#this thing keeps edging itself closer to the edge of my desk i feel like it just wants to kill itself or smth

[static-scribblez]

somewhere, in another universe in revelator, this is what the machine in zoltar would canonically look like

[grugruel]

Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councilor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out your working with a councilor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Pimtover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, or makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- nmgh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

-

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

-

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

-

[leighsartworks216]

Lap Dog

Sylus x gn!Reader

I wrote this at like 2 am. Can I not keep getting the best inspiration/motivation at the absolute worst hours??

Inspired by my own post

Warnings: violence, guns, threats, kissing, biting, hair-pulling, cuddling, literal sleeping together, no smut, fluffy ending

Word Count: 1,600 (oooh nice)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Updated)

Two knocks sound on the door, but there is no pause before it opens. All conversation dies. The black market Protocore dealer and his two lackeys are silent as they watch you enter.

Your attire is casual, if not a bit tantalizing. One of Sylus’s shirts hangs loosely on your frame, partially unbuttoned. Shorts hidden beneath give the impression of nudity. And to top it all off, a gun is very visibly strapped to your thigh.

They all stare, baffled at the entrance of Sylus’s infamous bodyguard. The discrepancy of the horror stories detailing your ruthlessness and capabilities and the soft, lazy way you pad across the floor to settle directly into Sylus’s lap. It’s harder to take you seriously, if anything.

Sylus smirks, naturally, always accepting any affection you feel he’s worthy of. His hand slips under the loose edge of the shirt to hold your waist, his touch warm and protective. You wrap an arm around his neck, the other resting its hand on his chest. Your head leans on his shoulder, eyes closed. You don’t seem to give a damn about the state of affairs you’ve just barged in on. The client can’t say anything about it, though; this is the Onychinus leader’s home, he can’t disrespect that.

Sylus tilts his head nonchalantly, like nothing ever happened, like the only thing interrupting the meeting was the client’s own self-imposed silence. “You were saying…?”

The dealer balks for a moment. He looks between you and the man he came to do business with. After a beat of silence, where he struggled to grasp onto the threads of the conversation, you open your eyes to glare at him, not even bothering to turn your head. It’s sharp. A warning. Speak, or else.

He clears his throat. “O-Of course, sir. As I was saying, I was able to get my hands on some rare variants of pearl and violet Protocores. They’ve been examined by our lead scientists, and it seems they are highly receptive to alterations.”

“Did you bring any with you, or do I just have to truth your word?” Sylus questions.

“I brought one along,” the man quickly reassures. Your face turns to watch him as he gestures for one of the henchmen to bring forward a steel briefcase, setting it on the rich wooden desk. He clicks the latches open and lifts a tube out with both hands. Floating within the glass is a spiky violet Protocore. “This is one of the weaker ones, of course. It’s bad business to bring the best product to the first meeting.” He holds it out to Sylus with both hands. When the leader gestures for him to bring it closer, he carefully rounds the desk to present it up close.

You squint your eyes at the crystal for a moment. In one swift motion, you pull your gun from its holster and point it at the man’s face. He nearly drops the container in shock. Instead, he clutches it to his chest, staring down the barrel of the gun.

Sylus tsks. “Black market salesmen, always claiming they can scrounge up the best of the best, only to fall short.”

The lackeys reach for their guns. One draws and aims at you. The other hesitates, hand hovering over his holster. The dealer takes a step back.

“Wha- Call off your guard dog!” he pleads.

“Why should I? They’ve just sniffed out a liar. I’m inclined to reward them with a little treat,” he muses. “Feel up to hunting, sweetie?”

You don’t answer.

“No! P-please I-! These are the real deal, I swear!”

Your gun moves from his face to his henchmen. Before the armed lackey can fire, you shoot first. The bullet rips through his hand, traveling up his stiff arm and lodging itself firmly in his elbow. He screams in agony as his gun clatters to the ground, reduced to his knees beside it as he clutches his injuries to his chest. The other one lifts his hands up in surrender, not wishing to further test your ire.

“Was it all a lie, I wonder?”

The gun returns to aim directly at him. He drops the tube, glass shattering on the floor, to cover his face with both hands as though it would save him if you pulled the trigger. “Wait! Wait! I know where I can get the Protocores!”

Sylus hmphs. “Heel.”

You obey immediately, returning the gun to your holster. The dealer uncovers his eyes to watch as you lean yourself back against Sylus’s chest, face resting against his neck and eyes closed, as if you were tired of threatening him.

It doesn’t put the man at ease at all.

“Then go fetch them,” Sylus demands. “Two days. If you try to run away or return empty handed, I guarantee you a fate worse than death.”

The man gaped, slack jawed. His hands twisted his tie anxiously. “Two days?! S-Sir that’s impossible!”

“That’s none of my concern.”

In all his years of selling to big-ticket bosses, cutting corners and swindling them outta their money, never had he been so blatantly dropped at Death’s doorstep. And now here he was, unsure if he should scream or cry, or beg for a quick death from the two Grim Reapers that decided his fate.

So he was left staring at Sylus and his guard dog, hands shaking and throat choked up. It’s the second henchman who steps forward to grab his employer and associate, dragging them out of the office. They scurry down the halls, desperate to leave as soon as possible.

Sylus chuckles once they leave. You just sigh against his neck.

“They were boring.”

“Next time, I’ll let you deal with them as you please,” he promises. His voice is softer. No longer does it have the edge of intimidation and danger, the edges smoothed away with affection.

You hum, lazily accepting the offer.

Sylus’s free hand moves to your exposed thigh. He works diligently to remove the holster, undoing one strap at a time, until it slides free from your leg. Red and black tendrils carry it to the desk, resting it softly on the dark wood. He tenderly rubs at the indents in your skin from the leather, drawing a contented sigh from you.

“You should go back to bed, sweetie,” he coos. “You didn’t need to bother yourself with this.”

You shake your head languidly from side to side, nose running up his neck, his jaw, until it presses behind his ear. “It’s part of our deal. Wake me next time,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, savoring the sound of your breaths, the hush of your voice.

When he first met you, you didn’t say a word. The auction house awed and feared you, just as they awed and feared him. Two terrible forces of nature. When he danced with you that night, you’d tapped on his shoulder to communicate - one for no, two for yes. It wasn’t until your fourth encounter, when he proposed an agreement, that he heard your voice.

“Our deal has been long since fulfilled,” he reminded you. He turned his head, nose brushing against your cheek. “Or would you like to upgrade our terms?”

You breathe long and slow against him, silent. He knows better than to accept it as an answer one way or the other, where most people would consider it an immediate dismissal.

“I want… to go back to bed.”

He chuckles, but complies with your request. He lifts you effortlessly as he stands, your faces still tucked close together as he navigates the mansion. He can just hear Luke and Kieran laughing to themselves downstairs.

He passes by your old room. It was where you stayed for the first several weeks of your employment, before you wordlessly began climbing into his bed. It was a grand compliment. You encroaching on his space like a stray cat, finally deciding he is worthy of your mere presence.

The door to his bedroom opens with his Evol. He nudges it closed when he enters. Your side of the bed is still unmade, blankets shoved down to the end. Mephisto paced playfully along his perch. No doubt that’s how you’d learned of his meeting.

He lays you down, but before he can stand back up and pull the blankets over you, your arms wrap around his neck and pull him in for an unhurried kiss. He supports himself with a hand beside your head as the other cups your cheek. It’s sweet as honey, stinging like a bee when you bite down on his lip. He groans softly, suppressed by another sweet kiss. Your nails scratch up the back of his neck. One hand tangles within the soft white locks.

And pulls.

His head follows the movement, lips forming a delighted smirk as he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes. You grin minutely as you release him. “Stay?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

Your arms fall from his shoulders as you turn onto your side, facing his half of the bed. He stands up straight and goes back to his task of drawing the blankets back up around you. Even as you lay still, seemingly already fast asleep, he knows you’re listening intently as he disappears into the closet and changes into his sleepwear. You’re still awake when he slips into bed, and as he shifts to the middle. You slot yourself easily into his arms with a pleasant sound.

He falls asleep to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth of your hand holding onto him.

[deliverusfromevillll]

Formerly Yours [Adam/F!Reader] [01]

❝ Wow babe, you really make it sound like you care about me. ❞

warnings ⨾ angst, miscommunication, eating disorders, self neglect, swearing, pinning, no beta we die like adam

terms ⨾ ❝ Powers ❞ In biblical terms, those who assist in governing the natural order.

notes  ⨾ I intend on making this a long series, as I've been hyperfixated on this character for a stupid long time and have created an OC and commissioned artwork of future scenes. If you would like to be part of the process ( as I am currently looking for beta readers ) and/or generally would like to see WIPs feel free to join my discord ( NgT88bybyY ).

[01] [02] [03] [04]

As always minors DNI.| 3.8K words

"FUCK!"

[F/n] recoils, frantically waving and flicking her hand as a burst of steam emerged from the box at her desk. She blows cool air on her exposed fingers, sighing as she tore off the damaged glove.

Despite the shock of energy, she quickly ignores her own pain as her project seemed to have been a success.

The translucent cube radiated a bright yellow at every edge, keeping a clear see-through surface otherwise. Her heart raced, eyebrows raised, as she ogled it further.

Reaching for it confidently, she plucks it, watching the yellow edges reverberate at her touch.

Awe-struck by her success, her features immediately shift into a smirk.

Sera would be pleased.

She sets it back down on her workbench, scooting her chair back. [F/n] opens a drawer, fishing for a new glove among the unorganized mess.

It takes a second but she gets it, fanning out the article before replacing it over her hand. Turning back towards the cube, she cups it under her palms.

She sits up straight, inhaling deeply, eyes flutter shut as she did her best to concentrate. Her celestial magic resonated with the cube, steadily shifting from the gold color to a cool silver.

The next step was extremely precise, she must focus.

"[F/N]—!"

[F/n] jolts, knees hitting the desk. The cube jutted a few increments away, returning to the gold color it was before.

"—My favorite person! Man you're great, so fucking great I know you can quit whatever the fuck you're doing and fix my guitar string right now!"

The panic on her expression grew as she looked over the box, groaning audibly as she rotated to glare at Adam.

"Adam how many times have I told you not to come in my lab immediately screaming my name?!"

"Oh come on Karen, you know I'm the only exciting thing going on in your life. You can stop pretending like you hate me now."

Adam huffs and crosses his arms, looking away aimlessly. His eyes dart back to her then away again after realizing she was staring at him completely unconvinced.

[F/n] sighed.

Getting up, she waves Adam over as she moves towards the open space next to her. Adam grins, offering her his guitar as she mounts it horizontally on a latch installed specifically for his guitar.

"How the fuck did you even break it this time?"

She asks, opening another unsorted drawer and pulling out a box of guitar strings.

"Uhh, well, while you were busy declining my invitations and being a huge lame nerd: I just came back from my kick-ass gig at a party. I went in too hard, y'know what I mean?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

[F/n] absentmindedly lets out an uninterested, "uh huh," at his innuendo.

Adam rolls his eyes, losing interest at her dismissal. He wanders.

She takes a small golden string, weaving it around her fingertips as the broken strings on the guitar reach for the thread. Bringing her hand closer to the guitar, she allows the threads to connect and renew itself using her magic.

Smiling she strums it gently satisfied.

"Alright Adam it's— Adam?" She turns to look where he originally stood, worried when he was no longer there.

"Man what the fuck is this?" He points at the cube, finger dangerously close.

[F/n]'s eyes widen. "DON'T—!" Her wings flutter in panic as she rushed towards him.

Though it was too late. Adam poked the object: It lashed at him in response, absorbing him into the cube in the blink of an eye.

It had shrunken him as well, entrapping him through its see-through walls. Adam pounds at the clear walls, the force reverberating as if it were fluid.

He was shouting. However unable to be heard.

[F/n] groans even louder, face palming as she walks over to pick up the cube. Her brows furrowed, bringing him to eye level.

"You're such a fucking idiot!"

Adam covers his ears at her shouting, sending her the bird in return. He resumes shouting and it translates similarly to the squeak of a mouse. Bringing her ear closer [F/n] could make out two words; "warned" and "me."

Setting him back down in the table [F/n] plants her face into her palms. She's not sure whether she should prepare dying a second time or what, but an epiphany comes to her.

"No, hold on, maybe this can be a good thing."

Adam rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

"I wasn't anticipating something like this so I don't know how to break you out just yet. After I figure it out we wont have to worry about something stupid like this again."

She could feel the hairs on her neck stand, swiping off a bead of sweat as she nervously reinspects their current predicament.

There was no telling how long it could take to bust him out.

The cube's golden color was replaced with a wine red.

"At least it works."

[F/n] laughs nervously to herself.

Adam walks up the the wall, seemingly charging up his swing as his knuckles crash into the barrier. He quickly loses the grip on his fist, shaking off the pain. His other hand comes to soothe his knuckles.

"Oh, your magic is completely snuffed in this thing."

He groaned, though the sound was once again absorbed.

"This is supposed to be a prototype to capture powerful entities but in its current state I'm the only one who can really touch it; since, well, it's made with my magic." Adam looks up at her with a raised brow.

"...I really have to be ready to present later."

[F/n] kicks herself away from the workbench on her rolling chair, shifting through a few test tubes: plucking one.

"You're so fucking annoying, y'know?"

Scooting back towards Adam, she tilts the vile over him slowly.

The silver fluid shimmered through the glass, gleaming further at the angle it was leaning towards. A small drop falls, landing on top of the box. It get absorbed quickly. The red hue pulsated as it was overridden by the familiar golden color from before.

"This is good..." She mutters.

Adam however kept his displeased expression.

[F/n] swipes another bead of sweat from her forehead as she remounts the test tube on a nearby stand. Cupping around the cube, Adam finally breaks his scowl as he nervously looks up at her and mouths something unintelligable.

"Don't worry, this was the next step before you came and touched things you shouldn't."

It took hours. Hours of incremental progress with no solution in sight.

Adam was still entrapped, [F/n] blinking completely blearily as the overuse of her own abilities finally began crawling up on her.

Strands of [h/c] hair stuck out in random spots.

In the timeframe however, the muffling of his voice became weaker and weaker. "You look like shit." Was something Adam would say often after each failed test.

They had also discovered she was able to teleport items into the block: after accidentally transporting her coat while her connection to the cube was still fresh.

She was able to replicate this using his guitar so he at least had some form of entertainment.

Busy mixing a new concoction, her stomach growled. Adam shifted from his seat against the wall, flapping his wings to help himself quickly stand.

"When are we gonna eat."

"After I get you out."

"But you're hungry, I'm hungry: you feel like shit, I feel like shit— c'mon babe don't fuckin' be difficult."

[F/n] groans, placing down the objects in her hands as she stood up. Alright, one quick meal break, that's it: this asshole wouldn't keep his mouth shut otherwise.

Adam grins as she gently grabbed his container and headed out of her lab. Completely ignoring the stairs under her feet as she flew up and through the open door.

She sets him on the counter nearby her fridge.

Opening the freezer, she yanked out a frozen pizza, setting it beside him. [F/n] begins preheating her oven.

"Oh hell yeah. How'd you know I was in the mood for pizza babe?"

"It's the only thing I have in my fridge."

Adam quirked a brow.

"Only pizza?"

"Only pizza."

There was a pregnant pause.

The sounds of the pizza unboxing and quiet shuffling filled the air for the next several seconds while she placed it on a pan. He was deliberating his next few words.

"You don't cook— or order anything even?"

"I don't have time for it." [F/n] sighed. "My research is more important."

Adam could hardly tell because of her robes, but upon really staring at her he did notice she was becoming thinner than usual. There were dark bags underneath her pearly yellow irises and he'd even notice her slow blinks.

He frowned.

"So what do you eat when you work?"

Now it was her turn to stutter, dropping the pizza into the hot oven a littler harsher than intended. The pan clattered but rested nonetheless.

[F/n] shuts the oven closed as she takes a seat next to the counter.

"I... I don't." She sighed again.

Adam hated that answer.

He secretly assumed so, but pushed in hopes of hearing a different response. It made him feel terrible.

Though he would visit her often he never noticed anything askew. Not until he was forced to just sit and watch. After this he swore he'd double his visits either with grub in hand or to drag her out the lab.

He knew he could talk Sera into forcing her to take a break, maybe then it would incentivize her to be more receptive to his visits.

He failed to understand why she was always breathing down her neck, but when he'd ask he would always be met with a nonanswer. 

Adam stood up and walked towards the closest edge to her.

"I need to get you out the of the lab more often, doing this shit all day fucking sucks." Adam stated.

[F/n] cocked her head at him, running a hand through her messy [h/c] hair.

"That'd only set me back on my work."

"Well fuck— then I can drop by and help out or something."

She tried to stifle a laugh. Her attempt didn't go unnoticed. "You serious? Your definition of helping out is messing with all my shit, what makes you think I'd want your help?"

She quirked, picking up the box and brought him to eye level. "Yeah, I'm..."

Adam's stoic expression became sullen in a way he appeared nearly defeated.

It was so odd to see someone with such a huge ego begin to crumble at the idea of rejection.

Adam was someone who can easily fill his schedule, it's not like he needed [F/n] to keep him occupied neither her approval, so: "why did it matter?"

He had Lute in his corner, his band, groupies, friends. Was this pity? It had to be, or maybe some sort of leftover obligation he'd mustered up in his head since she had previously held the title as his best friend: or in his terms his number one bitch.

Times change everywhere, heaven included, there was just no room for leisurely things anymore. 

"I'm... Glad? I'm glad! For, uhh, the offer. Maybe we can after I get done with this you can h—."

It was as if a firework went off in his head. "Fuck yeah! I knew you couldn't say no to me bitch!" He strummed his guitar in excitement.

[F/n] cracked into a smile. She watched in amusement as he strummed a quick verse: immediately perking and repeating the verse.

"You just gave me the best idea for a new song!"

His guitar sings the tune he played beautifully. Adam flaps his wings, kiting around what little space he had in rhythm to his own music methodically.

Her golden irises stare at him almost in awe. He looked akin to one of those wind-up music boxes.

It was cute.

He was cute.

Then it dawned on her. This wasn't a visual she should have, nor a thought she should imagine. Adam wasn't even supposed to be encased in her snare in the first place.

[F/n] sets him down carefully in embarrassment.

Her thoughts interrupted as the oven chimed in, and she shifted to pull it open. With the wave of her fingers, the pan floats out of the oven and sits on top of the stove.

She wills a pizza cutter, manifesting it out of thin air. It radiates a gentle yellow, rolling over the pizza and cutting it into equal slices.

"Guitar sol— OW! FUCK!"

[F/n] flinched, pizza cutter rolling over incorrectly as her magic stuttered. She turns around, blinking.

"Uhh?"

Adam stood before her, ripping his mask and glove off to pop his finger in his mouth. No longer in the confinement of the cube, he looks up at her before realizing he was now free.

"What the hell happened?" [F/n] asked in clear confusing.

Adam muffled. "I fuckin' cut myself rocking out too hard." He takes his finger out of his mouth, a small dribble of golden ichor coats his finger.

Glancing between him and the box that was now a cool silver. That's all it took. The blood of an angel. He was free.

[F/n] sighed, he really did help solve it after all. She chuckled in disbelief. Adam immediately shot her a look before reminding her of his injury.

"Uhh hello? Still fucking bleeding here." He takes the seat she was on earlier.

"Hold on."

Adam watches her disappear into another room for a minute, reemerging with a medical kit in hand. She sets it next to him, unzipping the material before pulling out some of the contents.

A bandage, cotton balls, and a black bottle with "Hydrogen Peroxide" in large white letters.

"Is the peroxide really necessary? I-I mean it's a small cut!" Adam huffed, looking worried as his eyes met hers.

[F/n] sits down beside him, extending her wing to blanket him comfortingly while she dabbled a cotton ball into the liquid. "Lord knows how much sinner remnants or mystery fluids are still on your guitar, when's the last time you properly cleaned it?" 

His feathers brushed against her own causing him to shiver internally. It was like a spark shot through his spine. Adam relaxed for a moment against her warmth.

"Uhh, like, a week? I dunno."

She mumbled. "That can get infected. I'm not risking that."

"Wow babe, you really make it sound like you care about me." Adam grinned.

"It's cause I do."

His grin shrunk slightly, taken aback at how she admitted it so easily.

Despite all the years together where their friendship mainly consisted of him either teasing or irritating her, he fully expected to hear a "no" or anything of the sort.

Adam felt chest tighten.

Then he hissed.

The cotton gently being pressed against his open cut made the pain worse tenfold. No pain compared to that of rubbing alcohol.

He didn't even notice her taking his hand among his thoughts. Though still in pain, he could feel her small hands cup his large one.

"Who knew a bit of angel blood was all this thing fucking needed? Man I feel so stupid now." [F/n] mutters mostly to herself, but Adam still heard through coping with own pain.

"Y-Yeah, you're welcome." Adam forced a grin.

She had removed her lab gloves during the process. He was able to feel her skin on his, the first thought he had being how soft her skin felt. Her hands were so much smaller compared to his own.

Her touch was so gentle.

Even when she was wrapping the bandage around his finger she treated him so carefully as if he were some delicate thing. It felt so nurturing. Loving almost. It made him smile.

"There, better?"

Adam looks at the bandage that had yellow star prints among space. Of course she'd own this over regular skin-toned bandages. He smiled, quietly chuckling.

"Yeah. Thanks babe."

[F/n] smiles, clearing her throat as she teleported the pizza before them. She picks up a slice, taking a small bite to answer her growling stomach.

"Man this isn't so bad."

Adam does the same, taking a chunk into his mouth.

He chews for a moment before tensing, side-eyeing her to watch as she pulled it back to her mouth for another bite. His hand reaches out to stop her arm from bringing the damned thing close enough to her lips.

He spits the chunk out of his mouth.

"Are you fucking insane? This tastes like shit!" He corrected. "You can taste how aged this garbage is! How long did you keep this for?"

Adam stands, placing the slice back on the pan before turning towards her fridge. He yanks it open.

His eyes are met with nothing more than a few bottles of water, most of them were open and at various levels. Opening the freezer wasn't any better. There sat but a single pint of french vanilla ice cream.

"I told you." [F/n] shrugs.

He turns to [F/n].

"I'm ordering us some real food."

"Seriously though, but I'm telling ya, the look on her stupid fucking face when I told her the extermination date was cut to six months was everything!" Adam laughed in between bites. 

"And —oh fuck— get this: she tried to imply they don't deserve death— that they could ascend and cross those pearly gates! HAHA! Can you believe it?" 

He extended a wing out, coiling around her like a large blanket as he nudged her closer to him on the couch. The tv playing in the background filled the silence in between pauses. 

"It's so hilariously pathetic!"

[F/n] nodded along with him, nervously laughing.

She hid the straight line on her lips.

"See? Better right?" Adam grins as he bit into the meat-lover styled pizza. [F/n] nods in content as she popped the final bite of her slice into her mouth. She hummed in delight. 

She was accustomed to mainly eating frozen foods, eating was mostly an afterthought, especially as of recent, so admittedly there were days she either completely forgot or was too spent to even bother.

There was something really endearing about the idea Adam would still go out of his way to do this, considering he could've literally just left after he was freed.

[F/n] sinks into his wing, feeling her feathers ruffle against his. He was warm, very, very warm. She felt slightly guilty accepting his comfort.

"I'm surprised you didn't immediately bounce after you got out." [F/n] admits. 

Adam side-eyes her before turning to face her. "Why would I? I'm exhausted and starving."

She rolled her eyes, lightly elbowing him. Adam glances towards the open box then back at his piece. "I mean shit, did you even eat more than a slice?"

"I don't see how this matters?"

"Yeah how about you let me decide what I wanna fucking worry about or not nerdy-tits, got it? Thanks now open up." 

Adam hovers his already bitten piece before her lips, giving her an encouraging nudge as she blushed. She paused in embarrassment. [F/n] huffed, swallowing her pride with a bite of his slice.

"His lips were on it..." She thinks to herself, watching the satisfied smile on his expression grow before being hidden as he takes his last bite, tossing the crust back onto the box among the other uneaten slices.

"Was that so hard?" He asks with a mouthful.

"Y'know, sugar-tits, you seriously don't have to be locked in your lab all day. You're too hot for shit like that."

"So you want me to leave my work for what— to be your fucking mindless groupie instead?"

They both look at each other. [F/n] more shocked than anything as the words just left her tongue with no prior thought. Her response came off harsher than intended. 

Was that really how she felt?

She knew Adam was popular among women, he was the first man after all, self proclaimed "dick master" before all. It never bothered her before, well, not the the extent where she outwardly lashed at him. 

Even if she did feel as though he replaced her, she never faulted him for it no matter how it pained her.

[F/n] never wanted to acknowledge the emotion because it would only materialize further, and realizing she did exactly that annoyed her.

He was nice to her, cared and fed her, this seemed unnecessarily hostile and out of left field. 

"Sorry." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

That's what it was, exhaustion. 

After leaving the lab she didn't notice it until she properly sat down but she has been feeling the weight of her work this entire time. The stress of it, and the labor. All this among Adam coming in readily available to create a larger mess.

"Geez babe, didn't take you for the jealous type."

"I am not jealous, just tired."

"Lying is a sin y'know."

"I'm not LYING!"

She'd gotten up, leaving the warmth of his wings. [F/n] walked over to the sliding door connected to the room, nearly ripping it open. She had sucked in an exasperated breath.

Enough of this nonsense. 

Her brows knit together. "You need to leave, now." She muttered loud enough for him to hear, head pointed over her shoulder to look at him.

"What? Why? Because I teased you?!"

[F/n] rolls her eyes. "I need to keep working without you barreling into my lab preferably this time."

Adam shot up, shoving his mask on as he'd stomp over at her. He'd wave both his hands outwards, face wrinkling in frustration. "What's got you on your period? You were never like this in the past!"

There was that word. The past. She hated it.

This was childish, a thing of history, not the person who she was now.

Her job was important, far too important. It angered her she'd allow herself to be lured out like this. Heaven's work was more urgent than whatever residual sentiment existed between them. 

"I said get the fuck out!"

[F/n] had shoved him to the other side of the wall, despite his protests.

The clear door rattled as it closed in the middle of them, locking itself with magic.

Adam stares at her through the glass, eyes wide and with some level of shock or anger, or perhaps even both, but she couldn't decipher all that well and honestly didn't want to.

[F/n] holds his stare looking distant. Her lips creased.

It's difficult to do this, but this was faster than dragging it out. She could only hope one day he'd come to appreciate or gain some level of understanding why this turned out the way it did. 

For now, no matter her feelings, this was easier than explaining.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 [𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧]

˗ˏˋ things start to get awkward when you find out that your boss is the face behind your favorite +18 account ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : I had a really though week and a lot of things happened so I got a bit unmotivated to get back to writing, but slowly I'll get back to myself <3 for now just gonna repost this fic from a writting collab about the daydreams I have of a dilf at work (luckly I still had it on my drafts)

⤷ contains : fem! reader x boss! levi, nsfw, work colleagues, modern au, age gap (reader is early 20s and levi is late 30s), dilf dilf dilf [wc: 1.8k]

⤷ now playing : ref:rain by aimer

Raining… under the umbrella one summer afternoon as a shower passed

Kissing… I gently kissed your wet cheek

I’m still longing for that season

The rain pours down the gray sky, it falls across the monotonous buildings and hits the windows of the office. As I look mindlessly at the world outside my thoughts wander through familiar places or better a familiar person – Levi Ackerman is truly a sight for sore eyes on this boring afternoon. Even though he's part of the higher ups, that didn't stop me from fantasizing about him during those never ending meetings, admiring the fancy suits he wears, thinking about the muscles beneath his fitted shirts and his slender fingers running down my back. "You're staring again" Mikasa appeared beside my desk "I wasn't! I was just… zoning out" she hummed and took a sip of her coffee "You know he's married… and has a kid right?". A deep breath left my lips as I looked back at some documents in front of me "As if I could ever forget about that" yet an obscure warmth still settles at my stomach when I see him passing in front of my desk every day.

Miss You… the scenes outside my window grow distant

Breezing… I saw a rainbow just barely vanishing

I just hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow

I’m at a total loss these days, with my head in the clouds

Nothing but you is a part of me

This endless rain keeps falling by the time I leave the office, as soon as I get home soaked and tired I head straight up to the bathroom and fill up the tub. Drifting under the warm water my mind starts to wander through complicated feelings again. For the past few months I discovered a certain someone that makes videos on an +18 site, through many nights I stayed up late with heavy breaths filling up my tiny studio, the sight of his skilled hands stroking himself with a halfly open button up was already engraved in my mind but his identity was still a mystery. However lately I've come to notice a few curious things, that the fancy suits he always used in his videos seemed eerily familiar, or that his muscular physique and silent moans were quite similar to a certain person I meet everyday at work. Someone that would never cross my mind when I watched those videos on such lonely nights. Perhaps he did appear in many fantasies, but not without leaving a tiny taste of guilt on the back of my throat after the shockwave of pleasure ran over me. These mixed thoughts along with the boiling steam from the bath made my head dizzy, yet I still lean it on the edge of the tub while my fingers find their way under the water and the image of him on top of me paints itself once again inside this lustful mind.

It’s still not enough

It still won’t fade away

Innocence remains in the palms of our joined hands

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

These phrases soak through me like rain

As the end of the year comes closer so do the company reports and the planning for next year projects. A group of employees were called to be responsible for these activities and even though I ain't a higher up I still ended up involved at it, to much of my desire and dismay since our areas operate closely we were paired to work together, which made us see each other a bit more frequently than expected. Write the report, check up data, make it along the norm, revise everything, it's an endless work that feels like an even more dreadful task since I have to face him everyday with those videos flooding my mind each time we cross our eyes. Memories of the way my fingers worked as I watched him undress his shirt and unbuckle his belt across the screen on the night before remind me of the golden shine on his ring finger, an anchor that pulls me down to earth and makes it explicit he has a family and a life outside the company. Yet for some reason this golden ring wasn't there anymore.

It’s still not enough

I still can’t say

The “goodbye” from my dreams, back when I was counting the days

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

If we had never touched, would we be smiling now?

I wanted to believe his missing ring was just my lustful mind playing tricks on me, the constant sound of the raindrops pulled me back from my reveries while I organized some things for the meeting we are going to have at his office. At this moment a notification popped on my screen – a new video was posted. My face heated up, I didn't want to open it but my fingers already clicked at it. The scenario seems quite similar to Levi's office and the suit the man was wearing was also strangely similar to his. As I take a glance at the clock it reminds me of our meeting which I'm almost late to. I knock at his door and a low voice tells me to come in, he carefully sorts through some documents and let out a deep breath when he sees me "You're late" I make my way to the chair in front of him "Sorry, I got caught up finishing a report" he lifts one of his brows and the shadow of a smirk appears on his lips. We start to discuss the priorities for the projects, but as much as I try to focus on it my eyes can't divert from a really specific bare finger and a very particular white stain on the seat of his chair.

Calling… beneath a sky where our white breaths alight

Freezing… the strong wind chills my hands and my weakness

So I hide them away in my pockets

No matter where I look, the days have passed me by

Nothing but you is a part of me

After an hour passed we both decided to take a break before heading over for the next topics. I walk over to the window to stretch a bit while Levi stays seated, he looks at his hand and leans on his chair "You seem a bit distracted today" his sudden remark gets me off guard  "Huh, I-I am? Sorry I didn't even realize it". Even though I try to avert my eyes, his famous cold stare pierces through me entirely. "Do you think I'm stupid brat?" his face gets serious and I look at him shocked "I-I don't know what are you talking about". Levi gets up and slowly walks toward me "Oh you know… the stares, the sighs, the fidgeting fingers. You think I didn't notice you staring at my hand lately" I feel my face completely heats up as he gets closer at each step "Divorce isn't as uncommon as you think, brat".

I want to touch you again

But you’re just too bright

I instinctively turn away from the light of your kindness

I wanna sleep in your feeling

I wanna see you in the deep

These phrases from the song I sing now

Endless thoughts flood my mind as he looks at me like a scared prey "I-I think there was a misunderstanding" my voice comes out shaky "But I'm really sorry you're going through this, specially with a young child" his expression softens "We're trying to make the whole process the least traumatic for him. We have no hard feelings involved…". My heart aches a bit for being so selfish this whole time, it kind of saddens me knowing they were a happy family "... Well I'm sure he loves you both a lot" Levi sighs tiredly and runs his hand through his dark hair "Anyway enough about my private life you're changing the subject. Or do you think you'll get away with it?". My confused eyes met his once again "I already told you I don't know what you're talking about" he quickly closes the distance between us and grabs my chin and I'm finally cornered on his table "Show me your phone then. A few hours ago a certain video was uploaded on a site you might be familiar with and I was wondering if that was the report you were finishing before coming here". My heart starts to beat faster and a tingly sensation spreads on my core, the smirk on his lips widens as he notices my heaving chest "You watched it".

I ride that same road home, cradled by the bus

I see a dream I don’t think could ever come true

I wanna sleep in your feeling

I wanna see you in the deep

That season never makes its way back around

If I had remained just a bit more mature, I wonder what I could have said…

He presses his palms on the table caging me, his lip inches closer to my neck slowly making its way to my ear "You've been a very naughty girl lately, haven't you brat?" breath seems to vanish as his hands start to travel up my thighs lifting up a bit of my skirt. His slender fingers slowly trail over the heat in my core sending shivers all over. With swift and precise movements he takes over every inch of my body and mind, the warmth he slides inside me drips over my legs while his hot breath damps the skin of my neck. Hidden eagerness and veiled hunger walk along our touches as euphoria finally reaches our dampened hearts, now hanging on each other desperately trying to take back the air we didn't seem to need a few seconds ago, 

It’s still not enough

It still won’t fade away

Innocence remains in the palms of our joined hands

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

These phrases soak through me like rain

His lingering touch still makes me shiver as I rest my head on his shoulder, his calloused palms hold me firmly as I try to put my trembling legs on the floor. "I guess we both have been quite stressed lately… I wouldn't mind having you over for dinner" my fingers trail the nape of his neck "Both meanings of that phrase seem lovely, but don't you have to see your son tomorrow?" a scoff scapes his lip "After so many nights I spent awake over work you don't think I can pull an all nighter with you?" he traces my jawline and lifts my chin to finally meet his ice blue eyes "Can you keep your promises Mr. Ackerman?" "Don't worry brat, I'll teach you to work overtime".

It’s still not enough

I still can’t say

The “goodbye” from my dreams, back when I was counting the days

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

If we had never touched, would we be smiling now?

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2023. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[happiestplacehq]

Newspapers, physical newspapers, were so archaic to Mirage. The world was online. Why wasn’t this town?

Well, she knew why in some regard.

She knew why the “strange” goings-on in Redwood Hollow were not global news, nor regional, nor Facebook Conspiracy of the week. Her employer at the very least had figured out how to keep that lock-and-key. She knew, of course, that Mr. Borovsky had a great understanding of his plan, and the world at large, and how people from across the planet may be pulled to the town, but no one else was really privy to it.

But back to the papers.

Why the hell did a town in this century still print it’s news on thin, dirty, disposable sheets?

One could hardly call the Daily Hollow a broadsheet, and the Redwood Review was nothing short of a gossip rag.

The blank ink on the paper was rubbing off on her fingers. It was stuck in the fine lines of her fingertips, evidence before it was evidence.

Newspapers in their archaicness made this news all that more heavy and confusing.

Somehow one of the writers had landed on a story that surprised even Mirage.

Not because it was surprising to her. Mirage knew many of the details were, indeed, true. The surprise was not even that the papers had got it. It was the news story itself that was the surprise.

Henrik Hera, 29, son of famed energy CEO Zues Hera, poisoned!

Mirage sat at the edge of the sticky leather chair, ankles crossed, paper on her lap.

She might have caught this sooner than it got to press had the writer written their story on an internet accessible computer. She might have gotten it sooner had the junior doctor asked to update Henrik Hera’s file done so correctly.

Archaic was a running theme.

Mirage slid the paper across the desk to her employer.

Mr. Borovsky sat opposite. One might have said he looked relaxed, if otherwise completely unreadable.

The same could not be said for Mirage, who was uncharacteristically sweating.

He read.

The dewy green of his eyes darkened in the shadow of his brow.

“I haven’t gained access to the full report yet,” Mirage explained. Though her voice remained calm, her pulse did not.

Mr. Borovsky said nothing for some time.

He threw the paper onto the desk, like any old, uninteresting tabloid, sat back in chair, and considered the woman on the edge of her seat.

“Well, this won’t do, will it?”

“No, sir.”

He clasped his hands on his lap, taking a slow breath in. And out.

To the right of them, there was a window, the length and height of the wall. In a better setting, light would have poured into the deep, mahogany room and warmed the place. Mr. Borovsky’s home was far, far away from the energetic little town of Redwood Hollow, up winding hills, closer to the mountains, and buried well within the confines of the trees that made the town famous in the first place. Light fought the leaves and branches but fell short of the room.

Mr Borovky turned his chair so that he might look out into the trees surrounding his.

For Mirage, this did not feel any better than having his searing gaze on her.

“I want the doctor, and the reporter.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have them to you first thing on M--”

“I don’t think you understand, Ms. Andress. This was supposed to be untraceable, and it has been traced, and my friends at the hospital have not been doing as I have asked. There is no first thing.”

Mirage nodded.

“On the desk to your right—” he said, without gesture. “You will find a list. Arrange a meeting with your colleagues. We have no choice but to move forward faster than I would have hoped. And have those names to me by this evening.”

-

Henrik Hera, 29, son of famed energy CEO Zues Hera, poisoned!

As reported in last month's issue, Henrik Hera was rushed to Redwood Hollow Hospital after collapsing, following a short but sudden illness that doctors were unable to explain. Mr. Hera later fell into a month long coma, similar to the increased number of unexplained coma’s that have befallen townsfolk across the town in previous months. Doctors and staff at Redwood Hollow Hospital have been unable to find a cause for the sudden influx of illness and coma patients since they first began in 2022. However, a break through was made when doctors were able to identify an unknown substance in Mr. Hera’s blood. While we do not have reports of what that substance was, there is a suggestion that Mr. Hera (and perhaps many of the unfortunate patients) was poisoned. There are no further updates from medical staff at this time. It is being reported that Redwood Hollow Police Department have no current leads or motives.

[nickyroethemarinebiologist]

Hey...I bring offerings (looks at you with my big sad eyes). Of cowboys. I forgot about this for a hot minute BUT I'm back and they're back and we're so fucking back baby. I don't know what to write in these bits anyways let's GO

* * *

Chapter Four, "Bite The Bullet"

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, sir,” The old fellow said, scratching at his chin as he handed the poster back over to Amos, “Don’t think he’s ever passed through here, though I’m sure I would have noticed if he had. Sounds a fancy bloke.”

Amos frowned. This was the third town he had passed through, and so far he was yet to find anyone who recognised Edward Jensen, or could give him an answer other than unhelpfully vague directions. He was beginning to consider giving up on the man entirely, but he could not bear to return home empty-handed, and the man he had sat with on that first night was sure to have something to say about it, though likely not a meek complaint, or conversation of any sorts.

Amos felt his brow furrow at the thought, but caught himself in the moment and forced his face to relax, offering the old man as pleasant an expression as he could muster.

“Very helpful,” He said, and nodded afterwards in an attempt to make the sentiment feel more sincere, “But if you do see anything—”

“I’ll be sure to call it in, have no doubt about that,” The man said with a smile, showing off the gaps in his teeth. Amos held himself from stepping back, and shook the man’s hand politely.

“Yes. Thank you,” He said.

Once he was away, and the man had firmly shut his door, Amos issued a sigh that was closer to a groan, wiping his hands first on his shirt and then across his face, though he did not feel tired.

He thumbed the wanted poster in his hand, absently turning it over and folding the edges over his thumb. He had looked at it enough times now to read the words by heart, and could remember the face of Jensen himself well enough to hold it alongside the list of his crimes, though he did have to admit, the drawing itself looked more ghoulish than the real man ever had, at any moment.

The ink smudged under his thumb somewhat, making a number of the words wholly unreadable and pushing Jensen’s features into one another, though it did little to distract from the poster itself; the whole thing was looking rather worse for wear, having been in Amos’ pocket for a majority of it’s trip, and it felt as though it might rip apart in his hands. Amos was not worried — he might always find another; the rumour of McKinley’s murder was spreading fast — but he felt some inexplicable disappointment at the sorry look of Jensen’s poster. Amos frowned, and folded it back into the front pocket of his waistcoat.

He had found Edward Jensen first to be quite odd, then entirely puzzling, and then infuriatingly lucky, at the unfortunate expense of Amos himself. The man seemed entirely incapable of keeping himself alive for more than a day, yet still he had managed to slip from Amos’ reach, on a stolen horse, no less.

To be foiled in such a way was not a new experience, but an unpleasant one; Amos had hoped the job would be quick, but was now forced to turn to the local folk for help, and he could only admit he had little interest in people, at the best of times. More dreadful, though, was the moment directly after Jensen’s escape, when Amos was forced to deal with the man who owned the land. He had told Amos, very loudly, and many times over, that he would be expecting his compensation in the post, or his horse returned shortly. Amos had managed to calm him only by offering a short fund upfront, taken right out of his pay for Jensen’s reward, and was finally able to send him away, what must have been hours later.

He had stopped immediately afterwards in the same hotel that Jensen had apparently been staying in; he had a short conversation with the man at the desk, and offered him his thanks for the help in Jensen’s capture. The man made a polite comment in return, and was very sorry to hear that Jensen had escaped so easily, and Amos found himself with a room for the night, at nearly half what he would have usually paid.

The trip to the next town took several hours, and afforded him a little leisure, though he would have hoped for something to make the journey less tedious. He arrived at midday, and left shortly afterwards, once the townsfolk had proved themselves to be wholly unhelpful for him.

Now, he was beginning to think the whole thing rather hopeless; he had not begun the trip with good faith, and on more than one occasion he found himself considering a trip home, though he did not usually think himself so easily defeated. But he was not quite ready to give up, and knew that if he did he would never be able to let himself be free of it, so he turned for town square; he was more likely to spot Jensen there, and on the chance he didn’t he might at least be able to find  a moment of rest.

The square was more crowded than he would have liked, but he found his way to the nearest bar he could find. He was not at all hungry, for he had eaten on the journey into town, but thought it would at least be a good place to stop for the moment; he would be relatively out of the way, and might blend in much more than he did on the streets, so at the very least he would be able to observe the townsfolk for a small while, and if he was lucky, find some sort of clue to Jensen’s whereabouts.

The bar went quiet when he entered, and a large part of those at tables paused to look to the door; he took no notice of it, and said nothing, making immediately for an open seat, in the farthest corner from the door. The townsfolk, apparently having decided he was of no interest, dropped their heads and resumed their conversations, and the noise started up again immediately.

Though there was one man in particular, who had not moved at all, except to make anxious glances over his shoulder. He would not have stood out so much if he had followed the rest of the crowd, and Amos might never have noticed him, but now he paused at his seat, and narrowed his eyes.

Edward Jensen was wholly unaware of his surroundings, or so it seemed; Amos crossed the bar and slipped into the seat across from him, and though he did not make much of a fuss, he was far from silent, and he was somewhat surprised to that the man paid him no attention. His surprise passed quickly when the moment dragged on, and impatience quickly followed; Amos frowned, and coughed pointedly, tapping one finger twice on the table to catch the man’s attention.

Jensen paused over his food, looking as though he was scared even to look up. He dropped his spoon — Amos felt his mouth twitch at the unpleasant sound — and then swallowed nervously, and looked up from his plate.

“Ah.” He said, though he sounded disappointed rather than surprised. Amos gave him an odd look. “Um.”

“Um?” Amos said in return, and raised his brow. He would not like to admit it, but he had expected somewhat more of a reaction. But Jensen looked only uncomfortable, and quite unhappy, rather than the shock or defiance he was accustomed to.

“…Good morning?”

It was here that Amos found himself wholly at a loss for words; the man had been infuriatingly polite when he had met him, and then even during his escape he had not dared utter a word against him, but even Amos would never expect such a greeting from any man with an ounce of self-preservation, much less a wanted criminal.

Still, he would not let it distract him, and made a point not to return Jensen’s odd attempt at a polite smile. “It’s well past midday,” He said, and then made a grab for him across the table. He caught Jensen on the collar of his shirt; Jensen made a frightened sound, and tried to pull himself away, without much success. Amos had him held quite surely, but now he found himself with another problem: he could not apprehend Jensen from across the table without letting him go entirely. Jensen seemed to have noticed this also; he stopped struggling for a brief moment and looked at Amos with obvious worry in his expression , as though he was waiting for him to make a move. Amos cursed his own impatience, and let Jensen go, roughly shoving him against his chair.

He was after him immediately, but now Jensen had been offered a chance, and as Amos came towards him he stepped out and skirted around the other side of the table, leaving them at much the same position again. Amos scowled, Jensen gave him a helpless expression in return, but when Amos tried to make another grab for him he only stepped sideways, hastily throwing his hands up at his sides to keep them away from his reach.

Amos frowned. He found himself becoming suddenly angry; the morning had left him already quite irritated, and his frustration now only mounted upon his rising outrage.

“You witless pest,” He spat, at which Jensen made a face that was amusingly offended.

“I beg your pardon?” Jensen said, and then turned and fled across the bar when Amos made another grab for him.

The townsfolk had begun to notice their tussle at the table, in a somewhat delayed reaction, by Amos’ own standards, considering Jensen had been hopping around the table for much longer than they seemed to have realised. He could only dread to think what they had grown accustomed to, though put the thought aside, and ignored the many shouts of protest when he dove between the tables.

Jensen had, foolishly, backed himself into a corner, and was looking helplessly between the men at the nearest tables, who could only offer up a look of confusion. Amos saw his chance; he made another grab for him, but met instead with a stranger’s shoulder — the man pulled his chair in without so much as a glance in Amos’ direction, looking wholly sheepish, and doing an awful job at hiding his intents. Jensen fled for the cover of another table, Amos could not stop to voice his frustrations, likely through threats rather than his words, and was again forced to follow, though he was beginning to feel much like a cat after a mouse, if the cat had very little sleep, and the mouse was a creature with a maddening amount of dumb luck.

Jensen skipped out from his reach, pausing across the table, and they found themselves in much the same position as they had begun with.

Amos felt his jaw clench, in an attempt to compose himself. Jensen only watched, and waited.

“Edward Jensen,” Amos said, finally, forcing himself to relax. He had dealt with men such as Jensen before — though not usually in a situation such as this ­— and though he knew it would only build upon his outrage, he knew Jensen would not be able to resist a well-mannered greeting, and consoled himself with the thought that he might turn the tables in his favour.

Jensen watched him, curiously. “Amos?”

“Frank,” He said in return, though felt his throat itch uncomfortably. “Frank. Amos. Listen. We might find a way to talk this out.”

Giving up his name so easily to a man close to a stranger felt almost foolish enough to surrender immediately, and return to the game of cat-and-mouse across the bar. But his efforts were quickly rewarded: Jensen visibly relaxed, and levelled him with a look just short of kind. Amos could only wonder if he really was as foolish as he seemed, or if he was hiding his own intentions — perhaps they both had much the same idea.

Still he sighed, and gave a pleasant smile.

“There’s a wagon outside. Down the road, waiting for me. Us,” He said, very seriously. Jensen watched him closely. “Your bags, and their contents—I took them from your room. They’re there for you. If you…might come with me,” He felt his mouth twitch, but held his smile, as genuine as he could manage. “I’m sure I could find you someone to talk to. Get you your stuff back, sort this all out.”

“Oh, really?” Jensen said, with great relief. He was somewhat surprised at the man’s apparent kindness; he had left a lot of his clothes in that bag, and a good deal of his money also, and found himself largely considering Amos’ offer.

“No, you idiot.”

Amos could not hide his frustration any longer; he abandoned his plan, if it could be called that, and went immediately for another grab at Jensen’s coat. Jensen gaped at him and skirted away, fleeing through the door, and Amos could only curse his own impatience, for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

He was after him at once, and caught up easily, taking hold of his stupidly long coat. A moment of wild grappling, and then they went to the ground in a heap, Jensen with his face in the dirt and Amos struggling in the fall to keep a hold on him.

Jensen shrieked in horror and flailed blindly in an attempt to defend himself, which would not usually have proved at all helpful, if Amos was not entirely unprepared. He failed to dodge a flailing arm, which earned him a slap to the face, and though he tried to keep Jensen from fleeing, the man seemed wholly impossible to restrain — he wriggled out from Amos’ hold, apparently with only his rising panic to his advantage, and Amos could only hope to shield himself until he was away.

Jensen had hardly made three steps before Amos pulled his gun from his belt, and stood, pointing it surely at Jensen’s head.

“Stop!”

Jensen paused. Amos took the moment to catch his breath, and Jensen seemed to follow; his chest heaved with his every breath, and slowly, he raised his arms.

Neither dared make the first move. Amos watched the man closely, every nervous twitch of his hand, mirrored in his own finger, settled quite comfortably on the trigger of his gun. Jensen stared in open fear, at the gun as much as Amos himself, and Amos could not help but feel a quiet bloom of triumph settle in his chest.

Finally Jensen spoke, infuriatingly slow in his words;

“If I am to go with you, would you still kill me?”

Amos paused, lowered his arm. He was itching to use his gun; he rubbed his thumb against it, and tapped it loosely against his leg, as though agitated. He weighed the options in his mind, frowning at Jensen in open frustration, and finally said, in a voice that suggested he did not fully believe his own words; “...I won’t kill you.”

“Ah,” Jensen said, pleasantly. “Well, that’s perfectly splendid then.”

He offered a hand; Amos shook it, with measurable reluctance, though if Jensen noticed he did not say a word. Amos frowned, and was wholly unprepared when Jensen took his hand in a fist and struck him across the face.

Amos stumbled and groaned about the pain, while Jensen made no other move, looking as surprised as Amos felt. He cradled his face, already growing sore, and fixed the man with a look of confusion as much as shock, for a moment wholly at a loss for words.

“You punched me!”

“Right! Yes, sorry!” Jensen said, and then struck him again.

There was not such force to knock him to the floor, still Amos stumbled in his bewilderment, blotting blood from his nose. Coughing, he caught only a glimpse of motion, and then Jensen was away. He had taken the little chance he had and fled.

Dazed, Amos could only groan, taking a moment to gather himself; only as much as he would allow, and then he took up his gun and set after Jensen immediately, stumbling briefly but keeping his footing.

Jensen ran for the edge of town, feeling very much like he might collapse at any moment. By some strike of luck Amos was able to keep him in his sights, though was nearly tripping in the dirt and narrowly avoided falling over himself entirely. Jensen should not have been so hard to catch, which was ever clearer now that Amos could see him running; he looked as though he might stumble at any moment, and he spent much of his time looking over his shoulder. But Amos was not far behind now, Jensen must have noticed; he flung himself around a corner, into a back street, which led nowhere, but the farthest edge of town.

Amos recognised the turn of the street, and realised he meant to make for the train station. The prospect served to spur him on — if Jensen reached his train, there would be little hope of catching up before he managed to disappear entirely, and less still of ever finding him again. But his fears were quickly realised; he turned the corner, and caught the station in his sights, with the train sitting idle, ready to gather itself and set out over the tracks.

A whistle sounded; the train moved off. Jensen reached the platform and nearly tripped up the stairs in panic, leaving Amos to follow while the train seemed about to leave at any moment. His legs were aching, as was his injury, but he had the man in his sights; Jensen called for the train to hold, reaching for the carriages, and abruptly Amos was there, pulling him to the floor.

They thumped heavily to the platform, and rolled about on the ground, battering at each other awkwardly. Amos had a hold on Jensen’s arm, though Jensen scrambled and made himself infuriatingly hard to keep a hold of. The train had long passed the platform, there was no hope of catching it, still Jensen fought until he was free and ran to the edge, clutching one of the wooden posts that held the roof, as though he might collapse at any moment.

Amos paused in chasing him, now suddenly offered the moment to rest. He lay flat on his back and panted, not caring for Jensen more than the ache in his limbs, and the pain at his face. He groaned, and sat up, preparing to set off in pursuit again, though caught himself only stopped to watch Jensen, still and leaning at the post, watching the train retreat over the horizon.

Amos watched him for the moment; he felt an odd sort of pity at the man’s sorry frame, hunched over himself, looking as though he were as tired as Amos felt himself, and perhaps more. He frowned, and went to stand, but the motion only served to free Jensen from his own thoughts; he turned to Amos with a helpless expression.

“Oh, lord, you’re bleeding,” He said, sounding a little uncertain.

Amos blinked and looked down at himself; he had not even noticed that his shirt was spattered with flecks of his blood. He ran a hand over his face, which did nothing much but wipe blood onto his fingers. He looked up at Jensen; the man was watching him carefully, as though he might pounce on him at any moment. “Yes,” He said, “You punched me.”

Jensen nodded; he looked suddenly guilty. “Yes. I did,” He said. “I’m terribly sorry,” He added.

Amos fixed him with a narrow-eyed look, but found he could not in the moment bring himself to insult the man. Now that it had been brought to mind, the sensation of dust and blood was unpleasant upon his skin; he turned from Jensen and set instead to wiping at his face with his sleeves, though kept a sharp eye in case he tried to make a move.

But Jensen did nothing but watch, very quietly, apparently having given up on the idea of escape entirely.

“I suppose that’ll be it, for me?” He said at last, “End of the line.”

Amos looked over at him. Jensen made an odd sort of motion, as though startled; Amos was suddenly aware that he must have been presenting a rather horrible picture to the world — he was not wholly sure his face had entirely been cleaned of blood, and the ends of his sleeves were beginning to look similarly unpleasant. But Jensen did not seem afraid as much as sad; Amos gave him a curious look.

“You killed a man.”

Jensen blinked, looking suddenly pitiful. “No, I promise you. I didn’t,”

Here Amos paused. “You did,” He said slowly, brow furrowing. To be told such a thing was not strange, many men before had tried the same trick, and though Jensen looked truly miserable, and far from smart enough to try such a foolish trick, Amos would not let himself be swayed. “You shot him.”

“No, no, I would never!” Jensen said, sounding truly upset. “He was a good fellow. A very good man, a wonderful man. I would never,” He added.

For a brief moment, there was an odd expression in his face; Amos noted the shine in his eyes, and the strain on his lips, as though he was holding himself carefully, else he might collapse.

But there was little time to dwell on it; in that moment, the tracks sounded with a low, steady rumble, and another train came fast approaching, with seemingly no apparent intent to stop. Amos turned, and marked the hopeful look of Jensen’s expression.

“Don’t,” He said, low and sharp. He was only half the way up from the floor, and held himself in a crouch, though his legs ached the moment he made a move. “Not a move, not at all.”

But Jensen had found his chance; the train pulled to the station and pressed on, and he was away before Amos could take hold of him, chasing for the train as though his very life depended on it.

First / Previous / Next

[medicus-felini]

"That's how it went; this little game of truth and dare.. I knew it would cause me trouble, ga ne." Mr 3 chuckles, unlike how someone else planned; he doesn't feel annoyed at all. He's hardly takes first steps and that was just a perfect cue. The artist leans over her desk, elbows over the table while facing the mink; as the dare said he should do. "We're close enough and while I know I shouldn't be that shy to talk about these things with you, Missy Linn. My heart just can't handle when I think about you that manner, specially in front of others, ga ne." He gently takes her hand, placing over his own cheek as he nuzzles it without breaking eye contact. " I'll admit I'm into wax play but it's not my main thing.... if you're ever interested. I even searched for things that wouldn't glue onto your fur—that’s more as a foreplay tool than anything." He gives a firm squeeze over her hand.

“Now about fantasy… well. I’m a simple man; doubt that would be called degenerated per say. Do you know when our hearts feel like one and we’re about to feel total bliss? There’s.. really something about if I just took it from you; that ending. I guess because I like to be in control of things; plan them. Now...If that happened.. over.. and over..and over." His lips touched her palm, kissing softly as his eyes closed for a bit. “ There’s something sublime in the total frustration and pain that is not being able to get what you want, until you feel simply miserable and just want the release of that sensation, you know.”

“Oh.. to imagine Missy Linn with pitiful eyes; begging please and then holding them closer to me as I finally allow myself to end that agony. As if our body only think on the desire than anything else.” His teeth nibble on the side of her palm, breathing deeply.

“I hope—hope.” Obviously, flustered and excited by that. He gulps down as he looks at her again. “I don’t sound like a degenerate to you, Missy Linn. By now.. I..Feels like our bodies are like extensions of each other… and I yearn to be complete so often. but I… don’t want to be a pervert in your eyes, ga ne.”

@waxgentleman `♡´ The wax question (finally)

Well, that was certainly something. Looks like this game reached Galdino, and he had to do his fair share of dares too. The doctor wouldn't call it trouble per se, though. An amused smile escapes her lips, how many times did they have problems being frank with each other? He was a gentleman through and through, always trying to keep things to himself rather than sharing them. The embarrassment was shared, Linn would physically melt down in a puddle of shame if she ever had to speak her desires out loud. They understood each other without words, which was good enough to not take it as something bad

The wax play question has always been a light tease, accompanied by some serious interest. Mr. 3 had the ability to create wax on the spot. He had to make use of it aside from battle and art, anything else would be... weird! ❝ Oh, you actually did research about this topic...? ❞ the mink stammers, her heart sinking. That man's train of thought is so unimpeachable. ❝ You are planning through everything. You really did not have to- ❞ Well, maybe she was secretly glad he did. Ah? He was not finished yet. But that was all she was asking for as his truth in that game.

Galdino's voice feels like salve, honey around her ears, which makes them twitch with every syllable. And the lips leaning towards her hand, her palm—oh dear god, what is he doing? Linn can only listen silently, eyes big like saucers, all while a heavy blush pushes itself onto her whole face. It's bad. Very bad. The cat has to remind herself to blink every once in a while. She is on autopilot. Factory settings.

He is talking about edging. Orgasm delay. Isn't he? Quite bold to just share this with her. Was it that bold? It's not like they are still immature teens in their first week of sharing closeness. Both enjoyed their fair share of tea time. Still, the way he phrases it—wanting to see her helplessly pleading to end said ordeal... interesting indeed. Galdino was honest with her. There was not a hint of teasing, his teeth softly nibbling on her hand made her shudder.

His monologue is finished with his final self-conscious sentences. A pervert? He is so humble, so modest. It makes her heart melt even more. Her lids lower, trying to catch his glimpse, welcoming his eyes to find reassurance in her own. ❝ Is that something you are curious about? To see me truly lost and at your mercy? Hm, maybe you did have your reasons for being in prison, Mr. Galdino. ❞ She quips.

The hand, which was kissed a moment before, rests on the artist's cheek, caressing slowly over his warm skin until wandering along his jaw and finding its place on the side of his neck. Oh, how his pulse throbs against her paw-pads, adorable...

❝ I am not one to deny a thorough session of... investigations around these fantasies.❞

[agirlnamednix]

I feel like I haven't stumbled across this place in my travels but somehow respawned here instead of my last bonfire after my most recent defeat.

The panic of suddenly finding myself in a place I don't recognize doesn't even register outwardly; I know what this is, and I know that I'm safe here. It might look different than I'm used to, but all the hallmarks of sanctuary are here: the coiled blade stuck into a pile of ashen bones, blazing brightly in the gloom. I drop my weapon, still clutched in aching fingers, stiff from yet another death. I drop to my knees gently, nestling my rear into the natural seat formed by my feet folding over each other. I take a deep breath filled with embers of souls. The light of the fire is warm and gentle. I close my eyes and let its heat wash over me.

After a while, I slowly stand, my bones creaking and protesting at the effort. My eyes are still closed. They flutter open hesitantly, adjusting to the surrounds. Several things catch my eye around the edges of the small enclosure which I'd not noticed before my deep reverie.

A flower sways gently in the breeze in the corner. Its petals are bright blue, the stem thick with the vitality needed to force its way through the stonework beneath it. As I look at it, I hear garbled laughter from a distance, remember colorful plains and forests, the shock at the twist ending, and the undeniable urge to bury my face into a soft blanket at the end of the day. I feel my heart blossom into its own joyous bloom, filled with the nectar of love, understanding, and validation.

A staff leans against the low wall nearby. The tip is gnarled and splintered, scorched and scarred. But as my eyes trace along the length of the shaft, I can see the stories written into the grain. Stories of pain and loss, but also incredibly strength and tenacity. The struggle to survive. The death of a loved one. The undying spark to survive. The passion for tales of worlds beyond our own... I feel my heart surge with purpose: I will survive, I will become stronger, I will stand tall at journey's end with my head held high.

Across the fire from me sits the shadow of a large dog that seems to puncture through reality itself. It is still. It is silent. The edges of its form shift and flow, though always seem to never move. I gaze on its form and know deep love, powerful desire, and the smell of ink as yet undried. I can see starlight speckled across this splatter of night in the glow of the bonfire and know suddenly with irreducible confidence that...my story is not over. In fact...

It hasn't even begun.

All that came before was backstory. All that weight I carry from a life viewed as misspent, I left behind when I last fell. That battle to which I've lost time and time and time and time again...it's not necessary. Side content. Optional DLC.

I effortlessly slip back from my imaginings to the current version of now-me, typing what is truly in my heart for an audience of those I will never meet and who will forget my words once the next post slides into view on their screens.

I feel that my back hurts--I'm slumped over my desk tray; it should be closer to me so I'm more comfortable. I adjust to give my back the rest it deserves.

I can feel the skin of my legs taking on the texture of the cloth covering on my couch. I sit up straighter, push my tray away from myself, and fold my legs underneath me for support. Sitting cross-legged provides me with a boost of euphoria; I've come a long way to be able to do this again.

I pull my tray back toward myself to keep typing and notice my cup of coffee sat undrunk on my desk ahead of me. I lean forward, using my tray for support, and clasp the handle of my mug in my fingers. I bring it back to me, take a long draught, and set it down next to my keyboard.

Next to my keyboard is my phone. It's dark in here right now--I'm straining at the glow of my screen in the gloomy half-light of a dawn that hasn't filtered through my windows yet. I flip open my phone, open my smart home app, and turn on my worktable lamp; just enough light to keep me from straining, but not enough to wrack up my energy bills. My eyes twinge at the new source of light, but relief I hadn't even known I'd needed flows into them soon after. My face relaxes...

And a smile starts at the corners of my mouth.

I have written these things into existence. I have such control over my story as to write every single event as I move forward. Other people may act in ways I cannot control. The world may move a direction I don't expect. Events may occur which I had not predicted. But what would life be without the challenge? What would life be without trials in which to test myself?

I can't do it alone.

And so I won't.

Instantly I'm back at the bonfire in that dark place so new to me. New tests lie ahead. New enemies and pitfalls. But as I gather my gear back up and step around the undying flames, I know that I'm not alone.

The flower blinks from view only to appear behind my ear, whispering tell of a life enriched by my inclusion in it.

The staff finds itself in my hand, steadying each step I take, the tip that strikes the earth marking the path I've taken.

The dog rises and its fur suddenly blazes a resplendent white...lighting my way into a new, dark, scary, wondrous tale.

I smile again.

Now fully equipped, I step out from the safety of the bonfire into a bleak world that doesn't have a place for me...but that's only because my place is wherever I choose to be.

And I have no words for how happy that makes me.

This is a neutral post

Feel free to stop here and rest before journeying to the posts below.

[here-but-forgotten]

Some more rambles

explicit rambles, poly! ghostface, Billy Loomis + Stu Macher, female reader, a little bit of self author insert. Mentions of murder.

( ʘ‿ʘ ) rambles | scream ‘96 | pt. 2

Uh oh brain don’t stop. Closer to fic concepts/plots.

Knowing about your bf’s little hobby; knowing Billy and stu are ghost face and letting them do it. Asking to be at one of the kills- being with “friends” as you watch them get harassed with phone calls and chased. Hiding and the others think you’ve died or been knocked out as you watch your boyfriends work. Them finishing their job and finding you- dry humping against you through their costumes as they stay dressed, only being able to differentiate by heights. Taking you back to your place- you threes alibi- and having their multiple rounded way with you.

I wanna brat tame stu. He’d be so cute getting punished for being a little too terrorizing at school and doing it on purpose so you would bend him over a bed or desk and spank him. If Billy helps it becomes stu being edged for hours and being forced to watch you and Billy. Billy would spank him to and leave more distinct handprints from his force.

Stu would love if you rode him while he sits up a bit, like against his headboard or couch; if he cums and you keep riding him through it, he gets teary eyed and whiny but doesn’t stop. He lets you overstimulate him into practically a puppy. He’s hugging and clutching into you while whimpering into your ear and neck. If Billy finds the two of you like this, its all downhill for stu; his position changed into laying down, his legs up and pressed against his chest by your legs, Billy coming from behind you and fucking stu in time with your movements. Sometimes stu will explicitly ask the two of you to fuck him like this until he passes out if he’s been particularly antsy.

On that note, Billy has a similar antsy scene when he’ll ask you, stu, or both, to rim him and suck him off until he’s whiny and clingy. Massive praise and soft words kink. He’s always a bit shy and aloof when this one begins but when he’s halfway to his first orgasm he’s a sweet boy all over again.

If they somehow get a hold of a wand vibrator, they’re gonna be terrible together and with you. Stu is sadistic enough to grab you, encourage you to fight back, then tie you down to a bed with the vibrator placed right on your clit- and then fucking leave!! It’s the 90’s they’re still corded!! The thing isn’t gonna turn itself off!!! Good luck- they’re gonna go kill someone and be on a killing high when they come back and see you whining, bound, and perfectly messily wet. Hope you can handle it :)

Billy just really likes being fingered, either by you or stu or both sometimes. Sometimes he gets greedy and it’s one step away from being fisting. He likes being submissive sometimes but only to you and Stu.

Stu made a joke about how if there’s an extra partner now that one person could suck his shaft and the other could suck his balls. He was promptly overstimulated in a record 3 minutes.

my 4”11 ass- stu likes mating press for both of you. Size kink. Billy is already a bit smaller than him but stu gets a weird rush from him being pressed under him.

I wanna wear the right clothes to just show enough of me sometimes to bother them; wearing a top that fits fine until I bend over to get something and they can see my tits. Wearing a skirt that’s fine until I sit down/bend over and it rides up. Wearing a long shirt that one of them will be able to kneel in front of me and be covered up by the skirt.

100% self indulgent: sweater-wearing art academic gf who doesn’t look like they belong in woodsboro at all. Sweaters, long skirts, bootie heels, knitted leggings. A little too into academics and reading. Helps with their plan logistics.

that’s all!! feel free to use any as inspiration/writing, if you’d like me to write, or if you’d like to thirst with me!! be good!!

[skiller0dani]

Old Prison Blues | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | dom!spencer x bau!reader requests info w.c | 7.2k summary | when your husband Spencer gets released from Prison, he's much different then you remember.

I have it so bad for this man, enjoy! Also guys this piece made butterflies squirm in my belly lmao this one is so HOT it made me blush. Guys, it made me B L U S H. I need to go dunk myself in holy water to atone for this SIN. (just kidding lmao I'm agnostic).

you can see his bulge in this gif and I can't stop admiring looking at it.

When you were in college you'd been an undergraduate in Criminal Justice, so you were familiar with the effects Prison has on the psyche. In other words, you knew Spencer would come back different. No person could pass through Prison unscathed and frankly you'd be more concerned if he came back and nothing had changed at all. At home, he seemed to be relatively okay, and those 6 mandatory weeks of break had allowed him the rest he deserved. Nothing exciting had happened during those weeks, the only thing you did was curl up on the couch next to him and watch movies. You'd made up for all those weeks in Prison during the evenings when you would cling to him and cry out his name in ecstasy.

Spencer really did seem to be fine, until you returned to work. That's when you started to see all the ways Prison had hardened him.

At first, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. If you were someone who knew Spencer well then you knew that he wasn't a man who was confident in his looks. When you and Spencer first got married he was insecure, and would be discouraged when you hung out with other guys. You wouldn't say he was jealous because jealously in itself requires a certain amount of anger. But when Spencer saw you around other men he wasn't angry, he was sad. Absolutely convinced you were going to leave him any second, despite you telling him you married him because you love him. Deep down, he always thought somebody would steal you from him even though you consistently reminded him how much you love him. That's just the kind of guy Spencer is.

Or, was.

The darkness that brews in Prison, the violent hatred, the anger seems to have followed Spencer to freedom. It has made a home in his chest, and while you're not worried about Spencer flying off the deep end and shooting an innocent, the anger reveals itself in much more subtle ways. It's in the way he clenches his jaw when he can't figure something out, or the blanching of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel with a crushing force, it's the agitation in his eyes when he watches Alvez's knuckles brush against your lower back for the 3rd time since you two had arrived at the office this morning. The anger has adapted to civilian life like Spencer has, it's learned. It's subtle. Unfortunately you know Spencer almost better then he knows himself, you can tell when something is bothering him.

You slide your hands over his shoulders, and much to your surprise you feel him tense.

"You okay?" You know it's a stupid question, but you have to ask.

"Yeah, fine." Spencer's tone is clipped, shoulders rigid, back straight. Something is definitely bothering him. You squeeze his shoulders and begin to work at the tightened muscles, slowly easing them to relax. The tension flows out of him as he relaxes back in his desk chair, the frustration ebbing away slightly when his eyes catch your wedding ring. The object that binds you to him.

"Don't shut me out." You whisper, a soft plea in your voice. Spencer's heart wretches when he hears the fear in your tone, and one of his hands comes up to catch yours. He presses a chaste kiss to one of your knuckles before swiveling around to face you. You always find a way to soothe the violent, raging beast inside of him. Spencer's hands find your hips as he turns his gaze up to look at you.

"You're right I'm sorry. Just tense today." He says softly, and while there is a little lie to his words, his statement remains mostly the truth. He just leaves out the part where he pictures enacting varying forms of violence on Luke Alvez. The man who keeps unnecessarily touching his wife. You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, your head snapping up when Garcia calls from the conference room.

"Got a case folks, and it's an ugly one." Her nose scrunches up into a frown before she turns into the room. You pull away from Spencer, yanking him to his feet by his hand. Luke sends you a playful wink as he trots up the stairs, and while you don't necessarily react to it, it still puts Spencer on edge. Deep down Spencer always knew you were way out of his league, but that never became clearer then when you came to visit him in Prison.

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You were trembling as you lowered yourself into the chair. Dried tears were on your cheeks, and you haven't even seen Spencer yet. The last time you saw him was a few weeks prior after he first got back from Mexico. Seeing his wrists bound in those metal handcuffs had broken your heart in a way you never anticipated. You wrung your hands together, luckily when Penelope had made the visitation Chart she scheduled you as the first person to come see him. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but what was worse was the plastic guard separating you from Spencer. The clock ticked loudly, it was clearly mocking you. Reminding you of the seconds you were losing with Spencer, reminding you of all the seconds he was spending in Prison.

When you hear the buzzer scream loudly, you nearly come out of your seat you're so excited to see him. You and Spencer got married back in 2005, and you've never been separated from him for longer then a week. It's been over a month now, and each day he's not with you leaves a bigger hole in your chest. You watch him follow the other prisoners out, and the handcuffs around his wrists breaks your heart. His eyes light up the second he sees you, he nearly shoves the other guy over to get to you faster. There are tears in your eyes as Spencer's wrists are released from the cuffs from the guard standing nearby.

"Hey baby." Spencer says softly as he takes his seat across from you. All you want is to reach across the stupid barrier and touch him, hold his hand, anything. But you know the guards will punish him if he does, but being this close to him without being able to hold him is absolutely killing you. You try to blink the tears out of your eyes so that Spencer won't see, but it's all too much. Seeing him in a jumpsuit, with cuff bruises around his wrists, having to sleep in the same building as murderers. The first tear falls and you immediately look away from him.

"Please don't cry." Spencer begs softly. "I'm okay, really."

You wipe your tears before you look back up at him, digging around in your bag for a gift from Henry. You smile when you see the happiness cross onto his face as you pull the piece of paper out.

"Henry drew this for you, it's from when you guys went to the park." You hold it up for him to see and you try to fight another onslaught of tears when you see his eyes misting.

"You know, when I get out of here we should have one." Spencer says it so casually, you almost miss it. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you carefully lower the drawing.

"You want to try for a baby?" You can't hide the smile, and you see Spencer's eyes shine for the first time since he's been in here.

"Yeah, I want to have a baby with you." You and Spencer had a brief conversation about kids a few years ago, and you knew Spencer wasn't ready for it back then. His Father ran out on him and Diana when Spencer was just a kid, it made Spencer insecure about the type of Father he would end up being. In Spencer's mind, a fatherless man would never make a good Father. But it seems he's changed his mind. You had no issues agreeing to wait before you had kids until he was ready, you always knew Spencer would be a fantastic Father.

Suddenly from Spencer's right you hear a low wolf whistle. The tenderness that was on Spencer's face is instantly wiped away. His expression tenses, his jaw clenching as he turns his gaze to a large burly looking man covered in tattoos. The man sitting across from him, the one who was visiting, looked similar. Both of the biker looking men were eyeing me hungrily, it made my skin crawl.

"Something I can help you with?" Spencer asks, his voice tense. The tension in the room grows tenfold, and you fight the instinct to try and scoot closer to Spencer. The Biker looks Spencer in the eyes, a taunting smile on his face.

"That your sister?"

"Wife." Spencer snaps instantly.

"Your wife?" The Biker says incrediously, Spencer raises a brow, daring him to continue. "There's no way a woman with an ass that tight would marry a man as scrawny as you."

You expected to see insecurity flash in Spencer's eyes, instead all you saw was rage. Unbridled, violent rage.

"Choose your next words carefully." Spencer's voice was low, and as sharp as the edge of a blade. You almost didn't recognize him. The Biker leaned forward, fueled only by the knowledge that he was getting under Spencer's skin.

"She as tight as she looks? If I wasn't locked up, I'd fuck her so good she wouldn't even remember what your little pecker feels like."

Spencer's jaw clenches, and his fists curl tightly. The Biker is about 2 words away from a broken nose.

"Baby just let it go." You plead, and normally you don't really use pet names in public but right now you needed to show him that you're his.

"I'll tell you what Klein, I'll fuck her for you and tell you how it felt." The other man says, the man visiting. Upon hearing the words come out of his mouth, Spencer is shoving up from the chair but almost instantly a guard is tightly gripping Spencer's shirt and shoving him back into the chair. Spencer is fuming, and there's nothing you can do to calm him down.

"If you so much as lay a finger on her, your friend here will be dead before you can have another visit." Spencer hisses, and the two large men chuckle.

Spencer instantly took you off the visitors list, and while that felt like a blow to your heart you understood why. You didn't want to stress him out by visiting him.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

So, yeah, Spencer knew you were out of his league and when Luke pulled your chair out for you at the table before he had the chance to, it made his blood boil. Why is Luke trying to take care of you? Doesn't he know that Spencer has been released from Prison? You don't need anybody else to take care of you, your husband is more than capable of doing it himself. When Spencer sat down in the chair next to you, he rested one hand on your thigh. You're only slightly surprised, normally Spencer isn't this 'handsy' in public, but in recent weeks he's been more assertive around other men.

"The body of 23 year old Cassandra Richardson was found 2 weeks ago in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her body was mutilated and showed signs of sexual assault. Yesterday another body, 20 year old Francesca Williams was found around the same warehouse district with similar wounds to the first victim." Penelope rushes the words out, almost as though saying them pains her. Various images show on the screen of the two victims, both bloodied and battered.

"Other than similar injuries, what makes the local police think it's the same unsub?" Luke asks, his eyes flickering towards you for the briefest second. While Spencer was locked away, Luke became a shoulder to cry on. Normally when you were upset and Spencer wasn't around, you'd talk to Derek. But since he's been gone you've felt more isolated then you normally do. Luke had found you crying one morning before you had taken off, and ever since he's had an "older brother" protection over you.

"A tattoo on both of the victims thighs, the words 'temerata virginem' which is Latin for 'desecrated virgin'." With the click of a button on her remote, Penelope pulls up a photo of the tattoos. The lines are shaky, although they stay mostly straight.

"It almost looks professional, except the lines aren't perfectly straight. A professional would make the line work perfect." JJ says, examining the photo closer in the folder each of you received. You turn your gaze to Spencer when you feel his hand leave your thigh to examine the photo closer. You could practically see the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his.

"It's possible an outside source is causing a tremble in the unsubs hands, if he is a professional tattoo artist." Spencer mumbles, almost to himself. Sometimes when he's in deep concentration, he nearly forgets other people are in the room with him.

"Could be drugs-" Luke starts but is sharply cut off.

"Actually it's more likely to be alcohol, withdraw from other drugs would be too severe to operate the tattoo machine." Spencer snaps, causing a few heads to turn and look at him. Maybe under other circumstances someone would say something to him, but since Spencer got released from Prison only a few weeks ago, nobody says anything. Luke's eyebrows furrow together as he shoots Spencer a confused look, one Spencer chooses to ignore as his hand returns to your thigh. Spencer knows he's acting like a jerk but he can't help it, Luke needs to know who you belong to. Spencer had everything taken from him in Prison, he won't let anyone take you from him too.

"We've been personally asked by the local police to assist, so wheels up in 30." Emily concludes, shooting one more look at Spencer before everybody rises.

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The tension on the jet is thick, you're absolutely sure everybody can feel it. Hardly anyone has interacted with Spencer, except to ask him a question about the case. You sit back against the couch, Luke sitting in one of the chairs at the table, and Spencer sitting on the arm of the chair next to you. In your hand was a nearly empty cup of coffee, and just as you move to refill, Luke rises with his own empty cup.

"Need a refill?" He asks, offering you a friendly smile.

"Yeah actually-"

"I got it." Spencer says abruptly, standing from where he was sitting. His eyes meet Luke's, silently challenging him. You try to be understanding, but you can't help but feel annoyed at Spencer. If he was acting like this to some random guy then that's one thing, but this is Luke. He's your friend, he's Spencer's friend. Luke, and the rest of the team, put everything on the line to free Spencer from Prison.

"It's cool man, I can do it-" Luke offers again, but Spencer isn't having it.

"I said I got it." Spencer reaches his hand out for your mug, which you instantly give to him. His eyes don't leave Luke's until he turns around and heads to the back of the jet to refill your coffee. Luke pauses for a few seconds, his eyes meeting yours and mirroring the same look of concern before he heads for the coffee pot as well. Luke isn't even upset by how Spencer is treating him, he- like everyone else, is worried about Spencer's psyche.

"What is going on with Spencer?" JJ whispers once she's sure Spencer is out of earshot. You shrug, your worried eyes landing on your husband. His posture is tense, almost defensive.

"Well can you blame him? In Prison, everything that's yours can and will be stolen by the other male inmates. Now that he's free, Spencer is being protective of his wife, someone that is his and can be taken by other men." Rossi says, always naturally a tad protective of Spencer.

"There isn't a man on this planet that would make me leave Spencer." You say defensively, although you know Rossi didn't mean anything by what he said.

"That might be obvious to you, but not to Spencer." JJ says, eyeing Spencer standing back near the coffee machine.

"Doing okay man?" Luke asks hesitantly as he moves to stand next to Spencer.

"Yep." Spencer says shortly, waiting for the pot to brew. Luke feels the tension rolling off Spencer in waves, and it's all being directed at him and he's not sure why.

"Look, if I've done something to upset you, just talk to me about it Reid." Luke's voice is gentle, understanding. Spencer's jaw clenches again as the pot finishes brewing and he refreshes your cup before reaching for the creamer.

"I'm fine Alvez. Really." Spencer says again, but Luke isn't willing to let this go yet.

"No Reid, you're not-"

"Stop flirting with my wife." Spencer's tone is firm, and the look in his eyes tells Luke just how on edge Spencer is.

"You got it." Luke agrees instantly, even though he was never flirting with you. But he knows that right now arguing with Spencer will only make things worse. Seemingly satisfied with Luke's answer, Spencer carries your cup back you, slinging an arm around you.

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Spencer twists his wedding ring around his ring finger, something he does when he's stressed out or tense. You're currently sat in the interrogation room with the male suspect, a tattoo artist attending AA meetings, the tattoo on the first victim was the shakiest because he had just quit drinking. The other, more recent, victims tattoo's were more steady. The longer he stayed sober, the more his trembling faded. In Spencer's other palm is your wedding ring, you fit the physical preference of this killer perfectly, but he only went after single women. Emily thought sending somebody in fitting his victimology would throw him off enough to say something incriminating. In order for the rouse to work, you needed to appear single- meaning the wedding ring had to come off. The thought didn't settle well in Spencer's gut.

"You have to relax." JJ said suddenly from Spencer's right. He nearly ignored her but his frayed nerves were beginning to eat at him.

"I can't. Do you see the way he's looking at her?" Spencer was pacing back and forth in front of the one way glass like a caged animal, unable to take his eyes off of the train wreck happening in front of him.

"She can handle herself Spence." JJ insists gently, almost using a motherly tone to talk to him.

"She's mine!" And suddenly the crux of the issue comes to light, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy breath. JJ thinks about her words carefully, trying to find something to say that will calm him at least a little.

"Yeah, and nothing is going to change that Spencer. You need to relax, and you have to trust her. You're not in Prison anymore, nobody is going to take her from you." JJ says, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly the sound of metal screeching across a concrete floor sounds from behind Spencer and when he turns around, his blood boils hot in his veins. The suspect, Alan Baker, has shoved out of his chair and has started towards you.

"Spencer-" JJ's voice is distant, and comes too late. Spencer isn't listening to her anymore when his fist curls around the door handle and he nearly rips it off its hinges.

"You need to step back." Spencer snaps, reaching for his gun as Alan Baker backs you into the corner of the interrogation room. You weren't ever truly afraid, you could have handled Alan. Slowly, Alan backs away from you and Spencer instantly reaches for you. He leads you out of the room with a gentle but firm hand on your back. Once you're out of the interrogation room you turn to Spencer.

"What the hell? I could have dealt with him!" You insist, frustration laced in your tone. At this point JJ silently slips out of the room, giving you and Spencer some much needed privacy. Spencer crosses his arms as he leans back against the one way mirror.

"You didn't need to, I did." Spencer huffs and you seriously resist the urge to throw something at him.

"What is your problem today? You could have compromised my entire interrogation, he's never going to tell me anything now!" You snap, anger pinching at your features.

"Good! Now you have no reason to talk to him again." Spencer snaps back, can't you see that he's just protecting what's his?

"Spencer we're trying to save somebody! You're being selfish!" You say to him angrily, trying your best not to start yelling at him. Spencer's selfish possessiveness over you could have just ruined your entire investigation.

"This is why the Bureau was hesitant to reinstate you. They were scared you wouldn't be able to control yourself." You snap at him, crossing your arms.

"Are you saying they made a mistake?" Spencer asks incrediously, suddenly becoming defensive.

"Maybe they did. Because you're acting like an asshole right now. You've been a jerk to Luke the entire day when he busted his ass to help get you out of Prison and back to me! Since when have you not trusted me during an interrogation? What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to let him touch me? I thought you trusted me." You cry out, tears filling your eyes now. Spencer didn't say anything as you turned for the door, anger still laced in his features.

"This has nothing to do with me not trusting you-"

"If you don't trust me, then maybe you should just hold onto my wedding ring for a while. I don't want it." You snap quietly, and you regret the words the second they leave your lips. No matter how mad he makes you, you'd never leave Spencer. You watch Spencer's expression shift from anger to...hurt. He watches silently as you slam the door behind you. Prison has turned him into somebody he isn't, and Spencer doesn't know how to turn off this part of his brain. The part telling him that you belong to him, and that he needs to protect what's his.

Rossi catches the sight of your tear stained cheeks as you move back towards the kitchen in the precinct. You wipe your tears as he comes to stand beside you, and the look on his face tells you that he overheard your fight with Spencer. Rossi bumps you with his elbow gently, a small smile on his face.

"You don't look okay." He says softly and you let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"I'm not. I don't know how to help Spencer, he doesn't trust me." You say sadly, your heart breaking in your chest.

"It's not you he doesn't trust, it's other men." Rossi clarifies, although it does little to ease the pain. You reach up to brush your hair behind your ear when Rossi catches your hand, examining your ring finger.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Told Spencer I didn't want it." The words are laced with heavy regret, and when you remember the look on his face when you said it you almost start to cry again. Rossi wraps an arm around you, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Deep down, he knows you didn't mean it." He tries to reassure you.

"That's the problem, he probably thinks I meant it."

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Normally it only takes you and Spencer a few hours to smooth things over after a fight. But this time, it's been nearly 3 hours and you haven't spoken a word to each other. You're both working on searching through Alan Baker's financial records without speaking at all. Neither of you have said anything, and Spencer still has your wedding ring. You desperately want it back, but you don't know how to start that conversation. You're angry about how he's been treating everybody, and you feel like asking for your ring is accepting defeat. You're not ready to accept defeat. When Emily comes into the room, her eyes settle on the two of you.

"Okay, what's going on with you guys?" Her arms are crossed.

"Nothing." The word comes from both yours and Spencer's mouths at the same time, and you say it far too quickly. Emily raises one brow at the two of you before closing the door behind her.

"Alright I'm going to have to be a boss now. We are not going to lock this guy away if the two of you are fighting. We need everybody on their A-game. Fix it. Now, and I mean right now." She says, leaving the room but closing the door behind her. There's a suffocating silence that fills the room, both you and Spencer too stubborn to speak first. But you can't take it, you hate it when he's mad at you. You hate it when you guys fight, which isn't often but it does happen occasionally.

"I didn't mean it." You whisper, leaning on the table, facing away from him. Spencer doesn't say anything but you know he's listening.

"I didn't mean it Spencer, I want my ring." He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to hear you say that, his entire world crashed down around him the second you told him to keep the ring. The irrational part of his brain told him you were going to divorce him.

"Can I please have it back?" You ask, barely turning your head to look at him. With a huff Spencer pushes away from the table to move in front of you. His eyes are focused on your hand, he has yet to look at you. Spencer fishes around in his pocket before he finds your ring and gently slides it onto your ring finger.

"You have to stop glaring at any man that gets to close to me, especially Luke." You tell him, but he continues to look away from you. Spencer pushes past you to stand near the windows, his back facing you. The thing about Spencer is that he's stubborn, really stubborn. You take a few steps towards him, nibbling on your lower lip.

"I love you Spencer, I'm sorry. I was an ass, but you acted like an ass too." You tell him, but Spencer only turns his head further away from you. You move to stand in front of him, but his eyes turn to the ground and his arms are crossed tightly. Seriously?

"Please talk to me Spencer, tell me what's going on." You can see the frustration laced in his features, there's something on the tip of his tongue that he needs to say.

"Spencer."

"After you left from your visit, do you know why I didn't let you come back?" Spencer snaps, his hands finding your shoulders to yank your body against his. Your chest collides with his and suddenly you feel a dampness building between your legs. You instantly turn to putty in his hands.

"I didn't let you come back because that asshole told everybody about you. Told everybody what a tight little body you have. Soon the entire cell block was fantasizing about my 'sexy wife'. Do you have any idea what it's like to listen to men constantly talk about fucking your wife?" Spencer's voice is tense, but you can see it. The lust building behind his eyes, the frustration, and the fear of losing you simmering underneath it all.

"N-No." Your voice is breathy, and your eyes are lidded as Spencer's hands slide up your arms to your shoulders.

"It's fucking hell Y/N. Every time I see any man look at you I want to rip his eyes out, and I can't turn it off. I've tried, and the way that Alvez looks at you- it drives me fucking crazy." Spencer snaps, the anger building by the second. Your entire body begins to hum with an intense need, and Spencer can see it in your eyes. Spencer releases you then and he turns for the door, at first you're afraid he's going to leave but instead he locks the door. Luckily it's late, so the police station is more deserted then it is during the day. Turning back to you, Spencer reaches for the blinds next and you can't help but follow his every movement with your eyes.

"Get on your knees." Spencer says suddenly, and you freeze in shock. Did he just say...?

"Get. On. Your. Knees." Spencer says again through clenched teeth, leaning back against the table, heat simmering in his eyes. His hands grip the edge of the table and you feel a throb from between your legs. Quickly you scramble onto your knees in front of him, your hands reaching up to undo his belt. Once the belt is unfastened, you're quickly unbuttoning his dress slacks, your eagerness making your hands a bit clumsy. Spencer has never been this dominant during sex, but you have no complaints. He has your knees weak and he hasn't even touched you. You quickly dip your hand into his boxers to pull his hardening cock out. As soon as his cock is freed, your lips are wrapping around the head. Spencer's head tosses back in ecstasy.

"Your lips look so pretty stretched around my cock. Those bastards could only imagine having you on your knees for them." Spencer snaps, his hand weaving into the hair at the back of your head. You moan softly around him at his crude words, slowly sliding down his cock. Spencer groans when he feels your tongue laving the underside of his cock, along the vein that runs from base to tip. Apparently feeling impatient, Spencer pushes your head further down his cock. He feels his tip right at the entrance of your throat, and with one gentle thrust he breaches your throat and his cock slides all the way into your mouth.

"Fuck," Spencer hisses, and Spencer does not curse often. So the fact that you have been able to draw curses from his mouth is nothing short of a miracle. Spencer's chest heaves slightly as you gag lightly around him, drawing another deep groan from his chest. You feel nearly desperate to please him, you need to make him cum. You want him to fucking pound you, you want him to use your body for his pleasure. You want him to release all of his frustration out on you, you want to be sore when he's done.

"You're mine. This is my body to touch and admire, my tight pussy to stretch open, mine." Spencer growls, thrusting gently to meet your hasty movements. You whimper around his cock, gagging slightly again as spit dribbles down your chin. Your eyes are wide and watery as you look up at him, and the sight of you nearly causes him to blow his load. You just look so fucking beautiful on your knees in front of him, drool on your chin and your mouth full of cock. It's a sight he will never forget. You move your head faster, keeping your eyes locked on his. Spencer squeezes the edge of the table, his head tossing back when his orgasm hits him. You feel his cum shooting in spurts to the back of your throat and you swallow every drop. Once you pull off him, Spencer is grabbing your elbows to pull you to stand.

Spencer's hands are reaching for the button of your dress slacks as his mouth presses messily to yours. Spencer's tongue pushes into your mouth, his hands pushing your pants down and you kick them off. Instantly, Spencer's fingers are sliding into your panties and through your slick folds. You whine loudly against his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as his palm roughly cradles the back of your head.

"Need to make sure you know who you belong to." Spencer snaps as he pulls away from you, quickly pushing two long fingers into your dripping hole. You cry out before Spencer is slapping a hand over your mouth, your back pressed against the wall. Spencer's slender frame is leaning against you, effectively trapping you against the wall and his body. Your eyes are rolling when Spencer's finger crook inside of you while roughly thrusting into you.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want Luke to catch us now would we?" Spencer breathes in the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps spreading over your skin. You are completely at Spencer's mercy and you wouldn't have it any other way. The pleasure shooting through you goes rocketing up your spine when Spencer scissors his fingers inside of you. You're mumbling incoherently against his palm, desperate pleas not to stop, to please let you cum. Your entire body is flushed, and you feel sweat on your skin like a sheen layer over you. Spencer feels you begin to squeeze around his fingers and he replaces his palm with his mouth, swallowing all of your moans and desperate cries.

Your back is arching as your high approaches, and you climb higher and higher to meet it. Spencer never lets up, his fingers steadily pumping into you and his lips muffling all of your cries of pleasure. The sounds you make are music to his ears, they tell him that you will always be his, no matter what childish fears he has. Your hands come up to unbutton the buttons on Spencer's dress shirt, you need to feel more of him. Before you can finish undressing your husband, his fingers nudge your cervix and you instantly clamp around his fingers, your body convulsing.

"You look so beautiful when you cum." Spencer praises, his cock rock hard again. He needs to be inside of you as soon as humanely possible. Spencer pulls away from you to grasp the base of his cock, no need to bother with protection. The two of you already agreed that you want to try for a baby anyway.

"Please baby, please get inside me. How could you think I'd ever leave you? I love you, and nobody could make me cum like you can." You moan desperately, turning to bend over the table. Spencer's hand runs up your spine, enjoying the way you wriggle your hips in search of his cock. There are butterflies squirming in your stomach as you spread your legs apart wider for him, but he still doesn't bring his cock closer to you.

"Oh c'mon Spence don't do this please. Baby, fuck me." You plead, nearly sobbing as you shamlessly beg. He presses his tip against your soaked entrance and you whine. You hear fabric rustling around and you turn your head just in time to see him pull his tie from around his neck.

"I needed to hear you beg for me, and this is to keep you quiet. As much as I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, I can't let anyone else hear you." Spencer says, his voice low and rumbling from his chest. You open your mouth to let him tie the silk fabric in your mouth. You try to whimper but you gag around the tie in your mouth, and you see a pleased smile cross onto Spencer's face. Your fingers grasp at the edge of the table as you impatiently wait for Spencer to push into you. You feel his glorious cock nestled at your entrance, the tip barely nudging in. You feel another wave of slick gush out of you and Spencer is running his tip through your already drenched folds. Such a tease.

You whine softly, trying to push back against him. Spencer chuckles darkly before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, Spencer is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. You feel heat searing through you, your head dropping to the table as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear Spencer groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." Spencer praises, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"I wish you could see this baby, I love watching you take my cock." He praises through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. Spencer needed this so bad and you love the fact that you can give him a type of relief nobody else on the planet can give him. Spencer steadily thrusts into you when you both hear footsteps slowly passing outside the room. You expect Spencer to stop, to pull out of you and start redressing but he doesn't. He slows his pace considerably, but he still slowly thrusts into you.

"Shh, I would hate for whoever that is to see my cock buried in your pretty pussy." Spencer whispers as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. You struggle to contain the whimpers, but somehow you remain completely silent as Spencer gently thrusts into you. Once whoever it is passes by, Spencer resumes his quicker thrusts. His pelvis hits your ass with enough force to send you lurching across the table and your fingers scramble to find purchase against the smooth surface.

"This is my pussy, you're my wife, you're mine. Not Luke's, not that dick from the Prison. Mine." Spencer says, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust into you. You wished you could answer him, that you could cry to the heavens that you belong to Spencer Reid- that you never want to belong to anybody else. You settle for squeezing his cock whenever it returns to your velvety warmth, chanting the same word in your head over and over.

Yours yours yours yours yours.

Your forehead presses against the table, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time Spencer hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and you feel lightheaded so you reach up to yank the tie away from your mouth.

"Please make me cum Spence, I'm so close baby please don't stop." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and Spencer holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when Spencer's hand snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Oh Spencer your cock feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. Spencer loves when he reduces you to this, speaking in a jumble of words and disconnected statements because you can't think with his cock inside you.

"I, shit, I love you-" Spencer gasps, slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and Spencer can only offer a few more stuttering thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum. Spencer keeps his cock inside you, ensuring his cum stays inside you. He wants to get you pregnant. His palms gently hold your hips, and all the frustration he's felt all day has completely disappeared. His chest is heaving from the exertion but he feels more relaxed then he has all day. There's a smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the table.

"You okay?" You hear Spencer's voice, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face.

"I'm amazing." You mumble back, feeling Spencer begin to gently massage your back. You love enjoying the afterglow with him, even if you're laying on a table. Slowly Spencer pulls out, but he groans softly when he sees his cum inside your pussy. He reaches to the floor to pull your panties and dress slacks back up your legs and he quickly tucks himself back into his pants. He buttons the 4 buttons you managed to open on his shirt before he's gently pulling you to stand.

"You sure you're alright?" Spencer asks, concern in his eyes. You nod with a smile, but when he releases his hold on your shoulders, you feel your legs tremble and give out underneath you. Spencer immediately catches you and sets you down on the table. You laugh softly.

"Guess you fucked me good."

"Sorry." Spencer says sheepishly, but you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Don't be, that had to have been the best sex we've had in a long time." You mumble against his lips and Spencer hums in agreement. Reaching for his tie, Spencer shoves it in his pocket before he pokes his head out of the room you guys just defiled.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry about what I said. I love you so much, I didn't mean what I said about my ring-" You blubber suddenly, drawing Spencer's attention to you. He cradles your head against his chest, pressing kisses to your forehead.

"I know baby, it's okay. I love you." Spencer answers quietly, holding you to him tightly.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk today. I'm just so protective of you. I can't let anything steal you from me." Spencer admits softly and you cup his cheeks to make him look at you. There is a sadness in his eyes that you want to obliterate, you can't stand it when he's sad. It breaks your heart.

"Nothing could steal me from you. I only want you Spencer." You say quietly and you see tears misting his eyes. He presses his lips desperately against yours, and you feel tears cascading down yours and his cheeks. The kiss is wet, but it's passionate and you throw every ounce of love you have for this man into it. When you and Spencer part, your foreheads are pressed together.

"Hey Spence? How am I gonna get to the hotel. I can't walk." You say softly with a giggle and Spencer smiles mischievously.

"I guess I'll have to carry you." He scoops you bridal style into his arms then and you blush deeply when he carries you out of the room and towards the front entrance.

"Spencer! Everybody is going to know!" You whisper into his ear and he chuckles.

"Good."

[writinganon1]

The idea of her accidentally starting that with her giving him the bandana had been eating at my head for what feels like forever. Everyone else also apparently had the same idea lol. Also big on the idea that Cass looks for Raph because even tho he left her alone and all that, she still cares for him and wants him to see their kid even if they never become a thing again. She can still care, but she gonna be bitter about it

Anyways here’s this

~

Casey watched the net sink under the water. She kept her face carefully blank as she tossed the bait into the water. Small fish flopped against the surface of the water, already taking to the worms. She took a deep breath as she stared off into the water, a flickering of red scales catching her attention.

Part of her wanted to jump into the sea to follow it. She watched as a stupid fish jumped into the air, a vain attempt to free itself from their net.

It wasn’t him.

It was never him.

She took another deep breath and continued tying the knots for the net. She furiously forced away all her thoughts as she fumbled through the knots. The last thing she needed was for the annoying purple one to see her having a moment.

Her stomach clenched as she tried to keep her face steady. She didn’t need to think about him. That was behind her. She was happy now. She’d made a life for herself without him. He wasn’t important anymore.

She pinched her lips as she tied up the net to the rig. No need to dwell on the nitty gritty. She was doing her job and nothing else. No other reason she was at sea. Just a job to pay the bills.

Something tugged on her pant leg, tearing her from her thoughts. She looked down, patting her son’s head absently as she moved to tie the last knot.

“Mom.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded her head. He apparently didn’t take the hint.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Momma. Mom. Mom. Mooooommm.”

“What do you need?” She asked quietly. “You’re supposed to be in bed bug.”

He stared at the clear open night and grinned. “I like the dark.” He said, instead of answering why he was up. He walked to the edge of the boat and tipped his head over the side. “Mother I yearn for the waves.”

She rolled her eyes. He was a strange little guy when he wanted to be. Where had he even learned that word? Certainly not from her crew mates. His tail was practically wagging as he bounced on his feet, excitedly pointing towards the waves.

“Tell ya what bug,” she hummed, “We can go swimming tomorrow when it’s morning, yeah?”

“But I wanna swim now.” He pouted.

“Well I can’t see you in the dark so we’re gonna have to wait.”

He nodded solemnly as he sulked off to his room. She would ask April later if they could anchor somewhere for a bit so he could swim where she could watch him. She turned her head back to the waves, hoping to see, if even for just a glimpse, another hint of that familiar shimmering red.

~

Kendra stared dumbfounded at the shell in front of her. The creature, whose name she had recently learned was Donatello, was looking at her expectantly. What on earth did he want?

Sure they sat and watched the sea, occasionally talking about their lives. But never really anything deep. They were friends. And just barely at that. Their trust for each other was nearly nonexistent, both wary of their actions.

This was- this was new.

He pushed it closer when she didn’t pick it up. His bandanna was just barely hanging onto his head, the knot un fraying before her eyes as he pushed the shell a little closer again. She picked it up, slowly turning it around in her hand.

She smiled awkwardly before setting it aside. “… Thanks I guess.” She mumbled, “I’ll put it on my desk.”

He smiled that stupid little smile as she tied a new bandanna to his head, this time a little tighter. “Oh, ok you’re glowing now. That’s- that’s pretty cool actually. Wow.”

He blinked a few times before pulling out a variety of trinkets, placing them in a bear pile at her feet. How odd. The moonlight glittered against his scales as he dipped back under the waves back to what she assumed was an underwater cave of sorts. He didn’t look like the kind of guy to have a decked out anemone or palace under the waves. “Aight.” She said standing up, “I’m just gonna head back then.”

She gripped the shell in her hand as she climbed the ramp to their boat. The rest of the baubles he had left behind were small purple rocks and bits of coral. Those were safely tucked away in her pocket.

The shell was pretty, its shiny and iridescent hue reflecting the gentle glow of the moon light. Shells didn’t look like that. It was almost as if the thing had been cleaned. How strange. Where on earth had he found that at the bottom of the ocean? Some ships must have dropped their cargo a while ago in a crash.

“Careful dragon.��� A voice came from the side.

Cassandra Jones. She rolled her eyes as she turned to face her. “Don’t you have a kid to be watching?”

“He’s asleep.” She said pointedly, eyeing the shell. “All I’m saying is don’t get too attached. They’re not what they seem.”

She didn’t say a word as she headed back to her room. She set the shell on her desk, its shimmery hue lessened by the dark of her room. She smiled despite herself as she looked at it. It felt special somehow. The rest of the trinkets were placed on her dresser, arranged neatly.

She turned her head as a glint of purple dashed past her window. She closed her newly fastened curtains and pulled her covers over herself.

She knew what she was doing. She didn’t need Casey to tell her what to do. She’d been at sea long enough to know not to get attached to the very thing that was paying her rent.

~

Idk how boats and fishing nets work sorry guys 🫠

So mer! Donnie just kinda started reciprocating Kendra's accidental courting

Kinda yeah. At first it was just giving a gift in return then into growing pretty fond of her. Tough to tell tho if it’s his actual thoughts or just deep down animalistic instinct

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Brothers

A/N: The brothers!! I hope yall enjoy!! Aphrodisiac induced is always a fun thing to play with. The brothers,, my beloved

-

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Lucifer:

Lucifer is a gentleman- most of the time at least. But during your time of need he is perfect to go to. He’ll allow you- or more like insist- that you stay in his office until the aphrodisiac’s effects have passed. You’ll lay on the couch, face buried into a throw pillow while the other one is between your legs. Shame has long been gone since you’ve entered his domain, his eyes never really leaving your shaky frame. When you moan his name, he stiffens, the pen in his hand is held tighter but he still rises, walking towards you in concern. He’ll sit beside you, let his hand curve over your forehead, feeling the heat go through his glove.

He clears his throat, pulling his hand away, and there’s this heavy look on your face, the pillow squeezed tight between your legs, the pillow under your head has faint imprints of your teeth. He’ll avoid touching you, pulling his hand away from you and walking briskly to his desk chair. He can hear your steps across the floor, the way you gasp his name and seem to rub your thighs together for any sort of friction. He won’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of him. Underneath the desk, his leg jolts as you snake your arms around his shoulders, your lips wet as they touch his neck.

There isn’t enough time in the day and night for him to focus on his work and on your growing needs that are starting to mark everything in his office. Black ink scratches along the pape, the letters growing shaky as you snake your way onto him. He’s actually startled when you situate yourself on his lap, your sex pressed against his erection. He’s surprised by your sudden confidence but writes it off due to the effects of the aphrodisiac. You’re above him, arms snaked once more on his shoulders and you play with the hair that rests on the nape of his neck.

The feeling of shame is not foreign to the Avatar of Pride but even then, letting you know that he is indeed aroused given the situation does bring a bit of heat to his body. His hands find their way to hold onto your hips, trying to ignore the way that you have begun to grind against his. But there is work to do and despite the growing need to pleasure both you and himself, he displaces you, ignoring the way that you call his name and can’t seem to stop touching him.

The only way to gain his attention that you desperately long for is to push him away, the wheels locking against an edge of the floor and you bend yourself over the desk. Lucifer wants to throw you out so you can be another’s problem but you pull your bottom layer off, your fingers searching inside your leaking hole and pride starts to fuel him. You touch yourself in front of him, beg for him to touch you- of course you would. Slender hands come to touch your body, and you’re already leaking onto the floor, thick, sweet arousal staining the very room that he allowed you to enter. His cock is against you, rimming around your entrance, hearing your cries and please for him to simply fuck you but you did cause him to become distracted from very important work and he is going to punish you for that.

Mammon:

Of course you’d go to him. He is your first after all, why wouldn’t you go to The Great Mammon? But wow, he was over his head when you came knocking at his door. Always eager to see and spend time with you, he allows you to enter without seeing the state you’re in. You stagger into his room, holding his hand and stumbling into him and it’s only then that he can smell the sweet, lingering aroma in the air. He wants to believe you’re just trying a new perfume and now it's made you sick, but it’s worse than that when the hand you’re holding moves to your chest. He can feel your rapid heartbeat, the way your body is in flames that can rival hellfire itself, the pained cry of his name as you try to pinch your legs together in the awkward embrace.

Frozen for a moment, Mammon completely blanks on what to do. He can feel your pain, the aching need in your entire body that makes you feel as if you’re going to combust into flames. He doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. But then you cry his name- sobbing it out in broken syllabus and you cry that it hurts and you think you might die and you're in his arms. Your hold on him tightens and he thinks he can leave you to be- let you wait out the excruciating pain in his room until the feeling fades and just thank him with attention or material objects later. He fails to consider that he is weak to you and when you look at him with teary eyes, he falters.

He stutters in his explanation, talking about how he can maybe go out and get you a toy or something- and he promises to be quick, he is the fastest after all. But then the thought lingers and he imagines your sex stretched with some toy that he chose, and his body jerks. Your vision is growing blurrier by the second and the hold on his hand tightens until your knuckles pale. You pull on him, thanking whatever God is watching down on you, that the door to the prized car he keeps in is open. Even he’s unable to know what is going on until you push him inside, crawling onto the back seat, calling his name and begging for him to join you.

In such a closed space, the Avatar of Greed is trying desperately to avoid touching you. He stays seated in the front seat, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. He cares for the car deeply- one of the few things that gives him freedom that is indescribable and yet, here you are. Your sex is leaking, your cries echoing across the closed space and what is music to his ears in his dreams is now a horrible reminder that you are seated behind him, victim to an aphrodisiac. He needs an excuse to touch you, needs to just feel you for a moment and when you threaten to stain the flawless leather seats with your slick, it’s enough for him to crawl to the back seat.

He never realized how crowded it was, how his elbows and knees tend to knock into things. He doesn’t notice how you’ve kicked your shorts off, how your underwear has become dark in color to your dripping sex. You kiss him, and Mammon is weak to you. His hands are on you, the scent overpowering and he promises to keep the touching to a minimum to only touch what you’ll let him touch and kiss where you want him to. But you’re huffing, grabbing onto him and trying to meet his crotch. The windows grow foggy, the car begins to creak but neither of you pay it any mind. It’s cramped and you’re too close but not close enough, you ache to be closer to him, to have him pressed against you until all you can remember is the way that his chest feels against your skin, the warmth of him, and the way his kisses are so tender and feverish all at once.

Leviathan:

Leviathan refuses to make eye contact with you. He won’t even address you. He sits on his desk chair, playing a game that doesn’t need half of the attention he usually gives. You rest inside his bathtub, curled over he presumes, whining and mumbling something that sounds like his name but he can't be so sure nor does he expect you to mumble his name in your current state. But as much as he wants to drown you out, he can’t. You’re too whiny, crying and begging for a solution, peeling your shirt off because it’s too hot. He reasons that’s because of the aphrodisiac because his room is always kept to a cool temperature. So now, he has you topless in his bathtub and the only proof is your shirt that was tossed where he sits and the reflection above, portraying a teasing, blurry image of your torso.

It’s possibly the worst situation for the poor, introverted demon. He finally has you all to himself and you’re in such a needy state and the plot is so close to a top tier hentai of his- Help! My Friend Took a Drug and Now They Won’t Stop Grinding on Me But I Also Don’t Want Them To Stop. But You came to him, you trusted that he would watch over you and whether it was because he kept his room so guarded or because you trust him, he really doesn’t know which. It’s just too muddled for him to believe that you would actively choose him. So, he does what he does best- he immerses himself in a game. The cutest game that he could think of- one that even if he grew and remained hard would make him feel more like a degenerate than he already does. He puts his headphones on and as if everything is trying to punish him, the loading screen takes forever.

The soundtrack plays loud, booming in his headset and effectively drowning you out. But he knows you’re still crying for him- that you're still in the same room with him. The perverted otuka glances up where he can see your reflection and he catches a glimpse of your hands cupping the swell of your chest and his face burns. Had you caught him peeking before? Was this a way for you to play with yourself without actively touching yourself? He can feel his growing arousal, translucent pre-ejaculate spilling past his slit and staining his boxers. It’s humiliating and he hates that the idea of you touching yourself in his room is more than enough for him to get in the mood.

He’s ignoring you- the only way that he can hopefully soften without actually creaming his pants. He avoids your reflection, ignores how your hands grip the curve of the tub until your knuckles pale, how you swing a leg over and it meets the hard layer of the bath, and for a moment, you still. He’s ignoring your decision to remove yourself from the place he rests and staggering to him. When he feels your hands on his thighs, he startles and the game minimizes into a small box. Unaware of what to do in this situation, he freezes, letting his body tense as you crawl onto his lap, your eyes heavy with lust and body feeling so warm above him that he’s unable to breathe.

His breathing is ragged, his hands stopping on the curve of your bum, as he’s unable to look anywhere else but your face. You’re flushed, gripping onto him, your tongue out as you pant and you’re so desperate for his attention that you lean close. His hands raise in an attempt to push you off but as if it were a cliché moment, his hands curve over your chest and you whimper his name at the simple touch. The third born should have been careful, he shouldn’t have let you grind against him and he surely shouldn’t have let himself becomes distracted by a kiss and yet, here he is, undressing himself as you greedily slide yourself onto his cock, your face scrunching up as every scale is pushed further into your aching hole. Leviathan is holding you close, the computer screen dimming as your can fill him spill inside of you.

Satan:

Eager to learn, he knows the effects of what an aphrodisiac can do to a being. So when you come knocking at Satan’s door, begging for refuge, leaning against him and gripping at his shirt, he pats your hand, and welcomes you inside. He allows you to rest on his bed, letting you bury yourself under his blankets. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for either of you- you’re inhaling his scent during a time of desperate need, and soon when the effects wear off, he’ll be left in a bed that is drenched in your scent. That, however, is a problem for another day.

In order to keep his mind and hands busy, he’ll finally organize his room. He’s able to ignore your whining, the way that you shiver under the covers and bury yourself into his pillow, how you spread your legs so they are uncovered by the blanket; he ignores the sweet scent of your arousal that fills the room and his lungs. He holds his breath, taking few, deep breaths every now and then to avoid inhaling too much of you. You’re whining, talking through the pillow about how it hurts and you just need something- and doesn’t he have a spell he can use to just rid you of at least a tiny bit of it.

It’s the growing arousal of himself and your constant whining that edges him closer to annoyance. He holds books tight in his hand, orders them by author and published years, height and volumes, but it isn’t enough to drown you out. He regrets letting you enter his room but in the same second, he regrets having the thought. He’s happy that you came to him, trusted him enough to see you in a disheveled state. He doesn’t want to scare you off or make you feel unwanted, so he edges closer to you, tugging on the bottom of his shirt as if he were a nervous boy instead of a grown demon. The bed creaks under his weight and your hand latches onto his thigh. He jerks his leg, your hand only squeezing tighter and when he makes eye contact, your eyes are filled with tears, glistening and catching on your lashes like fresh dew.

You’re aroused, deeply and sweetly. It's a nervous thing to be attracted to someone like you, a demon that has been round and born with blood and wrath etched deep into soul and yet here he is, nervous to even touch your trembling hand. He knows the effects of something as strong as an aphrodisiac and for a demon made one, there is no real spell for it. He lets you lay on his lap, your mouth close to his sex, eyes lidded and holding tight to his hand. His control is fading, his growing need pushing past logical thought. He offers himself, and you rise quickly, already straddling his lap, your chest pressed against his, asking if it is okay. A cold shiver runs through his spine and he nods, offering that he’ll take care of you.

The trembling, nervous demon fades just as quick as it came when your lips are on his. You kiss him, need so transparent that he’s teasing, pulling away, letting your back meet the bed. His smile is sharp, leaning to kiss your pursed lips, grabbing your leg and pulling it upwards, mumbling praise under his breath when you hook your leg around his waist. Satan is heavy when above you, and maybe it’s the aphrodisiac that still lingers on your tongue, but he is unwilling to move away from you, kissing you and hooking his fingers in your mouth when you moan. You’re needy and he wants to hear you beg for him, calling his name. He cups your face with spit coated fingers, asking you to be good for him and mew for him.

Asmodeus:

As the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus immediately knew something was off in the house when he felt lust in the air. It’s sweet. Intoxicating and bitter all at once. It’s like the sweetest honey known to mankind and he knows the feeling well enough to open his door before you have the thought to knock. He welcomes you into his room, letting you rest on the bed, a small part of him on the inside crinkling when you ruffle the sheets. But, of course, he knows this isn’t you- you would never be so careless. It’s all because of the aphrodisiac making your movements more frantic.

He knows the cure to end it- sex, plain and simple. Masturbation might help but he fears your hand will become sore. Always eager to have somebody in bed with him- out of his own sin and own need for company- he offers you two choices. You can borrow a toy- new, still in the box and all- or he could take care of you. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered the second option, he knew how excited you were to simply enter a room with another living being but he couldn’t help himself. You look absolutely adorable with your flustered face.

A kiss from the living Avatar of Lust is better than any pleasure that you’ve ever received. And he knows it. You moan under him, your body shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head, clawing at the shirt on his back. He smiles into the kiss. So eager to be taken care of that a simple kiss was enough to make you climax, your arousal dripping onto your underwear, so heavy in the air, that he pulls away as he feels your breaths start to shorten due to lack of air. But even as he pulls away, you still reach to pepper him with kisses, your breathing reggae against his face, gasping for breath with every parting kiss.

Your hands are on him, eager to pull him into another kiss. You want him and it’s evident from the way that you don’t push away when he removes his clothing. But, he stops for a moment, watching your gaze on him, wide and dazed and you stare at him as if he was something more than just a demon, you give him your worship and you pull him into another kiss. He stiffens, pulling away and asking if this is what you want, touching your bare skin only to flinch away as if it burned him. And when your lips are on him, your smile returns for a moment, telling him that you came to him because you knew he would tend to you in any way, and he melts.

His lips return to yours, kissing you eagerly, wanting nothing more than to just keep his lips on you. And as last time, you shudder beneath him, another orgasm washing through your body, your release spilling pass your slit. Limps entangle with each other and you cry the name Asmodeus, moaning it as if it were the only thing on your mind, sobbing under him and telling him how good it feels. You pet his head and let him bury his face into our chest, peppering kisses until he reaches your neck. His eyes close, an unexpected climax teases at him, as you pull him closer to your aching body. Every sigh from you in a gentle gust of wind, every cry a song that not even choir from the Celestial Realm can rival. He pushes deep inside of you, letting you feel every curve and texture from his cock as it molds your leaking hole into his shape.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub feels incredibly guilty when you come to him, his shirt knotted in your hands as you explain what you ate. He blames himself, going to hold you only to flinch when you hiss and pull yourself closer to him. It’s an aphrodisiac, he should have known that you’ll be more sensitive to touch during this time. He apologizes as he leads you to his bed, shaking his head and holding your hand. He’s gluttony- he should have been able to smell the scent of an aphrodisiac.

Of course, he’ll let you hide in his room until the effects wear off. He won’t make a single peep but it’s difficult for him. His clothes are sticking to him, his body is in an odd sticky situation where sex clings to him clothes and skin. He knows the effects of the aphrodisiac but he feels guilty for giving it to you so when you cling to him, begging for him to not let go of you, he sighs and stays beside you. He’s stiff, unwilling to move and can only let out a shaky breath, when you press yourself closer to him, hooking a leg over his and curling it over. He can feel your sex- hot and pulsing and he leaves ripped bedsheets as his hand curls into the comforter.

He’s rubbing your back, letting his fingers drum against your spine as he hears your panted breaths. He knows he should stop, that he should at least go and take a shower so he can at least smell good but you hold a tight grip on him. You’re feverish, burning against him and he can tell you want more, your lips open up and kiss along the side of his ribcage but he can’t move.

It’s getting too much- even for him. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this needy state that you’re in but as he rises with a feeble explanation that he’s going to take a shower, you pull him down. He’s above you, your eyes watery and cheating rising and falling with heavy breaths. He can’t kiss you but you’re leaning closer, your lips brushing against his and he can smell the aphrodisiac that still rests like heaven on your tongue. You don’t blame him for the accident slip, you’re just begging for him to take care of you, letting your hand rest over the swell of his breast and he’s growing weaker by the second.

When your lips are on his, your tongue slipping past your lips, Beelzebub can taste the aphrodisiac and he’s melting. His tongue has made its home on your mouth, curving over your pink muscle and feeling the way you shudder beneath him. His name is muted by the kiss, your hands clawing at his clothing and he’s sweaty and aroused, watching you as you strip yourself of your clothes. The lovely pastry that still lingers isn’t enough for him to go into a full rut, but it’s enough for him to bend your legs to your chest, your hole pulsing as his cock aligns to it. The way that you call his name is enough for him to push himself fully into you.

Belphegor:

Belphegor is asleep under the covers, pillow tucked under his head and he does not awaken to your scent growing closer and closer, heavier and sweeter than usual. He doesn’t awaken when the doorknob wiggles, a frantic turning but he does awaken when you slam the door. He is startled awake, his eyes wide for a second before narrowing, teeth flashing as he lets out a low growl. He stops when he notices it's you, yawning and telling you to get into bed with him. It’s only until you’re beside him, greedily taking the invitation, that he realizes the state you’re in.

He has to prod you until you tell him what’s happened, watching as you bury your face into a pillow, whining out pathetically as you tell him what happened. He laughs, it’s sharp and teasing. Of course, you took an aphrodisiac by accident. It could only happen to you. He tries to be sympathetic with you. He knows you must be in a great deal of pain, but then again you came to him and that makes him stay awake for a bit longer, turning over on his side and watching you struggle to not touch yourself despite the aroma of your arousal that is thick in the room.

Sloth offers to put you under a deep sleep- he can’t promise that you’ll be still- but he can promise that you’ll wake up without the effects of the aphrodisiac. When you refuse, he merely shrugs, turning over with a pout. He’s disappointed but he can’t do much. He does tell you that he is tired, so he’ll be sleeping but you’re allowed to spend the rest of your heightened arousal in the attic with him. The power of an aphrodisiac- one made a devil no less- is strong, and giving it you in even worse. He can sense the neediness in you, the way you watch him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted the eagerness to get into bed with him.

As promised, he slips off into a sleep, leaving you alone. But your body is on his, legs parted with his single leg. He isn’t asleep long enough for him to be in an actual slumber before he feels the bed move ever so slightly. It’s constant and your whining, mumbling apologies and he opens his eyes to find you humping his leg. It’s pathetic and hot all at once, watching you get off on his leg alone, so desperate for release that you’ve succumbed to humping him. His smile is tight, turning over and letting his tail curl around you, the static in the air only causing you to arch your back when his demon form pops out. It pricks against your wrists, the fur unkempt as he rises above you.

You wanted his attention and now you’ve gotten it. You’ve woken him up from nap, it’s normal and expected for him to be grouchy but thank goodness that the smell from your leaking sex is more arousing that anything else he’s encountered. You’re on your knees on the mattress, his hips meeting yours and letting out a loud grunt when he finishes. He’s tired and over it but his cock still stands upright and you’re still needy and awake, your sex leaking with his arousal. Belphegor will lay on his back, offer himself in his sleep to you until you’re content. The last coherent thought he has is sighing at how warm and squishy you feel against him.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook:

Don't Play With Your Food 2 (2k)

Jungkook lives a comfortable life, without worries and full of love. But sometimes life turns around when you least expect it- and the best things happen during our darkest times.

Tags/Warnings: violence, angst, abuse, mentions of malnourishment, wounds, blood, fluff, Black Panther Hybrid!Jungkook, Bunny!Reader, hybrid trafficking, trauma, panic attacks, romance, strangers to lovers, smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

"My god Jungkook." Namjoon says, carefully placing his hand on the hybrid's shoulder to wake him.

"Hey." He smiles towards him, glad to see him in a relatively unharmed state. Jungkook sits up instantly, hugging his owner tightly as if to check that he's real. He smells like home Jungkook notices, nerves finally calming down- before he remembers something.

"Bunny-" He suddenly says, eyes wide open as he looks at the officer close by, who cocks his head to the side in question. "There- there was someone next to my cage. She was picked up before me- where is she?" He asks, standing up together with Namjoon who's now looking at the officer as well, who leads them out the cell and to the front desk where they can see some people standing; most of them wearing the same shirt with the logo of a well known hybrid-activism-group on it. He can also clearly smell other hybrids still; panic, fear, confusion all bitter in the air as Jungkook swallows tightly.

"Can you check for the Bunny Park? Either Cage 34 or 36." The officer asks the young man behind the desk, who perks up at the mention.

"Oh?" He wonders. "I know where she is. Do you need something from her?" He asks, as Jungkook goes to stand closer, hands tightly gripping the edge of the front desk.

"I need to see her!" He almost beg, and Namjoon notices immediately. "She's okay right?" He asks, as the officer- Park- nods before he stands up.

"She's still scared, so we gave her a more secluded cell. She's in a cage, but don't worry-" Park explains as they walk down a hallway, Jungkook tensing up at the mention of a cage where you're supposedly in. You've just been saved out of one- why would they put you inside one again? "She's very scared of open spaces and wouldn't settle down in the cell by itself. That's why the people from HPS decided that its best to give her something similar to a hiding space." He says, before he opens a cell where a cage stands, a blanket over it to give a certain sense of privacy- and preserve warmth. "Careful, please.." Park mumbles to Jungkook, who almost squeezes himself between the officer's arm and the gate, slipping in immediately.

"Bunny?" He asks, falling down to his knees as he peeks inside the darkness of the cage.

And there you were; curled up in the corner on a large pillow, hood from his jacket over your head as you seem to try and hide in it. The sight of you dressed in a piece of his clothes makes him feel oddly protective- as he reaches out, gently touching your hand to not scare you.

You wake up slowly, opening your eyes to see his signature panther eyes staring at you. And instead of being scared of a predator hybrid in your space, you realize that there's no more bars keeping you apart from another. So slowly, your bones still aching and muscles still tired, you make your way over to him, carefully climbing into his lap where he instantly wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. He can feel the cold tip of your nose against his neck, shyly scenting him as a form of comfort, and he couldn't be happier about the feeling of it, gently purring when he feels you start to shiver a little. He knows by now its not from being cold- but more so from the amount of emotions going through you.

"Is there a way to take her with me?" Namjoon asks from a little further away, looking at the officer who smiles gently at the scene.

"Hm, not right away, I'm afraid." He says. "HPS needs to do a general check of your home before she's allowed to. Meaning they'll give you a general list today if you apply for her now, and will do a check at a random point in time next week or so."

"Is there no other way?" Jungkook asks, eyes wide and upset as they look over to them. "I- then I'll stay here until she's allowed to go. Is that okay?" He asks, and officer Park shrugs.

"I'm not sure. She's supposed to be taken to a Care Center today.." He mumbles, as Namjoon clicks his tongue, trying to find a solution. He hasn't seen much of you yet, but he's not stupid. What he's looking at is dependancy- and Jungkook would also scratch all wallpaper from the walls if he was to just deny you his home.

"maybe we can arrange for him to be housed there alongside her if we apply for an emotional support case." He says. "She's clearly dependant on him at the moment. I'll go and check with them what we can do, alright Jungkook?" He asks, and Jungkook nods, before he leans down again, rubbing his cheek against the top of your head.

"I won't let you go Bunny." He mumbles into your hair. "I'll keep you safe."

-------

At the end of it, Jungkook was not allowed to go with you.

At home with Namjoon instead, he practically studies the List provided like the bible, checking everything every day from top to bottom, expecially your little den, as he calls it instead of a cage. Jungkook had gone out of his way to make it absolutely perfect for you; Namjoon had bought a cage big enough to fit you and Jungkook inside as well, and inside, the panther Hybrid had made sure it was absolutely perfect. Blankets, pillows, strings of fairy lights on the top of it, and a thick blanket over the entirety of the cage to give it the last finishing touches. Its placed in his room- now with furniture moved and other stuff added to make sure you'd feel right at home with him.

He feels nervous every day.

Until HPS finally visits, and he proudly shows off everything; from the den, to his room, to the fact that they've turned down all volume of any devices that could suddenly make noise that could scare you. Anything potentially dangerous had been placed somewhere you couldn't reach, a therapist had already been informed, a meal plan established to make sure you'd be fed well.

He practically glowed at the praise, constantly looking at Namjoon with boyish excitement with every nod of the Lady checking the house.

"Great!" She says. "It's refreshing to see a household so organized for a future hybrid. And considering you already own a predator hybrid, we've been a bit cautious." She says to Namjoon. "But it also helped you, since we know you already know the basics of ownership. So I'd say there's no reason not to go along with the process." She says, and Jungkook can't help but jump a little in happiness, Namjoon carefully holding onto the hybrid's shoulder to calm him down.

"I believe the background check has already been received as well, yeah?" Namjoon asks, as they walk the lady to the door again.

"Yes, its been checked already. I'll call you later today to give you a specific timeframe on when we will bring her over if that's okay with you." She says, unable to stop grinning at Jungkook in the background, who's unable to stare at some birds outside on their backyard, hybrid instincts sometimes forcing him into amusing antics. "She's gonna have it good here, I can feel it." She says, and Namjoon nods.

"We'll do our best, that's for sure." He promises.

------

"Sorry-!" Jungkook apologizes after his tail accidentally smacks against Namjoon- his excitement just way too big to stay cool.

"Remember, she's still scared. It won't help her if you're too wild." Namjoon calmly says, and Jungkook nods, taking a few deep breaths before his owner finally opens the door. They've been told to come get you from the van, since you refused to leave it- still terrified of everything to the point of being practically paralyzed at the prospect of leaving any confined space.

"Bunny!" Jungkook chimes, carefully leaning into the back of the van where you've squeezed yourself into one of the corners. You're wearing a soft sweater and Jungkook instantly cooes at you, holding out a blanket like Namjoon had advised him too. You crawl into his arms instantly, craving comfort in this situation as well as some sense of familiarity, while Jungkook carefully folds the blanket over your head, shielding you from seeing anything of the outside world for now. He walks straight inside, Namjoon nodding towards the driver of the hybrid center's van, before he closes the door.

"There we go, I hope you like it." Jungkook says, as he sets you down, leading you to the den he's prepared for you. It's so much more inviting, so much more comfortable and positive that you can't help but look around first, noticing all the little details. Jungkook simply sits in front of the cage, smiling encouragingly so as you turn around to face him.

"Thank you.." You say, making his grin grow. "I.. It's really nice. I'm sorry I'm so weird-" You apologize, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"If you're worried about Namjoon, he doesn't mind, really!" He says. "He understands the situation way better than I do probably, so don't worry about it." He promises as you nod, before you can hear someone's footsteps- your ears slowly rising to turn towards the noise- a sight that Jungkook wants to scream at, simply because its so adorable to see them move around so much. You're already a lot more active and energetic- he can't wait to see you flourish under his and his owner's care.

"I'll warm up some food. Can you ask her if some sweet rice porridge is okay?" Namjoon asks, and to everyone's surprise, its your hesitant but sweet voice that answers.

"That'd be lovely."

------

Namjoon sits a little further away from you, but he's fascinated at how much confidence Jungkook's presence seems to give you.

While he's visited the center before by himself to familiarize himself with what he'd be facing, you've been justifiably shy and withdrawn- now, sitting barely inside your cage with one foot outside already, you seem relatively calm with him in the room. He notices however how much you look for any signs of danger in Jungkook's behavior- instantly perking up if he does something that could be considered a sign of distress.

"What?" Jungkook questions, as he notices Namjoon looking at you for a bit, your ears now as well turning towards him; they're a bit small, but he's been informed that your hybrid features are a little malformed due to malnutrition as a small kit- explaining why you've never been sold in the first place. It had pained him to hear all the stories about you- making him weirdly energetic about providing a good life for you from now on. He's managed to tame a Jungkook after all; the panther having been given in his care back then as a last resort after he'd bitten his past owners. It only later had been revealed that he'd been held inside all day, no exercise given whatsoever, leading in him just becoming overly frustrated over his situation. In Namjoons home he'd never been anything but a gentle sweetheart- a little over the top sometimes, but nothing he couldn't handle.

All it took was some trial and error, finding what worked and what didn't.

And so Namjoon shakes his head simply, continuing to eat as well as you look at him curiously. "Nothing." He says. "You're just very cute." He comments gently, and your ears droop down a little in shyness, discreetly scooting a bit closer to Jungkook, who just smiles brightly before tapping the underside of your chin.

"That she is." He says, grinning.

[thirstyforlulu]

Yandere Hellsing x Reader HCs? Including Millennium

Integra:

She’s a very possessive yandere

With her money and power, she has the means to get her hands on you

She’s good at playing cool, you won’t catch on for a while

Sure you notice that she never sends you on missions and that she’s always having you work near her office, but that’s just her being a good friend

When she decides to approach you romantically, she’s very forward

Around you she’s a touch starved animal, unlike her usual put together appearance

If you deny her feelings or try to run, get ready because she’s not giving up that easily

She’ll pull whatever strings she has to in order to find you

She’ll spend thousands bribing people or tracking you

Once she knows where you are, she’ll send Alucard to collect you

When she has you she’s very loving

She’ll want to constantly be touching you in some way

Usually that means sitting beside her while she works at her desk

As long as you’re good, she’ll let you wander the entirety of the manor

Since you tried to run she’s added all sorts of security measures so you can’t get out

Act up though and she will chain you to the wall in her office

“Y/N, your behavior has been deplorable lately and needs correcting.

Don’t give me those sad eyes, this is all your fault.”

Walter:

He’s a sneaky yandere

Very observant, he’ll learn your patterns and preferences

At the start he’ll leave you gifts like your favorite food or pretty flowers

He uses it as an excuse to get closer to you

He’s always offering to do favors for you, secretly lowering your defenses around him

He’s not the type to take anything from you but he will take the time to appreciate them

If you let him clean your room he’ll likely pause to sniff some clothes

You notice how much he knows about you but you just think he’s very observant

You don’t realize it’s due to his obsession

He’s the type to take more precautions

If you deny his advances he’ll lock you up somewhere, probably his room

He’ll get chains and a cage if necessary

If you really act up, he’ll lock you in the basement

The way you cling to him in fear after spending all night in the dark is addictive

His wires are always nearby

If you try to run you’ll only get a few steps out the door before the wires wrap you up and pull you back

He does his best not to hurt you, but if you struggle too much, a few cuts are inevitable

Seras:

She’s a very clingy yandere

She’ll want you on every mission she goes on

When you have free time she’ll take you out into the area nearby for some quality time

If you ever push her away, she gets angry

She’ll pout like a child then force her way into whatever it is you’re doing

At the time, she’ll act like it’s just a coincidence and you might even believe her

You’re not getting rid of her so easily

She’s also a very sweet yandere

If she feels she’s hurt your feelings she’ll go out of her way to get you presents or treat you nicely

Until you say you forgive her, she won’t stop pampering you

No one else is allowed near you, not even Integra

She’ll make excuses and do whatever it takes to keep you to herself

She would never kidnap you or lock you up because she hates to see you sad, but her “loving” behavior will be a trap in itself

Don’t forget that despite how cute she is, she’s still a powerful monster that can and will do what it takes to keep you

If that means making you one of her familiars then so be it

Alucard:

He’s a terrifying yandere

He can control you and the people around you, holding you captive

You’re not a stupid person, you know how easily he could end your life, so you tend to let it all happen

On the plus side, he’s very passionate and often brings you gifts

He’s such a smooth talker you’ll end up forgetting the terrifying threats he’s made in the past

Anyone who flirts with you will mysteriously disappear

Anyone who hurts you will turn up days later torn to shreds in a ditch

He would never do anything to hurt you, but that doesn’t stop him from making threats

“I could tear you apart just like that man from last week. I would love to hear your moans of anguish, but I’d prefer moans of pleasure.”

When you act out he manhandles you

He’ll press you against a wall and bite your neck to remind you of your place

He enjoys when you become complicit, but he likes when you’re occasionally act out

It gives him an excuse to punish you, which he always loves

After that, you’ll think twice before disobeying him

Millenium:

Jan:

Bro this man is already wild

When he sets his sights on you it’s go time

He won’t let anyone else near you or get to know you, not even his brother

He’ll threaten people, meeting them after work for overstepping their boundaries

He’s very touchy, like he’s trying to leave his scent all over you

Out in public, he’ll hang on you, showing others that you’re already taken

He’ll growl at people that look at you too long when passing by

He flicks a lot of people off, all the time but more so when he’s around you

He’s paranoid and doesn’t like anyone else around you, even friends

Clearly he’s a fan of body modification so if he can convince you he’ll want to get some kind of matching piercing/tattoo

If you get it, he’ll pay special attention to it any time you cuddle, running his fingers over it countless times

He can be very intense so he might yell at you, but when he sees the hurt look in your eyes he backs off

In his own weird way, he loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurting

But if he has to hurt you to keep you then so be it

Luke:

He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is

He tries to play it cool, but if someone tries to touch you he will blatantly smack their hand away

Always has an excuse to be around you and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one

He’s not as touchy as Jan, but he does like to hold your hand

You’ll feel his pinky brush against you before his hand completely envelops yours

His grip tightens when he sees you looking at others

Your attention is something he so desperately craves

He gives you every moment of his time and he wants you to do the same

If you’re ever in danger he’s there before anyone else even knows

It helps that he was already watching you

Be ready to compensate him

At first he’s just worried about you, but then once he knows you’re alright, he’ll start making demands

“You owe me for coming to your rescue dear. Or would you like me to toss you back? Maybe then you’ll beg me in such a cute way.”

Rip:

She does not care what other people think

She’ll ruin relationships to get closer to you

She’ll endanger her own job if it keeps you two apart

Doing favors is how she gets closer to you

Anytime you need something she’s there and ready to go

She’d leave in the middle of a mission if she hears you need help

Anyone causing you problems will be slaughtered and presented to you as a gift

“See y/n, I took off their heads just for you.”

She can get very aggressive especially if she thinks you’re denying her advances

She won’t hurt you, beyond a little pinch or so, but she’ll make threats

She’s very sadistic and would be willing to lock you up

Having you as a pet is actually an attractive idea to her

She’ll take good care of you wherever you’re locked up, but she won’t allow many freedoms

“Look at my pretty pet. How lucky am I.”

The Captain:

He’s like a pet, always following you around

He’ll growl at people he doesn’t like around you

His arms are always around you, keeping you close

No one else is allowed to tend to you after missions

When he’s patching you up, he’ll run his hands along your arms and legs, lovingly caressing your limbs

He’ll use that as an excuse to stay around you

Popping in to “check on you” at all hours

You won’t even know he’s come in until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed

He’s the type the would sit there for a moment watching you breathe

If he can, he’ll try to get you to be his assistant

If he can convince the higher ups that he needs one, he’ll do whatever he can

Then he’ll be around you even when he works and will be able to protect you

No one on the battlefield will be able to even get close to you

He’ll ignore his own tasks to protect you

He’s extremely loyal and obsessive

The Doctor

Oh man it is terrifying when he has his eye on someone

He views it like just another experiment, wanting to test and push you

He’ll have you coming to him for “examinations” all the time

He’d likely put a bug on you

Suddenly he knows things you don’t remember telling him, but you can’t prove anything

People you like start disappearing, people you had no idea he knew about

If he suspects you’re starting to catch on and trying to get away, he’ll start drugging you

Then you’ll have to come to him if you’re going to get better

While he’s treating you, he’ll trick you mentally manipulating you to grow closer to him

You’re going to think so highly of him, forgetting all the red flags you’d seen before

He is absolutely a gas lighter but he’s damn good at it

Even if you have experience with this stuff you won’t pick up on it

It’s a game of cat and mouse with him

The Major

He is not subtle and does not care

Your needs or emotions don’t matter to him

If you don’t respond well to his advances he will make terrible threats

If that doesn’t work he’ll take it a step further, allowing the ghouls to get close to taking a bite out of you

Torture is the next step

He doesn’t care about your mood, he has to have you

“Y/N, why do you fight so hard when you know I’m just going to hurt you again?”

He’ll want to do most of it by hand, but if he needs to he will get the others involved

“Would you like me to make a spectacle out of you? I think the others would enjoy that.”

Behave and he won’t hurt you

If he gets mad enough he’ll remove your arms and legs

You’ll become his good little doll, always on display for him

Like a bird in a cage, you’re his favorite display item

[esreal]

Even his absence is infuriating.

Then again, resentment has filled its way within every crack and rough edge that Kayn has - it's tainted his view, leaves him wondering if everybody else in the band can see what he sees. Which is, to say the least, an unstable, miserable man always two steps removed from pushing others away & inflicting whatever's bothering him upon others. It works, for the record, & Kayn's definitely never wrong - the pit of dread in Ezreal's stomach, the nagging sense of insecurity, hasn't left since.

But still - he knew Kayn was home. His shoes were inside, kicked off & random in their placement at the door. Ezreal had checked - knew he'd feel really stupid knocking on the door and attempting to make amends with nobody home. Why does it take so long to even do this one simple thing -

At least when he finally makes it to the door, he's receptive enough to the idea of talking. Even if Kayn asking to go to Ezreal's room makes his head cock, eyebrows flattening with curiosity and apprehension: " We're literally right here, why can't we just - " the lilt of a question had just entered his voice, but it dies in his throat. Pursing his lips with the realization this line of conversation would create an arbitrary argument, the need for interrogation seeps away.

"Yeah, okay. C'mon." The change in tune is flat, he's tired.

The motion of his head is a physical invitation, leading them further down the hallway to his own bedroom. As he enters, his tote bag gets piled on top of an already messy desk. To look closer would reveal half-baked to-do lists, doodles of Ernest & Killer, as well as song lyrics for solo pieces and potential HEARTSTEEL b-sides. None of them finished, and to Ezreal, none of them good enough. He slips his jacket off and drapes it over the chair, now fully unencumbered by his outdoor wear, he all but collapses into a seat on his bed.

The singer's knees are brought up to his chest, trying to envelope his back into the warmth of plush pillows without making it painfully obvious he's still cold. His hands clasp around his legs, keeping them in place and allowing for his fingers to fidget against each other. Funnily enough, its the grey sweatpants that he focuses on - he's seen them before, in another time might have been way more interested in them - now that it's happening, direct eye contact itself seems almost unbearable. A deep exhale sighs through his nose, he's already begun speaking - not enough time given for Kayn to get comfortable.

Though how comfortable can either of them get with this, really?

For as much as he's memorized & recited various comebacks, ideas of what to say by rote - before bed, talking to his expensive, sensitive scalp shampoo bottles, on walks to the grocery store when he's just suddenly swept up and mad again. It all involved about twelve layers of irony, attempts at humor, and a moral high ground that hid his own culpability and vulnerability just as well. In the situation he's found himself in, Ezreal can admit he has nothing - just raw wounds and anger from scabs that he keeps picking.

"Is this fun for you?" In short, why are you the way that you are? It's a race against time before the inevitable blockage in his throat, onset of a true display of being upset despite himself, manifests. "Like, seriously. If your goal is getting a rise out of Ezreal, congrats! I think you did it." Exasperation evident, he brings his tone higher for the sentence to make an example of it. "If its shooting HEARTSTEEL in the foot before we really get off the ground," this one he stops on. So much for extending an olive branch.

There's a beat of silence, but he's not done yet. Ezreal rocks to lean forward just a little - next question mounted with the weight of their new single, the TRUE-SHOT indie album that nobody seemed to listen to, and the autotuned, adolescent You're my Museum behind it.

"Do I really sound that bad?"

Oh, they've talked to Kayn too. From Sett bringing him beers when Kayn's outside chain smoking to lying on Aphelios' bed at an ungodly time of night, trying to process all the shitty feelings coursing through his body. It feels like everyone's tried to stage an intervention on the situation with Kayn and Ezreal, and all it does it make them both more stubborn.

GEEZ, KAYN. I KNEW YOU'D FAIL, BUT EVEN I NEVER KNEW YOU'D FAIL THIS QUICKLY! IT'S A NEW RECORD OF FAILURE!

None of it makes Kayn feel any fucking better. It feels like something's rotting inside him, like he's waiting for the guillotine to drop around his neck again. He meant what he said about Ezreal — every fucking word — but that doesn't mean he wants to be enemies with the guy. Actually, it feels fucking shitty to be hated by someone whose work he actually admires (not the shit that his record company made him pump out that all sounds the same, but his real work). It's not a new feeling, but it doesn't get any fucking easier, either.

Kayn's just thinking that it's about time for him to go for another smoke when there's a knock on his door. He doesn't feel like getting up, doesn't want another weak attempt and cheering him up, but he's also getting hungry. So he has to get up anyways. Still, he takes his sweet fucking time getting to the door, cracking it just enough to see —

Oh.

The tension in Kayn's face goes slack for a moment, then comes back twice as hard. There's a crease between his brows, and a muscle jumps in his jaw as Kayn presses his teeth together to stop him from saying the first fifteen fucking things that come to his mind. They should talk? He doesn't want to (and the Ezreal posters on his wall are burning a hole in the back of his neck).

But Ezreal looks cold. His nose is a little flushed, his eyes bright, and Kayn's never been as strong as he acts.

"Fine," he says, carefully stepping out of his room without opening the door even a crack further. Kayn's wearing a band shirt with the sleeves cut off and sweatpants that he quickly slips his hands into the pockets of. "Your room, or what?"