#unfortunately me and the others have long move on from it

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[snaxle]

I WILL BE OPENING EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS WITHIN THE WEEK

i know majority of the people following me do not follow me for art purposes and so im probably speaking to a brick wall, but if anyone has seen my posts regarding my financial problems and my tablet breaking the other day, i need money.

tldr, the state just took away nearly $1000 worth of income my family makes per month, which is the money we used to pay our rent. more in depth information below the cut

the state just kicked my brother off of SSI, and now we are out of $900 a month (another brother was ALSO kicked off of SSI a few months earlier as well, and as such for the past year my family has been struggling. at the time this wasnt bad enough prior that i felt the need to talk about it, so i never mentioned it). this $900 helped pay for the rent on our house, and without it we are going to be absolutely screwed. not only that, my brothers are all getting kicked off their insurance within the next two months and will probably not be able to get their medication anymore nor go to their monthly doctors appointments anymore because my mom will not be able to afford it (the reason for their medication is not super serious whatsoever, but will affect them badly in the long run if they arent able to take it.) my mom is going to be trying to find a job asap, but she is also disabled and for months now she has been putting in job application after application with no luck whatsoever.

we get no food stamps because the state sees that i live at home and assume that i make enough to afford food for everyone in my house, and the local food pantry quite frankly sucks and often gives out of date food with bugs in it, so we only go for emergencies.

I NEED TO BE ABLE TO SAVE MONEY IN ORDER TO GET MY DRIVERS LICENSE AND GET A CAR. this is a priority. i cannot get anywhere where i live without a vehicle, and my mom has to drive me around. once i get a car, i will be trying to get a second job so i can drive myself, and will then be working on trying to move out in hopes that if i leave my mom is able to get her income back. i CANNOT move out right now, due to the fact that i dont make enough money to afford my own place and i also walk to work everyday. these will not be happening anytime soon unfortunately, but most of the money i save per month was going towards being able to afford a car and a cheap apartment in the near future.

if you saw my post the other day regarding my tablet breaking and me wanting to purchase another one, i will not be buying a new one unless absolutely necessary. my current tablet works enough duct taped up for now. if i make any money from commissions, i will be putting it towards at the very least affording to pay for all my animals necessities, so i can focus on using all the money i make for my family. if you are aware of my ongoing medical problems, i will not be seeking out medical attention for my heart problem for the time being, considering the fact that i do not have insurance and i think any money i would pay for appointments would be better spent elsewhere. i would rather my family can keep a roof over their heads.

i will share the prices i think will be good in a bit, and i am really sorry if theyre expensive. if you read all this, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i will get them set up as soon as i can.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Abstract Love~

NSFW

Pairing: Rafayel x fem! Reader

Warnings: Rafayel tops, smut, scissors used to cut clothing.

Summary: What had started out as a wholesome idea of becoming Rafayel’s human canvas quickly shifts into sexual tension and a passionate night.

AN: I haven’t written a fic in like over a year so bare with me if there’s any mistakes or it’s just bad lol 😭

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“Hold still, Cutie.” Rafayel gently commands as he grips your wrist.

His tongue just barely pokes past his normally pouting lips in concentration as he angles the paintbrush carefully over your skin.

You let out a small giggle as the brush fibers danced across your ticklish arm. “It tickles though.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh and grips your wrist a little tighter.

You see, the day just started with him painting a commission and you stopped by to spend time with him and wind down after a long week. But after many little snarky comments and teasing each other, he managed to splatter you with paint as a joke.

Unfortunately for you, the paint splatter (according to Rafayel) looked just like a specific species of coral that grew in Lemuria. To you, it looked just like what it was; a paint splatter. He's the artist, though.

So now, you’re being held hostage and yelled at to hold still by your dramatic boyfriend while he finishes your new armpiece on the round ottoman in his living room.

“Ya know, people would kill for me to paint on them.” He says and his gaze shifts from your arm to your eyes. “You could be just a little grateful.”

Blowing a stray piece of hair out your face, you roll your eyes at his comment but stay silent.

He continues working in silence after that. A bit of annoyance runs through you as he continues to trail the paintbrush higher up your arm until the strokes hit the edge of your t-shirt sleeve.

Rafayel grabs your sleeve and tugs at the material impatiently. “Off.”

“No, Raf, I just wanna relax and you still have to finish your piece-”

“Please, baby?”

Fuck, now Rafayel sits there with the saddest puppy dog eyes as his eyebrows curve up. He even adds a lip wobble in there to really get under your skin.

You let out a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you agree. “Okay, okay. Big baby.” Your fingers curl underneath your top to take it off.

Rafayel’s hand quickly grabs you before you can tug any further. “Wait, you’re gonna smudge the paint.”

And just like that, your blood pressure rises again. Your arms drop down to your sides and wait for more directions, cause apparently you aren’t doing it right.

“Please don’t hate me.” He stands up and walks over to a nearby cabinet with his back turned towards you. All you can hear is junk rattling around as he rummages in one of the drawers.

As he turns around, you don’t miss the shiny glint in the basking sunlight of what he is holding in his hands.

You quickly sit up straighter and your mouth drops open in shock. “You are not cutting off my shirt.”

Rafayel sits down beside you again, yet you back away as he moves closer.

“Please? I’ll buy you like ten more,” he begs as if he were asking you for a piece of candy. Rafayel stares at your glare in dismay, and then the begging continues.

“Raf, I like this shirt.”

“My love,” his arms wrap around your waist and he nestles his head into your lap. “I’ve been working on that commission for hours. I just need a little break.”

Rafayel’s warm breath fans over the exposed skin on your tummy and lets out a soft groan as his arms tighten around your body.

“My rock, my inspiration, my muse. I’ll never ask for anything again.”

You let out a laugh knowing damn well that wasn’t true in the slightest.

He pouts again at your reaction and lets out a huff. “What’s it gonna take?”

Your fingers thoughtfully stroke your chin as if you were a wise man with a beard. “I want you to take me to that nice restaurant with the fancy classical music.”

He goes to respond but you cut him off before he could even let out a sound.

“And a trip to the arcade. They have a new plushie collection.”

“Done.” Rafayel pushes your body against the ottoman as he moves to straddle you and makes sure to push all of your hair away from your shirt. “Hold still, baby.”

If circumstances were a bit different, this would be so sexy.

He grips the bottom of your top, the cool metal of the scissors gently grazing your skin sending shivers up your body. The thin fabric easily slices as he gets closer to your neck.

“Tilt your head back.” His free hand grips your chin and gently pushes back, exposing your neck. With a final snip, the fabric now hangs loosely off your body, leaving just your bra exposed. He helps you out of it and discards the ruined shirt and scissors to the side.

Rafayel continues to hover over you, his breath growing ragged at the sight of your breasts straining against your bra from the position. He leans down and places a lingering kiss on your lips. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before slowly dragging his lips down your jawline and neck.

“R-raf…” you breathe out. What the heck is he doing? Is he trying to make you horny or trying to make art? If he continues, you’d know you both would be too turned on and needy for each other to continue.

“I know, I know.” His head falls on your chest in defeat. “I won’t be able to stop if we keep going.”

There’s a silence for a few moments before he lets out a sigh, the air flowing between the valley of your breasts.

Letting out another groan, Rafayel focuses on finishing you- well, his art on you.

“Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny.” The muffled words ring from him like a prayer and it sends you into a laughing fit.

“C'mon finish up.” You tap at his arm and he reluctantly sits up and grabs the paintbrush again.

The next 20 minutes were spent in silence. Your eyes were closed as you didn’t think you'd find this activity as relaxing as you originally thought. The occasional hums and steady breathing fill the void in the meantime. Rafayel had managed to paint his way up your arm, across your clavicle, and back down to the other arm. The original coral piece he had started with had expanded into various designs of foliage, all oceanic of course. Vibrant colors littered your body as different designs of seaweed, shells, and even bubbles coated most of your top half.

You feel the tip of the brush swoop down between your cleavage before abruptly stopping. Blinking your eyes open at the pause, you look down and see Rafayel’s eyes sadly staring at the front band of your bra that connects the cups. His bottom lip was stuck between his teeth as he hesitantly met your eyes.

Sitting up carefully, your hands reach back to unclasp the garment and you don’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your now naked chest.

“Are you excited that my bra is off cause of my tits or so you can continue painting?” You tease and wave the dangling bra in front of his face.

He tosses the garment away and it lands helplessly on one of his easels across the room. The blue and pinky irises were now glazed over with something you couldn’t quite catch.

“Both.”

Rafayel moved his palette stand closer to his new position. The veins in his hands flexed as he twirled the brush between his fingers and dipped it back in his colors.

“Ooh,” you shiver slightly as the cold paint bleeds from the paintbrush down your breasts and your nipples start to grow perky. “Can I put on some pasties?”

Rafayel lets out a small snicker at your words. His eyes never leave your body as he continues to paint. His eyes flick to yours and he raises an eyebrow, “Did you really just ask me that?”

Your hands move your hair off your neck and you go to rub your shoulders for warmth but remember the wet paint coating your skin.“Yes, didn’t I buy some when I wore that dress with the open back for your last exhibition? I could’ve sworn I left them here.”

“I threw them out.” Rafayel’s words were quick. Too quick. Not to mention his focus had immediately shifted back to painting your chest. Your boyfriend is not smooth, he just wants to see your boobs.

“Rafayel.” Your tone is playful as you draw out your next words, “I’m cooold.”

Rafayel’s eyes lock onto your hard nipples. His lips parted slightly as a wicked idea filled his brain. Wordlessly, he lowers his head and quickly suctions his lips around the left bud. You moan out in surprise, your hands immediately coming up to entangle into his purple locks. His tongue swirls around the bud, lips squelching against your skin and his teeth lightly graze it.

Rafayel pulls off the swollen bud with a harsh pop and dips his head to latch onto your other nipple. Your body squirms in response with little breathy whimpers leaving your mouth.

After giving the same treatment, he pulls off the other nipple, and a smirk forms on his face. “Warm enough now?”

And just like that, he continues painting, while you try to ignore the wetness forming between your legs.

Oh, this son of a bitch is evil.

Rafayel stretches the artwork down to your naval and his left hand starts to grip your hip. You couldn’t help but continue to squirm and writhe a bit as the soft bristles kiss your skin. Not to mention the now heated sexual tension building up.

You squeeze your legs together in hopes of ignoring the growing heat.

“If you keep moving, I’ll tie you down.” He threatens.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel is not normally this… bold. The sex you two have- you wouldn’t call it vanilla at all, but usually you’re the one initiating anything freaky so to have him start to tease you like this so nonchalantly is turning you on badly.

“Is that a threat?” You ask.

“That’s a promise.”

Finally, the brush stops at your pants.

“You know the drill,” he says as he tugs at the belt loop of your jeans. His fingers quickly unbutton the front and he gradually pulls them off with your panties.

“Wait, Raf, everything?” A gasp escapes you as you’re now fully bare in front of him. Another shiver runs through your body as his eyes are fixated on your cunt. You’re just hoping he can’t tell how aroused you are. Silence is his only answer. Your jeans are tossed carelessly with the rest of your clothes, but he keeps a hold of the lacy panties in his hand.

“Someone’s a little hot and bothered, isn’t she?” He asks as his thumb brushes over the wet patch on the fabric. Rafayel gives a small chuckle before dropping the panties and kneeling in front of your body.

You go to sit up only for his hand to quickly stop you.

“Stay there, paint isn’t dry yet.”

His voice had gotten a bit raspier it seems, the tone dropping as his eyes started to cloud with desire. You’re able to catch sight of his half-hard cock behind his pants and you exhaled shakily, but obey nonetheless.

Once again, the cold bristles touch your skin, making it even harder to stay still as he trails them down to your hip bones. “R-Raf…”

“Hmm?” His eyes never meet yours, too invested in focusing on finishing his creation so he can ruin the fuck out of it.

And you.

After only hearing silence from you, he finally looks over to meet your needy expression. He knows that look, he practically invented it. Your eyes had shifted to match a puppy’s and your mouth formed a pout as small huffs of air left your parted lips. The same stupid look he gave you earlier when he wanted to start this project. Oh, how it came to bite him in his Lemurian ass.

“Lemme finish up and I’ll fuck you, cutie. I promise.” His now quivering hand goes to continue painting down your thighs and you jerk abruptly as the brush kisses your inner thigh.

When Rafayel looks over, he can see the wetness start to travel down the lips of your pussy, a small puddle staining the furniture underneath you. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and his breath hitches in his throat. His hands hook underneath your thighs and pulls you closer to him before diving in like a hungry shark.

You let out a surprised whine as you feel his tongue slide into your folds and start to lick. Instantly, your leg curls around his neck and he groans into you. His tongue circles around your clit and suctions to it, much like he did to your nipples. Dirty moans leave your lips as small beads of sweat start to accumulate on your forehead.

“Hu-agh!” Your fingers grasp the edges of the ottoman fiercely as you start to slowly grind your hips into his face.

Rafayel slurps at your cunt, the filthy noises filled the once-silent room and his groans send vibrations straight to your core. After one more long suck on your clit, he pulls away, much to your dismay.

Ignoring your whines of protest, he looks at the puffy bundle of nerves and he can feel his cock fully hardening. The golden rays of the setting sun through the windows glow onto Rafayel and you can see your juices coating the lower half of his face.

“Baby, let’s stop painting,” you reach for his hand that rested on your thigh. “Please, I need you.”

Rafayel would love nothing more than to take you right here and now. To smear every piece of furniture in this room with the paint from your body, but he has a better idea in mind. An idea that required him to finish painting you.

“Soon, my love.” He leans over once more to lift your chin and he brings his face closer to yours as he seals your mouths together. You could taste yourself on his lips and you moan into his mouth when he slips his tongue in briefly. He pulls away and ruffles a hand through his hair.

Rafayel tells you to stay sitting up as he works on finishing your thighs and legs.

Soon enough, your front half is covered in paint. His detailed masterpiece swirls down your body and he swears you look so ethereal. Rafayel holds out a hand to help you up and he guides you to one of the floor-length mirrors resting on the wall.

He stands behind you as you take in his work, hands settling on the outside of your hips as he presses your body against his. A soft kiss is placed on your shoulder blade.

You really did look beautiful.

“If you give me at least twenty minutes to do your back, I promise you, my queen, I will worship you.”

A frown appears on your lips in response to his words.

More waiting?

“How would you even paint my back?” You ask since you risk the possibility of smearing or cracking the creation down your front.

“Just stand, okay? I’ll be quick.” Rafayel promises.

Bracing your hands against one of the walls in his studio, your hair was now pulled up, as Rafayel continued to paint your body.

Within only a short time, your back and the rest of your arms were completely painted. Rafayel had already planned out the rest of the piece in his mind while he was eating you out. How to enhance your figure and beauty without taking up too much time. Because, let’s face it- he wanted you, needed you. So, he had decided to go with larger and simpler designs instead of going as small and intricate as he did with your front.

You weren’t squirming as much even though it tickled as he continued lower and he wasn’t stopping as often either, his strokes deliberate and quick. Both of you guys had one goal in mind and you were eager to achieve it.

Rafayel kneeled on the ground, just barely finishing your calves.

Almost there.

Finally.

The last brush stroke was done.

Rafayel slowly got up, placing the paintbrush on the easel where your bra hung from. His hand entertained with yours. Standing in front of the mirror again, he turns you to the side so you can see his creation.

"Wow, Raf, it's beautiful."

Underwater floral patterns flowed gracefully across your body, each vibrant hue—deep blues, soft pinks, and rich greens—complementing your skin tone beautifully. Intricate details danced in the designs, tracing from the curve of your neck down to your ankles, creating a stunning tapestry of the ocean's beauty enveloping you completely.

"I wanted you to take a good look at it before it's totally ruined."

Your eyes flit down to his pants and that's when you notice how hard he is.

With that, he practically drags you to his bedroom.

“Wait,” you stopped halfway through the doorway. “I’ll get paint all over you and the bed. Shouldn’t I go wash up really quick?”

Rafayel scoffs and a smirk crosses his features as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Cutie, that’s the whole idea.”

He reaches underneath his bed and pulls out a large folded white tarp. Quickly throwing off the pillows and duvet, he placed the tarp on top of the sheets.

You stand there, slowly getting the idea. You watch as he takes off his shirt, slacks, and boxers, tossing them in the corner. His cock was still hard as it curved upwards and the tip grazed his stomach.

Rafayel walks over to you with a new look of determination in his eyes. His hand locks with yours as he leads you to the bed.

“Let’s make art.”

Without waiting for your reaction, he gently pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. His lips fiercely locked onto yours in a sloppy kiss as you both let out needy whimpers and groans.

Rafayel attaches his lips to your neck and starts to nibble at the sensitive skin. You let out needy whimpers when he hits your sweet spot and you curl your leg around his waist, your deprived pussy needing friction- anything.

His hard cock hits your cunt and you both react with breathy whines. The tarp crinkles and the material squeaks a bit when Rafayel leans down and lowers his head by your throbbing clit once more, his tongue darting out and circling the bundle of nerves. Not holding back anymore, your back arches off the tarp as your moans fill the air.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Rafayel's bare arms lock against your legs, keeping them spread as he feasts on you. His tongue trails lower and swirls around the entrance of your eager hole, his whole face practically buried between your folds.

“Augh- right there…” you whisper breathlessly. “N-no, where are you going?”

Your fingers curl into his hair when you feel him start to pull away. He hovers over you again and places his hands beside your head. His lips find yours and he starts to rut himself against your cunt.

“F-fuck.” Rafayel whimpers against you and lets out a long hum. He becomes annoyed at the thought of ending so soon when you two just barely started. “I wanted to savor this moment, but baby, I can’t. I need you. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, the intensity of his dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours with a passion that ignites a fire deep within. They seem to plead silently, urging you to utter the words that linger on the tip of your tongue, a promise of unspoken desires hanging in the air between you.

“Please, Raf, don’t make me wait.”

His hand trails down between your naked bodies and grasps his aching cock. He slides it up your folds, coating it in your wetness before slowly sliding in.

You both moan in unison as your gummy walls envelop his cock. Rafayel’s face is buried in your neck, as one hand holds up his weight and the other tangles in your hair.

He starts to thrust in and out, and your toes start to curl. The room becomes heated fast as the sinful sounds of skin slapping mix with filthy moans.

“Mm, fuck, you feel… so good.” He pants in your ear and his tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. “My beautiful muse.”

His words help tighten the knot in your lower tummy with your cries become louder with every thrust as you desperately try to chase your release.

Sloppy kisses are placed along your face and his moans become ragged groans as he too is close to cumming.

“I— augh!.”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.”

Words are really hard right now. Your mind was too cock drunk to even think straight. Rafayel lets out a choked noise and his thrusts start to falter slightly.

Dazed, your hand brings his face in front of you so you can see his pretty eyes. “F-finish with me.” Though your words are slurred and lazy, he understands completely.

His hips thrust even deeper into your hole as his body starts to shake. Your orgasm washes over you and you cry out, muscles tensing.

Before you can even recover, Rafayel pulls out of you, emitting a small noise at your sensitive walls. He roughly grabs your hips and turns you over on your stomach. The sweat on your body smears the once beautiful artwork covering your skin. The tarp shifts at the movement.

“One more, cutie, please,” Rafayel bends over your form and places another tender kiss behind your ear. “Can you do one more for me?”

You nod tiredly and he picks up your legs and spreads them once more. His fingers are placed in front of your mouth and you close your lips around them. Your tongue swirls around his digits for a good few seconds before he pulls them out.

“Good girl.”

You let out another breathy moan when his hand reaches down to finger your already stretched-out hole, ensuring you’re wet enough for another round. His long fingers are buried deep within you and your sore hips push back to rut against them.

When Rafayel pulls his hand away, there’s a long strand of cum connected to his fingers. He takes them in his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s slippery when his cock finds its way to your slit again. With a slow push, he enters you again and bottoms out.

His thrusts are sloppier this time as he lays on top of you in the prone bone position. Your mind is hazy and blurred from pleasure and borderline overstimulation. The way his vulgar words are quietly whispered in your ear as if he wants to ensure you those words are for you and only you.

“You like it when I top, huh?” His words are a bit broken as small gasps and grunts are caught in between. His hand brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead from sweat and he places a tender kiss to your temple, while his other reaches under your stomach, forcing you to arch your hips.

“Mhm!”

Rafayel’s fingers find your clit once again, a broken cry escaping you in the process. The familiar coil in your tummy appeared again as your second orgasm of the evening was quickly approaching.

Loud whimpers started to leave Rafayel as well and he whines at his own orgasm building up.

“T-together, my love?”

That’s all it took to send you over the finish line. Both of you cry out in ecstasy as you finish together.

You can feel his hips stutter from his release, but Rafayel quickly pulls out before he can cum inside you a second time. Rafayel watches in a euphoric bliss as his cum shoots out all over your back in spurts before lazily trailing down your ass. The colors he had painted on you earlier were heavily faded, smeared, and now mixed with his white seed.

A content sigh escapes him as he rolls off of you and gathers you into his arms. Rafayel places loving kisses over your sweaty forehead and hair. Your fatigue quickly caught up to you and you felt like a limp noodle in his arms.

“Do you want me to start cleaning you up or would you rather lay down for a while?” He asks as he grabs a small rag sitting on the nightstand and starts to wipe the cum and sweat off your body.

"Can we just stay for a moment?" Your hand finds his resting on top of your hip, and you lock your fingers together.

"Of course, I'll start the bath in a few minutes." Rafayel brings your locked hands to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. "I love you, my muse."

----------

Bonus:

"So like... now what?"

The next morning, after freshening up, Rafayel laid the fully dried tarp against the bed. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he studied the tarp covered in paint.

The once-pristine white tarp had transformed into a chaotic canvas, splattered with vibrant paint that danced across its surface. The delicate designs he had painstakingly created were completely obscured, lost beneath the bold colors. Only a few faint handprints and the rough outlines of your limbs remained, turning the simple canvas into a wild abstract masterpiece.

The glass of cold-brew coffee in your hands jingles and Rafayel turns to you.

"What do you mean 'now what'?"

"I mean do we throw it out now? Or fold it up maybe?"

"We can't throw it out! This is art, this is our love, this is-"

"Porn."

[heliosunny]

MANN I'M DYING FOR A VAMPIRE FYODOR X READER. It's like searching for a pond in a desert. i desperately need vampire Fyodor. Please , I'M BEGGING, could you write vampire Fyodor?

- 🐢🐢

Yandere!Vampire Fyodor x Reader

The grand estate was eerily silent at this hour, save for the distant crackling of a dying hearth and the faint rustling of curtains swayed by the night wind. You moved carefully, your footsteps muffled by the lavish rugs lining the marble floors.

You were never supposed to be here.

The noble lords and ladies who waltzed through the halls of this manor held no concern for people like you—lowly servants, invisible until summoned. And yet, your curiosity had drawn you beyond the gilded doors, into the chambers where only the elite dared to tread.

The scent of iron hit you first. It was thick, suffocating, clinging to the air like a veil of death. Then, the sight of moonlight spilling through stained glass, illuminating the lifeless body of a nobleman slumped in his chair, blood trickling from his throat.

And beside him, a man sat with eerie poise.

He was dressed in fine silk. His fingers, long and delicate, trailed absently along the rim of an untouched wine glass. His pale face was unreadable, but his eyes—cold, knowing, and touched with amusement.

“Ah… what an unfortunate turn of events.”

The smooth lilt of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“You really shouldn’t be here, my dear.”

Your legs refused to obey, to run. Fyodor Dostoevsky, the esteemed nobleman, the brilliant tactician of the court, the man whom even kings feared—was no mere human.

You had seen something you were never meant to witness.

“Now, what should I do with you?”

Your body tensed against his cold grip, your mind scrambling for something—anything—that might make him reconsider killing you. Logic said nothing would work, but desperation had a way of making fools out of even the most rational people.

“P-please…” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, wide-eyed and pleading. “I....I won’t say anything! I swear! I’ll forget everything I saw! I’m just a servant, nothing important! You don’t have to kill me, right?”

“Ah… is that so?”

You nodded frantically, trying to keep your voice light, as if you were reasoning with a dangerous animal. “Yes! Yes! I’m useless! Just a background character in this grand house! You wouldn’t even notice me if I hadn’t wandered in! I can go back to being invisible, I promise!”

A soft chuckle left his lips. “Invisible? My dear, I noticed you long before this little accident.”

What did he just say?

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You always walk a little slower when passing the eastern wing. Do you find the stained glass fascinating?”

Your breath hitched.

“You arrange the books in the library alphabetically, even though no one asked you to.”

Your hands trembled.

“And I do wonder… do you hum out of habit, or do you simply forget that others can hear you?”

He had been watching you.

For how long?

A gloved finger traced along your jaw, tilting your face up until your wide, frightened eyes met his.

“You’re quite adorable when you beg” Fyodor murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “Like a little rabbit, caught in a trap.”

“W-wait—”

“Ah, but what kind of master would I be if I let my pet run free?”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up- pure instinct, sheer desperation. You twisted in his grip, jerking backward with all your strength.

For a split second, his fingers loosened.

You didn’t waste it. You wrenched free and ran.

The door was just a few steps away. If you could just reach it, just make it into the halls—you could lose him in the endless corridors of the estate. You could warn someone. But the moment your fingertips brushed the doorknob, the room tilted.

A rush of wind, the blur of candlelight, the sickening realization that you were no longer in control of your own movement. Your back collided with the nearest bookshelf, the force knocking the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp left you as books tumbled to the floor around you, dust spiraling in the dim light.

Before you could even regain your footing, he was there.

Fyodor loomed over you, his expression eerily calm.

“That,” he murmured, “was rather rude, don’t you think?”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist again—tighter this time, with none of the deceptive gentleness from before. You struggled, thrashing in his grip, but it was like fighting against iron shackles.

“Let...go!”

“Shh…” Fyodor’s other hand came up, his fingers ghosting over your lips in a mockery of tenderness. “You keep making this worse for yourself.”

“You should have stayed quiet, little one” he sighed. “Now you’ve gone and made yourself so much more interesting.”

His grip shifted, effortlessly pulling you against him as he tilted his head, studying your expression with dark amusement.

“Struggle all you like” he leaned closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “but in the end, my dear…”

His fingers trailed down your throat, feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his touch.

“Even a pawn must obey its king.”

The clinking of metal was the first thing you noticed when you stirred.

You blinked blearily, your body sluggish, your limbs weak. The moment you tried to move, something stopped you—a harsh tug at your wrist.

Chains.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you finally took in your surroundings. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls of what seemed to be a private chamber. Lavish yet eerie, filled with books, maps, and an ominous grand chair positioned before a desk.

And you…

You were inside a cage.

Your breath hitched as you scrambled back, the cold iron bars pressing against your spine. The space was just large enough for you to sit, but not to fully stretch out. The chains around your wrists rattled as you gripped the bars, panic clawing at your throat.

“Ah… you’re awake.”

Fyodor sat nearby, his long fingers absentmindedly twirling a chess piece. He looked perfectly composed, as if caging another person in his chambers was nothing more than a trivial afterthought.

“You…” Your voice cracked, hoarse with fear. “Let me out. Let me out, please!”

Fyodor tilted his head, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Already begging? How precious.”

You gritted your teeth, ignoring the way your hands trembled against the bars. “This isn’t funny, Fyodor. You can’t keep me here—someone will notice I’m gone.”

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” His gaze darkened, his smirk sharpening. “No one is looking for you.”

The words struck like a slap.

“Liar.”

“Am I?” He hummed, tapping the chess piece against the table. “You were just a servant, weren’t you? No family nearby. No close friends. No one of real importance.” His voice was sickeningly sweet.

“That’s not true—”

“But now,” he interrupted, standing gracefully, “you belong to me.”

He walked toward the cage, his presence suffocating, until he was right in front of you. His hand reached through the bars, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

“A stray little thing,” he mused, his grip firm but not cruel. “But worry not—I take very good care of my pets. Though you're the very first human I kept.”

“I am not a pet!”

Tears pricked at your eyes, frustration and fear bubbling over. “Please… I don’t belong here. Just let me go. I swear, I won’t tell anyone—I’ll disappear, you’ll never have to see me again.���

For a moment, he simply stared. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape. “Please…” you whispered, voice breaking. “I just want to go home.”

Fyodor’s gaze softened, mockingly so. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to your level, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Silly little thing” he murmured, almost fondly. “This is your home now.”

The moment you realized that begging wouldn’t work, you forced yourself to stop crying. It was difficult, but if you wanted to escape, you had to be smart. Fyodor thrived on fear, on your desperation. If you kept breaking down, he’d never let his guard down.

So instead, you swallowed your pride and played along.

For days, you obeyed without resistance. You responded softly when he spoke, kept your eyes lowered when he touched your cheek, forced yourself to eat the food he provided. You pretended to be docile, slowly giving in to the role he wanted from you.

“Such an obedient little thing,” Fyodor mused one evening, watching as you quietly sipped the tea he had given you. “It seems you’re learning your place.”

You only nodded, keeping your expression neutral.

He smiled at that, pleased.

Then, the opportunity came.

One night, Fyodor received a summons, an urgent matter that required his presence elsewhere. He glanced at you through the bars before leaving, his gaze filled with silent amusement.

“Be good while I’m gone.”

And just like that, you were alone.

The moment the door shut behind him, you dropped the act.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the lock on your cage, your breath coming fast. No key, no tools—but that didn’t matter. You had spent the last few days observing everything in this room, including the way the cage door was secured.

"Come on, come on..."

You twisted the hinges, pressing your weight against the weakest part of the bars. It took everything in you to remain silent as the metal creaked, shifting slightly. Almost there—

With a final push, the lock snapped.

You stumbled out, your legs weak from days of confinement, but you didn’t stop moving. You darted to the door, pressing your ear against it—nothing.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Every step was a risk, every breath a gamble, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to make it out.

But as you turned the corner, your blood ran cold.

“Going somewhere, my dear?”

Fyodor.

The silence stretched between you like a knife’s edge.

Every muscle in your body frozen as Fyodor took a step forward.

“You disappoint me.”

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you were slammed against the cold stone wall, your wrists pinned above your head by a single, merciless hand.

Your vision blurred. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“Did you really think you could escape me?”

You whimpered, your chest heaving as you tried to twist free. “Fyodor—”

“Silence.”

His grip tightened, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“I was kind to you.” His other hand trailed along your jaw, deceptively gentle despite the bruising force keeping you trapped. “I gave you food, warmth… a place to belong.”

His fingers reached your throat.

“And yet, like an ungrateful little pet…” His nails grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You tried to run.”

“I-I just.....”

A sudden sharp pain shot through your shoulder. You barely had time to process the flash of movement before you felt the unmistakable sensation of his fangs sinking into your flesh.

The pain was deep, burning, a violation that sent every nerve in your body into a frenzy. Fyodor held you still, keeping you pinned as he drank—slow, unhurried, savoring.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were stained crimson. His tongue flicked out, licking away the last trace of your blood as he gazed down at you.

“Let this be a lesson, my dear.”

Your body trembled violently, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sagged in his grip.

“You are mine.”

His hand released you.

You collapsed to the floor, barely catching yourself on weak, trembling arms. The throbbing in your shoulder was unbearable, but worse was the realization that you had failed.

[cthulhus-curse]

Camera

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2,537

Warnings: Bottom!Wanda Maximoff, Top!Reader, Breeding, Camgirl!Wanda, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Smut, Somnophilia, Strap-Ons, Voyeurism, Slight Degradation | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Finding out that your neighbor runs your favorite show is a pleasant and delicious surprise.

Three days out of the week you positioned your laptop on the coffee table of your living room, sat on the couch, and watched on with amazement as your favorite show began.

It started as an accident. An unfortunate scrolling through social media led you to find her page. Enticed by the amount of skin she showed along with very enthralling captions you took meant for yourself, you didn’t hesitate to click on a link to follow her shows alongside subscribing to extra weekly content – various scandalous videos, images, and audios – for you to enjoy.

“Hmmm hi MyStr4ngeAdd1ction. Long time no see, baby.” She pouted slightly, tilting her head just for you in a room full of fans drooling over her in the chat. “Did you miss me?”

Staring at your screen, you hummed. “Yeah.”

Wanda, otherwise known as the Scarlet Witch, a self-proclaimed mistress of chaos, was your favored performer. You had attempted to watch other creators, but not one person made you feel in the same special way as she did. Her way with words, the calmness within her as she stared down at the camera, eyes boring into your soul, caused an immense exhilaration within you. She put on her shows for you .

The redhead on the screen was nothing if not a tease. She began all her shows the same way by undressing herself, welcoming most of the people who joined, primarily her biggest tippers. You being at the top only got the most special treatment, pampered with better content only for your eyes to see.

She began tugging at the red, lacy robe that prevented you from staring at her body you had ingrained into your mind. Little by little, you got to see more of her creamy skin, drooling as you noticed how it was covered with a dark material, a clip-on tail over her backside, that accented the white ears on top of her head.

“I have a surprise for my little babies today. Someone very special got me this cute outfit and even toys to go along with it,” Wanda said. She kneeled before you, sitting atop a pillow of a carrot you remembered having bought for her. “Your little bunny is so desperate to be fucked right. I’m just aching to have you in me… daddy .”

It all began with insistent foreplay which you were far too desperate to sit through. Wanda humped the carrot, her bright viridescent eyes never leaving the camera. The black, strapless teddy on her slim body was thin enough to allow her to feel the delicious friction of the pillow against her throbbing cunt.

Her face scrunched up, contorting into an image of unabashed arousal which you feasted upon. Wanda allowed herself to go as though no one watched. She teased herself, hand sliding between her legs to push aside her outfit as a means to easily find her clit.

“It feels so good. My pussy is so wet just for you, daddy,” she spoke to her audience. “Don’t you want to fuck your good baby bunny? Come on, I’m so empty without your cock.”

When Wanda brought out the bigger, better toy you bought for her, you nearly lost it. She allowed it to attach itself to the floorboards, the suction cup making it difficult to move around. The dildo, so carefully and beautifully crafted, also resembled that of a carrot.

“So big,” she breathed out. Upon lining herself over it, her glistening cunt in full view for you to enjoy, Wanda swirled the fake cock up and down her slit. She managed to garner copious amounts of her juices over it as a means to easily ease down. “Keep your eyes open for me, baby. I want you to watch as your bunny fucks herself all for her owner.”

Wanda sank down on the dildo slowly. She spread her folds, licking her own lips as she took the girthy toy inch by inch. You had seen her previously stretch herself out with lengthier toys, loving every second of it as a little bulge appeared on her covered tummy that she showed off. Although she took it slow, allowing her viewers to enjoy the sight of a bunny sitting on their cock, eventually nothing could keep her giddiness at bay.

“I can be a good girl for you,” she tilted her head. “Would you like me to be good or bad?”

Staring at your screen, you barely took in the way your hand casually and involuntarily slipped past the waistline of both your pants and underwear. Touching yourself, you made sure to follow a similar rhythm which she too carried.

“Look at me. I’m such a good bunny bouncing on your cock. And you’re so big, daddy,” she exasperated, her cheeks tinted in an adorable red hue. “The biggest I’ve ever had.”

You didn’t tear your eyes away from the woman who began groping herself, freeing her breasts from the confines of her outfit to show them off to you. The nipple piercings she had upon her hardened, perky buds were ones you’d absolutely love teasing her for after forcing her to bounce over you instead.

“There’s a good girl,” you groaned, fingers skillfully curling up within you. “My good girl.”

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Although difficult to live without having Wanda, it was even more torturous to live beside her and not do anything about it.

Staring across the street, you hummed. Long ago she had moved to the house adjacent to your own, even before you had feasted your eyes upon her glorious gift to the world. It was rather humorous how innocent your neighbor was in comparison to her sessions. The poor thing could barely chat with you without boring her eyes to the floor and stumbling over her words.

She was even more corruptible than you had imagined.

Each passing day you found yourself carefully looking into her home. Guilt would overcome you whenever you were blessed with Wanda undressing herself before getting in the shower. You weren’t sure why she dared keep the curtains open as she did her shows and took better care of herself afterwards, her bed facing the window for you to get a better view. And yet you were unable to complain as time and time again you watched without saying a word, a hand urging you to bring yourself to the brink of an orgasm.

Another day which passed, you found yourself positioned over your bed, the blinds of your window open as you looked through them. The straps around your waist were tightly done as you lined the tip of your faux cock against a fleshlight drenched with lubricant you had rubbed over it.

“That’s it,” you mumbled as your eyes found Wanda, the redhead beginning to tear off her clothes for the day. “I bet you’re so wet just for me. My pretty princess is all needy for her daddy.”

You pushed yourself into the fleshlight in one swift movement, moaning as you feasted upon the sloshing sound it made. Even if you couldn’t feel it, you knew Wanda would be just as warm and tight for you – desperate to have daddy stretch her out.

Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself positioned between Wanda’s legs, prying them open as you gently stuffed her with your dick. She’d be begging for more, to have all of daddy pushing her to her limit until she could no longer take more as a babbling mess. One day you’d have her for yourself. For now you’d settle on watching her nude beauty from far away while imagining the fleshlight on your hands to be her puffy cunt.

Whether she liked it or not, Wanda was already yours to own. It was only a matter of time before you took matters into your own hands and made it official.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

There was ease in sneaking across her home in the middle of the night. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet you didn’t find yourself hesitating when cracking a window open, sliding inside as though no one could see you.

It’s what Wanda would’ve wanted, you told yourself. Anything for her biggest supporter, for her daddy.

Keeping your excitement at bay was a nearly impossible task, especially when you found yourself staring down at the object of your affections. Seeing her coated by innocence, her body entirely covered with just a blanket and nothing beneath, loving to sleep in the nude as you ahd found, forced you to destroy it. Wanda was not aware of it yet, but as laid back with her messy hair covering her soft, delicate features, she craved you.

“Hi, honey. I missed you too,” you whispered to the silent air. “Wanna have some fun?”

Gently you pulled the covers off Wanda’s body. Her naked skin was nothing alien to you, and yet you grunted at the sight of it. Having difficulty keeping your hands off your property, you allowed a hand to run across her stomach, drifting it down until you were able to cup her surprisingly wet pussy.

“Looks like someone is ready for me.”

Upon having pulled your pants down slightly, ridding yourself off the confines of your shirt, you began claiming her for once.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping. Is this all for daddy?” You questioned with amusement pleasantly making its way to your voice. Settling between her pried apart legs, you took a deep breath at the sight of her pussy in such close proximity. “My cute bunny was begging me to be fucked. This is what you want, huh? How many times do you fuck yourself for the camera and think about me?”

Running the tip of your cock against her folds, your eyes widened. You made sure to bring one of the biggest toys you owned knowing your angel had prepared herself for long enough to take you. Seeing her videos and images wasn’t enough. Unlike the rest of her viewership, you had the opportunity to take Wanda for yourself.

Although she slurred in her sleep, adorably whining at your ministrations, you didn’t dare stop.

Coating yourself with her juices, slapping your fat cock against her at times, you fully gave yourself into the moment. Seeing Wanda all sprawled over the bed for you, her cunt begging you to enter her immediately, only fueled the fire laying deep within you.

Only when she opened her eyes slightly to mumble a drowsy “Y/N?” did you properly have her.

A strangled moan broke through the four walls. It elicited you to grunt as a delicious response. Your strap-on had been buried inside Wanda, a finger sloppily thumbing at her clit to further arouse her cunt that already oozed lovely amounts of her yummy juices.

“Feels good,” she quietly let you know.

“You like it baby?” You were surprised to earn such a positive response as you carefully moved your hips, allowing the woman to grow used to the feeling of having you inside. “You’ve been waiting for this. I can tell, you naughty little whore.”

“Yours,” came her choked sob. “Hmm it’s so big. ‘M full.”

“Right to the fucking brim.”

The noises of need Wanda let out motivated you to keep going. She clung to your back, nails digging into your skin as she adjusted herself to being fully stuffed. You didn’t care how many markings or love-bites she left over your body. If anything you wished for more. Only that way the world would know who you belonged to, just how she was yours to take.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping. Just look at how good your pussy takes me. I bet you’ve been craving my cock, huh? How good daddy’s cock would stretch your pussy out? Naughty little slut,” you husked out. Hands drifted across her body to find Wanda’s breasts, them being full enough for you to easily squeeze until she yelped. “Take it like that, Wanda. Like the fucking bitch you are.”

“Yours,” she was quick to reply.

The tips of your fingers ghosted over her pierced nipples for only a second, and yet it was enough for her to scream her lungs out, already so sensitive for you. Days upon days had been spent craving for the minimum, for crumbs of admiration from Wanda who absentmindedly treated you as though you were another typical neighbor.

Each day you had worked to better the plan of having Wanda. Tainting her was only the last and more delicious part of the process.

Her pussy swallowed your cock with amour, legs wrapped around your waist as you pumped yourself deep inside. You didn’t dare let her go for a second, your mouth trailing across her responsive breasts to her neck and jaw, leaving little markings for her to forever remember.

Pulling out slightly, your cock dripping with her essence, caused Wanda to groan in response. In her exhausted and hazy mind she babbled to have more, but all you did was keep the tip of your dick in her gaping pussy as you went to squeeze the heavy length.

When blissful drops of white began squirting themselves in Wanda, she breathed a sigh of relief, tongue stuck out with eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“That’s it, princess. Take it all, every last fucking drop. ‘M gonna stuff you with my pups,” you urged her. She merely nodded as her mind lay elsewhere, her cunt being filled with the copious amounts of fake cum you gave her. “Fuck, you’ll look so carrying them, huh? A nicely bred bitch.”

No longer did any of the views or even money she earned mattered. All Wanda focused on, her mere desires, all lay within you. She pressed her head against your chest as you fucked the cum back into her pussy, never letting the bunny fall apart without you by her side, her orgasm a mirror of her spent persona.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she muttered through shaky lips, her hand finding the area between her legs to feel the ruined mess you had left her as. “

“Yeah?”

Wanda’s hums were adorable, nodding against your body only slightly. “Yes, baby. Why do you think I leave the curtains open when I change? I like giving my favorite neighbor and little voyeur a treat here and there. Don’t you like it?” She feigned innocence when staring up with twinkling wide eyes. A hand moved to your hips, guiding them forth as she quietly begged for more. “I thought you’d want a breeding bunny all to yourself.” She stuck her tongue out, wet fingers being plopped into her mouth as she tasted herself. “My highest tipper and my daddy. What a lucky girl I am.”

Thrusting into Wanda once again, you forced her to moan for you, attacking her neck with a flurry of love-bites she’d proudly wear for her next show. “I fucking love it. Now be a good girl and clean up daddy’s cock with that slutty mouth of yours.”

[send-me-a-puffalope]

I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of Vanessa having memory loss due to trauma either post-possession in the games or post-MCI in the movies. So naturally, I’m thinking smth along the lines of Sophie Walten from TWF or Elizabeth Lail’s other movie Unintended.

Brainrot with me here: Vanessa-centric fic in which she’s been on anxiety meds since childhood and has essentially repressed most of her memories from childhood, remembering bits and pieces of the good times with her father but completely blocking out the MCI and William’s more abusive side. She remembers him as a good man who loved her, though he died when she was a teen.

Conflict starts when she runs out of her meds and she starts having weird dreams featuring children she doesn’t recognize but look familiar. They obviously know her though. They’re in a pizzaplex and she’s around the same age as them. The first night ends with her alone in the pizzeria. Something happened that she doesn’t remember but the next thing she knows, she’s awake.

She gets her meds refilled but doesn’t take them, instead looking forward to dreaming every night in hopes of figuring out more about this strangely familiar pizzeria but mostly because she feels a lighthearted, floaty joy that she hadn’t felt in years in her dreams.

She begins to start skipping work, instead obsessively sketching details from her dream she remembers because things were too familiar, too vivid to be just a dream. The next night begins much the same, except there’s a new character. A yellow rabbit. The dream ends with Vanessa sprinting to catch up to the yellow rabbit as he lures the final kid into the back room, but no matter how fast she runs, she can’t catch up. She wakes up to the sounds of children screaming still ringing in her ear.

Vanessa begins not showing up to work at all. Mike (unemployed), her only friend, shows up to her house with Abby in the backseat. He’s worried obviously since she hadn’t been answering any of his messages and he stopped by her work only to find out she hadn’t been showing up. Vanessa’s in rough condition. Disheveled, eyebags, dishes stacked up in the sink, and sketchbook papers crumpled up across the ground.

Vanessa thinks Mike won’t take her seriously because it’s absolutely insane to claim that there were murders that occurred at some secret old pizzeria by a man in a yellow rabbit costume and she knew that because she dreamt it.

But weirdly, Mike believes her. He asks if Vanessa wants to take a road trip to her old hometown and even offers to drive. Unfortunately she doesn’t remember where that is, so it’s a lost cause. Until they (including Abby) begin digging through all of Vanessa’s stuff in hopes of finding smth from her past only to find a very bare bones photo album (suspiciously empty, as if Vanessa had purposely disposed of many of the old photos because they were too painful to look back on). The magnum opus is a photograph of Vanessa’s 8th birthday at a very familiar pizzeria, labeled Freddy’s. On the bottom was scribbled an address.

The next day they set out with Abby in the backseat, singing to the radio and staring out the window, and Vanessa feeling the dread sink in. Mike noticed her spacing out and asks what’s wrong, with Vanessa responding that she couldn’t believe it took her this long to realize that she didn’t remember her childhood. She had faint flashes of memories but nothing concrete. She couldn’t even remember if she had friends, siblings, a mom. It’d always been just her and her dad. Vanessa asks him why he offered to do this with her. Mike’s response is that he’s no stranger to weird dreams and trying to change the past through them (Garrett).

The sun’s setting when they get there but sure enough, it’s Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, in all its abandoned glory. Vanessa is too shaken to move but Mike pressures her to join him in taking a peek. Abby is forced to stay in the car. Vanessa and Mike enter, trying the lights only they don’t work. Right when they’re about to turn tail, the whole pizzeria comes to life. The curtains pull back, the speakers blast 80s music, and the entire animatronic gang is on stage, jerking robotically in their horrific dance. Vanessa and Mike leave as fast as they entered, deciding it wasn’t safe and they’ll come back in the morning.

After a long, sleepless night in a local motel, Vanessa asks the owner if there was any kind of… murders that occurred around here only, to her surprise, for the motel owner to laugh and say duh. She’s surprised Vanessa didn’t know about the Missing Childrens Incident. After all, that’s all the town was really known for, even after all these years. Vanessa and Mike go back to Freddy’s. They take Abby with them but instruct her to stay in the car (she doesn’t listen). When they enter, to find, to their horror, that the animatronics aren’t on the stage anymore. Vanessa and Mike make their way through the back halls, getting to the security room and find the breaker box, turning it on and looking through all the barely working feeds only to see Abby, talking with something. She’s smiling and slowly walking towards that something. It takes a moment for Vanessa to realize she’s talking to Freddy. They sprint for the main stage to the sound of Abby screaming, hearts pounding, expecting the worst. Abby introduces the fazgang and Vanessa recognizes the names as her imaginary friends growing up. She comes to the conclusion that she came here growing up.

Hearing Vanessa’s name as Abby introduces her though, the animatronics have weird reactions. Some seem hostile, while others sad. Vanessa is taken aback. What had she done to make them act this way around her? She finds the wall of drawings. The one in the middle depicts the children from her dream. And one another little blonde girl. Her. And the yellow rabbit. Her conclusion is that she was supposed to also have been murdered in the MCI but managed to escape. Vanessa was supposed to have been the 6th missing child.

When they get back to the motel for the night, the motel owner makes a comment that makes Vanessa stop in her tracks.

“Yknow I always thought it was that handsome owner that did it.”

“Did it?”

“Killed those kids. Everyone always said Bill was too sweet of a guy to ever do something like that but it’s always the sweet looking guys people never suspect right?”

“Bill?”

“If you’re going to come around here asking about murders, at least do your research first. You’re embarrassing the locals. Yeah, William Afton. That’s the name and don’t forget it.”

“…yeah. I-I don’t think I will.”

Vanessa leaves the motel in the middle of the night. She goes to the pizzeria alone with a flashlight she stole from a 24 hour convenience store. She lingers alone the drawings again, reading names she vaguely remembered but couldn’t put a face to. Flashes of memories came coming back but they just caused more confusion. William Afton. William Afton. Her father. Her dead father who loved her. She thought harder. Her dead father who loved her… and she had no memory of how he died. She moved deeper into the pizzeria. Unbeknownst to her, the animatronics are following her, slowly encircling her and herding her further down the hallway funneling into the back rooms.

Who was William Afton? What did he do? How did he die? Did he love her? Is this love? Vanessa’s flashlight flickers and goes out. She hits it once, twice. It comes back on again, faintly. The beam of light illuminates the weathered head of an animatronic— no a springlock suit. The yellow rabbit. Vanessa held her breath. Then the eyes of the suit flickered on and the yellow rabbit jumped towards her, its gloved hand just barely missing her arm. Vanessa screams, running back into the hall only to notice the animatronics, their eyes now red, blocking the exits. She ends up locking herself into the security office, slowly unscrewing the screws of the vent to the sound of the power slowly draining and animatronics pounding on the door. She gets to the other side of the vent, escaping into the main room but being cut off from the entrance by the Yellow Rabbit, her dead father.

Behind him are Mike and Abby. Abby had noticed Vanessa was gone and the both of them convinced the motel owner to let them borrow her car because of an emergency. They’d come at a bad time however. And now they were being held hostage by the Yellow Rabbit.

His words are garbled but Vanessa can still make out what he’s saying. He repeats her name. Insults her like he did when she was a kid. Kicks her when she’s already down. He’s the one that turns the final key in her brain. She was never going to be the 6th victim of the MCI. She was the one who lured them back there in the first place. Because they were her friends. And they trusted her.

Vanessa yells back at first, finally letting out her anger and frustration. Finally (rightfully) blaming him for manipulating her into harming other people. For raising her wrong. For teaching her the wrong form of love: possession. There’s tears welling in her eyes as she stares up at her dad’s towering figure and suddenly she feels like a kid again. He grabs her by the neck and she struggles. He gives Vanessa one last chance to apologize for her insolence and her forgetting about him. She spits in his face instead and the entire pizzeria is silent as the sound of a blade tearing through skin fills the air. The Yellow Rabbit commands the animatronics to tear Mike and Abby to pieces in front of Vanessa, forcing her to watch as black fogs her vision. What he didn’t expect though, was for the animatronics to not obey him. Instead, they surround the Yellow Rabbit, looking towards Vanessa. She nods faintly and the animatronics each grab one of the Yellow Rabbits limbs, overpowering him. He yells and kicks and screams, becoming less and less coherent. Less human, more monster. A personification of agony. The animatronics begin to drag him to the back. Right before he’s dragged into the darkness, the Yellow Rabbit bellows as one of the animatronics rips off one of his limbs, showing the exposed human flesh underneath and leaving a trail of blood in his path.

Vanessa harnesses the last of her strength to get to Mike and Abby, her hands shaking too much to untie the knots so instead, because she’s thinking so clearly and assumes she’s going to die there anyways (in her head thinking, die where all the other kids died. die where i belong), she pulls the knife from her stomach and cuts the ropes bounding Mike and Abby before collapsing on the tiles.

She wakes up in the hospital with Mike and Abby beside her. Happy ending, my thumbs are tired. Abby highk did nothing this entire story, I just felt weird not having her. I did NOT realize how long this was, I just had such a distinct idea of how I wanted this to go. I applaud you for being one of like three people willing to read all of this.

[glasvera]

...Shame on Me

Loki x GN!Reader

Description: The final part, preceded by Fool Me Once... , ...Shame on You , and Fool Me Twice...

You've been sent on a covert mission to distract the God of Mischief himself long enough to foil his plans. Unfortunately, this task becomes much harder when your target proves incredibly disarming.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Angst, reader starts out bound in chains, forbidden love. Gender neutral reader, reader is an expert in covert operations and deception.

A/N: Yeah I uh... ouchie. My heart hurt writing this. Apologies if the ending is a bit abrupt, but I didn't know how to continue it further without branching it off into a good/bad ending sort of thing.

Word Count: 1.6k

“This could have been so much easier for you…”

You flash awake with a start, your head snapping around the room you find yourself in. It’s… Loki’s. You’re in Loki’s room, and evidently you’d been sleeping on his bed. A throbbing pain starts in your head, and you bring a hand up to hold it as you shield your eyes from the daylight filtering through his window, but the movement is accompanied by the rattling of chain links.

“What…?” You stare down at the metal cuff clasped about your wrist, following its chain all the way down to where it’s bolted into the floor. An experimental tug of your other hand confirms that  you’ve been restrained on both sides. Panic gnaws at the edges of your mind, but years of practice allows you to steel yourself against it, even if you can’t stop your hands from trembling slightly.

The click of heeled boots approaches from the hallway outside. Every muscle in your body tenses, but you know you need to stay calm. No sense in making your situation worse before you’ve been able to make a proper escape plan. As you expected, Loki appears from behind the door, clad in his full regalia, and he eyes you with disdain.

“Ah… the bird awakens in its gilded cage,” he notes idly as he removes his golden horned helm. He’s expecting a reaction, so instead you draw your lips into a thin line, denying him the satisfaction. That disappoints him greatly.

“I could have killed you, you know,” he remarks as he draws closer. His arms are tucked behind his back, and your eyes watch for any twitch of muscle in the event that he’s hiding some sort of weapon there.

You take the bait on his banter though, morbidly intrigued by this god’s intentions. “Why haven’t you, then? I thought you weren’t a coward,” you spit.

He curls his lip into a snarl before inhaling deeply and composing himself. Leaning forward, he harshly grips your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not,” he corrects you, his voice dripping with venom. “Besides, you are of more use to me alive than dead.”

You stare defiantly into those emerald eyes. He may be the master of lies and deception, but you detect a faint veneer of regret amidst the frustration that flares within him. Likely regret that he hadn’t chained you up sooner, you think. When he releases his hold, pushing your face to the side as he does so, your head spins with a myriad of emotions.

There is regret within you as well. Your defiance, your anger, is ignited by raw betrayal.

“Your friends have been detained,” he speaks suddenly, and you’re broken out of your thoughts as you feel dread crawling into your chest. He’s facing away from you now, his arms still clasped behind his back, and gazes out at Yggsgard from the window. Your mission, your whole reason for being here… had he seen through it all? As though he could read your mind, he tuts at you, eyeing you over his shoulder. “Really, did you think you could weasel your way into my palace so easily? You are lovely to look at, but clearly you’re not very bright.”

You have no response, hanging your head low and cursing yourself for not realizing it sooner. Not only had he seen through your every move--you were the very reason this mission had failed. You had let your guard down without realizing it.

“I… they’re still alive?” you finally ask.

Loki sighs, seemingly irritated by the question. “I am a trickster, not a murderer. I have no reason to kill them, so they live.” He explains it to you like it’s a concept that even a five year old should understand. It’s condescending, infuriating, and you grit your teeth to suppress every biting retort that bubbles in the back of your throat.

“We are still to be wed,” he states methodically, clearly ready to move on from the subject.

“And do your subjects know you have your spouse-to-be chained to your bed?”

To your surprise, he winces at that, turning to face you properly. “I had to take precautions. The illusion was slipping faster than I had anticipated. You seem to be too perceptive for your own good.”

You snort. “Comes with the job territory.”

A low, sinking feeling settles into the pit of your stomach as realization washes over you. You are to be wed. In your moment of clarity, you tried desperately to break free, to say no and get as far away from this dangerous man as possible while you had the chance. That wasn’t even the worst part. Had you been in your right mind, had you been with him longer under different circumstances… you very well may have said yes of your own accord. 

“It was all a lie…” you breathe softly, huffing a laugh at yourself. “I don’t know why I expected anything else. Illusions, trickery, false love…” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Loki’s eyes find the marble floors before he shuts them. “Love is not something I am allowed. And the heart is so easily toyed with.” Where there should be malice in his tone, you only hear bittersweet melancholy. 

At every turn, this man seeks to confuse you, to wrench your heart from your chest and stomp it down into the earth. And at every turn you’ve allowed him to fool you again and again. You hiss through your teeth, willing the tears not to fall. Shame knots in your gut, squeezing your organs like a vice, and your bottom lip trembles.

“You should have killed me,” you utter in a shaky whisper. Your hands ball into fists where they rest atop your knees. “If there is any kindness in you, you would kill me instead of subjecting me to this.”

“I… cannot,” he replies, unable to look at you.

It fills you with unbridled rage. Calming your emotions is long forgotten as your nails dig painfully into your palms and your knuckles go white. “Why not!? Is this all a part of your sick plan? Does marrying me give you leverage against--”

“I WON’T!” he bellows suddenly, baring his teeth when his face snaps towards you. It startles you to silence, and your eyes widen as you frown and your brow furrows. The tension slowly fades from his body, his shoulders slouched as he regards you with misty eyes. “I… I won’t. I can’t. Not you.”

No. This is another trick. Even if every fiber of your being begs for it to be real, you can’t allow him to snake his way into your heart again. It hurts, and you can’t stop the tears that fall, but you can stand up to it this time.

“You tell me you cannot love, and then you expect me to believe that you won’t kill me simply because you can’t bring yourself to?” you retaliate with disdain.

“You… you have every right,” he relents, and that does catch you off-guard. “In another life, perhaps I…” He cuts himself off, turning on his heel and walking away from the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the metal cuffs on your wrists unclasp, falling to the silken bed sheets as you stare down at your wrists in shock.

He was the most confusing man you’d ever met. Perhaps the most tragic as well. It should be pathetic to see him look so wounded, but you only have one question on your mind.

So, as he stalks off towards the door to leave, you launch yourself from the bed. He doesn’t move, simply stopping in his tracks as he continues to face away. You don’t have time to think about how odd that is or why he does it. No, you just need to know. Your hand finds his shoulder and spins him around to face you. You have to know. His eyes widen when your fingers cup his cheek gingerly. When you pull him in for a kiss, you can taste the lingering salt of his tears. 

But you had to know if it was real.

Any part of it. Illusions or no, your feelings still ran true even with a clear mind. Still, he had admitted that the heart was so easy to toy with.

So why did it sound like he was talking about himself?

Your answer comes with a sob, a broken breath whispered against your lips, as his hands rise to cradle the back of your head. The warmth of fresh tears dampens your palm. His fingers claw into the back of your scalp as his lips press deeper, needier, craving the warmth and safety of your kiss. Your arm wraps around his neck to keep him close, and you feel the tears falling down your own face.

This was forbidden. To stay with him was to be an accomplice to the atrocities he’s committed to secure his reign. Even if this mission had failed, you knew he had to be thwarted, and you knew you had to be a part of it. When your lips part and your eyes meet his, you can see that same conflict brewing behind verdant green irises. Your fingertips run soothingly along his cheekbone, and his eyes flutter closed as he swallows back another sob.

“You have to leave,” he finally whispers, the words torturous upon his lips when his eyelids flicker open. His forehead presses against yours, and his hands come to rest gingerly on either side of your face. “I cannot bring myself to cage you.”

“Tomorrow, then,” you murmur with a bittersweet smile. “I would stay with you tonight, at least.”

[ride-em-cowboy]

The Doctor, The Pilot and The Little Girl

Bradley’s little girl is sick and what should have been a routine doctor’s appointment might just change the both of their lives.

“I don’t want to go papa,” the little girl said as she squirmed in his arms, not wanting to go into the large building.

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’re sick,” Bradley tried to calm her as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. Her little head came to rest in the crook of her neck and he could feel the heat radiating off her.

“‘M not sick-” she began, but was cut off by a fit of small coughs racking her tiny body.

“Mmhmm, not getting out of it that easy baby girl,” he chuckled softly, holding her just a little bit tighter as he felt her tears begin to soak through the collar of his t-shirt.

“After this, we can go to the store and you can pick any toy you want, deal?”

A small whine left her throat. Usually she’d jump at the idea of a new toy.

Bradley walked up to the reception desk, still holding his daughter who had refused to pick up her head that was still buried between her teddy bear and her dad’s neck. The inside of the building was a lot more inviting then the outside, with a colourful corner for the children Lucy would usually be rushing to play with or pointing out and naming all of the animals painted onto the walls.

“Hi, my daughter has got an appointment with Doctor Jamie.”

The receptionist looked between the pair with a smile as she got a look at how pale and sad the small girl in his arms looked, “Sure thing, can I get her name?”

“Lucy. Lucy Carole Bradshaw,” he replied.

The receptionist typed away at her computer before she frowned. “Unfortunately her usual doctor is out on maternity leave, but we have an amazing paediatrician filling in for her. Doctor Jake will take great care of her,” the receptionist said with a smile, “take a seat and a nurse will be right out with you.”

“Nooo,” Lucy squirmed tiredly in her dads arms as he sat down in the waiting area. She wasn’t a stranger to coming to the doctors, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

”I know princess,” he soothed her the only way he knew how, smoothing back her hair and peppering light kisses on her forehead.

He hated having to drag her to the clinic but with her medical history, he couldn’t change it. Lucy had been born premature and been in and out of hospital growing up for various complications and check ups, so whenever she even had as much of a sniffle his protective instincts would kick in.

They didn’t have to wait long before a man with dirty blonde hair and wide wire rimmed glasses came out into the waiting room. He wore bright coloured scrubs and a name tag shaped like a bear with ‘Nurse Bob’ stamped across it. He knew Lucy, had helped treat her many times.

He walked over, slowly kneeling down in front of where she sat cuddled in Bradley’s arms, one arm around her bear and the other clutching to his shirt. “Hey Lucy, remember me? Somebody told me you’re not feeling too well.”

She sniffed, wiping her tears on the back of her hand before nodding.

“Well, how about we get you feeling better and guess what?” He said, whispering to her as if to make sure no one else could get in on the secret.

“What?” She croaked quietly.

“I’ve refilled my sticker drawer since your last visit and I think I have a few you and Mr Bear might like.” The bear she carried around with her had been one from the many hospital trips growing up, the cream bear with the little pastel outfit had been with her through countless check ups and procedures.

Despite the temptation of the stickers, Lucy made no effort to move, completely exhausted and cuddled in Bradley’s arms. Bradley rose to his feet, clutching his little girl as he followed Bob to one of the many exam rooms lining the hallway. Bob took a seat on a wheely stool and gestured for Bradley to sit up on the exam table with Lucy. “So, Lucy Lu. What brings my favourite patient back?”

She hid further into Bradley’s neck causing him to sigh. He looked exhausted himself, dark circles under his eyes, stubble starting to form where he hadn’t shaved for a few days. “She’s been running a fever since yesterday morning, can’t bring it down with tylenol or cool baths. With her history, I thought it best to bring her in.”

Bob nodded in agreement, “you did the right thing.”

“Okay, Miss Lucy. Why don’t we start with letting me take your temperature? Can we do that?”

She nodded, and allowed Bob to put the thermometer in her ear and wait until it beeped. Bob frowned at the reading, noting it down on her chart. “Definitely still running a fever.”

He ran through a few more questions as he set up the next piece of equipment, asking when her last dose of medicine was and if Bradley had noticed any rashes or anything else out of the ordinary for her. “

“Just the fever and the cough, she was complaining her throat was sore too but won’t let me near to get a good look. Spent half the night cuddled to my chest last night, the only thing I could do to get her settled.

“Lucy, can I clip my special laser on your finger? Like we usually do so we can show the doctor how good your numbers are?” Bob asked.

Bradley loved the way Nurse Bob was with her, he had such a way with kids and always explained things at their level and gave them the choice. She held out her little hand, letting him clip a pulse oximeter on her finger. Both him and Bradley watched the monitor closely. Being a dad of a sick baby meant you picked up a lot about the medical world.

“Her pulse ox is a little low and her heart rate is a little fast, but with the fever it's not unusual. I’m going to write this down and then go and grab Doctor Jake to take a look. But first, I think you did such a good job that you and Mr bear both deserve some stickers,” Bob said as he turned to his sticker drawer and pulled out a shiny blue box filled to the brim.

He set the box next to her, pulling out a few he thought she might like, “I’ve got some princess stickers, doc mcstuffins and my personal favourite, strawberry scented ones.”

She moved her hand slowly, pointing towards the strawberry scented ones, letting Bob hand her a few.

“And we can’t forget Mr Bear, can we?”

Lucy let out a tiny smile, the first one Bob had managed to pry from her that morning. He’d definitely be noting that down as a win. With Mr Bear covered in a few Doc Mcstuffins stickers and Lucy quietly sniffing the strawberry scent of the stickers, Bob left the room to go and grab Doctor Jake.

Bradley shifted her in his arms, letting her show him all the stickers doctor Bob let her pick out, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pushing the sweaty curls from her forehead. Lucy didn’t always do well with new doctors and despite reassurances from Nurse Bob and the receptionist, it still didn’t ease his nerves having someone new looking after his baby girl.

He didn’t have long to think about it before there was a knock on the door. Bradley didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe an older and wiser man, salt and pepper beard - been in the business for a while and was great with kids. What he didn’t expect was the tall, broad shouldered and blond-haired doctor who walked into the room. He was good-looking, there was no denying that. He grabbed the wheelie chair that Bob had not long occupied and rolled into position in front of the pair.

“Hi, my name's Doctor Jake,” he held out a hand for Bradley as he introduced himself. Bradley took his hand and adjusted Lucy who once again had buried herself in the crook of his neck, hiding from the new stranger in the room. Bradley watched as his kind green eyes moved to the little girl in his arms and tilted his head to get a better look at her.

“And you must be Miss Lucy? A little bird told me that you’ve not been feeling too good, huh? Can you tell me about that?”

“‘M not sick,” she mumbled.

He’d already got the low down from Bob and checked over her initial vitals. He had read her chart and noted her history; premature, spent time in and out of hospital in the NICU and had heart surgery for a small hole in her heart from being born so soon.

“Hmm, well. I guess you wouldn’t mind letting me check you over so we can prove your daddy here wrong.”

She shuffled a bit to get a better look at the stranger. He was at her level, wearing a kind smile as he looked her over. Despite watching him, she still stayed clutched in her dads arms, not looking like she was going to be moving any time soon. He noticed the bear clutched in her arms, the standard ones they give to pediatric patients when they’re in hospital and decided to change tactics.

“Who’ve we got here?”

“It’s my bear,” she croaked.

“Does he have a name?” Jake asked.

“Mr Bear”

“That’s a great name! And you’ve already got stickers from nurse Bob! I can’t say I’ve got as good a sticker collection as his but there might be some super special ones nurse Bob doesn’t have that we can put on Mr Bear.”

This definitely got her attention. “Can I have one now?”

Jake let out a chuckle. He knew this game, knew she’d end up with a shirt full of stickers and he’d still have an exam to complete.

“I’ve got to get a look at you first. Nurse Bob tells me you’ve got a bit of a fever and if you are feeling yucky it’s important you tell me so we can get you feeling better. Then we can have a look at the stickers and if you’re good, you can have three whole stickers!”

“Promise?”

He held out his pinky and curled his much larger finger around her tiny delicate finger, shaking it lightly, “pinky promise.”

Bradley shifted her around better so her back was against his chest, still holding her protectively.

Jake grabbed a pen torch from his pocket, “is it okay if I take a look at your throat first?”

She hesitated for a moment before letting him, it was red and raw as expected.

He continued on with his exam, taking the stethoscope from around his neck he noticed the faint pink scar in the centre of her chest. “Do you know what this is, Lucy?”

She nodded, “a stethoscope,” not quite getting the pronunciation right.

Jake chucked softly at the way she said the word, “that’s right! Do you mind if I take a listen to see how strong your heart is?”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. He checked her too quick beating heart and the way her breathing rattled slightly.

“Looks like you’ve got a case of the flu, Miss Lucy,” he said, speaking to her first before turning her attention to her dad. “Her lungs sound a bit congested but it doesn’t sound like we’ve hit pneumonia yet and there’s no new heart murmurs. We’ll get a couple of viral swabs just in case but I think we’re good to continue with Tylenol, fluids and rest. I can prescribe something to help her feel a little more comfortable and obviously if her fever spikes again or you’re worried you can always bring her back and we’ll take another look.”

“I know I’m probably overreacting but every cough or fever…” he paused, his mind wandering slightly before he continued, “just sends me back to nights in the hospital, alarms beeping, doctors and nurses rushing around and her tiny little body more wires and tubes than baby.”

Jake placed a comforting hand on his elbow, meeting his gaze. “You did the right thing, it’s always best to err on the side of caution especially with her history.”

“Thanks doc.”

“Now, Miss Lucy. As promised,” Jake spoke as he turned around in his chair and unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk pulling out another small box with his stash of stickers. He placed them on the exam table beside her, pulling out the sheets and spreading them out. “I’ve got princesses, special Dr Jake stickers, planes, because I’m a plane guy myself.”

“Can papa have one of mine?” She asked so innocently. Jake nodded as she pointed to the plane stickers, “he needs a plane sticker, because he flies planes!”

“He does, does he?” Jake asked as he glanced at Bradley who was most definitely blushing. “You’re a pilot?”

“I-uh, I’m a naval aviator.”

Jake smiled at that, “that’s pretty cool, you must be proud of your daddy, huh Lucy?” He continued choosing stickers for her and Mr Bear, helping her stick them on her shirt and her bear for her. She stuck the plane sticker to her dad’s shirt, cuddling into his side now the excitement had turned into exhaustion again.

Bradley picked her up easily, holding out his spare hand to shake to doctors before he headed out of the door. “If you need anything, just give us a call and I can see her again. I’d like to see her again in a week's time just to be sure she hasn’t gotten any worse. I’ll get that all sent through for you.”

Jake watched as Bradley held the small girl close to his chest, smoothing back her hair and placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, whispering something he couldn’t quite make out. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was secretly looking forward to running into the pair again the following week. Whoever her mother was, was a very lucky woman to have a man like him in her life.

“Alright, come on sweet girl. Let’s get you your medicine and get you home. I’ll call Auntie Nat and tell her I won’t be coming in today.”

Taglist: @robertsfloyd

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Private Lessons

Rating: Teen and up Audiences

Warning: party theme...

Paring: Chris Sturniolo x !dancer reader

Fandom: Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: being a dancer has it's perks...

Credits to @muwapsturniolo and our dancing convo!

Madison always threw the best parties. She had this way of making everyone feel like a VIP, even if it was just a random Friday night at her house.

The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the energy in the room was electric. As one of her backup dancers, I was used to letting loose when we weren’t on stage. So when Sexyy Redd’s “SkeeYee” blasted through the speakers, my body moved instinctively.

I danced with the girls at first, laughing as we hyped each other up, our movements sharp and effortless from muscle memory. But then—just as I dropped low, rolling my hips to the beat—I felt someone behind me.

Chris.

I didn’t have to turn around to know. I could feel his presence, the way his hands hovered just close enough to make my skin tingle. He matched my movements seamlessly, his chest almost brushing my back.

Okay, so he could dance.

I smirked, pressing back just enough to test him.

Chris didn’t back down. Instead, his lips brushed my ear, voice low and teasing.

"Damn… I might need some private lessons."

I bit my lip, glancing over my shoulder. His expression was unreadable, but those blue eyes held something dangerous.

"Think you can keep up?" I shot back.

Chris just grinned. "Guess I’ll have to find out."

I nearly forgot about it. People say things at parties all the time. I didn’t expect him to follow through.

But then I checked my work schedule, and there it was:

New Private Lesson Booking: Chris Sturniolo.

This man actually signed up for a private dance lesson.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I texted Madison.

Me: "Your boy's brother really just booked a private dance lesson. What do I even do with him??"

Madison: "LMAO don’t play, he’s lowkey smooth. Have fun with that 😭"

I wasn’t gonna lie—I was intrigued.

Chris showed up wearing sweats, a loose hoodie, and that cocky little smirk that made my job a thousand times harder.

"You came prepared," I teased, arms crossed.

"Of course." He leaned against the mirror, tilting his head. "Gotta impress my instructor, right?"

I rolled my eyes, motioning for him to stand in front of me. "Alright, let’s see what we’re working with."

Chris mirrored my stance, waiting for direction. I stepped closer, placing my hands on his shoulders to adjust him.

"Relax," I murmured.

"You’re tellin’ me to relax?" He chuckled, shifting his weight. "Kinda hard when you’re all up in my space like this."

I smirked. "You did ask for private lessons."

"Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be this hands-on." His voice dropped slightly, teasing, but there was an edge to it.

I raised a brow. "You scared, Sturniolo?"

Chris scoffed. "Nah. Just wondering how long it’ll take before you admit you like me touching you."

Oh.

My stomach flipped, but I refused to let him win that easily.

"Focus," I said, stepping back before he could see the effect he had on me. "We’re starting with basics."

For the next hour, I walked him through body rolls, footwork, and rhythm control. He wasn’t bad—actually, he picked things up pretty fast.

Every now and then, though, he’d find a way to get under my skin.

"Am I doing this right?" he asked at one point, purposefully messing up just so I’d correct him.

I sighed, stepping behind him. "No, your stance is too stiff. Here—" I placed my hands on his waist, guiding his movements.

Chris turned his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "You sure you’re not just using this as an excuse to touch me?"

I huffed a laugh. "You’re so annoying."

"You love it."

I didn’t answer.

Because, unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

Chris stretched his arms, rolling out his shoulders. "Not bad for a first-timer, huh?"

"You did alright," I admitted, trying to sound unimpressed.

He smirked. "You gonna reward me for my hard work?"

I raised a brow. "And what exactly do you want as a reward?"

Chris stepped closer, tilting his head. "Dunno. Maybe another dance?" His voice dropped. "Or… you could just admit you like having me around."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "If I admit it, will you shut up?"

"Probably not," he said, grinning. "But I’d love to hear you say it anyway."

I sighed, crossing my arms. "Fine. You’re not the worst student I’ve ever had."

Chris clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. So heartfelt."

"Take it or leave it, Sturniolo."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I’m taking it. But don’t worry, instructor—this isn’t the last time you’ll see me."

Something told me he was right.

And for some reason… I didn’t mind one bit.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[serenelystrange]

5. Laughing during sex. Buddie

Thank you for playing! Please enjoy this absolute silliness. Rated E.

Like a Horny Radioactive Spider

Eddie tries to hold still, he really does. Buck’s above him, still warm and pink from their shared shower, trailing heated kisses down his neck and across his chest, aiming lower with every moment. Eddie squirms beneath him again as Buck bites along his hip before nosing in between the legs he spreads, a big hand gripping each of Eddie’s thighs in place.

Eddie hisses as Buck swallows him down, hot and slick and so fucking good that Eddie can almost ignore the little problem he’s trying to hide. Buck throat constricts around the head of Eddie’s cock as the saliva pools and he swallows reflexively, and Eddie’s next hiss of discomfort turns into a broken moan that has Buck looking up at him with mischievous eyes. He just knows he’d be smirking if his mouth wasn’t currently otherwise occupied. With a look of determination, Buck presses forward until Eddie is as deep in his throat as possible, his chin bumping against Eddie’s balls as he curls his tongue around his cock like it’s made of candy.

“Shit,” Eddie flinches as Buck brushes against the sensitive skin of his balls, and curses to himself when Buck immediately stills.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Eddie says, reaching down to run his hand through Buck’s damp curls soothingly. “Sorry, baby, you’re doing so good.”

Buck flutters his eyes closed at that, breathing in oxygen and the scent of Eddie through his nose, humming appreciatively. Eddie twitches in his mouth, and Buck does it again, longer this time. Eddie thinks he must be humming some pop song, but the tune escapes him at the moment.

“So good,” Eddie whimpers, gripping Buck’s hair with one hand and just holding on, his other moving to claw at Buck’s shoulder with blunt nails.

With a happy sigh, Buck goes lax at the praise, leaning his head against Eddie’s thigh the way he has a hundred times before. Unfortunately, the movement brushes his scruffy beard against Eddie’s balls again, and this time he can’t hide the bodily flinch, or pass the hiss off as a moan.

Buck blinks his eyes open with concern, pulling off of Eddie carefully and sitting up into a kneeling position between Eddie’s legs. He looks wrecked already, chest red and heaving and lips swollen and slick with spit and cum, and Eddie has never hated his own body’s stupid sensitivity more.

“What’s wrong?” Buck rasps, trailing his hands soothingly up and down Eddie’s thighs.

“Nothing,” Eddie tries, determined to power through until they both get off. “Getting tired already?” he asks in a teasing tone that Buck sees right through.

“You flinched,” Buck says, raising that sarcastic and unfortunately sexy eyebrow of his. “Are you hiding an injury? We promised we wouldn’t do that anymore.”

He scans Eddie with his eyes, trying to locate any new marks or bruises, and frowns in confusion when he finds nothing.

Eddie sighs, giving in, and reaches out a hand to Buck to help him sit up. He feels more than a little ridiculous sitting criss-cross-applesauce with a raging erection, but it still feels less vulnerable than lying down.

“I’m not hurt,” Eddie assures him. “I’m just…ticklish.”

Buck furrows his brow, confused. “Since when?” he asks. “We do this like all the time.”

Eddie blushes, embarrassed, but meets Buck’s eyes anyway.

“Not after a week off from work,” he explains, reaching out to cup Buck’s fuzzy face with one hand. “You’ve never grown your beard out this long with me.”

‘Oh,” Buck says, clearly relieved that it’s nothing serious. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” Eddie admits. “Sorry,” he adds belatedly.

Buck rolls his eyes good-naturedly, playing with Eddie’s hand that’s still held between both of his own.

“Don’t apologize for being ticklish, you weirdo,” he laughs playfully. “You could have just told me. I would’ve shaved.”

Eddie mumbles in response, ducking his head just enough that Buck can’t catch what he says.

“What was that?” Buck asks, leaning down to rub his scruffy face against Eddie cheek. “You weren’t complaining when I was kissing you, you know.”

“It doesn’t tickle until like here,” Eddie huffs, running his free hand across his collarbone in demonstration.

“Noted,” Buck says, smirking slightly. “So if I just…” he trails, pushing Eddie’s chest until he lies back down and untangles his legs so that Buck can slot between them. “Rub you here, you’ll…”

Eddie dissolves into giggles as Buck’s scruffy beard trails along his chest, uncontrolled and squeaky as Buck drags his cheek down Eddie’s belly.

“Buck,” Eddie whines as his stomach starts to clench painfully, “it’s too much.”

“Sorry,” Buck whispers, pressing a kiss right below Eddie’s bellybutton before pulling away again. “I’ll shave tomorrow.”

Eddie groans before he can help himself, and laughs again as Buck gives him an incredulous look.

“What is your damage, man?” Buck laughs. “You just told me the beard was a problem!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees sadly. “But also, you look so fucking hot with it.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks, grinning with satisfied delight.

“My dick and I are at war,” Eddie says with a straight face, his amusement only betrayed by the slight twitching of his lips.

Buck laughs again, shaking his head as he flops down next to Eddie and lies on his side, pressing up against the entire length of him.

“Can’t have the beard at work anyway,” Buck says, before wrapping a hand around Eddie’s flagging cock and jerking him slow and snug back to full attention. “Guess we’ll go old school until then.”

“Mmm,” Eddie agrees, arching up into the hold, moaning as Buck takes the opportunity to sink his teeth into his throat, his beard rubbing just right under Eddie’s jaw.

“I do love the classics,” Eddie laughs when Buck releases his throat and laves over the mark he’s left.

“I have seen your CD collection,” Buck snorts, teasing him even as he moves his fist faster. “Old man.”

“You’re literally older than me,” Eddie argues, words trailing off into a moan as Buck rolls his palm over the head of his cock and pushes against his frenulum.  

“Only according to the linear passage of time,” Buck teases, leaning in for a sweet kiss that contrasts filthily with the slick sounds of his movements.

“You’re such an idiot,” Eddie laughs, coming all over Buck’s hand and his own chest.

“Yeah, well, you chose this idiot,” Buck snarks back, dragging his hand through the mess on Eddie’s chest before taking himself in hand.

“Best decision of my life,” Eddie says, dick twitching as he watches Buck jerk himself off roughly with his come. “I was gonna suck you off, you know.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Buck says, hissing in pleasure-pain as he approaches oversensitivity but refusing to stop. “And you’re such a pretty canvas.”

“Paint me up,” Eddie teases, laughing at the corny words even as Buck moans and does just that, soaking Eddie’s chest hair with his release.

“Fuck, Eds,” Buck breathes out, melting into the bed and resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “How is it always so good?”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, determined to enjoy having Buck wrapped up in his arms for as long as he can manage before needing to get cleaned up.

“Maybe we both got bit by a really horny radioactive spider,” he muses. “We should probably do a blood test or something.”

“You think there’s Spider-Man porn out there?” Buck asks, rolling with it.

“Probably,” Eddie laughs. “Oh, maybe our star charts align just right or something. Cosmic matchmakers.”

“You don’t believe in all that,” Buck laughs. “I know you gave Ravi all the wrong information on purpose, by the way. I gave him your real stuff.”

“Ruin my fun, why don’t you,” Eddie huffs. “Brat.”

“Yup,” Buck says, beaming without even an ounce of regret.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, before pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead. “Or maybe it’s so good just because it’s us.”

“That’s not very exciting,” Buck says. “Horny radioactive spider is much cooler.”

“True,” Eddie allows. “But I like it the best.”

Buck hums in agreement, curling himself even further around Eddie, tangling their legs together and breathing the mixed scent of them in.

“Me, too.”

The End

[natsuki208]

Mikasa Ackerman! Strongest Girl With That One Flaw

Today is that day when I can express once more of how much of a Mikasa defender I am! But despite all the good, I will acknowledge the major flaw that caused many to dislike her as well, and unfortunate ruined her character going onward.

(Plz, I don’t wanna see any of you haters here for this girl on her special day, thank you)

-

We all know of Mikasa’s strengths; figuratively and literally. She’s known as one of the manga/anime’s strongest fighters, due to her Ackerman blood and what she had to go through as a child. It was because of both her power and compassion is how she managed to save citizens of Trost to escape the city in S1. She showed signs of a dependable soldier.

One other noticeable side of her character that got explored a lot more within the story was her connection with Eren, and that divided a lot of the fans as the series went on. On one hand, it reflects back to when Eren saved her from being sold for profit and how much his kindness meant to her, but on the other hand, it slowly started to isolate her from other important aspects needed to keep her interesting.

But it wasn’t all that bad; to me that is. There have been times when Mikasa showed worry for her other closest friend Armin, protecting him and comforting him during hard times, swung in to save Historia and Sasha from titans, checked on Connie by asking if he’s okay, and even was concerned about Levi’s ankle.

So yeah. Mikasa grew connections with almost everyone around her, opening up to have more friends within her small circle since her childhood, however, her feelings for Eren started to overlap those friendships. Not that it is a bad thing, I love how the two grew closer as the series went on but it really shouldn’t be the only important part of her development. A healthy mixture of all her traits would’ve made a better experience.

Sadly, the concept of her undying love for Eren gets heavily exaggerated in the dreaded fourth season.

By that I mean for most of her screentime she spend worrying about Eren and only him. Sure there was… Sasha, but it didn’t really last for very long. In fact, she didn’t really speak much to anyone other than Armin afterwards, and I thought she’d be more open to help them out with their own struggles.

In fact, her love for Eren seemed to have made her more fragile to his own thoughts as well, like when he spoke his mind and pretended to admit he hated her, she got over emotional.

(this is the same girl who didn’t hesitate to punch him in the face when he went too far)

But at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter since she managed to save the world by killing Eren with her own hands but still has him at the front of her mind years later. Yes, it can be hard to move on but at least show some scenes of her bonding with her other friends, even leaving Armin in the dust.

-

Anyway, happy birthday, you poor girl. You deserved much better. Not as in Eren, but as in better writing to expand your character. I had a lot more to say but I don’t wanna make this too long. Maybe I’ll update this later on.

[ephie-om]

Barbatos' Job

CW: Violence

Barbatos plucks at each fingertip of his pristine white gloves, tugging them off bit by bit and placing them precisely in the center of the small table to his right, along with his small silver cufflinks. His footsteps, though light, echo down the stairs. He walks calmly, no sense of urgency in his movements. The candles flickering from their sconces lend him an eerie, almost ethereal aura as his features are bathed in the warm light bouncing off the bare stones. His feet stop just before the chair in the center of the room, and his horns clatter softly as he looks down at the face of the demon tied and gagged before him.

Swollen lips, still oozing blood slowly from one of the deeper cuts, saliva spilling over onto their chin. One nostril, clogged with mucus and blood, and the other flaring as the demon struggles to breathe. Matted hair with chunks ripped out, exposing bare scalp slowly scabbing over. Eye sockets, slowly starting to color with bruised purples and blues.  Eyes, almost entirely bloodshot, gray irises, terrified. 

Barbatos is reminded of a human idiom he once heard, “The eyes are the window to the soul”. He bends slightly to peer into their eyes for a long moment, trying to decide what their soul must look like, and their body starts to shake with fear. Tears well up in their eyes, but they don't dare to move. Not even when the tears spill over their eyelids and soak into open wounds, making their muscles twitch erratically as the pain lances through their face. 

Barbatos finally straightens, finding nothing of worth in their eyes. His long, pale fingers flip the cuff of his shirtsleeve over onto the sleeve twice, rolling it so that most of his forearm is exposed. He mirrors the action on his other arm slowly, methodically. The cool underground air swishes around his bare arms as he lowers them.

“I assume you know why you were brought here,” he says calmly. The demon stares back at him, petrified. “A simple nod yes or no will suffice.” Their head bobs up and down once, eyes still locked on him. “Good. I will not waste any time in explaining, then.” 

His arm moves from the shoulder faster than the demon’s eyes can track, delivering a backhanded blow across their face with a crack. They cry out in pain, head snapping to the side. “According to your records, you have been a documented Devildom citizen for over four hundred years,” he continues, putting a slight emphasis on the last two words. “One would think that as a consequence, you would have a basic level of understanding of the society in which you live. Unfortunately, it seems as though you have deliberately chosen to ignore every reminder of your Prince’s position.” He delivers another strike to the space just below the demon’s ribs, knocking the breath out of them, and he allows himself a moment to relish the sight of the demon hunched over as far as their bonds allow, unable to fill their lungs. 

“I should not have to reiterate that treason is punishable by death. Speaking about your Prince with the intent to form a plan to harm him falls under the definition of treason. Do you understand me?” The demon raises their head just enough to give him another nod. Barbatos’ eyes trace their cowering form with displeasure, and with a wave of his hand, the ropes binding them tighten, pulling them upright. Mucus streams from their face as they fight for breath against the ropes pressing against their lungs, and Barbatos can smell their blood roiling in their veins, driven on by the adrenaline dumping into their arteries. 

He walks behind the chair, past their field of vision, and picks up a flat metal spike, impossibly sharp, about the length of his forearm. “My job as the Prince’s butler goes far beyond that of a typical servant.” He steps around the chair into their view again, and watches as their eyes go wide. Barbatos trails his fingertips lightly down the front of the demon’s upper chest until he finds the small notch he’s looking for, right where the sternum joins into itself. He places the tip of the spike there, parallel to the floor, no pressure behind it. “I draw his baths, curate his teacups, and coordinate the color of his bedsheets.” 

The putrid smell of ammonia wafts up to his nose, and he glances down to find a slowly growing puddle on the chair. The demon squirms in their own mess, trying to get away from him. He looks up to meet their eyes again. “He also trusts me to… solve other problems. The distasteful situations that the Prince’s status is too high to touch.” Barbatos leans in close and starts to push. The spike pierces the skin slowly, millimeter by millimeter, and they scream through the gag, their head hitting the back of the chair with a thunk. “But make no mistake,” Barbatos murmurs, his voice tickling their face. The spike inches further, through the thin layers of muscle and hitting bone. Only a bit more pressure, and starts to cleave the bone in half just where the small strands of cartilage connect. It makes a metallic grating noise, one that vibrates through the demon’s skeleton. “I love my job.” 

With one calculated push, the spike drives deep into their body, splitting apart muscles and organs with ease. The demon screams, convulsing in their chair violently. Barbatos keeps pushing until he feels the spike pierce the wood in the back of the chair. He steps away, admiring his work. Watching the demon thrash around reminds him of an insect pinned to a board, struggling through its last breaths. Their muffled screams echo around the empty walls, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the symphony of his own creation.

[dasketcherz]

Cressieverse was such a good era ! It certainly had a big impact on my life back then and I will always miss it so dearly

Wish it could come back 😔

aw thats really sweet anon! It's really an honor to be a part of something that reached and sparked other people like you. I will always be grateful for the appreciation you guys showed for that silly lil fun project !

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent things and such~

[donaviolet]

Friendship is the most special thing in the world because no award could be give me bigger happiness than jumping around in my room and smiling because my pookie asked me if I wanted to match pfps

[sysig]

Coming in to play! (Patreon)