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ayyy-pee · 6 months ago

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𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕀𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu x Female Reader

Summary: Will he survive this war?

Will you be alright without him?

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

Giyuu and reader get to work on making a baby.

Story Warning: BREEDING KINK GIYUU, LACTATION KINK GIYUU, Smut, Giyu and reader are secretly married, P in V sex, Profanity like yall should know, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Giyuu is a munch, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Creampies, Mating Press, Freaky ass Giyuu fr

Art by: michi_ia (Twitter)

A/N: This was a request from one of my amazing readers! This one shot takes place in the same universe as Hidden Affairs (Sanemi x Reader fic!) They can both be read as standalones as they involve different readers! Hope you enjoy!

It’s eerily quiet tonight. Just as it’s been for the past several weeks. A storm is brewing, slowly but surely. Giyuu feels it, they all feel it. It’s like a simmer just under the surface, waiting to boil over at any moment. That’s why all of them were called to Ubuyashiki mansion. The plan has been set in motion and Giyuu knows what his role now is.

But will he make it back alive?

That’s the question that plagues his mind at this very second as he approaches his home. He can see the dim candle lighting illuminating the space through the windows and he knows he won’t be alone once he’s inside. No, he’ll be able to see you. And it’s all he’s been looking forward to since he stepped foot on the mansion grounds.

“I’m home,” Giyuu murmurs as he slips out of his haori. He lays it carefully on the table beside the front door.

“Welcome back, my love,” your voice floats through the air like a song, calling him to you. You’re in the bedroom and when Giyuu enters, he sees you’re already snuggled into the futon on the tatami, clearly ready for bed. “How was the meeting?”

Giyuu sighs, crossing the space and falling to his knees at your bedside. He leans forward and kisses you softly, reveling in the way that you, as always, can melt away his worries with just your skin on his. “It’s…” He debates on telling you the truth. That it’s not looking good. That he and the other Hashira, the Master, are all in imminent danger and that it’s likely to come soon. But as he watches you, so sweet and caring, he knows he can’t lie to you. “I’ll have to leave…to be close. He will come soon.”

He, being Muzan. Though Giyuu doesn’t dare speak his name in his home.

“I see…”

You recover quickly, but Giyuu has already seen it. The sadness and concern that flashes across your features. He feels guilty that he’s the cause.

“And the others?” You question, trying to change the subject. You know Giyuu hates talking about matters like this with you. You dislike it as well. Because he can’t be as honest as he wants to be with you. It’s for your safety and honestly to protect your sanity. It’s enough that you’re fully aware of the position he holds as a Hashira, and yet you insist on staying with him. Not that he could ever let you go. Even though he knows it’s selfish for him to have you, he would rather be a selfish man than be without you.

“Same old, same old. Still a little strange without Uzui, but we are managing.” Giyuu kisses you again before standing. Just as you do every night, you’ve got a bath waiting for him, and he’d like to get in and soak so that he can get back to you before sleep takes you for the night.

“That’s good. Everyone is well?”

“Yes.” He purses his lips as he fiddles with the rest of his garments, debating on whether or not to tell you this. But he thinks you may find this amusing. “Shinazugawa looked as though he was seconds away from ripping my head from my shoulders before the Master appeared.”

He hears your soft giggles behind him. “Were you sitting too close to his lady again?” You tease.

Giyuu shrugs, though you can hardly see the movement. “For Hashira, they are very bad at concealing their secrets. They smell of sex every time they arrive.”

“Yes, but it’s very cute to see. I’m happy she continues to keep our secret even though she has no idea we know hers.”

Ah, yes. Shinazugawa believes Giyuu is interested in his beloved, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. See, what the other Hashira (aside from Shinazugawa’s love) doesn’t know is that Giyuu is married - happily, at that. His colleague only found this out after running into you in town, carelessly dressed in Giyuu’s haori as yours were in the wash. And when she confronted you about the very familiar garb you were wearing, you just “felt that you could trust her with their secret”. It’s worked out for you both so far. It’s made you and Giyuu’s fellow Hashira closer, and Giyuu is simply glad you have a friend who you can confide in. He doesn’t even mind playing the messenger between you two, typically passing along stories and jokes from you to his associate when you’re all called together for a Hashira meeting.

But it’s also placed a large target on his back, a certain white haired psychopath surely waiting for the right moment to shove his blade down Giyuu’s throat.

“He believes I have feelings for her, you know? Almost blurted out their secret in a jealous rage in front of us all.”

“What?!” You gasp, scandalized. “You’re kidding.”

“No. He hates me because of it. It’s quite obvious.”

You hum, mind going a million miles a minute as you mull over this information. “Maybe it’s due to you being so unapproachable and distant. You don’t spend much time with the other Hashira. Perhaps it makes you unlikable.”

Giyuu winces, your words touching a sore spot because this isn’t the first time he’s been told he’s not liked among the Hashira. Kocho once said something similar.

“I’m not unlikable…” he grumbles, lips curling at the corners when he hears your laughter again. You tease him too much. “I’m going to take a bath. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

++++++++++

“Shall we try for a child?”

The question leaves Giyuu’s lips before he can talk himself out of it. He debated on saving this question for the morning as he joined you beneath the blankets, but his bath left him to sit in silence with nothing but his thoughts.

Will he survive this war?

Will you be alright without him?

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

The prospect of a child never appealed to Giyuu before, but the closer he gets to this inevitable battle, the more it’s on his mind. If anything were to happen to him, he would not want you to be alone. He would want to leave you with something of his, something that you’ll be able to look at and be reminded of him if worse comes to worse.

“What brings this on?” You ask, more quiet than normal. “I mean you…you’ve never discussed children before.” You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your elbow. The moon casts almost an ethereal glow over you, your beauty clear even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

He shrugs. “I suppose I’ve never thought about it.” His blue eyes gaze into yours. There’s something there, something behind your eyes that you’re not saying. If it were a no, you would say so. You’ve never been one to mince words. If it were a yes…well, you’d say that as well.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes.” He sits up, pulling you into his lap. His fingers play with the strings that hold your top together, gently tugging. It loosens, exposing your collarbone to him and he can’t resist placing a gentle kiss there. “Wouldn’t you enjoy it?” His lips ghost your skin lightly, and the sigh that rushes past your lips is music to his ears. “Caring for this small person, a perfect mixture of you and I?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, head tilting to the side to make room for Giyuu as his lips explore your neck, your throat, the swell of your breasts. “Yes,” you whisper. The sleeves of your top slip from your shoulders, a new part of you exposed for Giyuu to now claim, and you let him. You let Giyuu do whatever he wants with you when it comes to this. You’re always so pliable as soon as his arms wrap around you.

“I want it,” you breathe, hands pulling Giyuu from your shoulder and cupping his face. You press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Let's have a child.”

Wide eyes beam at you in the moonlight, a look of appreciation swimming in them. How did Giyuu get so lucky to have a wife like you? His hands guide your top down, revealing your smooth skin to the night air. His lips caress your breasts, breaths ghosting over your slowly hardening nipples. He takes one into his mouth, groaning at how the soft flesh fills his mouth. Your body is beautiful — a face that would bring a god to their knees, curves in all the places Giyuu appreciates, a form that molds perfectly to his, made for him and only him.

Giyuu lets his mind wander while his mouth presses sweet kisses to your chest. What will you be like when you’re pregnant? Will you crave for certain foods? He’s heard that that is common. What will you look like when you’re months into your pregnancy? Will Giyuu be there to witness your belly grow round with his child?

Something clicks in Giyuu’s mind at that moment. And while he’s not usually rough with you, he can’t seem to control himself when a guttural moan bubbles from deep within his chest and he wraps an arm around you, flipping you both over. He settles his hips between your legs, rolling his hips against your core, reveling when your back arches off the futon as you moan. And Giyuu dips down, capturing your mouth with his and swallowing each and every sound you make.

It’s all dry humping and moans, whispered “I love you’s” and peeling each other’s clothes off until you both lay bare. Giyuu listens to the way your breath hitches as he kisses his way down your body. His lips brush over all of your sensitive spots on the way down, only stopping when they reach the most sensitive. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths as Giyuu peers up from between your legs. This is one of his favorite views, particularly at night when the soft glow of the moon illuminates your body in such a way that he can’t help but be painfully erect.

Giyuu is a man of very few words. Everyone knows this. Even with you, he is not particularly talkative, but as Giyuu takes in the sight of you, legs spread wide and the puffy lips of your pussy coated with your arousal shimmering in the moonlight, he must let it be known. “You are so beautiful”. He licks his lips, groaning because he is eager to have you, eager to taste you, feel you, breed you.

“Wider, my love,” Giyuu commands, and you do as you're told, spreading your legs to further expose your aching cunt to him. “Perfect,” he whispers, hands coming up to caress the inside of your thighs where he plants tender kisses along the plush flesh. He leans forward, burying his nose into your core and inhaling deeply.

And this may seem odd to those whose jobs don’t revolve around breathing, but there’s something about your scent that has changed. Giyuu can’t place his finger on it. Maybe your scent smells sweeter? Or perhaps your scent is simply more intoxicating because Giyuu has reached a level of arousal that is new to him. But there is without a doubt something different.

He decides not to dwell on it any longer when a desperate and hushed “please” reaches his ears. He realizes then that your thighs are shaking, eager for him to proceed. So he presses a soft kiss to your glossy lips. You gasp quietly, back arching immediately and Giyuu takes that moment to lick a fat strip through your folds.

The groan he lets out is deep, animalistic almost. It vibrates through your core and the sensation makes you reach down, weaving your fingers through Giyuu’s dark tresses to grab hold.

“O-oh, Giyuu…” You gasp as he presses his tongue to your clit, his eyes roll back when he feels the slick pour from your core and straight into his mouth. He laps it up eagerly.

“You taste divine,” he groans into you and you moan in response, hips rolling up to grind your cunt against Giyuu’s mouth, begging for more. And Giyuu obliges, lips sealing around your clit and sucking, licking, nipping at your swollen bud until you’re practically fucking yourself on his tongue.

“Giyuuuuu,” you keen, back lifting off the futon again. You moan loudly, fingers clutching Giyuu’s hair and pulling him further into your pussy. “Right there–” you pant. “Right there! Please don’t stop–”

Giyuu grunts, wincing because his cock is throbbing painfully against his abdomen. He can feel the moisture beneath him, his tip leaking with his arousal. Surely this will stain the fabrics, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. He brings a hand to your pussy, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles. You’re thrashing, moaning his name over and over, damn near about to pull his hair out when Giyuu plunges his tongue into your clenching hole, and he has to will himself not to cum when you cry out and your soft walls clamp down on his tongue immediately. Your hips come up to meet his mouth, grinding your soaking cunt against Giyuu’s face. And he loves it.

Giyuu loves the taste of you. He’s not much of a drinker, he’ll admit. Never much cared for the taste of liquor and has never experienced being drunk in his life, but he imagines it feels similar to the way his head is swimming just off the taste of you.

By now, the futon is sticky with his precum, and it doesn’t help that Giyuu has now been mindlessly rutting against the fabric to find some sort of friction. He longs to make you cum on his tongue, but he also longs to bury himself inside you. But you make the decision for him, tugging his hair until Giyuu finally pulls his mouth away from your center. He crawls along your body, the echoing sound of his length separating from the stickiness of the bed filling the room.

He’s face to face with you, his lips and chin glistening with your wetness and it takes him by surprise when you run your tongue from the tip of his chin, all the way to his mouth where you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you murmur against his lips, “how do you plan on putting a baby in me if you don’t fuck me?”

Giyuu thinks that if Muzan doesn’t end up being the death of him, you will be. He puts a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and whispering, “Forgive me, my love. I got carried away.” He slips his free hand between your bodies, a fiery heat blooming in his cheeks when he feels the way his cock is dripping onto your cunt. This is it. There will be no going back once he goes forward with this.

“When I’m done, you’ll be with child,” he says, seriously, as though it’s a fact. Because in his mind, it is. Giyuu grips his length, stroking himself slowly, rubbing his tip against your clit as he lets his mind wander briefly, and lets your moans fuel his runaway thoughts.

His head is consumed with the image of your breasts, swollen and dripping with milk and he has to halt his strokes to stave off the sudden urge to blow his load. He’s a little surprised, actually. Giyuu has seen and rescued his fair share of pregnant women, and didn’t think twice about it. Forgot about them the moment they weren’t in his direct line of sight. But you…you who consumes his every waking thought…the idea of you with leaking nipples, allowing Giyuu to taste the delicious nectar that your body has produced? It’s a thought so arousing, he has to tuck it away mentally, save it for when he’s alone on his missions so that in the late hours of the night, when he’s wrapping his hand around his cock, the image is still fresh.

He’s not sure when he slipped inside of you, let alone flipped you both over again so that he’s now on his back while you ride him. You take him all the way to the tip, moaning loudly every time you sink onto him. The intense waves of pleasure bring time to a standstill. Your nails are sunken deep into Giyuu’s abdomen, steadying yourself as Giyuu’s hips thrust into you at a bruising pace. On a typical night, Giyuu wouldn’t be so rough with you, so greedy with you. But tonight, while his mind is focused on a single goal – ensuring he leaves you with his offspring growing inside your womb – he feels like a crazed man.

Your cries grow louder, more high pitched and your movements stutter momentarily. When you cry out that you’re going to cum, riding him faster and faster, walls fluttering around him, breasts bouncing beautifully, Giyuu’s mind is back on his prior thoughts – dripping, swollen and full…

And then Giyuu is crying out with you, gritting his teeth as he fucks up into you, emptying his balls to the point that he’s lightheaded. His vision blurs as he keeps pumping into you. He hears the squelching, feels the splashing of his seed dripping from you and onto his abdomen, and Giyuu pulls you down to take his entire length again and again until he finally comes to a halt. His hands grip your hips tight, eyes honed in on where you sit flat against him as your sweet pussy cradles his cock.

“Don’t move,” he growls, surprising himself with the gravelly sound that just left his lips. And you nod, whimpering above him. Within your walls, Giyuu can feel his length still pulsing, spurting pathetic, weak strings of his seed. This orgasm has his chest heaving, hands shaking. He grits his teeth, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth.

“You’re going to be an incredible mother,” he coos, finally releasing his hold on you. His fingers ghost along your skin, from your chest, over your nipples, down to your abdomen where he places his hands flat against your stomach. He focuses on fucking you deeply, burying his cock as far as he can, pushing his seed as deep as possible. “Our child will be so lucky.”

“Yes, my love,” you breathe, eyes closed while you continue to take all of him so well. “And you’ll be an amazing father.”

Your words turn him on, more than he’s ever been. He rolls you both over once more and when you’re on your back, Giyuu takes a moment to pull out and admire his work. His eyes are locked on your core, dripping with evidence of him, pulsing and hungry for more. And he’s still so hard. He wants to give you more, needs to give you more. So Giyuu slips back into your pussy easily, the lubrication from the mixture of both your releases making you both shudder.

He’s so fucking sensitive, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when your greedy cunt is still squeezing down on him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pushing forward until a knee rests on either side of your head. And Giyuu thinks he may black out, because he doesn’t know that he’s ever been this deep inside of you before. He can feel his seed spilling from you, slipping down to your ass where his balls are pressed so hard, it keeps the thick liquid from flowing any further.

“One more…” he grits out, brows knitted together in determination. “Need to make sure it sticks.” Then he’s fucking you again, one palm resting on the back of each thigh, balls smacking loudly against your ass with every rough thrust.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” You gasp, fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly, and Giyuu whimpers in response. Your pussy is tightening around him, a vice grip already greedily trying to pull whatever he has left to offer from him.

“I want your baby,” you murmur into Giyuu’s ear and he groans, voice rough with desire. His thrusts pick up speed, searching for more pleasure.

“Do you?” He moans against your shoulder when he feels himself hit a particularly soft spot within your walls. “I’ll give you one. I swear I will –”

“Yes!” You practically scream. “Right there, Giyuu–”

“Fuck –” His eyes are closed, mouth slack as he pumps wildly into you. You’re so wet, so tight, so soft and as much as he wants to keep fucking you like this, he’s about to cum embarrassingly fast for the second time tonight. He can feel his balls get a little tighter with each sticky thrust. “Shall I b– ah…shall I breed you once more? Fill you up…ngh…until you’re dripping with my seed again?”

“Please–”

You hardly have to finish your words, because Giyuu is grunting loudly, bottoming out just as he spills himself into you, giving you every drop he has to offer. “Stay still,” he tells you, still thrusting into you, even though he can go no further. He pulls back once more, then sinks balls deep inside of you, breathing heavily as he empties himself. “Need you to take it all, my love.”

“I will,” you pant, his perfect little wife.

You stay like this for some time, Giyuu plugging your pussy until his cock softens inside you. Then he pulls out slowly when he has no other choice. You sigh in relief when you’re able to finally put your legs down as Giyuu lies beside you. He scoops you into his arms, kissing you all over your face, silent apologies for being so aggressive with you. You’re both catching your breath while Giyuu softly runs his hand up and down your spine.

“I wonder if we’ll be successful.” Giyuu mutters when the silence is too much and his thoughts become so unbearable he has to share them with you.

You wiggle out of his hold, sitting up to look down at him. You’re smiling, a cute and goofy smile that Giyuu only sees when you’re up to something. Or when you have a secret that you’re finding impossible to keep from him. So Giyuu sits up as well, brow raised in curiosity.

“What is it?” He asks suspiciously. His eyes narrow when your smile widens.

“It was successful…” You take Giyuu’s hand and press it to your stomach. “about two months ago.”

Giyuu is confused. His eyes are stuck to where you have his hand. Two months ago? Successful?

You can see the confusion clear as day, even in the darkness. “My love,” Your hand cups his cheek and like instinct, Giyuu leans into the touch. He still hasn’t torn his gaze from your joined hands. “Giyuu…look at me.”

And he does, back rigid as he stares at you with wide eyes. The cogs are turning, finally. He thinks he may have figured it out. But there’s a teasing smirk sitting on your lips, and Giyuu doesn’t know if he should believe you or not.

“A-” He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Are you…?”

You pull Giyuu towards you to place a sweet kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been with child for some time. I just wanted to wait to be certain. I planned on surprising you today, but your meeting ran so late and…” Your hand covers your mouth, hiding the small giggles threatening to bubble up from your chest. “Well, it’s just so cute when you get all serious and focused like that.”

You fall back onto the bed, your pretty laughter filling the room, and Giyuu can’t help it. He laughs, too. Your laughter is so infectious he can’t resist.

It’s a strange mixture of elation, fear, maybe relief. He’d accomplished his goal before he even knew it. But with him leaving to go to the mansion tomorrow, knowing what is planned, he’s now got a new sense of dread seeping into his bones.

But it also gives him a new sense of purpose, outside of returning to you.

Giyuu must defeat Muzan.

Giyuu must survive.

Giyuu must get back to his wife, to his child, to his family.

No matter what.

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mephisto-reporting · 1 month ago

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Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous. His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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aconstantstateofbladerunner · 1 year ago

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Fanfic Thieves on Youtube

A collection of youtube channels have been uploading preexisting fanfictions in videos with little to no credit to the original authors. These are not podfics, these channels copy-paste the fics into text-to-speech readers then upload the unaltered audio over static or unrelated backgrounds, either art that is also stolen or mobile game footage. In addition to not naming the authors, they alter the title to make it that much harder for readers to recognize or find the original uploads. Some go so far as to pretend they themselves are creating the fics in question. Many claim that their stealing actually helps give fics "exposure" despite the intentional steps they take to conceal the origins of the fics they profit off of. However, this practice has lead many authors to discontinue fics after the frustration of having their hard work stolen. Many of these channels claim they will remove videos upon request, but will either argue with the author in order to keep it up, or simply unlist the video for a time until they think the author isn't paying attention anymore. And their solution to receiving strikes against their channels in the past has been to further obfuscate the origins of their content instead of even considering asking first.

”I got caught stealing, so instead of not stealing anymore, I’m doubling down on stealing even more so it’s harder for people to find out and prove I’m stealing. Stealing doesn't count if the specific person I stole from didn't call me out. I am the real victim.”

That, plus the incessant tag scumming in all the videos (spamming unrelated tags in order to appear in more search results) proves to me that these are lazy attention seekers who don't want to put in creative effort when they could just leech off of the passion of others.

In order to report them, go to their channel's "About" page and click the flag icon. Said icon might be behind the three dots in the top bar on mobile. Go to "Report User" at the bottom and tick the "spam and scams" button. This will allow you to list multiple videos as offenders instead of reporting them individually. Youtube's policy states that video spam constitutes:

Massively uploading content that you scraped from other creators.

Auto-generated content that computers post without regard for quality or viewer experience.

If you recognize one of your fics among the stolen, say so in the additional comments box, and perhaps call out the channel directly in the video's comments. If you recognize someone else's fic, please let the original author know so they can report the channel as well. Many have been confronted for stealing previously and refuse to admit wrongdoing.

Most of what I've found has been My Hero Academia fics since that's my fandom and those are the ones I can recognize as stolen, but there are many other channels that steal from other fandoms, so I invite anyone and everyone to reblog this with their own findings.

The reality is that this extremely low-effort content and new youtube channels are both very easy to make, so most likely they'll start new channels once the ones on this list are run through. But hopefully, if we all work together and keep whacking these moles, perhaps we can instill that same defeatism they caused so many creators who didn't deserve it, and eventually they'll give up.

My sincerest thanks to everyone who helped bring additional channels to my attention. A special thanks to ao3 user InArduisFidelis who brought the initial attention to the issue, and @owlf45 whose work was stolen.

Links under the cut.

YurikoFanfics - Not only stole content, but acted in comments as though they were the one writing these stories.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@YurikoFanfics

What-IF-Anime - Has the exact same "disclaimer" about not being the original author as the one above. Either they're the same person or the thieves are stealing from each other.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@What-IF-Anime

quirkywhatif7 - Either an alt of the above, or all these people are talking to one another because this one made a community post identical to a comment the one above made in response to being called out (the above screenshots).

https://www.youtube.com/@quirkywhatif7/about

DekuFanfic - It's the same fucking guy again.

https://www.youtube.com/@DekuFanfic/about

InfiniteParadoxfanfics - Nothing notable, same deal as the others.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@InfiniteParadoxfanfics/about

WhatIfAnimeChannel - Admits in their community posts that other people write the fics they post but still doesn't give credit. Migrated to a new channel after issues with youtube, likely being flagged previously.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfAnimeChannel/about

WhatIfAnimeAll - Alt of above.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfAnimeAll

FWNWorld - Makes sure to tell you that the videogame footage is theirs, but can't bother to credit anyone else.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@FWNWorld/about

WTFW - Claims to have "[A] team of talented writers, voice actors, and artists work together to create immersive fan fiction stories that are sure to captivate your imagination." Just the same test-to-speech stolen content over videogames. So straight up lying claiming that everything is theirs (and that anything they make is quality).

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WTFW

MHA2.0Fanfics - Lots of crossover theft.

https://www.youtube.com/@MHA2.0Fanfics/about

Collerwhatiif - Pretty sure this one is the same guy as the previous 2, also has one for another fandom.

https://www.youtube.com/@Collerwhatiif/about

https://www.youtube.com/@GoJoFanfiction/videos

ko_sensei - Another that claims to have a "team" that makes the stories they steal: " passionate about creating compelling and engaging fanfiction that explores the various "what ifs" in the anime universe."

https://www.youtube.com/@ko_sensei/about

FantasticWhatIf - Multifandom stealing, uses the exact same bs disclaimer as many others.

https://www.youtube.com/@FantasticWhatIf/about

LettuceHeadFanfics - No credit, no acknowledgement of anything. Next one is an alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@LettuceHeadFanfics/about

brocollifanfics - Alt of above, once again admits to stealing with a declaration of "☆If you want to takedown any videos. You can mail us or leave a comment below the video☆"

https://www.youtube.com/@brocollifanfics/about

whatifofficial786 - Focuses on MHA/Naruto crossovers. Identical format.

https://www.youtube.com/@whatifofficial786/about

NotWhatIf - I've lost track of who's an alt of who but yet another identical format, descriptions, and bullshit claims of "enhancing the viewer experience" by putting a robot voice over bootleg fortnite footage.

https://www.youtube.com/@NotWhatIf/about

weebxds - Same again.

https://www.youtube.com/@weebxds/about

ItachiFanfics - Naruto channel, we can at least confirm that this one is run by a human given the rare different descriptions and a real voice at the beginning of videos before the robot comes back.

https://www.youtube.com/@ItachiFanfics/about

WhatIfDN - As if mockingly, a bunch of videos have a "credit" section in their descriptions that is of course blank.

https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfDN/about

SpiceandBooks and spiceandfiction - Apparently Youtube itself has started picking up on the bullshit, because this multifandom channel is being dinged as ai spam so they started a new one.

https://www.youtube.com/@SpiceandBooks/about

https://www.youtube.com/@spiceandfiction/about

theoriginalastra - Doesn't even bother with disclaimers, the following are multiple alts/potential alts for different fandoms.

https://www.youtube.com/@theoriginalastra/about

SillySenpai12 - Highschool DXD alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@SillySenpai12/about

RosieRealms - Naruto alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@RosieRealms/about

DekuWhatIfs - Potentially another astra alt but not sure, doesn't matter because all these channels do the same thing anyway.

AnimeStark688 - No credits or disclaimers.

https://www.youtube.com/@AnimeStark688/about

Please take the time to report these channels, spread this post around, and reblog with any additional offending channels you find.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #naruto #highschool dxd #the debacle #mha #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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bamfkeeper · 4 months ago

Text

Missions Suck.

RQ: 'Since you’re open to requests, I have some ideas that you’ll hopefully enjoy writing, this being the first. The idea is that Kurt is gone on a mission, of which is taking longer than expected, and as such the bamfs and yourself miss him a lot and are anxious without him. So, you and the bamfs organize a little surprise for Kurt when he returns, and of course, a lot of mischievous bamf antics too, along with a tidal wave of them crashing down in Kurt when he returns lol. Just fluffy bamf stuff, along with some romantic kisses and such to Kurt since the reader missed him. Also, take your time with writing anything; burnout is awful so take all the time you need with whatever you write 💙' - @hulkingharbor

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: None <3 .. WC: 3.1k

A/N: I tried to write more detail than my usual works, so I hope that shows ;; I love any scenario with the bamfs, I was really happy to write this one <3

It had been several days since Kurt and the team embarked on a significant mission, leaving you behind at the mansion with the mischievous bamfs. The waiting seemed interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you anxiously anticipated their return. Initially, you had anticipated a lengthy mission, given that their destination was clear across the country. However, you had reasoned that the team's advanced jet would facilitate a relatively swift journey. Despite this logical assumption, their absence extended far beyond your expectations, each passing day amplifying your concern and restlessness.

As time wore on, you couldn't help but notice a parallel between your own growing unease and the increasingly erratic behavior of the bamfs. These impish creatures, usually a source of playful chaos, seemed to be mirroring your mounting anxiety. With each day that ticked by without word from Kurt and the team, the bamfs' antics escalated in both frequency and audacity. Their usual pranks and mischief-making took on a new intensity, as if they too were feeling the strain of the prolonged separation from their teleporting brethren.

You found yourself constantly torn between amusement at the bamfs' increasingly elaborate hijinks and genuine worry about the state of disarray they were leaving the mansion in. It was clear that their escalating troublemaking was a direct result of their own anxiety and boredom in Kurt's absence. As you attempted to maintain order and keep the bamfs in check, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something must have gone awry with the mission to cause such an extended delay.

Those mischievous little blue creatures hadn't intended to create additional work for you, but their overwhelming anxieties were proving difficult to manage. Their deep attachment to Kurt had left them feeling lost and restless, causing their typically playful behavior to escalate into something more chaotic. Even for someone as patient and understanding as you, their antics were beginning to push the boundaries of what you could handle.

Bamfs, by their very nature, were creatures of boundless energy and enthusiasm. Their penchant for play and their constant scampering about were endearing traits, but they also came with considerable drawbacks. Wherever the blue imps went, a trail of disarray and mess inevitably followed in their wake. You had gone to great lengths to alleviate their stress and channel their energies in more constructive ways.

Your efforts were nurturing, as that was all you could think to do - you'd introduced a wide array of activities designed to engage their curious minds and active bodies. From art projects that allowed them to express their creativity through painting, to an assortment of toys meant to captivate their attention, and even challenging puzzles to stimulate their intellect. However, the bamfs' short attention spans and seemingly insatiable need for novelty meant that these diversions were often short-lived.

They would either master the tasks too quickly, their natural aptitude for mischief allowing them to breeze through what you had hoped would occupy them for hours, or they would simply lose interest, their restless spirits already seeking the next source of excitement.

Kurt's continued absence was palpable, and its effects were evident in the demeanor of the bamfs. These small creatures were not only still visibly anxious but also profoundly sad. Their usually vibrant yellow eyes had taken on a somber appearance, wide and glossy with unshed tears. The depth of their distress was such that some of them appeared too melancholy even to find solace in sleep. As you gently guided them towards their resting places, their movements were slow and labored, a stark contrast to their usual energetic behavior. Their tails, typically held high and swaying with life, now dragged listlessly behind them, creating a poignant visual representation of their emotional state. Observing their profound sadness, you felt a deep ache in your heart. The sight of these usually cheerful creatures so utterly dejected hurt your heart terribly.

"It's going to be okay... I know you miss him terribly. He'll be back soon, I promise you that. Kurt wouldn't leave you little rascals behind for long," you hummed softly, your voice gentle and soothing as you tried to comfort them. You spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, hoping your words would help ease their distress. Deep down, you knew that mere words couldn't fully alleviate their sadness, and you could see the lingering sorrow etched on their faces. It was clear that your attempts at consolation weren't having the desired effect.

A wave of empathy washed over you as you witnessed their dejected state. Your heart ached seeing them so forlorn and melancholy. Unable to stand their sadness any longer, you reached out and gently petted one of them, your touch conveying the comfort that words couldn't. "It's alright, little ones... I know, I know. It's sad when Kurt goes away, isn't it? I understand how much you want to be with him right now. But you have to remember, they said the mission was far too dangerous for you to join. Kurt cares about your safety above all else."

As anticipated, the bamfs reacted unfavorably to the news. These diminutive creatures had a well-known tendency to respond negatively when faced with any form of denial or refusal. Their sensitivity to disappointment was particularly evident in this instance. Consequently, you experienced a pang of guilt when you observed some of them beginning to weep, clearly longing for Kurt's presence. The sound of their tiny, mournful cries intensified your feelings of remorse, prompting you to take immediate action to console them. "There, there... it's alright... everything will be okay," you murmured in a soothing tone, your voice barely above a whisper. You delicately stroked their small heads with a tender touch, your fingers moving in slow, comforting circles. While comforting them, you carefully tucked them into the soft, warm blankets, ensuring they were snugly enveloped in the cozy fabric.

Finally, the bamfs had already settled in, their small forms nestled comfortably on the bed. With a heavy sigh, you lowered yourself onto the mattress beside them, feeling the soft give of the bedding beneath you. As you lay there, your eyes gradually drifted closed, and you felt yourself slowly slipping into slumber, surrounded by the comforting presence of the bamfs.

The absence of Kurt was hard on all of you, a void that seemed to hang in the air around you all. You couldn't help but dwell on the fact that this particular mission he was on carried more risk than usual, a thought that gnawed at the edges of your mind and left you feeling uneasy. So many thoughts ran across your mind, so many things that could go wrong. You tried to ignore them. Despite your own worries, you made a conscious effort to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs. You didn't want to burden them with the full extent of your concerns, so you carefully downplayed the situation, offering reassuring words and gentle smiles whenever they looked to you for comfort.

As you drifted off to sleep, your subconscious mind continued to process the day's events and your lingering anxieties. Your slumber was punctuated by brief moments of restlessness, your dreams tinged with vague unease. Despite these occasional disturbances, you managed to make it through the night.

The subsequent days were filled with the same worry. Despite your best efforts to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs, they possessed an innate ability to perceive your growing anxiety regarding Kurt's return. Those little things had keen intuition, which allowed them to sense your inner turmoil, even as you attempted to mask it. In Kurt's absence, the bamfs looked to you for guidance, support, and reassurance. Their bright yellow eyes, brimming with innocence and need, gazed upon you with an intensity that both touched and burdened your heart.

As the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders, you found yourself giving a deep, weary sigh. Slowly, you sat up from the comfort of the couch, your movements betraying the emotional exhaustion you felt. Turning to face the expectant bamfs, you addressed them with a voice tinged with regret and frustration. "I'm sorry, little ones... I still haven't received any word from him," you muttered, your tone conveying the disappointment and concern that had become all too familiar in recent days.

Even as you spoke those words, a part of you knew, with a mixture of resignation and hope, that you likely wouldn't hear from Kurt until the moment he stepped through the door, returning home once again.

You were leisurely preparing a meal for yourself in the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate as you chopped vegetables and stirred pots on the stove. Your mind had drifted into a zoned out, almost meditative state, focused solely on the rhythmic motions of cooking to distract from the anxieties you had felt the past few days. Suddenly, the sharp vibration of your phone on the counter jolted you back to full awareness, breaking through your culinary reverie. With a slight start, you reached out and grasped the device, your fingers wrapping around its familiar shape. As you lifted it to eye level, the screen illuminated, revealing a notification that made your heart beat faster. Your eyes quickly scanned the message preview, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you saw that it was from Kurt.

'On the way back, liebe...should be back by tonight. xo <3'

You couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief and joy wash over you. The news you had been impatiently waiting for had finally arrived – he was okay, and he would be returning home soon! Your heart swelled with excitement and anticipation. Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you found yourself instinctively beginning to tidy up the house, eager to create a welcoming atmosphere for his arrival.

As you bustled about, your gaze fell upon the bamfs, those adorable little creatures currently engrossed in whatever was playing on the television. A warm smile spread across your face as you decided to share the wonderful news with them. "Kurt's coming home tonight," you announced, your voice brimming with happiness and barely contained excitement. You paused for a moment, an idea forming in your mind. "So... why don't we work together to make this place a bit neater to welcome him? I'm sure he'd appreciate coming back to a tidy home, don't you think?"

The bamfs, upon hearing the news of Kurt's imminent return, all simultaneously broke into the biggest, most infectious grins you had ever seen. Their eyes lit up with excitement, and without a moment's hesitation, they leapt to their feet, their previous TV-induced stupor completely forgotten. It was clear that they were not only ready but eager to help, their enthusiasm matching your own. The prospect of preparing a warm welcome for Kurt had energized them.

They were all pitching in, diligently sweeping floors, wiping surfaces, and tidying up various corners of the house. To an outsider, the home might have appeared to be in a state of disarray, but you understood that there was a method to the apparent madness. The organized chaos was actually a well-oiled system in motion, each participant playing their part in the grand scheme of cleaning.

As a thoughtful gesture, you decided to bake a special German treat for Kurt to enjoy upon his return, one of his favorites. The bamfs were eager to assist in any way they could, though their help often bordered on playful interference. They showed particular interest in the baking process, their eyes widening with excitement at the sight of the mixing bowl filled with tempting batter.

As you mixed the bowl, the bamfs began squabbling over who would get the coveted privilege of licking the mixer attachments. Their enthusiasm quickly escalated, and before long, two of them were engaged in a spirited tussle on the kitchen counter. Gentle nips and acrobatic tumbles came from the pair of brawling bamfs, it was an amusing spectacle that you couldn't help but find endearing, despite the potential mess.

"Hey, hey! That's quite enough of that..." you intervened, carefully separating the two squabbling bamfs. With a patient smile, you addressed them, "You can both have some. There's plenty to go around. Now, let's sit down and behave ourselves, shall we? We just cleaned up after all." You handed them each a spoon laden with leftover batter, hoping it would satisfy their sweet tooth and curb their exuberance.

As you watched them eagerly lick their spoons, you couldn't help but let out a small sigh. The love you felt for these energetic imps was undeniable, but you had to admit that their hyperactive nature was starting to wear on you. The thought of Kurt returning home and lending a hand in managing the lively bunch brought a sense of relief.

That evening seemed to stretch on endlessly, the minutes ticking by at an agonizingly slow pace. You found yourself gathered on the couch with the blue babies, anxiously awaiting any sign of his return. The tv played something you only half paid attention to, your mind more focused on Kurt coming home than anything else. The air was thick with anticipation, and every small noise made you perk up in hope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a familiar BAMF - a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. In an instant, a cloud of dark, sulfurous smoke materialized in the room, dissipating to reveal that cheeky German standing before you.

Kurt Wagner, in all his blue-furred glory, had returned at last.

He looked utterly exhausted, his posture slightly slumped and his golden eyes a bit dimmer than usual, but otherwise, he appeared to be okay, no injuries that you could see. A wave of relief washed over you, and your heart swelled with joy at the sight of him. Without a moment's hesitation, you sat up quickly, your voice filled with excitement and relief as you exclaimed, "Kurt!"

The reaction from the bamfs was instantaneous and overwhelming. Like a tidal wave of blue fur and enthusiasm, they surged forward en masse, their tiny forms blurring together in their haste. With surprising speed and coordination, they converged on Kurt, tackling him with such force that he stumbled backward, barely managing to keep his footing. In seconds, he was completely engulfed by the swarm of miniature teleporters, each one vying for the best position to snuggle as close as possible.

They climbed over each other, chirping and cooing in delight, their little hands grasping at his costume and fur. It was a heartwarming yet slightly comical sight - the tall, lean figure of Nightcrawler almost completely obscured by a writhing mass of adoring bamfs, all competing fiercely for his attention and affection. You could see his tail wagging up from the pile, which made you laugh lightly, that was all you could see of your darling boyfriend.

"Okay, okay, my turn! I missed him too!" You exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and impatience, slowly but determinedly wiggling your way into the welcoming pile of bodies until you finally found him. As your eyes met his, a warm smile spread across his face, his sharp fangs peeking out endearingly from beneath his upper lip.

"Liebe...oh, how I've missed you..." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. In one swift motion, he enveloped you in his strong arms, pulling you close against his chest in a tight, all-encompassing embrace. You felt him bury his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize your scent all over again. The weariness in his movements was extremely noticeable; you could sense how utterly exhausted he was, yet there was an unmistakable joy radiating from him at finally being home.

You pulled back just enough to kiss him, your lips meeting his gently, lovingly, tenderly. The softness of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and you both savored the precious moment of reconnection. Time seemed to stand still as you basked in the warmth of each other's embrace, your hearts beating in perfect synchronization. As the seconds ticked by, the initial gentleness of your kiss gradually transformed into something more intense and passionate. You felt a growing urgency in his touch, a desperate need to be closer to you after your time apart. His hands gripping your hips with increased fervor, pulling you closer against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you gladly granted.

As your tongues danced and explored, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of passion and desire. Just as you were losing yourself completely in the moment, a small, unexpected chirp pierced through the haze of your passion. One of the bamfs had inadvertently interrupted your intimate moment. The sudden sound startled you both, effectively breaking the spell that had enveloped you. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes still clouded with desire but now tinged with a hint of embarrassment at getting a bit too carried away.

"Ach...apologies, liebling...I...I just missed you so much..." he murmured, his accent thicker than usual, betraying the depth of his emotions. His golden eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of love, longing, and a touch of sheepishness at his loss of control. Despite the interruption, the air between you still crackled with unresolved tension, a testament to the strength of your connection and the depth of your feelings for each other.

"It's alright, my love," you whispered soothingly, gently squeezing his hand. "You've had such a long and tiring journey. How about we get you to bed for a little while? All the bamfs and I are absolutely thrilled to have the chance to cuddle up with you again..." Your voice was filled with warmth and affection as you spoke. You leaned in and gave him a tender, lingering kiss on the cheek, then carefully helped him to his feet. Kurt didn't hesitate to agree, gratitude evident in his weary smile. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear testament to his exhaustion, hinting at the many sleepless nights he must have endured during his time away.

"Ja, okay..." he replied with a soft smile, his golden eyes twinkling with affection. Kurt eagerly followed you to bed, his tail swaying gently behind him as he walked. He was looking forward to getting some well-deserved rest after a long mission, he’d give you all the details later. The thought of being surrounded by the love of his life - you - and his beloved bamfs filled him with a warm, comforting feeling. As he settled into bed, he could already feel the stress of the day melting away, you curled beside him and the bamfs all around. He couldn’t be any more comfortable as sleep quickly took him.

"Sleep well..." you gave him a sweet, soft kiss on the forehead, letting him nuzzle into your chest and sleep.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Image: Nightcrawler (2014) #2

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #xmen #x men #x men 97 #🎠my works

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springtyme · 11 months ago

Note

51 ✨ for carmy 🐻

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐀𝐭 𝐀 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💕

Carmen Berzatto x reader || Carmy playlist || Main masterlist

51: “I can’t live without you.”

The strain of Carmy's new responsibilities at The Beef has taken a toll on your relationship, leaving you worried and questioning your place in his life. And you're scared, but not for the reason Carmy thinks.

Angst (with a happy ending). Hurt/comfort. Mention of what happened to Michael.

word count: 2.1k

You stand in the dimly lit hallway of your apartment, anxiously tapping your foot against the worn floorboards. It’s late, much later than Carmen had told you he would be home. The clock on the wall mocks you with its ticking, each second feeling like an eternity.

Your relationship with Carmen has been strained lately, the weight of his responsibilities after taking over The Beef after Micheal’s death has taken a toll on both of you.

You and Carmen had met in New York, about two years ago, when he had moved into the apartment next to yours. You had not looked for a relationship and neither had Carmen, but it was like fate had kept pushing the two of you together.

It had just started out with a few chance encounters in the hallway or at the local grocery store, with him stumbling slightly over his words as he asked you about your day or offered to carry your groceries.

But it had been a power outage which had left the whole building in darkness that really had brought you together. You had fumbled your way out in the hallway to figure out if it was just your apartment that had lost power or if it was the whole building. And that’s when you had bumped into Carmen, literally. His strong arms had wrapped around you instinctually, preventing you from falling on your ass.

You had candles in your apartment, unlike Carmen so you had invited him in to share the light and wait for the power to be restored. As the hours passed, you two ended up talking and getting to know each other better. It was a simple yet intimate evening, and from that moment on, you felt a connection that you couldn’t ignore and a sweet friendship had blossomed between you.

He didn’t have much time off, literally working at one of the best restaurants in the world, but the moments you did spend together were cherished, and it hadn’t taken long before your connection had grown even stronger, evolving into something more than just friendship and eventually blossoming into a real and deep relationship.

You had not hesitated to say yes to move back to Chicago with him after his brother had passed away.

You never got to meet Michael, Carmen didn’t really speak to him through all the time you dated, you've never fully understood what had happened between them, but you have a feeling that Carmen didn't really knew it either, and he has never really liked talking about his family in general, but you do know that he loved Michael a lot.

You had tried to convince him to go to the funeral, telling him that you would be there for him, but he had kept shooting the idea down. He kept excusing it by saying that he couldn’t, his contract at the French Laundromat hadn’t expired yet, and despite that being true, you had a feeling that going to the funeral would make the loss of his brother feel all the more real, and that was something he wasn’t ready for.

You also had the feeling that he didn’t want to see his mother, at least not in that setting, so you had just decided that you would let him grieve in his own way, and just be there for him in whatever way he needed you to.

It had been the same you had done with his job after all.

You know that he had loved his job in New York, in his own fucked up way. It was a messed up, down right toxic, work environment, and it had hurt to see him come home every night, tired to the bone, both physically and emotionally drained, yet he kept doing it. His ineffable love for the culinary arts that just couldn’t be extinguished kept him going. It is just after you moved to Chicago a month ago that he told you that he would throw up every morning before work.

It crushed you to hear that Carmen was suffering silently, but you understood why he continued to push through. The restaurant industry was demanding and competitive, and Carmen was determined to prove himself. You had hoped that the move to Chicago would bring some relief, a fresh start away from the toxicity of his previous job. However, the weight of his responsibilities at The Beef seemed to have only deepened the strain on your relationship.

You love him, and you want to be there for him, no matter what. But the constant absence and distance have started to make you question where you stand in his life. But most of all you’re just sad that he is sad, or really it's more that you're sad that he is in a situation that should make him sad, it's like he doesn’t even really allow himself to be sad, and that really hurts to watch.

You try to push away those negative thoughts, you try yo remind yourself that Carmen is just going through a difficult time, but that just makes the worried feeling in the pit of your stomach feel even heavier.

As the front door finally creaks open, your heart skips a beat. Carmen steps inside, his weary eyes meeting yours. The exhaustion etched on his face is painfully evident, and your worry intensifies, yet you're just so happy to see him. As he slides off his jacket his white t-shirt comes into view, it’s stained with sauces and his hands bear the marks of countless hours spent in the kitchen, but it’s the weariness in his eyes that tears at your heart.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse from lack of rest. “Why are you still up?

You muster a small smile, trying to hide your concern. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admit softly, stepping closer to him. “I was worried about you. You said you’d be home earlier.”

Carmen sighs heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I know, I’m sorry, it was just... things got really busy tonight.”

You nod, biting your lip to hold back the words that threaten to spill out. You want to scream at him, not from a place of anger, but frustration, to make him understand that his health is more important than any sandwich on the menu. But you also know that he pours everything he got into the restaurant.

“I’m just worried about you, Carmy,” you finally manage to say, your voice tinged with both frustration and concern. “You work yourself to the bone, and it’s taking a toll on you. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know, but there is not much I can do about it, okay. I’m sorry for putting you through this. But I can’t just abandon the restaurant. If I don’t fix it Jimmy’s gonna sell it and turn it into a fucking Applebee’s.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you take a step closer to him. “I get that, Carm. I do. But you need to take care of yourself too. It hurts seeing you like this.”

Carmen looks at you, his tired eyes searching your face. There’s a mix of frustration and resignation in his gaze, as if he knows you’re right but doesn’t know how to change the situation. The weight of his responsibilities seems to visibly crush him, and it breaks your heart.

“I know, I know,” Carmen says, his voice tinged with defeat. “But it’s not that simple. The Beef is struggling, and I need to turn it around. I can’t just walk away.”

Your frustration builds, and you can’t help but argue back. “I understand that, Carmy, but you also can’t sacrifice your well-being for the sake of this restaurant. There has to be a way to find a balance, to take care of yourself too.”

“I know I need to take care of myself, and I don’t want to keep putting you through this,” his voice taking on a more frustrating tone, he isn’t yelling, but there’s an edge to it. “But I just... I don’t know how to do that right now, okay”

The tone of his voice makes you pause for a moment, he has never talked to you like that before and you can’t help but slightly flinch. You know that he is just frustrated but it still makes you feel a deep pang of hurt. It’s not that you’re scared or anything, you know that he would never ever hurt you, you’re just sad that it has come to this.

But seeing you flinch clearly affects Carmen, his frustrated expression softening, turning into an expression of guilt and regret instead.

You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure before saying what you need to say. “I love you, Carmen, and I want you to be happy. But I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself in the process.” you’re taking a deep breath before continuing, “you’re scaring me.”

Carmen’s gaze meets yours, the expression in his eyes breaking your heart. “I never wanted to scare you. And I-I would never hurt you.”

This makes your heart break even more, yes you had flinched at his tone of voice, but not because you in any way had thought he would physically hurt you, never. The thing you’re scared of is that he’ll end up hurting himself…

You reach out to take Carmen’s hand, wanting to assure him that you understand his intentions, but also wanting to convey the depth of your concern.

“I’m not scared you’ll hurt me, Carm. I know you’d never do that. I’m scared you’ll hurt yourself.” Tears are now streaming down your cheeks, your voice trembling as you’re about to unveil your biggest fear in all of this. “I just don’t want you to end up like Micheal, okay… I was scared that the reason you didn’t come home was because you had blown your brains out on a bridge somewhere.”

Carmen’s eyes widen at your words, a mixture of shock and pain flashing across his face.

He reaches out to gently wipe away your tears, his touch warm and comforting. “I’m not going to end up like Michael,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “I promise you, I could never do that to you.”

You hold onto his hand tightly, desperately seeking reassurance. “But Carmy, you’re pushing yourself so hard. You’re not taking care of yourself, and it scares me. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t live without you.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wants to let go. “You don’t have to, I promise you.” His voice cracks with emotion, and you can feel his tears dampening your shoulder.

You hold onto him just as tightly, your heart breaking for the pain he’s been carrying alone and you’re just so happy that he is finally letting himself cry.

Carmen pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m so grateful to have you by my side.”

You smile through your tears, relieved to see him opening up and acknowledging the need for change. “We’ll figure it out together. We’ll find a way to make things work.”

“Yeah, we will,” he nods, before continuing. “I… I actually started going to Al-Anon, I go three times a week.”

You’re taken aback by Carmen’s revelation, but also immensely proud of him for taking this step. You gently squeeze his hand, your love for him growing with each passing moment. “That’s amazing, Carm,” you say softly. “For how long?”

“I started going two weeks ago, I don’t know why I didn’t say anything earlier,” he admits, a hint of shame in his voice. “I guess I just needed to take it in my own tempo.”

You shake your head, wiping away your remaining tears. “It’s okay, Carm, I’m just so glad you’re looking out for yourself.”

Carmen takes a deep breath, his gaze filled with renewed determination. “I really don’t deserve you, thank you for not giving up on me, even when I pushed you away. I love you so much, and I promise I’ll find a way to make this work.”

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling a sense of hope and unity. “I love you too, Carmy. And yeah, we’ll face this together, one step at a time.”

Thank you for reading! ♡ this is my first time writing for Carmy and I had such a blast writing for him, but I also was a little intimidated by this piece, so please let me know what you thought ♡

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lovesick-desires · 6 days ago

Text

A CORRUPT COVENANT

YANDERE!SILCO X MAGE!READER — CHAPTER ONE

ABSTRACT: Silco learns of a mage who works in The Lanes who is proficient in potion work. Thinking of utilizing the mage's potions to perfect Shimmer, he realizes he is much more interested in the mage than first anticipated. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Silco is not really yandere this chapter, but it will ramp up in future ones. CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, slowburn yandere, slight yandere behavior, intimidation/coercion, swearing, no mentions of "y/n", mentions of drug use, abuse of power, utilization of witchcraft, semi-proof read SILCO’S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: possessive, manipulative WORD COUNT: 1.6k+ WRITING ASSISTED BY: Opal (ty for the ideas <3)

It was a dog-eat-dog world in the Undercity. Being outcast and demonized by the sycophants and aristocrats of Piltover, Zaunites were constantly at each other's throats just to survive.

Everyone knew that and you were no different.

Being a born and raised Zaunite yourself, you learned how to fight for survival. Life didn't give you all the cushy luxuries Pilties got fed to them by a silver spoon.

Seeing the divide between the two nations made you cold and bitter to the topsiders like most others in Zaun. Most used violence and rage as an outlet, but you turned to the arcane. This outlet led you to study magic and witchcraft for years, learning the art of spellcasting and potion brewing. This hobby of yours eventually made you strong enough in your craft to start taking patrons. With having such a unique talent such as yours, you knew how to utilize it to your financial gain. Selling your goods was a tricky business as most would try to swindle you or intimidate you. However, due to being stubborn in your ways, things almost always turned out in your favor.

The thing is, with a business in the arcane, you usually drew an odd crowd of people. Shimmer addicts looking for a quick fix, lovelorn individuals requesting aphrodisiacs, and many more oddballs. However, to you, business was business as long as they paid the price.

Eventually, your name got around quickly in the streets of Zaun, in good and bad ways. People would become more frequently coming for your wares which you could always provide if the price was met. This financial journey eventually led you to open up shop in the outskirts of The Lanes, taking refuge in an old bar that closed down due to competitors such as The Last Drop. Despite the stench of cigar smoke and booze embedded into the floorboards and walls, you set up shop in the quaint little outlet. Potions, crystals, herbs and other miscellaneous magic materials were neatly displayed on rickety shelves that adorned the walls that were once used to display various liquors. The stench of substances eventually got replaced with the melodious aroma of lavender and rose incense that seeped into the wooden architecture after months of utilization.

It wasn't much of a shop, but it was yours and that was all that mattered: The Opalite Oracle.

Months had passed since you opened the shop's doors and business was going well. As you tinkered with the potion on your desk, adding some rose petal dust for a client's aphrodisiac request. You could hear the patchwork clock on the wall tick to 12 am, making a small chime for the turn of the day. A sigh escaped your lips as you reached for the garnet dust, your fingers barely able to snatch it from the other end of the desk. Pouring small increments of the dust into the potion vial, you could hear the rain pounding on the glass window outside. Oddly enough, you felt like you were being watched as the hairs on your arms stood at attention. Looking back at the window, not a soul was outside in the pouring rain. Waving it off, you turned back to your project.

As thunder rumbled the quaint building, the shop bell rang, much to your digression. The store had been closed for the past two hours and you must have forgotten to lock the door at closing again.

"Scram, we're closed. We open at 10 am tomorrow morning," You declared, hearing the firm steps of boots wonder your shop. God dammit, these people are always deaf or stupid. Or maybe both.

"Did you hear me? We are closed, fuck off." You added, putting a cork in the top of the aphrodisiac vial. Staring at the pink liquid in the vial, you heard the footsteps stop behind you at your counter. Eliciting a groan from your vocal cords, you spin in your stool to face the person pestering you at this ungodly hour.

"Hey, dumbass, you got wax in your ears? I said we're clo—"

When you spun around, you were greeted with an unexpected sight. The Eye of Zaun, Silco, was standing there with his hands behind his back, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Hm? What did you just call me?" He rasped softly as he leaned over the counter, the smell of cigar smoke billowed from his breath as his lips moved into a slight smirk. The sly bastard placed a hand on the weathered wooden counter, tapping his nails against it. Pursing you lips, you can't help but feel yourself shrink slightly in your seat at the sight of the man before you.

"Nothing." You murmured with a voice laced with weariness. Silco wasn't the kind of man to come down to The Lanes like this and anybody knew that much. Usually, he would send one of his goons like Sevika to do his bidding for him. The man himself made rare appearances once a blue moon, so his appearance at this hour in your cozy little boutique must hold some importance. To this, Silco retracted his hand from the counter as he stood at his full height.

"Ah, that's better." He taunted, raising a brow at your sudden change of attitude even though he knew exactly why it occurred. Your gaze lingering on his sly smirk as he reached back towards the counter. With a nimble hand, Silco swiped the pink vial from your hands, inspecting the liquid and its contents swaying and bobbing inside. As if hypnotized by the pink fluid in the vial, he holds it up to the lantern illuminating the shop, watching the potion ebb and flow in its container.

"What do you want?" You queried with an annoyed edge to your voice. To this, Silco's gaze floats back to you with a small glint in his eyes.

"Ah, what do I want? Well, I want a lot of things." He croaked as he placed his other hand on the counter, leaning ever-so-slightly towards you as his gaze narrowed. To this, a slight shiver ran down your spine, causing your nails to bore into the flesh of their knees.

"To start, however, I see you are skilled with the arcane, correct?" He probed, his gaze shifting back to the vial in his fingers. To this, a soft hum of confirmation emerged from your throat. Silco's smirk widened as he gazed back at you, his eyes flickering with slight amusement. With a swift flick of the wrist, he tossed the vial behind him and let it shatter on the floor. The porous floorboards slowly absorbed the pink liquid, leaving only shredded herbs and shards of glass in its wake.

"Hey! What the—"

"You're perfect then." Silco interjected, his voice akin to a cinnamon whiskey. His now free hand joined the other on the counter, leaning forward slightly to look down upon you.

"You see, I need some assistance with a project I am undertaking." He added, reaching back into the interior pocket of his collared trench to retrieve three vials of a glowing, purple substance: Shimmer. Anyone in the Undercity with a brain knew what Shimmer was.

"What about it?" You retorted as the drug lord put the vials on your counter, letting the glass clink against the wood.

"Impatient, are we?" He mocked, his hand raised from the counter to grab your chin firmly in his cold, calloused hand, making you look up at him. "My, where are your manners?" He tutted, cocking his head to the side.

"Can you just tell me what you want? Please?" You begrudgingly asked, making Silco remove his hand from your chin with a soft tsk.

"Ah, well, since you asked so nicely, I'll lay it out for you. I need some assistance negating the side effects. You see, I can't let people get physical deformities from my product. It's bad for business." He declared with a guttural tone to his voice. "That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"You." He emphasized, his gaze stern and uncompromising. "You and your expertise are the key to Shimmer's success, dear." He continued as his gaze wondered to the potions on the wall of shelves behind you, internally inspecting the colors and consistencies of the multitude of bottled-up fluids. Eventually, his gaze crept back to the mage before him.

"I will require your assistance in this task. With your unique set of skills, you are exactly who I need." The drug lord proclaimed, a slight glimmer in his orange eye that you couldn't quiet read, but you knew it wasn't good. Shimmer was tearing Zaun apart, turning people into more animals than humans. You didn't want to take part, but what choice did you have?

"And if I refuse?" You questioned, your brows knitted together in a slight scowl. You knew you shouldn't push your luck but something in you told you to at least try. To this, Silco scoffed and looked unimpressed.

"Do you really think you have a choice here?" Silco retorted with a raised brow, knowing both of you knew the answer to that. To this, you sighed and looked at the vials of shimmer before you, watching the liquid glow and bubble in its containers.

"Will I be financially compensated for my time?" You queried, looking back up at the man before you. To this, a small smirk stretched across Silco's lips as he knew he had you know.

"Yes, you will be paid handsomely for your time and cooperation." He answered, leaning back slightly to get a better look at you. To this, you felt a pit form in your stomach but you tried to ignore it as you offered your hand for him to shake.

"Then, it's a deal." You spoke, sealing your fate for a handshake. To this, the smirk on the drug lord's face evolved into a smile, showing his crooked teeth as he shook your hand.

"A deal's a deal, dear."

SONG OF THE FIC: LET THE WORLD BURN - CHRIS GREY

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Hate Mail (Human!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Rough oral, Dub con Rated: Adult Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here) Summary: Alastor has been on the receiving end of some nasty letters at the station. With the help of some rather unique penmanship and a stroke of luck, the culprit finds herself in his crosshairs. What sort of lesson will Alastor teach his little hate fan and how will that change when he uncovers the reason why she is sending him the letters? Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Alastor leaned back in his chair, old springs creaking under his weight, letting the dim light filtering in from the closed blinds illuminate the envelope in his hand. He could get a new chair. It wasn’t out of his or the station’s budget, but he liked this one. The way it creaked reminded him of all that he had gone through, sitting in that chair as he worked his way to where he was now, hosting his own evening show. He had taken it from office to office, as he had moved around the station, working his way up.

The chair creaked its protest and requests for retirement as he shifted again, running the blade of the letter opener under the fold of the envelope. The sound of ripping paper joined the soft noises that filled the small office, along with the ticking of the clock.

The sender had written the station address on the front of the envelope, above his name. Inside he would find a folded piece of stationary, thin but covered in a distinctive penmanship, just he had found in the last near dozen envelopes just like it. Did you know how uniquely you wrote your As?

It was only a matter of time before Alastor found the source of this disrespectful dribble and made the sender pay for it. He was determined, and there was one thing that was always true about him; he always accomplished what he set his mind to.

Inside, Alastor found the same filth he had grown to expect. He didn’t bother doing anything more than glancing over the words. It was the same message he got every week, just worded differently.

Whoever you were, you lacked creativity. Alastor sighed as he pulled open his desk drawer, tossing the paper onto the stack of similar notes. This had been allowed to go on for long enough.

For each one he received, Alastor was determined to make the sender pay. First, he needed to find you. It was quickly becoming a habit to watch people as they wrote, but he had yet to find that little letter that would give you away. That’s alright. He knew it was just a matter of time. You couldn’t hide from him forever.

Alastor closed the drawer, chair creaking as he stood. He had a few hours until showtime, but he had time to kill. It hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he had expected to finish the scripts for the week. Glancing at the clock, he elected to take an early dinner break. There was a deli not too far from the station that served delicious sandwiches, and he was hungry.

He shut the office door behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Much to his dismay, he found himself instantly faced with the company of Scotty, the sportscaster who cared more about baseball than anything else. Alastor was fairly certain the man hadn’t picked up a book in a distressingly long time.

“Al, old pal!” Scotty clapped Alastor on the back in greeting. Alastor smiled wider, thinking about how good it would feel to clap Scotty across the jaw with his fist.

“You going out?” The man spoke plainly, not bothering with the transatlantic accent when off the air.

“I am,” Alastor’s voice came clearly, clipped and proper. He spoke the same on and off the air, unless in the private of his own home and even then, it wasn’t unheard of for the accent to be more of a habit than a show.

“The currier is here, a total doll too.” Scotty gushed, “You should go downstairs and see her.”

“I’m not interested,” Alastor waved the smaller man off. “Thank you for looking out for me, however.”

“At least stop by, say hello. I bet she’s a fan of our quickly rising star!” Scotty laughed as he walked down the hallway, letting Alastor free of the conversation.

With a shake of his head, Alastor started down the stairs. Today he had lucked out, Scotty hadn’t wanted to linger and chat. Any evening where he didn’t have to pretend to care about the rehashing of the last ballgame as a good way to start the evening.

“Oh, Mr. Moreau!” The woman who manned the information desk called. She was an eager blonde, curls bouncing as she waved him over. “Come meet my old school friend!”

~~~~~<3

“Sarah, no.” You hissed, looking between the man walking over from the staircase and your friend. “I need to get back to work.”

“It’ll be fine,” Sarah assured you, snagging your clipboard from your hands. “I still need to sign this, anyway.”

“Hello, Ladies.” Alastor greeted as he strode up, soft smile reaching his warm brown eyes.

You did everything you could to avoid looking at the tall man. He was handsome, fluffy brown hair bouncing with each step he had taken. His skin was just a touch too tan for what you had expected, but it was his eyes that threatened to capture your attention. They were the color of coffee, just splashed with the slightest hint of cream.

“Hello,” you squeaked out, trying to not look at him.

“Was there something you needed?” Alastor asked, looking between Sarah and you as you avoided his eyes.

“No,” you said quickly, only to have Sarah talk over you.

“This is my good friend,” she said, introducing you to the last man you ever wanted to meet face to face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alastor said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he purred your name, “quite a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you mumbled, reaching for your clipboard, only to knock it from the high countertop around the information desk. It clattered to the ground at Alastor’s feet.

“Oh, dear!” Alastor’s voice was far too cheery as he reached down, picking up your clipboard. He slowed for a moment, eyes scanning the page before he handed it to you. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yes,” You snatched it from his hands, “thank you.”

“You have lovely handwriting, my dear.” Alastor leaned into your space, just enough to make you aware he was doing it, but not so much to be improper.

“Thank you,” you stuttered out, clutching the clipboard to your chest. “I should get back to the office. I’m sure there’s… there’s something for me to deliver.”

“Oh!” Alastor snapped his fingers, smile spreading wider. “I forgot. I have a package I need to send off.”

“I can wait-” Alastor cut you off before you finished the sentence, forcing you into silence.

“Nonsense,” Alastor’s hand came to rest on the small of your back, pushing you ever so slightly to walk along with him, “walk with me. I’ll show you around.”

“Oh, okay.” You struggled to find a polite way to talk your way out of the situation you found yourself in. Dread balled in the pit of your stomach, not budging as you tried to tell yourself that it was nonsense.

The pressure of his hand on the small of your back was all you could think about. You tried again and again to remind yourself how much you hated him. Keeping that thought in the front of your mind was a struggle. It was easier to hate him when you didn’t know that he had such a handsome face to go with his smoothe voice.

You hated him because he was popular. You hated him because he was successful. You hated him because women fell at his feet and he couldn’t bother to even court a woman most of the time. Most of all, you hated him because he had the life you wished you had.

“Just step inside my office,” Alastor urged you forward with the hand that never left the small of your back, from the moment you left the information desk and the safety of your friend. “It’s just at my desk.”

“Oh no,” you looked at him, shaking your head. “I couldn’t-”

“Please,” the pressure on your back grew firmer, leaving you little choice but to step forward. “I insist. It’ll be far easier for you to pick up the delivery if you do.”

You didn’t understand what he was saying, but you had little chance of resisting. The pressure on the small of your back was firm and unyielding, reminding you of who was in control every step you had taken together. It was hard not to stumble slightly as he all but pushed you inside his office, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Mr. Moreau?”

“Alastor, please.” He held his arm out toward his desk. “Now be a good girl and go over to the desk. I have some letters I need delivered rather urgently.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, sending blood roaring through your ears as you took timid steps toward his imposing wooden desk . The surface was littered with papers, some having doodles with circled words of commentary.

Behind you, there was a click that sounded disturbingly like that of a lock turning. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as Alastor took a few steps into the room. His smile spread wickedly wide across his face, a cartoonish grin of mock reassurance.

He didn’t know. You told yourself that again and again. There was no way he could know. You had been careful. You sent every letter anonymously.

There were no packages on his desk, you realized as your eyes scanned the surface. Nothing hid behind stacks of papers or file holders.

“In the drawer,” Alastor’s voice came from over your shoulder, nearly spoken directly into your ear. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled nearly out of your skin. He had crossed the room both quickly and near silently. “It’s unlocked.”

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping around to the other side of his desk, grateful for the chance to put some distance between you and him.

Alastor followed you, an ever present shadow looming behind you, standing too close as you stopped again. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as you tried to do your best to ignore it.

Bending slightly, you pulled the drawer open. It rattled as you opened it, not sliding smoothly along the tracks. It wasn’t a terribly deep drawer, but inside you found a stack of folded papers and ripped envelopes.

“Take it out.” Alastor spoke softly behind you. He was always behind you, a shadow you could not shake.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out. “Which ones?”

“Whichever ones you want,” Alastor said, shrugging, though you could not see it.

You swallowed as you picked up a few folded papers. They felt the same as the stationery you had back in your house. It felt the same as the paper you had used to- no.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. No.

“Read it.” Alastor’s tone was firm, but his voice was as warm as it had been. You clung to that warmth.

Your fingers trembled as you unfolded the first paper. It shook, making it hard to read the words carefully printed. It didn’t matter; you didn’t need to see the words to know what they said. You had penned the words yourself just a few weeks prior.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” Alastor chuckled darkly, “I have to say you did a very good job!”

“I don’t-?” You turned to find Alastor standing directly behind you once again, far too close for comfort, let alone propriety.

“You delivered the package for me, ever so swiftly!” Alastor laughed at his joke. “Did you know you’ve got a very distinctive way to write your letter A?”

“I beg your pardon?” You stepped away, only gaining yourself a few inches of space as your hip hit his desk.

“Is there something wrong?” Alastor asked, stepping closer, stealing back what little space you had claimed. “Is there something you’d like to tell me to my face?”

“N-no?” You looked everywhere but at Alastor and to him, that simply would not do. Slender fingers reached out, taking hold of your chin. His grip was far stronger than you had expected from such thin fingers as he forced your eyes to meet his.

“Well?” Alastor asked, hand hitting the desk, trapping you between him and his office chair. His other hand quickly followed, properly caging you in. You knew he was close but as you turned to face him, you found yourself nearly chest to chest with him.

“I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” Alastor mocked, smile holding a dangerous glint. “You seem to not understand a lot of things.”

“Sir, I- I should go.” You stammered out, clinging hope. Sarah knew where you were. She would surely question if you did not come down the stairs soon.

“It would be rude to leave in the middle of a conversation,” Alastor whispered into your ear, “and we’re not done talking.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” You tried to duck under his arm, only to have his elbow fold, pushing him further into your space.

“Ha! We do though!” Alastor’s chuckle was rich, warmer than it sounded on the radio, and yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. “We should talk about how you have a very distinctive way of writing your letter A, for one. Ignoring it will not make me forget.”

Alastor plucked the clipboard from your hands, flipping it so he could look at your writing. You watched as his eyes scanned over the page. It took longer than it should have for you to realize he had left an opening, though slight, that you could use to escape.

You took a deep breath and darted out from between Alastor and his desk. Pain jumped through you as your hip smashed into the corner of the desk. It sent tingles down your leg, but you refused to let that stop you.

Oh fuck, he knew.

You knew he knew.

It was such a terrible decision. You’d had too much to drink at a speakeasy, dragged yourself home and found the sound of his voice worked you up. Being a good girl, you couldn’t do anything about it. It made you angry, knowing that other women were having what they desired that night and you were alone, wanting.

So instead of pursuing someone to court you, you wrote letters to the host with the velvet voice. Once you posted the first letter, it was like you had uncorked a bottle inside you that you hadn’t been aware of. You kept having these feelings for the man with the voice.

A man you had never met occupied your mind during much of your waking moments. The sound of his voice haunted your dreams. A man you had never even seen became your personal ghost. There was nothing you could do to exercise it but keep letting those feeling out in aggressive, angry letters. You spewed vile things at a man that sparked things you didn’t want to face in yourself, not expecting the man himself to actually read them.

But he did. You had accounted for everything, changed how you wrote even, but you didn’t account for one thing. You wrote the fucking letter A weird, even after carefully shaping every letter you penned.

You didn’t make it far at all. As you rounded the desk, his strong hand wrapped around your wrist. Pain flared in your arm as it pulled back behind you, forcing you to turn toward him.

Alastor yanked on your arm, harshly, upsetting your balance and sending you to the ground at his feet.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t think they’d make it to you, that you’d read them.”

“Your mouth is so good at talking the good talk. Yapping. But how are you going to make this up to me?” Alastor leaned down, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. “Words have power, my dear. Did you know that? That is why I’m so good at what I do. Your words hurt me.” Alastor was lying. He found your letters to be little more than a disrespectful annoyance, but oh, you needed to be taught a lesson.

You rubbed your thighs together, not even aware of the movement as you did it. Fear was the only thing you were aware of feeling, but there was an undercurrent of something else that you refused to look at. It was that same evil feeling that the sound of his voice coming through your radio speakers in the evenings sparked inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, meaning it more than you had ever meant it in your life.

“Part of being sorry is making recompense, didn’t your mother teach you that?” Alastor was lecturing, keeping your eyes on him as he spoke each word, squeezing your jaw any time your eyes darted away. You feared there would be bruises come morning.

“Yes, sir.” It was hard to speak with his grip on your jaw. He had your head pulled up so much that your neck ached and yet, you couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together.

Alastor watched you, eyes darting over your face and down your torso to where your knees were planted on the hard ground of his office. Oh, he realized as he watched your thighs brush against eachother; you liked this.

“Tell me, my dear,” Alastor’s grin spread wider. “Why did you write me those letters? Be truthful now. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I-” Alastor squeezed your jaw when you hesitated. “Your voice, it made me… me feel things, and I took it out on you. It was wrong, I’m sorry.”

Alastor hummed, eyes watching your thighs as they rubbed together. Did you notice, or was your body betraying you? He was fairly certain it was the latter, and that you thought you were just shuffling to keep your balance as he pulled your spine tighter.

“What sort of things did my voice make you feel?” He leaned forward, elbow bending to ensure you continued be stretched by his grip.

Heat ran up your chest, racing up your neck and bloomed on your face. It felt like your ears were burning. You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him anything but the truth. The look in his eyes told you that even trying to pass a lie off would be dangerous.

“Sinful things,” you said, his grip tightening urged you to be more specific. “Lustful thoughts.”

“From my voice?” Alastor chuckled as shame burned through you. “And you decided the best thing to do with your words was to say anything but that? Spew vile words of hate?”

“I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t write me and say ‘Alastor, your voice makes my thighs rub together.’? or perhaps ‘Alastor, I touch myself to the sound of your voice.’?” As he spoke, Alastor hooked his thumb into his pocket, hip cocking as he rested his weight on one leg. “You wouldn’t be the first to send such letters.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Did you think you could say those things to me and I wouldn’t find out who you were? Did you think you would escape punishment?”

“No, sir- I-”

“But perhaps,” Alastor hooked his fingers through where his belt fed through the buckle, pulling it free from where it was secured, “that’s what you wanted.” He finished, letting his statement be punctuated by the clacking of his belt buckle as he finished unbuckling the belt.

“No, I-”

“Oh, but you do.” Bending at the waist, he brought his face so close to yours you could feel his breath wash over your face. “You’re just too timid to say it.”

The buckle of his belt clinked in the otherwise near silent room as he moved, unbuttoning his trousers and working the fly open. You looked up at him, shocked at the brazen behavior. You were not a blushing virgin, but you were also not well experienced in the ways of men. Never had you faced a situation where a man had been so forward with you.

“Please, I-”

“Yes, do keep begging.” Alastor mused, letting his fly fall open, pants now only being held up by his suspenders.

You opened your mouth to say something, to express your outrage somehow, but Alastor shoved his fingers inside your mouth instead. When you tried to recoil back in shock, he hooked his fingers into the soft underside of your mouth and pulled you forward.

“You’re going to put that lovely little mouth of yours to good use.” Alastor said menacing as he pulled his face closer again. “You’re going to make it up to me, every little lie you’ve written, every terrible thing you’ve sent me. It’s time that you pay for them. And you will pay for them, I assure you of that.”

“Yes, sir,” you struggled to say around his fingers. There wasn’t anything you could say to get you out of this. He was right, you would have to pay for what you had done. His forward actions, his anger excited part of you, that sinful part of you.

“Good,” Alastor said as he pulled his cock from his pants. He wasn’t as hard as you had expected, considering how forward he had been behaving. “Now put your mouth to good use, open wide.”

Putting pressure down on your jaw, he didn’t give you much choice but to follow his order or collapse to the ground. With his other hand, he guided his half-mast cock to rest on your lower lip.

“If you bite me, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you struggled to say.

Once satisfied, Alastor removed his fingers from your mouth and pushed his hips forward.

Never had you done something so lewd as what Alastor was clearly demanding from you. That didn’t stop you from wrapping your lips around his member and sucking. The suction pulled him slightly deeper into your mouth, but with no lubrication, that was as good as it was going to get.

You stuck your tongue out, running it around his shaft just past where your lips reached before trying again with slightly better results.

“You can touch me.” Alastor said snidely from above you. “Or are you too dumb to use your hands?”

Your reply was little more than a muffled sound as you reached up for him. Trembling fingers wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady as you pulled off of his cock, letting it fall from your lips with a pop. He twitched in front of your face, stiffer now than he had been before, but far from what you expected he could become.

You swallowed thickly, coming to terms with the fact that the price you would pay for your terrible decision was to pleasure the man. You could do this. Eyes flicked up to Alastor, reminding yourself that he was an attractive man. There were worse men in the world to pleasure, even if you were having to do so with your mouth.

One more deep breath and you leaned forward, sticking your tongue out and running your tongue over the underside of his cock. The skin was salty and velvety smooth under your tongue’s caress. He twitches against your lips, growing harder as you placed soft kisses and kitten licks along the slit in his head.

Once he was harder and covered with trails of your saliva along his length, you wrapped your lips around his cock again, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you sucked at him.

Bracing yourself against his thighs, you pushed your head forward, taking in as much of him as you could. When your lips caught on dry shaft, you pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva coating him. When the head of his cock was just kissing your lips, you sank down again. Your lips gathered the saliva that had been cooling on his skin, smearing it lower as you took him as deep as you could.

You repeated the process again and again, running your tongue around him. This wasn’t something you had ever done before. You were disgusted with yourself when you realized you were enjoying the feeling of running his cock in and out of your mouth. The feeling of his hips flexing, fighting back the urge to thrust, was as intoxicating as the musky smell of him, pure clean man.

The feeling of Alastor’s hand on the back of your head startled you out of the trance you had fallen into. Your eyes, having fallen to little more than slits, fluttered open to look up at him.

“Good girl, but you can do better, can’t you?” Alastor laughed as you blinked up at him.

He didn’t give you a chance to offer any sort of agreement. Hips bucked forward as his hand pushed your head forward. The soft head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat, causing you to cough. A rich moan fell from Alastor’s lips as your throat spasmed around him.

You gasped for breath as he pulled back, only to have your airway choked off as he thrust into your mouth again and again. Fingers bunched into the fabric of his pants as you looked up at him with wild, tearful eyes. His brown eyes, once seeming so warm, looked into yours with cold desire as tears ran down your cheeks.

“Swallow,” He said as he pressed the head of his cock into the back of your throat harder.

You did, though you hadn’t intended to. It was a reflex as you tried not to gag on him. The head of his cock pressed onward, cutting off what little ability you had to breathe.

“Relax,” he soothed, thumb caressing your head before he pulled you back off him. “Breathe, now.” He ordered as if you needed the encouragement.

After gasping two panicked breaths in through your nose and around his cock, he shoved you forward again, hips flexing. Again, he pressed against your throat and you knew what he wanted. Battling every instinct in your body, you tried to relax and swallow, allowing him to cut off your airway.

“Good girl,” you hated how your thighs twitched at the praise.

Alastor thrust into your throat again and again, each time taking his cock deeper was easier. That did nothing to calm the panic in your eyes, slow the tears running down your face, or relax your grip on his thighs.

“You’re taking me in your throat so good,” Alastor praised, working his cock past the back of your throat again and again, chasing his release now as he looked down at you.

Spit gathered, bubbles forming from your gasped attempts at breathing in a ring around the base of his cock. He could feel it dripping down his balls, soaking into his pants. It ran down your chin as well, dripping off in long strings as it soaked into your blouse.

“You look so pretty like this,” Alastor cooed as he lost his rhythm, release drawing near. “Taking your punishment so well. Won’t do that again, will you?”

Your throat vibrated around him as you tried to answer, unable to form anything more than a sound smothered by his cock. That was all it took for him to reach his peak, balls tightening as he shoved your head forward.

He twitched in your mouth, seed spilling down your throat in hot ropes. The curls at the base of his cock tickled your nose as he thrust deeper and deeper, not allowing you a moment to breathe. Seed poured into your throat, coating the back of your tongue when he would pull back, hardly giving you a chance for air before shoving forward again.

Black swam in front of your eyes as you pushed weakly against his thighs. Only when he no longer twitched did he pull you back from him enough for you to pull a proper breath into your burning lungs. When his hand left the back of your head, you fell to the ground in a heap.

Alastor stood over you, cock softening considerably and yet still standing on display. After a few moments, he knelt down next to you, fingers caressing down your arm. Your body shuddered as you gasped for air, throat raw from the abuse.

“You did very good for me,” Alastor spoke softly, “Very good indeed. I’m afraid I got a little carried away with you, didn’t I?”

“Please,” you whispered, looking up at Alastor with red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed.

“I know,” Alastor chuckled darkly, taking in how pretty you looked with your lips red and swollen. His cock, still hanging from the front of his trousers, twitched as he stiffened again. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

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drabblesandsnippets · 1 month ago

Text

Happy Birthday

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader

Summary: (1.5k) After your friends forget your birthday, a stranger interrupts your plans to celebrate by yourself.

Background: Requested by a lovely anon last night. Happy (belated) Birthday! May you find some better friends, as well as a sweet (and/or whatever you’re into 😏) Bucky!

Warnings: Disappointing birthday. Fluff. Meet cute? Very brief mention of insecurities (both). Sweet Bucky.

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You aren’t expecting much on your birthday - a phone call, a text, maybe even a card in the mail from one of your friends - but, the day passes like any other.

Your phone remains relatively silent, devoid of new notifications every time you give in to the urge to look, the disappointment growing each time.

A bit of hope still remains, a part of you believing you’ll hear from at least one of them by the time evening comes, that there’ll be some sort of acknowledgement of a day that’s supposed to be celebrated.

Hours slowly tick by and still nothing. No one reaches out. Not one of your friends care enough to even remember to send a simple ‘Happy Birthday.’ And now it’s almost too late to do anything about it.

The impulse to text them first dies before you even pick up your phone, deciding at the last minute to do something for yourself instead. As much as you’d love to have friends to wish you a happy birthday, the least you can do is celebrate on your own.

With most places already closed, given the late hour, you end up at a hole-in-the-wall diner, tucked away on a quiet street. It’s not as empty as you expect it to be, a few patrons spread out along the booths lining the wall, a couple others sitting at opposite ends of the counter, all of them absorbed by their own form of distraction - a quiet conversation, their phone, a book.

You’re barely even acknowledged as you walk in, the older man behind the counter passing you a menu on your way to your choice of the empty corner booth. Grateful that you’re not the only one eating alone at this late hour, you take your time choosing all your favorite items, determined to celebrate, even if it’s by yourself.

It’s not until you’re standing at the counter to place your order that you take more notice of the man with the leather jacket, his face buried in a book. He’s incredibly distracting, your gaze unceremoniously drifting to the stubble lining his jaw as you try to focus on getting your order right.

You don’t know it, but he finds you equally distracting. From the moment you walked in, Bucky took notice, the familiar look of loneliness in your eyes drawing his attention. It’s far from what’s kept his interest though, the subtle air of confidence and determination surrounding you pulling his focus whenever you’re not looking.

The urge to initiate contact grows with every passing second, the itch to seek connection making him shift, his jaw twitching under your sporadic scrutiny. He’s not even sure what to say, a simple ‘hi’ feeling too inconsequential, too impersonal.

And then you’re gone, having returned to your seat, waiting for your meal, the moment of possibilities dissipating before Bucky really had a chance to imagine what might happen.

Back in the 40��s, he wouldn’t have thought twice about approaching you, and he certainly wouldn’t have worried about saying the right thing or being rejected. But, Bucky’s not that man anymore and all the wishing isn’t going to change that.

So, for now, he just watches you, careful to avoid your gaze, his heart beating wildly in his throat every time a smile crosses your face, your phone providing you some sort of entertainment.

It’s the only distraction you have, your plethora of apps keeping you from staring at the man that feels like a walking piece of art. If today were any other day, it’s entirely possible you’d actually try to get his attention. You’re already dealing with enough rejection though and you’re unable to handle the possibility of any more tonight.

Once your food comes, you force yourself to savor each bite, drawing out the last little bit of your birthday before it’s officially over. The disappointment over your friends will surely linger for days to come, so you may as well try to enjoy this as much as possible, no matter how alone you feel.

You save the best for last, returning to the counter to get a to-go box for your leftovers and placing an order for a slice of cake, barely managing to add, “it’s my birthday” at the last moment.

It leads to an awkward smile with the owner as he gives you a quick, “happy birthday” in response, your cheeks flushing as you return to your booth. You weren’t even planning to say it, no matter how much you rehearsed the words in your head before you went up there.

Once you were standing there, though, you felt like you deserved to hear ‘happy birthday’ once more before the night ends, even if it’s from a slightly forced interaction. It’s not like you ever have to come back here anyway.

It’s her birthday.

The decision is made before Bucky has a chance to talk himself out of it, slinking out of his seat after he bookmarks the page he’s read at least twenty times now. After a short conversation with the owner, who for some reason enjoys his quiet company, Bucky sneaks into the back to get to work.

He doesn’t have nearly everything he’d like, but he’s resourceful, making do with what he has access to, intent on making this a happier birthday for you. Torn between getting it right, and not wanting to keep you waiting, it only takes a few minutes before he’s walking back out, his gloved hand hidden behind his back.

You’re caught off guard when you see him approaching, his smile making your stomach flutter and your pulse race. There’s no denying that you’re his destination, his sure footsteps leading him straight to you, your lips parting prematurely, as if you’re capable of even saying anything first.

He doesn’t give you a chance, the moment he’s within reach of your table, his hidden hand returns with a flourish, producing a haphazard birthday cake. Several pieces of different types of cake sit in a oddly-shaped circle, unlit mismatched candles placed around the barely legible words ‘Happy Birthday.’

Tears prick your eyes the same time laughter bubbles out of you, this sudden display of kindness leaving you speechless, a range of emotions washing over you.

He seems to take it in stride, his head tilting as his smile grows, telling you, “Happy Birthday.” He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, his brow raised as he holds it up to ask, “How you feel about being center of attention? Say the word and I can get this place to sing to you.”

You’re quick to shake your head as he starts to light the candles, your skin already warm from just his attention, your voice finding you long enough to tell him, “No, I don’t - that’s okay - thank you.”

“Fair enough,” he grins, finishing the last of the candles, your eyes drawn to the reflection of the flickering flames on the sleeve of his jacket.

Your mind is racing with things to say, wanting to remind him to be careful so he doesn’t accidentally burn himself, to ask him if he works here, to figure out why he’s being so nice. No words come until he’s introducing himself to break the ice, asking for your name in return.

You almost stumble, your own name nearly forgotten as he sits across from you, his gloved hands pushing the cake a bit closer towards you.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you,” he says before a rueful smile graces his face. “Now, I’m gonna have to sing ‘happy birthday.’” When you open your mouth to protest, he shakes his head, telling you, “It just doesn’t seem right to have you blow out your candles without it.”

Another shake of your head to assure him, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” he promises with a swift nod, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips in preparation. “It’s not really a birthday celebration without it, but I promise not to draw too much attention.”

After a quick glance around the diner, ignoring the knowing look from the owner, Bucky does as promised, keeping his voice low enough not to make any of the other customers want to join in as he sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.

As overwhelmed as it makes you feel, it’s hard to ignore the warmth that settles over you, each line of the song erasing some of the disappointment from the day. Hearing your name fall from his lips, even as part of the song, finally breaks your resolve, the tears that have been threatening to build starting to blur your vision.

If Bucky notices, he keeps it to himself, encouraging you to buy into the premise and close your eyes to make a wish. It’s hard not to give in, finally letting yourself live fully in the moment, to allow yourself to be celebrated with a complete stranger.

The wish you make isn’t anything new, but as you open your eyes, finding Bucky still smiling at you, ready to cut the cake and continue this celebration, you’re struck with a feeling that’s impossible to shake.

Maybe today isn’t about rejection after all, maybe you just needed to be reminded of what you deserve.

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Happy Birthday, anon! I wasn't sure what you were looking for, but I hope you like it. Feel free to ask for a continuation 🩶

Everyone, please use the comments (or reblogs!) to wish anon a happy birthday!

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