#shade witch i miss you

[apricior]

i think dndads s2 good ending is that the shade witch and erin o'neil kill willy stampler with the power of being lesbian witches

[booplesnotts-art]

More HB you say?👀

Constance Hardbroom, my beloved🖤

May or may not have gone back to this specific episode and rewatched a few times cause of this

[floating-far-from-earth]

judging you...

(og cg under the cut)

[agreeewrites]

Best Friends Brother ⊹ . + °

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

summary: You are Fred & George’s best friend, and meet their mysterious older brother, Charlie, at a product launch at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

cw: MDNI 18+ smut with basically zero plot. charlie has an absolutely filthy mouth. no war (or light war? idk, everyone is alive)

an: this was supposed to be a casual hook up when I initially planned it, but the dick was so good they fell in love ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

part two | masterlist

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had a line around the building, hopeful witches and wizards desperate to get a glimpse of the Weasley twin’s newest product. You strolled past them in your mini dress and tights, more than a little chuffed by their jealous glares.

The doors were locked, blocked off with enchanted rope, but when Fred spotted you through the window, he ran to unlock the doors.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it. Georgie, looks who’s here!” Fred slung an arm over your shoulders and ushered you into the store. It was the cleanest you’d ever seen it, with streamers and lights strung everywhere, and a long table loaded with food and drink.

“Y/n!” George shouted, popping up from behind the register. Both of them were dressed in freshly pressed brown suits, looking exceptionally dapper. He came aroud the counter and pulled you into a hug. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you grinned up at them, pride filling your chest. You’d been close with the twins for years, a friendship that started in school and only grew in adulthood, since you worked a few doors down at Honeydukes.

“Come, you have to meet our family!” They ushered you upstairs, where a dozen or so people waited, several faces were familiar, some were not.

“You remember Harry, Ron, and Ginny,” George said, and you greeted them all with a wave.

“And our parents, Molly and Arthur,” Fred continued.

“Oh, y/n! How lovely to see you!” Molly cooed, pulling you into a rib-cracking hug. “My, what a beautiful young lady you’ve grown into.” She pinched you cheek, and heat scorched your face.

“And this is our older brother’s Percy, Charlie, and Bill. And Bill’s wife, Fleur.”

You turned to the trio of men hovering by the bookcases, and nearly tripped over your heels. Percy, you remembered from school, Fleur as well, and Bill was too busy gazing down at her blonde head to glance your way. But Charlie. He stared straight through you, his dark eyes swallowing you whole.

“Pleasure,” Charlie said, his voice honeyed and deep. He was shorter that Percy beside him, but muscular enough that the maroon blazer he wore seemed a little stretched at the shoulders. His white button down shirt beneath it was tailored perfectly to fit across his wide chest and taper at his defined waist. Freckles kissed his cheeks and forehead, his skin a shade tanner than his siblings, though he shared their ginger hair, mid-length and wavy.

“Hello,” you managed, giving him a small smile. But before you could engage further, George whisked you away.

“It’s tiiiime!” Fred shouted, waving his wand, and the doors burst open.

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

As the event raged on, you found yourself drawn to Charlie’s orbit, watching as he mingled with guests and chatted with his family. He seemed to draw a lot of attention, what with his rugged good looks and the fact that he was a dragon trainer. It seemed everyone wanted a sliver of Charlie Weasley’s attention.

So you admired him from a far, and tried to help Fred and George as best you could.

You chatted with customers, explaining the new product the best you could, but you kept feeling the tug of someone’s attention at the nape of your neck, distracting you. When the customer finally moved on, you glanced towards the direction of the feeling, and caught Charlie watching you over the rim of his fire whiskey, ignoring the gentleman attempting to talk to him entirely.

The air froze in your lungs, you heart tripping over itself. His gaze was scorching, and if looks could burn…you were certain your clothes would be rendered to ash.

Desire pooled in your lower belly, heating your blood to an uncomfortable degree. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, you missed George approach.

“Hey, y/n, enjoying yourself?” He asked, offering you a glass of champagne with a candy snitch floating in it.

You accepted with a smile. “I am, thank you. You guys have done an incredible job.”

George beamed, clinking your glasses together before loping off to sell to another customer.

“So, how long have you known my brothers?” A low voice murmured in your ear, and you whirled around, nearly spilling champagne all over Charlie’s front. He caught your elbow with a steady hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Easy, love,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Oh, uh, f-five years? I think,” you stuttered, looking anywhere but his smoldering eyes.

“Then how have we never met? I’d certainly remember you.”

You shrugged a shoulder, taking what you hoped was a casual sip of wine. “Seems you haven’t been paying much attention,” you teased, finally meeting his eyes.

His smirk grew into a soft smile. “What a grave error on my part.”

“Are you in town for the event, or…?” You could feel heat climbing up your neck, but you willed yourself to keep a level head. You knew how to flirt, had done so with plenty of blokes in your time, but none as handsome and disarming as Charlie.

“I thought so, but evidently the Gods had other ideas.”

You knees nearly buckled. “Like?” You coyly tilted your head, allowing your eyes to trail across his broad shoulders, down his chest. Was this guy seriously flirting with you? You knew you weren’t unattractive, but Charlie was…phew.

“Like…” He flushed a little, betraying his suave demeanor, and your heart slipped a little further into his hands. “Meeting the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Ever?” You teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.

“In this life and probably the next.” He took a sip of his whiskey, letting his eyes wander over you the same way yours did him. And based on the way they darkened, his pupils widening just a fraction, he liked what he saw as much as you did.

“Does that line always work for you?”

“Well, considering I’ve never tried it, why don’t you tell me?”

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

Charlie slammed the door shut behind you before crowding you against it, his lips colliding with yours. He tasted like whiskey and pumpkin, with a tinge of cigarette smoke that went straight to your head, and you eagerly tangled your tongue with his, pushing his blazer off his shoulders.

“Colloportus,” he murmured against your mouth, and you heard the lock schick into place. He shrugged his blazer off, tossing it somewhere in the dark storage closet, and his hands were on you again, one sliding into your hair, the other on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“Charlie?” You gasped as his lips traveled down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his short beard a rough contrast to the suppleness of his kiss.

“Yeah, honey?” he panted, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“I don’t usually…” you trailed off, nerves suddenly closing your throat.

His hand slid from your hair to cup your cheek, his callouses rough against your heated skin. “Me neither,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “We can do whatever you want, love. I’ll take you to the nicest restaurant in London, or on Dragon-back to the Swiss Alps, or on a cruise ship to the Americas—”

You cut him off with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck. “And if I want you to fuck me?” you said between pecks, tugging at the roots of his hair.

He smiled and scooped you up by the meat of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your skirt pushed up over your hips. “Then I’ll fuck you as often as ya’ like.” He turned and dropped you onto some kind of work bench, sending the papers and junk flying with a sweep of his arm.

“The twin’s are going to be pissed,” you giggled, leaning back onto the wood so he could continue his previous assault on your neck.

“Fuck ‘em,” he muttered, nipping at your collarbones. His hands gripped your thighs with dizzying strength, the same hands that handled massive, fire-breathing beasts, and spread you open for his hungry gaze. “Seven fucking hells,” he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs. “You’re perfect.”

In a swift motion, he ripped your tights at the seam, the sound sending a pulse of arousal to your already dripping pussy, a sharp gasp forcing it’s way from your throat. His fingers glided over your wet panties, so delicate compared to the force he’d used heartbeat before.

Your hips lifted slightly, chasing his gentle touch. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this desperate for someone to touch you, your entire body tuned to his every breath, every twitch of his muscles. He looked so fucking good leaning over you, his previously tidy shirt rumpled, his hair in copper waves around his face, his lips a little red from your fevered kisses.

With his ring finger, her drew your panties to the side, his middle fingers gliding through your slit and circling your clit twice. “Already so wet for me, honey. What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your brain couldn’t formulate a response, his touch mind-numbing. Pleasure radiated form his fingers, syrupy and languid, with none of the frenetic energy from before. A moan slipped past your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as he coaxed your pussy to bloom for him.

“And such pretty sounds.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve with his free hand, exposing the muscles and veins along his thick forearm. Slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, large enough to stretch you slightly.

“Fuck, Charlie,” you whined, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could watch him play with you.

“I suppose I shouldn’t stretch this out too long, someone might come looking for us,” he mused. “But I could spend a fucking eternity spoiling this greedy little pussy.” He slipped another finger into you channel, pumping them a few times just to feel your cunt suck him back in. “Would you like that, love?” He tilted your chin up with his free hand, an unspoken request for an answer.

“Y-yes, Charlie. Please,” you panted, stretching up to steal a quick peck. He deepened the kiss, shifting his weight to press you back down onto the desk as his tongue flirted with yours. His hand picked up the pace, fucking you steadily as he devoured your mouth, teeth skating along your swollen flesh before sucking lightly on your tongue.

You don’t know what God blessed him with such a skilled tongue, but you needed to make an offering in thanks stat.

But since you couldn’t do that…

“Charlie?” You asked, reaching around to touch his wrist between your legs.

He immediately stopped, withdrawing his hand completely. “What’s wrong?” He searched your face for signs of discomfort, his brows drawn together.

You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek before sliding off the desk. He watched you, confused and concerned, then you lowered yourself to your knees and his jaw went slack.

“Honey, you don’t have to—”

“Please, Charlie?” You batted your lashes up at him, tugging lightly on his belt.

“Merlin’s fucking—I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that, sweetheart.”

“Then don’t,” you teased, undoing his belt and zipper. You could see the outline of his cock against his black boxers, thick and throbbing as you glided your fingers over it.

He sucked in a breath, gripping the edge of the table with one of his hands. Encouraged, you dragged the flat of your tongue over the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the wetness collecting by the swollen head.

“I must have died in the dragon pit and gone to heaven. My god, woman,” he rasped, running his fingers through his hair to keep it from blocking the sight.

You giggled, licking a few more stripes before reaching up to free him. His cock sprung out, veiny and flushed pink. And, to your absolute shock and delight, even his cock was freckled.

“You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen,” you praised, and his cheeks flushed pink. You laved your tongue along the thickest vein, earning a throaty groan. You sucked the head into your mouth, lapping up the precum pearling from his slit.

Charlie’s head fell back, one of his hands sliding into your hair. He didn’t add any pressure, just held you as you started to suck him, moving a little further down each time. You wrapped your hand around the base, there was no way you’d fit the entire thing in your mouth, and started pumping him, matching the motions with your mouth. His skin was like velvet, soft and smooth, and you loved feeling him pulse against your tongue with every dip of your head.

“You are too damn good at that. So fucking pretty swallowing my cock.” His thumb stroked your cheek while he gazed down at you, stars in his eyes. “You like sucking me off, honey?”

You nodded as best you could, flicking your tongue at the groove just beneath the head. His hips lurched forward, a grunt escaping through his teeth.

“Fuck, sorry, love. I’m trying to stay still for ya’, but feels so fucking good.”

You reached up and guided his hand into your hair, then used it to push your head down, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

He smirked, his hand fisting in your hair. “Whatever you say, gorgeous.” He started moving your head along his shaft, rocking his hips in time with the movements. He went easy at first, but as drool began to track down your chin, your eyes rolling back in bliss, he picked up the pace. But he only fucked your mouth for a few, punishing strokes before lifting you off of him. He slammed his mouth to yours, a harsh, hungry kiss that had you seeing stars.

You whined in protest, but he shushed you by lifting you into the air and setting you on the table once more.

“If you thought I wasn’t going to fuck you, you’re mad,” he gruffed, dragging the hot head of his cock through your pussy lips. “That is, if you still want me to?”

“Yes, fuck, now, Charlie. Please.” You spread your legs a little wider for him,

“Anything for you, love.” He leaned down and kissed you again, sliding his cock into your depths at the same time. The feeling of being filled by him bordered on divine, silken and hot. He was stretching you just enough to leave you with that delicious ache between your legs. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the sounds caught up by his tongue parting your lips and caressing yours.

He drew his hips back, agonizingly slow, letting you feel every inch of one another, before he slammed back in, knocking the air from your lungs. It seemed he was at the end of his control, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucked you hard, jostling the desk beneath you and making the shelves along the walls rock.

“Fuck, Charlie. Feels so good,” you cried, trying and failing to keep yourself quiet as he railed you, every thrust like a lightning strike of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah? You take my cock so well, baby. Wet little pussy squeezing the life outta’ me,” he groaned, his hair tickling your face. “So good f’me, honey. Like you were made for me.”

Your muscles tightened, veering closer and closer to your peak, his praise sending little pulses of bliss your clit.

“You like being praised, baby? Hearing how perfect you are for me? Fuck, I can feel how much you like that, squeezing me so hard.” His hand slipped between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing tight circles over you puffy clit. “Come for me, y/n. I know you can. I want to feel you fall apart around me. That’s a good girl—”

Your cry drowned out his praise as your peak crashed over you, visceral and exquisite. The world vanished, blown apart by the burst of starlight in your chest as you came for him. Pulses of pleasure made your body shake and buck, your eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you through it.

“That’s it, honey. Such a good fucking girl. Merlin, you’re gonna make me come.” He rested on his forearms, braced on either side of your head, hitting an entirely new angle as you came back into your body.

“Charlie,” you whimpered, clinging to him. ”I’ve got ya’, love. Don’t worry. Just a little longer—fuck.” A strangled groan broke from his throat and you felt his cock swell, then kick against your walls, the first hot stream of release painting your insides.

He rested his head on your shoulder as he muscles trembled, his hips pressed flush to yours. You wrapped you arms around his shoulders, still weak from that soul-shaking orgasm. His lips passed over your shoulder, your clavicle, up your neck, before finally ghosting of your lips, soft and breathless.

You remained like that for longer than you probably should have, enraptured with one another. You'd been complete strangers a few hours ago, but this wasn't a hook up akin to a one night stand. This was the reunification of two beings, the re-raveling of a soul tie.

“Y/n,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, your temple. “Y/n, y/n, y/n…” He held you like he'd die if he let go.

“Charlie,” you exhaled, nuzzling behind his ear.

“Can I take you to Romania with me?” He whispered, a joke, you presumed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“I've never seen a dragon before—”

The door knob jiggled, and someone pressed against it, the wood groaning.

“Shit.” Charlie jumped backwards, scrambling to right your dress and smooth your hair.

“Hey, Freddie! This doors locked for some reason.”

“Charlie, your dick,” you snickered while he wiped away a smudge of your lipstick.

“Fuck, right.”

“Alohamor—”

“COLLOPORTUS,” Charlie barked out, snatching his wand from his boot.

“Charlie?” George called, knocking on the door.

Charlie tucked you behind him and undid the spell, peeking the door open. “If you say another word, you're dragon food,” he growled, and you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

“You got a girl in there, mate?” George asked, and you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“George,” Charlie warned.

“Fine, fine. You've got ten minutes before I actually need to get in there.” George knocked once more then strode away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Charlie sagged against the door, exhaling. “I'm sorry, love,” he said, turning to you.

You pecked his cheek. “Don't be sorry, that was the best lay of my life.” You tried to reassure him, despite the curdling sadness in your chest.

A shy smile broke through his serious expression. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I can only imagine how good it would be when we had all the time in the world,” you murmured against his ear, a shiver rolling down his spine. It was better to leave it like this, flirty, casual, than with whatever…that was.

“I mean, we’ve got ten minutes…”

You patted his chest and slipped out of the door, finding George waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed.

His jaw dropped. “Y/n!”

Charlie ran out behind you. “I swear to God, George—”

“Are all Weasley's this dramatic?” You closed George's mouth with a finger under his chin.

“Where did—when did—how?” George stuttered, looking back and forth between the two of you.

Charlie smirked, shrugging back on his blazer. “I'll explain when you're older,” Charlie teased. “Would you like a drink, y/n?”

“I'd love one.“ You threaded your arm through his, and together returned to the party.

> Part Two

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed, please check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor (x reader, separately)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4 , Part 5

Main Masterlist

CW: Asmo's having a bit of a mental breakdown, Beel literally has a fever dream and there's a brief description of lesson 16 in Belphie's part

.

Asmodeus – He didn’t want to play favourites

There’s an endless line of demons and witches alike willing to kill and die for him.

He can’t live without their adoration, their desire and their support.

While he knows you are not like everybody else, he can’t help but compare you to the rest of his fans.

Where’s the difference between your love and theirs? Can you give more than what they’ve already given him?

He can’t help but feel honoured by your confession, being chosen by their beloved human, but the idea of accepting your advances makes him feel ungrateful to his loyal fans.

The rejection comes out easily, just like many times before, and your reaction makes him sigh and almost offer his shoulder to cry on.

That would’ve been too cruel, wouldn’t it?

The uniqueness of your feelings doesn’t stand out until time passes.

It’s not just your attention that he misses, but also the tenderness in your eyes and the shy hint of your smile whenever he looks at you.

It became apparent that you cared not only for what he showed but also for what he hid about himself.

He tried searching for that same shade of love in your expression, but it faded quickly as weeks passed.

It all reached an end where, in a turn of events that made him sweat in fear and disgust, you started to look instead for his eldest brother.

He starts to work, desperately thinking that, maybe, if he made himself more beautiful or popular, you would change your mind and return to trying to be with him.

However, judging by the way you looked at Lucifer, he knew his reciprocation came a little bit too late.

You woke up to the sounds of sobbing, an animalistic yearning for comfort that pulled you out of your slumber. Hands grabbed the blankets covering you and a voice kept bubbling nonsense, an entire monologue full of sorrow that you couldn’t understand. In the end, it was the familiarity of the demon in front of you what fully brought you to the living world.

Asmo, kneeling beside your bed, cried even louder when he saw you opening your eyes. By the desperate moves of his hands you knew he wanted to hug you and that, mixed with the despair in his expression, tugged your heartstrings with painful force and made you open your arms.

He threw himself at you, burying you both in the cocoon of bedsheets and blankets and wept as you smoothed his hair and murmured words of consolation in his ear.

Almost half an hour passed until he could breathe with ease, but he wouldn’t look at you. Not like you were counting on it.

“You love me, don’t you? Do you still love me? Please, tell me you do. I love you, I truly do. I’d never reject you…”

“Reject me…?”

“I love you, I love you…”

Asmo hid his face in the crook of your neck, rocking the both of you back and forth in search of calmness. He ignored your questions and shaking hands, although you quickly realised he wasn’t entirely conscious about it. He seemed completely lost, repeating the confessions of his affections for you until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

You laid under him for the remainder of the night, too scared and shaken to rest again and hoping with all your strength that whatever put him in this state would disappear forever.

Beelzebub – He didn’t feel the same

It is indifference. From the moment you stepped into the house, what he felt for you was nothing more than indifference.

His room is empty and his twin’s absence occupies his mind more than it should, but he can’t do anything about it besides dealing with the loneliness.

Living with his older brothers simply isn’t enough anymore.

His family isn’t complete and the presence of a human in their home isn’t going to change that.

The first time he truly interacts with you is in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, willing to murder you over custard. The only reason you aren’t harmed is his brother’s fondness for you.

As a consequence, his room is no longer empty and he finds that quite enjoyable. Without any reason to be rude or mean to you, your short time spent together passes too quickly for his liking and, afterwards, he finds himself visiting you whenever he has the chance.

Beel values your friendship and he believes the feeling is mutual, even when you blush, smile with excitement and stare with bright eyes whenever he enters the room.

He is incapable of seeing how unbalanced your affections compared to his are.

His heart doesn’t stutter at your existence and neither do his words. You are his friend, a dear one, but nothing more; that’s what he tells you in response to your confession.

He pities your heartbreak and assures you your platonic relationship will remain the same, but his promises fall on deaf ears. The friendship is left hollow and unnatural and he briefly wonders if accepting your pouring heart would’ve been the better option.

Would have he fallen for you over time? If that were the case, although initially forced, would the love blossom into something strong and worth fighting for?

He hopes he will, too, go back to normal as weeks pass and you painfully overcome your crush, but when you’re finally able to look at him with non-romantic warmth, half of his face is red, his eyes twitch in adoration at each one of your smiles and his throat hurts from self-caused frustration.

Now it’s his turn to suffer the heartbreak.

There was a deep pressure on his chest when he woke up and as bad as Beel wanted it to be the comforting weight of your body, he knew that couldn’t be true. He didn’t feel the top of your head under his chin or your quiet breath against his skin. Had you actually been there, he would’ve never let you go.

His eyes were tired, itchy under heavy eyelids, and a pounding headache begged him not to move an inch, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to anyway; his muscles were glued to the bedsheets with sweat.

Groaning in exhaustion, he slowly turned his head sideways, staring at his twin’s sleeping form with deep-rooted fondness. Belphie was frowning, probably feeling part of Beel’s discomfort, and was twitching in his sleep, murmuring words he couldn’t decipher and lashing the tuft of his tail with weak movements.

An empty chair was also there, slightly facing his direction.

Quietly, the door opened and the dim glow of the hallway’s candles briefly lighted the entry, distracting him from the ache. A figure stepped in, tip-toeing while closing the door again and making its way to his bed.

MC…?

Was he hallucinating?

“Did I wake you up?” you asked in worry, unfazed by his silence.

He watched as you ignored the chair and sat beside him at the edge of the mattress, unsure of what to say or do. He wanted to touch you, take your face in his hand and make sure you weren’t a manifestation of his desires, but he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. In addition to that, his head felt full of cotton and completely detached from the rest of his body; he didn’t want to strike you by accident.

“My DDD ran out of battery, but I didn’t know where your charger was and I didn’t want to make noise. I just came back from my room”

You lifted your hand and he gasped in expectation, sighing with relief when you pushed away his wet hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. If he could return the gesture, he would, but he was barely able to keep his eyes focused on you, let alone talk or move.

“You’re still too warm” you informed with a frown, preparing yourself to leave his side. “I’m going to get a wet tow-… Honey?”

Beel sighed again, this time shuddering, exhausted at the effort of grabbing your arm and pulling you back to him.

Honey.

Your lips turned down in a sad smile, still coming down to kiss him again for a little longer.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise”

Honey.

“…ve you…”

You hummed a question against his skin, unsure of what he’d said, but he suddenly felt too weak to repeat himself.

“Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here, Beel”

Honey.

Belphegor – He hated you

Your free will and your refusal to give up, going up the stairs despite Lucifer’s threats and helping the mysterious man imprisoned in the attic; stupidity and no sense of self-preservation trapped behind a weak shield of kindness and compassion.

Seeing you strive to help him is amusing; like a candle hoping to light the vastness of the night.

That you think he is a human is just an advantage to his plan, but how can you, such an insignificant creature, aid in his escape?

The mere sight of you sends bile to his mouth, but he can’t do anything besides entertain you whenever your human need of connection forces you to search for him.

You talk incessantly and he listens, albeit with no interest and borderline rude behaviour. He scoffs, shoots sarcastic remarks and brings you down whenever he has the chance, calling you stupid and naïve.

That’s why your feelings for him are so surprising.

You… like him? Do you like being lied to and degraded?

Okay.

He’s not going to complain.

It’s just another reason for you to help him without thinking twice.

And that you do.

A laugh blurts out of his throat when he finally closes his arms around your excited figure. You’re blushing and smiling like a fool and when you try to step away to ask if he’s okay, there’s nothing in your existence but pain.

Your desperate scratches are nothing for him and neither is the heartbreak of betrayal in your eyes. If anything, they make him want to hurt you even further, pushing your neck against the floor with inhumane strength and letting your body fall down the stairs like a child dropping a ragdoll would.

He comes to his senses no long after that; less than an hour. Your heritage is explained and his prejudices are proven to be incorrect, vanishing like dust at the prospect of sharing a friendship with you like his brothers do.

You were nice to him then, back when you didn’t know who he was, so why wouldn’t you be nice to him again now that there are no secrets between you? His actions were wrong, yes, but also justified.

Wouldn’t you agree, MC? He deserves the benefit of the doubt.

But why aren’t you looking at him anymore? Why do you hide? Don’t you trust him?

He said he was sorry! Isn’t that enough?

The door opened with a loud noise, then closed almost without notice. Something dragged across the floor until reaching your bed, a blanket, and if the soft hint of lavender didn’t let you know who just disturbed your sleep, then his words would make it obvious.

“You’re not in my bed” Belphie stated. You turned, confused at the abrupt interruption and the tone of his voice, which made it clear he was trying to hide something. His figure was indistinguishable amidst the dark, but his purple eyes stood out like stars. Before you could say anything, he talked again. “Why?”

He watched in silence as you looked around, trying to find a clue to understand what was happening. Still waiting for a response, he huffed as he climbed over you and settled on the other side of the bed.

“Like a cryptid, Belphie” you mustered in annoyance while letting him cling to your side. “You’re just like a cryptid”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re testing my patience”

“Why aren’t you in my bed?”

“I swear to God…”

You stared at him in disbelief, but something in his expression subdued your irritation. Now that he was closer you could see his glossy eyes, a frown twisting his whole face as his hands held on to you with more force than necessary. Although you had suspicions about what he wanted to hear, a sincere I love you, you still took the longer route and calmly answered his question.

“You kicked me out…”

“I never would” he quickly retaliated, sitting straight like a spring and hovering over you with determined and unblinking eyes.

“…because I had an accident in Solomon’s laboratory and my skin and clothes smelt like chemicals”

There was silence in the room for a few seconds and, after pushing him softly, Belphie finally laid down again, his features slowly relaxing until only a bitter expression remained. Your fingers carefully detangled his hair, but not even that seemed enough to fully calm him down.

“I’m sorry”, he said against your shoulder, delicately hugging your waist like you were made of porcelain.

“It’s okay, we can just go back to sleep…”

“I’m sorry, MC”

Your confusion was obvious, but he didn’t say anything and, by the time you gathered enough courage to ask, he was already deeply unconscious.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares. 

[angels-hideaway]

𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 I

Vampire!Caitlyn Kiramman x peasant!fem reader

part 2

summary: Your life is a bore. Every day begins and ends the exact same way. That is until your father returns from his latest vampire hunt, and leaves you to deal with the consequences of his failure.

w/c: 5.8k

(if you don’t have Spotify, the song I picked for this chapter is The Devils Trill Sonata.” Violin cover by Sophie Mutter.)

Heavy footsteps echoed through the dark halls of the empty castle. The man, running as fast as his mortal feet could carry him, turned every corner and opened every door, searching desperately for the exit.

The crossbow he was carrying was empty. It was missing the wooden arrow he’d loaded it with to slaughter the vampire. The vampire who haunted the small, peasant village of Crows-Wood. Whispers of her ferocity, scary stories mothers told their children to keep them in at night, and the blood drained bodies found in the woods during the early morning hours all lead back to her.

The man’s eyes brightened with hope when he spotted the double doors spread wide open. He hadn’t slain the vampire, but at least he’d be the first to make it out of her castle alive. Just as he was footsteps away from the outside world, the doors slammed shut on their own. The result, a heavy gust of wind, threw the man back onto the floor.

He scrambled to his feet, and backed up against the door. His eyes scanned every corner of the room looking for her. The sound of clicking heels make her presence known. Out of the darkness, she appeared. A woman, tall, statuesque, and beautiful as death could be stared him down.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go I’ll never come back!” The man pleaded. The vampire only walked closer. Her ice blue eyes were glowing in the faint moonlight. “What makes you think I would let you go?” Her voice echoed through the dark castle. “Please! I beg of you! I’ll never come back!” 

“Imbecile…” the vampire muttered. She got close enough to look down on the man, and corner him against the door. “I’ll do anything!” The vampire’s eyebrows raised at that. “Anything? Well then, make me an offer I simply can’t refuse.” 

Dawn light filtered through your bedroom window. The birds rose you from sleep, and you reached your arms out in a morning stretch. Another day in Crows-Wood, repeating the same way yesterday had.

“Has father returned yet?” Your little brother asked your mother at breakfast.  Your mother shakes her head sadly while separating some sweet porridge into three bowls. Your father went off last night to hunt the vampire in the old, scary castle up the hill. You never understood your father, or the vampire hunters as a whole. You were in the minority though.Vampire heads shriveled from the sun were paraded around, and their fangs were sold as gruesome souvenirs. 

Vampire hunting was the pride of Crows-Wood.

You understood that they were monsters, but surely, more killing wasn’t the answer. You’ve wanted to meet a vampire ever since you were a little girl. Just to sit down with one, ask them some questions, and perhaps come to an understanding. 

It’s still early morning when you leave your cottage for the market. Your woolen chemise and long skirt flowed gently in the light breeze. The village was awake and bustling. Horse drawn carriages going up and down the dirt roads, and people selling their crops and goods at little stalls.

You exchanged a dozen eggs for a few coins when a cry of terror made the whole street fall silent. “Help! Help me!” Your father runs out from the woods with a limp and multiple smaller scratches. The people gasp and chatter, and a few men go to help support him.

 “What happened!?” 

“Did you slay the vampire?”

“No one’s gotten out of there with their head!” 

When your father is seated in the shade, and everyone is gathered around, he finally begins to talk. “The vampire…she- she’s got black magic!” Gasps of horror erupt from the townspeople. “She’s a witch! She was going to kill me! But by the skin o’my teeth I managed to escape before she could drain my life away!” 

The people begin talking again, telling your father how brave he is and how lucky he was to survive. When it all dies down, your father sees you and motions you to come closer. “Out already this morning? You’re such a help to me and your mother. Now, could you help your father home?” 

When you finally get him through the door, your mother and brother hug him tightly. “Oh dear, I thought you were dead for certain!” your mother cries. “I’m sorry my love…but can we talk? Without the children around, please.” That’s your cue to take your brother and leave. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Your brother asks while you walk him around town. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s something to do with father’s latest hunt.” You answer. “Father’s the first man to survive that creepy old castle! I’m certain everything will be alright!” Your brother pumps his fist to the sky. You don’t feel as confident though. 

Something’s wrong.

When you return home after about an hour, your mother is weeping. Not because your father returned though. Her tears don’t exude the slightest bit of happiness. “Oh, you two are back…” she mumbles. Strangely, she walks up to you and gently caresses your face. “You’ve grown to be such a beautiful young woman, my dear.” 

Her voice is dripping with sorrow, but she turns, and excuses herself to another room. 

That evening, you’re braiding your hair before bed when you hear your father calling your name. “Yes father?” He and your mother are seated at the dining table, with three warm mugs of tea steaming on the table. “Come sit.” He says.

Hesitantly, you take a seat at the table. “Is something the matter, father? Mother?” They both avoid your gaze. A small feeling of dread forms in your stomach. “You should…have some tea.” Your mother’s voice is closer to a whisper than actual speech.

Taking the mug in your hands, you take a small sip. The liquid burns your tongue, making you set it down instantly. “Going to that old castle may have been the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.” Your father says grimly. “I just want you to know that I don’t know what will from here.”

“What do you mean?” You sip the tea again, and again. It’s cooled down a bit. “I’m sorry for causing you all so much trouble.” Your father says. His voice breaks and he starts to weep. Before you can even ask what’s wrong, your head begins to feel heavy. 

You stumble, before collapsing to the ground. Your eyelids are heavy, and both of your parents are sobbing. “What’s…. Wrong?…” Your words slur and combine. The world begins to fade to black, until it disappears from you completely.

The sound of a fireplace wakes you. Slowly opening your eyes, you sit up. You’ve awakened on a red, velvety chaise with your wrists bound by a thick rope. There’s indeed a fireplace across from you, and a bright flame dances inside.

The ceiling of this strange room is painted with intricate frescos, and the walls are decorated with portraits of beautiful women. All share the surname Kiramman. Old shelves covered with cobwebs rest near the door, and a desk sits in the corner of the room. 

The sound of the door creaking open grabs your attention, and you turn to see who’s come in. A tall, looming figure stands in the doorway, making your blood run cold. The figure steps inside, and the faint glow of the candles reveal her face. 

Her eyes are a beautiful, cold shade of blue, and her skin is as pale as the moon. She’s beautiful. Despite your fear, you feel entranced by her. A dark blue jewel is nestled in the collar of her ruffled blouse, and her pants complement the color perfectly. 

“You’re awake.” She finally says. Her heels click against the floor when she approaches. Now, she’s standing right in front of you, observing you diligently. “The daughter of the foolish hunter. As beautiful as he said you’d be. Not that it matters any to me.” 

“Who-who are you?” Your voice is quiet and meek. “So he was too cowardly to even admit to what he’s done to you? Imbecile. The lot of them. Humans are foolish, cowardly little creatures. Especially the men.” Her voice carries an unmistakable venom. 

“What he did to me?” Your mind is reeling. You were sitting at the table, drinking the tea…

The tea. 

There was no way your clumsy excuse for a father could ever escape such a powerful vampires clutches without consequence. The tears, the way they avoided your gaze, and the tea.

Tears slip down your cheeks when you put the pieces together. The woman you’ve realized is the vampire speaks again. “So you’ve connected it all, haven’t you?” You can’t look at her. Your vision is swimming with tears.

 “So you’re…”

 “The vampire.” She finishes for you. 

“I suppose that is me. I let your father live in exchange for a beautiful young woman. I see she’s been delivered to me.” The stern scowl she wears never leaves her face. “The old fool is lucky he had a daughter. I much prefer the taste of women anyways.” She sits down in an armchair not to far from you.

You could vomit. Fear makes you freeze. Unable to move, a small croak escapes your throat. She remains seated, her eyes scanning every inch of your body, which is indecently exposed in your thin nightgown. 

“Let’s see…” she gets up and crouches down right in front of you. Your instincts make you flinch away from her. “I won’t harm you. I only want to examine you further.” Her hands gently caresses your bound ones. “Well this was just unnecessary.” She easily tears the rope and rubs your red wrists. Her touch is gentle, but that demonstration of her strength terrifies you. “There, that’s better isn’t it?”

She’s cold. Her skin is like ice. “You’re so warm.” She says, feeling your hands a little more. “May I know the name of my guest?” You tell her, and she repeats it experimentally. “How pretty.” Suddenly, she shoves her face into your neck. Your scream dies in your throat when you don’t feel sharp fangs piercing your skin. Instead, her nose brushes along your skin, and she sighs softly. Her breath is cold too. You flinch when you feel her tongue on your skin. 

“That’s enough!” You shove her away, and instantly regret it. You prepare for the worst, but nothing happens. “My apologies. Whenever I’m around such an appetizing person, I simply can’t help myself.” She stands, and heads for the door. Before she leaves, she turns around. “Please follow me.” You’re convinced you’re going to die. She just called you appetizing.

You follow the tall woman all the way to what looks to be a dining room. “Ah, I nearly forgot. You may call me Caitlyn.” She pulls out one chair for you at the end of the table, and takes a seat at the other end across from you. Many empty chairs are at the table too. In front of you is a plate with some fruit and bread.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to what will happen to you.” She pours a suspiciously red liquid from a bottle into a wine glass. Noticing your horrified expression, she explains herself. “It’s only pigs blood. Not my favorite, but it keeps me alive.” She swirls it around the glass before taking a sip. 

After a long silence, you ask “What’s going to happen to me?” Caitlyn looks up at you and sips from the glass again. “About that, I’ve found myself quite lonely this past century. I plan on keeping you alive.” You’re relieved. You sigh loudly. 

“There is a catch, however.” Caitlyn interjects. “I still plan on feeding from you.” A heavy feeling settles in your stomach. “Please allow me to explain. I’ll only do it once a week. If I were to feed off of you for four days consecutively, you’d die without a doubt. It’s only by chance that you would turn to a vampire after passing on. As long as I give your body time to recover, you should go on living fine.” 

“So you won’t kill me?” She smiles “Of course not. I could use some company around here.” You pick up a single strawberry from your plate and eat it. “Can I ask what exactly the deal was between you and my father?” Caitlyn’s expression darkens. “Just last night, he attempted to kill me with a wooden steak in a crossbow. I caught him, and he swore me the life of his daughter instead of his own. If he went back on his deal, I would have killed him.”

You’re crying again. Knowing that your father just sold you off to a vampire to save his own skin was a terrible feeling. “I am partial to human women, so I agreed.” That’s the second time she’s mentioned her preference for human women.

“If I may ask, why human women?”

Caitlyn finishes the glass of pigs blood and licks the rim of the glass. “That’s easy. I despise human men. Every last one of them are pigs. Liars, cheaters, and their blood is bitter and repulsive. I’ve found in my long life that women are often sweeter in both taste, and character. Easier on the eyes too. Girls like you make a much more appealing meal” a wave of heat washes over you. You always heard tales of how vampires were seductive on purpose to lure in naive victims. You weren’t expecting such ridiculous stories to be true.

“Is that why you were examining me earlier?” She nods “Clever girl. I wouldn’t say it’s why, I just wanted to.”  “I see…”

“Well,” Caitlyn stands up. “The sun will rise any moment now, so I will be going to bed. If you’re tired, please rest. If not, you’re free to explore. Don’t even think about trying to escape. This whole castle is under my control. If I don’t wish for you to leave, you don’t.” She sounds serious. “Yes ma’am.” 

That makes Caitlyn turn around. “You don’t have to call me that. Caitlyn is just fine.” If you’re eyes are not deceiving you, she looks a little flustered. So she does have emotions. 

 “There’s a spare bedroom much more suitable for a guest down the hall. If you’ll follow me.” Caitlyn starts briskly walking, almost too fast for you to keep up. Vampires are fast. You remember from the stories.

 Not another word is spoken between you two. She opens one of the double doors to reveal a lavish chamber with a large bed against the back wall. There’s already candles inside like she expected you to sleep here. You step inside, and look around. 

“There are plenty of clothes for you in the wardrobe. I suppose you can say I’ve been anticipating your arrival.” She leans down slightly to achieve an equal height with you. “Rest well. We’ll begin tomorrow.” She smiles “I’m confident you’ll be just divine.” With that, she walks away. 

You close the door and stroll idly around your new room. It’s beautiful. A vase of dark red roses rests on a small table in the corner of the room next to a chaise. The canopy bed’s curtains are black, and made from a thin lace. The sheets are soft and velvety. You crawl into the bed and collapse. As soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep.

When you wake, it looks to be late afternoon. You must have slept very long. You spy the wardrobe from across the room, and get out of bed to investigate. The door creeks when you open it. Inside, are the most beautiful dresses a peasant girl like you has ever seen. They look like they’d belong to a nobles daughter, or maybe some kind of princess. 

You pull one of them out and admire it in the daylight. Stripping off your nightgown, you put the dress on and struggle to adjust the corset. The only thing that looks new in this castle is a mirror in the corner. Maybe Caitlyn bought it especially for you. There’d be no reason for her to own a mirror after all.  You stand in front of it and admire your own reflection. The dress hangs off your shoulders and falls all the way down to your ankles.

There’s a jewelry box in the wardrobe that catches your eye. You open it, and decorate your neck with a black, lace choker. You’ve almost forgotten your the prisoner of a vampire with all of this luxury she’s gifted you with. She said she would start today. Did she mean she’d start sucking your blood? 

The thought sends a chill down your spine. She doesn’t seem evil, but your fear remains all the same. You spend the last few hours of daylight roaming the castle. There’s a strange emblem all over the castle depicting two keys crossing over each other. It’s on the walls, old books, stray pocket watches, and old clothing.

It’s beginning to get dark. You find a candleholder with a wax candle still inside, and light it to find your way around. All the curtains in the castle are drawn except for the ones in your room. Vampires don’t like sunlight. You remember. 

“There you are.” You scream and drop your candle. Looking back up, you see it’s only Caitlyn. She stomps out the fire before it can spread, and picks up the holder. “I see you’ve been doing some exploring.” Her eyes look up and down your body. “And you’ve found my gifts in the wardrobe. That’s good. You look beautiful.” 

“Goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” You take the candle back and quickly look away from her. She’s barely dressed. The vampire is wearing another frilly blouse, but it’s only buttoned up halfway, leaving pale hints of her chest exposed. Thankfully, she’s wearing trousers. Caitlyn notices your embarrassed expression “Is something the matter? I apologize for frightening you.”

“No it’s not that. I just- thought I saw something.” You try your best to look her in the face. “I can assure you it’s just us in here.” She steps closer, placing one hand on your shoulder. It’s cold. “I’m feeling a little hungry.” You inhale sharply. “So it’s time?” She smiles. “Soon. Are you excited? I am. I haven’t had a woman in quite some time. It’s only men who come up here to bother me.” 

“Will it hurt?” What a stupid question. Of course it will, but you ask anyways. “It will sting, of course, but you must know that vampire bites contain a sort of…venom. It’s designed to make the victim yearn for whoever bit them first. So they won’t struggle when the vampire eventually drains their body dry. The bite will sting, but soon it starts to feel rather pleasureful. The whole process feels a little sensual, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

That’s not the answer you expected at all. “The next day, you’ll probably feel rather faint. You’ll be weak, maybe bedridden. I’ll care for you, and make sure you recover.” She sighs, and you see her tongue swiping across her lips. “This will be fun. Don’t you think?”

You’re back in your room staring out into the night when you hear your door open. “I don’t think I can wait any longer. Have you prepared yourself?” It’s Caitlyn. You sigh. “As best as I could. I’m still a little frightened.” Caitlyn comes towards you and sits next to you on the bed. “Please don’t worry. She leans in closer, and you lean away. 

“Don’t struggle. I’m trying not to hurt you.” She sounds serious. You feel her cool breath on your neck, and her fingers gently pressing down on your skin. “What are you doing?” She’s very focused. “Looking for a safe place to bite. If I do this wrong, you could die. Please hold still.” 

Her breath quickens before you feel her latch onto your neck. It’s not cold this time. A small whimper of pain escapes your lips when you feel the pulsating movement of her sucking. Her hand finds yours and her fingers intertwine with yours. She squeezes tight. Her other hand caresses your cheek. The strange pleasure Caitlyn described finally comes. The pain dulls, and your body feels fuzzy. 

“Caitlyn…” you whimper, and she responds with a hum. “Shh…” she quiets you Before going back to your bleeding neck. The hand on your cheek finds itself to your back, and she brings you closer to her. The whole time, you’re attempting to stifle your own noises of both pain and pleasure. 

When she finally pulls away. Her lips are red with your blood, and she looks rather dazed as if your blood contained its own venom for her. “I…I apologize… I took far more than I should have. I couldn’t help myself.” She gently lowers your weak body down onto the bed. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She leans down again, and you feel her tongue pass over where she bit you. “My saliva should heal the bite by morning.”

Everything is happening slowly around you. Your eyelids are heavy and your ears are ringing. The only thing on your mind is Caitlyn. So this is the work of the venom. When you see her by your side again, squeezing a rag filled with water over a bowl, you weakly grab her wrist. “Caitlyn?” She places the cool rag on your forehead. “Please don’t speak. I might get tempted. You won’t have control of your own mind for a little while. It’s the venom. See how it can be so deadly? If I really wanted to, I could have my way with you right now and you’d be completely hypnotized.”  

“Caitlyn” you say again. It’s like the only word you can say is her name. “Yes?” “Bite me again.” She laughs and you feel her cold hand on your cheek. “I’d love to, but I think that would kill you. I already drank far more than I should have. Besides, that’s not what you really want, is it?” She lifts your wrist and checks your pulse. “Your heartbeat has slowed quite a bit. I don’t think it’d taste as good anyways. Blood tastes best when the heart beats quickly. I wonder if there’s another way I could achieve that with you. Since I’m not hunting you, your heartbeat didn't increase much.”

You’re fading in and out of consciousness, before you fall asleep completely. When you wake up, the curtains are drawn, and Caitlyn is sitting down next to your bed reading. Your head feels a lot better. It seems the venom has worn off. “Caitlyn? It’s daytime.Why are you awake? She puts down the book she was reading and responds. “Yes I suppose I should be asleep. I decided to watch over you instead. Your blood was enough to completely rejuvenate me. I could stay up for a very long time now. You look better.” She looks over you and nods. You raise your hand to your neck and feel where she bit you. Sure enough, the puncture wound is gone. It leaves a dark bruise in its wake. 

“The skin takes a little longer to fully recover, but the bite is gone as I promised.” She removes the rag from your forehead. “I went ahead and put your nightgown on. I figured you couldn’t be comfortable sleeping in that corset. You sit up instantly at that. “You undressed me?” She looks confused. “Yes? Does that bother you? I see no issue with it. Remember, I am not human, girl. I don’t feel lust like a man would.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. You’re a vampire, and you said you like human women. Surely you feel some kind of desire. All the stories say so.” She stares off into space. “Not a chance. I only appreciate the taste.” She goes back to her book. 

Caitlyn was lying through her teeth. That was one of the hardest nights of her life. She’d almost forgotten why she loved human women so much, but last night reminded her. The sight of a girl like you completely subdued by her venom, lips parted and gasping, cheeks warm and flushed, and your half-lidded eyes never looking away from her. You were practically radiating heat. Every time you called her name, Caitlyn had to hold herself back. There were times she even had to step out of the room.

You were incredibly vulnerable then, and her instincts wanted to take advantage of that. That was the purpose of her venom. Caitlyn knew you’d be under her spell for some time, but she didn’t think it would affect her this much. She’d never let someone she’d bitten live long enough to see them like that. 

“Caitlyn?” You snap her out of her memory, and she jumps. “Apologies. I was just thinking.” You reach out of the bed and tap the book in her hands. “What are you reading?” Caitlyn looks down to the book in her lap and holds it up to you. “Studies of the Human Race? That sounds boring.”

 “Really? I find you quite fascinating.” She smiles, and you feel your face heat up. “You’re reading it to find out more about me?” She makes a sound of approval. “Physically. Though I suppose the best way would to just be to talk to you.” 

Caitlyn stands up and joins you on the bed. “So, what makes your heart race?” You cock your head and hum. “What makes my heart race? Uhm… I suppose being flustered or scared.. If I’ve ran a lot or done something strenuous, that would do the trick too. Why did you ask?” She looks very serious about this topic. “To a vampire, blood tastes better when the heart is pumping faster. I don’t have a living heart to test things on, so the only way I know to speed up a pulse is by hunting my victim. I have no reason to hunt you because you’re not running. I need something to get your pulse faster.”

You both sit there contemplating this strange dilemma. “I’m not really sure what to say. Uhm, do I not taste as good with a regular pulse?” Caitlyn grabs you by the shoulders “That’s not what I meant at all! You’re fine without it, I just…the thought of what could be is quite enticing.” She acts like that was offensive to you. Her fingers find your wrist and they press down. “Hm…How interesting. Your pulse quickens when I touch you.” “It’s because you surprised me. That’s all.” Caitlyn chuckles and lets go of you. “That’s nice to know. I’ll have to try it next week.”

It’s been four days since you woke up in Caitlyn’s castle. You’re able to find your way around a little more now, but there’s still areas you haven’t even explored. You’re not as scared of Caitlyn, but a healthy fear lingers when you’re around her anyways. It’s around nine o’clock when you enter the library and find Caitlyn in a rocking chair by the fireplace. She looks up from her book. “You’re still awake?” You nod and close the door. “What are you reading?” She stands and comes closer to you. “This is a fiction novel. It’s a romance.”

“Oh…Do you enjoy romance novels?” You ask. “Not especially.” She responds.Without warning, Caitlyn lifts your palm and kisses it. Shortly after she checks your pulse. “Why did you do that?” You manage to ask despite your internal panic.“it’s something the heroine in the story got flustered by. I thought I should try it.” She smiles at you. “Seems it worked. Human women are so very easy to excite. It’s adorable.” She’s looking at you with a type of strange affection no one ever has before. 

Caitlyn returns to her rocking chair and puts the book down. “That dress looks especially beautiful on you. I like the detailing.” The dress was a blood red color with black lace detailing around your chest, hanging from your arms, and a matching ribbon in your hair. “Thank you…” You sit down on the floor next to Caitlyn’s chair to warm up by the fire. The castle is colder at night.

“How long can you last with the amount of blood you drained from me?” She looks over at you and rests one hand on your head. “Well I feed from other things too, but I gather the most strength from human blood. If I wanted to survive on it alone, then I could for maybe two weeks.” Your curiosity for vampires was finally getting its answers. “Really? I’ve always found your kind quite fascinating.” You reply. “As have I.” You sit there in silence as she gently plays with your hair while reading. 

Around half an hour later, Caitlyn speaks again. “Humans aren’t nocturnal. It’s getting late. I enjoy your company, but I understand if you need to rest, darling.” You tell her goodnight and go to your room. When you’ve settled into the bed, your thoughts drift back to Caitlyn. She called you darling… 

It’s been days since she fed off of you, so this can’t be the venom. When you first woke up in this castle, you thought you were as good as dead. Caitlyn is surprisingly kind, and quite charming. She has the manners of a woman of noble birth.

A girl like you would have never imagined herself in such a situation. You wondered if your family missed you. If your father regretted leaving you here. Your life was so normal before this. Lazy mornings at the market, helping your parents with their work, and watching as the villagers rallied around burnt vampire corpses, and wore their fangs as jewelry.

There’s a knock at your door before Caitlyn enters. “Tomorrow, I’ll feed from you again. Just prepare yourself.” She closes your door. So it’s tomorrow… 

That day, you get dressed in an elegant yet casual dress. It’s a beautiful royal blue color, with black accents. The necklace you find in your dresser has that same emblem with the two keys. You put it on and admire how intricate it is. After eating a breakfast Caitlyn left out for you, you spend the day flipping though books. One of them is a journal titled “The Kiramman Vampire.” On the cover is the two keys again. Curiously, you read through the notes of research. 

Some things you already knew are scribbled down. Things like her wound healing saliva, the venom, and more. One particular passage catches your eye.

 “Vampires from the Kiramman family only fall in love once. They mate for life.”

  You would have thought vampires couldn’t feel love, but it seems you were wrong. Deciding to read more later, you bring the book to your room. 

You stayed up quite late, and you’re feeling tired. Because of this, you find yourself napping through the rest of the day. You wake up at dusk. Caitlyn is probably awake by now. You stay on your bed while flipping through the journal, until you hear your door open. Putting the book under your pillow, you turn on your side to see it’s Caitlyn. Today she’s  wearing a heavy cape with a collar that goes up to her chin. Under it is a black frilly blouse.

“Is it time?” She nods. “Do you want me to sit up?” She walks over to your bed. “No that’s fine. Stay as you are.” You stay on your back, and wait for her. When she gets on top of you, effectively pinning you down, you feel your heart beat faster. Just like last time, she holds your hand too. She feels your cheek for warmth, and lowers her head to your bosom. “Your heart is beating faster... Do you like this? Or maybe you’re scared.” You don’t speak, so Caitlyn lifts her head and brushes your hair from your neck. Suddenly she stops moving completely. “Caitlyn?” You call her name to see if anything is wrong. 

“…You’re wearing my crest.” She sounds amused. You remember the necklace with that emblem on it. The one you’re wearing. “Your crest? Oh! It’s a family crest! I found the necklace and thought it was pretty, so I put it on. I didn’t know…” She laughs “do you know what this looks like? She leans down to your ear. “It looks like you officially belong to me.”

Caitlyn kisses the side of your neck before sinking her teeth in. She sucks harder when you make a small sound of pain.You can feel the venom attacking your mind, and your body suddenly becomes heavy. You lift a hand to touch the back of Caitlyn’s head, but it takes every ounce of your strength. “Cait…” 

The strange, painful pleasure numbs your senses. Her hand squeezes yours tighter, and she hums in pleasure. When you feel Caitlyn’s teeth pulling out, you whine in pain. “I’m sorry, love…It’ll feel better soon…” She licks the wound left behind and stays on the bed next to you.

“How are you feeling?” The venom is making everything hazy. You lazily grab Caitlyn’s hand and bring it to your neck. “You should…. Do it again..” Caitlyn ignores your intoxicated response and plays with your necklace instead. When you lean into her touch, making her cup your cheek, she just looks at you sort of dumbfounded.

“You’re a very strange girl” She comments. “You must still be hungry. You should take more blood.” Your words slur and stick together. Caitlyn ignores you and keeps talking. “You were only frightened for the first few days or so. Now look at you. Cuddling up to me like a house cat. This is the second time I’ve fed off of you, and you already seem so comfortable here.”

“I like it here.” For once, you give a response unaffected by the venom. “My life was…boring before this. I’ve always wanted to meet a vampire. I’ve thought they were fascinating ever since I was a little girl. You want more blood right? Take more. Drain me completely..” Caitlyn stands and opens the curtains, letting the moonlight in. “That’s kind of you to say. I’m not hungry anymore though, and you’re completely under the influence of my venom. Rest. I’ll come back and check on you.”

Caitlyn leans down and kisses the healing wound on your neck before leaving. Sleep pulled your eyelids shut. The sound of rain beginning to tap against the windows gently, the gentle creaking of castle settling lulls you to a peaceful, yet intoxicated sleep.  

[professorsnape394]

Seducing Mr Malfoy

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Reader Rating: 🥵 Summary: Lucius teaches his son how to properly treat a woman.

A/N: First time ever writing for Lucius. Please let me know what you all think of it!

Warnings: Violence (one instance of Domestic abuse?). Smut. Slapping kink. Degradation kink. Voyeurism. Oral (male receiving).

Word Count: 2569

Credits to Gif Creator.

Since his divorce Lucius had been living the high life as one of the wealthiest bachelors of the Wizarding World. Having been with Narcissa since leaving school he had never had much opportunity to sow his oats and truly explore the litany of woman at his disposal. It seemed now, that he was able to have whoever he wanted for however long he wanted; women loved a man in power, and Lucius had an abundance of it.

His son, Draco, on the other hand, was not coping quite so well in the absence of his mother, taking inspiration from his father to plough through a number of young witches’ keen to experience a taste of the Malfoy life, but never quite seeming satisfied by any of them.

Frustratingly, the kind of life Lucius led also required him to put in the work to retain his prestigious position at the Ministry of Magic. Which is what led him to working over the weekend in his home office, depriving him of the much-needed female attention he had quickly become addicted to.

Scribbling away furiously at his desk, Lucius was eager to finish his work and hit the town, leaving his son the privacy of the Manor to entertain his new girlfriend. Lucius usually never took an interest in the revolving door of young witches that passed through his house on the arm of his son, but his most recent girl had caught his attention on a number of occasions this week.

The first time Lucius saw her was fleeting. As he headed out the door as Draco was coming home, the young lady stopped him in his tracks. Usually, he would have ignored the woman, greeting his son with a brief nod before disappearing out the door, but something about her confidence to address him, intrigued him.  

“Mr Malfoy.” She greeted, stopping firmly at his feet.  “Y/N L/N. It’s a Pleasure to finally meet you.”

She held out her hand for him to take. He quirked an eyebrow at the firmness of her grip, impressed by her boldness.

“And you.” He stated simply, crushing her hand and flicking his gaze over her face.

While her clothing was similar to any other woman that he encountered these days; short and low cut. Her features drew him in unlike anyone ever had. Her doe like eyes made her look innocent, but the crimson shade on her lips told a different story altogether. Lucius could see why his son had chosen such a rare beauty.

She gazed up at him through a curtain of thick lashes, refusing to be the one to let go first.

“Hurry up.” Draco snapped, yanking her by the arm. “I didn’t bring you here to make small talk with my father.”

“I apologise for taking up your time, Mr Malfoy. I hope I see you again.” She flashed him a smile, idly nibbling on her plump bottom lip.

Lucius’ gaze latched on her mouth once more, finding it hard to drag himself away.

Finally, Draco stormed off, leaving the witch to scurry after him. Lucius couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips as she sashayed her way up the grand staircase.

~

The second time he encountered Y/N, he heard her before he saw her.

After a long day at the office, Lucius crashed onto his bed exhausted, not even bothering to change out of his suit.

He awoke hours later, feeling groggy and uncomfortable. It was one of the rare nights he missed having his wife around to take care of him. Attempting to drown away the thoughts of his ex, Lucius poured himself a glass of aged whiskey and strolled to the bathroom to shower stresses of the day away.

It was on his return from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, that his ears pricked up at a sound from down the hall.

“Oh God, oh God.” The woman’s muffled moan echoed out the room.

His son’s voice murmured a string of curses, followed by the sound of a hard slap. This seemed to only spurred the witch on; her moans turning from high pitched and fast, to long a long and throaty groan.

Lucius’ feet carried him towards the door without thought, finding it slightly ajar.

“Fuck. Please Draco.” She begged.

Another few harsh slaps sent the woman overboard. She reached her climax in a series of pants and whines, her voice growing louder as she came.

Lucius slowed his breathing, recklessly approaching the threshold. His dick had quickly become painfully hard, the friction of his tip rubbing against the towel driving him mad with desire. Taking a sip of his half-finished whiskey, Lucius dared peak through the crack in the door.

His eyes quickly landed on bed, the woman lying face up, panting breathlessly. Her bare chest rising and falling erratically with each breath. Lucius’ gaze roamed her naked body, stroking himself roughly over the fabric of the towel. His attention quickly turned to Y/N’s face, flushed with colour, cheeks burning red from the smack of Draco’s hand and her mascara had run down her face with tears. Lucius might have been worried she was in pain, were it not for the wild grin spreading from cheek to cheek.

In an instant Draco grabbed her roughly by her hair, flipping her body until she was lying face down on the mattress, ass perfectly positioned up. Lucius took a step away from the door, just in time to see the girl turning her head in his direction, staring mindlessly at the door while Draco rutted into her from behind. The older Malfoy watched on quietly from the shadows, alternating between sipping on his drink and tugging himself sore at the sight of Y/N’s eyes rolling back in her head.

Returning to his room, Lucius felt both dirty and unsatisfied, having not had the courage to finish himself off at risk of his son hearing his feral grunts. Putting his moment of impulsiveness down to feeling lonely and overworked, Lucius retired to his bed for the night, but not before downing the rest of the bottle of whiskey he kept on his dresser.

The following morning Lucius awoke with a pounding headache and an incredibly dry throat. Memories of the night before flooded his brain. He expected to feel shame over his actions, but instead he found himself replaying the images and the sounds of the woman over in his head, wishing he had been the one to illicit that kind of reaction from her. At risk of developing another erection, he forced himself out of bed, wandering down to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water.

A tortured groan slipped past Lucius lips at the sight he stumbled upon in his kitchen.

Y/N stood alone in the middle of his kitchen, wearing only a pair small pair of gym shorts and a crop top, stretching to reach one of the higher cabinets, placing her body perfectly on show for him to gawk at. Lucius’ eyes raked over her body, lasering in on her perky little ass and reminiscing on how completely edible she looked bent over last night.

“You know we have House Elves that can get that for you.” He finally spoke, leaning idly on the kitchen island.

The girl jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning on a heel to face him.

“Mr Malfoy. I didn’t hear you come down.” The view of her front was just as good; her breasts spilling over the neckline of her tight top, hard nipples on show from the chilly air that circulated the Manor.

“Mmm.” He hummed appreciatively. “I can be quite discreet when it serves me.”

“I noticed.” She stated plainly, staring directly into his eyes.

Lucius quirked an eyebrow stunned by her acknowledgment. Pushing himself from the counter, he slowly stalked towards her.

“Is that so?”

“You think I was being that loud for your son’s benefit?” She moved in closer, battling her long lashes at him as they came practically chest to chest.

“Speaking of Draco, where is my son?”

“He’s still asleep, probably won’t be up for hours yet.”

“Mmm.” Lucius hummed again, reaching out to brush a thumb along her lips. “Then is it a shame?”

“A shame, Mr Malfoy?” The girl searched his face for any insight into his thoughts.

“A shame I have to be heading into the office this morning.”

Y/N face fell at his words. Lucius took the woman’s chin between two fingers, tilting her gaze up to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be so loud, next time. He’ll think you’re enjoying it far too much.”

And with that Lucius disappeared from the room, leaving Y/N alone in the kitchen, squeezing her legs to fight off the quickly developed ache between her legs.  

~

The next time he saw Y/N enough time had passed that she had been on Lucius’ mind more often than appropriate for his son’s new girlfriend. Draco hadn’t brought her home in a few days and Lucius was starting to miss the sweet sounds that he liked to get himself off to every night that week.

Returning home from yet another tough day at work; Lucius ditched his coat at the door and headed straight for his whiskey cabinet, ready to drown himself in thoughts of her. He made it half way to the kitchen before his attention was drawn elsewhere. Soft cries floated through the house; a familiar voice pleading through broken sobs.

His sons voice; harsh and indignant, had him charging up the stairs.

“I said; Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” The younger of the Malfoy men, pushed the woman roughly to the ground; her knees smashing sorely onto the hardwood floors.

“Draco.” She sniffled, tears steaming down her face. The smile that once brightened her face long forgotten.

“Disobedient Bitch.” He spat.

With his heavily ringed right hand, Draco backhanded Y/N across the face.

The woman gasped from the force, quickly covering her cheek to ease the pressure.

Using his cane to catch onto his son’s collar, Lucius dragged his son away from Y/N.

“Draco.” He hissed into the boy’s ear, crushing his shoulder under his tight grip. “What exactly is going on here.”

Lucius dared to flick his eyes down to the woman now hunched over on the ground.

“She likes it.” He snapped back. “She gets off on shit like this; she’s sick.”

“It doesn’t look like she is enjoying it to me.”

“It’s none of your- “

“SILENCE.” Lucius commanded his son. “I thought I taught you to treat women better than this.”

He stepped slowly in Y/N’s direction, stopping just in front of her knees. He took her face in his hand, tilting her chin to look up at him as he had done the last time they met.

“A woman like this deserves the utmost care and attention. She should be worshipped. Not beaten to the ground like a common Elf.” He used his thumb to wipe away her tears, gently stroking the bright red imprint on her cheek.

“If that is something you do not understand, then you do not deserve to have her at all. She deserves more. Someone who understands the nuances of women. Someone who will treat her like a Queen during the day; and punish her like the slut she is at night.”

Y/N’s wicked grin returned, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as she pictured Lucius doing everything to her that he just promised. Her eyes dropped forward to his crotch; it didn’t come as a surprise to her that he was already hard just from seeing her on her knees like this.

“Is that what you want, Darling?”

She liked the dryness from her lips, blinking up at him through teary eyes and nodded.

Lucius reached for the buckle of his belt, starting to undo the fastening of his trousers.

“Leave us, Draco.”

“But Father.” The boy stuttered, dumbfounded by the situation unfolding before him.

“I said LEAVE. Unless you want to feel the sting of my hand across your face.”

The boy stumbled from the room, leaving his father and girlfriend alone in the thick silence of the Manor.

Y/N leaned into Lucius’ touch as he cupped her cheek and finished undoing his belt.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week.”

Lucius groaned at her words, putting his hand down his unzipped trousers, easing some of the tension in his boxers.

“Don’t tell me you were thinking of me the whole time you were fucking my good-for-nothing son.”

“What if I told you I was only fucking him to get to you. That every night I made sure to moan loud enough for you to hear in the hopes that you would burst through the door and take me just for yourself. I wanted you to show him how it was done, how I sounded when I came all over your cock.”

“Mmm. Draco was right about one thing; you are sick.”

“What if I told you I got tired of waiting. That I came here tonight with the intention of seducing you.” She paused before deciding whether to continue. “I told Draco I was ending things with him tonight.”

Understanding dawned on Lucius.

“Is that why he was acting that way? Because you broke it off with him.”

Y/N nodded, dropping her gaze.

“That boy is not used to being told ‘no’. He never deserved you.”

“Let’s not talk about Draco anymore. He’s taken up more of my time than I would ever want.”

Y/N ran her hands up Lucius’ thighs, jumping up to her knees again.

“Ready, Sweetheart?”

Lucius pulled his dick from his trousers, pumping himself roughly in front of her lips, precum already dripping from his tip.

Y/N stuck her tongue out eagerly, licking the length of his slit clean. Lucius removed his hands allowing, Y/N to take charge.

Watching her wrap her lips around his cock, Lucius hissed at the contact.

Almost instantly she gagged from the size of him hitting the back of her throat.

“Relax.” He ordered. “Take your time.”

Y/N sat back on her haunches, this time taking him slowly into her mouth. She swirled her tongue leisurely around his tip, making sure he was fully lubricated before sucking him up an inch at a time.

Good Girl.” He hummed, tipping her chin up again, wanting to maintain eye contact with her.

Lucius kept his hands on either side of her face, gently guiding her movements. She bobbed her head rhythmically, savouring every second of finally tasting him in her mouth.

“Keep going, Darling, that feels incredible.” Lucius encouraged.

“Mmmm.”

Y/N whined, finally feeling his tip hit the back of her throat, threatening to surpass the boundary. She rubbed her thighs together but to no avail, the throbbing ache that had started between her legs would not be so easily satiated. Delving her fingers beneath the band of her underwear Y/N slipped her fingers between her folds, focusing on rubbing circles around her clit.

“You have no patience.” Lucius scolded, eyes lowering on her body. “You’ll get what you need soon enough.”

Lucius pulled Y/N to her feet, his cock coming out his mouth with a pop.

“How about I show you exactly what I have been dreaming about all week?”

Her doe eyes slanted seductively at his words.

“Lead the way, Mr Malfoy.”

. . . Taglist:

@pear-1206

[romanoffsbish]

A Change in Routine

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!R

Warnings: Angst to Fluff (Hurt-Comfort) | Retired Hero Guilt | Neglect | Arguing |

When Wanda lets the public opinion get to her, the distance her emotions created proves a threat to your love, and eventually your safety—can the witch mitigate the damage? | WC: 3.1k

The sound of rain pelting against your rooftop window woke you from your sleep rather suddenly, you gasped on your spit and reached out to your side to find cold sheets. After your eyes sluggishly opened you could see, and now hear, that it was actually hailing outside.

A sad chuckle left you as you felt the iciness you'd held at bay for a month now spread throughout your chest.

The woman you loved with all of your heart, who'd spent every night entangled with you since she moved in had not made it to bed last night. In the beginning it was actually you who teased her about never sleeping alone, you'd called her clingy with obvious adoration and she said she'd sleep where she felt most at peace.

Did she no longer find safety in your loving arms?

——-

This weird feeling of loneliness struck you, because yes this was her first night in three years sleeping without you, but it wasn't the beginning of her abrupt distance. The energy between you both shifted two months ago, and you were frustratedly looking for the reason why.

Which was impossible since she barely spoke to you.

You knew where she was, downstairs in her bedroom, where she'd really only set up an art studio for her to use in her downtime now that's she retired the suit. A daybed was placed in there so you could visit and she could nap whenever she pleased. Which was also usually with you, her head in your lap as you hummed along to a tune inside your mind, lost yourself in some mediocre sapphic romcom; predictably comforting.

Though, she never knew that when she fell asleep you'd put that book down and just admire her face. A hand gently brushing the tangled waves, painted in shades of crinkled green and blue, behind her ear so that you could catch a glance of her lightly flushed cheeks, it was late Spring after all and she naturally ran warm.

Usually, well as of late, she was holed up in there all day, only leaving to collect mugs of coffee—Wanda hated the drink and always scolded Natasha for it.

"You're going to have a heart attack, Romanoff."

The redhead would smirk. "I could use a good thrill."

You missed when your very own redhead would sip on her mug of green tea, while Nat visited and told you what she could about what's been going on back at the tower. Usually stories about the men acting up and her putting them in their place—just like she would you two now but it'd been awhile since you'd had her over. When Wanda started to shut you out you'd done the same to everyone, feeling a bit too off kilter to talk.

Now you lay in bed, stuck in tumultuous thoughts, left unaware of the crack in the window above you. Well, until it shattered and you were greeted with ice pelting into your skin hard enough for you to scream in pain as shards of glass accompanied it and left some marks. A burdened sigh left you when you realized that would likely attract the one person you didn't want to see.

In a matter of a minutes time, where you continued to lay there and allowed the ice and water to pelt you just so you could feel something, Wanda came running in. Taking in the scene with a frazzled expression, she stood frozen for a second as your hurt eyes met hers.

Then, with a brisk flick of her wrist the manifestation of your emotions disappeared. It'd been over a year since your powers couldn't contain themselves; you were hurting and Wanda pretended not to know why.

"Baby," Wanda cried out frantically, "what's wrong?"

You rushed back on the bed and refused to let her touch you, the rain might be gone but the effects of your powers remained, pieces of ice melting on your already drenched skin but her heart stuttered at the mistrust in your eyes. She was feigning cluelessness and something about that look in her eye set you off.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," you laughed somberly, "but I can't think of anything worse than your touch."

"Y/N," she choked on her hurt; you were being cruel.

"No," you cut her off, "I have a right to my feelings."

"As do I," she threw back defensively and you sighed, already knowing that this was going nowhere. "Mhm." Gently, your feet slid into your house slippers and you quietly made your way to the bathroom. Wanda heard the shower running and screamed into your wet pillow.

This response was what chronic sleep deprivation looks like, Wanda supposed. There was so much guilt swirling inside of her most days that she just couldn't sleep. Which was ludicrous honestly, because all she ever needed to do was talk to you, and she'd be righted. There in turn is why she hadn't yet, because you would give her a reassurance she didn't feel she deserved.

Most nights, as of late, she'd get about two hours of sleep before the need to punish herself returned. At about two in the morning she would slip off to her studio, then around six she would return to your side. Last night though, she couldn't even stomach laying beside you, she felt like such an undeserving failure.

The problem she faced was simple, remorse for the dormant life you both lived together. It was perfect until she caught wind of an alien attack and the news articles to follow, "Scarlet Witch and Illusion MIA." Said article went on, in detail, about how selfish you were both being to abandon the world of civilians when you had powers the 'normies' only ever dreamed of.

It was unfair, truly, as you'd given up your childhoods to be forged into these monsters but willingly folded into the side of good as soon as the opportunity arose. Yet the world could only see you two as ingrates, as if you were not regular people before science made you, and just as deserving of a peaceful, domesticated life.

Wanda sighed, completely ready to jump up and go after you but her body refused to comply the longer she laid in your marital bed, your scent far too comforting. Her body melted further into the messy sheets that still held your warmth amongst the water, heart panicked as she wondered if this would be the end of your love, but she just couldn't help it as her eyes fluttered closed.

When you stumbled out of the bathroom an hour later, dressed for the day, you were startled by Wanda's face. Not that you were put off by it, but just that you were shocked to see her, usually she'd have stormed on out. Instead, she was snoring like she hadn't slept in a year, and at closer observation you wondered if it were true.

"Oh Max," you sighed sympathetically, fingers gentle as they brushed some hair from her tired face, then you leaned in to faintly kiss her forehead. "I wish you would stop hiding from me baby; I miss you terribly..."

With her pale skin, and bags more noticeable you set off to find a source for her turmoil. A short jaunt later and you were stood outside of her room, there had never been a reason to enter without her before, so you were a bit nervous to do so—were you crossing a line?

The more you thought about it all, the less inclined you were to care as you would rather upset her than let her continue to live in this constant state of anger and subsequent avoidance. It was threatening everything you two spent so long building and you were far too determined to not let it take your sweet love away.

There was no lock to get through, so you cautiously swung the door open and nearly fell to your knees. "Oh God." It was truly a horrific sight, every canvas that lined the wall of a person she likely felt she had failed. You easily recognized them as civilian casualties from recent attacks, it puzzled you why she clung to them when she wasn't apart of the mission. It was morbid.

One half of each individual's canvas portrayed them as happy—full of a life they no longer had, and then the other half was them frowning with black, voided eyes that were repeatedly marked over, scarred; hopeless is all you felt deep down as you stared at the blur of faces.

You honestly couldn't help but shudder as you walked further into the emotionally charged space, it was an endless stream of canvases, and you felt nauseous. A trembling hand touched one of the painted faces, feeling as she used a raised paint to create the scars.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you shifted to face her, there was a terrifying look in her eyes as if you'd been an enemy and not her wife. "What is all of this, Wanda?"

"None of your business," she bit back venomously but you could see she was just scared to face it. "I think anything that hurts my wife is in fact my business."

Wanda faltered slightly, then said, "your wife is fine."

You laughed bitterly, "the fuck she is—what is this?" Wanda flinched as you threw your arms out and gestured to all of the morbid pieces of her artwork. Just as equally as her next word was, "punishment."

"What?" You barely whispered as your heart shattered. She caught you off guard, leaving the room suspended in silence as you weighed out what to even do, and after a moment of processing you surged forward and yanked her into your arms and held her there firmly. "I'm not sure what happened to make you feel like you were at fault here, but you weren't—we're retired."

"That's the problem," she yelled and you flinched back, nearly knocking one of the unfinished paintings down but she caught it with her powers and glowered. "Get out of here Y/N, I didn't invite you into my safe space."

"Oh," you countered softly, she could see your heart shatter and Wanda wanted to take her words back. The witch was seconds away from approaching you to take it back, if she even could, but then the room shook.

"Y/N?" You looked at her with fearful eyes, not really sure what was going on, you felt hollow. "I don't know what to do," you squeaked, body shaking as you tried so hard to process everything that was happening, it was all so unnatural and sudden, you were panicking. Wanda's heart shriveled up and she felt sick to her stomach at the sight of you, stood beneath a cloud, then it shifted into something that terrified her as a black portal of sorts began to emerge from behind.

"Y-Y/N/N," she called gently, "you need to calm down please just breathe for me baby, okay? Slow, steady."

"Wanda, I-I feel so weird," you were really dizzy, the witch watched you sway softly just before you fell limp. Then just as she went to fight your reality bending with her pure chaos the hole began to suck everything in the room—her morbid canvases, art supplies, you. This manifestation of your fear and the innate need to make Wanda feel better were too strong at this stage for her to neutralize, instead she could only mitigate damage.

It was an easy choice to make as she used her powers to keep you from being taken to whatever hell your energy had opened up. Swirls of red wrapped around you, she struggled but managed to pull you into her arms where she held you tight until you'd calmed.

Eventually, once all the proof of her self assigned punishment was gone, the hole faded into nothingness. You were both left on the floor, which was messed up by strewn about art supplies but she didn't care at all. Wanda's only concern was you, her fingertips gently ran over the fresh cuts on your arms, guilt threatening to swallow her whole alongside the anxiety she now felt. For putting you in such a state of distress, one that might have cost her you, her actual safest place. She honestly couldn't figure out why she said those words.

Wanda's heart didn't stop beating fast until your eyelids began to twitch, and she could trace the movements of your eye beneath. It had taken two hours, where she sat in silent observation, until soon enough she saw that beautiful shade she adored most in the world. She half sobbed, half laughed, the sound a clear mix between her relief, remorse and anxiety.

Just as she expected, just a look of worry from you and she was putty to your loving gaze. "We should talk." Wanda nodded, then jumped right on in. "I read an article about us recently, and it really messed me up."

Understanding washed over you instantaneously, you'd read it too, so you quickly sat up against your better judgment to get closer and got more than you bargained for as you fell forward, right into your wife's rumbling chest. Wanda smiled and shifted until she could cradle your body, you were sat between her legs but she wanted you closer too. Between choosing you or her clinging to her guilt, well, the grief she'd have felt if she lost you would outweigh all of her prior loss.

The somberness returned, because she'd never think twice about her decision but she still felt such immense guilt, it was unfair—to you, to her and your shared life. A comforted smile bloomed across her face as you lovingly wiped her tears away with gentle fingertips.

"We earned this life, baby," you softly reminded her, "Too many times I have nearly lost you Wanda, and I couldn't bear it if I lose you now when I finally know what it's like to love you without fear. I feel for those innocent people, I always do; but we didn't kill them."

"What if my powers saved even one of them?" You stood firm in your convictions. "What if it was worse?"

"What do you mean?" Wanda questioned without accusation, just a need to understand. "I just nearly sent myself into oblivion, what if I'm on a mission and did that to the civilians? I can't go back to that life and I can't worry about you. My anxiety is out of control the older I get, and my powers follow the stream."

"Oh honey," Wanda shifted until you were laying on her chest, then she snapped you both onto her daybed, her hand calmingly soothed down your back as she just let you cry and appreciated that your powers cut her a break this time around and let you just feel the pain. Tears streamed down her temples, soaking into her roots as she felt your pain so immensely, with you.

"I want peace and I think we've earned it after so many saves. Wanda, you never knew what it was like to live a life without pain, you never knew peace. Embrace it."

"It's hard," she admitted, but she also felt it easing the longer she felt the pressure of your love as she held you. "I'll do it though, for you my dearest love I'd do anything, even burn the world down to the ground."

"You are so confusing," you teased, her words a direct contradiction to her prior turmoil. Then you softly kissed her skin and whispered, "get some sleep."

Wanda shifted once again until you were lying on your sides, facing each other so you could see her smile just before her lips pressed to yours. It was a tender moment shared, with the potential for more but you were also right, so she pulled back to nuzzle into you, where you met her with your arms wrapping around her, one hand stroking her hair to provide comfort.

As soon as you heard a soft snore you pulled out your cell and sloppily texted with your free hand and thanked Friday for her revisions. Hey, you free?!

🕷️: Is it really you, or is all just an illusion? 🤔

Haha, very funny Widow. I missed you too... 💕

🕷️: What'd you need me to do? Please say break bones. I'll also take shooting at Tony for sport.

😳 your insatiable bloodlust is concerning, Tasha...

Also, 😗

🕷️: mhm, that's what I thought.

You continued talking for a few minutes, filling the woman in on the journalist who hurt Wanda and she was quick to plan his demise. Then you politely asked your seething friend to just scare him half to death versus her original plan of introducing him to the reaper himself. The assassin promised she would take care of things and you returned the favor with a dinner invite for the following weekend before looking down.

"You're just so beautiful," you sighed dreamily and the redhead smiled, you knew she was still fast asleep but could, on some magical level hear you, so now it visualized. It was easy to get lost in your wife's beauty, especially in moments where she was at peace like this. Even with the traces of insomnia on her features she still held the beauty to outshine anyone in a crowd.

After a long moment of admiring you slipped her off your arm and made your way upstairs to clean the bed. You'd been hopeful that she was tired enough to stay asleep, but after only half an hour you heard the creeks of your wooden stairs, then the door flew wide open. Wanda's eyes were red rimmed and you immediately enveloped her in your arms, "why are you crying?"

"I-I," she couldn't vocalize it, but you knew what she was thinking as soon as her hands fisted into your shirt, there was a fear in her eyes that you quelled with a firm kiss and a tug of her body into yours. "I'm not going to leave Wanda, we talked it out, we're okay."

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, again, and all you did was move your connected bodies to the fresh grey sheets. "I know baby." Wanda's frame melted into yours, and she sobbed into your neck until she once again fell asleep.

Things were far from perfect, you knew Wanda would need to adjust to being free without guilt, but for now, with her back in your arms, you could accept things.

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Knight

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader Reader - Visenya Hightower (Daughter of Rhaenyra and Wife of Gwayne) Rating - 15 Word Count - 1715

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch, me again! Can I request again in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? I really love the Oscar Tully I requested, how you write it is simply divine! But now I’d like to request a Gwayne Hightower story. Wherein he is married to Rhaenyra’s sister named “Visenya” (many years after Alicent’s marriage to Viserys) to have a stronger bond between Hightower and Targaryen. But the thing is that they both resided in Old Town. They both had their first child, a girl the same age as Daeron and now expecting another one. No spice please, just Gwayne being the best husband and father ever, being really clingy and touchy, showering sweet words and kisses to his wife exactly like a simp haha. I am a million times grateful if you do this request, thank you! <33

Gwayne rides into the stables, pulling up and dismounting his horse bag slung over his shoulder. He tries to hurry his way inside fast and easy but finds the Maester pestering him as he walks

"Ser, Ser, A raven from your sister," The short man bobbles about following Gawyne around the yard,

Gwayne lets out a sigh, “What does my sister want?”

"She requests for you to take coach and begin the road to king's landing, Ser."

Gwayne grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “By the gods do I need to spell it out for her… no. I am not going to Kings Landing.”

"But Ser-" He began,

Gwayne held up his hand, stopping the man there. “What part of “no” are you unable to comprehend? I will not be going to that viper’s nest, I do not care for how much my sister begs and nags, nothing she can say will change my mind.” Gawyne sighed once more, "I will not risk such a movement, I will not do it. Visenya could begin her labours any day I will not risk taking her on the road in her condition much less to Kings Landing just to please my sister. Visenya will remain here, in our bed-chamber, with her maids and maesters while we wait for the baby. and I will be here. By her side."

The Maester began to argue more but at this,

“Do. Not. Push. Me.” Gwayne turned to face him, a growl upon his lips.

the Maester froze like a deer in the headlights at this, his legs going still and his lip quivering slightly as he nodded his head. The maester grumbled but relented, knowing he was not going to get any further than that, “Very well, ser, I shall inform your sister… again.”

Gwayne let out a scoff, running a hand through his hair in a bout of frustration. “I would not waste your birds on my sister… I’m certain she has a mind to flay you alive if you say “no” once more.” Gwayne heads inside the Hightower, heading up the many stairs to his chambers, already he felt a giddy smile as he opened the door.

The balcony doors open letting a soft breeze blow in from the sunset sea, the sweet canopy bed shaded by wooden screens. And there she lay Visenya his beloved wife. Long hair messy from her rest, wearing only her long white nightgown and her socks, her baby bump ripe and ready to pop any day. She hums softly as she slowly sews little baby clothes.

Gwayne stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her with a soft smile. He thanked the gods she was his, and questioned whatever luck he had been given for the brief time just to call her his own. He could have watched her forever, until Oldtown and the Hightower sank into the sea. But he moved further into the room, closing the doors behind him. He sets his bag down beside the bed, walking over and sitting on the edge. He looks at her sewing before his eyes move up to her face, his smile only growing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, then her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, then her jaw, then her collar, then her chest, then her bump, where he finally stops. He reaches out, resting his hand on her belly, rubbing it softly with a gentle smile. “Are you working on the clothes again, my love?”

she nodded "Mhm, I made our little knight some little socks to warm his tiny toes,"

Gwayne chuckled softly, grinning at the thought of their child and their tiny little toes ripe for kisses and tickles, “How shall our little night shall be to have such tiny socks, why I could fit the whole knight in my sock,”

“And poison the poor lad,” she joked,

“You are cruel to me my love,” he teased giving her another kiss, “You know not yet if it is a boy or girl, love…”

"No, we shall have to be surprised."

Gwayne smiled softly, taking her hand in one of his and intertwining their fingers. “Indeed, though regardless, I’m certain they will be a gorgeous and strong child. They have us as parents, after all…”

she nodded with a giggle in agreement,

“And I spent the day in the Old Town gardens and I gathered you enough Moonblooms for a whole batch of soap.” He cooed glancing to his bag, “As soon as your hungry let me know and I will make it myself for you,”

“Thank you darling,” she cooed, "What did the maester want, he came looking for you earlier"

Gwayne let out a sigh, he laid down resting his head on her bump in such a way he could still look at her face, “Ummm have I ever told you how beautiful you are,”

“Yes you have,” she smiled, “Maseter… wanted… what?” She reminds,

“You know just staggeringly beautiful,”

“Gwayne!” she complained, “Don’t just avoid the topic,” She warns, “You are causing me distress,” She teased rubbing her belly,

“More ravens from my sister, demanding my presence in Kings’ Landing… I once again refused, I will not take you on the road with you in your current state. It is not fair to you, nor the babe.”

"You know she will not stop her asking until she feels the babe in her arms"

He let out another sigh, “I do not care how many ravens she sends, I will continue to refuse her. I will not risk you or our baby for my sister’s whims.” he explained, “It is three months ride to kings landing, swiftly and you are in no condition to travel for that long, let along be on any swift movements. Our babe will be born by the time we arrive and I will not risk you and our baby’s health to have your labours in the back of a coach. No. You will be here. With all the citadel’s maesters to aid you, all your handmaidens. And I by your side. In your own bed, with your own views, Visenya,” he took her hand in his holding it to his chest,

"But don't you want to take your beautiful wife, swollen heavy with your babe to court to show off?" she teased

Gwayne chuckled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it.

“While seeing you in court would be wonderful, you are more important then any lords, ladies or my sister. You are my wife, my love, my Visenya.”

He shifted once more so he was lying partially on top of her, his body mostly on her side, his head now against her torso. He wrapped his arms around her waist, He listened to the sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart, and most importantly the sound of the little pitter-patter of their child’s own delicate little heartbeat. Everything was perfect, here in this moment in his mind, often he whispered sweet cooes to her and peppered her with kisses telling her and their baby how much he adores them,

Suddenly the door to the chamber flies open

"Did I miss it!" Lianna yelled in panic, standing at the door in her green gown, fresh from her library session with her cousin Daeron,

Gwayne nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden shout from the doorway, not expecting his daughter’s sudden appearance. The surprise was soon replaced with a sigh and a chuckled at the girl’s question. “Miss what, Lianna?”

"My baby brother!" She bolted over jumping onto their bed with excitement

Gwayne chuckled, shaking his head, his hands going to her little arms to prevent her from accidentally moving the bed too hard, knowing Visenya needed to be on her back most of the time these days. “Lianna, you’ve asked this every day for two months, and it’s always the same answer. Your brother has not arrived yet.”

"Why not?"

Gwayne sighed, smiling at his impatient, and at times, irritatingly stubborn daughter. “Because these things take time, sweetling. Give it another month or two, you’ll have your baby brother to dote on and bother all the time.”

lianna nodded, and pulled a bundle of flowers from her back "For you mama," She offered the flowers to Visenya,

"Awww thank you my sweet girl," she cooed taking the flowers from her, setting them in a vase beside the bed with the flowers’ Lianna brought her yesterday, but keeping one out to rub on her belly to soothe the little baby within,

Gwayne scooted over, The sight made him smile. Lianna was so sweet, though a handful at times. “Those are beautiful Lianna, you did well with them,”

“Lianna, would you like to feel your sibling move? I can feel our little knight right now…”

Lianna immediately came to rest her hands on Visenya's belly "I feel him! I feel him!"

Gwayne chuckled softly, watching Lianna rest her hands on her mother’s belly, a smile upon her face. He reached out, gently resting his own hand over Visenya’s stomach, smiling at the feeling of their child moving around in there. He could practically feel Lianna’s excitement, and he smiled softly at their daughter’s enthusiasm for the little one.

Visenya chuckled, placing her own hand over her Gwaynes, both of them now resting on her stomach.

“See? He’s a little knight indeed. He has been very active lately, moving around in there quite a lot.”

“Umm, I think he is almost ready to join us,” He smiled,

“I think so too,” 

[diejager]

Imagine that the hybrid 141 was getting a teammate and that teammate was a hybrid and Laswell wanted it to be a surprise for the team what they are as in hybrid was and soon as they get off the aircraft and onto the tarmac, the boys realize that they’re with another dragon hybrid and her “heat” would be soon upon her (dark blue in to black better for stealth or, whatever you prefer, she also has her wings) how would the boys handle that you can take the story anyway you want 

This… I might make it self-indulging because this idea has been clawing at the back of my mind for a long while. Cw: mating/heat cycle, fire/water magic, tell me if I missed any.

Laswell had Price wait for the surprise she had planned, the secret she kept from them when they received your file. It had all he asked for in attributes and skills, but all things personal that should have been on it were scratched out in black. He was told that it was a need to know basis, your name, age or species wouldn’t be divulged unless you told them yourself. He knew you from words from mouth to ear, ad read of your skill and efficiently but nothing he heard and found told him an ounce about you as a person. Your character was a mystery he died to know.

So when he got word from Laswell that your ETA was just over half an hour, he had the boys reconvene to the airstrip, watching the aircraft carrying you land not too far from them, the rotors slowing to a steady thrum. The anticipation that bubble din his chest made this moment crawl at a snail’s pace, the ramp lowering too slowly for his liking and the droning sound of the aircraft’s irking his ears. Then, seconds after the ramp fully dropped, he caught sight of blue horns, tines growing from a singular robust beam, segmented like those of a scale. Your head, covered by a custom made helmet to let your antlers peek out and sit comfortably on your head (at least you wore something, unlike his constant frustration with finding one that wouldn’t bother his horns), followed after you walked out, decked in your gear and a bag slung over your shoulders. 

You weren’t what he was expecting, not exactly. He read that you had a masterful experience in hydromancy, stealing water from the air and humidity and contorting it to cause havoc in the field and cutting through the enemy. He and the others shared their theories, one possibility made you into a water witch, a leviathan, or one of those creepy monsters from the deep sea. Not what… whatever you were. You had elk-like horns painted in the deepest blue he’d ever seen and a tail covered in scales of the same shade, glistening under the light like it was wet with tufts of hair - or was it fur? - crawling down the base of your fourth limb to create a silky and soft end with long, slowing locks. 

What were you? What was that smell? It got sweeter the closer you got, a softness that clung to his nose and made him salivate. He wondered how strong it must be for the Soap and König who’s noses were more enhanced and sensitive than any others, they’d probably sniff the source - you - out and answer his undying question.

“Captain Price,” you nodded your head, a small smile gracing your lips, your slitted eyes narrowed in greeting, “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

That sweetness lingered around you and stuck to his hand when you shook hands, giving him a firm shake and stronger grip that he could admire for the strength you showed. Had you face been as bright as it was a few seconds before? Perhaps it was the musk that oozed off you, it was uneasily addicting and pleasing to his lizard brain, slowly moving the cogs of hos old machine. He watched you take a step back, making some distance between his Task Force and you, and his mind got clearer, nose less stuffy and cheeks wash away the slight flush. Then it hit him, the sweetness, the dazed perception of you and the growing need in his body, he was reacting to you. 

“Sorry, I was told I’d be off for the week once I landed,” you cocked your head, sharing an apologetic smile, “My cycle follows the Lunar year.”

Ah, everything made more sense now, the gracefulness of your beautiful tail, the glistening of your scales and the sharpness of your horns. He had agreed to welcome another dragon to his Task Force, he was fortunate that Asian dragons were calmer and benevolent than his European counterpart. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: eye for an eye (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, smut, p n v, unprotected sex, table sex, light fingering, hair pulling, begging, past wounds, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: hi!! i spent all of jan doing my 50k word challenge on the daughter of rotsál first draft, but i thought i'd take these first few days of feb to update this fic! i also released a smutty/fluffy oneshot called sweatpea you should check out! my birthday and uni is coming up soon so i'm gonna try squeeze in some more work on the daughter of rotsál draft before that and maybe one more update / another one-shot but i'll see how i go! anyway, enjoy this is a spicy one! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The shipment warehouse was a vast, hollowed-out space. Shadows stretched long beneath the dim, hanging bulbs. The scent of aged wood, alcohol, and rust lingered in the air, the faint remnants of the whiskey that passed through here on its way to buyers. Though mostly empty, clusters of wooden crates were stacked against the far walls, some sealed, others pried open to reveal their glass cargo, bottles of dark amber liquid reflecting the weak light. Scattered metal production tables dotted the floor, their surfaces scratched and stained from years of work. These were the stations where workers packed the shipments, but now, the tables sat abandoned, save for one.

At the centre of the warehouse, in front of one of the tables, three men sat bound to chairs. Rope bit into their flesh, tight enough that their fingers were already turning an ugly shade of blue. The table before them had been repurposed for something far crueller than packaging liquor. A collection of weapons lay across its surface—blades, hammers, pliers, each one arranged with careful deliberation. 

By the main entrance, Steve and Sam stood guard, their figures solid and unmoving, you eyed them cautiously as you passed through the threshold. They didn’t quite meet your eye, and you wondered if they could hear the deafening pulse that roared in your ears. The cold night air filtered in through the open doors behind them, a scattering of ash decorating the stone floor.

Bucky entered beside you, his steps slow and deliberate. But you could feel the unspoken tension rolling off him in waves. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his shoulders squared rigidly, his jaw tight. The walk over from the Sootline had been silent, even if you could practically feel the heat of rage radiating off him. He didn’t seem eager to talk to you, even if his gaze would occasionally flicker to you to make sure you still followed along behind him. Maybe he feared he would find judgment in your eyes because he never held them for long.

“Bucky—” You called out softly, but the gangster shied away from your touch, the fabric of his sleeve slipping through your fingers. 

He strode forward, each step heavy, his boots striking against the stone with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound echoed through the warehouse, filling it like a countdown ticking. You knew him. You had to remind yourself of that. You knew this man—the sharp edges of his cruelty, the weight of his fury, the way violence coiled beneath his skin like a second nature. You knew him intimately; you had felt the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his hands, and the steel of his will.

And yet, in this moment, he felt distant. Unreachable.

Even if he was angry, even if he had been cold and dismissive, his rage was not aimed at you. This was because of you. Because of what happened. The thought should have been comforting, a reassurance that you were not in his path and that his wrath had a different target. And yet, the knowledge did little to ease the weight pressing against your bruised ribs; it didn’t stop the breath from hitching in your throat as you took in the scene before you.

You were safe. You knew that.

But safety did nothing to silence the unease creeping through your veins.

The Iron Rats reacted the moment Bucky neared them. Two of them shrank back, their chairs creaking as they futilely tried to recoil from him. Their eyes darted between Bucky and the weapons on the table, their breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. One of them had already begun to tremble, his lips forming silent prayers, his body betraying him as he shook against the restraints.

But the third man—the one at the end—was different. He didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. He simply stared ahead, eyes hollow, his expression unreadable. It was as if he had already accepted whatever was coming and made peace with the inevitable. 

“Barnes.” You snapped louder this time, voice clipped. The gangster paused his movements, not even turning to look back as he raised his hand, silencing you with a raise of his index finger.

“I was considerin’ if the bird needed to see this.” He finally broke his silence, voice low with a dangerous edge. “But I think she needs’a understand, don’t ya think?” 

His hand struck forward, grasping one of the cowering men’s chins, forcing his head to look in your direction. You could tell his grip was bruising, even from a distance, the skin around his thumb growing white at the pressure. “She needs’a understand what happens to dirty fuckin’ rats that come crawling into my territory.”

Bucky released the man with a sharp shove, and the Iron Rat nearly sobbed in relief, his chair rocking back violently from the force. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Bucky barely spared him a glance. Instead, he dragged his fingers down the front of his suit jacket in one broad stroke as if ridding himself of the filth he had just touched. 

Then, without looking, he reached for the table, his fingers curling around the worn handle of a butcher’s knife. The blade was thick and heavy, meant to cleave through bone as quickly as meat. As he lifted it, it scraped against the metal tabletop, the sound sharp and grating—final.

Bucky turned to you, his fingers curling around the handle, weighing it in his grip like an executioner deliberating his next stroke. His gaze pinned you in place.

“Left or right, doll?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut.

“What?” You stammered back in response.

“Left or right?” His voice was eerily steady, too casual for the brutality hanging in the air. It was as if he were asking you to pick a wine for dinner, not deciding which limb would be lost. Your throat tightened. The Iron Rats were barely breathing, one whimpering, his chair creaking under his tremors.

You forced your voice to work. “Barnes, don’t you think we’ve caused enough damage?”

You knew you'd made a mistake the second the words left your lips.

Bucky’s head snapped towards you, his jaw ticking, something dark and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. The shift in him was immediate, electric. He abandoned the bound man without hesitation, closing the space between you in a few sharp strides. Your pulse stuttered.

He was on you in seconds, looming, his presence suffocating. You turned your head instinctively as his breath fanned hot across your cheek, but there was no escaping him.

“No.”

The single word was like a hammer shattering stone.

“We ‘aven’t caused nearly enough damage after what they did.” His voice, low and venomous, left no room for argument. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers twitching with barely contained rage. “You think I’m gonna let these filthy fuckin’ rats walk away after puttin’ their hands on you? Huh? After hurtin’ you right under my fuckin’ nose?”

Your breath caught, your ribs tightening under the weight of his fury. He leant in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed your ear. His words were a vow, a sentence carved in stone when he spoke next. “You’re under my protection. Mine. You’re mine. So fuckin’ choose, doll. Left or right?”

Your stomach twisted. The Iron Rats were silent, frozen, waiting for your answer as if it were their final prayer. You swallowed.

“…Right.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled, but there was no warmth in it. It was a razor-sharp thing, all teeth and no kindness. His eyes gleamed with something feverish, something manic.

“Good girl,” he purred. The praise was smooth, almost sweet, but his grip on the knife tightened, knuckles whitening around the handle. And then he turned. The Iron Rat barely had time to process what was happening before Bucky moved.

The butcher’s knife came down in a single, brutal arc.

A sickening crack filled the warehouse as steel met flesh and bone, followed by a scream so raw, so agonised, it turned your stomach. The man convulsed against his restraints, his bound arms jerking wildly, but there was nowhere to go.

Blood splattered across the metal tabletop, dark and glistening. It pooled. Dripped and painted the concrete floor beneath him. His severed hand tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, fingers twitching uselessly in the growing puddle of red.

Bucky barely spared the carnage a glance. “You touched her,” he said coldly, voice devoid of sympathy. 

“So I took your fuckin’ hand.” He tilted his head, considering the sobbing, writhing man before him. “Consider it generous that I ain’t takin’ both.”

The Iron Rat howled, his body convulsing. Tears streamed down his face, his cries dissolving into choked, incoherent pleas for mercy. Bucky wasn’t listening. He wiped the blade clean against his sleeve, smearing crimson across the dark fabric like a war trophy. Then, slowly, he turned to the second man, pointing the stained blade at him.

“Your turn.”

The second Iron Rat thrashed in his chair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His eyes, wild with terror, darted between Bucky and the ruined stump of the first man. Blood still poured from the wound, pooling beneath the chair, seeping into the cracks of the warehouse floor. The stench of it—sharp, metallic, raw—hung thick in the air.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I—I didn’t even—”

Bucky slammed a heavy hand down on his shoulder, silencing him with a violent jolt. The Iron Rat flinched, chest heaving, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. Bucky turned to you again, the knife glinting under the dim warehouse lights.

“Left or right?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging deep enough to leave crescent moons in your skin, but the sting barely registered. Your mind screamed at you, an urgent, panicked voice clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Stop this. Say something. Tell him it’s enough.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew the truth now, Bucky wouldn’t listen. Any sense of cold calculation had snapped within him, as if his father himself had possessed his body. His blood was up, his fury ran red-hot and unchecked. Reason was a foreign concept to him in this moments, swallowed whole by vengeance and violence.

Your breath felt thin as you watched him, as you remembered what was left of Varlan Crey. The Rat King, so smug, so untouchable, had been brought to his knees. Felled not by magic or blades, but by the sheer, unrelenting wrath of Bucky Barnes. He had survived, maybe by the hand of a small mercy. Or maybe just dumb luck. Because you had seen it—the flicker of real, unguarded fear in Crey’s eyes. The raw understanding that, for the first time, he had stood at the very edge of death and only barely stepped back in time.

You swallowed, throat dry as dust. “Left.”

A shuddering breath left the Iron Rat, some final, pitiful sound before—

Bucky moved.

The blade came down hard.

The crack of severed bone and the wet, visceral tear of flesh split through the warehouse. The man’s scream ripped through the air, raw and broken, his body jerking violently against the chair. Blood sprayed across the table, warm and thick, dripping onto the floor. His severed hand landed with a sickening slap, fingers twitching before they went still.

Bucky tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders, keeping him from toppling the chair over as he convulsed in agony. He wiped the blade again, slow and deliberate, his gaze flicking to the last Iron Rat—the one who hadn’t made a sound.

The man met Bucky’s eyes with an eerie, empty calm.

No trembling. No pleading. Just quiet resignation.

A slight, bitter smile played at the edges of his lips as he tilted his head, gesturing to his left hand, which was secured against the arm of the chair. A soldier offering himself to the executioner.

Bucky exhaled sharply, amused. “Good choice.”

And then he brought the knife down.

The man grunted as the blade severed flesh and bone in one clean stroke, but he didn’t scream. His body twitched, stiffening against the pain, but he bit it down. His severed hand dropped onto the table this time, fingers curling inward, as if gripping something unseen. Blood seeped from the wound, a slow, steady stream.

Bucky studied him for a moment, almost impressed.

Then, satisfied, he tossed the knife onto the table with a dull clang. The first two Iron Rats were still crying, writhing, staring at their stumps like they could somehow undo what had been done. The third just slumped in his chair, pale and shaking, but silent.

“I think I should take an eye next, for even lookin’ at you. What’d you think, doll?” Exhaustion lay heavy in your bones as your eyes fluttered shut briefly. Bucky was upon you again, his gaze softer now, the fury still burning beneath the surface but tempered. He reached for you, his bloodied fingers grazing your arm in a touch that was meant to be comforting. “Eye for an eye, after all.”

“I don’t…” You stammered but leant into his touch by default. Steve and Sam had adverted their eyes, their expressions unreadable as they pressed their lips into a line. 

“I’ll choose for ya, how’s that sound, doll?” He rubbed a bloodied thumb across your cheek. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping something in your eyes could pull him away. But his eyes settled on the faded split in your lip, and his gaze hardened. “They have to pay.”

Bucky stalked off towards the array of weapons displayed along the table once more. The knife he chose gleamed under the dim light, and Bucky tested the edge against his thumb. A single bead of red welled up but he paid it no mind. His attention was elsewhere—on the trembling man before him, the one still staring at his bleeding stump, breath hitching in raw, animalistic terror.

“Please,” the Iron Rat sobbed, voice wet, desperate. “Please, Barnes, I can’t—I—”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like the weight of their begging was nothing more than an inconvenience. His hand was steady, practiced, as he tapped the knife tip against the man’s chin, tilting his face up.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask for pleas,” he murmured, voice eerily even. “Left or right?”

The man shuddered violently. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to you as though you could save him as if you had any say. You swallowed, your tongue thick and useless, pinned in place by the weight of Bucky’s presence and the inevitability of what came next.

When no answer came, Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Left it is.” The knife sank into the man’s left eye in a swift, brutal motion. A high and raw shriek tore through the room, sending a shudder through your bones.

You flinched, but only slightly. The movement barely registered.

You had seen Bucky covered in blood before, had seen him like this before—violent, efficient, merciless. Yet you had also seen him in moments far removed from this carnage.

You had watched him bleed and had pressed your hands to his wounds to keep him from slipping away. You had felt his warmth seeping between your fingers, his breath shallow but steady as he let you take care of him. He had trusted you then, let you see him vulnerable when he could have just as easily pushed you away.

He had defended you against the Rat King, standing between you and the man who had wanted to carve you apart. If it hadn’t been for him, would you have been at the mercy of the Iron Rats? Tied to a chair like the three men before you? There had been no hesitation in him then, just like there was none now. And it was all for you.

The thought made your stomach tighten, but not in fear. Not entirely.

Bucky wiped the knife clean on the Iron Rat’s pant leg, a simple, thoughtless movement, and turned to the last man. The final Iron Rat had been silent the entire time, watching the carnage with eerie detachment. Even now, as the scent of blood thickened the air and his fallen comrades moaned and sobbed, his expression barely shifted. He only blinked, slow and deliberate, as Bucky approached.

“Ya know what I’m gonna ask,” Bucky said, voice quieter this time.

A pause.

Then, a small sigh.

“Right,” the man murmured, resigned.

Something flickered in Bucky’s expression—curiosity, maybe. Approval. He didn’t make him wait. The blade sank deep, and though the Iron Rat tensed, his breath hitching sharply, he made no sound. Blood welled, thick and dark, spilling down his cheek, but he simply slumped against the restraints, his ruined eye weeping crimson.

Bucky lingered, staring at him, head tilted slightly. Considering. Perhaps even disappointed.

Bucky only clicked his tongue before turning back to you. The shift was subtle but immediate. The hardness in his expression softened, his eyes no longer carrying the cold fury he had wielded so effortlessly moments before. His hand, still warm despite the blood smeared across his fingers, reached for you, grazing your waist.

“See, doll?” he murmured. “Now they know.”

Your breath caught.

You should have felt horror. Revulsion. But instead, as you looked at him—his jaw speckled with blood, his chest rising and falling evenly, the fire still smouldering behind his eyes—you felt something else entirely. Something that made your fingers twitch, something that made your chest tighten.

Maybe, just maybe, this was more than just lust.

You weren’t sure whether that should’ve terrified you.

But at that moment, staring up at him, your heart still pounding, you weren’t sure you cared.

—

Bucky quickly issued his orders: everyone was to leave but you. Sam and Steve moved without hesitation, grabbing a bloodied, barely conscious Iron Rat by the scruff of their necks and dragging them towards the exit. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the cold warehouse air, thick and rich, settling into your lungs with each breath.

Bucky didn’t watch them leave.

He stood with his back turned, broad shoulders taut, tension coiling through his body like a predator still primed for the kill. His suit jacket lay discarded on the blood-splattered table. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to his elbows, the fabric marred with streaks of red. His hands—still wet with it—hung at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if the violence hadn’t yet left his system.

You hesitated before moving, carefully stepping past the grotesque remnants of severed hands littering the floor. You focused on him instead, on the way his body seemed stretched too tight like he was waiting for another enemy to appear from the shadows.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, smoothing a hand over his forearm. The muscles beneath your fingers were rigid but warm, his pulse steady despite the chaos he’d unleashed.

“You showed them your hand,” you murmured, your voice soft and testing. “What will you do now?”

Your fingers traced a slow path up his arm, featherlight over the muscle, following the curve of his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you grew bolder, stepping around him until you stood before him. His face was speckled with blood; the scarlet splattered across his jaw and streaked along the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes, cold and unreadable just moments ago, stirred—just barely—as they settled on you.

“They needed to be taught a lesson,” he said simply, his voice still edged with the lingering embers of rage. A repetition of the words he’d spoken before.

You sighed through your nose, your hands splaying across his chest. His shirt was warm beneath your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding you. You pressed yourself flush against him, seeking—what? Comfort? Reassurance? An answer you weren’t sure you wanted?

“Yes,” you conceded, your voice quieter now, steadier. “But you’ve shown ‘em your hand.” 

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric, gripping him, holding him there with you. “You’ve told ‘em another woman is close to you—other than your sister. One that commands enough of your attention for you to do this.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Ya scared, doll?”

“No.” The answer was immediate, instinctive—but the certainty of it wavered, even in your own mind. Was that really the truth? “I just want to understand why you’d expose a weakness like that.”

He snorted softly, his bloodstained hands coiling around your waist, holding you there. His grip was firm and possessive but not forceful. There was no threat in his touch, only something else, something deeper, something that made your stomach twist.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe he would finally say something—something real. Something sweet. He always left you with vague declarations of ownership and lust.

Because he cared, he had to—right? No man would do what he had done tonight if he didn’t care. No man would make a spectacle of his violence, an open display of his wrath for the sake of a woman if she meant nothing? He had carved his rage into flesh and blood for you and left a message in the ruined bodies of those men. You mattered to him.

Didn’t you?

But when he finally spoke, his words weren’t what you wanted.

“You have your worth, spirit-raiser.”

A flicker of disappointment bloomed in your gut. You could have pulled away. Should have, maybe. But you didn’t because you needed something from him: reassurance, protection. Proof that he would stand between you and whatever enemies would inevitably come for you now that he had placed you in the centre of this war.

Perhaps tonight had been proof enough.

Conflict and confusion pressed heavily in your chest, warring with the heat between you.

Fuck Becca’s warnings.

There was something here, wasn’t there?

Your hand slid up, fingers ghosting over the rough stubble of his jaw. You cradled his face, pulling him closer. His breath was warm, tinged with the faint scent of whiskey and blood, and for a moment, you hesitated—just a moment—before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky responded instantly, like a man starved, his eager hands gripping your waist with a bruising intensity as if grounding himself in your presence. A sharp wince pricked at your ribs, but the hunger in his kiss quickly drowned it out. His lips moved against yours with fervour, rough and consuming, parting only to let his tongue sweep into your mouth, claiming and demanding. You melted into him, your body yielding beneath his, heat pooling low in your stomach as his touch ignited something primal in you.

He moved with purpose, guiding you backwards. His hands were restless, roaming up your spine, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your blouse, searching, craving skin. The cool air kissed your exposed flesh as he fumbled with your buttons, the urgency in his touch making his movements clumsy. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss as your own hands wandered lower, gliding down the firm planes of his chest. The taut muscle beneath his white collared shirt flexed beneath your palms, solid and unyielding.

His breath hitched slightly as you dragged your nails over the crisp fabric, feeling the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath. You felt the shudder in his body as your fingers found the buttons of his vest, slipping them free with deliberate ease. Bucky’s hands found your breasts, moulding the soft flesh through your brassiere with a rough, needy grip, his thumbs sweeping over the peaks in slow, teasing circles. Your head tipped back, a breathy sigh escaping your lips as heat coursed through you.

The vest was discarded in a swift motion, tossed aside without care, and before you could fully react, Bucky’s strong hands lifted you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the cold metal of the production table. The chill of it sent a shiver through your body. Still, the heat between you and him was overwhelming, obliterating any thought. His body pressed between your legs, the hard line of him nestling against you through the fabric of your skirts.

His mouth devoured yours again, possessive and unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a sharp, fleeting bite before his tongue soothed the sting. You whimpered quietly into his mouth. Clinging to him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from deep within his chest. His thumb grazed over your nipple, teasing through the lace, and your breath hitched.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only Bucky—his touch, his breath, his desire pressed into your skin like a brand. And you welcomed it. Welcomed him.

You could already feel the hard length of him, pressing insistently against your inner thigh through the layers of fabric. His heat was unmistakable, searing even through the barrier of clothing, and a shiver rolled through you. The anticipation was unbearable. You reached for his belt, fingers nimble and eager—

But Bucky chuckled, low and deep, knocking your hands away with an easy flick of his wrist. His pupils were blown wide, dark pools of hunger that drank you in as you leant back on your elbows, your body sprawled out before him. His lips were swollen, slick with the mingled taste of you both, his breath warm against your skin. Your chest heaved, one breast exposed where he had tugged it free from your brassiere, the cool air sending a shiver through you.

“Greedy, ain’t ya?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but his touch was anything but teasing. His hand slid beneath the heavy fabric of your skirt, fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You barely had time to process the sensation before he grabbed the delicate waistband of your tap pants and tore them down your legs, the lace rasping against your skin as he wrenched them past your ankles and boots.

The discarded scrap of fabric landed somewhere on the warehouse floor, forgotten. His hands were already on you again, possessive, insatiable. You let out a low groan, head falling back as he trailed a digit through your wet slit, humming in delight as he found you already dripping with desire. “Don’t need an arousal potion for this, do we?”

You ignored his quip, instead wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckled at you, rewarding your eagerness by pressing one of his digits into your cunt. You clenched around him with a whimper, hips rocking as you internally begged for more friction. 

“Let me hear your noises, doll.” Bucky commanded, his spare hand trailing up your thigh. You whined softly, bucking your hips once more in a silent plea. The gangster smirked down at you, pressing a second digit into you as you squirmed beneath him. 

“Please, Bucky.” You mewled, pulling him closer with the legs hooked around his back. He obliged, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. You could hear the squelching of your wetness, your body shuddering with impatience at the leisurely pace. 

“You want more?” He purred, teasing you with a quick flick of your clit with his thumb. You clenched around him involuntarily, a breathy gasp leaving your mouth as pleasure rocked up your spine, a new wave of electricity flooding your gut. 

You pushed yourself up, hands grasping his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as you pulled your bodies flush. The heat of him seeped into you, intoxicating, overwhelming. Your mouth found the column of his throat, breath hitching as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his exposed skin. His pulse thrummed beneath your lips, quick and heavy, and you traced it with your tongue, savouring the salt of his skin.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale as you dragged your mouth along his adam’s apple, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before sucking a bruise into his neck. His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You wanted them. You wanted him to brand himself into your skin the way he had branded himself into your mind.

“Please,” you breathed against his ear, voice hushed, desperate. Your tongue flicked along the shell, teasing, before you nipped at his earlobe, letting your teeth catch just enough to make him groan. “I need you inside me.”

The words sent a shudder through him, a growl vibrating deep in his chest. “Turn around, bend over the table. Now.”

Your head tilted, temple resting against the firm plane of his shoulder as you gazed up at him, your breath uneven. His fingers twitched inside you, a steady rhythm still building, each pump igniting a slow, unbearable heat in your core. A sharp gasp left your lips as pleasure twisted through you, your body tensing in response.

“My ribs—” you managed to gasp, wincing as the dull ache reminded you of your bruises.

Bucky stilled for a moment, a flicker of something soft crossing his face, a rare moment of tenderness blooming between the two of you. His breath was warm against your cheek as he considered your words, his free hand smoothing over your hip as though grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, low and reassuring, though the husk of his voice betrayed his restraint. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

Gentle. A rare promise from a man like him.

Then, just as quickly as he had stilled, he withdrew. A wet heat lingered in the absence of his fingers, and you shuddered, your walls clenching around nothing. A soft whimper escaped before you could stop it, your body betraying the ache of emptiness. You unhooked your legs from around his waist, knees wobbling as you moved, turning yourself around atop the table.

The cold metal kissed your stomach as you laid your front flat against it, one breast still bare from where he had pulled the fabric away. A shuddering breath left you, anticipation thick in your veins as you braced yourself against the surface, your hips lining up with the edge.

Behind you, you heard the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle, followed by the slow rasp of leather sliding free. The head of his cock pressed against your slick opening, teasing but not quite entering. You whined into the table as his large hands stroked up the back of your thighs, gripping the flesh. 

“So wet,” he muttered. His voice was thick with hunger as he pushed your skirts up, bunching the fabric around your waist, leaving you utterly exposed to him. His hands trailed down, calloused palms smoothing over the curve of your ass before he spread you open, admiring the slick evidence of your need. “So good for me, huh, doll?”

A desperate whimper left you, your body shivering under his touch. You pressed your folded forearms beneath your chest, arching your back in an attempt to save your bruised ribs from the unforgiving metal table.

Then, at last, he pressed into you.

A gasp tore from your throat, your body instinctively tensing as he stretched you open. The intrusion was thick and slow, overwhelming at first, your cunt clenching down against the pressure of him. Your teeth sank into the flesh of your thumb, muffling the choked moan that threatened to spill free. Bucky cursed under his breath, withdrawing just enough before easing back in, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Ya like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low and strained, his grip tightening on your hips as he pinned you in place. The firm drag of him inside you sent sparks of heat flooding through your veins. “Like me claimin’ you? Like knowin’ I’d fuckin’ tear through them bastards just to keep ya safe?”

A broken moan left you, your body trembling against the metal. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust pressing you further against the table. The slick, filthy sounds of your bodies moving together filled the empty warehouse, the echo of skin meeting skin mixing with your ragged breaths.

Bucky groaned, his hands wrapping around your hips as he rocked into you harder, deeper, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. Your mind swam, the bruising grip of his fingers the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Tell me, doll.” His voice was rough, a demand wrapped in silk and sin. His hips snapped forward, driving into you so deep it left you gasping. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Please—” The word came out in a small, needy sob, your voice trembling as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

Bucky growled, a deep, guttural sound. One of his hands abandoned your waist, sliding up the length of your back before tangling in your hair. His fingers twisted into the strands, yanking your head back with a sharp tug. A strangled moan burst from your lips, your back arching instinctively. Your nails scraped against the metal table, searching for purchase as he fucked into you harder, faster.

The steady, brutal rhythm of his hips grew relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. A filthy symphony of desperate moans, ragged breathing, and the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into you echoed. Bucky groaned, the sound low and primal as he chased his release. His grip on your hip was vice-like, anchoring you in place as he pounded into you without mercy. You could only hope Sam and Steve weren’t lingering nearby to hear the sinful chorus of your pleasure.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your body tensed, pleasure spiking hot and fast through your veins. Your legs trembled beneath you, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm coiled, threatening to snap.

Then he tugged your hair again, the sting mingling with the pleasure in a dizzying rush, and you came undone.

Your cunt clenched around his cock, a strangled moan ripping from your lips as your body spasmed beneath him. Stars burst behind your eyelids, pleasure flooding through you in rolling waves. Wetness dripped down your inner thighs, evidence of your release slicking his length as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Bucky let out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you into bliss. His grip on you tightened, his cock pulsing as he spilt inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. He kept thrusting, his movements growing erratic, chasing the last remnants of pleasure as he wrung out every drop of ecstasy.

His fingers slowly uncurled from your hair, his grip loosening as the tension drained from his body. You collapsed against the table, breathless and spent. You lay motionless beneath him, allowing him to use you as he rode out the final waves of his release, his heavy breaths mingling with yours.

Gods, you were going to need to take an anti-pregnancy potion after this.

PART EIGHT

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Nine)

A/N: Yall I was so wrapped up in the two updates yesterday that I forgot I had homework. Was up for hours finishing it. Anyway, here's more of my bad life decisions. I should be reading Shakespeare right now but I'd rather make this.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Gotham City Municipal Archives — Document No. 2287-A Collection: Morwen Estate Holdings Recovered: October 16, 1936 – from subfloor storage, Morwen Parish House (formerly Wayne Estate) Condition: Bound parchment folio, twine binding. Ink faded. Final pages partially destroyed by moisture.

Document Title: "Untitled Journal (Author Unknown, presumed female servant of Wayne Household, ca. 1640s–1660s)"

Archival Notes:

Entries contain frequent references to infant care, religious guilt, dreams, and sightings of the dead.

Name “Yaya” appears repeatedly, possibly a nickname or spiritual moniker.

Multiple entries imply mistreatment by an unnamed governess and inappropriate attentions from a male figure— possibly Nathaniel Wayne, referred to as “The Master”

Final pages include erratic symbols and fragmented writing.

Catalogued by: A. Kearney, Archivist

Accessed by: John Constantine

[Journal Entry--date unknown]

madam is sick. she don’t rise no more. she dont eat cept a bite or sip. the babe did wake at the 3rd hour. madam did not move. I shaked her and say “madam, the babe be hungry” but she dont hear me or dont want to. I give the babe pap. he cry till light come. master come home after a long while. I say madam be bad sick. he say I am to sit with her, watch her close. I dont want that. I dont like the room. there is little fiends there. they watch me by madam bed. I do not tell master that. nites is heavy. sumone is watchin me. not the shades. not them. it feel like eyes behind the wall. when I cant sleep I rock the babe. the babe burn hot. he dont stop crying.

lace is hard to make. takes long time. like the babe. the babe call me Yaya. he cant say my name rite. master say my name much. he say it pretty. he say it soft. he say it like a prayr.

miss did screem at me for the pot fallin. twas not me what done it. twas the babe. they be walkin now. but not walkin right. I din’t say nothin to miss. she hit my hands with the switch. five time. it hurt bad. I did not cry but I wanted. I went to market today. wheat cost dear.they say crops be dyin. they grow then curl up dead. they whisper bout miss annie. they say she be witch. I bringed her a flouer. she gave me a shilling

the babe love flouers. in the mornin when I dont see them, they be in the medow. I scold them but they smile. then I smile too. master bring me a fruit. a fig he call it. it taste like honey. smell like flouers. I say thank you. master say he bring me more.

master’s oldest is kind. he been at school. he know many things. he come home and smile at me. not like others do. he say my lace is real pretty. I say thank you. I think I was smilin too.

madam died. she was in bed. I was by her side. the babe was in my lap. they was sleepy but tryn not to. I say sleep now. then madam say “may I sleep?” I say yes. she dont wake up.

no one say nothin bout madam. the house is quiet but not soft. it feel heavy like rain comin. miss wont look at me. she give me chores and dont say please. the babe cry more now. they look at doors like they waitin. I clean madam room but I dont touch the bed. I think she still there. not in the bed. in the walls. in the air. I say sorry. I dont know why. just feel like I must. I tell the babe she sleepin long. they nod like they know. master come to me today. he say I done good with madam and the babe. he say I am strong girl. he touch my hair. I dont like it. he say I look like spring. I dont know what he mean. he say I must stay close now. he say he need me. I nod. I dont speak. when he go, I wash my hair.

the oldest come again. he say I should go. I didn’t know why. it made my heart hurt. did I wrong him? he not mad. he look sad. he say there a place. far. kansas, he say. he take me if I say yes. I don’t know.

the big one is gone. the oldest. they say he fall in the pond. but he swim good. he always swim. they pull him out and he don’t breathe. miss scream. master dont. the babe hold tight to me.  I think I saw somethin. his eyes was open when they find him. mouth too. like he tryin to say.

miss be mad at me. I heard her and master talkin low. she say I am cursed. say I bring bad things. maybe I do. I see things. but I dont tell her. I never told her. she aint s’posed to know. maybe they tell her. the ones in the walls. the ones what watch. shell go to the revrent, she says. she say I am made wrong.  that sin do live in girls what got no mama. Revrent say the Lord don’t suffer witches. I don’t be no witch.

miss is gone now. I found her. bottom of the stair. her neck was wrong. bent like branch. they say she fell. but she don’t fall like that. master come. not alone. men with him. he grab me. took me to the cellar. it cold down here. I aint done nothin.

A/N: ooh getting into Yaya's past. She's supposed to be semi-literate so that's why the spelling is bad. I promise it's not cause I suck at writing. Btw, you ever written for a puritan era semi-literate servant? Shit's hard. Anyway, hope you liked it!

[lacydaydream]

DAYDREAMS

⤷ Dean Winchester

summary: dean is daydreaming about the woman he had a one-night stand with in a bar bathroom.

cw: mdni. smut. smut language. swearing. jerking off. dean is kinda filthy. sub!dean [if you squint!]. I may have missed some!

estelle yaps: I need him on a molecular level it’s not funny anymore.

word count: 1.2k

DEAN COULD have sworn you were a witch. You must be manyfeasting him- or whatever the hell Rowena liked to call it. The witchy woo woo shit that made him think about you all the time. He couldn’t get a damn moment of peace. You were so well woven into the fabric of his everyday thoughts that he swore he’d catch glimpses of you from the corner of his eye. He thought about the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you spoke to him, and god, the way you sucked the soul out of him.

Sitting on his bed, he could already feel his jeans growing tighter. memories from the night he spent with you danced behind his eyes. The jeans that hugged your ass so tight he’d actually drooled. The little shirt that showed off your cleavage, soft skin that he knew was begging to be touched.

The way you had taken him into the bar bathroom, teasing smile and gentle touches. He knew he was a goner the second you turned at the door, dragging him closer to you. He still felt the way your body felt pressed against him. Soft, supple, and smelling like whiskey and lavender.

Dean could still feel the way your lips ghosted his neck, face turning up to whisper in his ear. Fuck, your voice. He’d never heard something so smooth and seductive in his life. It’s a voice he knew he’d fantasize about, even on his deathbed, if given the chance.

The only thing Dean knew about you was that you were a hunter, too. And that you could suck dick like a fucking champion. Seeing as how you had taken every inch down your throat like a pro. Dean had seen stars. Hell, he thought he was in love.

He bounded off his bed, shutting the door quickly. His hand found the button on his jeans and yanked it open, the zipper soon following. Before he even hit the bed, his hand was already down his boxers and pulling out his leaking cock.

His length was heavy in his hands, the tip an angry shade of red as precum dribbled out. He tumbbed the tip gently and his mouth dropped open, a soft breath leaving his lips as pleasure shot through him. Dean’s head lolled against the pillows.

He thought back to the night in the bar. The stall was as cramped as the tension between the two of you. Then, it had been about hot, open mouthed kisses. Teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. The urge to devour each other. He had drunk you in, tasting the alcohol on your lips and swallowing the soft gasps.

His fist curls around his cock, pumping himself slowly. He remembered the way you had pushed him against the wall. The way you sank down to your knees. The hunger in your eyes. The way they had narrowed and almost lit up as you unbuckled his belt. Never in his life had he ever been more turned on.

You had released his length from his pants, his cock springing to tap against his clothed torso. He remembered the way you had licked your lips and pressed a kiss on the underside of his tip. A strangled moan left Dean’s mouth.

He brought his hand up to spit on it, returning to his daydream and ministrations quickly. The additional slick made his hips stutter, rocking up into his hand. God how he wished his hand was you. Your perfect cunt welcoming him in, fluttering so pretty around him.

“Fuck.. just like that.” Dean mumbled the words, eyes fluttering shut.

Taking a dip back into his daydream, he tried to remember everything about the scene. The bar bathroom was dingy, the only light coming from the lamps above the sinks. Still, he had the most perfect view of you on your knees.

Dean wasn’t a religious man, not by a long shot, but he was pretty fucking sure he’d gotten an angel on her knees. Your lips had wrapped around his tip, teasing him. Swirling your tongue around the head and finally, after letting out a broken “please”, sank down around him.

Your mouth was heaven. Warm and wet. His hand pumped himself quicker, his breathing picking up with every movement of his hands. You’d nudged him down your throat so perfectly. Soft gaging sounds were the only thing he could hear. His hands had collected your hair up for you, gazing down at you as you worked him.

“There you go, sweetheart.” He had grunted, smiling down at you. His free hand had moved some hair away from your face. He tucked it behind your ear. You were an absolute vision. A goddess on your knees. A saint in the spot of a sinner, sucking the fucking soul out of him.

The porno playing in his mind changed. Changed to one about your thighs wrapped around his head. He imagined pressing kisses to your inner thigh, leaving little marks that no one else would see. His mind drifted to licking up the arousal that dripped from your cunt, feeling your body whither underneath him. He’d suck your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the bud. Your puffy folds would welcome his fingers in, greedily squeezing as he nudged his digits into you.

He just knew you’d moan his name and coat his whole face in your essence. He knew you tasted sweeter than honey. And he wanted that. He so desperately wanted that. He wanted your cum to drip down his fingers, drenching anything and everything under you. He wanted his fingers knuckle-deep inside you, pumping to whatever speed he decided to inflict upon you. Watching you fall apart under him and being able to be the one that caught you.

Dean wanted to split you open on his cock. Really take his time with you. Make you beg and whimper. Make sinful sounds fall gracefully from your lips like a prayer. He had been salivating, thinking about all the positions he wanted to see you bend in. His hand gripped himself tight, dragging from the base, up his shaft, and thumbing the slit.

He panted, envisioning you standing before him. Crawling onto the bed and replacing his hand with yours. Delicate skin, holding onto him tightly and cooing as he fell apart under you.Watching you slip his cock into your cunt, moans leaving your perfect lips. He wanted to watch the way you’d bounce on his cock like you owned it. He’d let you use him with a happy grin on his face.

It only took him a few more drags of his hand before his release hit him, white ropes spurting from his dick. He jerked himself through it, a whimper leaving his lips as the pleasure became too much. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing slowly going back to normal.

Fucking hell, the man was whipped. And all that had ever transpired between the two of you was a snippy conversation and the best blowjob of his life. He needed to find you. He needed to taste you once more.

He would find you again, no matter how many bars he had to scour.

estelle yaps some more: hey, my darling! you can request a writing and join a taglist.

[bunniebubbleswrites]

My Love, Mine, All Mine

Agatha Harkness x F! Reader Chapter 1: Welcome to Westview | Chapter 2

A/N: Okay first time writing for Agatha so please forgive me, also this fic just stemmed from an loose idea I had when watching WandaVision, but I hope everyone enjoys it! Be warned there very well might be smut later on. Words: 1,244 Warnings/Tags: None for this chapter,not beta read,slow-burn Summary: You were living a peacful life in Westview when Wanda Maximoff rolled into town and with her arrival came Agatha's as well.

You had moved to Westview to get away from it all. Your old life, your old coven, and Agatha Harkness.

You had kept a low profile for years. Not staying in one place too long, constantly changing who you were to hide. Keeping to the old ways, only using your magic when you had to.

When you moved to Westview, you did it out of necessity. Just like you did everything, but the small town was growing on you. The longer you stayed, the longer you put off running.

It was almost perfect, but one thing was missing. Something you would never get back, and you had tried.

For the most part everything was normal, you had a job at the local library and were close to your neighbors. Everything you had told them was true, just with a little tweaking. You changed dates, and left out the murdery bits. You had been a different witch back then.

The Darkhold had corrupted you. You were glad it was out of your hands, even if you fought it at first.

Agatha had been your friend, at first. You had both just lost everything. She had lost her only son, and your coven had banished you. They were kind enough to let you walk away with your magic intact.

You and Agatha had run together for years, committing unspeakable acts if evil. Everything in you told you to hate her, but you just couldn't.

The last you you has seen her she had taken the Darkhold and you both fought, blasting magic at each other. You knew it was futile but you fought her anyways. You were surprised you came out of that fight alive.

The only witch to fight Agatha Harkness and walk out alive was a feat in and of itself. You never understood why she left you alive, but maybe it was because she felt something for you, like you did for her.

When Wanda Maximoff came rolling into town, you were lounging on your couch, your familiar laying on your lap. A book in one hand, the other on your familiars head, giving gentle scratches. A soft humming coming from your lips.

The blast from the Hex made you fall of your couch, your familiar going down with you. The book went flying from your hands and landed on the other side of your coffee table.

"Marceline, you okay?" You said as you sit up, the hidden runes on your walls glowing pink. Your familiar meows at you and makes her way around the couch. You groan as you plop back onto the floor and close your eyes.

Marceline lets out another meow. You open your eyes and Marceline's yellow eyes bore into yours.

"Fine I'll go check it out." You sigh as you sit up again and stand. You walk over towards the large window.

You pull back your curtains just slightly. Your eye's widen at the sight. The entire world was black and white. The flowers in your garden, your car, the purple of your front door. You pull back your curtains even further, they're still the same shade of black. Too dark to blend in.

You bite your lip, hesitating. You hadn't used your magic like this in a long time. Marceline lets out another meow.

"Yes, yes I know." You ball your hand into a fist. " It's just been awhile."

You step back from the curtain, another meow.

"I'm doing it alright." You whip your head around as you whisper out the worlds. You take a deep breath, slowing moving your hands. A pink glow forming between them.

It's a simple glamour spell. You can do this.

You let the words come out, and toss the spell towards your curtains. You put your arms down and let out a shaky breath as the spell works it way through your house to hide yourself.

"I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot more of that." You let out a laugh as you walk back over to the window, pulling back your curtains once again.

You look up and see a flash of purple.

There she was in all her witchy glory, landing on Westviews newest residents doorstep. Agatha looks back over her shoulder, a plant in her hands. You quickly step back and curse under your breath.

"Shit, shit, shit." You rush over to your front door and turn the locks. Did she see you? She must have, she winked at you. You rush up the stairs and into your bed room and pull open the closet doors. You half to have something in here.

You weren't getting caught today, let alone by Agatha Harkness. You pull out a long brown pleated skirt, a plain white button down, and one of your many cardigans. Along with a very old pair of saddle shoes.

Marceline hops up onto your bed, curling up near your pillows.

"We're going to be fine Marceline, we'll just have to ride it out is all. Blend in, nothing we haven't done before." You toss your pajamas off and onto the floor. You pull your button down over your shoulders and start closing your buttons. "Just with more magic that normal." You slip into your skirt and as you walk over to your dresser and rummage around for a pair of socks.

You look back over your shoulder at the black cat curled up against your pillows.

"Don't give me that look. I don't like it either, but we need to blend and this is what we have to do. Agatha and this new witch are very powerful. As soon as we can, we'll run for the hills." You finally find a matching pair of socks and sit down on your bed with them in hand.

A meow comes from behind you as you slip your socks and shoes on.

"What do you think I'm doing?" You walk over to your vanity and think about what to do with your hair. " I'm going to go be neighborly."

With a swish of your hand, your hair was up in a pony tail and a headband was added for accessory.

You stood from your vanity and walked back over to your bed. Your hand found Marceline's head and you gave her a couple of scratches.

"Be a good girl. I'll be back in a jiffy."

You rush down the stairs and stand hesitantly at your front door.

"It's okay you can do this." You whisper to yourself, with a shaky hand you turned the lock on your front door, and step out closing the door behind you.

Your outfit turning black and white, with the outside surroundings.

You still got it.

With a smile you walk over to the new house down the block. As you approached the front porch you fiddle with the ring on your middle finger.

You knock on the door and suddenly panic, you should have brought something. A simple spell and you had a container of cookies in your hands.

A women opens the door, and you smile at her.

"Hi, I'm (Y/N). I live down the block and thought I would bring you some cookies." You hand her the tin and give a shy smile.

"Hello (Y/N). I'm Wanda."

She moves aside to let you into the house. You walk in, and when you turn to walk into the living room there she is.

Agatha Harkness herself.

[zepskies]

Shades of Him

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader 

Summary: You make sure Beau isn’t alone this Christmas.

AN: Last little drabble for @justagirlinafandomworld’s Flash Fiction Challenge – Winter/Christmas edition! ❤️💚 

Song Inspo: “This Side of Paradise” by Coyote Theory

Word Count: 100~

Tags/Warnings: Hint of angst, but mostly fluff

“Are you lonely?” you asked, mostly teasing from the chilly office doorway.

Beau’s surprise melted into a smile that almost met his eyes.

You knew Emily was visiting her grandparents on Carla’s side this Christmas.

You knew this man gave of himself to everyone in his world, radiating that golden sunshine energy.

Still, there were shades of melancholy in between the brighter rays.

When you went to him, he welcomed you in a familiar, comfortable seat across his lap. When your fingers interlaced with his, Beau’s smile rang true.

And when you pressed your lips to his, you hoped he was glowing warm, just like you were.

AN: God, I miss Beau. ❤️

Join Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Beau Arlen Tag List

@kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @everything-is-all-clear @suckitands33

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@emily-winchester @kmc1989 @deans-baby-momma @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@lacilou @deans-daydream @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @riteofpassage77

@lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91 @ladysparkles78 @deansbbyx @sarahgracej

@chernayawidow @syrma-sensei @tmb510 @k-slla @mrlonelycat

@mimaria420 @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @fromcaintodean @mxltifxnd0m

@deanbrainrotwritings @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @my-stories-vault @siampie

@sanscas @kaleldobrev @angelbabyyy99 @spnwoman @pieandmonsters

@gabavaldman @hobby27 @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @cookiechipdough

@ultimatecin73 @nicksalchemy1 @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato @rizlowwritessortof @arcanna

@rubyvhs @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @megara0224 @perpetualabsurdity

@deansimpala @atenea585 @stoneyggirl2 @jessjad @kayleighwinchester

@samslvrgirl @masked-lost-girl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats

@spnaquakindgdom @itisdesiree86 @dmz1975