#my love for them never left my bloodstream

[liquidlizards]

so it goes

pairing: lizardhat

summary: when she reluctantly calls black hat as a last ditch effort for a ride home after an online date goes horribly wrong (she ends up having to stab him with a dinner fork), demencia finds out that her boss thinks more highly of her than she was led to believe.

rating: nothing truly explicit, but there is some spice! a piping hot pile of sexual tension!!

(ao3 link)

Demencia eyed the blistering oranges and reds beyond the gloam of the night sky, snubbing out her Newport on the sidewalk with a stomp of her boot. She sneered at the laughter coming from inside the restaurant and reached for the pack in her purse, fingers searching for the last smoke at the bottom. She sure as hell deserved it.

Thinking back on the past 24 hours gave her whiplash, and she desperately longed for an ice cold shower along with an ice cold beer to cleanse the lousy memories away until she had no recollection of them. How could she possibly think that Evil Singles™ was a good idea? Its infamously seedy reputation only spoke of B-list henchmen seeking out a quick fuck in the shadows of the night and nothing else. She was under that disreputable impression up until an alright-looking lackey calling himself “Torpedo” messaged her and opened with an actual goddamn courtly question about how her day was going and how if she wouldn’t mind him saying this but her eyes looked absolutely dazzling in her profile picture, did she have a map, because he was getting lost in them. Right away she knew that was bullshit because nobody in their right mind would look at that clouded yellow haze in her one eye and call it dazzling, but she gave him points for trying.

Demencia presumed that she was acting out, but she never really knew for sure if that outweighed the curiosity. Veiled by a thin layer of almost drunken stupor, her hands hovered over the keyboard, clenching the air. What she did know for sure was that as soon as he gushed about how lucky Black Hat must be to have her on his crew, she lost it and typed out an invite to a local restaurant. Their crab cakes are killer, she told him, you’re totally gonna flip out. If you don’t like them, I’ll probably have to take you out again another time ;)

She thought that was funny, because in the end, she was the one who totally flipped out, when he brought up her devilishly frustrating enigma of a boss and how fortunate he was to call her part of the team. All she could do was flop around like a fucking fish out of water and pathetically ache to type out, Oh, he definitely is. Lucky to have me, that is. In fact, he tells me every day how absolutely positively friggin’ lucky he is to have an ace like me. I kick ass and take names, just how he likes it!

But she knew she would be lying to Torpedo, and to herself. So she thumbed through the unruly file cabinets of her mind and decided to rebuff with talk of seafood and good-natured, flirtatious jibes.

Now that she considered it, there was only one historical recording of verbal praise from Black Hat, and she only knew this because it was dated and stamped in her diary as something of a milestone for her. She kept it under her mattress with a padlock smacked on top of it. Lately, she’d been dreaming about a place where Black Hat acknowledged her and Flug’s work more often, one where weekly progress reports came in and their grueling efforts were recognized. Christ, not that they weren’t paid generously, because they were, as generously as Black Hat could manage. He was just as much a bloodthirsty mogul as he was a bloodthirsty hellion. And contrary to popular belief, she was a woman who cared about her career. She knew she did a good job— she knew she knocked it out of the park and then some— but sometimes Black Hat’s taut, gruntled nod just wasn’t enough.

Demencia knew she was on the team for a reason. She supposed she would’ve been kicked to the curb if she was shit at what she did. It’s just that she could never tell what he was thinking, and that truly pissed her off. She wanted to hop inside his head and pull his thoughts out like one of those never-ending magician scarves. He puzzled her, mystified her. He was a paradox of destruction, 6 feet of ancient eldritch in designer slacks and shiny shoes, and she longed to open him up like the dusty book he was. A biblically ghoulish entity like him had to have some secrets, maybe even a weakness. Everything was a show to him; he was a theatrical individual. So perhaps the truth was closer than Demencia thought, laid out in the most obvious of places.

She herself even put on a show, diamond-studded in nature, where on the outside she played the part of the silly air-headed henchmen who could kill you in the blink of an eye, unruffled by the world around her. Whereas on the inside, she longed for everyone to like her, to commend her triumphs, to fall into raptures about how she was the best in the field, Black Hat being the first to do so. Flug would say that was called "mental illness," but she could put a pin in that for later.

Demencia wasn’t afraid to admit this to herself, but somewhere deep in her bones she had a thing for praise, and hearing it from her own deathly delectable demon boss would absolutely send her careening hornily across the whole town. Settling for the next best thing— a seemingly pleasant, nice evil guy she found online who complimented her from the get-go— she expected to get totally worshiped tonight. If they hit it off, that is. A girl had needs after all.

That obviously didn’t play out the way she had hoped. She sat down and the slimeball immediately looked down her shirt when she reached for a breadstick. He didn’t even try to hide it. Not that Demencia wasn’t used to people ogling her— in fact, she quite liked it— there was just something about this guy’s leer that put her on edge. Like she owed it to him to sleep with her just because he planned to buy dinner. A real creepshow. The moment he grabbed her thigh under the table she had him in a headlock, her other arm burying a fork in his back. So much for hoping.

Reality came rushing back in a jolting wave when her gaze suddenly caught the golden headlights of Black Hat’s antique 1920s Ford Model T. She squinted past the brightness to see two floating eyeballs and a sharp row of teeth glowing in the dark like a beacon of malevolence. His silhouette seemed to pulse against the shadows, a phantom of his own design, the one and only manipulator of the murky blackness called night.

Black Hat shifted into smoke and appeared on the other side of the car, the click of the door sounding foreign in the breezy undercarriage of the moon. Holding it open for Demencia, he stood solemnly like a royal guard, unreadable as always, waiting for her to make the next move. He looked to be in no rush, and Demencia gathered that getting in was her choice.

Dressed to the nines at 11pm at night, Demencia couldn’t help but let her eyes rave over the tightly tailored suit vest wrapped around his torso, or the way his thin legs looked alarmingly alluring in the pale gleam of the street lamps. She gulped and took a step forward, trying not to trip.

His car hummed and so did Demencia as he extended a hand to help her over the curb of the sidewalk and into her seat. He watched her the whole time, eyes flashing, hand squeezing hers so lightly she thought she imagined the firm, steadfast press of his fingers to her palm. Then she blinked and he was next to her in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and into the night without a word.

Demencia never prided herself on being a quiet person, but that night she sat there, unashamed, unbothered— a little bit smug— that her prim and proper eldritch boss had to slip out of his cute little PJs and nightcap to come fetch his wayward crony. Flug didn’t answer his phone, and she sure as hell wasn’t trekking two miles back to the manor on foot, so she called Black Hat. The lizard had his number on speed dial, always expecting to play Russian Roulette because she knew how much he hated technology and being inconvenienced, but knew how much he liked driving his car. Demencia found she didn’t even have to beg for him to come. Through the receiver, she heard he was already out of bed and on the move. She was surprised, to say the least. But she didn’t question it.

Even though she was trying to appear apathetic towards him, Demencia wanted Black Hat to ask her what happened, if she was okay. Flounce and fawn over her like they were two teenagers going steady and some douche catcalled her at the bar so he had to teach him a lesson, even though she could handle it herself, and she did. But he stayed quiet, and so did she. Yet, she didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her fishnets, her thighs tan and powerful beneath the wispy black fabric. A shiver carried down her spine, her face growing hot. His gaze didn't come in the form of a leer, heavy and expectant. Instead, it engaged her, drew her in, tugged her forward like it had his own magnetic field. She supposed that very well could be a possibility.

A couple minutes into the drive, Demencia came to the conclusion that she couldn’t handle this balmy, soupy silence they created between the two of them, pressingly intimate. She felt like the air was charged—almost wired— which made her mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t, fantasies she had yet to unlock. She reached ahead to click on the radio.

Black Hat broke out of his hardened layer of stillness and shot forward, like he was a toy action figure and someone just gave him a fresh new pair of batteries. “Demencia, you imbecile, my mobile is connected—!”

The catchy chorus to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” erupted through the bass, Flug’s modern modifications to the car slapping them both in the eardrums with a rhythmic shock wave.

A beat passed, and suddenly all former claims to Demencia’s night flew out the window and she was slapping a knee, wheezing as Black Hat struggled to switch off the bluetooth while keeping one eye on the road. It was definitely a hilarious sight to behold. Black Hat, The Black Hat, supreme super villain who caused worldwide famine and brought on wars, cursing and fumbling with his radio’s settings while a beloved 1970s Europop disco hit he pretended not to like blasted through the speakers. Demencia likened the view to a giant, flailing butter knife.

He wailed, smacking the touch screen with his fist. “Why are you laughing? This is modern pop music at its best!”

She yelled over the piano. “This song is almost 50 years old.”

Her boss garbled out another string of obscenities before huffing and flopping back into his seat. Demencia muffled a giggle behind her hand, her forgotten cigarette in the other. She went to take another drag, but it was abruptly plucked from her grip by an exasperated Black Hat and thrown from his claws out the window.

“Dude, what the hell?” she spluttered, dramatically throwing her hands up.

He grunted, turning down their street. “I don’t want you stinking my car up and killing yourself. Flug told you nicotine reacts horridly with that reptile DNA nesting inside your body. You’re an important asset to this team, and me, for that matter. Plus, your breath positively reeks of rancid tar fumes, it’s truly disgusting.”

Demencia froze, blankly watched as the manor grew before her eyes, the garage door opening up with a squeak, the row of candles on the cement floor flickering to life. Black Hat refused to pay for electricity outside his house, not that he used it much inside. His Victorian, borderline Gothic Revival tastes traversed over the whole expanse of the estate, but she found it to be quite endearing.

She sat rigid, staring at the dancing flames, paying no mind to the casual insult. Her brain was still stuck on how he admitted that she was, in fact, important.

Important.

Important.

Important.

The word spun around her head and she outstretched a hand to grab it and bring it closer to her heart. She beamed at him, her whole body brimming with warmth, her grin stretching from ear to ear. The way he said it had left her thrumming, pure giddiness shocking her system, rendering her dizzy.

Black Hat narrowed his eyes at Demencia and leaned back to hold her gaze, but she caught the corner of his lip twitching up in amusement. “What, why are you looking at me like that? What’s got you all smiley?”

With a sly look painted on her face, Demencia laughed. Her shoulders relaxed and she noticed her legs parting on their own, knee bumping into Black Hat’s. He didn't move it. “Oh, nothing, it’s just that you need me. You, horrible destroyer of worlds and ABBA enthusiast, need me, hottest hitman on the block. No take backs, I heard it clear as day, dude.”

A different look crossed over his face suddenly, eyes hooded under the brim of his hat. They flicked to her lips, then back up to meet her stare. Almost immediately, Demencia ceased her giggling, heart thundering against her chest like a tidal wave being pulled by the moon. Held in the small space between them, it was the only sound.

Black Hat pushed his knee more firmly against hers, voice gravelly. He said it as if it were obvious. “I do. I do need you.”

Demencia caught the double meaning in his voice, breath hitching in her throat, thighs squeezing together. His teeth glinted in the dark and he lowered his head in a way that made her think he'd been wanting to do it the whole way home, lips ghosting over her temple. Her whole body was tingling, aching.

 “My dear, you are simply a powerhouse.”

The fire in her belly burned white hot, the redness of her cheeks traveling down her neck to her chest, heaving up and down. A wave of boldness swept over her, and she took hold of the reins with ease. “Maybe you should show me how much you need me.”

Black Hat, chuckling darkly, hooked a claw in Demencia’s shirt and tugged her close.

[bloodrvvvsh]

Come Into My Bedroom. | Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Taking care of your lover’s long hair for him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Warnings: None! This is entirely nothing but fluff. Established relationship, pet names (sweetheart), long haired Reid, very brief mention of drugs

Word count: 0.6K

Notes: I am a lover of Jesus Reid and nothing can stop me. This idea came to me as soon as I woke up and I’ve been itching to write it all day since

You were humming softly along to the music that filled the air, Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now by The Smiths, as your fingers ran through the ends of Spencer’s hair. Spencer had always been such a The Smiths fan and you had grown fond of the band in the time of you two dating.

He was sitting between your legs on the floor while you sat on the couch. He turned his head, peering over his shoulder at you. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly and you couldn’t help but beam a smile at him.

“Of course I’m sure,” you replied. In reality, you had been dreaming about doing this ever since his hair got long enough.

You adored his long hair. He looked so handsome with it in your opinion. The only problem was that between his long case hours and now after being shot in the knee, he didn’t always have the time to take care of it properly. Lucky for him, you were there to take care of it for him.

You had helped him wash it, taking your time to really scrub his scalp and messaging the conditioner through his hair, and now after letting it dry, you were going to brush it. You continued to hum, a smile that hadn’t weavered since you began still on your face.

“Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?” you said and he gave a small nod in response. Hairbrush in hand, you raked it through the ends of his hair. 

The feeling of your hands in his hair never failed to get to Spencer. It didn’t really matter what you were doing - playing with the strands, washing it, brushing it, it didn’t matter. It all left a fuzzy feeling in Spencer’s chest.

You were probably the best thing that ever happened to him, ever. You were always so patient and kind with him, going out of your way to do such nice things for him. Like now.

He loved you more than anything.

“Did you know that each strand of hair can contain small amounts of fourteen different elements, including gold?”

“Oh, really?” You were one of the few people he had ever met that actually enjoyed listening to him ramble. He smiled softly, glancing back at you over his shoulder again. “What else?”

He shifted slightly, hands falling to his lap as he absentmindedly fidgeted with them. “Your hair contains everything that has been in your bloodstream, including medicine, drugs, minerals, and vitamins. Drugs can actually be detectable for approximately ninety days in the hair, while it’s generally only detectable for one to seven days in urine.”

“Wow,” you breathed out. “That’s kind of crazy, don’t you think?” You moved the hair hanging over his shoulders towards you and raked the brush through.

He could feel you tugging at sections of his hair, making his head tilt back slightly. “The average person has about 100,00 strands of hair on their hair. Blondes have the highest amount on average at 146,00, while redheads have the least at 86,000.”

“Sounds like a lot of hair,” you murmured. You were almost done, just a few more finishing touches..

“There!” you chirped as you finished tightening the ribbon. “I’m done!” You reached out for the mirror sitting to your left and offered it to Spencer. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you watched his expression carefully.

He gently pulled the braid over his shoulder, running his fingers along the twisted strands of his hair, stopping at the pink ribbon tied into a bow at the end. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight. He glanced back at you once more and your heart nearly melted at the look on his face.

“It’s stunning, sweetheart,” he said softly and your grin split across your face so wide your cheeks began to ache. You cupped his cheeks in the palm of your hands and pressed your lips to his, sighing softly into the sweet kiss.

You were going to have to braid his hair more often.

[aft3rhrs]

— heaven ღ

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: yandere, allusions to kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mentions of reader getting locked up, a tiny (👌) bit of angst, possessiveness, corruption kink, rough sex, choking, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, implied big!dick jk 💁‍♀️, he's a simp, creampie, some aftercare & lots of kisses, still messed up tho lmao I'm sorry <3

It never seemed heaven would be so dark. A room draped in shadows, the door carefully locked. Not even a glint of moonlight broke through the drawn curtains; complete isolation from the world down below.

Even if Jungkook turned on the lights, you wouldn't have been able to see much; not with your face pressed into the mattress rocking beneath your knees. The headboard banged against the wall rhythmically, the sound mingling with each slap of his balls against you, thrusts deep and hard, stretching you out to your limits.

You could feel his chest pressing down onto your back, skin warm and sweaty. His hand remained on your head, lips glued to your ear. The sounds spilling out of them made your head spin, drool seeping into the sheets by your open mouth.

"Always such a good girl for me," he whispered, hot and low. His fingers tangled in your hair, giving it a tender pull. "Fuck me back." His free hand squeezed your hip, encouraging you to move. "Come on, baby. Fuck me back."

Your pussy clenched, muffled whines growing louder. Mindlessly, your hips moved with Jungkook's guidance, numb to anything but the searing pleasure of his cock spearing through you.

"Yeah— fuuck—" the soft groans turned deeper, your little hole soaked and so fucking desperate; just the way he liked it. Just as desperate for him as he was for you.

He grit his teeth, trying to hold a little longer, abdomen tensing against you.

"I love you," he gasped, "tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything you want."

A hiss escaped him when he felt you tighten again, signaling that you knew exactly what he meant, and your pretty, little head was no less depraved than his own. That only spurred him on, made his hips snap against your ass faster, sloppier, sweat shining on his temple.

He wasn't expecting you to be coherent and provide an answer to his question; it was like he just wanted to establish dominance, mark his claim, driven by the sadistic instincts that flickered to life in him in the raw dark, like stars. Equally charming and destructive.

"Gonna," he breathed, the slaps of skin against skin harsh and relentless, "gonna come on my cock, you pathetic whore? You're so good for me. You know you're mine, only mine, and this little pussy knows it too. Always so fucking wet for me."

It seemed more like taunting than a simple reminder; he was trying to get under your skin. As if he didn't already make a home within your ribcage. As if he hasn't infested your bloodstream the first time he had kissed you. The filthy words messed with your mind, made your hole pulse around him harder with each thrust.

"Mm, fuck, fuck, ah, why so quiet tonight?" He moaned into your ear, gently slipping his hand around your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, immediately getting one back on his cock, throbbing and slippery as it pounded into you. "Come all over me, kitten, don't hold back."

You whimpered, your thighs shaking under his, teeth biting into your lower lip, hard. Didn't he fuck your brains out in the last three months? There should have been no thoughts left there at all, and yet something seemed to be wrong, like some semblance of doubt was keeping you hostage tonight. Didn't he do a good job getting rid of that? Jaw tensing, he choked you harder, snapping his hips forward faster.

"I said be a good girl and come for me," he gritted.

He was desperately close himself, his cock hot and swollen, spurting precum as it rubbed against your walls.

"Fucking come for me," Jungkook groaned. "This was supposed to be a celebration. Stop holding back. Do you want me to bring you back down to the fucking basement?"

You gasped, but he could barely hear it over his ragged breathing; how tightly his veiny hand enveloped your frail neck didn't help. However, he could still feel you, especially on his sensitive cock.

"Oh... oh, fuck, are you—"

You quivered around it, so tight his movements stuttered, white spots dancing around his vision at the sensation.

"Did you just come? You want me to keep you like a fucking pet, baby? Oh god, yeah—"

A burst of warmth spilled inside you, your skin tingling and head fuzzy with the limited oxygen his grip on you provided. You shuddered under him, moaning as he fucked his cum deep into your abused cunt. You could feel him all the way in your stomach, his groans loud as kept twitching inside you. Oh, he liked this; how much he corrupted you, how hard you came at the thought of him owning you. He liked it, because he came hard as well, hand loosening around your throat as his hips stilled, last, few spurts of hot seed shooting into you.

You tried to catch your breath, soft kisses trailed along your shoulder slowly bringing you back down from your high. You felt warm, satiated, full; you felt Jungkook's lips quirking in a satisfied smile against your skin, too, his cheek resting on your neck.

"Good girl," he whispered. "So good. I love you."

"I love you," you sighed, eyes slipping shut.

Jungkook hummed.

"Finally got your voice back?" He brushed your hair to the side, exposing more of your skin, his lips pressing into your cheek. "Should I be concerned, baby? Do you want me to stay a little longer?"

You shook your head. Any other time, Jungkook would have cleaned you up, especially before going anywhere. Tonight, though, he wanted you just like this. Naked, in his bed, with his cum dripping out of you while you drifted off. You didn't seem to mind either, heartbeat and breathing steadying as he started getting dressed.

You were almost asleep by the time he crouched down by the bed, the touch of his lips on yours making you stir.

"You know this is just for show, right?"

His question was soft, eyebrows furrowed. No matter how strong, it looked like not even Jungkook could escape some monsters — something like doubt, something like fear. Everything only felt amplified when it came to you.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Promise."

Perhaps three months ago his words would have hurt; but there was no wound anymore, only scars, and his gentle fingers ghosting over them.

Your soft reply smoothed out the frantic, worried fabrics of his soul, the image of you lying there, in his room, glowing; surrounded by his scent and his sheets, so domestic. It was everything he ever needed. His sacred place.

He sighed, contented, pressing the next kiss onto your forehead.

"Good. Mm, then rest. Just stay here and look pretty, my love. I'll collect your ransom and be right back."

He brushed his knuckles along your flushed cheek, dark, hooded eyes boring into yours.

"Can I have another kiss for good luck?"

A pleased hum left him when you leaned in, lips pouty and swollen, ready to be kissed more and more, and how could he ever not want to do just that?

He held your face with an inked hand, and a black mask in the other.

Heaven was a pricey thing to uphold; the church would know. And not that Jungkook didn't already have enough to spoil you, but all angels were painted in gold, weren't they?

"Night, baby," he murmured lovingly.

His voice never led you astray, lulling you to sleep, helping you land safely in the arms of the mellow abyss behind your eyelids. He kissed both.

"Gonna be back real soon."

You didn't get to hear that promise, but he didn't mind. In a few hours, he'll be holding you in his arms. All angels were shimmering gold, to match the golden gates; his angel deserved the same.

In the end, there was nothing wrong with a man of faith collecting donations for the purposes of worship. Right?

[beuxwhoyouare]

Wondering

I don’t really remember much. I suppose that was always my biggest weakness. I’m part of a slug-like species of aliens known as Skreats. Our whole species thing is that they want to take over worlds by taking over the dominant species bodies and using their resources to conquer the universe. Blah blah blah I synthesized my whole life being taught that taking over hosts was my job and all I was supposed to do but what if I don’t want to?

I never payed much attention to all those logs and protocols about conquering. I just wanted to be free of Skreat expectations.

One day I left logging seminars and just hid inside my sectors pod shit hangar. I know I wasn’t supposed to but the ships are so comfortable so I just stay in there and hang for hours. Then all the alarms went off in the hangar, we were under attack but I didn’t want to get in trouble for being where I wasn’t supposed to be. I acted like I was supposed to be there and after a few more of us piled into the ship I commenced launch.

The ship was an escape pod automatically routed to vulnerable planets to conquer. We were headed to E Arth? As we tried to navigate through enemy lines we almost made it to our destination before being shot down in the planets atmosphere. I just fell and then it all went black.

When I came back to consciousness there was no ship near me just a hard cold black runway of some kind, I believe they’re known as roads. It was dark but sirens blared through the night heading towards a blaze in the distance. THE SHIP! I presumed the worst and tried to avoid being stomped on by these tall earthlings walking by me. I thought I found a good hiding place a lobby of some sort but that’s when I was spotted.

An earthling calling me and took me into the shelter of some clear glass container. He murmured words of snail and take care of. I think he’s under the assumption I’m one of these earth creatures.

For days he would give me earthy twigs and shreds of vegetables assuming that I would consume them. I admit I tried but they don’t necessarily make sense to me or my Skreat organs.

He invited other earthlings over some nights some he showed me to and others he got close to but before I could see what their interactions were he’d whisk him away to a private room away from me. But I did learn his name, Harrison.

I’d spend my days observing Harrison or the visuals he would put on his wall display of some sort. He called these things movies. So many of the ones we would watch had stories of love or adventure. It widened my desire to not conquer a world even more. Maybe that’s what I wanted to do. But I couldn’t, not stuck in my current tiny form.

I’m thankful Harrison saved me but I’ve got to level up. I decided to navigate my way out of the container, which I could’ve always done but I needed a plan first.

He was cooking his sustenance after coming back home all wet from his human secretions. With his back turned to me I leaped from the counter onto his waistband.

I consider it a species specialty that we Skreats are very pliable. I flattened out to slip under and find my way into Harrison. As I slithered towards his rounded backside, I began infiltrating and my savior began tensing up. He began to moan, mixing between pleasure and panic as he realized this was not a moment of intimacy but something else.

He began to switch hard to panic as he tried to fight my ascent but it was too late. I hauled it through so many tunnels of organs and vasculature until I got to his core. I guess you call it a heart. I began inserting my tendrils into it and began spreading myself through his bloodstream.

Pulse pulse pulse. I could feel his heart pumping and eventually I synced up with it. We were becoming one, my life purpose was finally being achieved. I had other plans though.

After Harrison took his last gasp for air, I began using my new earthling lungs. It felt like I was breathing too hard, wheezing for air that felt so foreign to me. Reading brainwaves to figure out things like movement and basic terms.

I decided to calm down and slow down. I used my new extremities and flexed my fingers as they’re called. I used them to start feeling my corporal form. Harrison’s lower back arched into a muscular bubble of a butt. I used one hand to slowly caress each curve before squeezing the firm but malleable ass. My other hand roaming across Harrison’s inflated arms and chest. He spent time pushing and pulling plates of metal and cables to get all this as I scanned his brainwaves more.

I’m sure this looked erotic to human beings but I was truly using this moment to discover earthlings.

I began to take off the coverings Harrison was wearing to see the anatomy it was hiding. So many curves and swerves I thought as I traced my host body with my hands. This body is feeling a nervous response called arousal I think.

Something is growing down below on my front area. I place one hand under the blue restraining fabric.

Firm but not hard as metal, the appendage was warm and almost inviting me to grab ahold. I used my new hand and began examining but as I examined and moved it around it felt exciting to go back and forth with it in my muscular hand. I took my other hand and explored the hole I entered through. I slid one finger in before slipping another then another one in.

Unhh

A sound came out of my mouth that I did not intend for. Is this also another nervous response? I began to give into the automatic responses and sped up. My stroking because more rhythmic and hard as I slid my hand up the hole in my backside. And before I could examine the responses another one emerged. A moan and a secretion.

First one then another then the appendage kept spurting out pulse after pulse of white viscous liquids. I was out of breathe in my new lungs. But curiosity struck again as I approached the liquid on a nearby wall. I got close to investigate and touched the sticky goo.

Maybe it’s nutritious or maybe a safety response? Hmm the brainwaves for this haven’t hit me yet. Well instincts haven’t led me astray yet. I opened my new mouth and used my new tongue to lick the wall clean. I wonder if this is how all food is acquired. Hmm.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n Part three! we return once more to this little tiny Azriel's book like story. ✨ thank for everyone who reads✨

warnings: lots of past trauma, Illyrian camp kind of trauma, anxiety, kids because some of you said it was a warning, I guess that's all...

Not yet proofread

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Azriel just couldn't seem to sleep. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he didn't care or that it wasn't in any way directly related to any of his doings, the spymaster still struggled to find his peace. And if it wasn't in the sleep, then his thoughts would just occasionally wander to that night you touched him. He wanted to remember how your fingers felt against his skin. Was your hand warm? Or cold? He was sure your skin was soft. Had to be.

But all Azriel was met with were your terrified eyes. The tears streaming down your cheeks. The choked-out sob you held inside. The way you turned away from him and ran. He called for you. Tried to, at least. But you vanished. Blended seamlessly into the dark and stayed like that ever since. And here he was feeling guilty once more. Proven once more that he wasn't indeed a good man. His desires made him blind. He chose himself. Time after time, put his needs first. He stepped on others' boundaries just so he could gain something.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. He's been coming to the communal ever since. Frankly, it's only been a couple of days. But Azriel was growing restless because you weren't here. You weren't singing with the kids. Weren't smiling at them. Every time he looked at the bright smiles that flooded the room, Azriel had flashes of horror piercing through them. The camps. The cries. The blood. Suddenly, this place made so much more sense. It was a place for Illyrian females and their children. A haven. A sanctuary to heal. To let the wounds scab over. Every smile Azriel saw now held a bigger meaning. It wasn't just a smile. It was the smile of a survivor. Someone who was beaten down. Walked over. Made into nothing more than a punching bag. But now. Underneath, this roof was slowly flourishing because of the loving hearts that surrounded it.

One of the shadows moved to whisper into Azriel's ear, making the male turn his head to the side quickly. "Axel", the spymaster breathed out. The little boy instantly let go of the priestess's hand. "Soldier", he breathed happily. "That's my friend; I'll be okay", Axel nodded his head at the lady, who frowned slightly but still chose to walk on with the rest of the children.

Azriel suddenly felt a wave of panic rush through him. Axel was left with him. A kid was left in Azriel's care. He had never truly taken care of one. Sure, Nyx was his nephew, but Azriel had never even held the boy. A tug on his pants made Azriel look down, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Have you seen...", Azriel started, but was quick to realize that he had never asked for your name. "Zofie is in a dancing class and Y/N... I'm not quite sure", Y/N, the name, ran through Azriel's bloodstream faster than lightning. Arranging and changing chemicals in his body. "She walked us to class this morning and...", but Axel halted, his face changing as he crossed his tiny arms over his chest. "Did you upset her? Because that would be rude".

A breath hitched in Azriel's throat. When had kids gotten so smart? And why was a five-year-old making him sweat more than a camp leader? "There was a misunderstanding", Azriel said calmly, "Hence, why I'm looking for her". Axel watched him for a moment, then nodded his head. "She's been crying a lot, but she said we shouldn't worry about it", the boy shrugged his shoulders. A pang ripped through Azriel's chest. Crying. You've been crying. Was he the reason for it? Had he awakened an unknown memory? Had he already made you give up on him? Had he already made you not want to deal with him? In a matter of weeks. He had once again become a problem.

"Don't be sad", Azriel felt a smaller hand reach up to grasp his palm just like the very first time. He flinched slightly, not used to that part of him being touched so effortlessly. "We usually have tea and biscuits after class", Axel smiled at Azriel fondly, his messy black hair reminding him so much of how Cassian used to look when he was just a boy himself. "Lead the way, champ", Azriel said, urging Axel. The boy lit up, walking with his head high now that Azriel was walking beside him.

They never really tell you how badly the triggers of the past can jab you. But then, maybe they don't know. Or maybe the pain one endures is so great that it leaves them speechless, barely breathing, just about managing to patch the reopening scars. It's been months since you've been brought back to that place. Back to that night. The pinching coldness of the snow beneath your bare feet. The never-ending screeching. The hands...

"Find the light without it. Search for it", Padme's voice made you draw a sharp inhale. Rapidly blinking, you wrapped your hands around your torso. "Did the nightmares retune?", the high priestess asked you, looking down at the paper in front of her. "No", you said firmly. A lie. One you had mastered delivering - a wolf beneath a lamb's coat. "Well, then we are done here for today", she smiled at you. If Padme hadn't found you in that corridor, all shaking and tense, you would have been able to escape these mind-curing sessions.

"Are you fit enough to continue with field work?", her words were colder, but then they always were when the topic of assignments arose. "I can go right now if you insist", you said, throwing her a look that challenged her stare. Padme held it till she was satisfied, then nodded. "Return to your duties, sweetheart; I'll get you the papers tomorrow". You bowed your head just like you always did. You were so thankful for the dimly lit corridor and the way they hid your trembling hands.

Hands... You had felt Azriel's fingerprints on your skin. You had felt his warmth. An odd song it sang. But then, as if out of nowhere, all the walls came trembling down. Dragging you down. Pulling you back to the night you wished to forget. Wipe it out of your mind. Never return to it. Even if it made you, even if it had shaped the very soul that flicked within you. You still wished a night so dark would never fall upon you again.

With a deep breath, you welcomed the air into your lungs. Slowly dragging your feet down the stairs. Down and down. Clawing at the last bits of strength for the kids. For the females that might want to bask in the warmth you always carried, your feet halted the moment you were about to cover the last handful of stone steps leading to the kitchen.

"You're mixing it wrong", the voice growled slightly. Specks of child-like frustration laced it. And you knew that voice. That voice was well ingrained in your brain. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to eat the raw batter", your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the reply. You quickly rushed down the last steps that separated you from the clear view of the place. It couldn't be. There was no way, you told yourself. Just as your eyes fell on the scene in front of you.

"And I'm pretty sure you had never made cookies before", Axel shook his head, reaching for his spoon as he shoved, or more like, tried to move Azriel's hand away from the bowl. They were both covered in flour. You doubted that you wanted to know why an egg stain ran down the wall. Or why was one of the trays burned to a crisp? Something within your chest stretched. Bent and stirred deep within you.

You were sure you would have watched the two of them till the last piece of dough was molded into an odd shape if not for the black, tiny blobs that curled your way. Tiny creatures of the dark yet so full of life. They rubbed against your palms, twirled in the ends of your hair, and brushed the sides of your cheeks. A silent: Are you okay? The unease that left them the moment you nodded slowly.

That's when you met Azriel's eyes across the kitchen. A piece of dough now forgotten in his hand. One that Axel was more than happy to snatch as he formed and misshaped a circle. Neither of you spoke. But the gaze you held was stronger than any conversation could ever be. Words often failed. Or led to unnecessary assumptions. Eyes, on the other hand, were the mirror of one's soul. Eyes could never lie. Forever doomed to give away the truth that lay beneath.

"You should put your cookie here", Axel said, pointing to the tray until his own golden eyes followed Azriel's gaze, a big smile spreading across the boy's face as he hopped off the stool Azriel had pushed closer to the counter for him. Leaping into your hands, his dirty hands and clothes smearing against the white you wore. "I see you have gotten yourself quite a company", your fingers lingered beneath the boy's chin, carefully guiding his face up so he would meet your gaze. "I told Azriel about the cookies we make after class. Can you believe he eats cookies?", the excitement in his voice made you crack up a smile. "That seems like it's secret information", you muttered, and Axel's face grew wide as you pressed your finger to your lips. From the back of your eyes, you could see Azriel slowly shaking his head, but a light smile still lingered.

"Why don't you wash up, huh?", you crouched down, cupping the boy's face, before one of your hands brushed against one of his lip wings, threading golden threads there. Azriel's face went ashen. How did he miss that? The off-balanced leather. The twisted boning. His hand clenched the end of the counter, and he was almost sure he would snap the marble just from the sheer clench his fingers had on it. How many more horrors were unknown to him? What else had these people endured?

"You mean a whole deal to him", your voice sliced through Azriel's fading vision. Making him blink a couple of times. Slowly pulling the world around him to focus. "He already has drawings of you. A mighty worrier...", you let out a low chuckle as you reached for the dirty bowl submerging it beneath the water. "But then maybe I have myself to blame", Azriel felt the cold pain that lashed with your words. In all honesty, Azriel was desperate to say something. Make this better. Somehow make the pain that now drowned you back away.

"I told him stories of a foreign soldier. Who wasn't like the males in...", and you didn't have to finish. Azriel knew. Knew what you were referring to. The sadistic manners some of them bore even if Rhys had banned any wing clipping. "I'm sorry", was all Azriel managed to say. His voice faded to nothing almost immediately. He knew those words had little meaning for pain like that.

"Our minds clashed that night in the attic", the spymaster's words sent a shiver down your spine. You stared ahead of yourself. Not allowing yourself to look at him. You had worn that mask of strength before. This male now standing to the side of you. This man had watched you crumble way too many times already. "I'm sorry that I disrespected this place. I disrespected you", an ache in Azriel's chest eased as he spoke, "I want to learn more about the sanctuary. I want to make my time here meaningful". The bowl in your hands nearly slipped out of your hands. Your body - still the statue. "I can't do any of that if you and I are fighting this silent battle, can't I?", the question twisted something deep within you, but you still blurted in a cold tone, "There are many more people who can guide you". And Azriel didn't doubt it, but at least he still said, "But no one quite like you". Your eyes darted to look at him like that. Your eyes meet his. And then and there, it felt as if you two had seen each other for the first time. Looked and saw.

With a silent agreement settled, Azriel followed you up the stairs toward the room the kids shared. A plate full of cookies in one hand, his shadows holding four glasses full of milk. He questioned your choice to go up the moment you presented it. For Zofie. The hunting gaze of the fear she carried still followed Azriel's mind. But he knew that Axel was waiting. For some reason, the thought of letting him down now felt worse than losing a battle.

"I'm considered their guardian", your voice bounced off the empty corridor. "All orphans have one for the transitioning period", Azriel felt the way you cringed at the words transitional. Even to him, it felt off-putting. Jabbing straight at the wound that bled the most. You told him about Padme. The laws of the sanctuary followed the priestess who ran it. For the most part, at least. Azriel knew that was only the crumbs. But he was glad to learn at least that. To understand at least a small portion.

"Are they still in that period?", Azriel finally asked. He had fallen into a comfortable pace next to you. "Technically, no, but... we bonded too much. I couldn't bring myself to separate from them", you said quietly. As if you were in a way ashamed of the world that left your mouth. He wondered how many kids had been in their place before them. After? His shadows hadn't sensed the presence of anyone new, but he was sure that the mass of faces was growing still, especially knowing the situation in the mountain camps.

Azriel wanted to say just how much it amazed him. The way this place radiated happiness even with the trauma everyone bore. How wonderful was the work you did here. But you had leaned closer to the door. Ear placed on the wooden door as you listened in. Azriel stilled at that; his Illyrian hearing offered him a chance to peer in as well, yet he doubted it was needed. The shrieks and cackling could be heard from where he stood.

He knew it was Axel and Zofie. His mind was engraved with the sound of their laughter from the communal. Yet Azriel couldn't help the dread that pooled in his stomach as you opened the door. The voices halted, but only until the kids were met with your presence. Azriel tried to fold his wings behind him tighter in hopes of appearing smaller. He had never imagined himself doing any of that before, but here he was. The spymaster's eyes instantly landed on the drawing of a winged male standing on top of the mountain with a raised sword. There was more than one too. All plastered on the walls. The blue dots no doubt resemble his sapphires. But... Azriel's heart skipped a beat for a moment. He hadn't worn his Illyrian leather here, so how would he have been able to...

But that familiar force launched at his feet. Azriel's hand instantly reached to mess with the head of black hair. "You came", Axel breathed. "Wouldn't you agree that I earned a cookie as well?", The spymaster teased the youngling slightly, earning a laugh that warmed the deepest parts of his bones. Yet Azriel's eyes scanned the room till he saw a tiny hand gripping your skirt, her body hidden behind your frame, only a tiny side of Zofie's face visible to him.

As Azriel kneeled, he wondered what horrors she had to endure beside him to fear a male so much. He knew this skittishness towards him was the grave he had dug himself, but she—that tiny girl—was a survivor too. Too young to bear a burden so deep. But hadn't Azriel bet too little too? Azriel found Zofie's eyes, and as frightened as she was, she held an unfalteringly tight gaze. Azriel handed a cookie to one of his shadows. The tiny creature slowly lured towards the girl. Zofie hid further behind you, yet her curiosity was too strong, and she peaked almost immediately.

"I can't promise that I haven't mixed up salt with sugar, but... well, you'll have to tell me if they are edible", Azriel said gently. He had a low, deep voice, but it still felt like velvet as it rolled down his tongue. Zofie spared him a look before her eyes fixed on the shadow right in front of her, tiny blobs holding the sugar cookie for her. And to Azriel's surprise, she took it. She took it and dove back to her hiding place. The shadow moved to glimpse over your side, but Azriel pulled it back. "Is it good?", you asked the girl softly. Azriel could hear the munching sound—a light tug pulled at the side of his lips. "Well, I didn't make them; Azriel and Axel did. You should tell them your thoughts", you said to the girl softly. Azriel hadn't hoped for anything in return from her. The fact that she had taken the cookie was more than enough for him. He was going to gain her trust slowly. He was willing to do so. Try. A tiny hand moved from behind you. And Azriel caught a glimpse of a tiny thumbs-up that greeted him. And something shifter within him, something that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

[sinfulspencer]

Bad Behaviour

Prompt: Reader is being a brat. Spencer teaches her a lesson.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: dom/sub undertones (Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader), verbal degradation, dirty talking, praise kink, hair pulling, light breath play, boot grinding, pet names (the pet name is actually ‘pet’ but there’s NO pet play involved), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie

Words: 10.3k

A.N.: Me and my horniness. No apologies. Also this is a repost, because apparently last year I couldn't upload the fic properly; it just removed all the descriptions and only left the dialogues.. Now everything should be fine.

MASTERLIST. REQUEST GUIDELINES. TAGLIST FORM.

When Spencer Reid gets mad, he doesn’t shout.

He doesn’t yell, he doesn’t scream out in anger, he doesn’t do anything.

Spencer just stands there, acting like nothing has happened, but with a deathly glare that tells you exactly what happened.

The look on his face, the way his fingers tighten their grip on his pen or whatever he has in his hands, the light huffs coming out from those plump lips, that jaw tight shut, the vein on his neck gets more evident – all signs of his clear anger, pure rage running through his bloodstream. 

I only saw Spencer angry because of tough cases or particular students who decided to annoy him beyond the point of no return, and I could barely survive through his anger because he was scary. He didn’t make me want to run away, obviously, but I tried my best to never make him angry.

Until the night of our anniversary arrived.

I didn’t know what happened to me that morning. I didn’t know if it was the way he kissed me that woke up something in me, I didn’t know if it was the warmth of his body pressed to my back and his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses down my neck, I didn’t know if it was the tight grip on my hips that left bruises on my skin for the whole day. 

Something, clearly, pushed me to act like this. 

I knew it was wrong and I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn’t help it. It was our first year anniversary dinner and I just wanted to have fun, to spend the whole night underneath him or however he wanted to have me – and I couldn’t care less about his anger. 

Spencer spent our whole dinner with his hand on my thigh, occasionally gripping it to warn me to stop my actions. I didn’t want to listen, so I just didn’t – and kept on kissing him, I kept pushing his hand up to reach my panties, I whispered to him all the things I wanted to do to him once we got home. I even flirted with the waiter just to see Spencer’s reaction, but he didn’t react. 

No, he was stoic.

He acted  like a statue, barely moving when I opened my mouth or I tried to kiss him.  I didn’t blame him, he knew I was trying to tease him. How could he blame me, though? 

I wanted to have fun with my boyfriend. I wanted him to manhandle me, to spend the whole night making love to him, to ruin his pretty skin with my teeth and my nails, to run my fingers through his hair and pull it, to feel him whispering my name on my lips as he took control of my body and owned me until I couldn’t even remember who I was.

Maybe I pushed it too far, maybe I needed to stop.

Maybe I needed to realise that Spencer wasn’t touching me because he was angry. It wasn’t a hypothetical sentence, Spencer was really angry because of my attitude but for some reasons, I couldn’t care any less – I was willing to accept any punishment, anything he wanted to do to me as long as I could feel his hands on my body again. 

I missed them more than anything.

However, my fingers didn’t agree with what my mind said because they made their way underneath my skirt without hesitation. The seatbelt laid uncomfortably against my stomach as I spread my legs just enough to catch Spencer’s attention, but his eyes never left the road. 

“If you’re not going to touch me, I’ll do it myself.”

Spencer didn’t threaten to leave me high and dry, but I had a feeling that he wanted to do that when I tried to cop a feel on him. It wasn’t my fault my boyfriend was extremely gorgeous and he turned me on, I couldn’t keep my hands to myself – and Spencer knew that, he took advantage of that and used my neediness, my strong desire for him to mock me and remind me of what a pathetic greedy slut I was. 

I couldn’t deny it, he was right in every aspect.

I was greedy because each time he gave me something, I asked for more. I was pathetic because he could lift one finger and he’d have me on his knees for him, mouth wide open and tongue ready to welcome him. I was a slut because the more I looked at my boyfriend, the more I needed him inside of me.

“Go ahead, pet. Touch yourself.”

His words didn’t sound like encouragement, they were a threat. I didn’t care, I pretended like they were an encouragement and pushed my panties down my legs before stuffing them inside Spencer’s right pocket.

If Spencer wanted to stop me from disobeying, he would’ve done it in the blink of an eye. He would’ve stopped the car somewhere, he would’ve forced me in the back and he would’ve spanked me until I couldn’t do anything but whisper ‘sorry sir’. 

If Spencer wanted me to touch myself for his own greed, he would’ve ordered me to and I would’ve compiled without hesitation. Touching myself right in front of him was one of my favourite activities, because I could see every speck of desire appear in his eyes and spread through every cell in his body – until he couldn’t take it anymore, and touched me himself.

 His words were in the middle, they were an encouragement to see how far I would’ve pushed myself and how quickly I would’ve gotten into trouble for actually touching myself. I didn’t care, I wanted to feel good and the only way to get there was to use my fingers – because he clearly didn’t want to use his.

“I’m so wet, sir.” – I whispered, cupping my sex with a hand – “It’s all your fault. You made me wet.”

“Is that so?” – Spencer asked, briefly glancing at me before turning to the road – “I didn’t do anything, pet. I just ate while I talked to you about our future trip to Venice.”

Humming, I traced my clit with the tip of my index. “You know how much I love your voice, how much it affects me, sir. I can’t wait to hear it really close to my ear, it would drive me crazy.”

He shook his head and tried his best not to look at me when the lewd sounds of my fingers dipping into my heat caught his attention, but I could see the devilish smirk on his lips. I could see the pink of his tongue poking out and swipe over his bottom lip, I could see how affected he was by the fact that he wasn’t touching me.

There are few sets of rules in the Reid household.

The most important one is very simple: do not touch yourself if not allowed. 

Spencer clearly allowed me to touch myself because he said the words, but his mind was screaming at me not to – I knew him better than I knew my own body. I could easily recognize the sign of a man breaking down because he gave an order that clearly went against his own rules – and oh, did that turn me even more on.

“Are you sure you don’t want to feel me, sir? Don’t you miss how I feel so tight and warm around you?” 

Spencer didn’t look at me, but he shook his head again. “Yes, I’m sure. Keep going, pet.”

I closed my eyes, dreaming about those slender fingers on the steering wheels pushing in and out inside of me. I tried to remember the feeling of his fingers knuckle-deep inside of me, how the warmth in my body spread through my lower half, how his teeth left little marks on my neck while he fingered me from behind. 

Spencer was a talent with his hands, he knew exactly how and where to touch to get me to comply – so I missed those fingers. I missed those hands marking me, owning me, showing me that no one in the world could make me feel so fucking good – not even myself, not even those stupid toys, not even the images of his body pressed to mine.

“Does that feel good, pet?” – Spencer asked, catching my attention as I nodded – “Yeah? Better than fingers or my cock? Do you prefer your pathetic little hands?”

I didn’t want to disappoint him by keeping quiet, so I let a river of moans come out of my lips. “No, of course not, sir.”

“Then, why are you moaning like a slut? Do you feel that good?”

Whining at his remark, I closed my eyes again and rolled my hips against my own right hand. “Because I’m touching myself while looking at you. I’m dreaming of you doing this to me, sir.”

“Ah, always thinking of me. How sweet.” – Spencer said, making sure to never brush against me even when he had to touch the shift gear – “Do you miss my fingers, pet? Do you miss how they stretched you open, preparing you for my cock?”

“Yes, sir. I do.” – I bit my bottom lip, inserting a third finger inside of me with ease – “Please, I... Stop the car and touch me properly, sir. I need you so fucking badly.”

Obviously he wasn’t going to budge, but I had to ask. 

Spencer went silent as the lewd sounds of my fingers dipping in and out of my heat echoed inside the car. I couldn’t stop moaning and rolling my hips, trying to come up with different ways on how to tease Spencer and beg him to actually touch me – but he never looked at me. He was too busy driving, touching the steering wheel and letting his fingers dance all over the leather. 

I couldn’t even breathe. 

Pumping my fingers at a quick pace, I realised how close I was to coming. Spencer must’ve noticed my thighs shaking, because he gave me one single look – and in that moment, I understood how fucked I was. The anger, the jealousy, the annoyance was already running through his bloodstream – and it was reaching the point of no return, a point that elicited a long loud moan from my lips.

“C-Close... Please, sir. Can I come?” – I asked through sobs, feeling my body tingling with desire – “I need it.”

I didn’t know if Spencer appreciated me telling him I was close to my orgasm – I was hoping it would soften the edges once we got home from the restaurant, but Spencer never dared to look at me. He kept his beautiful honey coloured eyes on the road and drove, a little bit faster than before. Or maybe it was my head spinning too quickly.

“Do you want to come, pet? Do you want to come all over your pathetic little fingers for me?” – Spencer asked in a low tone, sliding his hand down the steering wheel without touching me – “Do you need to come so fucking badly you can’t even give me the decency to wait until we got home?”

I nodded again, whining loudly. “P-Please?”

I tried to slow down the pace of my fingers, but the desire ripping through my body didn’t allow me that. I squeezed my thighs together and I threw my head back, whining my boyfriend’s name in hope that he would grant me the wish I asked so gently, so beautifully.

Spencer didn’t, but only because he changed his whole behaviour.

He put his right hand between my legs and closed it around my right wrist, pushing it away. My heart skipped a beat at the sight in front of me, I was completely overwhelmed by what was happening that I barely had the time to realise it. I whimpered at the loss of my own fingers from my heat, but I soon gasped when Spencer replaced them with his own. 

“You don’t get to make yourself come. Only I do.”

Spencer’s voice reached my ears loud and clear, leaving me to pant his name over and over again. The windows of the car were foggy, my wet fingers were stuffed in my mouth as I tried not to squirm. Spencer made sure to remind me how good his fingers felt in comparison to mine, pressing his digits on that soft indentation inside of me – that delicious spot that made me curl my toes in pleasure.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe.

All I could do in that moment was to take his fingers, clench hard around him and remind him that he was going to get this – and much more – once we got home. I didn’t know how Spencer managed to drive with one hand and fingering me with the other, but again, I was so lost in my own pleasure to not focus on anything else but me. 

Spencer curled his fingers inside of me, pressing again on that spot that made me squeeze hard around him. I could see the shadow of a smirk on that cocky, arrogant face – I could feel his ego being boosted through the roof, but honestly, I didn’t care. Spencer knew he was good at fingering, there was no denying.

“This pussy belongs to me, pet. Understood?”

“Yes, s-sir.”

Pressing the palm of his hand against my clit, Spencer gave me that one last push I needed. With a loud cry and a few sobs, I jumped over the edge of the desire and let the orgasm wash through me for the second time in a row. All the pleasure settled behind my belly button, the blood rushed up to my ears again as I felt Spencer whisper.

“That’s my good pet. You did such a good job.”

The adrenaline didn’t leave my body until his fingers slowly made their way out of me. The result of my desire pooled between my legs and I couldn’t even close my thighs together, still shaking. I was desperate to wrap them around his waist, I needed him to make them tremble again – I just needed Spencer to be close to me. 

And I wanted to say it out loud, but my mouth got filled by his fingers. 

The same fingers that were inside of me a few seconds before. 

Spencer didn’t even look at me. “Clean up your mess, little pet. And tell me how you taste.”

I brought my hands on his wrist, closing my lips around his fingers and made sure to lick them clean. I swirled my tongue on the tip of his fingers and moaned at the taste, squeezing my legs as the desire took over me again. I didn’t know why Spencer allowed me to come, I didn’t know if he was still angry but I didn’t care. 

At that moment, I just wanted to please him and thank him for making me come. 

“Thank you sir.” – I whispered, pressing a soft kiss on each of his fingers – “I taste so good.”

“I know you do, pet.” – Spencer told me, pulling his hand away from me – “Now stay still and behave for me. I’m not done with you yet.”

I knew we barely started our night and I was so eager to find out all the other fun things he had in store for me, so I behaved like a good pet. I sat on my seat with my thighs still trembling, my eyes staring at him the whole time as Spencer drove home as fast as he could. 

He was just as impatient and eager to have me.

I was impressed by his self-control and his stoic composure, but there were a few details that I would’ve missed if I hadn’t looked at him the whole time. He kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he stroked his own thigh with his left hand but he never dared to look at me.

Probably because if he did, he would’ve stopped the car and ordered me to ride his thigh or his cock until he came inside of me, filling me so deeply I wouldn’t have been able to stand on my own feet. I wouldn’t have minded that, because that’s exactly what I was craving the most. 

Spencer parked the car right in front of the flat complex and unbuckled his belt, turning the music off. I didn’t even hear the music playing in the background as he used his fingers on me, I was so focused on the feeling and the pleasure building inside of me. 

“Go on. Run inside.”

I struggled to unbuckle my belt. “Yes, sir.”

 Spencer grabbed me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. Those universe coloured eyes stared into mine as if I was his most precious possession – and I was. I could see the love behind them, the longing he felt, the desire to have me that was slowly creeping through him. 

I wanted to kiss him so bad, so I did – but Spencer pulled away before the kiss could deepen. His eyes softened up at my kiss, but I knew that this wasn’t going to change the fact that I misbehaved the whole night. Spencer wasn’t going to budge, he wasn’t going to be easy on me – and honestly, I couldn’t fucking wait.

“You should be scared of what I’m going to do to you.” – Spencer whispered on my lips, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip – “Go on, little pet.”

His threat didn’t go unnoticed, but I was too eager to have him to understand.

Also, I didn’t care. I would’ve greedily accepted anything he wanted to do to me, as long as he granted one look, one kiss, one brief moment where he shared his unconditional love for me with me. 

Spencer got out of the car a few seconds after me, following me up the stairs and keeping his eyes on my skirt the whole time. I tried my best not to lift it while I was walking, even though I would’ve loved to tease him some more – but maybe Spencer was already observing my bare skin underneath the skirt. 

“Don’t look under my skirt, perv.” – I giggled, reaching the door of his apartment – “You’re such a bad boy.”

Spencer shook his head, crossing his arms to his chest. “Sorry, it will happen again.”

Holding back a laugh, I watched him open the door of his house and walked in first. I didn’t know if I was allowed to sit on the couch or anywhere in his apartment, but I decided I was – and made my way towards the bedroom, knowing that he would’ve appreciated my cooperation.

After all, I knew exactly what he wanted me to do.

Somehow.

Spencer didn’t follow me to the bedroom at first, he let me go without too much of a fuss. He stopped inside the bathroom while I sat on the edge of his bed, his favourite place to devour me with my legs over his shoulders and his face buried between my thighs. 

I could hear the sound of the water running inside the sink, but I tried not to think too much about it. 

I pushed my skirt down my legs and took off my top, folding my clothes over the nightstand on the right. I was completely naked for Spencer and I wasn’t sure he would’ve appreciated the sight, given the fact that his anger was still clear in his body – I realised it because he closed the door a little too loudly than usual, and his footsteps were louder. 

I knew this night wasn’t going to start with him calling me a ‘good little pet’.

I didn’t care, I was excited anyway. 

Spencer never showed me his meaner side in the bedroom, but tonight was the perfect night for him to let loose – and finally give me an insight on the dark and twisted mind of the man I loved more than anything in my life. A man that brought me so much happiness and joy.

Spencer came out of the bathroom and finally walked inside of the bedroom, managing to look absolutely ravishing while doing nothing much. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off the delicious skin of his chest that was soon going to be covered in little red and blue marks. 

I was jealous of how gorgeous he looked without even trying.

“I’m going to sit right here now.” – Spencer pointed at the chair next to the window – “And I’m not going to touch you until you hump my boot nice and well.”

My eyes immediately landed on the black boots Spencer was wearing. I nodded my head without hesitation, already embarrassed because of the mess I was absolutely positive going to make all over the black leather. I was going to do anything in my power to let him know that I was excited for him to touch me again, that I needed his fingers and his mouth and his cock all over me. 

Spencer sat down on the chair with his legs slightly parted and he pointed to his right boot. He looked so fucking beautiful under the faint lights of the moon filtering through the window and the salt lamp on his nightstand. I felt so lucky to have a man like him in my life, cherishing me and loving me so hard and so deeply I could hardly remember all the people that came before him.

“Come on, little pet.”

I got up from the bed, still completely naked, and kneeled exactly where he wanted me to. His eyes never left my face and I was grateful he was looking at me, because I was starting to miss him – he knew that I couldn’t obey him unless he looked at me. Spencer knew how much it meant to me to have his eyes on my face the whole time, adding to the humiliation of grinding against him without him doing anything.

This was Spencer’s favourite way to humiliate me.

Forcing me to grind against something and mocking me for being so needy and so desperate that I’d do anything he asked me to, in exchange for his services. I felt so embarrassed each time, but I loved every second of it. It made me feel secure, safe, needed, looked at.

 I could feel the cold leather between my legs as Spencer gently pushed me down, forcing me to sit over his boot. Suddenly the leather felt warm against me and I could feel my wetness sliding over the fabric, making a mess all over it. Spencer didn’t seem to care as he looked at me the whole time, nodding his head. 

“Like this, s-sir?”

“Yes, pet. You’re doing so good for me.” – Spencer said, placing his hands on the arm-rest of the chair – “Does it feel good?”

I nodded my head, biting my bottom lip. “Yes, s-so good.”

“You love humping my boot, don’t you pet?” – Spencer asked, a hint of jealousy painting his voice – “I can’t believe you’re so desperate to feel my cock inside your pretty cunt that you’d do anything I tell you to. You’re so fucking pathetic, pet.”

His words hurt in the most delicious way, making my head spin and enforcing me to move quicker. I rolled my hips against the boot, finally finding the perfect angle to grind against. Spencer didn’t move his boot, allowing me to get as much pleasure as I could from my own movements alone.

He looked at me the whole time, listening to the sound of my pained and desperate moans filling the room. He noticed how my hands gripped at my own breasts, how I bounced against his boot and pretended it was another part of me that was clearly restricted by his pants. 

“Are you dreaming of riding my cock, pet? Is that what you’re thinking about?”

I nodded with eagerness. “Yes. Yes, sir. I miss doing it.”

“And I miss watching you do it.” – Spencer said with a devilish smirk, tilting my chin upward – “Maybe I can let you do that, since you look so cute while humping my boot. I bet you’d look even better bouncing on my cock, don’t you think?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s true.” – I whispered, cherishing the warmth of his fingers under my chin – “You’re right, sir.”

I was getting closer to my release, I could almost taste the pleasure on the tip of my tongue. I was tempted to keep quiet and not say anything to Spencer, but he knew my body better than anybody. He could see, and probably feel, my body tingling with desire and my eyes rolling in the back of my head. 

I tried my best to hold it, to stop myself from coming all over his boot and not disobey him. But I knew that I brought chaos upon myself if I let go and didn’t tell him the truth. Spencer wasn’t going to touch me if I did that, and I craved his body on mine to the point I could only think of him.

“Stop.”

Spencer retracted his right foot in order for me to pull away, but not without complaining. “Sir... please.”

He didn’t care about my sobs or my pleas. Spencer was doing this to humiliate me, to show me how pathetically greedy I was to act like a bitch at dinner and like a whore in the car. I knew it, there was no need to remind me, but I loved everything he gave me at that moment.

I loved how Spencer basked in the pleasure of this hidden side he finally let me see.

“Oh.. Look at what you did, pet.” – Spencer mumbled, pointed at the wet spot on his right boot – “You got my boot so fucking wet. You were enjoying riding it, huh?”

I lowered my eyes, staring at his boot. “Yes, that felt so good. Can I do it again, sir? Please? I want to show you how...”

He lifted his hand, interrupting me. “You’ve got to make it even, don’t you think?”

Spencer pointed at his left boot and I whined before doing anything, knowing exactly that he was going to edge me again. My cheeks heaten up, but I didn’t let the embarrassment take over me as I sat down on his other boot. If Spencer wanted me to hump his other boot, then so fucking be it – I was going to ride it and ride it until my boyfriend told me to stop, just because I wanted to please him.

And prove to him, again, how desperate I was to have him.

“You’re such a good pet. You didn’t even complain.” – Spencer chuckled, watching me get comfortable on his left boot before he lifted it a bit – “Have I finally forced you to submit to me again? Are you going to be a good pet for me and behave like I asked you to this morning?”

“You don’t have to force me to submit, sir. You know I’d do anything to keep you pleased and happy with me.”- I whispered, feeling my words broken by the desire filling my body – “Can I hump your boot now, sir? Please?”

He nodded, bringing both his hands behind his neck. “Go ahead. Show me how much you want to ride my cock.”

Spencer didn’t have to say anything else as I started to roll my hips again, closing my eyes. The images started to flood my brain as I imagined being on top of him, scratching his chest and mumbling how much I loved his cock deep inside of me. I wanted Spencer to know that, no matter my behaviour outside of the bedroom, he was the only person who could see this part of me and bask in it.

I could feel my wetness sliding all over his left boot, matching the stain with the right one. Spencer stared at me with that same arrogant smirk on those lips and I was tempted to stand up and kiss it away, but I couldn’t. No matter how beautiful he looked, how hard he was in his pants and how much I wanted him to ruin me, I couldn’t stand up and interrupt this.

Spencer wanted to edge me again and he was going to accomplish his task. It didn’t take too long for me to reach that edge of desire again, because soon I was panting and moaning with my hands on my breasts.

“Please, sir. Let me c-come, please.” – I whimpered, blinking the tears away from my eyes – “Please, I’m begging you. I want to show you how much I loved humping your boot.”

Spencer clicked his tongue, folding his arms to his chest. “Hold it, pet. I know you can.”

I whined with my eyes closed and turned my head to the side, rolling my hips and feeling his boot move against my clit. I knew Spencer was going to make this night more difficult than ever – and he was succeeding, because I was close to start crying harder no matter the consequences.

Tears in the bedroom weren’t a new thing for me. 

I was emotional, I cried every single Spencer made love to me. 

But that night tears weren’t of love and longing, they were of frustration and desperation. Feelings that got amplified when I opened my eyes and found Spencer with a hand tightly wrapped around his cock, jerking off so quickly to release the tension that he accumulated through the whole night. 

I knew that seeing me like this, so turned on and so embarrassed by my own greed, turned him on – I just didn’t think he could touch himself in front of me, without asking me to help. So I decided to tease him and show hm that yes, he was in control – but he wanted to fuck me as much as I wanted him to.

“Can I suck your cock, sir?” – I asked through a heaving breath as he looked at me, panting – “Please, my mouth feels so empty without it. I’ve been fantasising about this for so long. Please sir, let me suck your cock while I hump your boot.”

Spencer hummed at my fantasy, nodding his head. “Yeah? You want to take it deep down your throat?”

I nodded again, leaning forward. “Yes, please. I need to show you what a good slut I am for you, sir. Please, let me do that.”

“Go ahead, pet. Suck it.”

Spencer helped me kneel between his legs, staring at the wet spots on his boots. Satisfied by the sight and clearly enjoying the warmth of my mouth around his cock, he released a long moan that encouraged me to take him further. I had my eyes closed, my right hand wrapped around what couldn’t fit in my mouth.

Spencer ran his fingers through my hair, admiring the way my lips stretched around his cock and moaning softly when my tongue caressed him up and down. 

“Such a good pet for me. You really wanted to suck me off, didn’t you?”

I struggled to nod my head, managing to finally look up at him. He had a sweet smile on his face and that made my heart grow fonder, because I knew that look – I knew that expression, I knew he was silently telling me how much he loved me and how proud he was of me for letting him do all of this. 

I was even more proud of him for showing off this persona that apparently came out only for such a short amount of time.

There was a tenderness he expressed through his touch even while his words were humiliating in the worst delicious way. His fingers twisted my hair gently, pulling me between his legs where he wanted me the most, and I couldn’t do anything but take all of him in my mouth. I needed to remind him that this is what I was made for.

Spencer wanted to keep quiet to enjoy the silent sounds of my mouth being filled up over and over by his cock, but the pleasure got the best of him. More moans came out from those plump perfect lips I loved in the shape of curses and I was in awe. 

My thighs trembled with unspoken desire and I closed my eyes again, allowing Spencer’s voice to encourage me to take him further down my throat. My efforts didn’t go unnoticed because soon enough his hands came cradling my face, gently pulling me away from him.

Saliva dripped down my chin. 

I was positively sure to have mascara running down my cheeks and my hair was a mess, but Spencer seemed to find me the most gorgeous woman on the planet because he kissed me with such passion. 

Completely breathless, I found myself silently begging him to bring me back to life with those lips. Spencer used his mouth to control me all over again, to tell me to stop squirming in his arms and let him take care of me in the way only he knows. I gave him a silent nod and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his mouth with the same blossoming desire that he showed for me.

“Please, sir, I...”

I didn’t even know what I was begging for. Too many things I craved and too many he was willing to give me. I could see Spencer pondering for a few seconds before acting and that made me smile, because I knew how much he wanted to touch me at that moment.

“Lay down on the bed, pet.” – Spencer whispered, taking a step back – “I want to see all of you.”

I was already completely naked, but I didn’t complain about his request. I made sure to lay down on the bed with my legs spread wide open for me, with my head propped high enough to look at him.

Spencer took his time pushing his shirt off his shoulders, admiring every inch of my body as I tried my best not to close my thighs. I was self-conscious, I knew I was beautiful – Spencer made sure to force me to say it out loud while taking me from behind one night. So I knew he was appreciating the sight, but still.

The nerves got the best of me and I closed my thighs, sighing. 

“Can you move a little quicker, sir? I’m dying right here.”

Spencer let out a chuckle, unbuckling his belt and leaving it on the floor along with his trousers. “So eager to have me.”

“You know it.” – I whispered, immediately opening my legs again when he got on the bed – “Come here, please. I need to kiss you, sir. I miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, pet. I’m right here.” – he whispered, settling between my legs and giving me a long kiss on the forehead – “You did so good for me tonight, but I want to do something else. Do you think you can keep going? Or do you want me to stop?”

The tenderness in his voice broke me.

I forced the urge to sob because, how lucky did I get? He was showing me mercy on a night where I didn’t deserve it, so I decided to take advantage of the moment – and showing him that no matter how exhausted I was, I needed to keep going. Both to please him, and also because I craved his cock inside of me.

I was a slut, after all.

“No, I’m okay. I can keep going, sir.” – I replied to him, bringing both my hands behind his neck – “I’m having so much fun.”

“Fun? This is supposed to be a punishment.” – he mumbled, covering my lips with little kisses – “I guess I need to step up my game, then. And I know exactly how.”

Spencer pulled away from my face, ignoring my annoyed whines. I wasn’t done kissing him and I needed way more of that, but he was in control – and I didn’t want him to stop being so gentle with me, even though ‘gentle’ wasn’t the correct word I should’ve used.

Spencer placed his hands on my thighs, spreading them as far as he could until I winced. I didn’t know what to expect from him, because Spencer Reid was a man full of surprised – but when his mouth covered my sex, I almost laughed.

Of course he ended up eating me out.

Spencer loved oral sex more than penetrative sex. I didn’t blame him, I loved the power that sucking him off gave me – no matter how hard Spencer pretended to be in control at that moment. I loved watching his facade crumble each time I moaned around his cock. And I knew Spencer felt the same when he was between my legs. 

He could control me by kissing me and he could do it with kisses right between my legs. 

His tongue swirled around my clit and I forced myself not to moan, closing my eyes. I didn’t want to focus on the intense pleasure he was going to give me, terrified that he wouldn’t grant me the grace of coming for the second time of the night.

Or maybe not. 

“I want you to come all over my tongue, pet. Do you think you can do that?” – Spencer asked, breaching my entrance with the tip of the index – “Do you think you can show me how much you love when my tongue is buried in your pretty pussy?”

Nodding without hesitation, I looked down at him. “Yes, s-sir. Yes.”

I was scared that there might have been a trick behind his words, terrified that I might get another orgasm denied for my behaviour earlier but the way Spencer was devouring me, saliva mixed with my own arousal covering his chin and his eyes closed so he could focus on his actions, made me realise that no, he wasn’t going to deny me an orgasm. Spencer loved going down on me, he loved feeling my body tensing because of his fingers and my tongue. 

I wasn’t surprised when my second orgasm of the night washed over me, so quickly and so intense. Spencer didn’t pull away though, sucking my clit with his eyes closed and pushing a finger inside of me. I whimpered at the feeling, still sensitive because of the tingles still making my thighs tremble.

“S-Sir, I...”

“Shut up.”

I ran my fingers through his curls, tugging on them harshly. “Be nice to me, sir. Your face is between my legs, I could easily cr...”

Spencer didn’t let me finish my sentence, slapping my thighs with both hands. The loud slaps echoed through the room and I whimpered, knowing damn well that he had left marks on my skin – obviously the day before JJ and Penelope invited me for a pool party with Emily. 

I was fucked. In every sense there was. 

“I warned you.”

“Sorry sir. Thank you.”

“Ah, there she is. My good pet.” – Spencer pressed a soft kiss on the red mark he left on my right thigh – “Thank me again for making you come.”

He was right. I thanked him for slapping me, but not for allowing me to come. 

“Thank you for making me come on your tongue, sir. I missed doing it.” – I whispered, caressing his curls – “Thank you.”

Spencer went back with his mouth between my legs, thanking me for behaving in his own way. His tongue cleaned up the results of my pleasure and it dived inside of me, eliciting another long moan that bubbled through my chest. 

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my thighs slightly cramping because of the position, but the desire in my body was growing stronger each second. I didn’t know if I was going to come again so quickly, but Spencer was determined to make me.

Pushing two fingers inside of me and focusing his tongue on my clit, Spencer looked up at me. 

“Fuck, sir. You’re so good at this.” – I panted through each heaving breath, slamming my right hand over the bed sheet – “I love your mouth.”

“I’d love yours if only you were able to stop talking back.”

Giggling for the obvious remark about my previous behaviour, I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the warmth of his mouth and his fingers bringing me closer to the third orgasm of the night. I didn’t know how many orgasms he was going to give me, but I was more than willing to receive all of them – and more, just to please him.

Spencer loved watching my body reacting to the pleasure he was causing, and also to the pain. 

“Less talking, more pussy eating.” – I muttered, feeling a sharp pain on my thigh – “Sir.”

“You’re such a greedy slut. You can’t get enough of my mouth, huh?”

I arched my back when Spencer inserted a third finger inside of me, making me gasp. He knew how to shut me up, but I wasn’t done talking anyway. He asked a question and I knew I had to answer, otherwise I would’ve gotten another pinch. 

“You know me too well, sir.”

“I know. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I feel so lucky.”

Spencer drew back in with his mouth, scissoring his fingers inside of me to stretch me out for him. My thighs began to tremble again and I could feel the beginning of my downfall all over again. Spencer took me down with him, curling his fingers and making sure to feel my taste on his tongue just like before. 

A chorus of moans and curses flew from my lips, echoing in the bedroom along with the lewd sound of my wetness drenching Spencer’s lips, tongue and his fingers. But he didn’t stop, working me through my orgasm and teasing me with another one right behind – but I couldn’t get there.

My whole body was on fire.

Every muscle was tingling, my thighs were cramping and my mind was running.

“Do you want more, pet? Do you want my tongue to fuck you again? Do you think you can take it?” – Spencer asked, watching my body twitch each time his fingers moved within me – “Oh, my poor pet is already exhausted. You’re so pathetic, bragging about loving my tongue and then barely giving me three orgasms.”

I bit my bottom lip harshly when Spencer pressed a kiss right above my clit, making me squirm in anticipation. It wasn’t my fault he denied me two orgasms and then gave me two in a row, my body needed a few seconds to breathe.

And when they passed, Spencer made sure to remind me that he owned my body. He knew exactly how to push me and how to get me to give him whatever he needed.

“Now you’re going to be a good little pet for me and come again.” – Spencer said, slowly moving upward to reach my face – “Do you understand, greedy fucking whore?”

I nodded my head, shakily bringing my hand up to his face. “Yes. Yes, s-sir. Anything.”

“Good. And then... I’ll let you ride my cock.” – he added, kissing the tip of my nose – “And you’re going to thank me for everything I’ve done for you tonight. Am I clear?”

His fingers never stopped their relentless pace, curling deep against that delicious spot that made me shiver. Spencer looked at me like he would look at a masterpiece, with adoration and tenderness even though his fingers were doing his filthy work – but I looked at him the same way, in awe of his beauty, of his love for me, of my love for him.

Spencer could’ve asked for the moon and I would’ve brought him half of it, cherishing the other half for the day he’d ask for more.

“Crystalline, sir.” 

“I love your smart mouth.” – Spencer brushed his thumb over my right cheek, before slapping me without hesitation – “Especially when it’s stretched around my cock.”

The skin of my face burned at his gesture and I moaned, thanking him again for touching me. I wasn’t sure he deserved to be thanked for that but I did it anyway because each time his hands touched a part of my body, it felt like a gift. Each time Spencer gave himself to me, I accepted him with open arms.

Especially legs, like right now.

“What’s that look for, pet?” – Spencer asked with a smirk, knowing I couldn’t talk – “Are you speechless? Are my fingers fucking you so good you forgot how to talk?”

My fingers scratched his shoulders to release the tension expanding through my body as waves of shock mixed with pleasure hit me over and over, until the fourth orgasm took over me. My eyes never left Spencer’s, I needed him to see the intense desire that flooded me each time he granted me an orgasm. 

He basked in that desire, he kissed me through it.

Spencer leaned down and pressed a soft kiss over my parted lips. “That’s it, pet, good job. I’m so proud of you.”

Struggling to get my breath even, I collapsed back onto the mattress. Spencer followed me, kissing down my neck and nipping the soft skin while caressing my thighs. He was trying to bring me down to Earth, but my mind was still lucid enough to want this night not to be over yet.

However, I appreciated his kind words and his gentle kisses. 

Spencer tilted my chin upward, looking into my eyes. “I love you.”

My lips twitched into a smile. “I love you too, sir.” 

He moved away from me and jumped off the bed. I immediately searched for him in the bedroom, whining when I didn’t feel the warmth of his body besides mine.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be back soon.” – Spencer kissed my forehead – “I’m going to grab some water. You need to be hydrated.”

“Thank you for not making that joke.”

“What? About you being wet enough to..”

“Don’t push it, sir.” – I mumbled, grasping his hand and tugging it – “Or I will ride you right now.”

Spencer hummed, pulling away from me before I could put my threat to the test. “Not without drinking a glass of water first, pet. Doctor’s order.”

I watched him as he left the bedroom, smiling when he turned around to check on me. I wanted to follow him inside of the kitchen, hug him from behind and bite his neck to leave him some marks, but I was too exhausted to move – I was still in the mood for playing, just not for walking and moving around the house. 

Spencer got that.

Usually he made me walk with him to stretch, but my legs and knees were stretched out sufficiently. 

When he came back inside the bedroom, Spencer handed me a glass of water. I drank all of it, not leaving a single drop, and plopped back on the bed with my legs spread open for him. Spencer finished drinking his own glass of cold water and left everything on his nightstand.

Then, he crossed his arms.

“Well?”

“Well, sir? What’s next?” – I asked, kneeling on the bed – “Are you going to let me ride you now?”

“Should I?” – Spencer hummed, scratching his chin while pretending to ponder the thought – “I mean, I asked you to come for me... And you did, so I guess I should reward you.”

I got closer to him, still on my knees, and joined my hands together. “Please? I’ve been such a good pet for you, sir, I deserve to ride your pretty cock. I know you missed seeing me on top and I can tell you that I have missed being on top as well.”

He placed my hands on his shoulders. “You’d look very pretty.”

“Bouncing on your cock? Moaning and panting like a little slut because I can’t get enough of you?” – I asked, leaning forward ‘til my lips touched his – “Would you like to watch me riding your pretty cock and struggling to stay still because I need your cum so deep inside my pussy?”

Spencer released a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I’ll show you.”

I grabbed both his hands and pushed Spencer on the bed beside me, watching him laugh with his head thrown back at my eagerness. He was still in control of everything, obviously, but his softer side was shining through – and I was glad, because I loved this side as well. 

“You just lay there and look pretty for me while I ride you like you asked me to, sir.” – I whispered, gently pushing him with his back on the bed – “That’s it. You are so beautiful.”

Spencer kept his hands on my hips the whole time, watching me settle on his thighs but never daring to make a move. He wanted me to do all the work and even though my thighs were cramping, I was determined to show him how desperate I was to feel him inside of me. Sitting on his lap and riding him nice and well was exactly how I was hoping the night would end.

My hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a few strokes just to tease him. Spencer stared at me without making a sound, caressing the soft skin of my hips before rolling his. He wasn’t very vocal in bed when it came to touching, but I wasn’t going to have it – I needed to hear him.

“Please, don’t... Uh.” – I mumbled, grinding my hips against his – “I want to hear you.”

“My pet is giving me orders.” – Spencer whispered, following my hand with his hips – “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because your moans are music to my ears, sir. I need to know how good I’m making you feel, because it’ll make me even more desperate to please you.” – I told him without hesitation, giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose – “Please, sir?”

Spencer didn’t answer me with words. He pulled me down with a hand on my throat and kissed my mouth like his life depended on it, urging me to go faster with my hand – or finally welcome him inside of me. I felt his pre-cum smear down all over his length and a rush of adrenaline ran through me.

Lifting my hips, his cock aligned with my entrance and I felt it slid between my wet folds. I coated him with my own arousal before looking up at my boyfriend, smiling softly when I found him with his eyes settled on my face – he wanted to control how good I was doing, how focused I was on making him feel good. And I think he enjoyed the sight, because his lips parted and a soft moan escaped from that sinful mouth.

“I could watch you ride my cock for hours. You’re so beautiful.”

Blushing, I nudged my nose against his. “Thank you, sir.”

Spencer knew how much his voice affected me because the moment his lips parted to let out another long moan, I sat down on his cock. Inch by inch, I let Spencer fill me up until there was no more space between us and our lips were connected with kisses, with more moans and his hands pawing at my hips. 

I could feel him twitch inside of me, knowing that he wasn’t going to last long. I didn’t care, I wanted Spencer to feel good – and I was already on the verge of the pleasure, so it didn’t matter how long it would take for both of us to reach that state of euphoria we so desperately craved.

Spencer tried to lift his body so he could touch me properly, but I wasn’t having it. 

Pushing him down over the bed, I settled back on his hips.

“Stay down. I can do this on my own, sir.”

Spencer gripped my thighs with his hands, leaving angry red welts on my skin. “Alright, little pet. Make me feel good.”

Steadying myself on top of him with my hands on his shoulders, I rolled my hips along with his. The moans that left his mouth were music to my ears, allowing his voice and those pleasurable sounds to encourage me to go quicker. I wasn’t a big fan of being on top, but Spencer seemed so happy to see me like that – with my thighs spread open for him, watching his cock disappear inside of me as I gripped him tightly. 

“I love your cock so much, sir. I missed it inside of me.”

“Now you have it, pet.” – Spencer whispered, grasping the bed sheets – “Fuck, your pussy feels so good around me.”

“Do you want me to go faster?” – I asked through my sobs – “Please, I... I want to.”

He wanted to touch me, he wanted to control the pace of my movements. I could see it written all over his face, but he didn’t move his hands from the bed. Spencer wanted me to prove how eager I was to have him and how happy I was to finally be united with him. 

“Do what you please, pet. I’ll love it anyway.”

I collapsed on top of him, kissing his lips in the spur of the moment. But I didn’t stop my movements, pushing my hips against his and making sure he could feel how wet and warm and perfect I was around him. Spencer moaned into my mouth, claiming my breath as his each time I sobbed. 

We were coming to an end so fast, but I didn’t care.

Spencer had his head thrown back in pleasure, his eyes always on my face to make sure I was okay but the sounds I was making, mixed with the lewd noises from our slick bodies together, told him everything he needed to know. I loved feeling like this, I loved being like this with him – and my body was his, to cherish and to love for the days to come.

I grabbed his right hand and placed it over my heart. Spencer could feel the steady throb of my beating hard against his fingertips and I saw the shadow of a smile appear on those lips I loved to death. 

“Where do you want me to finish, pet?” – Spencer asked, his voice broken my pleasure – “I’m c-close.”

With tears in my eyes, I whispered: “Inside of me, sir. Please.”

Spencer used his free hand to lift himself off the bed so he could wrap his arm around me. I let him, too lost in my own pleasure to realise he was closer to me than I thought. 

His mouth dived against my neck, peppering it with kisses and bites that I knew weren’t going to be there tomorrow. I didn’t care, I wanted Spencer to bite me and kiss me anywhere he liked, for as long as he liked. 

Slamming me down onto his hips, Spencer thrust up into me with ease. I could feel my wetness drip onto his thighs, his fingers leaving red marks on my hips and his mouth biting every inch of skin he could. Spencer wanted me to lose my mind that night and I did, collapsing against his chest with my trembling arms around his neck. 

I closed my legs around his hips and followed his movements, ignoring everything I told him before. 

“Shit, pet. You feel so fucking good, I could fuck you for hours.”

I giggled, lifting his face up to look into his eyes. “By all means, please do.”

Spencer ravaged me with every ounce of love and passion he felt for me that night. He made my legs shake around his hips, he bit my neck and licked the soft skin to make it better before grabbing my face and kissing me like there was no tomorrow. 

I was out of breath, barely able to register what was happening around me. 

“More, more.” – I urged him, bringing my hands around his neck – “Please, sir, just...”

Spencer didn’t let me finish my sentence, kissing my mouth and turning me into a panting mess. His hips rocked against mine with urge, with desire, with greed and I let him take everything from me. 

Finally the pleasure hit me before I could feel him reach the euphoria I knew he was seeking as I unravelled around him, moaning and whispering his name against his mouth. He swallowed up every moan with pleasure, twisting the positions and pushing me against the bed. 

Spencer didn’t stop thrusting into me, allowing me to ride my orgasm to the fullest. I was completely speechless, unable to think straight as the pleasure clouded my mind. The more Spencer pounded into me, the more another orgasm settled behind my belly button. 

“Give me another one, pet. I know you can do it, I can feel you wanting it.”

I nodded my head even though I didn’t understand what he said, completely lost in my own desire and lust for him. Spencer chased my orgasm and his with a desire that I’ve never seen in him before, thrusting into me as the bed creaked underneath our wanting bodies. 

I kept my hands behind his neck, casually scratching his skin each time he hit that delicious spot that made my toes curl in pleasure. I wanted him to fuck me harder, I needed him to completely ruin me – and I didn’t care if I wasn’t going to able to walk tomorrow. I didn’t care if the girls would ask questions, if they would tease me for being covered in my marks. 

I just wanted Spencer to feel good. 

“Sir, give it to me. Please, come inside of me.” – I uttered against his lips, watching his eyes widen at my request – “Please, I need your cum so fucking badly inside of me. I’m your cumslut, please. Need it.”

“Yeah? You want my cum inside your pretty pussy?” – Spencer asked with urge in his voice, moaning softly – “I’ll fucking give it to you, then. Take it, you fucking whore.”

Spencer kissed me again, pushing his tongue against mine until I couldn’t even breathe. Another orgasm took me by surprise as my whole body shuddered and contorted around him, making my eyes roll in the back of my head. Spencer must’ve felt me gripping him fucking tightly around his cock, because he was finally able to let it go.

His hands forced me down on the bed as he finally reached that state of euphoria, flooding me with the warmth of his love and his pleasure. I closed my legs around his waist and forced him to stay there, to give me everything he had to offer until there was nothing left.

Pleasure danced all over his beautiful features, his lips covering mine with a tenderness that made my heart skip a beat. I tried to calm down the beating of my heart, struggling to stay still under his body towering on top of me. 

Spencer kissed me over and over, cradling my face with one hand. He kept whispering those three little words I loved to hear from him, holding me as we both came down to our climax. 

I didn’t know how long it took for us to separate and for our breath to be even.

When the moment finally came and the blissful smile on our lips turned into a devilish grin, Spencer rolled off my body and settled beside me while our pleasures pooled between my legs. 

My legs were heavy as every muscle burned due to our nefarious activities.

“I love you.” – I whispered once silence had taken over the room – “I love you so much.”

Spencer turned to look at me, opening his hand. “Should I blame it on the hormones?”

I rolled to his side, placing my right hand into his. “Blame it on your cock.”

“Ah, it.”

“It.” – I giggled, giving my boyfriend a kiss on the cheek – “Thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you for loving me.”

My heart fluttered at his words. “If this is how we’re going to celebrate our anniversaries, I will need to find more ways to misbehave.”

Spencer chuckled, bringing our joined hands to his lips. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I’m glad you had fun, my love.” – I told him, tightening my grip on his hand – “Thank you for loving me, thank you for tonight, thank you for fucking me, thank you for giving me five orgasms.”

“You’re welcome for everything, baby.” – he mumbled, rolling on his side so he could look at me – “I’m so proud of you for taking everything I gave you tonight.”

I leaned forward to reach his lips, never letting his hand go. “I’m so proud of you for showing off that side that I definitely love.”

Spencer kept our joined hands closer to his chest. “You know, I never thought I would let someone grind on my boot. I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

I giggled, blushing at the images flooding my brain again. “Well... It was an experience.”

“Don’t worry, I cleaned my boots before.” – Spencer explained to me, kissing my forehead – “I didn’t want you to catch any infection, so I disinfected them when we came home.”

“Ah, when you went to the bathroom.” – I nodded, biting my bottom lip – “I thought you were jerking off so you could last longer in bed.”

He pinched my pinkie, shaking his head. “I don’t need to jerk off to last long.”

“Oh, I know that.” – I winked, bumping my nose against him – “Seriously, thank you for tonight. I had so much fun.”

Spencer slowly retracted his hands from mine and he opened his arms, welcoming me as I laid my head upon his chest. “I had fun too. Thank you.”

I couldn’t wait to admire all the marks he left all over my body.

TAGLIST @blvebanisters @koukatsuki @moesdraft @alelaeljfj @donttrustlove @reidselle @r-3dlips @alicentswife @hcneyblossoms @topguncultleader

BROKEN TAGS @singinghamtaro @Florebore

[moonlight-prose]

Maybe I need Gabriel to chase me thru the woods as a wolf only to find and tackle me in his human form 🤭

note: i love that you sent me three delicious fucking asks. these have been living in my head rent free for days and i need to basically live in all of them. this one especially. fuck if it isn't just the scenario with him.

warnings: 18+ ONLY!! stalking, chasing, he's a werewolf it's freaky deal with it, dry humping, biting, marking/bruising.

He's faster than you anticipated. A predator who became consumed with the thought of hunting down someone innocent. A helpless prey that didn't know they were about to become his meal. His sacrifice for the devout God above that damned him to live this way.

Moving with a swiftness that is relentless enough to thread terror through your veins, crawling its way up your throat, he plays a game. Cat and mouse. Wolf and gazelle. The pretty little thing running past trees and ripping the skirts of their dress on fallen branches - their feet cracking the dead leaves with each step.

He can smell your fear like a deep saturated wine that fills his senses. The adrenaline that sweetly courses up and down your body, pushing you further than you needed to go. There was no use in fleeing from the big bad wolf. Not when he had you in his sights - ready to pounce when you made the next move.

Danger was an easy thing to come by in a forest this haunted.

The screams of the innocent punctured the air like a knife, carving free the stench of death that seeped up from the damp ground. You began to wonder how many bones were lost to the soil beneath you. Only to realize that's what he wanted. He yearned for you to fall into his wayward trap - his clever fucking ruse.

"Not this time," you muttered, gasping for air as you took off to the right.

His clawed feet pounded against the floor, the sharp growl of irritation at your change in course rumbling loudly. He made his presence known. Perhaps that's what sent a thrill of fear down your spine, curling right at the base and trickling into your bloodstream. You understood the feeling well - cherished it like a companion that would remain with you. Till death did you part with the timeless horror that trekked beside you in this dense forest.

A sharp piercing snarl cracked like a whip along your skin, prickling at your heart and nearly forcing it to stop. You pushed your legs faster, hands gripping the heavy weight of your dress as you sprinted for your life.

The edge of the treeline was within reach. Only a bit further to go. But one simple mistake hung over your head like the strands of a puppet, pulling you to and fro in this deranged frantic escape he liked to call fun.

You turned right. Not left.

You ran right towards a path he knew well, the shortcut too now facing directly beside your right shoulder. And in a quick attempt to rectify your error, you slipped and nearly fell to the ground. Sharply crying out in pain, you gave away the spot where you started to run towards - dooming you to the only consequence that remained.

A mass of black fur barreled in your direction, leaping through the air with a harsh bitten out growl that vibrated the very breath in your lungs. Shouting in fear, you felt him knock you the ground - a searing pain shooting up your thigh - before clambering atop your writhing body.

"I almost won you fur faced bastard!" you hissed, clawing your way to freedom.

Only for a very warm and very human hand to wrap around your ankle, dragging you back. He straddled your thighs, pressed his face into the back of your neck, and moaned like a pitiful animal who finally got to claim his prize. You lay on the ground in silence, hoping the heat between your legs went unnoticed by him.

It didn't.

"You never win love," he chuckled, turning you onto your back - face pressed gently into the side of your neck. "I could have let you."

"Cheating," you retorted, fingers carding through his hair in an attempt to drag him closer.

Though the forest was thick with humidity, the air still held a chill. One that would bring death to your doorstep if you stayed out in it for longer than necessary. He shuffled down your body, hooking your knees over his bare hips to encase you in the heat that poured off his skin. Later by a fire he'd strip you of the layers that kept you from him, but right now he only sought to keep you safe.

"I could smell you," he muttered, nose nudging along the curve of your jaw. "Sweet like the flowers in your garden."

"That's an unfair advantage Gabriel."

"Mm." Lips trailed down to your throat, his hips nudging up to where your skirts gaped across your waist - the dripping heat of your cunt close off for what he wanted most.

"You said you wanted to-"

"Fuck what I said," he gasped, rutting his cock into your thigh, teeth scraping against the jugular that pulsed sporadically beneath his tongue. "I wanted to catch you. To own you."

"Oh." Feeling him unravel above you - his hands grasping for any part of you he could reach - caused a wash of dizziness to settle in your head. "You already do."

A whine broke past his parted mouth and before you could drag his lips to yours, his teeth latched onto the juncture of your shoulder. Clamping down hard enough to shove pain along your chest. Gripping his hair, you canted your hips up to meet his desperate thrusts - a cry breaking free to echo in the empty forest.

He was feral as he humped you. Borderline obscene in how he bit down hard enough to leave an indent of his teeth - a mark of the animal who you belonged to. A glob of drool leaked down into your hair, spilling across the dirt beneath you, and if you were to catch a glimpse of his face you'd see the glazed expressed. The eyes that flashed gold as he leaked over your skirts in an attempt to stain you with his scent.

One final harsh yank of his hair dragged him over the edge with a pitiful muffled cry. He spurted onto your skirts, hips rolling with a speed that you could practically feel inside of you. You knew a second bite mark would be set beside the first once he got you inside.

Another claim in the confines of your shared home, where he could take you properly.

The string of mumbled Latin words were too soft for you to hear, but their sentiment remained the same.

I love you. I belong to you. I'll die for you.

"Take me home Gabriel," you whispered, catching his spit covered lips in a soft kiss.

He rumbled an agreement with his tongue halfway down your throat, his hands shifting to lift you as he stood. The daunting beast in the forest now placated with his prize - his prey to be devoured.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 5 EPISODE 12 || NEVER MY LOVE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“I have lived through a fucking world war,” I said, my voice low and venomous. “I have lost a child. I have lost two husbands. I have starved with an army, been beaten and wounded, been patronized, betrayed, imprisoned, and attacked.

And I have fucking survived!”

My voice was rising, but I was helpless to stop it. “And now should I be shattered because some wretched, pathetic excuses for men stuck their nasty little appendages between my legs and wiggled them?!” I stood up, seized the edge of the washstand and heaved it over, sending everything flying with a crash—basin, ewer, and lighted candlestick, which promptly went out. “Well, I won’t,” I said quite calmly. “Nasty little appendages?” he said, looking rather stunned. “Not yours,” I said. “I didn’t mean yours. I’m rather fond of yours.” Then I sat down and burst into tears. His arms came round me, slowly and gently. I didn’t startle or jerk away, and he pressed my head against him, smoothing my damp, tangled hair, his fingers catching in the mass of it.

“Christ, ye are a brave wee thing,” he murmured.

“Not,” I said, eyes closed. “I’m not.”

I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes as I did so. I brushed my battered mouth across his knuckles, blind. They were swollen, as bruised as mine; I touched my tongue to his flesh, tasted soap and dust and the silver taste of scrapes and gashes—marks left by bones and broken teeth. Pressed my fingers to the veins beneath the skin of wrist and arm, softly resilient, and the solid lines of the bones beneath. I felt the tributaries of his veins, wished to enter into his bloodstream, travel there, dissolved and bodiless, to take refuge in the thick-walled chambers of his heart. But I couldn’t. I ran my hand up his sleeve, exploring, clinging, relearning his body. I touched the hair in his oxter and stroked it, surprised at the soft, silky feel of it. “Do you know,” I said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever touched you there before?” “I dinna believe ye have,” he said, with a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “I would ha’ remembered. Oh!” A stipple of gooseflesh burst out over the soft skin there, and I pressed my forehead to his chest. “The worst of it is,” I said, into his shirt, “that I knew them. Each one of them. And I’ll remember them. And feel guilty that they’re dead, because of me.”

“No,” he said softly, but very firmly. “They are dead because of me, Sassenach. And because of their own wickedness. If there is guilt, let it rest upon them. Or on me.” “Not on you alone,” I said, my eyes still closed. It was dark in there, and soothing. I could hear my voice, distant but clear, and wondered dimly where the words were coming from.

“You’re blood of my blood, bone of my bone. You said so. What you do rests on me, as well.” “Then may your vow redeem me,” he whispered.

He lifted me to my feet and gathered me to him, like a tailor gathering up a length of fragile, heavy silk—slowly, long-fingered, fold upon fold. He carried me then across the room, and laid me gently on the bed, in the light from the flickering fire.

~A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 5

A/N: I feel like I birthed a baby with this one. One of my proudest works, hope you enjoy it as much as I do! English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, kinda descriptive mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), lying, manipulation kinda, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

1980s

The 1980s were a lawless playground for Soldier Boy, a man shaped by chaos. Drugs. Sex. Violence. Few words could capture his essence, but those three came close. In the haze of neon lights and the pounding beat of rock and roll, he thrived, living by his own code—a code that left a trail of broken hearts, empty bottles, and bruised knuckles.

Weed fuelled him, as much a part of his bloodstream as oxygen. The high brought clarity to his mission, an almost supernatural focus. He sped through several joints a day, eyes always sharp and searching, a wild energy coursing through him. The thrill, the unpredictability—that was where he felt most alive.

Sex was a game he’d perfected to an art. He was a magnet, dangerous and alluring, a man wrapped in mystery and trouble. The women who gravitated toward him idolised him, and fell for his masculine charm in an instant. Together, they’d burn bright and fast, brief encounters flaring up like sparks against the dark backdrop of his nights.

And violence—violence was his answer to everything. It was both the shield and sword he wielded against a world he felt at odds with. He relished the crunch of knuckles against bone, the quick dance of fists and steel. For Soldier Boy, each fight was a test, a chance to feel something real in a world that often felt hollow. Even if the violence wasn’t always in place.

In a decade defined by rebellion and raw energy, Soldier Boy fit right in, a man who embodied the darker side of the times.

But in the rare, quiet moments between the mayhem, a shadow crossed Soldier Boy's hardened gaze—a glimpse of the boy he once was, twisted and reshaped by a father whose love was sharp-edged, if it could be called love at all. His father’s expectations had been relentless, more about moulding a weapon than raising a son. Every misstep, every moment of weakness was met with disdain or brutal correction. Soldier Boy learned early that softness was a liability, that love was something you conquered, not something you felt.

His father had drilled it into him that life was a battlefield, that only the ruthless survived. In his father’s eyes, “good enough” was an insult. Perfection was mandatory, and anything less was shameful. The standards were impossible, yet Soldier Boy chased them with a desperate fervour. He fought, drank, smoked, and womanized not just because he wanted to—but because he felt he had to.

Proving himself was a lifelong war.

And yet, he kept going. Because maybe, just maybe, if he lived loud enough, fought hard enough, and burned bright enough, he could drown out the voice that whispered that it was all for nothing.

So, Vought decided to strip away that part of him and make Ben into some hero. Someone who fought the actual wars, was a soldier for the country, and learned the values of hard work, tenacity, and bravery while growing up on the streets.

And suddenly, Ben wasn’t the boy born into a wealthy home under his distant, judgemental and overbearing father, a prominent industrial magnate who owned half the steel mills in the state.

He wasn’t the man who grew up after his father sent him to boarding school, just to get rid of him.

America believed he grew up to a poor family. To a happy family, caring for each other on the streets.

So that is what he chose to put on as a mask.

Therefore, as he stood there in the dark of the night, next to the Benz with a group of kids, he convinced himself he was the hero. Violent, but a hero. And he convinced himself to the point of believing it.

“Fuckin’ kids.” Ben muttered in slight disbelief, picking up the Benz with ease and hurling it forward, though missing his objective and sending it through a nearby house.

He could barely make out the form of an older, black man getting hit, surely dying in the process, but he couldn’t pay it much mind.

He was a hero, after all.

He fought the war.

In the corner of his eye, he vaguely saw a small child with terror edged in his gaze.

But Ben knew he didn’t do anything terrible.

It wasn’t his fault the Benz went through the windows of a nearby house. It wasn’t his fault it ended in the home of a black family.

The kids tried to run him over with the car, forcing him to deflect the oncoming vehicle and cause it to crash into the home.

That’s what happened.

That’s what he would tell them.

That’s what everyone would come to know.

He tore his eyes away from the carnage, nearly bumping into the smaller figure behind him.

“Soldier Boy?” Your voice rang through his ears, through the crackling of the fire behind him, concern edged along your face.

“They fuckin’ tried to run me over, Fury,” his words were firm. Stern. And not a single sign of care. “You can’t possibly think I threw a damn car into an innocent’s home?”

Your eyes were sharp, cutting through the smoke and the flickering light. You hadn’t personally known Soldier Boy for a long time. But it felt long enough to recognize the look in his eyes—the one that flared up when reality slipped out of his grip, morphing into whatever narrative best suited him. You wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but even you couldn’t ignore the doubt clawing at your mind.

“Those kids—they barely had time to get the engine started. They didn’t try to run you over.” Your voice was quiet but steady, like your were trying to coax him out of a trance. “You picked up that car and threw it. You know what you did.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something between anger and desperation. “They fucking came at me first, Fury,” he barked, each word sharp as a knife. “They didn’t leave me a damn choice. This was self-defence. Part of the fucking job.” His words trailed off, and for a split second, he looked away, eyes drifting toward the broken home, the lifeless hand lying on the ground, still and unmoving.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re not a hero if you can’t see the difference between protecting and destroying, Ben.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He came at you with quick steps, grabbing you by the tight collar of your suit, the words leaving him in a growl.

“I told you I’d fucking figure it out.” You spoke with equal distaste, getting close enough to his face that your noses almost touched.

“Do not fucking call me that again.”

And he meant it. You knew he meant it.

“And don’t act like you’re some kind of saint,” he snapped, anger bristling beneath the surface. “I’ve done what needed to be done. I’ve kept this country safe. I’m still here because people need someone like me to do what they can’t stomach themselves. I’m the fucking leader of a team of supes.”

“Maybe they need someone strong, but they don’t need… this,” You said, gesturing to the wreckage. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Look, I know you’re angry. I know you’ve had to fight your whole life, that you don’t know how to turn it off. But maybe this is a sign that something’s broken in you, something that Vought and all the violence have only made worse.”

He scoffed, letting go of your collar before crossing his arms defensively. “Broken? I’m the one who’s been keeping things fucking together. It’s everyone else who’s been lying to themselves, pretending that the world doesn’t need men like me. Heroes aren’t born, Fury. They’re made. I was made for this.”

You paused, searching his face, seeing flashes of the man behind the bravado, the man he’d hidden away for so long that even he had forgotten he existed. “You were made, Ben, but maybe too much. Vought twisted you, fed you lies about who you are, made you think you’re some unbreakable weapon. But that’s not who you have to be.”

His expression faltered, just for a moment, the mask slipping as the weight of your words settled over him. In the quiet, he could hear the sirens approaching, the blue and red lights reflecting off the shattered glass around them.

Ben stepped back, lifting his chin, defiance hardening his gaze once again. “You don’t fucking get it, Fury. Clearly.” He glanced at the arriving police cars, the ambulance and firefighters close behind. “This is who I fucking am. A hero. A soldier. A leader.”

As he turned to walk away, you watched him go, a sense of helplessness washing over her. She knew that the only person who could save Soldier Boy from himself was the man he’d buried long ago, the one who still lingered somewhere in the darkness.

But for now, Ben had made his choice, walking away from the broken family, the innocent lives left in the wake of his own battles, and found his way to the ambulance after they’d called him over.

Several police officers walked up to you as you stared towards the back of the man you tried so hard to figure out.

“Fury,” a deep voice spoke up from next to you, so your gaze reluctantly shifted towards the officer next to you. “Mind telling us what happened?”

You did mind.

You didn’t want this.

The man looked at you sternly, leaving no space for lies. He would’ve been onto you straight away, and his stare made it seem like he’d already seen through you.

But it rolled off your tongue before you could stop it, and you shifted your gaze to Soldier Boy once more.

“Kids tried to run Soldier Boy over, hit the house instead,” you felt numb. No feelings were edged into your words. “They fled before we could get to them.”

The officer nodded, but his eyes narrowed, clearly not buying your story. “And you just saw it happen?” “Yeah,” you replied, your voice oddly steady. “I was—”

“Fury!” A new voice cut through, sharp and commanding. A tall woman in a crisp uniform approached, her badge glinting in the chaotic light. “What the hell is going on?” “Ma’am, just trying to piece together—” the officer began. She waved him off, eyes locked on you.

“I don’t care about your excuses. I need the truth. This isn’t just another PR disaster for Vought. A house is wrecked, and people are hurt. A man is dead. We need to know what really happened.” The urgency in her tone electrified the air.

You felt the weight of the world pressing down. What if Soldier Boy’s lies unraveled? What if the truth exposed the monster behind the hero facade?

Before you could answer, a commotion erupted at the ambulance. Ben was arguing with medics, insisting he was fine, refusing treatment. “Fury!” the woman snapped again, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to act fast. Are you with us or not?”

The woman’s expression hardened. “And what about the man inside? The casualties? You think the press will swallow that story? They’ll tear him apart, and the fallout will land on all of us.”

“It’s what I said,” you hated lying. But then again, isn’t this life all about lies? “Some kids tried to run him over. They fled as quick as the car rammed into the house.”

“It’s how it fucking happened,” You snapped, putting your all in selling a lie that wasn’t yours. A lie to protect someone who shouldn’t be protected. “Set up the statement for the press. I’ll do it. Just let me speak to him first.”

You walked away before anyone could protest.

As you approached the ambulance, Ben’s voice rose above the chaos. “I don’t fucking need your help!” You stepped closer, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest.

“Soldier Boy,” you called softly, hoping to pierce through his armour. He turned, eyes blazing. “Please, just let them check you out.”

“I don’t fucking need checking. I’m a fucking supe.”

“Alright then,” you couldn’t give him any more than that. He wasn’t going to listen to you anyway. And you felt the weight of the dead man in the house press down on your shoulders. “They’re setting up a statement. Would be nice if you could read the fucking words to the camera and be done with it.”

You weren’t sure who you hated more.

Him, for murdering an innocent man in front of a child.

Yourself, for deciding to let him get away with it.

Or Vought, for creating monsters out of innocents who just happened to be pumped full of Compound V.

“Fine.” He spoke sternly as he stared you down, before leaving the medics and you to walk towards your commander.

You gave the men in front of you a sympathetic nod, but you were stopped in your tracks when you noticed the child sitting on the edge of the ambulance. Your heart fell to your feet, a chill running down your spine upon the sight of the broken body in front of you.

He’d cried. Of course, he’d cried.

But you couldn’t get yourself to talk to him.

So, before your feet could get you to the child, you turned on your heels and walked towards the camera crew whom had just arrived.

But you didn’t know the child had seen you look at him.

You didn’t know he thought you were just as guilty as Ben.

Soldier Boy was already stood ready for the camera, and as you joined him, the camera lights clicked on, the harsh beams illuminating the devastation. And you felt yourself splintering inside, the weight of Soldier Boy’s lie settling like a stone in your chest. You glanced toward Ben, an indignant fire smoldering in his eyes. He looked every bit the righteous soldier, ready to declare himself the hero America needed.

The image of the boy’s face, twisted in fear and grief, tugged at you. But here you were, about to spin the truth into another manufactured story. You took a deep breath, forcing down the nausea that coiled in your gut.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you began reading of the paper boards the assistent held next to the camera, voice steady, betraying none of the chaos within. “Tonight, a tragic accident occurred during an attempted assault on Soldier Boy.”

You felt the lie burn on your tongue as you kept your eyes fixed on the camera, refusing to let yourself glance at Ben or at the wreckage. “Some local teens attempted to run him down, resulting in the accidental damage to the home behind me. Soldier Boy acted only in self-defense, as any of us would in such a situation.”

You knew the words sounded hollow, even as they left your mouth. A part of you wanted to stop, to let the truth pour out, but your career, your life, everything was intertwined with Vought’s lie.

Ben took his chance to speak up as well, forcefully shaping his words around the story he had made up. “I am lucky to be alive today,” he started, adverting the attention to himself. “This shows what work still needs to be done in the life of heroes- to get your people behind you. Because you are all my fuckin’ people, and I will do whatever it takes to fight for this country.”

You swallowed harshly as you looked at him into his mask, the façade of a broken man who truly believed he wasn’t at fault.

You glanced back to the camera, forcing a sympathetic expression. “Our hearts go out to the family affected by this unfortunate event. Vought will, of course, be providing assistance to help rebuild and support those affected by this incident.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Ben his mouth, a look that sent a jolt of anger through you. This was a game to him, a story he’d tell at bars, while the real suffering lingered in the shadows. The cameras clicked off, and the reporters dispersed, murmuring about the press release.

As the crew packed up, you turned towards Ben, a tight smile masking the turmoil beneath. “You’re in the clear,” you murmured, feeling the weight of each word. “Don’t ever say I never fucking do anything for you.”

Ben looked down at you, his usual cocky expression in place. “See, Fury? I told you, people want a hero.” He threw a casual glance over his shoulder, at the small boy now being led away by a medic. “Shit happens. People need to understand that.”

“You can’t really believe that,” you said, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. “That kid…he’ll remember tonight for the rest of his life. The view of his home burned into his mind.”

Ben shrugged, unfazed. “That’s what builds strength. He’ll get over it.”

You wanted to scream, to shake him, to force him to see the agony he’d caused, but you knew it was useless. He was wrapped in layers of arrogance, denial, and decades of conditioning. Any compassion or empathy had been twisted out of him long ago, and in his mind, he was untouchable.

Turning away, you felt the hot sting of shame rise, pressing at the edges of your vision. You’d made a choice, sacrificed the truth for the illusion of stability, and now a piece of you felt as hollow as the lies you’d just told.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never @daisydark @mxltifxnd0m @lamentationsofalonelypotato @junyjunyjunyper

[prettygirleli]

stupid.

ghoap has been on my mind for so long I need to write it out before I go insane. no warnings, except maybe language. ghost being worried, soap being dismissive. ghoap kisses bc I love them with all my heart. enjoy <3

.

.

.

"so fuckin' stupid!"

"it's nothin', Si. you're bein' just a wee bit dramatic."

a scoff escaped Simon's lip as he bounced his leg up and down anxiously, arms crossed across his chest and a scowl beneath his balaclava.

he stared at Johnny with slight contempt in his gaze, before his eyes softened as he rolled them.

"I don't think a bullet to the side is nothing, Johnny. you could have died, for fuck's sake."

"och, again with this dyin' business. I thought we agreed that I was not goin' anywhere."

a quiet chuckle left Johnny's mouth as he watched Simon pout, only sign being his lip poking at the fabric of his mask. he started to lean forward with a strained groan before Simon was on his feet, pushing him with gentle hands back into the hospital bed.

Johnny caught him by the wrist before he could sit back down, bringing his calloused hand up to his cheek, and nuzzling into it. his eyes fluttered closed as he rubbed his cheek against the rough skin of his palm.

Simon's brows were drawn together, a mix of worry and loving adoration on his face, and he nudged Johnny's legs to the side with his free hand, moving to sit in the now free space on the bed.

"it's not fair." Johnny's eyes opened halfway, looking up at Simon through his lashes, a questioning look on his face.

"it's not fair how you can be so... unbothered by the fact that you could have died. maybe it doesn' matter to you but it matters to me, Johnny. I know there's always a risk, but you don't 'ave to go an' make the enemy's job easier by makin' silly mistakes on the field." Simon's gaze was on a wrinkle in the sheets, his voice quiet and deep.

"Simon. I mean it when I say I'm not goin' anywhere. not anytime soon, at least."

Johnny reached out, mirroring Simon and placing a hand on his cheek, gently guiding his face to look at him. " 'm here, love. here for you, jus' like you're here for me."

Simon exhaled heavily, eyes falling shut as he leaned forward and placed his forehead on Johnny's, breathing his scent in deep. relishing in the warmth that was there, the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his skin against his.

he's here. he's alive. he's here. he's alive.

Simon's eyes were still shut when Johnny's fingers found their way to the hem of his balaclava, rolling it up until it was just above the tip of his nose. he said nothing, but let out a small, slightly whiney hum when he felt the other man's lips on his.

it was familiar, and grounding. something he'd felt a million times before, but it never ceased to bring warmth into his hollow chest, to make his heart beat a bit faster. it never ceased to make him feel at home.

he's here. he's alive.

.

.

.

a/n: i need them injected into my bloodstream.

[booksndpoetry]

Morning Coffee

A Hyunjin Drabble

A/N: Americano is a type of coffee, yes?

WC: 480 words

Characters: Hyunjin X Fem Reader

Genre: Fluff

Triggers/Warnings: The characters are morning people, and one of them dislikes coffee; you have been warned.

m.list

The both of you wake when the outside world is still half-asleep, early enough to hear the chirping of birds and the rare quiet of the sleepy city.

You throw open the curtains, rub your eyes and stretch, with your head falling back on his stomach as you lose the battle to sleep, plopping down on the soft sheets of the bed.

He just chuckles and pinches your cheek, and he gets up offering you, his hand.

You accept it and he pulls you up, and you feel like your day is complete even if the sun is just rising. 

You open the balcony door and step into the space, clad in a white nightgown. He follows in after, the ceramic mug, the one with cartoon splotches of pink blue and pastel that you gifted him last year, with freshly brewed coffee in one hand. Steam rises from the drink, warming the air around the two of you. 

He wraps his right hand around your waist and the left holds the mug. You lean into him, basking in the morning light. 

You don't drink coffee, as you're not a fan of its caffeine content. Truly, you can’t stand the scent of it and you absolutely detest its taste. 

However, despite this fact, Hyunjin always offers you a sip every morning before he takes his first gulp. As if it's some unspoken agreement that says,

 'Hey, I love you. Therefore, I will not have anything for myself without offering it to you first.'

You think it's endearing, the way he wants you to be included in that little habit too.

Just for that, you take a sip sometimes, like today, and make sure to grimace dramatically, exaggerating the bitter relish and complaining about how no one should technically like coffee and he laughs. 

 He laughs like he's seven and you're his best friend and you've just told him that Santa isn't real. He definitely doesn't believe you, but he loves you enough to play along and nod, even as residual, brown rings form along the inner diameters of the cup and the sun shines brighter in the sky and the world around you slowly comes back to life. 

He leans on your shoulders for a little while more, gaining strength to go about his day, as you do the same. 

He gives you one last kiss before you go, presses it tenderly onto your amaranth lips and your heart for safekeeping until he can give you one more when he sees you again, and you feel your opinion crumble.

No, you don't like coffee, especially not in the morning.

Because it's too bitter, and caffeine never leaves your bloodstream even if you drink it only once.

But you love the taste of it when it's smeared on your lips by his, the acrid drink suddenly the sweetest thing in the world. 

© booksndpoetry 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise, translate, repost or steal my works in any way. All idols used in this piece are just inspiration to characters. They do not reflect the real people in any way.

[mangosrar]

Wake up.

chris sturniolo x fem reader.

warnings: mentions of death. sad.

an: this is basically like a journal thing that chris wrote after his girl died :/ i cried while writing this😍

its only been 5 days but i hate you and im so angry. how could you do this to me. you’re selfish. you’re a coward for leaving me. i could’ve helped you. we were in love we have been for years. how could you ever just leave me alone here without you by my side. you were weak you took the easy way out and left us to deal with the consequences.

today was your funeral. it was nice. exactly how you would’ve wanted it. the flowers the music. the casket. exactly how you would’ve liked. your mom asked me to give a speech but i had to go to the bathroom to throw up. i couldn’t do it. i couldn’t stand there and tell everyone how beautiful and funny and kind you were. not are. were. because you’re not here. your mom held me back when they were burring you, i couldn’t take it. i wanted to get in there and shake you and yell at you to wake you up. seeing your body get lowered into the ground was like the last goodbye. i know you’ve been dead for a couple of weeks but it was like you were still here in a way. i was waiting every day to wake up from this horrible dream and you would be there to hold me and tell me its all going to be okay. i couldn’t let you go. i couldn’t have the only thing i ever loved ripped away from me. i wish i could switch our place. i wish i could have you here. i need you here because i still haven’t woken up.

its been a month and it still don’t feel real. im not angry anymore though, just sad. i wish you would have told me, we could’ve worked this out together, that’s what we were supposed to do. i forget what your voice sound like and have to look back on videos to remind myself. how will i ever be okay again. this is like a sickness, a flesh eating bacteria that has gotten into my bloodstream and spread throughout my entire body. it would probably hurt less for you to die all over again. at least i would know what to expect. i think im dying. i could be. matt said i wasn’t but he don’t know what this feels like. he doesn’t know what it feels like to have the love of you’re life one day and to not have them the next. he doesn’t know what its like to have this hole inside of me that only you could fill. he doesn’t know what it feels like to know that that was the last time i ever saw you, last time i ever kissed you. last time you ever told me you loved me. i should have known. you held me extra tight that day. you knew i was never going to see you again. you knew and you let me leave your house. you let me look into your eyes for the last time ever. you allowed me to tell you i loved you for the final time. how could you. i just want to wake up from this fucking nightmare.

its been 2 months and things haven’t changed. its almost your birthday. last year we spent it together in the cape. this year ill probably bring flowers to your grave and cry, pleading for some sort of miracle to bring you back to me. its like you’ve taken a part of me with you. i can never get it back. i will never be the same again. i just wish i could have you, i still haven’t died yet but i think its a long process to die from this type of thing. its painful too, more than a mental pain. its a strong physical pain that i feel deep in my bones, or like i get this really dull ache in my chest whenever i think about you, witch is almost constantly. it hurts so bad honey. like my soul is calling for yours but its getting no reply. i would like death that way. to die at the hands of heartbreak. or maybe just to you. i would die and let you take my place if it meant i got to hold you one more time. i just want to have you back. why would you ever do this.

happy birthday. i wonder if you knew that last year was the last birthday you would ever had. maybe. but today isnt special. today is sad and painful. i went over to your house today, and for the fisrt time since i saw you for the last time i went into your bedroom and cried for hours while lying on your bed. the house still smells like you. it made me throw up. i need to have you back or i might die. i fell asleep after a while tho and woke up to matt. id been there for hours and he was worried but i thought it was you. i almost had a stroke. i was in your room, on your side of the bed, holding your pillow waking up to the smell of your perfume. how could you blame me. i hated it. i threw up again after that. but its still your birthday so i lit the candle that was on your coffee table, and i know you’re not supposed to tell your wishes but i wished for you back. like i do every day, morning and night, i wished for you to be mine again, i wished to wake up from this pandemonium of a terrible, terrible dream and to have you wrapped up in my arms where i know you’re safe, where i know you should be. but your not so now i have to remember you for longer than i have known you. happy birthday lovey.

SAD ASF RN

taglist: @christinarowie332 @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @azkabanstar @freshlovehacker @urmyslxt @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @mattenthusiast @flowerxbunnie @mattsd0ll @iheart2021chris @its-jennarose @hearttshapedkisses @lovingsturniolo

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[prettyarson]

smut for Kidnapping Scara 🤭👉👈 (consent ofc!! He’s the cute boy who worked behind the counter who just happens to want us to <33)

Late Night Indulgence

featuring: yandere!scaramouche x gn!reader

cw/tw: nsfw, oral (m receiving), face fucking, hair pulling, kidnapping, whiny scara

synopsis: you have a crush on the prettiest cashier

notes: ahhh my first official request ..! so excited so hope you like it..!! this is a tag along to my late night mini series !

—

The late night convenience store used to be your favorite place to be. Not for the lukewarm coffee that buzzed caffeine through your bloodstream. Not for the various arrays of snacks that kept you alive, feeding your empty stomach. Not even for the nicotine that seemed to be your lifeline, holding you together by a thread.

No, you visited in the darkest of hours for the boy behind the counter, manning the cash register. For weeks you begged, prayed, wished for him to even bat an eye in your direction, to give you just an inkling of attention. Who would have known that he would grow just as obsessed with you as you were him?

You never would have guessed that the pretty cashier had an interest in you. His cold exterior left little hope to the eye, but the inside of his mind was always racing with thoughts of you. And he wanted you so bad.

The late night convenience store used to be your favorite place to be, but nowadays, you found someplace better. Your favorite place to be left your knees bruised. Your favorite place to be brought tears to your eyes. Your favorite place to be always left you with a headache. But you tossed that all way for him.

Scaramouche was always so pretty, with his back pressed against the wall and you positioned just between his legs. His indigo orbs were glossed over, peering down at you. His fingers held a tight grip into your hair, tugging the strands at the base of your scalp. Wet lips parted open as soft, little whines and whimpers escaped, ringing in the insides of your ears.

“Please..!” He begged, small tears of desperation welling in the corners of his eyes.

Your own wide eyes watched him as your mouth sunk around his length, tongue tracing each beautiful vein that grew along his shaft. You hollowed out your cheeks to help you fit his entire cock in your mouth. You were slowly dragging your lips, starting at his base, nose brushing against groomed hair, to his beautiful, oozing tip.

The grip on your hair tightened followed by a few more desperate whines. More tears seemed to pool into his eyes, fixating upon his release that was soon building. His hips, once stationed, lifted from the wall and slowly thrust into your mouth. He always gave you a few seconds to adjust before he would ravish you.

Keeping that tight grip on your head, he guided you against his shaft as his pace began to quicken. Gags instantly moved to the scene as he penetrated your throat, tears blossoming to life as you attempted to hold them back.

“Y-You’re so—mm— pretty like this, Darling.” Scaramouche moaned, huffing the air around him for a good breath.

Curses left his lips as his hips continue their ruthless pace, fucking your throat into oblivion. Your tears that were once threatening to fall loss to gravity and decorated your cheeks. Drool was beginning to pool on the ground below you, falling in tendrils from your lips.

You just fucking loved how pretty Scaramouche was as he whined, desperate to release. Sweat was begging to form at his forehead, fringe sticking to the damp skin. His cheeks were amassed with heat, bringing his blood to the surface in a blush.

“P-Please, darling..” he begged again, and you knew he was close.

A few more pumps into your wet mouth and he was done for. He gave one final move down your throat and held you there, releasing his pent up seed straight down your throat. He was panting, legs shaking to hold himself up against the wall.

You obliged by swallowing down everything he gave you, giving soft suckles to milk him dry. His delicate fingers released your hair and with each deep breath he took to calm his beating heart, he gave a pet to your head, as if saying good job.

Pride welled in your chest as you slowly pulled away from his cock, letting your saliva drip down and take over your chin. Lifting one of his hands, he massaged the drool around his lips before pulling you up into a searing kiss.

What a place to be.

[saulocept]

bloodstream

pairing: blade/f! reader

rating: m

summary: He'd do anything to get you back. Anything at all.

notes: sort of still getting back to writing, so forgive the mess, inconsistencies, what have you. reposted from my ao3 account so if u see this in there, hi!

tags: finger sucking, excessive use of pet names. sort of implied stalking.

When you step inside your apartment, you know all too quickly that something’s wrong. It’s an instinct, a gut feeling – something you’ve honed over the years to keep yourself safe, keep a certain predator off your tail. You straighten your shoulders, narrowing your eyes as you observe your surroundings. It’s a little dark, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary; either your senses have grown dull in all the years you’ve spent away from him or you’re just being paranoid again, terrified he’d found you. You aren’t sure which is which, but all you know is that you shouldn’t be rash, do something impulsive.

Hasn’t it been years since then? You haven’t heard anything about them after you escaped, and surely, that must mean they’re caught. Spending the rest of their lives in prison, where they could never do anything wrong again. Or maybe you’ve been just too complacent, believing in the lies you’ve made for yourself, trying to make excuses for the fact that you’ve grown to love this city too much to leave it all behind as quickly as you left the other ones.

But you’ve been careful to lie low, haven’t you? Hiding your identity as best as you can, using different names for different people, switching personalities as quickly as a snake sheds its skin. No one knows the real you now, and at this point, you’ve pretty much forgot. If there’s even a memory of the old you behind, he’s the only one who has it, but even then he’s not around anymore to remember, is he?

You exhale a sigh, shaking your head. You remain where you are, standing very still, keeping watch around you, trying to check for the slightest shift in your surroundings. But you still can’t spot anything out of place; everything’s where you’ve left it this morning: the papers on the couch, the books on the floor. Coffee cups littered around the table, some of them still halfway full, cold and abandoned – a mess you still haven’t had time to clean up ever since you’d started working as a waitress down the diner you frequent in.

Work. The word feels normal, ordinary. There’s a sense of belongingness in it that you haven’t quite felt before. Like you’re settling in, trying to make a home for yourself instead of fleeing, making an escape plan in case things don’t go your way.

But enough of that. You take another look at your surroundings, observing them a little longer, your eyes narrowed in suspicion, waiting for danger to come. But nothing does.

You exhale another sigh, shaking your head, tearing your eyes away. You’re probably overthinking things, being paranoid. It’s been a while since you’ve last got a proper sleep, after all, especially with your fluctuating shifts down the diner, and maybe that’s why. Maybe all you need to do is get a good sleep.

But even as you try to make sense of things, nothing seems to reassure you. There’s a dread coiling in the pit of your stomach, growing only by the second. Even your heart skips just a little, and you feel it pounding against your ribcage, loud enough to drown out every sound.

Nothing’s wrong, and yet something isn’t quite right either. You bite your lip, trying not to falter under the weight of your growing dread, and bravely press on, slowly making your way toward your bedroom. You suck in a breath, trying your best to stay quiet, daring not to make too much noise.

You stop in front of the wooden door, taking a moment to steady your nerves. You square your shoulders, take a deep breath, then slowly open the door, stepping inside the room, not quite sure what to expect.

Darkness. Everywhere you look, you can’t see anything but the dark, inky blackness spreading all throughout the room that makes it a little difficult for you to navigate. Even now, silence still follows you like a long-lost friend not quite different from the one you’d felt before, but still a little strange, eerie.

You blink a few times, trying to let your eyes adjust to the darkness as you fumble with the light switch on the wall, turning it on. Nothing happens. You raise an eyebrow, curious, then try it again, though the result is still the same.

You frown. You do it again another time, this one with more force behind it, wondering absently, if perhaps, you’ve forgot to pay the bills on time. Still, the same darkness greets you, shrouds you, cages you in.

Dread turns into fear, coils around your neck like a noose, tight and suffocating. There’s a tightness in your chest, a sudden awareness that you can’t seem to breathe. Cold wind blows at your skin, and you feel a shudder run through you, not quite knowing why.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to turn back, leave this room once and for all, call someone, get some help. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, frozen, paralyzed to the point of immobility.

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel your heart thrumming against your chest, loud and wild against your ears, and still, you can’t move, can’t do anything even as the sound of footsteps pierces through the silence, slow and steady, certain. Growing closer and closer.

You shut your eyes, not daring to turn around, willing it away the way you would a bad dream. You’re not entirely sure what you’ll find behind you, and you’re not nearly strong enough to find out. You keep your eyes shut, counting down the seconds in your head, hoping that the footsteps aren’t real. You’d rather be mad, you think, plagued with hallucinations of your own making, than be right.

The footsteps stop. Everything grows quiet, eerily so. A second passes, and then another. A feeling nags at you, though you’re not quite sure what it is. Slowly, you open your eyes, turn your head around. What greets you is a familiar sight – a face you’ve seen countless times in your dreams. Those bright eyes, that eerie smile. That predatory look that haunts you even in your waking moments, reminds you of the truth you’ve been trying so hard to forget.

His name comes to you in a second, familiar, unforgettable. Still, you can’t bring yourself to say it, as if doing so would make everything any realer than it is. You remain quiet, lips slightly parted open in surprise, unable to look away from him.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, studying you closely. There’s a small smile playing on the corners of his lips, almost mocking. “You look surprised to see me.”

“Blade,” you breathe, voice soft, a little raspy. You could barely hear yourself to speak; everything feels like it’s done by someone else – someone who isn’t you. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just runs his gaze up and down your body, his gaze intense, almost hungry. The weight of his eyes on you is a little too much to bear, and all of a sudden, you feel the need to hide, curl in on yourself. Instinctively, you take a step back, trying to maintain some distance between you, but even this is not enough, will never be enough. You know this, of course, by experience; how many times have you tried to get away from him, only for him to render all those attempts futile, fruitless?

Even now, it’s no different. His pursuit of you is relentless, dogged. He takes a step forward, follows you when you take another step back, laughing as he keeps up this game of cat and mouse, amused by your defiance.

But there’s only so much space you can move in, and all too soon, you feel your back hitting the wall, signifying the end of this little dance. Blade moves toward you with surprising quickness, pressing closer against you, caging you with his arms, cutting off any and all escape routes.

 He leans down, moves his face closer to yours, his breath hot against your cheek. He laughs, deep and raspy, and you hate how the sound of it makes you feel hot all over, yearning for something bad, something you know you shouldn’t want. He reaches out, places a cold hand against your cheek, his touch uncharacteristically tender, a delicious contrast that makes your stomach coil in wanting. “You didn’t think I’d find you, did you, little lamb?”

There it is again, that pet name – the one you hate and love with the entirety of your being. Little mouse. Little lamb. Little prey. An identity he’s created for you all those decades ago, and an identity you’ve spent years trying to outgrow, leave behind. And now it’s come back to slap you once more in the face, along with the man you’ve promised yourself you’re going to forget.

“Blade,” you say, looking up at him, shaking your head. Even now, with his body pressed against yours, it still hasn’t quite sunk in to you that he’s real, that all of this is happening. “How are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

He presses a gloved fingers against your lips, shutting you up. Meekly, you nod your head and obey, pressing your lips shut, hating how quickly he’s reduced you into a prey.

“Surely, you didn’t think you could just get rid of me that easily,” he says, staring down at you, playing with the loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger.

You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, lowering your gaze, not quite meeting his eyes. You keep your lips pursed, your mouth shut. Truth be told, you’ve been complacent, blissfully ignorant. He’s a wanted criminal, isn’t he? And it’s been years since you’d last seen each other; naturally, you’d assumed that he’d been caught, locked away in prison, unable to disturb the peace you’ve made for yourself ever again.

You should’ve known that wouldn’t happen. You should’ve known the peace in your life wouldn’t last for long. When you don’t reply, he tugs at the lock of your hair, firm enough to startle, but not enough to hurt.

“Little lamb,” he says; impatience bleeds into his voice, and he tugs at your hair once more, demands for your attention. “Answer me.”

You bite your lip, remaining quiet, defiant. You keep your gaze, not looking at him still, though you could feel his eyes boring a hole into your head, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to disappear.

“Did you not hear what I said?” he asks, his words carrying a hint of annoyance. He reaches out, places a finger under your jaw, lifts your chin up so you’re looking at him. He keeps his grip firm on your jaw, not letting you look away. “Or are you being a brat again?”

You don’t respond, glaring at him instead, defiant even to the very end. He smiles, makes a sound of amusement in his throat – almost like a laugh, though not quite. “You know what happens to brats like you, don’t you?”

You remain where you are, glaring at him still, refusing to give him any sort of response. His smile widens, turns wolfish. But his eyes remain sharp, his gaze intense, cuts through you like a knife.

He traces the outline of your jaw with the tip of his finger, his touch gentle, almost feather-light, leaning closer, whispering in your ear. “Or maybe that’s what you want, hm, little lamb?”

“Maybe you want to be punished,” he continues, his lips so close to your ear. You can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine, can’t stop the familiar heat that coils deep in your belly, spreading all throughout your body. You shut your eyes tight, exhaling a shaky breath. Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed; you hear the sound of his laughter against your ear, soft, breathy, and you bite you lip again, trying not to shiver again.

He runs the tip of his finger down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, lets it ghost along your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, and you could barely suppress the tiny whimper that escapes your lips, weak, a little helpless. “Maybe you need me to remind you of our years together. Is that what you want, little lamb?”

You shake your head, quick to deny his claims. You’re not even sure who you’re trying to convince at this point: yourself or him, but it doesn’t matter. He laughs again, deep and loud, almost bellowing.

“No?” he echoes, sounding slightly amused. “Tell me, then, little lamb,” here, he pauses, his grip on your jaw tightening just a little, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. “What is it that you want?”

You shake your head, promptly ignoring his question, trying to keep your gaze locked on his. “But I thought you’re—”

“In prison?” he finishes, his smile wide and wolfish. You nod dumbly, not quite sure what to say. He laughs again, shakes his head, patting your cheek gently with a gloved hand. “Little lamb,” he says, shaking his head, and there’s a sweetness to his voice that seems almost mocking.

You close your eyes, breathe out a sigh, instinctively leaning into his touch before you could even stop yourself. You hate it, hate this­ – hate yourself even more for the way your skin aches for his touch, the way your body yearns to have him close.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” He traces gentle circles along your skin with his fingertips, and you exhale another sigh, ­unable to focus on anything but the warmth of his touch, the feel of his hands against your skin.

“You really think I’d let anyone catch me before I could take you back?” he continues, humming under his breath, watching you slowly fall apart beneath his touch. “Think again, little lamb.”

You open your eyes, shaking your head, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why did you come looking for me?” you ask, your voice cracking just a little, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push him away. “You must know that I don’t want to be found.” 

“Of course I know.” He leans closer, brushing his lips against your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbling. You gasp, startled, and he laughs, pleased by your reaction, biting a little harder at your earlobe just to see you squirm. “But did you really think I’d let you leave just like that? Didn’t I tell you before already? You’re mine, little lamb. Always.”

Your lip trembles. Tears form in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you have any chance to stop them. Weakly, you push him away, placing your palms flat against his chest, trying to get him to back off. He doesn’t let you. He presses closer against you, pushes you back against the wall, obliterating the distance between you, no matter how little.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” you say, shaking your head, your voice growing higher in pitch, more desperate. “You shouldn’t—”

Your voice breaks, the words disappearing into the silence, unfinished. Blade doesn’t say anything. He stares at you, takes in your reaction, the expression on your face. Gently, he brushes away your tears, almost soothingly, hushes you in the only way he knows how.

He runs his thumb along your lower lip, and it’s instinctive, how your lips part open just for him. Welcoming the familiar intrusion, as if your body remembers.

He laughs, breathless and a little startled, staring at you with a growing hunger in his eyes. He smiles a little, then pushes his thumb in your mouth just a little more, pressing it flat against your tongue. Every movement of yours is automatic, powered by muscle memory. You take him in, wrapping your lips around his thumb and gently sucking.

Blade watches you intensely, his breath catching in his throat. He seems pleasantly surprised by your obedience, and it only urges you on, makes you bolder in your movements.

“You may have changed your name a hundred times over,” he remarks, laughing in amusement. He keeps his eyes locked on you, watching you hungrily. “But you’re still the same obedient slut as before, aren’t you, little lamb?”

He shoves his thumb further in without warning, and it startles you enough to nearly gag you. A choked-out moan suddenly escapes, and you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision, but he only laughs even more, looking pleased by your reaction. With his free hand, he reaches out, gently pats your cheek. “There, there. What a good little lamb you are.”

Drool spills down the corners of your mouth, trickles down your chin, stains his gloves in a sticky mess. It’s a little filthy; you pause, grimacing at the sight, feeling the need to apologize, but he follows your gaze, shakes his head, giving you another one of his sharp smiles, a short laugh escaping him. He pats your cheek again, his gaze growing slightly softer, tender. “Good girl.”

Somehow, you’re getting sick of the praise.

He rubs his thumb against the tip of your tongue, runs it up and down once. You taste the faint sweetness that coats the finger of his gloves, a little strange, almost cloying. Your eyebrows crease a little in confusion, though you barely have any time to discover what it is before he’s dragging his thumb out of your mouth and pulling away from you, making no move to wipe your drool off his gloves.

You stare at him, blinking, your gaze slightly hazy. Curiosity beats inside your chest like a second heart, though you can’t quite find the right words to say, the right question to ask. Instead, all you can do is stare at him, as though you’re waiting for him to explain, tell you anything.

In his usual fashion, he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you his signature sharp smile, reaching out to pat your cheek. He leans down, brushes his lips against the crown of your head, just barely enough to make you ache, yearn for more.

“Good girl,” he says again, whispers the words quietly enough that only you can hear them. A shiver runs through your spine, and he laughs, moving forward to gather you in his arms, pulling you flush against him, closer and closer until all you could feel is him.

His grip tightens when you try to wriggle free from his grip, keeping you in place and refusing to let you go. He leans down and takes your earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful nip. Another startled gasp escapes you, and you can’t stop the way your body trembles against him, yearning for the very thing you should be running away from.

But whatever kind of dilemma runs through your head, he doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls you even closer, pressing another kiss against the top of your head, wrapping his arms even tighter around you: possessive, territorial, as if staking a claim. “My good little lamb.”

His words linger, the sound of his voice seeming to echo in the silence. It’s the last thing you remember before darkness envelopes you, pushes you under.

[strangermarvelss]

kill bill- e.m

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Munson x Ex!Female!Reader

Summary: i might kill my ex, i still love him though. inspired by sza’s kill bill

Warnings: angst to the max, break-up, sad reader, cursing, drug use, chrissy is kinda made out to be a bad guy (oh well), hints at something towards the end

Request?: No

Word Count: 4k

A/N: sza’s new album slayed and this song is a banger i’m now obsessed with, so let me deliver some angst inspired by this new obsession. hope you enjoy! -sava

thank you to my sweet @myobmaya for beta reading &lt;3

part two

Happiness used to be a feeling you knew all too well, it used to come to you easily. The simplest things in life could brighten your day and allow you to exude rainbows and sunshine, even if there were thunderclouds booming in the distance. The crazy thing called young love can have that effect on people, making them unable to see anything but the light their partner brings to their life.

Pure envy corses through your bloodstream as you sit across the cafeteria, watching your ex wrap an arm around the “queen bee” of Hawkins High, Chrissy Cunningham. You weren’t sure where the hurt ended and the anger started, perhaps mixing together somewhere along the way within the past three weeks. The breakup was sudden, completely out of no where…at least that’s how it felt for you. But seeing Eddie Munson cozy up to Chrissy Cunningham after school ended last Wednesday was even more sudden and off putting than when he broke things off.

To say it hurt was an understatement. You spent a majority of your high school career watching him from a far, keeping your crush under wraps to save yourself the heartache of being rejected by him. You didn’t expect him to walk up to you one day before school with a singular rose in his hand, asking you out on a date the following Saturday night halfway through your junior year. Who would’ve thought it would even come to that, much less a not-so mutual break-up and a quick rebound that left you more broken than the thought of a simple rejection.

You will yourself to turn away from the couple, directing your attention to the sad tray of cafeteria food in front of you, pushing around your peas with your fork as you rest your head in your hand, trying your best to mask the mix of emotions swirling around inside you. Your best friend, Robin, sits across from you, taking in your sad figure as she pauses her conversation with one of her band mates. Looking up, she sees that your table is in direct eyesight of the Hellfire table you called a former home. She watched as Eddie laughed at something Chrissy said, before leaning closer to her ear and making her giggle into his figure.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Robin mutters out, ripping her eyes away from your ex and landing back on you. “Y/N, please don’t let them get to you.”

“Kinda hard not to Robin. I mean, just look at how touchy they are,” you say, whipping your head back to look at them for a moment, before turning your head to give Robin a knowing look. “I mean, he was never that affectionate with me in public. So it’s like watching a car crash, you can’t tear your eyes away.”

“Screw them. Maybe he’s just doing this to make you jealous,” she suggests, making you scoff.

“Jealous for what? He made it clear that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, did not sugarcoat things when he broke it off. It’s like…like he never even cared about me to begin with,” you tell her, a frown twisting onto your lips.

She reaches across the table to hold your hand, a frown working its way onto her lips as well. The words cut her deep, wanting nothing more than to go across the room and give Eddie a piece of her mind in front of everyone, just so she could show everyone how much of a shitty person the metalhead truly was. But that wasn’t Robin’s style. Instead, she stayed by her best friend, holding her and trying to comfort her the best way she could.

“Y/N, that’s not true, please don’t say that. Eddie loved you so much, he always made that known whenever we would all hang out. Even when you weren’t there, he couldn’t stop talking about you in all the best ways,” she reassures you.

Looking back at the new couple once more, you see Eddie planting a soft kiss to Chrissy’s lips, smiling as he pulls away from her and watching how soft his eyes are while he looks to her. The same way he used to look at you.

“Given everything that’s happened,” you start, turning back to her. “I have a hard time believing any of that.”

Grabbing your tray, you stand from your place at the table. Robin’s quick to grab one of your arms, pulling you back as you turn back to your best friend once more, a look of concern meeting your gaze. You know she’s just trying to help you feel better, and you appreciate that. But somehow, it’s just doing more harm than good right now.

“Where are you going? Lunch isn’t over for another 15 minutes?” She questions, finally removing her hands from your arm. You sigh, looking to your tray still full of food as you think of an excuse before looking up to her.

“I’m just going to go study for a bit in the library. Don’t feel like being in here anymore. Is it still cool if Steve drives me home today before your shifts? If not, I can take the bus,” you ask. She nods, waving you off like it was no big deal.

“Of course! I’ll see if he can just make a habit to take you to and from school for the next couple months, no big deal.” 

You flash her a tight lipped smile, you silently thank her by tipping your head, then proceeding to walk towards the row of trash cans and dumping your lunch in one of the big bins, thankful you chose the other set of cans instead of the ones the Hellfire Club chose to sit near each day. Ducking out of the cafeteria, you pop in to the closest bathroom, standing over the sink as you look yourself in the mirror. 

Tears you’ve kept from forming quickly gather along your lash line, brimming and bubbling over the edge and blurring your eyesight, making your reflection unclear, like a bunch of blobs just sitting there in a rectangle. 

You wished you had a proper explanation. What made him realize he no longer wanted to be with you anymore? Obviously he didn’t love you anymore, otherwise he wouldn’t have moved on so quickly. No effort into hiding it to spare your feelings, just walking into school with an arm around Chrissy’s shoulder, fingers laced together as they both laughed at something one of them said. It made you physically sick to your stomach.

But the more important question you had was why did he choose her? The two of them had nothing in common. She was in with the popular crowd, jocks, preps, and other elite members of Hawkins High planted at her side while Eddie hung out with the other outcasts, leading his group to victory as they played Dungeons and Dragons together every Friday night. Hell, her ex-boyfriend tortured Eddie for years while she sat back and let it happen, shaking her pom-poms and turning her cheek to the excruciating bullying he endured. It made absolutely no sense to you, yet, still upset you beyond belief.

There was no denying that Chrissy was a pretty girl, that much you could see. She had her whole life ahead of her, with high ambitions, which reminded you of Eddie. He wanted to escape this town, though. Tour around the country, and even the world, with his band, Corroded Coffin. Yet you pictured Chrissy staying back, playing housewife while she took care of her gaggle of children you just knew she’d end up having. The picture perfect suburban family was in the cards for her. It was for everyone who peaked in high school in the state of Indiana.

You’re pulled from your pity party with the sound of the bathroom door opening, turning away sniffling as you wipe away the few tears you allowed to fall from you wet cheeks. The sound of water running fills your ears, turning your head slightly as the curiosity of who it could be eats away at you. Rolling your eyes, you sigh as you see none other than Chrissy standing in front of the sink you were at, fixing her hair before looking over your way.

“Are you okay?” She asks, taking a timid step towards you. You step back, chuckling to yourself at the audacity she had.

“Obviously not,” you curtly reply, flashing her a deadpan look.

“Okay, look. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about…everything. I just hope there aren’t any hard feelings between us,” she reveals, her high pitched voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard to you. You visibly scoff, jaw hanging open in shock. To think she had the audacity before.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You question, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

She nods, looking to her feet for a moment. “Yeah, I am. You just, seem really nice, and I’d hate for things to be rocky between-“

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I want to be on good terms with the girl that stole my boyfriend right out from under my feet,” you cut her off, stalking closer to her. You can see by how her eyes widen that she’s genuinely scared, trembling a little with the more space you close between you. You know you won’t hurt her, but you can’t deny the pride it brings you to see her like this, all things considered. “Don’t try and be my friend, Chrissy. It’s the last thing I want. Do you know how painful it is to watch the two of you walking about together, as if Eddie didn’t rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it in front of me? Do you really expect me want to try and be on good terms with you when I don’t have an ounce of love or a friendly bone left in my body?”

“I-I,” she stutters.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Chrissy. I mean it.”

Sliding past her, you rip open the bathroom door and make your way down the hall, anger now being the most persistent emotion radiating off and throughout your body. Interrupting you in your time of weakness was one thing, but wanting to try and be civil after everything that has gone down? She might be more delusional than you previously thought. 

Just as you’re about to walk through the doors of the library, the bell springs to life, alerting the students that the lunch period has drawn to an end and they all need to report to their next class of the day. With a sigh, you turn on your heel and make your way over to your locker. You had a feeling the rest of the school day wasn’t going to treat you as well as you’d like.

—————————————————————————————————————

Eddie was livid.

Chrissy spilled the beans about your encounter in the bathroom, bending the truth a little to seem more like a victim as she ran to her boyfriend for help. This upset Eddie beyond belief, seeing how terrified his new girlfriend was thanks to his ex. He wasn’t sure why she had to take her feelings out on Chrissy, but he was going to set things straight.

Kissing Chrissy goodbye, he stomps towards the drama room, throwing the doors open and making a dramatic entrance, which wasn’t uncommon for the metalhead. The entire group looks up, stopping all conversations before greeting their Dungeon Master. He walks over to his throne, noticing that the chair Y/N usually found herself sitting in during meetings was empty for the third consecutive week. Scoffing, he shakes his head.

“Guess she’s sent her message loud a clear,” Eddie says aloud, nodding over to the empty shirt.

“I mean, can you really blame her?” Dustin mumbles out, making Eddie’s head whip around so fast it’s surprising he doesn’t have whiplash.

“Something you want to share with the group, Henderson?” Eddie questions, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he quirks a brow at the young freshman. Dustin visibly swallows, beads up sweat gathering on his forehead under his hat as he tries to think of how to brooch the subject without offending his friend.

“It’s just-I see how she is sometimes at school. She looks sad all the time, and being around her ex who already moved on wouldn’t help things,” he tells him. Eddie nods, anger still radiating of his body. “Not to mention, you guys are always on each other at school.”

“So that gives Y/N the right to be mean to my girlfriend, Henderson? Because she’s all sad and jealous?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying I understand why she isn’t hanging around anymore. I think we all understand and maybe…sympathize with her.”

Eddie takes a moment, looking around the room to the other members of his beloved club. Nodding heads meet his gaze, watching even the members of his band agree with the freshman boy. Eddie huffs, fuel added to the already existing fire.

“Well, if you all feel this way, maybe we should cut this meeting short and come back after a little time away,” Eddie announces over-dramatically.

“C’mon man, don’t be like that,” Gareth pipes up. 

“No, I will. I’m going to go over to Y/N’s house and give her a piece of my mind. Just because she didn’t get her way, doesn’t mean she needs to take it out on Chrissy. She’s very important to me and I need her to get that through her thick skull,” Eddie explains.

“Don’t you think you’re being too harsh on Y/N? I mean, you were the one to break things off. How would you feel if the roles were reversed, huh? If she was the one who began dating again, right after she broke up with you?” Gareth questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shitty, yes. But I wouldn’t take my shit out on other people, much less whoever she decides to date after me,” Eddie answers, tossing papers into his backpack. He’s glad the game didn’t start yet, not having much to clean up as he slings his bag over his shoulder. Gripping his lunchbox, he made a quick exit from the drama room, rushing towards his van.

“Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it,” Gareth mutters out, letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

The drive over to your house was quicker than anticipated, Eddie’s foot heavy on the gas pedal as he ran over a quick script of what he wanted to say to you. He wanted to make sure he was being clear tonight, addressing your behavior towards his new girlfriend and bringing up the topic of maturity. You were both seniors, so it's time you started acting like one, he thought.

Pulling in your driveway, he makes a hasty exit of his van, slamming the door shut and running up your driveway. Knocking on the door persistently, he steps back and waits, swinging his weight from the heels of his feet to his tip toes, chest still bubbling with rage. He’s shocked to be greeted by your mother as she begins opening the door, a wide smile stretching onto her face.

“Eddie! What a lovely surprise! We’ve missed you over the last couple weeks, we almost thought something happened between you and Y/N,” She greets, pulling him in for a hug.

You never told her.

You never told you parents that Eddie broke up with you. It wasn’t something that Eddie considered when everything went down, not bothering to worry about the timeline of anything really. Yet it still comes as a shock to him that you haven’t broken the news to them, making him wonder how many other people in your life were unaware. Word travels fast around Hawkins, and having their daughter dating the town freak was always subject to the gossip mill.

Some sick and twisted part of his brain wanted to break the news on your behalf, letting your mother know and making her aware of the situation. But he also did still have some kind of heart, even if you didn’t particularly think so ever since the breakup. He flashes her a smile, looking to his shoes for a moment as he thinks of what to say for a moment.

“Yeah, sorry. Just been pretty busy these last few weeks. But, um, Y/N didn’t come to Hellfire today, so I was just wondering if I could see her? See if she’s okay and all?” He asks, putting on his best performance for the woman in front of him.

“Oh that’s right! It is Friday, isn’t it? Well, she seemed fine before asking to take the car. I just assumed she was on her way to hang out with you at your little club meeting,” she replies sweetly.

“So she’s not here?” Eddie asks, digging his hands into his pocket. Your mother shakes her head no, which prompts Eddie to nod. 

“I’m afraid not. But she should be here around the afternoon tomorrow. Her father and I leave for a trip in the morning and she tends to stay put when she’s at the house alone,” she explains.

Bidding her a farewell, Eddie rushes back to his van and sits in the drivers seat, pondering to himself. Robin was at the basketball game Chrissy was currently cheering at, which meant Steve was closing Family Video tonight, so you couldn’t have been with either of them. You only went to Benny’s on Sundays, so that’s also out of the question. So where the hell could you be on a Friday night? Had things changed so much that you got into the habit of picking up a new hobby or activity within the last three weeks? Surely not, but it isn’t like he would know. 

Turning the engine on, he pulls out of your driveway, turning back towards the school to go get Chrissy. Maybe he’d have a better chance trying to talk with you tomorrow.

—————————————————————————————————————

Shutting the car door, you walk along the path until you’re planted right in front of the door you need to be at. The sound of small waves splashing about in Lover’s Lake comforts you slightly, shaking out your nerves and rapping your knuckles against the door. You weren’t even sure if he was here, but it was worth a shot. Worst case scenario is that nothing happens, and you turn around and leave, simple as that. The door opens to find just who you’re looking for, a brief small making its way onto your face as you give a timid wave.

“Y/N! How are you? Definitely wasn’t expecting your pretty self to turn up here. Especially on a Friday night,” Rick Lipton, better known as Reefer Rick, tells you.

“Hey Rick, how are you? Glad to see you’re out of jail,” you tease, chuckling a little under your breath. He lets out a hearty laugh, clutching his stomach.

“Hey, I am too,” he says. He takes a moment, furrowing his brows. Stepping closer towards you, he looks around the area for a moment before looking back at you. “Where’s Eddie? That man never lets you come here without him being here to keep guard.”

“Uh…Eddie and I actually broke up a couple weeks ago. Which is why I’m here.”

“Oh really? I'm sorry to hear that. What’s up?”

“Do you have any edibles? Usually I’d go to Eddie for this kind of stuff, but you see why I can’t.”

“Yeah! Come on in, make yourself comfortable. ’S not like you haven’t been here before.”

Walking through the door, you slide yourself onto one of the couches in the living room, trying your best to relax. Rick was right, you’ve never been here without Eddie right there by your side the entire time, as if protecting you from the older man. He was nearly 30, so it wasn’t like he was alarmingly older than you, but Eddie still kept an arm around you at all times in the presence of Rick, and making sure if he did leave your side, it wasn’t for too long.

It doesn’t take long for Rick to return into the living room, holding up a small baggie with six small gummies inside. He slides next to you on the couch, leaving a small gap between your bodies as he turns to look at you.

“What’s the price?” You ask.

“How about we say $20? Give you a sympathy discount since you and my boy Eddie broke it off,” he answers, sending you a smile. Nodding, you reach for your wallet and pull out a twenty, handing it over to him just as he places the baggie in your hand.

“Thank you Rick, really. Do you mind if I stay a bit and do this here? Parents don’t leave for vacation tomorrow and I just…really need this after the day I’ve had,” you ask. 

“Yeah, go for it, I’ll do some too,” he tells you. Nodding again, you open the small bag and take one of the gummies between your index finger and thumb, rolling it around for a second before popping it into your mouth. “So how bad was your day for you to need to give little ol’ me a visit?”

Sighing, you slump backwards and let your body relax into the couch cushions, softening your shoulders and plant yourself in place. “Just some shit went down between me and Eddie’s new girl. She was trying to be all cute and friendly with me after practically stealing my boyfriend right from under my feet, so I set her straight.”

“He dump you for this girl?”

“Yep. Fuckin’ asshole,” you reply. 

The two of you sit there for a moment without speaking to one another, the soft whirring of the box fan by the door being the only sound filling the room. Your arms begin to relax more, a tickling sensation slowly traveling up your spine and beginning to nest in your head. After a few more minutes of neither of you exchanging any words, you feel the high settle in firmly, a small smile creeping on your face as you begin shaking your head.

“I hate him.”

“What?” Rick asks, turning to you with a low chuckle.

“Eddie. I fucking hate him for what he did to me. Breaking my heart and walking over top of it every time he walks through the front doors of our school with his new piece on his side. I could fuckin’ kill him,” you let out, laughing to yourself. “But the sad part is…I still love him. More than he could ever love me it seems.”

“It sounds like you need to get back at him,” Rick suggests, twirling around the bag from his pocket and opening it up once again. You turn to him, lifting your brow slightly as you watch him pop another edible in his mouth.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” You question.

“Oh I have an idea,” he lets out, turning to you. You notice a small smirk on his face, his glossy squinted eyes looking at you deeply. “But first I have to ask: you’re 18, right?”

“Yeah, just turned 18 not too long ago.”

“Even better. Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking-“