#let's just say never live with a landlord. ever.

[melien]

and they were roommates...

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 

No laugh but you blaze ahead. 

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

[mylight-png]

You know how I know that the anti-Israel hate is deeply rooted in antisemitism, and not just "social justice" or whatever people are calling it right now?

Let me tell you a common situation I encounter:

So, being a college student away from home, I don't have a car here. This means that if I ever need to go anywhere, I need to get an Uber or Lyft or something along those lines.

I always tuck in my Bring Them Home tag, magen david, turn my "am Yisrael chai" pin to the inside of my clothes, etc. I hate doing it, but I have heard of violently antisemitic drivers, and I'd rather not risk it, considering I'm alone in the car with them.

Every time, I call my mom. It makes me safer to have someone on call. And every time, she makes the same two recommendations.

The first is to put in an address of a neighboring house for pickup, because the house I live in has my landlord's car out front, and his car has stickers in Hebrew on it.

The second is, if asked where I'm from, to say Russia. I don't get asked where I'm "really from" unless I'm with my parents usually (they both have strong accents). But it's a warning my mom repeats every time anyway. The choice of Russia isn't random, I was raised fluent and can back up the claim if need be with random knowledge. But I have never been to Russia, except for the airport once to catch a connecting flight to Israel. I was, however, born in Israel, and I've been there multiple times (unfortunately not since 2014 though). So to say I'm from Russia is a lie, and to say I'm from Israel is the truth.

Both are countries at war. Russia, unlike Israel, actually started the war. Unlike Israel, Russia actually does have a history of colonialism, genocide, imperialism, and worse.

So why is it safer for me to lie about being from an aggressor country than to tell the truth about being from a country caught in a war it didn't want?

Antisemitism. Anti-Russian hate crimes globally didn't spike, Russian women haven't been raped as "justice" for Ukraine. Russian businesses weren't commonly vandalized simply for being from Russia. Meanwhile, all of these things were done to Jews as a result of a war Israel did not start.

If this global response to the war wasn't antisemitism it would be equally safe or unsafe for me to give either answer.

But in reality, it's safer for me to lie about being from Russia than to tell the truth about being from Israel.

That's how I know it's antisemitism.

[gatorlovebot]

nsfw. mdni. this is self indulgent but its my right as a 20 something who is getting ready to move out on their own for the first time to write about landlord john price ok <3

landlord price who buys a nice looking duplex in the city and fixes it up himself. lives in the top floor because he doesn’t need much space to himself and rents out the bottom unit. so far it had mostly been couples or smaller familes renting out the bottom unit, until you came along.

you, who had been saving money to rent something nice for yourself, something with a little extra space. the two bedroom downstairs unit is perfect for you, but you have pretty mixed feelings about your landlord living right above you. until you actually meet him.

upon moving in your greeted by the warm accent of john price. his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you and you can pick out grey hairs in his full beard. it’s so cliche, feeling butterflies for an older man whose kind to you but what are you supposed to do when he offers to help you bring in boxes, muscly arms on full display?

he allows you time and space to get settled in, with a promise of, “i’m just upstairs if you ever need anything.”

you don’t see him for the next few days until there’s a knock at your door and its him, looking soft and sweet in a grey henley, just in time for the colder fall weather. “would you care to join me for dinner? i tried a new soup recipe and seems like a i have enough to feed a small army.”

and that’s how you end up in his space for the first time. it’s tiday yet lived in. furniture dark and worn. you can tell a man lives here. dinner is nice, soup rich and filling. but john makes it so much better. effortlessly making you laugh with his bad jokes and stories. he’s warm and personable. your little crush grows when he walks you back downstairs to your unit when the sun goes down. you find yourself struggling to go inside to your empty apartment.

some days you see him and some days you don’t. your work schedule is consistent but you can’t get a read on his schedule, coming and going unpredicatably. life of a retiree, you think.

sometimes you catch him when you’ve come home from work. usually you’re thrilled to see him, an immediate smile stretching across your face and a blush on your cheeks as soon as you see his smile and hear his voice.

sometimes you curse his presence. like now, when you can’t even wait until you get inside your place before the tears start to fall. and of course john has to be in the front yard racking up leaves. you try to give a polite hello and walk up the steps inside, but john price can already read you like a book.

he’s pulling you into his chest before you even know it, big, solid arms wrapped around your shoulders holding you snug to him. “what’s got you so upset, huh?”

and you let the tears fall in earnest, feeling safe and secure with john. “work…just fucking sucks.”

“oh you poor thing,” he coos before gathering you up in his arms and leading you up to his place. he brews some tea as you sink into his couch, the leather warm and soft underneath you. once the teas done, he settles next to you and let’s you warble on about how unsupportive your work environment is and how your boss never follows through on his promises. he mostly just lets you talk, letting out an occasional hum in affirmation. that night he’s not very talkative, he’s much more tactile. running his hands up and down your arms, rubbing the tension from your shoulders and back as he allows you to lean on him until you’re practically in his lap. you’ve exhausted yourself crying and he thanks you for being so vulnerable with him and tells you that even though you don’t deserve all the bullshit at your job, you’re such a brave girl for fighting through it.

things continue to get more and more comfortable between you two. you would almost go as far as to say you would consider him a friend. you do still sometimes have awkward moments though. like when you go down to the basement to change your laundry from the washer to the dryer and you find him already placing your garments in. “oh sorry,” he says, flustered, a tinge of pink dusting his cheeks at being caught. “i spilt some paint on myself earlier while touching up the trim outside and really needed to get some stuff in the washer. i was going to message you asking if all this stuff could go in the dryer.”

he’s so thoughtful, you think. “yeah, it can all go in. thanks, john!”

hours later when you’re finally putting away your clean laundry you realize some of your panties are missing. oh well, its an older dryer, must have eaten them.

its months layer when your stomach drops as you read a text from john asking if you could come upstairs later tonight, there was something he needed to talk to you about. you feel a flash of panic, his text sounding serious. did you do something wrong? you had just seen him the previous day and everything between you seemed fine. you thought you were a great renter, but now you weren’t so sure.

you make your way up to his place and he greets you at the door, usual soft smile on his face.

“i just wanted to get something out in the open,” he starts as you both take a seat on the couch. “i’ve noticed an odor coming from downstairs late at night.”

for a moment you have no idea what he could be talking about, an odor, you think and then it hits you. your late night smoke sessions. “oh, yeah.” it dawns on you. “i’m so sorry about that.”

“no, no, it’s fine.” he reassures, “i would be a bit of a hypocrite myself to be honest, i smoke cigars constantly. try to keep it to just the back balcony but sometimes i break my own rules.”

“yeah, i don’t do it in the apartment because that would be rude, but,” you wince, “sometimes i get a little too lazy to go outside so i just do it out my bedroom window.”

“ah, no worries, dear. just wanted to let you know that i know.”

with your panic subsiding you feel a little bold, “would you like to smoke a little, john?”

“if you’re offering, i’ll be on the balcony.”

you would have never imagined sharing a joint with john would lead you here. in his lap, legs splayed open with your pants around your ankles. listening to the wet sounds of your pussy as he dips his big fingers inside you, hitting all the right spots. your brain is floaty and your limbs feel weightless against his big body that surrounds yours.

there’s a constant stream of nonsense and whimpers that leaves your lips as you dumbly watch him pet your swollen clit. but its the filth from his mouth that really gets you. “such a pretty little thing fo’ me, huh?”

“this little cunt ‘s all mine, right?”

“i’ve been thinking about touching you like this since the day you moved in.”

“cum on my fingers, sweet girl, i know you want to.”

and you do, clenching around his fingers as you keen and moan through it. there’s a whispered, “good girl,” deep and gravelly in your ear before you’re being lifted into john’s arms as he carries you back inside, to his bedroom.

[erwinsvow]

you and john progress quickly in your relationship.

warnings: basically john is controlling and wants a housewife whether you want to be one or not, possessive/toxic behavior, elements of gaslighting, age gap, mentions of sex

john price leans too heavily on the crazy side of possessive—and at the same time, he likes to see you perfectly taken care of, but by no one if not him. you think stupidly that you'd be a fool not to be interested—a handsome, older man similar to the ones you and your friends are always fantasizing about after complaining about boys your age. he checks off every box, a bit too well, actually.

he communicates, openly and often, not just single word texts but rather long phone calls and drop-ins at the small florist shop where you work. plans are always made in person—you think he's just old-fashioned but there's something about seeing your eyes light up when he lays out the order of the date night he's put together for the two of you. it's sweet—like no one has ever put this much thought into something for you. it's always dinner at some place that would probably cost half your rent, a sweet treat after since you're so fond of it but you feel greedy ordering dessert at the restaurant, dancing or a walk or browsing through a bookstore together or something else that's not just going back home. it's so well thought out, so attuned to your taste. you almost forget you've just met john a couple of weeks ago, that he was just a cute customer buying flowers from you a few dates ago.

your friends spur him on—you can't tell if it's something akin to jealousy or not. the very idea makes your face burn—you've never been someone that others are jealous of, but maybe now you are, and that's all because of john. and he doesn't let up—keeps it going wonderfully, still planning dates and picking you up and bringing you some small yet expensive jewelry after the first month claiming that it reminded him of you. you don't think it's something that he would just stumble across at a store but you accept it anyways, start wearing the ring on your right hand. you think you should feel alarmed when he presents matching earrings a little bit later, but you don't. you start wearing them daily, let your friends catch a glimpse when you move your hair behind your ear.

you've become perfectly pliant to john price and his antics, eager for his validation, eager to see him again. the way he talks about things makes you think he knows everything there is to know in the world, so you believe him wholeheartedly. like when your landlord says the complex is being bought out. your little one bed, one bath is perfect for you but you certainly don't want to buy an apartment right now. but it's okay—because john is there to help. he answers the phone when you're sobbing into the receiver, comes over and comforts you. he shushes you when you blubber about moving and work and finding a new place and murmurs against your ear, moving your hair aside to look at the earrings he'd gotten you.

"sweet girl, why're you cryin', hm? you'll just come live with me until s'all sorted, alright?"

and, well, john knows best, so you listen. a few short weeks later, you're moved into his place, which is so much nicer than your own. your books and photo frames and knick-knacks blend in perfectly with his belongings. it's a little further from work, but how can you give up waking up next to john each day and curling up next to him, severely fucked out, each night?

the commute is getting annoying—you grumble about it one night over the dinner table. john meets your eyes and runs a hand over his beard and says—

"why don't you just quit, love?"

and you don't really have an answer. you love the shop, love getting paid to be around flowers all day. but is it really worth dragging yourself back and forth across the city every day, especially when you don't even pay rent anymore? you tried, insisted, even, but john says something about how he's not your landlord and you're not his tenant, saying something else about how the missus doesn't pay rent, and you're left with a burning face wondering how many other times he's referred to you as that. it's not like you need the money, you don't think you've paid for anything other than coffee and bagels since you moved in.

you tell him you'll think about it, but then the decision is made for you. the little old lady who owns the store says she needs to downsize, and well, she had to make a tough choice. it's fine—you're hardly upset. your coworkers both have young kids, are both there every day of the week, they definitely need it more than you. so for the first time in a while, you head home early, picking up some stuff for dinner and finding it way too easy to swipe john's credit card to pay for it. you get dinner ready and then get yourself ready, waiting for john to come home to tell him about what happened, hoping he's not too upset that you're pretty much a leech now.

you and john end up tangled in the sheets a little later—you hum while he rubs your back and you think briefly that you'll have to wash these sheets tomorrow since you two have made a mess. his touch is hot, he's like a furnace, but you can't pull away, clutching to his warmth and gripping his arm with your hand. the only time he even looks concerned, or maybe upset? angry? is when you mention that you can start looking for a new place to work nearby home. he says something you only half-hear in your sleepy state, something about 'don't worry your head, love. i can take care of my girl.'

and well, who are you to argue with that?

(when you wake up, the ring he'd gotten you what seems like forever ago, is on your left hand now. on your left ring finger. but that's crazy, you swear you always put it on your right hand. it fits nicely enough there, so you leave it.)

[gilverrwrites]

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

Pairing: Human!Castiel/Fem!Reader (Season 9)

Reader has AFAB body parts & feminine pronouns' are used.

Plot: The reader is a retired hunter, who develops feeling for Cas after he moves in with her. After living in domestic bliss for a while, its only a matter of time before feelings are confessed, and sex is had.

Please remember: to keep going, and keep growing.

Content: Rough/Kissing, blowjob, rough blowjob/face-fucking, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk (Cas doesnt really have a filter) rough sex, swearing, accidental cuddling, intentional cuddling.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3,377

Notice: The follow up: Takeout Tuesday is now available here.

Excerpt: You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?”  When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?” You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

Having Castiel around was pleasant, if a little surreal. You’d always considered him a friend, but it wasn’t the same. Previously you’d only really been around each other on the hunt. Or if Cas was involved, more like stopping an apocalypse. Your relationship had been entirely based on proximity, and necessity. There was never really time to bond beyond that. Until now. 

You’d decided to attempt retirement a while ago. You’d found a job and started subletting a decent apartment from a friend of a friend, on the preface that they could still crash on the couch when travelling across country. The hunting trade was a small world after all. 

In fact, your new landlord was exactly who you’d expected to see when someone came knocking on your door in the middle of the night. Not a tired, bloodied, and bruised Angel. Confused, you’d let him in, patched his wounds, cleaned him up, and let him sleep it off in your bed. After almost 48 hours of continuous sleep, he’d explained everything to you, thanked you for your hospitality, and told you he’d be out of your hair soon. You’d assertively informed him that the only place he would be going is from your bed, to your couch. 

From there you easily fell into a routine together, effortlessly bonded over shared experiences, old and new. It was nice, seeing his toothbrush next to yours, bringing home his favourite takeout every Tuesday. When he worked the early shift, he’d always make you a coffee before he left, on the late shifts he’d bring home a bottle of your favourite. He did the dishes, and you did the laundry. You were a secure little domestic team.

The surrealness came when you realised just how much you enjoyed it. You welled up with pride whenever he complimented something you’d cooked him from scratch. Starting your morning in his presence calmed any nerves, and on stressful days, coming home to dinner and a film with Cas was your respite. 

You were confused by the bitterness you felt when he called you one night to say he would be home late, citing a date with his boss, Nora. You were truly sad, but relieved when he informed you he had misread the invitation. That he was actually there to babysit. That’s when it hit you. Somewhere along the way, in between all the household chores, and the late-night Hulu binging, you’d fallen for him. 

You’d always thought he was hot, ever since he’d introduced himself as ‘Castiel, an Angel of the Lord’ all those years ago. However, you no longer needed to accidentally catch him leaving the shower, or bending under a table to feel flushed. Ever since the figurative penny dropped, all it took was a smile, or the brush of your chests in a tight hall to make you blush. 

Thoughts of Castiel and your myriad of complex feelings now plagued you, particularly as you lay in bed at night, knowing he was only feet away from you, just on the other side of your paper-thin walls. Paper-thin walls that did nothing to protect you from the sudden and deafeningly loud sound of the TV at 2AM. 

Not bothering to throw on bottoms, you stumble to your bedroom door in just a camisole and panties. The sight of Cas sitting on the couch, clad in nothing but boxers, desperately fiddling with the remote in an attempt to turn down the volume greeted you upon entry to the living room. 

Upon noticing you, Cas drops the remote and hastily reaches for his discarded comforter to cover himself with. In turn you rotated your entire body, averting your gaze in favour of the wall, primarily to respect his privacy, secondarily to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry!” You blurt.

“It’s okay.” He responds quietly. “I’m sorry for the noise. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s okay.” You repeat back to him. “I was awake, I couldn’t sleep either. You just made me jump.” 

“You can look now.” He informs you. Hoping the dim light from the TV doesn’t reveal too much of the colour in your face, you spin back. He was now covered from the waist down, but you couldn’t help noticing his bare chest, particularly the definition between his pecs, and the sharpness of his collarbones.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.” You say, trying to re-direct your eyes to any other part of the room. 

“Unless…” He gestures to the television. “Would you care to join me?” 

“Sure.” You answer hesitantly. You weren’t sleeping anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

Castiel smiles amiably at you before returning his attention to the remote. You linger in your spot as he begins flicking through the different apps. When he makes no effort to locate and put on trousers you slowly settle down next to him, careful to leave enough distance to prevent any accidental skin-on-skin contact. 

“So, what are we watching?” 

 ————-

You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?” 

When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?”

You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

You can’t see his expression from your current position, but he exhales, and you think he sounds relieved. 

It could be the scarcity of sleep, a ‘mind after midnight’ mirage, but this is when it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, he could be interested in you too. Why else would be lying beneath you, half-naked and seemingly completely at ease? Doubtful that you’d ever have this courage again you tilt your head up to look at him and ask; “Do you ever think about us?”

“I do.” He responds, he looks perplexed, which admittedly was his default expression.

“Do you ever think about us, as more than this?” When he doesn’t immediately answer, you resume. “You know, like romantically? Or even intimately?” 

“I frequently think of you amorously.” He speaks tentatively, each word spoken very deliberately. “When Metatron took my grace from me, I never imagined that this was how my life would go. Of course, I never thought that my grace would be taken, or that I would live among humans as one of them in the first place.”

He seems to take a moment to compile his thoughts, sucking his bottom lip in concentration. You remain silent. Hoping he can’t feel the rapid thrum of your heart.

“I thought at first that I was broken. The fall, losing my wings was bad enough, but now, without my angelic abilities, I can’t do anything. Well, nothing of merit, at least where the needs of humankind are concerned.”

“That’s not true.” You interject, you move to sit up, to be at eye level with him, but due to your already precarious position, the only way to do so is by shifting a leg over his lap, thus straddling him.

“I know that now.” He says as he grips your wrists and brings them to his shoulders, offering you extra support. “Without meaning to overstep, or make you uncomfortable, but living with- existing beside you has been a far more fulfilling experience than most of the things I have accomplished in the many billions of years I have existed.

I have very little practice in the ways of human sexuality, and even less so with courtship. However, I would be honoured, and extremely happy if you would allow me to explore such things, with you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

There's a tense moment of silence between you both in which neither of you dare to break eye contact before you surge to him. You instigate the kiss, but Cas is fast to take control, his arms pull your body to him, driving your lips to press hard against his. When he rocks his hips up, kneading his semi-hard cock against your clothed core, you gasp. Cas immediately slips his tongue between your lips. You can’t hold back the groan that escapes you. His mouth tastes like coffee and artificial grape. You savour the feel and aroma of his lips before pulling back momentarily. 

“Only if I can be yours too.” You finally respond before he’s on you again. You freely open up for him, allowing him to explore your mouth once more. His tongue eagerly swirls against yours, exploring every crevice. His hands drop to clutch your waist, holding you in place as he ruts against you from below. 

It was you who broke the kiss again, locking your eyes with him as you climb off his lap. 

“Let me take care of you.” You chime as you drop to your knees on the floor below him. Cas quickly follows, sitting up straight, and planting his legs on either side of you. The comforter banished to the other end of the sofa.  

“You… You look so beautiful like that. On your knees.” He smiles down at you and reaches out to cup your face, strong fingers gently brush along your jaw before his thumb extends up to your lips. You press a kiss to its pad before parting your lips and taking him in. His skin tastes clean, with a hint of salt, and something florally. 

“Let me suck your cock.” You state, voice muffled by the pressure on your tongue.

His cheeks are tinted pink. You’re unsure if it's from arousal or nerves but he stands to pull off his boxers and settles back down. You can’t help but lick your lips when his cock is revealed, it's long and already hard. 

You don’t waste any time, immediately situating your tongue on the underside of his shaft and running it from tip to hilt. You stop momentarily to plant a kiss on his balls, before running back up his length. When you look back up Cas is watching you intensely, brow furrowed, lids heavy, lips between his teeth. You smile before wrapping your mouth around his cock. Pausing only slightly when you feel Cas cup the back of your head. 

You inch yourself down his length slowly, getting a feel for him, his thickness, and how much you can take at once. When you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, you pull back, before bobbing back down. The sound of Castiel’s’ hitched breathing drives you until you’re relaxed enough to take him completely. His thickness stretches your throat, making your eyes water, his pubic hair tickles your nose, and the look of bliss on his face makes your pussy drip. 

After a few seconds, you come back up for air, but the relief in your lungs only lasts a second before you feel Cas’ fists tighten against your scalp. 

“You look even better with my cock in your mouth.” He grunts as he pushes you back down. “You feel so good.”

Unable to respond, you hum your affirmation, drool escaping the corners of your mouth. Cas moans his approval, eyes and head lolling back for a moment before he plants his other hand firmly on the back of your head, holding you in place as he shifts to the edge of the couch and begins bucking his hips into your mouth. 

You plant your hands around his calves to steady yourself, and keep them out of the way as he continues to use your mouth. His thrusts grow heavier, his moans raspier, as you fight your need for air. Your cunt growing hotter, wetter every second, while your throat closes, and your head grows dizzy from the lack of air.

When he finally lets you go, your lungs are burning. You lean back, unable to control the wild rise and fall of your chest as you pant for air. Your lips feel sore, swollen, but your pussy aches. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas reaches over to cradle your face, tentatively brushing the tears from your eyes. “Was that too much?” 

“No! No not at all.” You whisper between breaths. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it. His head tilts to one side as he looks down at you sceptically. You smile back as you guide him between your legs. You brush his fingers against your panties, encouraging him to feel the wetness soaking through the fabric.

“I did that? I made you this wet?” He asks. When you nod his mouth cracks into a smile.

Within seconds he drops to his knees before you, pulling you in for another hot, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongues meet in another fierce, uncontrolled kiss. You cry out into his mouth when you feel his fingers press firmly against your clit, rubbing you through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Without warning Cas clutches onto your panties and pulls until the elastic snaps. He releases the offending article and quickly returns to your wetness. He strokes your clit repeatedly, swallowing your moans, holding you to his chest to prevent you from involuntarily withering away.

You break your lips away from his just long enough to plead; “Fuck me Cas, please fuck me with your fingers.”

He doesn’t hesitate to do as asked, immediately delving two fingers into your pussy. Once situated inside, he massages them against your walls, feeling you out and making you sputter. You grip his shoulders for support, digging your nails into his skin as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

“Like this?” He questions, you’re not sure if he’s being coy, if he’s teasing. Or if he truly is curious. Either way, you’re too gone to really answer. You open your mouth but all that comes out are a series of strangled whimpers. The feel of his thumb returning to your clit, gently brushing just the right spot, pushes you to breaking point. 

“I’m- I – ahhh.” You cry, trying to warn him. When you jerk your head back there is resistance. Cas releases his hold on your back, to grips your head forward. You peek up at him through half-lidded eyes, Cas stares, his blue eyes bare down on you, unblinking. If you weren’t already cumming, that would have been enough. 

You lean into Castiel’s body as you come back down, limp, and incoherent. A low hum escapes you as Cas languidly removes his fingers from inside you and brings them to his lips. You watch lazily as he gives them a tentative sniff before placing them in his mouth. His face seems to melt, and he closes his eyes, visibly savouring the taste. 

When he’s done, he grins at you and ponders aloud; “I’m not sure which is better.”

Still unable to string two words together you watch him, waiting for him to continue.

“The way you look when you reach orgasm, or the way you taste.” 

Instantly your cheeks begin to burn, and heat pools between your legs again. Without a second thought you reach down, grabbing your cami by the hem and lifting it over your head, your entire body now exposed to Castiel. 

He’s on you again in an instant. His mouth latches to one of your nipples, rapidly but lightly his tongue darts over the sensitive nip. Both hands come up to cup each breast. His fingers pinch and roll at your other exposed nipple. When you feel his teeth grazing the sensitive skin you flinch, fisting your hands into his hair. 

“Cas, please!” You gasp.

“Please what?” He responds, speech distorted by his refusal to remove his mouth from your body. 

“Please take me to bed.” You whine, needlessly pulling at his hair to garner his attention. “Please Castiel, take me to bed-”

You’re interrupted by the jolt of your body being lifted. Cas continues his oral assault, kissing, sucking, nipping at your neck as he carries you back to your bed. He sits himself on the edge of your bed and positions you to straddle him once again. You pull his attention back from your neck, sinking your lips onto his as you guide him down, until he’s lying face up.

You lean back and he sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You line him up at your entrance and he begins gradually rocking into you. You steadily sink down, the feel of his cock stretching you out making you shudder. Cas’s head rolls back, he bites his lip and grips your hips, barely fighting not to slam you down onto him.

When his cock is fully inside, you pull back up until only the tip remains inside before you drop back onto him.

With a loud moan, Cas engulfs your body with his own and flips you over. He holds you beneath him with the weight of his own body as he gives a few shallow, testing thrusts. Satisfied he begins building pace and force, until the sound of skin slapping against skin can be heard between ragged breaths and moans. You raise your lower body, trying to match his rhythm but his hands lock onto your hips and push them down, pinning you to the bed.

His lips are tight between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his skin glows with a sheen of sweat. You can’t help but paw at his shoulders, bringing him down so you can plant kisses on his face and neck.

“Cas, fuck. Castiel that feels so good.” You praise.

In response, he catches your lips in a desperate kiss, all tongues and teeth and jumbled sounds that may once have been words. Your toes begin to curl, as your climax grows near. You lock your fingers in Castiel's hair, pulling his face away as you arch your back. Your eyes close tight as you chant his name.

“I love it when you moan my name.” He murmurs in your ear. He releases your hips, and grips your face, forcing it back up. Your eyes peek open as growls his next words. “Look at me, and don’t stop saying my name.”

At that, the tension in your cunt snaps. Your body jerks and your walls clench around him as you hit your climax. Castiel rides you through it, his strides slowing, but he continues fucking into you at a steady pace until he’s seemingly overcome by his own orgasm. His movements becoming laboured and erratic, he pants your name through gritted teeth as he spills his cum inside you.

You remain wrapped up in your position as you come down from your highs, the warmth of his breath tickles your neck, and your chests collide as you fight to catch your breath. Your mind races, trying to find the right thing to say next, not wanting to spoil your post-orgasm bliss. Eventually, you nudge his shoulder, and he moved away, allowing you to sit up. His cum seeps out of you as you do. Before you can make a move to clean it up Cas attains the tissues from your dresser and begins delicately wiping you down.

“Thank you.” You smile at him as he finishes and begins to clean himself up.

“I… ah.” He smiles back at you, still flushed from your activities. “I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, especially after the performance he’d just given. Cas soon reciprocates your laughter. You stretch your arms out, inviting him back in for an embrace and he eagerly obliges, wrapping his arms around you and falling back against your mattress.

“Will you sleep in here, with me tonight?” Your eyes catch the clock on your bedside, and you note that it is almost sunrise. “Or, for the rest of the morning?”

He kisses your forehead and pulls you in close. “I would enjoy that very much.”

[goponylover]

Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own! 

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved. 

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE! 

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel. 

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then. 

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again. 

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we? 

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game? 

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — ONE

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter two

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

"Yeah, I understand that it's the third day I haven't paid my rent, I'm telling you my banks been closed."

Your voice to your landlord, Kamisato Ayato (who is also your boss), on the phone reeked with desperation. And yet, even though this was the case, you still had time to snack on chicken strips at a picnic table.

"(L/N), there's nothing else I can do, your extension is up. I need a payment by tomorrow." His voice crackled through the phone, stern but never sympathetic. "I have other tenants to consider."

"Wouldn't have guessed that one." You laughed as a jab at the other, a thin veneer of your humor and the intense need to scream gnawed at your mouth. “You’re rich as hell telling me that you have other tenants to consider, but you’re still making me clean toilets? Couldn't give me a promotion to accountant or anything? I know about 16 of your slimy practices.”

“You're being dramatic.”

“The only other tenants are Itto and Yoimiya with her dad. This is a side thing for you with how often my shower head is broken.” Your eyes dulled. “If anything, I should be telling you to pay me.”

The other end went silent, as your boss Ayato cleared his throat. “I never said it was free housing in the lease.”

“Ooh, slimy practice number 17! Hey, maybe if you make it to 20, I can wring 700,000 mora out of you.”

“You can make as many threats as you want, you still haven't paid in time. I can’t keep extending deadlines for you.” Ayato’s voice hardened. “If you can’t pay by tonight, you will have to find somewhere else to stay.”

You felt helpless in the moment, but still managed to hold on to the call for just a few more seconds. “Really, Kamisato.” Your voice dulled. “You’re going to lock me out of my apartment, keep me in a Halloween costume, and deny my valid reason just because I didn’t pay up 1,000 mora? Me, who cleans your event hall everyday.”

“Perhaps you should have been more conscious of your money management. Please be more responsible in the future, (L/N). Good luck to you.”

And with that, he hung up. You let out a growl of frustration and slammed your phone down on the picnic table. It happened to bounce up and land face down on the floor. You gasped lightly, reaching quickly to pick it up as you checked it frantically.

Cracks up and down the screen of your phone you still managed to be making payments on. "Wow..." You stared at the cracks in disbelief, feeling a disastrous amount of weight that prompted you to throw away the greasy chicken strips. You've been going to this place for so long to save money that you wondered if you were ever really saving anyway.

You gathered your thoughts quickly before continue your walk back home. You had just came back from a big Halloween party that your neighbor Yoimiya invited you to. You weren't listening entirely, but she was yapping hard about this concept about soulmates and how it's been actually proven that what the mark you were born with yadda yadda yadda. Because of this, anyway, she had made these weird concoctions that made the fireworks different colors. From purple, orange, green, and so on to get everyone in the spirit.

You were too scared of her to say no; one of these days you were convinced she's going to accidentally make a nuke and kill everyone. You'd rather not make an enemy if it meant you had a chance living in her oddly huge bunker (how did she make a bunker underground her bottom floor apartment?).

If anything, your spirit was crushed as soon as you left the party. With how the only guy blowing up your phone was Ayato and he just wanted the money that he gave you back, and looking like a very horrible version of an 80's professional acrobatics instructor with an equally as bad haircut, you were pretty much having the worst Halloween night of your life.

Especially seeing your crush for 13 years, Xiao, kiss the literal only other guy at the party, Venti. How long were you even waiting to get your chance? He didn't even know Venti that well compared to you, and he was probably crushing on him just because he could sing. And now you have the very moment that you were happy to not in the blink of an eye, so miserable seeing it that you could swear you felt yourself sober up.

And to Creep by Radiohead blaring in the background, they were kissing to one of the most unconventional songs you can kiss to. For what may have been a song for them to remember their first kiss was a song that you wanted to shove an ice pick through your ear canal every time you heard it now. You guessed the soulmate stuff Yoimiya was talking about was true. They saw the exact same mark on each others wrists...

You could sing too, probably even better than he could. Singing isn't even that hard.

As you started singing a very off-key and melancholic version of Teenage Dream by Katy Perry to prove yourself right, you weren't even worried about the long winded alleyways and dark streets you were weaving through. The eeriness of the night was mocking, but comforting. Long, distorted shadows, making the streetlights cast them oddly.

Your footsteps echoed against the narrow walls of the alleyways, a gust of wind sent a shiver down your spine and stretched the night on. You kicked a pebble absentmindedly, watching as it skittered along the cracked pavement. It was ironic being at a party you actually felt comfortable being at and getting your hopes absolutely shattered in the meantime. It seemed so out of reach from what did occur.

The sight of your apartment was a burden, and even though you were guaranteed going to be kicked out tomorrow, you didn't want to linger on the reminder any longer.

As you were about to climb the steps, you paused once you heard something similar to a whine. It was faint when you first heard it, almost blending in to the light pollution of the street. You turned your body towards the nearby alleyway, awaiting for another noise to confirm your delusions. Moments passed, each second stretching into eternity. Just when you were about to dismiss it again, another cry of what sounded like a man alerted you, followed by a groveling sound that sounded similar to a guttural gurgle.

Hell. No.

Now usually, you would mind your business and go to sleep with a knife in the bed next to you. You were not a stickler for being the person in the horror movies that said 'let's go see what it is'! But you weren't entirely convinced that the neighborhood was terrible, and with your current dilemma? Maybe dying a horrible death would feel better than whatever you're about to go through in the next twenty-four hours.

But at the same time...you weren't convinced that whatever is doing that wasn't an injured puppy or something. You may have had a heart for what happens to animals, but you aren't stupid.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“So… what happens if Walter buys us out?” Timothy asks, a confused squiggle in his brow that hasn’t lessened for the entirety of the conversation.

“Well, we won’t be out on the street,” your mother says, “and your father will be taken care of. We can send him to The Gardens. He’ll be comfortable there… we can visit.”

You bite on your knuckle, gnawing anxiously. Timothy frowns and rubs his chin, a sparseness of new stubble there. He sniffs as he tries to unravel the riddle.

“Does that mean he’s my boss?”

“Well, more of a landlord,” your mom explains, “he’ll help with the farming and take his cut. If he does this, he’ll have to cut back at the mill. It’s a big sacrifice. For everyone.”

Timothy nods and drops his hand to twiddle against the table, “it sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah… it’s our only idea,” your mom murmurs.

“What are the terms?” You ask suddenly, hiding the ridged marks in your finger left by your teeth. “He’s going to let us pay rent? On a whole farm?”

“If the bank gives him good news,” she rubs her palms together, “I don’t know. We need more information but we can hope.” Her voice quavers as she brings the tissue back to her nose, “I only ever want to do what’s best for you two.”

“Ma,” you reach out to touch her elbow, “we can help. We’ll pull together. All of us, with or without Walter.”

“I hope we can,” she snivels and begins to weep again.

You look at Timothy. He looks gaunt. He’s absolutely terrified. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see him doing it himself. He isn’t ready to take over for your dad. You don’t know if he ever will be.

You turn back to your mom as her shoulders shake. She looks little better than Timothy and you bet, if you glanced in a mirror, you would be much the same. This can’t all fall on her. She’s had to deal with so much so far.

“Tim, what’s wrong with the truck?” You ask suddenly, your mother and brother flinching at the same time.

“What?” He stammers.

“What’s wrong with it? Is it running?”

“Yeah, kinda, it stalls out but you just gotta give it a few.”

“Ma, how long?”

“What?” She rasps.

“How long do we have? Without Walter, just us. How long do we have to figure this out?”

She lowers her head and takes a deep breath. Her voice cracks, “six months.”

You cringe and try to show the impact as her answer threatens to knock you over. You lay your hands gently on the table and stand. You leave them and go into the living room where your father sits, staring and still. You pull up the short footstool from in front of the couch and sit by him.

You’re silent as you watch him. His eyes are glazed, his features are slack and emotionless, he doesn’t even know you’re there. He is a ghost. You put your hand on his, begging him to smile, begging him to crack a joke. Your heart swells then shrinks down so small it hurts.

“Dad,” you whisper and squeeze his hand, “I love you.”

You stand and kiss his cheek. He doesn’t react. You see your mother in the doorway. She watches with arms folded but doesn’t say a word as you cross the room. Neither do you.

You pass into the hallway and march down to the front door. You slip your feet into your shoes and snatch the keys off the hook. Your mom always said you were a daddy’s girl and your dad always told you that no matter how shitty it is, you do what needs to be done for the family. At the end of the day, it’s the only thing you can count on.

You leave without looking back. A tremor rolls through you as you open up the garage. You just need the truck to make it there, that’s it. You climb in the front seat and twist the ignition, chanting desperate pleas until it catches. The engine rumbles and you hit the gas, surging out before you can think better of this.

Your mother watches through the window as you steer away from the house. You lean over the wheel as the headlights shine over the dark country landscape. You’ve never been up that way but you know where you’re going.

Tap, tap, tap. At first you panic, thinking the engine’s sputtering out. Then the droplets turn to rivulets and the rain pours down, streaming over the windshield as you flip on the wipers. You’re at the edge of the seat, clutching the wheel tight as the belt strains across your chest.

The tires suck in the mud as the countryside turns boggish. You rock with the truck as it chuffs over the slickening earth, slowing with the incline of the next hill. Not much further. Almost there.

There’s a sudden pop and a chortle that rattles the truck. You yipe as the engine putters out and the headlights dim. You feel the world rolling backwards. You yank on the emergency brake, the old Ford lurching to a halt. You slam your hands on the thin steering wheel and lean your head against the cool leather.

Just a little further.

You raise your head, looking forward at the black road then at the rearview at the void. You’ve come this far. You take the keys and pull on the handle, letting yourself out in the whipping rains. The cold shower soaks through you in an instant as you slip through the mud, arms pumping as you take the last of the hill in a half-sprint.

You’re gulping and gasping as you come in sight of a single light. A rectangle of yellow, the only beacon amid the storm. Your teeth chatter as you will yourself onward. Your feet splash and you tumble over the bumpy ground, staggering and stumbling towards the dark house.

You fall against the stairs and heave, shaking as you fight for air. You put your feet under you and push yourself up. You stamp onto the first step, then the next, and the next. You catch the door frame and heave as you hear noise from within.

You grip the handle of the screen door but before you can pull it back, the door within opens and amber light spills into the blackness. You stare through the mesh as Walter’s broad silhouette towers over you. You gasp up at him and touch the screen.

“I’m sorry,” you eke out through a shiver.

[tokkiwrites]

FAWN HEART, PART ONE : The night's desire.

dark!joel miller x f!reader

part one | part two | part three | more coming soon.

summary: After a few months of being together, you move in with your boyfriend, 'Adam'. His landlord, Joel Miller, takes a special liking to you.

tags: murder, stalking, spying, mention of abuse, mention of blood, violence, age gap, vulnerable reader, stalker joel, mentions of abusive relationship, pet names, she/her pronouns (let me know if i missed anything.)

ㅤ↪ㅤtokki's ۫ 𐑺 𝚜𝚞ׂ𝚐𝚊𝚛 ࣭ note ˑ ⌕ ࣭ ּ ➭ staring my first series ever !! of course, I will continue it only if this first part does well ( so no spice for now!! ). for now, we're starting off a bit mild, & I'm leaning more on the double storylines . this is short with only 1.5k words, but it's a little gift since i was gone for so long. sorry if it sucks! remember, requests are opened, and your feedback matters the most to me 🐰

【commencing】 : a heart as soft as the embrace of spring. She welcomed everyone with open arms, seeing the best in people, and never turned anyone away, no matter the pain. Her kindness boundlessㅡ she gave without expecting anything in return. But this gentle nature often left her defenseless. she continued to believe in the goodness of others, her fawn heart resilient and unwavering, oblivious to those trampling on it. her fawn heart, her weakness.

「may 04th ㅡ O2:08 AM」

he didn't know her. didn't deserve her. the nerve he had saying he loved her when he doesn't know what love is...he doesn't know what kind of love she needed.

so when he left for work every night, her true love would sneak in. Joel wasn't the romantic type, but for her, he'd do it all. he'd sit there, watching her sleep, staring as her soft lips puffed out when she took her shallow breaths as she slept - how her lashes laid so perfectly onto her cheeks.. that's all he could do - stare. no touching. It killed him. how that asshole could do all that he pleased to her and how she would accept almost nothing in return.

she was sweet. bitterly. her soft, gaze a testament to the trials she's been through. she could've had so much more, yet she chose this moron. Joel couldn't understand why? not just why she chose that - but why everything when it came to her. why? everything about her, she was an enigma. when Joel first set eyes on her, that's all he could think of. why? and how? how could he have lived so long without his angel by his side.

that was 6 months ago. Tonight, it's a little less cold outside- its may, and the summer smell fills the air, as branches sway next to the window in a tireless dance. cars sound in the distance, as late night chatter of the streets fill Joel's ears and her scent his nose. drowning - suffocating him in the anticipation that maybe for one night he'd have her. he never wanted to scare her - to hurt her. she's precious, a porcelain statuette he had to have. Joel was adamant. kissing her only with his gaze, he got up only as the moon kissed the sun goodbye, and the chickadees started their long-awaited song.

「june17th ㅡ O8:42 PM」

late again. he's always late, letting her wait with no sign for hours. it was his birthday, not that Joel cared, but the thin walls provided him with utmost soundㅡ any and all sounds.

she was crying, and he didn't want to budge in making it weird for her, but his heart twisted when he knew she wasted tears on a shit-head like Adam.

but he let his heart get the best of him, and maybe, just maybe, this was the moment when he let his heart dictate, and she finally realizes that she's better than that. better than Adam. Better for Joel. He makes his way to the apartment next door, thinking if he should be honest with her or make up a lame excuse like late payment on utilities or donations for a new front door. He knocked twice, his palms sweaty. This girl made him feel all giddy like a teenager again, heart racing, his dreams full of her. The door cracks open, revealing just half of her red, puffy face with make-up pushed around.

"Y-yesㅡ"

"Hey, there, Iㅡ is everything alright, fawn darling?" his eyes furrow, a weight settling down in his stomach. he couldn't stand seeing her like this. her eyes finally reach his, a glint of gratitude glimmering within them. "hi, Mr.Miller. I'm fine justㅡ" she sighs. "Adam bailed on me.. again!" she tries to laugh it off, wave it as a joke, but the pain in her spirit is apparent. "Sorry if i was, you know... crying too loud. I'll keep it down -"

"fawn...darlin', you know-" Joel's gaze softened "you know you can always come to me if you ever need a shoulder to cry on. As corny as that sounds, 'm all here for ya." looking down at her, he dares not break eye contact.

"Thank you, Mr.Miller.."

"I told you to call me Joel, didn't I?" he tsks, straightening his back. "I feel too old when you call me mister.." Joel admits, in a playful manner. "Got it. Joel." How it rolls off her tongue like honey. how he wants to lick off every drop and indulge into her like the powerful drug she is, so deeply coursing through his being, wishing he'd hear her scream his name underneath him one day. "Right, so- if you ever want anythin'.." he scratches his rough beard. "I'm one door away."

"Thank you, Joel." she steps out barefoot, throwing herself into Joel's arms, hugging him whilst her sweet perfume envelopes them both. Joel breathes inㅡ so close. At last, the hug is broken, and she scurries back inside, leaving Joel stuck in his fantasy.

"My sweet fawn."

「july 3rd ㅡ OO:35 AM」

"Why so hostile, little bird? I thought you liked it when i touched you like this.. a little rough." he rasped, voice scratching at her chest like a knife. "Adam, you're drunk. let's justㅡ get inside." she manages to huff out as her palms lay flat on Adam's chest, pushing him away. "Baby- c'mon, be a doll."

"stop, Adamㅡ stop!" you could hear the frustration in her voice, and the tears that were brimming at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall.

he couldn't just stand there and witness this. he'd regret it forever, unquestionably. " 's everything alright here?" Joel tries to play it cool. He doesn't want to let off too much. He doesn't want it to escalateㅡ for her to get hurt.

" Mr.Millerㅡ"

"Yeah, none of your business, man. Just leave, okay?" Adam scoffs, staring down the hallway where he heard Joel's voice, thinking to himself, 'what this old geezer was doing up so late'. "careful, boy. don't want ya to hurt your pretty lady, ok? just makin' sure everything is -"

"yeah, i fucking said everything is alright, so mind your fucking business, dude!" he spat "Jesus, man." Joel does nothing but smile. Does this Adam guy know what he has gotten himself into? Surely not.

He stretches his neck, making it crack as he takes one step closer to where the couple was. By this time, she was already starting to panic, soft pleads leaving her mouth as that jerk held onto her frame, shaking it up whilst he threw rude remarks towards Joel.

"Let go of her, boy."

"Fuck outta here, old ass. Don't make me come to you, I'm not nice when I'm drunk."

"Oh, I know." Joel promptly comes closer so that only a part of his face is visible by the light of the moon shining through the large window.

"Adam, let's just -"

"Quiet, bitch!" With a swift turn, Adam managed to deliver a harsh backhanded slap to her head, the pounding pain sending her a few steps back, right into the wall. "See, if you weren't here I would've gotten some pussy tonight. But you had to show up." Adam laughs, shaking his hand to recover from the hit. "You a knight in shining armor, or what?"

"You apologize to her, before I rip your fucking legs off and shove them up your sorry ass." Joel was calm. he tried his hardest to not run towards her, embrace her in his tight armsㅡ but he had other plans for now.

"Spare me the threats, old man. one wrong move, and your whole body dislocates." Adam laughs hungrily, shoving joel. or at least attempting. " I don't even know why you care so much. This bitch was onto me the whole night, but when its time to finally get the dick she shys away." he raises his arm again, oblivious to the knife Joel had aimed straight to his jugular, all this time, impatiently thirsting over the thought of Adam's blood gushing onto him. At first Adam is confused, but as he catches a glimpse of Joel's dark grin in the moonlight he finally realizes― he'd been stabbed.

with one palm over his mouth, joel grabs Adam closer, the knife slitting further into his flesh, now reaching his ear.

"You gotta know how to respect your elders, boy." Joel sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, staring deep into Adams eyes as he retracts the knife and promptly shoves it right between his eyes, with enough force that you could hear a faint 'crunch' sound. "ㅡand your lady." In a failed attempt to reach for the girl that was frozen in place, Adams pathetically tries to grab onto her dress as he collapses to the ground.

everything is silent for a moment.

So she stood there, watching as the blood from the splayed body pooled at her feet, the only sounds bouncing off the walls that bathed in darkness were her short breaths and slow steps approaching to where she practically turned to stone.

"'s alright, baby fawn . he can't hurt you no more. i promise."

[ghostaholics]

Re: Price letting her rent the spare room you just know he mentions that he travels a lot for work and often for stretches at a time so really she’d be doing HIM a favor by having someone around while he’s gone u.u

𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚!𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 || 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

Tells you to make the common spaces yours as well because you live here now too, and one of your first measures is to set out a vase on the kitchen counter, regularly fill it up with fresh flowers until you start getting so swamped with your studies that you accidentally let them wilt for days at a time; Price eyes them for a while, wonders if you're going to replace the bouquet yourself until taking matters into his own hands and then deciding to go out of his way to pick up something nice-looking (he doesn’t really care much for flowers, but you seem to take an interest so he tries his best) from Petals at Bibendum on Fulham Road. The ladies swoon when he drops by every two to three weeks only for them to find out that he's literally doing this for his roommate to which they start rooting for him, unbeknownst to you, and he sets up a delivery service for when he's off on deployment or he'll literally show up home after a mission still in his military garb with a bouquet of flowers in the doorway like it’s not something a boyfriend or husband would do.

When you fall asleep on the couch watching the telly and he wants to carry you to your room but out of respect, he instead opts for layers, slips your quilt from the arm of the sofa – another lovely addition of yours that makes this a home and not just a place that he occasionally stays in when he's on leave – and tucks you in so you at least don't get too cold in the middle of the night.

Lets you know when he's coming back from deployment (out of courtesy) but discovers that you've thrown together a small, home-cooked meal for him if he gets in early enough for dinner or have his favorite take-out from one of the restaurants that still happen to be open late at night (it's the least you can do, isn't it?). In your other flat, you'd use candles a lot because your lights always had issues that the landlord would never fix, and that's a habit that you've carried on over to Price's place. So all of the food, the entire spread, is laid out on the dining table and it's dim aside from the fact that this is basically a candlelit dinner. And you don't even realize the romantic atmosphere, because for all intents and purposes, this is merely a friendly homecoming surprise and the candles are day-to-day. But he notices. It's strangely domestic. He never had that before you started living there, but he knows that he doesn't ever want to go back.

He occasionally has nightmares and since your room is right next door, you can hear when he’s in the middle of it; you just pad out to the kitchen, get the kettle ready for camomile (over his usual earl grey or lapsang souchong) to put him at ease since there’s no caffeine in it; you grab some first-edition book he has from his personal collection, have it open to the beginning and his mug steaming on the coffee table in the living room – he finds you waiting, snuggled under blankets and not needing an explanation, just ready to comfort him as you make room for him on the couch and begin to read aloud. He never pays attention to what you’re saying, only spends the entire time staring at you and debating whether or not he'd lose you if he professed his love for you this early.

[scorpioracha]

Jisung x reader, exhibitionism, slight reader x Minho, perv! Jisung, open ended ending

Perv! Jisungie has been running through my head rampantly. Like this baby gives me such service top exhibitionist energy that I can’t help but to imagine him wanting to take you anywhere he thinks he can get away with it. Lmk if you likeee I’ve never really written something like this before 🫶🏾

Movie night with the boys starts off innocent enough, a casual sleepy affair with everyone sated from the dinner Minho cooked and sprawled across the various couches in the living room. You weren’t even really sure what was playing and you couldn’t say you were interested. You were hoping for the fault in our stars but they all wiped the floor with you in the first round of rock paper scissors leaving you pouting and uninterested. It wasn’t anything new, you never won anyways but you were hopping someone like Chan did, instead of being forced to watch one of Hyunjin’s many many historical art piece documentaries. No one was really watching but at least Chan and Felix tried to feign interest, letting out little hums and questioning hmm’s when it felt appropriate. Minho had left halfway through to do dishes, Jeongin was scrolling through Pinterest and Changbin was fast asleep in the comfort of his room, the only one brave enough to reject the movie completely. Seungmin had been sent to the convenience store an hour ago which was suspicious because the closest one was a five minute walk.

That just left you with the yapper,the mediators,the iPad kid and your lovely boyfriend who went through the trouble of getting you all nice and cozy with blankets because these heathens didn’t believe in heat before January. If they weren’t idols they’d make excellent landlords, you rolled your eyes. Despite the annoyances—if hyunjin ever pulled this shit again you were going to turn his jiniret into a smoothie—it was a nice time. You’d never admit it to their faces but you missed them. With all the schedules and comebacks it was hard to remember a time where they didn’t look half dead or were asleep. It was even nicer getting to see Jisung. The two of you had spent the better half of the movie side eyeing each other and giggling about Chan’s lackluster responses, the single father jokes almost blew your cover from how hard you were trying not to laugh. The monotonous drone of the narrative and Hyunjin’s consistent chatter lulled you into a hazy state of dozing off. The world growing pleasantly fuzzy as you laid your head on Jisung’s shoulder. It was perfect really, the lights were off, shades were drawn and he was rubbing your head in a way that had you nudging into his touch, scooting closer until you ended up in his lap. He grabbed the blanket and fluffed it a bit so you were both wrapped up tight and your head was resting in the crook of his neck.

The touches started off innocent enough. The hand that was rubbing your head ran down your back, massaging your hips and trailing down your thighs. This didn’t sound off any alarms, Jisung had always been pretty tactile and you were still dozing a bit. That was until his hand snaked around your waist, leaving feather light touches on your tummy, gentle adjusting you so you were more so straddling than cuddling him. You hummed inquisitively but he just shushed you and went back to rubbing your back. It felt nice, having his hands on you, they were warm and you were weak so you all but melted into his arms. You weren’t sure when gentle caresses turned into poorly disguised groping but you couldn’t help but gasp when his hands trailed back towards your stomach settling on your pelvis just below the hem of your sweats.

“W-what are you doing, sungie?”you whisper in his ear. You could feel him smile before you see it, all teeth and all trouble.

“ ‘m bored” is his only response as he rubs soft circles with his thumb across your hip bones, his grip only tightening when you begin to squirm.

“Wanna be good for me?”he purrs into your ear. the feeling of his breath fanning your neck alone has you trying to hide a shudder but you find your nodding anyways.

“Say it”he goads, digging his thumbs deeper into your hips making you suppress a whine.

“Say you want me to touch you”he starts.

“I-I want you to touch me”you say in a low tone, eyes darting around the room trying to make sure now wasn’t the time people decided to become social.

“In front front of all the members”he finishes. You flush and shake your head a bit.

“I-I Jisung—“

“Say it” he says. the glint in his eyes had gotten much darker, or maybe the hue of the tv had shifted. you felt the swirl of arousal begin to stir in the pit of your stomach. you’ve played the staring game with Jisung before time and time again. and if the earlier rock paper scissors was any indication.

You weren’t too good at winning.

“want..want you to touch me..’front of all y’er members”you mumble quickly, feeling your face grow hot and your stomach sink just a little bit. His grin widens and he rewards you by fulling dipping his hand under the waist band of your sweats, letting his fingertips rest on your clothed cunt.

“Really”he whispers, going for coy but he just looked hungry. “Didn’t know my girl was so needy”

There wasn’t much more time wasted talking as there was energy going into making sure you didn’t get caught. You isolated between pretending to sleep with your head on his chest to cover your face and inevitably needing to come up for air by pretending to stir restlessly.

and Jisung wasn’t playing fair.

Your panties were all but forced to the side as he rubbed deep gentle circles on your clit. and it just made you all the more aware of sound. Hyunjin talking, Chan and Felix now deep into their own conversation, games coming from Jeongin’s phone and Minho occasionally dropping cutlery in the kitchen and cursing. You could also hear your own heartbeat and the squelching of your cunt as Jisung bullied two fingers inside you, resulting in a strangled grunt and biting his shoulder. your stomach dropped and your blood ran cold but Jisung didn’t stop. Instead he curled his fingers just right in the way that had you wanting to crumple right there. his other thumb found his way to your clit and you were panting in his ear desperately trying to find the words slow down. Your head was thrown over his shoulder and all you saw was the hardwood floor, the dining room table and the glint of the kitchen light seeping in. your thighs were burning and you couldn’t tell whether you were chasing the pleasure or running away from it. and Jisung has the nerve to look unphased. his eyes were focused on the documentary and he was even engaging in Hyunjin’s pointless debates on modernism and whatever the fuck Picasso did and you have tears in your eyes from trying so hard not to make a sound. Jisung is hard, you can feel it, you know he’s getting off to it and the minute he hears a sniffle and feels your tear on his cheek, it’s over. You’re shifted a little bit to the left, he spreads your legs a bit wider and he’s thrusting his fingers into you with abandon. His face is still perfectly neutral while you’re falling apart just out of everyone’s line of sight.

Well, almost everyone.

You hear the hardwood floor creak just barely as Minho pads back in. In a state of panic your eyes shoot up and meet his, teary and damn near crossing. He goes to speak, he tilts his head, and he stops in his tracks. you’ve never made such intense eye contact with Minho before, it’s like you can see every thought run across his eyes in real time and fuck you’re still crying. they darken significantly before they settle on a sick understanding that has you feeling nauseous and hot and clenching tight around Jisung’s fingers. Minho’s eyes never leave yours and you almost feel like this was planned in a way. You wanna ask, but before you can Jisung is pinching your clit and you’re cumming around his fingers with an aborted cry. mid way through your high you realize the hand around your mouth is smaller than usual and the one petting your hair has sharp nails that Jisung doesn’t.

It’s Minho announcing that he’s back that finally gets everyone’s attention. The boys seem to all snap out of their own worlds in tandem and welcome him back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. You’re just happy to have the attention fully off you for a bit because you’re still shaking and your eyes are red and-

“Hey y/n, you alright?”Felix asks with a worried pout. you don’t even have time to think about an acceptable answer before Minho is rubbing your head again, those same sharp nails tracing your scalp and saying.

“She’s alright, just got a little banged up from helping me in the kitchen”

[notafunkiller]

sparks fly

Summary: While you are looking for Rebecca, you unexpectedly meet her brother, Bucky Barnes, your new gorgeous neighbor.

Pairing: neighbor!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: fluff, age gap (the reader is 25, Bucky is 33), teasing, no mention of y/n

Word Count: <1K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967​ for being my beta readers and for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

It started in the most random way. One morning, you want to announce Rebecca and your other neighbor, Elena, there might be some noise next week cause you need to call someone to fix your leaking faucet, but you are shocked to see a strange man when the door opens.

You and Rebecca don't know each other well since she didn’t seem much around and you moved there just 2 months ago.

You are embarrassed and surprised, especially since you are still wearing your pajamas. Bucky is trying not to stare at your legs or chest and be respectful meanwhile you are ogling him. From his bare feet and his pink shorts to the white tank top that you’ve never expected to look so good on anyone and his perfect man bun, you find him really attractive. He’s a tall, big man -huge-, with the bluest eyes ever.

And he’s so nice and friendly. You run into each other a few times before you invite him over for dinner. Since you are going to live across each other, you want to know a little more about him.

Bucky has been staying in Rebecca's apartment since she got married, so just a couple of days. He returned to New York after being abroad for a year. The fact that he owns an advertising agency doesn’t surprise you since he is a creative person and a known photographer apparently (you googled him), but he’s surprised when he finds out you’re a copywriter.

You slowly create a routine and spend every Saturday evening eating and watching films together while discussing work and random things.

"I would love to have a cat one day," you say with a smile.

"You can, Tisha loves animals."

Your landlord is a nice person indeed.

"Only if you get one with me." You’re not serious, though. You wouldn't "blackmail" him like that. You haven’t gotten a cat until now because your previous landlords made it clear that it’s not allowed.

"Let's go."

You laugh, shocked by his serious tone. Is he messing with you? "Are you serious?"

Bucky gives you a confused look as he finishes his last bite and drops the fork on his plate. "Why would I joke about it?"

"So you are a cat guy!" You jump excitedly from the chair. You knew it!

"Is this a thing?"

You snort, mimicking his tone "Is this a thing? Of course it is, silly. You passed my test.”

The look on his face is priceless, but you can’t judge him.

"I am confused."

"If you hated cats, then you’d be a red flag."

"You kids and your slangs." He shakes his head amused.

"Do you need an extra explanation? You roll your eyes, but, truth be told, you like it when he plays the old man card. He is not old after all. 33 is definitely not old. "People, men especially, who hate cats are absolutely the worst."

"Not animals in general?"

"Nope." You shake your head. "It's a different thing."

"Oh, please go ahead." He gestures with his right hand for you to continue.

"Cats people love all animals usually. Many puppy lovers, unfortunately, especially men as I said, hate cats. As in... when you ask people what animals they like the most or you talk about cats, they are offended and say they are dog people in that awful way, you know? They shit on cats and mention how dogs are better, despite it not being a competition, because they always wait for you and love you unconditionally. How cats are these horrible little creatures because they can’t be tamed."

"Ohhhh." His lips form an "O" as he finally starts to understand. "Because cats are independent and they hate that, don't they?"

"Finally, grandpa!" You high-five him.

And in less than an hour, you two get home with the two female cats that chose you instantly when you got there by licking and crying after you. They slept in your lap the whole ride home, even when Bucky stopped to buy them some food, and the next day, as two proud and happy parents, you made sure Alpine and Miss Bubbles are vaccinated and trimmed.

[autumnsnuggling]

"I Have a Room Here"

Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the screaming, @rei382 for the alpha, and @annanother-thing for the beta!

2.5k words. TW: Minor panic attacks. Draco has anxiety.

“I have a room here,” he blurts out. 

He’s in the hallway, making his way out of the building when he sees him entering. Sees his eyes widen in recognition. Sees his carefully constructed world set to crumble around him. 

 “I— I mean I live here. Now. I’m not here illegally, or doing anything dodgy. While I'm—” His leg jigs. “I— I have a room here and I like it and I can't move, please don't make me.”

He frowns, and it's almost convincing, almost makes him believe he's not just a lion lying in the grass, waiting to pounce.

“I'm not here to make you leave. I have a room here too. I moved in last week. Ask the landlord.” He regards Draco for a moment. “I couldn’t make you move if I wanted to, Draco.” He pauses, as though for effect. Draco’s skin crawls. “And I would never want to do that.”

He knows it's a lie, that it’s just a matter of time, but he nods and scarpers anyway, door slamming too loudly behind him.

*

“Oh.” Draco claps a hand to his mouth, heart pounding when emerald eyes land on him. 

“No, wait—” he calls, and Draco curses the way his entire body freezes. 

“You don’t have to leave. Just— come and do your laundry. I’m almost done anyway.”

He can’t keep from chewing his cheek whilst loading the machine. And then his change won’t fit in the slot. And then the air, too humid and sweet and dizzying, starts to close in around him.

“Er, Malfoy—”

“Shut up.”

He can feel him staring, can imagine the self-righteous look, can hear the taunt in his voice. 

“I just—”

“No.”

His eyes sting, his fists clench, and the stupid coin keeps hitting the steel slot.

“Please, can I—?”

“Just leave.”

He’s wailing and he knows it, but a moment later there’s a sigh and slow footsteps recede, and he finally takes a shaky breath. 

On the next try, the coin clunks into the machine. 

“You weren’t in so I signed for your parcel,” he says.

Scowling isn’t polite in these situations, but it’s all he can do right now. 

“Th—thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugs slightly. Draco fiddles with a bit of brown tape. “You can look at me, you know. I’m not going to burn your retinas with my ugliness.”

The forced lightness in his voice fails to hide a deeper ring of something, and it’s unmooring. He never used to play games like this, and it makes Draco’s hair stand on end.

“If that’s all…”

There's a beat, but then he sighs heavily. “Yeah, that’s all.”

*

“Hey, Malfoy, you’re okay.” 

He’s not okay, how can he be okay? He can’t find his keys and he dropped his change and his coat is too old so rain’s dripping down his back and there were all these kids and where the fuck are his keys—

“Draco.” 

He blinks, bright eyes suddenly there while warmth holds his elbows. Which appear to be shaking.

“I’ve got you, breathe with me, okay?”

He can barely swallow, let alone breathe, but he chases that voice regardless, the praise so kind his knees tremble and ungodly noises crawl up his throat. 

“Better?” 

Too much time has passed when he asks, and now too much tiredness weighs down each slower, steadier breath. Bronze hands still hold him gently, and he squirms at the wetness on his face. 

“I— I have to go.”

*

His smile is tentative yet blinding, and his ‘Hey,’ is low and private, like they’re sharing a secret instead of passing on the stairs. 

“I got your note.” He stops, so Draco has to stop too, right on the stain on the carpet. It looks like a hippo from this angle.

“You’re welcome, Draco.”

It sends shivers down his spine, hearing his name like that, and he sounds so real, so genuine, he can’t stop his eyes from flicking back to his. They’re just as dazzling as ever, and happier than should be humanly possible. He feels his cheeks heat.

“I want you to know, I’ll always help you if I can. So, if you need something, just—” he shrugs, “knock on my door.” Then, when Draco’s brow pinches, as it always does, “I mean it, Draco. I’m not going to make you move. You can trust me.”

And when his voice is so gentle, he really wants to believe him.

*

“Fuck, sorry.”

Footsteps run towards him as he bends to pick up the apple.

“Apparently one of my shopping bags broke, and, well, decided to attack my neighbours with fruit.”

“Maybe they’re trying to escape your horrendous hair.”

His bark of laughter covers Draco's choke at his reckless words, and Draco's stomach does a weird flippy thing at the sound. 

“Maybe.” His grin could light up an entire city. “It’s either that or it’s trying to escape the crumble it’s destined for.”

Crumble. His mouth waters, and from the quirk of his lips, it’s far too obvious.

“You could come over for some, if you wanted?”

“Uh— I— I don’t— Um—”

He chuckles softly, and it shouldn’t sound fond. 

“Just think about it,” he says, and there’s that soft, too-beautiful-to-be-real smile making his head spin again. “I’ll save you a bit.”

*

He swallows hard. “I'm returning your bowl.”

“I can see that,” he grins too easily, lounging against his door frame. “Did you enjoy it?”

Too much. “It was pleasantly surprising.”

The answering laugh curls his toes and flips his stomach. “I'm honoured to receive such high praise.”

“Don't get used to it.”

“Oh, no,” he smirks. “Of course not.”

Draco bites his lip as the silence extends, hands too empty, cheeks growing hot.

“I could make some tea, if you'd like?”

It's quieter than the other requests—more gentle. Devoid of all pressure but cushioned by tentative hope, and Draco begins to want. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, tongue too traitorous for his heart. But he gives a light huff, and through his lashes, Draco glimpses that sugar-sweet smile.

“Okay, not yet.” And it's a promise Draco knows he'll have to keep. 

*

The bass drums through the walls, into his skull, and his fingers clench.

'Get some space. Take a break,' his head whispers. But outside is too dark, and his chest tightens.

'It's just a bad night. Just one party.’ He tells himself, trying to stay calm. Then fails when his thoughts run away from him.

His feet landing in his hall tell him he's moved, as do his shoes, now on his feet, and his jacket in his hand, but he can't tell how they got there. Someone knocks on the door before he reaches it.

“Sorry, I didn't want to startle you,” he says, hair wild enough for birds to nest in and just as cozy. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with— this.”

He doesn't mean to whimper, or sway on the spot, but another shriek of laughter lances through him and it's so loud it hurts. 

“Obvolvere,” he murmurs, and then it's barely there, just a distant thud beneath his feet, and his eyes flutter closed.

“Thank you.”

He says it before he can think through the lingering buzz, but he can't summon the energy to care. 

“It's nothing.” His molten emeralds shine only with concern, and for the first time in months, he feels cared for. “Get some sleep, Draco.” 

“Wait—” He blinks, panic hissing at the threat of him leaving. “Um, would— would you like— t—tea?”

A slow smile warms him from the inside out.

“I'd love some.”

—

“You should sleep.”

He knows this. Knows from the way his eyes are heavy and itchy and weeping. Knows the disappointment at the idea of letting him leave, the fear of the noise—the gap between them—returning.

“You're one to talk.”

Potter snickers, and it's unfairly pretty. “I'm not the one falling asleep on his sofa.”

“Hmm.” It's all he can say, eyes drifting closed once again. 

“C'mon,” he murmurs, and then there's a hand, solid but gentle, at his elbow. “Bed.”

He stumbles willingly into Potter's solid warmth and sighs. Safe.

“I won't come in,” Potter murmurs, chivalrous to the core. “Just wanted you to get some decent rest.”

“Will you—? Um, I mean, when will—? Can we—?” His brow hurts from wrinkling.

“Can I come see how you slept, tomorrow?”

He shivers at the care in his voice.

“Yes.”

*

He's always kept his word. Draco knows this—scorned him mercilessly for it in a previous life. Yet still his heart leaps, relieved, when Potter smiles at him as he opens his door.

“Hey,” Potter breathes, and butterflies, beautiful and wild, explode everywhere in Draco's chest. 

“Hi.“

*

“A movie I wanted to watch just came out on video,” Potter says. “Want to watch it together?” 

Draco barely knows what movies are. He nods immediately. 

Potter’s too-bright smile is impossible not to return, Draco’s stomach jumping like the kernels of corn Potter shoves in the microwave. They smell almost as good as him. 

“Okay,” Potter soon sits beside him, remote in one hand, bowl of popcorn in another. He flashes Draco another smile, a hint of nerves hiding in the dimples of his cheeks. “I hope you like it.”

He nods, knowing he won’t be able to focus on anything but the warmth coming from just centimeters away.

The buttery smell emanating from the bowl is too alluring, and after Potter’s crunched on a few mouthfuls, it seems socially appropriate to reach for some popcorn too. His fingers brush Potter’s. Electricity crackles on his skin. 

“After you,” Potter murmurs, his smile as sweet as the kernels. Draco thinks kissing him would be even sweeter.

*

His mouth waters at the scent wafting from the oven, and he bites his nails. 

The last three haven’t been right—too burned; too flat; too bland. But this one smells dangerously promising. 

He still jumps when the timer dings, despite watching the final seconds tick down, and the heat of the oven takes his breath away. But these lemon cupcakes are golden, springy, and perfectly risen. 

He flits from the sofa to read, to the radio, to the bathroom to clean whilst waiting for them to cool, then painstakingly slathers on the lemony icing. Once they’re arranged just so on a plate, he sucks in a deep breath, hesitantly walking up the corridor.

“I made cupcakes,” he blurts as soon as the door starts to open, Potter’s face not yet fully in view. Potter’s kind chuckle threatens his already shaky grip on the plate.

“I can see that. They look amazing.” Potter leans forward, inhaling deeply. Draco curses the heat rushing to his cheeks. “I could make some tea for us both, if you want?”

Heart rabbiting in his chest, he nods once. “Y-yes, please.”

Potter’s beam warms him down to his toes. 

*

Cooler air teases at his cheeks, the first hues of autumn painting the leaves. He burrows further into his thick scarf, letting his eyes fall closed.

“You look so cozy,” Potter audibly smiles as scuffed his trainers crunch on the gravel path.

“Not everyone can be a walking radiator,” he snips, knowing the scarf doesn’t hide his smile at Potter’s chuckle.

“Well excuse me for having good circulation and a bit of meat on my bones.” A shoulder knocks into Draco’s, then stays much closer than before. He has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re not excused.”

Potter’s laugh seems to dance on the breeze, loud, and carefree, and infectious, and Draco wants to bottle the sound; to clutch it close and bask in it. Then the shoulder knocks into him again, and this time long, sure fingers hook around his gloved ones, halting the earth in its path. 

“Hmm, what if we get a hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun?” Potter asks, low and private. “Would I be excused then?”

Tentatively intertwining his fingers with Potter’s, Draco forces his voice to stay steady.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we.”

*

“I should probably get going,” Harry frowns. “Apparently, I have to be up in the morning.”

“However will you cope?” Draco rolls his eyes, his heart sinking slightly all the same. 

“Your kind words support me endlessly, did you know?” 

Draco pokes his tongue out. Still, the warmth of Harry’s leg pressed against his disappears, and he rushes to stand too. To delay the inevitable. Harry just smiles, slots their fingers together. Squeezes tight. 

“I’ll come round tomorrow? After 3?” he asks, standing in front of the open door but facing Draco, emerald eyes sparkling and kind and reassuring. 

“After 3,” Draco nods. “And we’ll make pasta?”

“We will,” Harry promises. “I’ve already got the garlic bread.”

“Good.”

The seconds stretch into more, but his grasp on Harry’s hands never wavers, and neither does Harry’s smile. Then those emerald eyes flicker lower, to Draco’s lips, and Draco’s breath stutters.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” Harry murmurs again, lower this time, closer too. Draco’s vision clouds as Potter creeps into his space. Just close enough for soft, plush lips to brush against his.

Draco just stands, still as a statue, barely breathing. 

He manages to gulp as Harry leans back, wanting to melt back against Harry’s lips. 

“T-tomorrow.”

*

“Cuppa?” Harry asks over his book. His hair is mussed from lying down on the sofa. Draco wants to run his hands through it.

“Cuppa,” he says, stretching. “I’ll help.”

A hand finds his, warm and soft, guiding him up from his seat and safely into the kitchen. His grasp feels empty when Harry lets go and moves towards the kettle, but he turns to dig out some mugs anyway. Harry always came back.

There are teabags already plucked from the barrel and waiting when he turns around again, and a hand on the centre of his back tells him Harry’s reaching for a teaspoon, while he gets the milk. 

“We make a good team,” Harry murmurs close to his ear, an arm snaking around his waist. 

“Hmm. Maybe you’ve just been stalking me,” he whispers back, leaning into him. 

“Always,” Harry grins, pressing his lips to his temple.

*

Warmth. Endless warmth is all he knows as he slowly floats into consciousness. 

“Morning, gorgeous,” Harry’s sleep-husky voice rumbles in his ear. 

“Mm,” he moans into Harry’s chest, purring when fingers stroke through his hair. “Too early.”

He grumbles when Harry snickers, jostling him unfairly, but then the arms holding him in place tighten around him, and maybe he can forgive the indiscretion. 

“So I guess I’m not allowed to go to the toilet yet, either?” Harry asks. Draco wraps his legs more firmly around him.

“Message received,” Harry chuckles again, lips close enough to graze his forehead. Draco sighs approvingly when they stay there; a prolonged kiss. 

Long seconds, minutes, or hours later, his hand finds Harry’s jaw, thumbing gently over the stubble that’s grown in, then leans up to capture Harry’s lips with his. 

“I really like our room,” he murmurs. 

Harry smiles against his lips, giving him another sweet kiss back.

“Me too.”

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

[cillianscumslutt]

Careless

Pairing: Johnathan Crane x F!Reader

Synopsis: You never listened to anyone, even when it came to being cautious. Johnathan made sure you were cautious after a night of drinking and carelessly leaving your door unlocked.

Warnings: NONCON, forcefulness,Forced entry,penetration, p in v, fingering, violence, mentions of blood, let me know if I missed any

(GIF is not mine)

Notes: REBLOG AND HEART, REBLOG AND HEART, REBLOG AND HEART

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

It was almost ironic the way you drunkenly sauntered around your apartment complex in your little angel costume. You shivered from the coldness of the October air ,and the constant ac running in the building certainly didn’t help either. But you went out with friends to a party and made the mistake of drinking a bit too much. And you decided to take the train home, alone.

Gotham was dangerous for anyone to be alone at night, but especially for pretty girls like you. Regardless of how many times or how many people would warn you against this, you wouldn’t listen. You never listened.

As you mumbled to yourself about the coldness kissing your skin whilst you unlocked the door of your rather cheap apartment, your neighbor's eyes followed you, watching closely through the peephole of his own apartment. Johnathan Crane was his name. A well known doctor at Arkham Asylum.

He had lived here a little over a year. It was a great disguise to test his theories and fear toxin. Nobody ever came to this part of Gotham, as it was the most dangerous. He hadn’t been expecting to find something or someone for that matter, as intriguing as his studies. But here you were.

As you opened the door to your apartment, you sighed heavily, slamming the door shut and not bothering to lock it since you were too tired. You were careless these days, a little too careless for Johnathan’s liking. What if someone were to come into your apartment while you slept and stole your most valuable possessions? Held you at gunpoint? Or worse yet, took advantage of you?

It was frustrating watching someone so young and new to adulthood be so incredibly stupid when it came to safety. But what was he to say? He observed you well enough to the point he knew you hated being told what to do. He certainly wasn’t going to attempt to make conversation by telling you to lock your door, since you wouldn’t listen and perhaps it would seem a bit creepy for your neighbor to be telling you this.

Over the past six months since you had moved in and Johnathan had started to find an odd fascination in watching you and everything you do, he hadn’t spoken even a word to you. You weren’t necessarily oblivious to your surroundings, but you chose to ignore them or the issues at hand as you did with any other problems in your life. That’s why maybe on this cold October night, Johnathan had decided he had enough of your carelessness and wanted to teach you a lesson.

—

You didn’t drink a lot but you certainly drank too much. Your head thumped a bit as you soaked in your tub, submerged by coconut scented bubbles, watching the leaky faucet drip continuously. No surprise it wasn’t fixed as you had only mentioned it to your landlord three separate times…

It was quiet for a moment, only the leaky faucet dripping and the water moving ever so slightly around you as you relaxed a bit. Your eyes fluttered closed; resting your back against the tiled wall of the tub. This short moment of relaxation didn’t last long as it sounded like the door was being slammed shut just outside the bathroom.

Your eyes snapped open in an instant, moving so quickly the water came in waves, crashing around you and out of the tub. You kept your mouth shut tightly, standing up cautiously before wrapping your towel around you. Bubbles from your bath clung to you, dropping to the floor as you obviously walked out of the bathroom.

“Hello?” You called out, clutching your towel to you. The rest of the house was dark, only the bathroom light was on as you were just there. No one answered, and nothing stirred. But the presence of a shadow could be felt instantly the second you stepped into your dark living room.

A silhouette sat on the sofa, drinking in the way your voice attempted to come out strong and unbothered but deep down, it knew you were scared. The caution in your footsteps said it all as you reached out for the light that was somewhere. The voice of the figure called out in a low, serious tone that was heard so clearly.

“Don’t turn on the light.” Just as quickly as he said it, he wanted to take it back as he had forgotten who he was speaking to. The girl who never listened. But luckily, you were a little further away from the light than you had anticipated.

Your head began to thump painfully as you searched desperately through the dark for the switch of the light before being pulled away. Icy cold hands grabbed you, pulling you into somewhat of an embrace. His arms secured you as his face went to the dampness of your neck from your bath. You smelled heavenly as he took a deep inhale, sinking his teeth into you harshly.

You whimpered, not knowing exactly what to do or say as the stranger held you there. Whoever they were, they smelled nice and had you not been in this predicament, you would’ve complimented them. Another whimper escaped your parted lips as the stranger drew a bit of blood.

He pulled away with a loud sigh, resting his forehead against yours, keeping a tight grip on you. Soft lips pecked at your ear as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. You’re also so careless, silently inviting me in.” He chuckled a bit, pulling at your towel that you held so tightly in your hands.

“N-no…” you finally spoke, voice wavering with uncertainty and fear. Still your head pounded now with the beat of your racing heart at the feel of the strangers grip on your towel, pulling with a slight force.

“No? You say that but, if you didn’t want anyone in here…taking advantage of this body that you flaunt so shamelessly, you wouldn’t have been so stupid to not lock your door.”

And he was right. You knew that. But it was too late to admit that. Too late to fix your mistakes or even argue with him. Still your stubbornness made your pride too great to say anything.

With a harsh pull, your towel was taken from you, making you gasp as you attempted to reach out for it. You hear it hit the sofa, with a wet slap against the fabric from your lack of drying off before exiting the bathroom. Through all the anxiety and fear resting writhing the pit of your stomach, you swallowed it back a bit, glaring at the shadow of the stranger before you.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He chuckled as if it were truly funny to hear you speak so boldly. Once more he enveloped your body in a tight hold that you did attempt to get out of but he had you at an awkward angle, holding your arms behind your back as his cold fingers caressed your thigh.

“Don’t act so fearless now, baby. Nothing wrong with a little fear. Completely normal…fascinating you could say.”

His fingers without warning were shoved inside of you. Three at a time with no mercy nor prep. Another strangled noise left your lips in a mix of pleasure and pain. “I’ll scream!” You wanted, throwing your head back against the stranger's chest.

“Do it. You think someone will save you? This is Gotham. The slum of the fucking earth. Nobody cares, but you should’ve.”

And tears began to form, making your lip quiver. Your mind was battling with your body to not react to his touch, but ultimately lost. It’s biological response was too strong against his fingers, making you cum around them before he shoved them in your mouth.

“What a little fucking slut…huh? Dressed like an angel but you’re coming on my fingers like your pussy needed it so bad.” He said in your ear in a harsh whisper, making sure you cleaned his fingers.

“I hope you’re ready for my cock…your little attempts of bravery got me so hard. I can sense the anxiety you feel, being fucked and forced by a stranger. But you like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer, still attempting to keep what dignity you had to yourself. He roughly shoved you against the wall before you heard a zipper and clank of a belt unmistakably hitting the wooden floorboards. He parted your shaking legs, moving his fingers ever so slightly at the slick of your orgasm from before.

“No fight left, huh? If I would’ve known you would give up this easy, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”

It was shameful to hear him say this. To mock your silence as a weakness. You were treading carefully with your options, not wanting to die in this situation but also not wanting to go down without a fight. It wasn’t until he drew close, his erection poking at your bare ass as he leaned into your neck once more.

“I hope you’re on some sort of contraceptive because I’m not wasting a single fucking drop.”

You flung your head back hard, hurting your neck in the process as you were sure to hit him hard in the face, hearing the crack of his nose. His stance faltered a bit and you thought maybe you were in the clear to run before you were shoved against the wall once more. His hand entangled in your hair tightly, burning your scalp as he slammed your head against the wall repeatedly.

“You really are a stupid little fucking bitch, huh? I was going to be nice, try and let you enjoy this and be civil, but now I want you to see and feel everything.”

Even in the midst of all this, and the excruciating feeling of your headache that had now worsened from the blows of your head being hit off the wall, you didn’t know what he meant. What was everything? Whatever did he mean?

A cold spritz of something tasteless and odorless hit your face from the side. You started coughing, shaking your head a bit as you sneezed. His grip adjusted a bit as he continued to what you could only guess was removing his pants.

Your eyes began to blink rapidly, seeing shadows of things and creatures in the corners of your eyes. Every time your head turned, they moved. Taunting you with viscous laughter and quickening paces around your apartment.

“Mm, I can’t see it but I know your body is simply amazing.” He spoke out, reminding you of his presence as he pushed the head of his cock inside you. A small gasp left your lips, surprised at the sensation and confused and anxiety at the things that lurked in the dark.

They spoke in unison, shrieking and singing the saddest of cries as they moved past you. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“Please…” you cried quietly as he began to rut into you, complimenting you on the tightness of your warm , tight pussy around his cock.

“Mmm…please what? What is it?” He grunted, slapping your ass, making it echo throughout the spacious apartment.

“Don’t kill me. Don’t let them kill me…”

He said nothing, only continuing his assault on you as you lay limp between him and the wall. The only support you had was his hold on you that never seemed to falter. “I won’t kill you…I want you to remember this. I want you to think about my cock in you every time you think about leaving your door unlocked, every time you wear that tiny little fucking dress…you’ll remember this.”

He fucked you hard, at a brutal pace. It felt like hours until he groaned, pulling you as close to him as he could manage before coming inside of you. At this point your eyes were on the verge of closing and you were barely conscious as you slumped against him. He breathed heavily, pulling you up and dragging you to your bedroom.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

—-

It had been a few weeks since the night of your attack. You were now incredibly cautious, as anyone would be. You barely left now unless it was to go to work. Even then, you took time off. You thought it was all a terribly bad dream until the blood from his nose was evident on the floor.

You didn’t even attempt to reach out to the police. Gotham police were useless. They didn’t take calls like this. They were too concerned with finding the villain known as Scarecrow.

You stood alone in the elevator, holding your bag to your chest before someone else quickly entered with you, selecting the floor they needed. His piercing blue eyes looked over to you as he gave you a small smile. You return it, blushing a bit at how attractive this guy was.

“Are you going up as well?”

You only nodded, watching as the elevator doors closed. A small void of silence filled the elevator until he cleared his throat.

“How long have you lived here? You don’t seem like you should be in a place like this.” His voice was soft and professional as he adjusted his glasses, looking over at you curiously.

“Oh, just a few months. Not long really. How about you?”

“A little over a year now. Not exactly the best place, but a more isolated one, I assume. I’m in apartment 7B on the right side. So at least I’m not on the last floor.”

“7B? That’s the apartment right across from mine!” You smile in disbelief.

“Oh really? Wow, we’ll have to have wine together sometime, if you’re up for it of course.” He offered with that same small smile.

You felt your face heat up as the elevator stopped and you both walked together to your sides. You gave him a small nod.

“Sure, absolutely.”

As he spoke, walking past you just the slightest hint of his cologne filled your senses and you recognized it, oddly enough. He smelled so nice.

“Oh, you smell so good. Hope that isn’t weird to say, what is it? I feel like I’ve smelled that scent before.” You ask curiously, cutely tilting your head to the side as Johnathan holds his keys in his hand.

“Oh, thank you. I’m not sure. Was a Christmas present from my grandmother. I’ll let you know the next time I see you.” He winked, now fully facing you.

Suddenly you see a slight bruise under his glasses that connects from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his eye. Your mouth hung open a bit as everything came flooding back to realization.

Whoever they were, they smelled nice and had you not been in this predicament, you would’ve complimented them.

“See you around.” He said your name before disappearing into his apartment, leaving you alone in the hallway of the apartment building with your bag held securely to you as tears filled your eyes.

You shouldn’t have been so careless.