spot. which is all nice n all until mattheo recruits all of his “brothers” (they five jokingly call eachother) to watch you like eagles if he leaves to get you one of those fruity drinks you love sipping on, dumbly unaware mattheos been giving you sheryl temples the whole party. they all just pray you keep your mean little complaints to your boyfriend, who technically told them to watch you — even they are scared of your bratty ferocious switch. (which even just convinced youve been drinking can trigger, frighteningly)

but whilst all of them protect you, its mattheos whos name you would wear on a pink collar. instead you settled with a fluttery eye roll, for the shiny gold necklace with his full name printed on the little shiny heart! — always sitting between your pushed up breasts. the curly haired brunette does keep the collar as a mental note though. future reference — and also to make you happy. he really does hate admitting but your too cute to say no too — trying not to make it too obvious its because he loves you. which you definitely does, admits it every single time you give him that candy rotting tail-swinging smile.

your his fake eyelashed kitty, and he throws it in every guys face wherever you two go — whether its grabbing your waist arrogantly while you walk ditsily down the halls, cheekily unaware of all the thirsty stares stuck on your plushy hips. or you wiggling in your seat, pussy all sticky, pouting because the throbbings so much its practically purring — doing it just so your all over him, whining and mewling, in front of whoever he pleases. he loves showing you off, but mattheo definitely could do without your bullshit excuse of fashion — or merely the lack of. cus you were not shy showing off your body. you loved making things prettier ! the ‘stylized’ slytherin skirt proudly showing half your heart shaped ass, you just loved the freedom it gave you to pounce around. most of the time, mattheo had to block the view of your frilly underwear flashing when you bend down, all oblivious to the nice pantied cunt eye full he gets. “m’flexible see matty!” huffing with a frustrated breath, “yea yea, guess so kitty — y’stay stretched like that for a good few minutes… s’good for your back or something like that” he unashamedly always takes a peak n your usually to obvious to even notice, too busy giving him your triumphant scrunch.

it’s a complete understantment to say you bounce on him like a cat to a mouse — so teary eyed and cotton panties soaked if you get a glimpse of his biceps or even just his raspy morning voice has something pretty achy n purring, your ghost whiskers twitching. (his back is always covered in your pink french nailed claw marks </3) he fucking hates but does with your whiny fits. trying to satisy his need to taste you between your sqeezing thighs and all you do is moan for his cock. only after cumming three times on mattheos greedy muscle do you shut up — not like he’ll ever complain, he’d never stop fucking into your pretty soppy heat if he had the choice. now when your being too needy, or bugging him as if he can bend you over right there in class, he has no problem sending you off what a swat to the ass n a growl to meet him on his bed, he deals with your neediness. n your always eager to oblige — all fours n pussy up. how else does he take out his anger but in you, on you?

being the girly princess you are I feel like you’d be a cheerleader too! mattheo the star seeker and you his excitedly cheering (kitty) bimbo — hes only ok with your cute tail like swinging ass showing when your squealing his name for the whole school to hear. telling you your his lucky charm, sparkly eyeshadow forever messy when he pulls you into the locker room with him. “you know it’s real hard being a seeker when I cant take my eyes off you, damn look at you baby girl — I’ve already found everything I ever need princess,” mattheos no doubt a slut for cheesy romance before rearranging your guts.

mattheos also your personal purse. except with a lot less frilly pink designs — and you also don’t wanna jump and ride a normal purse into complete bliss. but still! his hands are always full, either with your glossy lipgloss to reapply every five minutes to your puffy lips, pink coverups/sweaters that you toss of abruptly cus they get too hot, or in his perverted needs, offering to hold ‘his girls’ with a mischievous smirk — cus if only takes a little convincing to your pretty head to have you compliant to his shameless, pussy whipped, self, and sometimes they do hurt real bad. mattheos such a good boyfriend ! leaning you back mewling so he can take care them off your hands.

overall you can tell him off whenever needs be. (only you, n you only can tell the son of voldemort to knock it off n not get hurt dcbgyhyf) mattheo even sometimes tries to be extra teasing, which is mean in your glaring lashed kitty eyes — ogling when you bare your verbal fangs n hiss he gets instantly hard at the sight. mattheo still arrogantly remembers the time you beat of an overly flirty raven claw girl, his sweetheart, cat clawing a overstepping bitch — he had to stop himself from cumming right then and there. coyly letting you to kitty lick it right off <3 mattys just as much yours as your his.

. 🎀₊˚ʚ ᗢ🐈‍⬛₊˚✧ ﾟ.

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [11]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader 18+ mdni - 6k words

Ghost flicks the butt of his cigarette to the tarmac as he marches towards the Black Hawk, the gusts from the spinning blades quick to put out the smoke. He yanks his balaclava under his jaw with a fist. Outstretching his arm he grabs onto the metal frame of the helicopter’s open door, leaping up into the near-empty stomach of the aircraft. A soldier on the airfield rolls the door shut after him, it seals itself shut with a click and a dull thud. 

Illuminated by the dim red of the bulb above, there you sit. Arms still locked behind your back, a sack pulled loosely over your head. It seems Soap had the conscience to find the same army-green woollen blanket that Price had given you last time, and tossed it over your bare legs. He can’t see you breathing. You must barely be sipping air. 

He contemplates leaving you like that, blind and silent, barely a shadow in the dark cabin. But he feels compelled, as he steps towards you and you flinch at the sound, to at least allow you sight. His chosen tactic of stoking terror in you has served its purpose, now - you are malleable, compliant, you’ve committed yourself to his plan. There’s little need to continue tormenting you. No practical need, anyway.

With a careless fist he clutches the top of the cotton bag, tugging it from your head and holding it tightly in his hand. You squeak, turning briefly away in fright as your sight returns to you. But as you realise your surroundings, quickly glancing around the echoing cabin, your gaze lands on him. Glowering up at him from under twisted brows, mouth barely open, you swallow. Saying nothing. 

Christ.

Look at you. 

Your eyes are hauntingly dark, puffy, stained with melted mascara oozing black from your lashes. Your hair is greasy, looks matted; frizzed and curled and crimped chaotically in your captivity. There’s a split in your lip, swollen and red, a speckled mauve bruise on your cheek. 

Gone is the image of that pampered whore. No longer do you look like some meticulously manicured empress, sheltered and ignorant, deserving of odium. It’s hard to picture you, even, in your nauseatingly expensive clothes, donning a priceless mink coat and diamond-encrusted heels, flittering about your mansions, plural. 

It’s difficult to see you for what you are. 

Like this, you are more reminiscent of a cat turned feral; once loved, once cared for, then apathetically abandoned - ill-prepared for the world outside your sanctuary, forced to turn primal to survive. 

Yet, you look more human, don’t you. 

There’s a hunger in your glare, deep within your shadowed eyes, but he can see it  - a fierce desire to survive. A potent craving to be free. He can see how much you despise him, how much you scorn your misfortune. How eagerly you’d slaughter him to gain your freedom, if you could ever overpower him. He can see you thinking, analysing, plotting. You must have run out of acts to keep up. Are you stuck on which role to play for him? You’ve tried your hand as the succubus, then as the damsel - what next, little thing? 

There’s something visceral about you, now. Stripped down to the raw meat. To your persisting organs, dark and thumping. To your very last resorts. You’re quite the little animal, aren’t you?

Your gaze shifts from him, then, to the black bodybag that lies on the checker-plate steel of the cabin floor, dumped coldly in a pile against the wall. 

“Is that him?” You ask, monotone, eyes fixed and glassy. 

Ghost nods stiffly. “Yes. That’s him.” 

You inhale deeply, slowly, you twist your head away as though it had offended you. 

“Not very mournful, are you,” he remarks dryly, a needless comment that he didn’t question before uttering. He just wants to see how you react. A poke with a stick. Because even still, he cannot fathom that you could have loved your husband. That you felt anything for him beyond a gratitude for his bank account, and for whatever protection he supposedly provided you. He wonders, believes, that what you must have felt was dependency. Reliance twisted in retrospect into an emotion easier to swallow. That feeling, he knows. 

You look at your knees, your body is rigid. “I don’t- I don’t know what I feel anymore.” 

He grits his teeth, gripping the handrail on the ceiling as the helicopter roars loudly and begins its ascent. Can’t think of anything to say. 

You remained dead silent for the duration of the flight, and therefore, so did he.

The driveway of your estate is expansive enough to allow the chopper to drop down close to the main entrance, vast and ornate as it is. Your palace almost glitters in the grim daylight, Ghost begins to wonder if all of the florid architectural details are plated in gold. It wouldn’t surprise him. 

As the aircraft lowers to a hover above the asphalt of the courtyard, Ghost disengages the locked door and heaves it open, the metal moaning and clanking as it rolls along in its fastenings. The cold is not nearly as vicious as it had been the last time he arrived at your mansion, but he can see the impending snowstorm rolling in over the distant pine-coated hills. A blessing in disguise - a certain delay to any arriving Ultranationalists that are yet to receive your distress call. 

He turns to face you, then, and you only gaze vacantly out of the door, at your blood-soaked mansion. Your skin is drained and grey, eyes glistening with a vague horror. He leans down to you, holding you by the shoulders and lifting you to stand. Swivelling you, he tugs a combat knife from its sheath on his belt, pokes it through the black cable tie around your wrists and slices it off with a pop. 

“Out,” he barks, loud enough to be heard over the thunder of the rotator blades, as he puts his knife away. 

You turn around and step past him, shoulder grazing his stomach. You hop down onto the driveway, yelping as your bare feet land in the thinning layer of snow. He watches with a crease in his brow as you wander sheepishly towards the towering doors of your once safe castle, almost aimless in your direction, you wrap your arms around yourself. Only thirty-odd metres, you’ll be fine in the dry cold for that long. 

He reaches then to pick up the bodybag, heavier than he had anticipated; he tosses it over his shoulder with a sour grunt, and sets out to follow you. Muttering an all clear into his radio as he jumps out onto the snow-coated cement, the helicopter immediately begins its ascent - leaving him here, with you, and all of the corpses of your decommissioned protectors. Not protective enough, were they? He’ll do a better job. 

Hauling your now limp husband, he approaches you. You’ve stopped dead. Within arm’s reach of the door that had been left ajar, you could merely step forward and return to the familiarity of your fortress - yet you are utterly frozen. Staring through the crack into the foyer like you had forgotten where you were going. 

He persists past you, barging open the heavy door and marching into the grand entryway, leaving bootprints in the sprinkling of snow that had blown in through the gap overnight. And he’s confronted immediately by a butchered corpse; one of your guards, whose throat he had slit and who had bled to death not a day earlier. He can see his face in the daylight. Looks young. 

Peering over his shoulder, you are stiff and unmoving. Gazing through his body as though you can see the body behind him. 

“I can’t-” you croak, “I can’t go in.” 

“Fuck’s sake-” He grumbles, adjusting your husband on his shoulder. “It’s your mansion.” 

You aren’t tearful anymore, and it perturbs him; instead you just stand as rigid as stone, wide-eyed and absent. “I can’t go in.” 

“The place is empty,” he says dully, simmering irritation seeming to fluctuate at each breath. A bitter impatience and an uncomfortable pity. “You’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t look at them,” you utter, barely shaking your head. “I don’t want to see them.” 

“What,” he looks back at the cadaver on the tiled floor, “the guards?” 

You grimace at that, pushing the heels of your palms into your shut eyes, as if you might block it out. “They were just boys,” you whisper, a quiet whimper escapes you, Ghost wonders if you had even intended for him to hear it. “Just doing their - their job.” 

He finds himself silently disconcerted. They were just boys, you say. Boys you hired to put their bodies on the line for your safety. Yet there is anguish in your throat - it’s potent, and quivering, and even he is unable to maintain his conviction that you are only performing your guilt. Why do you care? Are you ashamed? Do you blame yourself? He wonders if you’d react the same way, to the knowledge of how many boys doing their job had been slaughtered at your husband’s behest. Would you feel as guilty, then? Or did their deaths serve you better? 

Ghost sucks his teeth. “Weren’t doing a good one, were they,” he remarks richly. Pointlessly cruel. He doesn’t look at you when he says it. 

“You’re proud of yourself,” you mutter, now you are glaring at him. A lour of pity and disgust. 

His victim’s eyes are clouded, its throat open as wide as its mouth; even he can’t deny the gruesomeness of it. He blocks your sight of it where he stands. “Not of this,” he admits with a grim huff. “This is just work.”

You tighten the arms around yourself, trembling in the cold. ���You sound like Victor,” you croak. 

Ghost bites down on nothing. Feels his temples throbbing with fury at the accusation, but he finds himself with nothing to say to it. 

“Get inside,” he orders, cutting through the turgid silence. 

You open your mouth to speak, or to breathe, but you do neither. 

“You want the sack back on, do you?” He questions impatiently, reaching into one of his pockets with a free hand to present it to you. 

You hesitate, merely blinking at him. But with a stiff shake of your head, you take a step forward. He moves aside to let you pass, unwittingly maintaining a position that blocks the view of his victim from you. You amble like an android, head locked, facing forward; you follow your nose down the ostentatious foyer. 

“Master bedroom,” he demands dully, as he follows you. You offer no verbal confirmation, but you make your way to your grandiose staircase. 

From behind you he can see the blood drooling down the stairs. Darkened and viscous in the hours since its spill. There’s a body at the top, he remembers, one of your mercenaries who had tried to sneak up on him. That one was met with a knife through the temple. He’d have warned you, but you’ve seen it already. He can hear it in your throat, the whines of anguish and repulsion, your toes inadvertently land in the dark red puddle. 

You sob, struggling to keep your head up, refusing to turn down and look at the corpse you can’t bring yourself to step over. 

“Keep going,” he grunts. 

With a quiet cry you obey, lifting your blood-stained foot and vaulting over your obstacle. Good girl. 

You seem to shrink in the unending hallway, dwarfed by the paintings that are taller than you, by the chandeliers that would crush you if their hangings were to snap. He recognises this hall as the one he had stalked you down. Remembers the vivid fury, the pure indignance that burned in his stomach at the sight of your exorbitant wealth, how shamelessly you flaunted it with your paintings and your wallpaper and your fucking twinkling chandeliers. It looks more grey in the daytime. Labyrinthine channels and empty rooms, lacking light or energy or care. A decorated cage. 

You disappear through the door to your master suite, and in quick but steady pursuit he follows you inside.

The room is bathed in the dull glow of the ashen sky, by virtue of the floor-to-ceiling windows that span two of the four walls. There’s an eeriness to it, untouched since his incursion; your blankets still tossed and crumpled from where Soap had wrestled and detained your husband, the bloody prints left by Ghost’s boots stain your cream carpet. 

They track to where he had found you, in your ensuite - and where you stand now, in the doorframe. You stare into the dark for a moment, wavering, before venturing inside. He decides to let you. Chooses to trust you. 

So he busies himself, carting your weighty husband and dumping him on the carpet at the end of your bed. Apathetically pulls down the zip with a shrill shriek, parting open the sack to unveil the pallid, faceless cadaver within.

The pride he takes in your husband’s fate hasn’t waned. Still relishes in how deserved, how karmic it is, as he yanks the polyester bag out from under the corpse. Leaves it lying haphazardly, face down, black blood smearing and staining the pristine off-white wool beneath it. To make it convincing, he considers, he tugs the glock from where he had tucked it in his vest; tugs back the slide, listlessly aims the barrel at the back of it. Fires three shots - back of the head, neck, shoulder - sending old blood splattering out from the cadaver and splashing everything in its vicinity. Each bullet erupts in thunder through the room, vibrates the glass of your windows, sends shudders across the floor. 

He takes the moment in the subsequent silence to inspect his handiwork; if examined by a coroner it would be clear that these bullet wounds were inflicted post-mortem. But he’s confident that your husband’s company will be quick to dismiss and bury his assassination, once in the grip of his rival - inevitably, Vladimir Makarov. In that man’s eyes, Ghost and his men had done him a favour. Created a power vacuum for him to slither into. He can’t imagine that the cause for that vacuum would be closely investigated. 

Ghost’s head perks, then - hearing your flitting movements as you step out of the ensuite, he spots you. Two strides from him, you stand dead still.  

Your shaky fingers curl around a black pistol - the Beretta, he suddenly remembers - the one you had first drawn on him, and that you had surrendered at his behest. You point it at him intently, holding it up with both hands, he sees your finger grazing the trigger. There’s a glint of challenge in your wide eyes. A curl of unease in your lips.

He doesn’t indulge you with a panic, or a step back, or a raise of his hands - though he does feel the racing in his chest, he is not immune to adrenaline. He merely keeps his eyes on you, minutely turning his body so that he faces you head on. 

He could, if he chose to, lift his own glock and shoot you square in the forehead in the time it takes you to blink. You’re quite bold in your assumption that he can’t, or won’t, kill you before you can even pull the trigger. But he doesn’t want to. Not yet. He keeps his gun tight in his palm but aimed at the floor. 

You didn’t pull the gun on him the last time you had one in your clutches, he considers, but the current circumstances are vastly different. Then, you were lost in the depths of the compound utterly unfamiliar to you, outnumbered by armed and armoured men that would shoot you on sight, or worse. Now, you are back in your domain. You know where to run, how to hide, who to call. Perhaps you are a better liar than he had thought. Perhaps your Soviet co-conspirators never presented any threat to you at all. If that were true, despite his doubt, you surely would shoot him. Try to, anyway. That’s what he would do. 

“Do you know how to use that thing?” He asks stiffly, tightening his fists in stifled frustration. Elects not to antagonise you but refuses to embolden you. You enigmatic little thing, you have left him desperately unable to read you. 

“Yes,” you murmur, but he can taste your reluctance from where he stands. Despite the violence of your world, you seem rather averse to it. Maybe you don’t have it in you. 

He inhales carefully. “If you shoot me, and I don’t die,” he grumbles, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

“Don’t threaten me,” you challenge mutedly. He sees you raise the handgun just slightly, he can look down the barrel from here. 

“I’m not threatening you,” he goads, voice low. “I’m warning you.” 

You falter, just briefly, sucking down a sharp breath. There’s a twitch in your wrist, your catlike eyes align with the iron sights - and on sudden instinct, Ghost moves to lift the weapon of his own. 

But in that heartbeat you had pulled the trigger; he feels an immediate flash of blisteringly hot air gust past his hand, before an explosive jolt of the gun in his palm sends it flying from his grip. He grunts in shock and spontaneous anger, shaking out his whiplashed hand and glaring at you with a bloodthirsty fury. 

You raise your pistol again, eyes wide, he can feel where you are aiming to fire next - but now he sees only red. 

Before you shoot again, he storms rapidly towards you, immediately reaching for your arm and tossing it upward just as you pull down on the trigger. The eruption of the barrel blasts right by his ear, sending a rogue bullet colliding into the floridly plastered ceiling. The shower of white dust lands on his back as he stampedes you, unfazed - you shriek in dispute as he restrains you, herding you brutally before ramming you into the panelled wall, front-first. He tears the little gun from your grip, before pinning your arms behind your back, leaning into you with his entire weight and wedging you tightly against the wall. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” He growls savagely; his head craned over your shoulder, lips against your soft ear, he feels you wriggle defeatedly beneath him. 

His rage is red-hot and thundering in his temples, he viciously fights the urge to fulfil his warning to you. You shot him. You missed. Or, perhaps, you had aimed near-perfectly, if your goal was to disarm him. 

“Get off me,” you protest through teeth, barely able to use your voice with his crushing weight tightening your ribs. 

With a jolt, he pushes you harder. “Answer me.” 

A pained yelp escapes you as he shoves the air from your lungs, he finds himself unconsciously loosening his grip at the sound. “I saw a chance,” you breathe, “so I took it.” 

“Yeah?” He seethes, letting a hint of amusement slither into his tone. “How many chances do you think you’ll get?” 

“I don’t care. I’ll keep taking them,” you cry, your frightened honesty continues to confound him. 

“If you want, Mia,” he snarls, mouth still to your ear, “I can leave you here. I can leave you here with the bodies of your husband and all your fucking servants. You can clean up the mess, if you want. You can try to get the stains out of the carpet. Then what, huh? You gonna run away into the hills and freeze to death? You gonna call your fucking Russians to come and see the mess you’ve made? You know they’ll have questions, sweetheart. You know they won’t be as gentle as I’ve been.” 

You writhe in protest, and he tightens his grip. 

“Get off,” you groan, again, but he can hear your tenacity fizzling away. More of a plea than a demand. He supposes he’s finally getting what he wanted - for you to fight against him, to challenge him, and to lose hope in the futility of your resistance. He doesn’t find nearly as much satisfaction in it as he had hoped. 

“Is that what you want?” He demands, low and rough, ignoring your supplication. He leaves a second for you to respond, and when you only whimper, he persists. “Is it?” 

“No,” you croak. 

“You sure?” 

A whine slides from your throat. “Yes.” 

“Say it.” 

You draw in a quaking breath, as much air as his confinement will allow. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

He lets out a huff of satisfaction. “Then don’t take any more fucking chances.” 

When you give a cautious and reluctant nod, he finally decides to release you. You stay put, for the moment, with your trembling hand keeping you balanced on the wall. He keeps his glare on you as he pulls the slide entirely off your Beretta, taking it apart completely with a noise of clicks and snaps. 

Fury waning, heartrate steadying, he suppose can’t fault you for your attempt at escape. He knew it was inevitable that you would take it. But he hopes, for your sake, it is your last one. 

“You got a bath?” He questions tensely, as he marches towards the other gun that you had, somehow, shot from his grip. 

“Why,” you mutter leerily. 

“You won’t want to shower.” 

He looks back at you, then, tucking his handgun back into place in his tacvest. You have your arms around yourself, expression bitter and doubtful. 

“What are you talking about.” 

With an ireful sniff, he nods towards your ensuite door. “Go on. See how it makes you feel.” 

You dubiously shuffle into your bathroom, and he meanders over to lean in the doorframe. He’s going to watch you like a hawk for the foreseeable future. Your own fault, little thing. He no longer trusts your judgement. 

He spectates as you open the towering, shimmering glass of your shower door, reaching in and tugging on the lever to turn on the water. It cascades loudly out of the golden rainfall showerhead, splashing over the pearlescent tiles and spitting outwards onto the glass in a mist. Little stray droplets touch your skin, land on the tiles outside the shower, leave dark spots on the black sweatshirt he had given you. 

You reach a shaky palm towards the stream of water, holding it under the fall for just a moment; before you vacuum in a rigid breath and immediately tug back your hand, shutting off the lever with a slam. You whine, and sniff, as you wipe your wet hand on the fabric of your sweatshirt. 

“I couldn’t shower for a month the first time,” Ghost comments frankly, coarsely, his arms crossed as he leans against the white painted jamb of the door. Unsure why he admitted such a thing.

“You-” You hesitate, he sees your dark eyes well. “You’ve been waterboarded before?” 

You utter it doubtfully, yet accusingly. He grits his teeth, then nods succinctly. 

More than once, in actual fact - the first time a mandatory exercise as part of his special forces training, the next few far less quotidian, left far deeper scars. He swallows at the thought. Chooses not to entertain the memory as he feels his throat begin to close. 

“So you know what it feels like,” you chide weakly. 

“I do,” he says. 

Wiping your cheek with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, you glower at him. “Then why do you do it to other people.” 

“Because it works.” 

“Did it work on you?” You seethe. 

He bitterly begrudges your interrogation. Because the more you dig, the more he remembers. He remembers that they started with cold water, the cubes of ice that would land sharp and hard over his face - and that they then moved to hot water, not quite hot enough to cook his skin, but hot enough to emulate the searing pain of it. He remembers the burning ache in his lungs as they failed to suck down any air, only droplets of water and his own frothy saliva. He remembers thinking he had died, almost welcoming the release it would bring him; only to be painfully reawakened once they refilled the bucket and started the onslaught over again. 

“It did,” he murmurs, breaking the ugly silence of his reverie. 

You seem to soften at that, scowl loosening as you keep your stare hitched on him. Did you think he was merely an agent of suffering, little thing? Did you ever consider what kind of pain would have been necessary to turn him into one? 

“It was preferable to Graves’s idea,” he confesses hoarsely, though he immediately questions why he felt the need to offer any kind of justification. 

Drawing in a shivering breath, you look at the marble tiles under your toes. “The commander,” you utter. 

Attentive bird, aren’t you. “Mh,” he confirms. 

“What was his idea.” 

Ghost runs his tongue along his teeth, can’t help his eye from catching on the swollen bruise on your cheekbone, on the split in your lip, on the welt on your temple. “You don’t need to know that.” 

He watches your face as your lip begins to quiver, brows crumpling, eyes grow glassy with brimming tears; you look away from him as if to hide it. Can’t explain the swell of viscous guilt that churns in his stomach at the sight. 

“Draw a bath,” he abruptly orders, sniffing and adjusting his mask over his nose. “You’ll need to look like you haven’t left the building.” 

You nod, rubbing the sleeves of your sweatshirt into your eyes. “Fine.” 

Your mind is frayed. 

Your heart is tired, but somehow, still beating.  

Your instinct to retaliate had reared its head, only briefly - little rationalisation had occurred when you had spotted that Beretta on the floor of your bathroom. Once it was in your hands, your impulse had flooded you swiftly, hot and blinding. 

And you relished in it, while it lasted. Watching him freeze in place, witnessing him hesitate and walk over eggshells to avoid your pull of the trigger. Fantasising, for a brief moment, that you might let loose the bullet that would end him - that you could watch him die right there in the room he had taken you from, and that no consequences would come of it. Just that fleeting illusion seemed enough, at least temporarily, to bolster your spirit. You still had it in you. You could have outsmarted him, if you tried. 

But some small part of you is glad, now, that Riley had foiled you. Because you can’t fathom being left alone here -  surrounded by so many corpses, as he had reminded you, stuck in the same room as the bloated cadaver of your husband. You could call certain people for help, once the Lieutenant was dead or gone - if he would have gone as he threatened - they may have come to collect you, and maybe they would have believed whatever story you would have spun for them. 

But, you know how sorely unlikely that would be. How certain a death that path would lead to. 

The English soldier is frightening, and dangerous, and unpredictable - but at least, grudgingly, there is a glimmer of hope in the path he offers you. A dim guidelight in an otherwise black, echoing, endless tunnel. He makes his threats but he does not enact them. He restrains you but he does not hurt you. 

Not yet, you suppose - you do your utter best not to let the gorey images of the sentries he slaughtered flash into sight. You hadn’t considered how many there were. How many more there might be, spread about your mansion, or elsewhere in the grounds of your estate. At least, in your bedroom, you can’t smell the blood. But that was always the case, wasn’t it? 

How many houses, how many buildings, how many cities had been left like this in the wake of Victor’s campaigns? How many more bodies had been strewn through hallways and streets? How much more blood had been spilt? You’ve been willfully ignorant, blissfully so. Just as your hunter had so venomously shamed you for. 

There’s a wound in him, though. You can see it, despite his efforts to keep it obscured. You wonder how many more he might be hiding. 

He remains looming in the door of your ensuite as you lean over the clawfoot bathtub, sticking the rubber plug into the drain, and twisting the brass knobs. You try to hold a hesitant finger in the water, but you can barely keep it under the stream for even a second; feeling the splashes spray over your skin; scarcely long enough to know that the water will be hot enough. 

Whatever they had done to your mind seemed to you as indelible. A tattoo of suffering needled directly into the glossy, wet tissue of your brain. But there’s a strange, sick comfort in the knowledge that this man might know what it feels like. He might be able to understand what you are going through, even if he doesn’t care how it hurts you. Might you end up like him? 

Once the tub is full, you hastily lean over and twist shut the faucets, the steam billowing from the water lapping at your arm. You glance at him, then, and he still watches you scrutinisingly. When your brows knit doubtfully at him, he flicks his head in the direction of the tub. 

“Hurry up,” he nudges impatiently, spectating aloofly from behind his painted balaclava. “The longer we take, the less likely your friends will believe anything you say.” 

You curl your lips in distaste. “What, are you going to watch?” 

“You think I’m going to let you out of sight after what you just pulled?” He questions severely. 

Glaring at him warily, you stifle the urge to lash out at him. “Are you scared of me?” 

He chuffs, then, evidently amused; his shoulders jolt with a single huff of laughter. Doesn’t even entertain your attempts to outwit him for even a moment. The fucker. “Stop wasting time.” 

“Are you?” You pester, seeking now only to badger him out of the room. You yearn to be alone, if only for five minutes. 

You can see his eyes crease in their corners, his cheeks shift under his knitted mask. He’s smiling at you. “Do you want me to be scared of you?” 

You cross your arms demurely. “I want you to leave me alone.” 

“Not gonna happen.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you seethe.

Unfazed by your insult, he says nothing in his defence. “Get in the bath.” 

“You just want to watch me strip.” 

He rolls his eyes, you hear him lick his teeth. “Seen plenty of it already.” 

“You’re a pig,” you spit.

He grunts in exasperation, you wonder hopefully if he might simply back down and step out of the room. But, no, he stays obstinately put - so intent on staying, in fact, that he crosses one boot over the other, leaning his shoulder comfortably against the doorframe. 

“You’re not exactly the fuckin’ Virgin Mary, are you?” 

You feel your heart thundering in frustration, frenetic and quick to flare. “Fuck you.” 

He stands straight, then, and you feel yourself begin to shrink. “If I wanted you naked, I’d have left you naked,” he sneers, reminding you acrimoniously of his earlier favour. “You can wash yourself with the sweatshirt on, for all I care, just get in the fucking tub.” 

In honesty, you don’t hold your nudity particularly sacred. You didn’t have that luxury, in your lines of work - and by this point, it’s habit, whether you like it or not. Really, you just wanted him out of sight and mind for even a brief moment, long enough to catch your breath, to enjoy the silence - to pretend none of it had ever happened, and you had just simply had a nightmare before getting in the bath that evening.

But he is as obdurate as he is unperturbed, he stays firmly planted in the door. 

So you grip the hem of the thick black sweatshirt, tearing it upwards and off you in a single, hasty motion; your skin pricks and shivers near instantly upon its renewed exposure. You hurl the sweater at him spitefully, throwing it in a ball as hard as your arm could muster. It hits him in the chest with a thump, and while he seems briefly taken aback, he otherwise absorbs the blow.

Despite his efforts to seem utterly uninterested in your nakedness, his lidded eyes betray him. As they always do, for all the beasts of his kind. Though they take only a cursory glance, raking briefly from your eyes and downwards, back again. 

Not indulging him any longer, you lift your leg and step into the tub - dipping your toe into the water, you find it is only lukewarm. Groaning in defeated frustration, you reluctantly set both feet into the bath and lower yourself, sinking into the aquamarine water with a bitter sigh. You want eagerly to submerge your head under the surface. To relish in the dull, throbbing silence, to  pretend you are still in the womb of a mother different to your own. Maybe you could start from scratch, if you held your breath for long enough. 

But simply the thought of the water touching your face sends a surge of panic erupting from your heart - even the warm surface of it lapping at your neck makes a flush of anxiety scrape down your spine. You sincerely hope that the bath, though barely warm and vaguely triggering, might eventually relax you, even slightly. That washing off the filth and pain might make you feel better. But you feel the need to distract yourself, to stop your skin from crawling in the wetness - you take a pump of soap from the bottle of rose and jasmine bodywash, sat on the single floating shelf next to the tub, and rub it gently into your arms. The smell is a small comfort.

“I wasn’t going to shoot you,” you mutter absently, eager to fill the silence - you now find, while half-submerged, that being truly alone might send you into a panic attack, irrespective of your scorned company. You do your best to maintain an apathetic candour in your voice, but the agitation squeaks through despite your effort. 

“You did,” he argues tersely, tilting his head. 

“No - I mean, I wasn’t going to kill you.” 

He snorts, as though challenging the idea that you could have if you tried. “No?” 

You shake your head, keeping your eyes on your body as it ripples under the water; you grab another pump of soap. “I just…” you think aloud, lifting your knee out of the water and massaging the soap into your skin. “I wanted to feel brave. I just wanted some - some control over something. Just once.” 

While you question your needless, over-divulging honesty, there’s something rewarding in letting someone be privy to your innermost thoughts. You couldn’t share anything with Victor, not anything honest, anyway - and you wouldn’t dare to share with any of his compatriots, or any clients from your past life. Not your maids, or your cooks, or your mercenaries. Not even the women you considered ‘friends’, the wives of your husband’s co-conspirators - lest they turncoat and share every secret of yours with their own husbands. Everything you might have uttered would have made its way back to you. Would have returned to violently hurt you. 

Being welded shut, intently, is what you have been for the better part of your life - but, grotesquely, nothing you tell this man could make your situation worse. Would be heard by people that you don’t want it heard by. What does he care of your thoughts, anyway? What use are they to him? You may as well utter them to a brick wall, but at least now you know somebody is hearing them. 

When you flit your eyes to look at him, his stare is vacant. 

Maybe he overestimated you. Assumed that you could puppeteer everybody in your life, that you could whisper demands in your husband's ear, and that he’d obey if the words slid out seductively enough. Maybe he knows now how wrong he was. 

He draws in a tense breath, and releases it in a pained sigh. With a grumble, he chides; “You’re too brave for your own good.”

[thesassypadawan]

Nurse Stephen, Mr. Glass (Stephen x FemReader)

Summary:  You’ve been begging your boyfriend for a boo basket for Halloween this year and he certainly didn’t disappoint…

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Switch, sub/dom nerd, adorable nurse, handy, fun from behind, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

- Slowly you shed your clothes.  Wicked smile spreading across your face.  Eyes hungrily looking him up and down, taking in the ghoulishly delightful sight before you…   

- Dozens of flickering candles and pumpkin lights, placed and strung throughout the room.  All your favorite candies lay scattered on the bed, along with… 

- Your sweet boy…sat patiently waiting on his knees… faint dusting of pink on his cheeks…dressed up in the skimpiest, most darling nurse costume…cute, chubby cock peeking out and leaking from underneath the skirt…big bow tied and knotted at its base…  “You…you've been BO-BOO'd."

- “Awe, baby,” you coo, coming to kneel before Stephen.  Your hands resting on his firm chest; giving each pec a gentle squeeze through the thin, sheer fabric.  Length bobbing in response, a soft whimper falling from his plump lips.  “I love it…the perfect little treat.”

- “Real…really?”  He stammers, watching your fingers intently as they descend.  Fiddling with the red laces, the top of his thigh-high.  Snapping the lacey band, drawing out a small squeak.  “You d-do?”

- Leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his nose.  “Yeah, such a thoughtful gift…”  Loosely you wrap them, slide your thumb over the prominent veins that lace around his girth.  Stroking slowly, pausing at his flushed, pretty pink tip.  To spread, coat it in the glistening beads; adding a glob of your own spit for extra measure.  “…such a good boyfriend.”

- “I t-try.”  The words come out more like a groan; adam’s apple bobbing deliciously, tantalizing.  From the sensation of you picking up the pace, grip tightening.  Slick sound of saliva and pre against your palm filling the air, while it drips down…splatters on the sheets and assorted confectionaries below…along with your own juices.  “Just want t-to make you hap-happy.”

- “Doing a great job,” you praise.  Reveling in the way his head tilts to the side.  Brow knits in pleasure, covered in a light sheen of sweat.  Mouth hanging agape, the most darling pants coming from him.  “Always.”

- Warm breath ghosts over his neck, lips and tongue trails across his salty skin.  Nipping, sucking in those sensitive spots that have him gasping…hips bucking, seeming to seek out more friction.  “I…I…”

- Hearing the strain in his voice, feeling him twitch in your hand.  It’s easy to tell that he’s close, about to go crashing over the edge.  And he’s been so well behaved, so generous.  You decide to…

- Fingers tug at the bow, trying to free his dick…  “That’s it, cum for mommy.  You deserve it after being such a good boy.”  But just as it was about to come undone…

- He snaps…

- Hooking his arms under your legs, he tosses you onto the bed.  Squeak of surprise escaping you while he manhandles, turns you around so that you lay on your stomach.  Roughly yanks up your hips, holds them even…flush with his. Fat tip prodding, poking at your soaked core.  “Baby, what are you-”

- “Shut up, I say when we’re done,” he growls low.  One hand slapping your ass hard; making it bounce and ripple.  The other winding, squeezing the back of your neck…cutting off your air supply slightly.  “And we’re far from it.”

- Slamming into you, Stephen doesn’t give you a moment to adjust.  Thrusting fast and punishing.  So deeply that you he seems impossibly larger…like he’s splitting you open on his cock.

- Desperately, you suck in every breath you can.  Only managing a constant stream of broken mewls and cries instead.  Practically punching them from your lungs as he pounds mercilessly, hits that small bundle of nerves over and over.  The heat in your stomach pooling, rising up…the coil growing incredibly tight.  “I…I…”

- “That’s it, cum for daddy…”  He mocks, pressing your face more firmly against the mattress.  Stray pieces of chocolate melting underneath, sticking to your cheek.  “You deserve it after being such a good girl…”

- A strangled moan flies from your throat, walls clench and clamp down on him.  As waves of blinding pleasure come crashing over you…as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.  Speed increasing, drives become more brutal.

- Weakly, you whimper.  Fisting the stained sheets, body trembling.  Second release quickly approaching.  “Dad-daddy, I…I…”

- Gripping your neck harder, stars start to fill your vison.  “Love your perfect little treat?  I know…”  Head swims, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.  “You’re going to keep loving it all night long, until you’re sore…numb.  Until Mr. Glass is through with you…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite

[windssong]

To Hold The Sun // Astarion x gnTav

series summary: 5 years after the main events of Baldur’s Gate 3, you and Astarion have spent that time searching for a cure that would make it possible for him to walk in the sun again. During one of your adventures, you come across an ancient tome that promises a cure and much, much more.

Chapter 1 - And The Three Magic Words Are…

chapter summary: You are determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Astarion can feel the suns warmth once again. What you didn’t expect, was an ancient spell from an ancient book to do more than that.

words: 3k+

tags/warnings: 18+MDNI, brief smut, romance, high fantasy, canon level violence, fluff, some angst,

authors note:

This is one of my favorite ideas I’ve come up with yet. Just pure, high fantasy fun. Enjoy reading!

If you could only choose one moment to anchor yourself to, it would be right here. Shuddering underneath his dancing fingers, chasing each other's lips forever.

Astarion sucked in a gasp of sweet air, letting out a moan locked deep within his chest. He fell against your body as he came inside you. Legs tangled together underneath sheets that stuck against salty skin.

All that was left were two souls breathing heavily against one another.

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, catching his breath. You ran your hands through his white locks. You were the only person allowed to do that. It was soft falling in between your fingers. Like water in the palm of your hands, he drowned in your embrace.

Both of you had returned to the city late last night. The same city you and your companions saved years ago. You decided to find rest and say hello to some old friends at The SongFire Inn. Lakrissa had opened the Inn a few years back, along with Alfria who was also running her own bardic school.

The SongFire Inn was built near the edge of Rivington. Not too far from Wyrm’s Crossing but far enough away that you had to squint to make out its bridge from your window. For how spacious the Inn was, it still had all the comforts and furnishings of a welcoming home.

It was a nice change of scenery compared to the dingy and questionable Inns and abandoned homes you’d stayed in over the years. Although, sleeping beneath the stars is where you were most at ease.

A fireplace blazed across the room. The flames licked the humid air. Its golden light flickered across your naked bodies.

Since you had known Astarion, you had come to one simple conclusion. That there was no greater comfort than his presence. He was a tattered blanket slowly stitching itself back together. Every day, new patterns formed and colors made anew. You didn’t mind the icy air finding its way through little holes in the fabric. It kept you warm all the same.

He was still inside of you when he started laughing.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. Your head was still spinning from the aftermath of your orgasm. “What’s so funny?”

You could feel his smile spread against your shoulder. “Nothing darling. You just feel good. You make me feel good.”

He kissed your neck, lips drunk against your skin. “Thank you.”

His fangs ghosted over the faded marks where he first fed on you all those years ago. Then over the spot where he drank from you last night, when you ripped each other's clothes off, covered in weeks worth of grime and rain from your travels.

The pads of your fingers drew circles on his pale skin. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He grinned, peppering kisses along your collarbone. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a mystery to me as well.” He paused above your new scar.

His shoulders tensed. You could practically feel the muscles tightening underneath his skin. You continued massaging the nape of his neck, hoping to distract him from the memory you knew he was reliving.

That memory, that fear of almost losing you 2 tendays passed, continued to stick with him. He couldn’t shake it. You knew it still bothered him, even though you had made a full recovery.

His arms tightened around you. He held you like he did then. On that frozen lake thick with snow and blood. Your blood.

The first time you heard him pray was on that cold night. It was more of a plea, to whatever god would listen. He knew it was futile, it had always been for him. But, he continued anyway, waiting for the health potion to kick in and take all your agony away.

His eyes raked over the burn mark right in the middle of your chest as it faded into and around your neck. Maybe if he stared hard enough, it would go away and everything would be okay again.

The skin around the circular mark was still inflamed and showed no signs of healing properly. He hated how painful it looked. He saw how your hands gripped the fabric over the scar, face wincing in discomfort over the past couple weeks.

The amulet left behind its imprint. The design that melted into your skin was a cluster of vines growing on top of each other. He could make out what looked to be a small dagger hidden between the overgrown plants. The thick scar tissue made it difficult to tell.

He became all too aware of his scar on his back.

You brought his lips to yours again, snapping him out of that awful memory. “Astarion.” His name rolled off your tongue in a soft whisper. You licked your lips, tasting yourself there. “I’m okay now. You know that, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

The Vampire Spawn sighed. He slipped out of you, sitting up against the wooden headboard. You missed the fullness of him as he left you empty.

“I do.” He glared at your scar. “Mostly. Doesn’t mean the thought of you choking on your blood doesn’t haunt every corner of my mind.” His face was cloaked in pain, the memory still so fresh.

It was a little over 6 tendays ago when Gale sent you that fateful letter and enchanted amulet that led you to your near doom.

After 5 years of research, The Wizard of Waterdeep had finally uncovered a potential lead for a cure. One that would let Vampires walk in the sun again. And potentially, cure Vampirism as a whole.

What he had discovered was an amulet. One that apparently belonged to one of the very first Vampires. Before her untimely death, Maeve wrote a book titled, To Hold The Sun. It was said to be a collection of spells she created herself in a desperate attempt to walk in the sun again.

After Maeve’s mysterious death, her remains, amulet, book all disappeared. Even her Vampiric Castle, Crimsons Haven, said to be the size of a small country, was all lost to the ever forward momentum of time. No one knew whose hands or what cavern held them. Or where her kingdom had fallen to ruin. Or if they and Maeve even existed in the first place.

That was, until Gale came across the amulet himself while adventuring. His research indicated that the lost tome could be found using the amulet as some sort of compass. Whoever wore the priceless artifact was guided to where the book rested.

Astarion didn’t like the styling of the necklace. Said it was, “too old-fashioned,” for his tastes. So, after teasing him about his sense of fashion, it was up to you to wear it. The circular material was warm against your skin. It glowed a soft yellow. A mini sun in the palm of your hands.

With the enchanted item and another adventure underway, the two of you let the amulet guide you onward.

It was a long shot.

You knew that. Astarion knew that.

Years spent searching countless books, poems and glyphs, investigating every town, cavern, and hideout on The Sword Coast had led to absolutely nothing. You couldn’t even find a temporary spell that worked. Just empty chests and promises.

But, even with all those disappointments and hiding in the dark away from the light, Astarion still smiled as if he already found the cure. He was free and finally able to forge his own path, without a puppet master's strings forcing him to do his bidding.

It was the happiest you’d ever been, on this journey with him. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel jaded after turning over nearly every root and stone in Faerun, only to find nothing but dirt and bones.

But this new piece of information changed things. It gave you, and most importantly Astarion, hope again. No matter how much of a long shot it seemed to be, you would take it. Even if it hurt you.

The amulet led to a cave only accessible across a frozen lake. That night, a blizzard raged. It was so cold, your eyelids refused to shut and fingers and toes went numb.

With an Elixir of Ice Resistance, the potion helped you travel that extra mile over the icy tundra. Astarion complained about the aftertaste and your coat that was apparently, in his words, “warmer than his.” You reminded him he was a Vampire and wore the Hoarfrost Boots Wyll gifted him when they all had reunited. Meanwhile, it took your full concentration not to slip and fall on the ice. Astarion walked past you when you did eventually fall over.

When you finally made your way over the treacherous landscape, you reached a shallow cave, finding To Hold The Sun nestled in the arms of a dead bandit. By the look of the body, it was in a frozen state of decay. It was difficult to tell how long it’d been there. Days, weeks, years, his body was forever trapped in the freezing temperature.

Maeve’s amulet burned like a beacon of light against your chest as you inched closer to the tome. There was no sign of damage on the book. It looked as brand new as a fresh plate of armor or newly forged steel. You would’ve never guessed it was centuries old.

After years of traveling and searching, you finally found something of substance. The relief was palpable. You could see it on Astarions face too. Eyes full of wonder. You didn’t want that flicker of hope to leave him ever again.

This was it.

You were unaware of the dark magic radiating off the tome until you held it in your hands. Astarion was too late to notice to stop you in time.

Darkness enveloped you, covering whatever it touched. The ball of shadow circled you in a violent rush of energy. Faces made up of a vine like substance flashed before you. Dead creatures from the past. They looked like Vampires. The red eyes told you were right.

Then, a blaze of heat moved through your chest. The amulet started melting into your skin, leaving behind its ancient mark. It paralyzed your entire body, but you could still use your vocal cords. The scream that ripped passed your lungs cut through Astarion in ways he’d never been cut before.

He tried desperately to reach you, but the darkness sent him flying back onto the icy lake. But that would not deter him. He tried again and again and was met with the same fate.

The thin layer of ice began to crack. Red tentacles moved their bodies up through the wedges. Those sinister vines bubbled up from underneath, topping the surface. They moved along the cracks like trees in the wind.

Eventually, the magic was sucked back into the book, and you were left on the cold ground, suffocating on blood. It was as if the necklace entered your body just to choke you from the inside out. If it wasn’t for the potion you had left in your bag, you would’ve been dead.

When you picked up the book again, you used part of your coat to store it into your bag. Astarion refused to ever let your skin touch that cursed tome again. He wanted to leave it there or destroy it himself for what it did to you. But, you couldn’t risk another missed opportunity. So, to his dismay, you took it.

You understood his worry. The mark just below your neck still stung with a fiery grip. The closest thing you could describe the feeling too was Karlachs burning hands. But even that felt more like a warm touch versus the searing pain of the scar.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Your fingers found his own, eyes softening. “I put myself at risk, and that wasn’t fair to you. And me.”

Astarion shook his head, meeting your gentle gaze. He squeezed your hand, testing to see whether you were really there or not. He paused, choosing his next words with care. “I… I think we should stop looking for a cure.”

The air exited the room and your lungs. “I don’t understand.” You said.

“You will. Someday.” Astarion slid out of the large bed, hand outstretched towards you.

You frowned. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. And what you want. I thought you wanted this?” You took his hand anyway.

“What I want is you. Right here.” He kissed each knuckle for every word. “Safe. With me. That’s more than enough for me.”

You took your hand away, holding his face with your palms. “But you could have the sun?”

The flames illuminated your bodies in a golden glow as you held each other.

Astarion brushed his forehead against your own. His red eyes matched the embers. “Are you trying to make me say, “you’re all the sun I need,” or whatever? Because if you are, that’s petty vanity I wouldn't even stoop myself so low for. I’m impressed.”

You let out a short laugh, pushing him away playfully. “You wish.”

He grinned, catching you in his arms. “Come on now. Let’s get cleaned up.” Astarion led you into the bath connected to the large bedroom Lakrissa let you rent for free. You made sure to leave some coin behind anyway.

After an hour or so in the water, you returned to bed in comfortable clothing.

Astarion fell asleep in your arms. You, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying the previous conversation over and over again in your head.

Did he really want to stop? Every day, you two put your lives in danger in pursuit of this cure. Why was this incident any different? Why was this the breaking point?

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you watched him sleep. He looked so at peace.

You wanted to give this gift. To walk towards the light without the fear of burning away.

The more selfish part of yourself thought of your old body withering away as he stood there, helpless and ageless.

So, you quietly slipped out of the covers and closed the door to the other room. You sat with your back against the wall, bag in hand.

Since the accident, you tried your hardest to ignore the book. You were going to deliver it to Rolan tonight, to see what he could decipher from the ancient language. His tower held information beyond even his understanding. There were answers to be found there, and Astarion was sure they’d find them eventually.

But, the book was calling to you. It had been since the moment you laid your hands on it. There was a soft whisper in the breeze on the road back to Baldur's Gate. Then another when you entered the Inn, and another one right now. An invisible string was pulling you closer and closer to the tome.

Before you could register what you were doing, the book was open in your hands. The magic stayed at bay this time. It covered each page in a sea of black smoke. The language was unrecognizable. Yet, it was obvious that each spell was written in someone’s blood.

As you flipped through the old pages, the scar on your chest burned. The pain grew worse as you went through the tome. It was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t stop. You were rolling down a cliff and you couldn’t fight gravity. That was, until it ceased as soon as you stopped on a certain page.

There was a large Castle drawn in dried blood. It took up two pages. You assumed it was Crimsons Haven. Dark vines covered the Castle like moss. It looked similar to the twisted tentacle like force that attacked you just days prior. And the pattern on Maeve’s amulet branded to your neck. The details stretched far beyond the realm of any artist's abilities. It was so real, you could dip your hand into the sketch and crawl right into the ancient Castle.

Was your hand halfway through the page?

Then, three words unknown to you, words you’ve never heard nor spoken before, left your lips.

The wind made a ghastly noise, piercing your ears. Creatures dressed in robes of red and black filled the entire room, rushing past you violently. Gathering all the willpower you could muster, you shut the book as the scar burned away at your flesh. The shrieking seemed to last for hours, but it was only a moment later when it stopped altogether.

You took your hands off your ears, surveying the surrounding room. You figured you were the only one who heard the horrible sound given Astarion had yet to come and check on you.

Everything was in its exact place, except for the book. It was gone.

You scrambled to your knees, looking everywhere for the old tome. Only a tiny, red tentacle of smoke remained reaching up from the wooden floorboards. “Shit.” You ran a hand through your hair. And just like that, your hopes of finding that cure were dashed away once again.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stop an avalanche of tears from falling on top of you. When you stumbled out of the bathroom, head low and tail between your legs, you found Astarion staring out the window.

Your blood ran cold. “What are you doing!? Get back!” Before you rushed over to cover the window, you noticed there was no sunlight shining through it.

That couldn’t be? It was still morning.

“What in the hells...” Astarion pointed frantically out the window.

As you walked closer, you saw a large shadow looming over every building as far as you could see.

The whole town was covered in a cloak of red and black smoke, and it ran for miles. All the way from Riventon, passed Baldur's Gate and to the ocean. Didn’t matter where you looked, it was caged in like a wild animal.

Astarion lifted your chin with his finger. “Up, darling.”

Your eyes broadened, taking in the brand new scenery in front of you.

A Castle was floating in the sky, blocking out the sun.

The kingdom-sized Castle was shrouded in a layer of shadow, wrapping around the structure in red and black vines. Similar to the magic guarding the book and the amulet stuck to your skin. Layers of dark and Vampiric magic swam over the ancient stone in a protective cocoon.

The strangest part wasn’t even the floating Castle on its own or sea magic swimming around it. It was the position that left you at a loss for words.

It was floating upside down. The tips of the Castle towers nearly touched the buildings below. It sailed above the landscape, one brush away from crumbling to the ground.

“Oh no.” You said, taking a step back. The realization hit you as hard as the spell did.

It was the same Castle from the ancient tome. Crimsons Haven. Down to the exact details. And now it was here, looming over the city you had saved.

“What have I done?”

Astarion held a finger up. “And what exactly do you mean by tha-” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Your scar. It’s gone.”

Your fingers brushed over the burnt area. He was right. There was no longer a layer of thick skin there. It had healed instantly.

But now an even bigger problem remained. Thanks to you and that book. And it was looming over the entire city, ready to swallow it whole.

—

CH 2 - coming soon

[kasarasun]

what if I made a thing or it already was that while Airplane wrote the world, Peerless Cucumber illustrated it (only the animals. And Binghe, fighting the animals.) And then then then

He'd totally do it on an alt account, right?? Peerless Cucumber can't be seen making fanart!! (And he's good at it. Like, wiki is using his art in the monsters and beasts pages (that Peerless Cucumber volleyed for. He also separated it from the plant section.) Because 1 its good 2 the artstyle is consistent 3 there isn't a lot of monster official art, other than that one with the black moon rhinoceros python and those other ones and 4 it's really that good)

Haha incomprehensible parenthesis nesting aside, Airplane is watching the forums, right? Not sure about other stuff in canon but he looks at the forums and the fanart and the fiction and most of it is probably corn and binghe and just a little bit of mobei-jun and also the wives tm but!! There's also that guy!!! The monsters guy!! (People would probably suspect 'Drawing the Beast's Ire'- or some other sex euphemism I'm not good at making those- of being Peerless Cucumber because 1 the writing style is the same 2 Peerless Cucumber is the number 1 contributor to the PIDW wiki and a lot of it is the monsters and beasts section and it makes sense, yes??) Anyway, Airplane shooting towards the sky suspects but not too seriously suspects Mr ire of being cucumber's fanart alt but uh uh that ends pre-transmigration section

So, Shen Yuan starts running about, right? Things seem really... familiar, maybe thats the word?- for some reason. This is because every animal and plant he's ever drawn, sketched- maybe even thought about but that's a stretch?- is his design. The firefly parallels hold their forelimbs like butterflies. That is how far down it goes. Maybe it doesn't come up until later, but beasts and monsters from fanfiction get involved, oc species, too... anyway,

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky transmigrates 30 years (iirc) before Peerless Cucumber. He was an avid enough follower of Drawing the Beast's Ire to recognize that these are their designs! Here's where it gets really crazy. Xiao-Mobei comes along, and while he's still pretty young, Airplane can tell that this is Drawing Ire's design! Some aspect, maybe his ears or teeth, (this isn't a well built theoretical tangent) of Mobei isnt canon. Its Drawing Ire's. From that one Northern Kingdom collection. Whatever stretched his world building into coherence, completion, didn't just pull from fanwork, official art, whatever it could find, it went for Drawing the Beast's Ire's designs specifically. Damn that's crazy Airplane ahahaha moving on,

This is getting really long so I'll be a bit more concise, (want to know more? Talk to me. Please talk to me. I want to interact with the fandom. Ask me questions. Poke your fingers into my cage.) This all comes to head at the Immortal alliance conference. The monsters and beasts really start pouring in! And Shen Qingqiu/Yuan remembers his creations. However, he assumes that this is because like 1 other person maybe was Drawing ghost head spiders.

Hey, Peerless Cucumber really liked the monsters, right? The deadlier, crazier, more intricate, the design the better! So maybe, when he was drawing, he... added some things, really believable, logical additions, really just small creative decisions...

Anyway, the monsters that Drawing the Beast's Ire made were where it came to a head.

Lets have another Canon divergence. Maybe, during or after Binghe gets pushed in, out of the rifts comes a species that Drawing Ire created. It's beautiful, poisonous, beloved, and really quite deadly. Shen Yuan/Qingqiu, Peerless Cucumber, Drawing the Beast's Ire... realizes, quite like airplane before him, that he's illustrated, practically sculpted with his own hands, monsters from the Endless Abyss with claws and teeth and poisons as deadly as Peerless Cucumber thought that the really cool monsters could deserve. It feels like he's the one cutting, biting, poisoning his sweet little sheep. It feels like he's digging out the marrow from his little white lotus disciple's bones.

Ok it is shut up time 👍

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 27-Press Start

Part 1-Ghosted

"So, why are we in a video group chat?" whined Kim.

"Yeah, I have work in the morning." growled Alya.

"Adrien sent me a video and said we should all watch it." Nino answered.

Many groaned.

"Can't we do this another time?" asked Alix

"How long is the video?" questioned Max.

"Uh, ten minutes?" The DJ replied.

"Okay." Rose spoke, "That's not sooo bad."

"So, its not a video-video." declared Nathaniel.

"What's it about?" Mylene asked.

"I don’t know." Nino spoke, "He just said we all had to watch it."

"Well, press start." Kim declared.

"Yeah, I wanna go back to bed." Alya sighed.

Everyone watched as Adrien popped up on the screen, like he was filming off of his phone.

"Shit!" He murmured, "Wrong side."

The group laughed. Suddenly, a runway appeared.

"A fashion show?" questioned Juleka.

"Why would he-" began Ivan.

"This year's winner is Marinette Wayne." The announcer cried.

"Wait! What?" Alya shouted.

"Marinette? As in our Mari?" Rose gasped.

"No. Couldn't be. They said Wayne." Nathaniel corrected.

To their shock, the Marinette they knew walked out with long hair, in a tight dress and heels.

"Thank you, all, so much." Marinette smiled, "I'm honored to be chosen to stand before you today. Thank you to my husband for dealing with my ridiculous schedule and for forcing me to go to sleep. Thank you to our children, who kept my days bright when I felt at my lowest and felt like nothing was good enough. My parents for always supporting me and the Wayne family for sneaking me coffee, when Damian forbid it."

That got some laughs. The camera shifted to some guy who looked really pissed off.

"No, but in all seriousness." And the camera was back on Mari, "Thank you Bruce, Tim. Jason, and Richard for welcoming me into your family with open arms and for the spur of the moment design adventures. My collection isn't complete without all of you. My commissions will be back up in a month and some slots have already been filled."

They watched as the grumpy man took the stage.

"The world doesn't deserve the beauty you show it, Mon Ange." He spoke, "If I wasn't already married to you, I'd propose all over again."

They cooed in time with the audience. Mari smiled at her husband and handed the mic back, before he led her back stage.

"Holy shit! Mari got married and has kids!" Adrien shout-whispered, "Imma go see if I can catch her and say 'Hi'."

The group watched as Adrien tried to squeeze through the crowd and tripped.

"Fuck; I'm alright." He spoke to himself.

"Mr. Agreste, I wasn't aware you had backstage passes." Spoke a security guard.

"Right here!" He shouted, practically shoving his badge in the guard's face.

The guard backed up and verified the pass. They nodded and allowed him in.

"Hey, have you seen Marinette Wayne, the contest winner?" Adrien asked a model.

"Get that camera out of here, you jerk!" They shrieked.

"I'm not filming you!" Adrien replied. "I just wanna see Mari!"

"No, i haven't seen her." The model shot back.

"Shit." He mumbled.

"Hey, he's looking for the new girl!" The model shouted.

"Hubby took her through the back!" Someone called out, "They had plans!"

"So, she won't even be at the after party?" The former model whined.

"Probably not. I heard her panicking before the show started." The new model replied. "Something about her uncle or something. I don't know; I didn't really pay attention. Could have been a ploy."

"Lita had to call her husband over to calm her down. He promised to take her to the airport after the show." Another model spoke, as they walked by.

Adrien nodded and walked out, "Damn, I wish I had congratulated her."

The video cut suddenly.

"Holy shit!"

"Oh my god!"

"That was Marinette!"

"Did you see how long her hair was?"

"She got married!"

"He seems like a grump."

"Who cares; she has kids!"

"What about the death threats?"

"She looks so happy."

"He looks like he could protect her."

Alya stared at the screen in silence as everyone continued to be amazed at Marinette's life.

'After everything we did, none of it mattered. Mari never got with Adrien. Lila ended up getting bullied by someone else and rejected by Adrien, in the end. She never forgave him for that. Lika felt so humiliated that she left the school and they lost contact after a few months. The only reason she even talked to him now, was because of Nino. Now, Marinette just...vanishes and gets a perfect life? She's married with kids! That guy looks nothing like Adrien!'

Alya blinked and realized the screen had gone dark. She turned her head and saw Nino staring at her, before wiping years away.

"It....It doesn't make sense!" She cried out, "I thought she was in witness protection or something, after her parents told us about the death threats! She just stopped talking to us! She still has her same name, Nino! She's married! She has kids! She's a fashion designer! How did everything work out for her and not for us?" Alya shouted.

Nino sighed and unlocked Alya's wheelchair. Alya growled and made her way back to the bedroom. She dragged herself back onto her bed and pouted.

"You have therapy tomorrow, remember? Maybe you can bring this up there." Nino answered, softly.

"That wont change the fact that she got everything she never deserved!" Alya cried, "She was a bully and controlling! She stalked your best friend! She-"

"Was threatened and scared." Nino spoke, " She was fifteen when she left Paris. It's been ten years, Alya, but you keep blaming her for everything. You even blamed her for when you ran into traffic and lost your leg."

"I keep telling you; she did it all the time and was fine!" Alya screeched, " I should have-"

"Enough, Alya!" Nino shouted, then sighed, "If I had known what was on the video, I wouldn't have shown you. I'm sorry and I'm going to bed. Max and I have work in the morning."

"Nino." Alya whispered, as he reached the door, "Do you think that if she had watched my sisters that day, we would have worked out?"

"No." He answered, "You are in our guest room because it is close to your therapist's office. I know you're trying, but try harder. The girl I remember didn't give up and she got lost somewhere years ago. If I could meet that girl again, that would be nice."

Alya stared at the door as it shut.

'I don't know how to prove it, but she ruined everything. My life was amazing until she left. It was like she sucked all the good luck out of me. Maybe if I can finish therapy, Nino will see I'm right and he'll love me like he use to.'

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

UNSPECIFIED- @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog @blushmimi

[babyseraphim]

A little list of silly Charles headcanons!

Charles collects beanie babies. He has a ton of them in his bag of tricks, and he always tells Edwin that they’re increasing in value, so he’s just collecting them as a means of trade/payment

Every time Edwin suggests he try and use any of them to trade, Charles always finds something else to trade instead

His favorite is a panther named Mercury (after Freddy Mercury), as well as a cat that he named after Edwin (he even made a little bow tie for it out of scraps of cloth)

"You ought to stop giving them names. If you keep personalizing them, they will become even more difficult to part with. Farmers and ranchers often employ the same practice with their livestock."

"Well, I can't just leave them nameless, can I? Everyone deserves a name, and the ones on their tags are always a bit daft."

"They are not people, Charles. They are sacks of cloth filled with beans."

"Oi! Be nice, yeah? They’ve never done anything to you."

“...You’re incorrigible.”

Given that he was alive in the 80’s, I think it’s plausible that Charles’s chosen mode of transportation is skateboarding!

I can just picture him hanging out at skate parks all weekend to avoid going home (I know he’s at boarding school, but maybe before he was sent there or on holidays), smoking cigarettes he isn’t supposed to have and falling on his face trying to learn how to do tricks

"Where did this scar on your elbow come from?"

"Oh, that one? Tried and failed to do a kickflip once. I was always rubbish at tricks, but it was fun trying."

"What on Earth is a 'kickflip'?"

"It's a skateboard trick, one of the more popular ones."

"..."

"Right, I knew I kept a spare board in my bag for a reason. Come on, I'm sure we can find a deserted skate park fit for some ghost...boarding. Skate ghosting? Eh, I'll workshop it."

"Please don't."

Also because he was an 80’s teen and needed some place to be that wasn’t home, I think he also spent a lot of time at arcades

I bet he would be super into pinball, mostly because they're really satisfying and stimmy. Plus, they’re kind of a test of fast reflexes, and we all know Charles has stellar reflexes

He held the high score in Pac Man at his local arcade up until after his death, and will sometimes visit after closing to try and reclaim the high score

"Charles."

"Uh-huh."

"Charles."

"Uhhh-huh."

"CHARLES!"

"What? Oh, sorry, mate. This machine is mint, I can't believe the quality of its cut scenes. It's like I'm actually at the cinema!"

"We are here to finish solving a case, yes? The Case of the Pinball Poltergeist, as you so aptly named it. We can revisit these games afterwards, though I admittedly cannot understand your fondness for a machine that produces such a terribly loud noise."

"Not a fan of pinball, ay? I bet you'd be aces at Tetris."

"Is that a game? It sounds like a contagious disease."