#yes the name of the fic did change no youre not hallucinating

[nix-nihili]

half-dead charles meeting ghost ballet dancer edwin anyone?

Because when he catches sight of his face, of the slope of his nose and the furrow of his brow and the eyelids that flutter open and shut with each note, each step, each planned move as if he’s done this hundreds of times before, Charles thinks he could stay here and watch this forever. Then, the ballerina – or is it ballerino? He vaguely recalls the right term – smiles, bright and burning, filled with so much warmth that Charles forgets about the cold wracking his body and the headache thumping behind his temple.

He must've gasped, or his breath must've stuttered, because as soon as the smile flits across the dancer’s face, it’s gone, slipping away. The music goes silent and the boy on stage stills, a deer caught in headlights and ready to buck away into the forest that lies beyond the closing curtains.

or

Charles finds solace in what seems to be an empty theatre after a difficult night. Turns out the theatre isn't as empty as he thinks.

(many thanks to @featherandstorm for telling me bout the ghost light <3)

[mooooonnnzz]

okay,,,, hear me out,,,, how being ford's and stan's younger sibling and maybe like- remember when ford asked stanley to take the book and sail away? maybe what if ford asked reader to do that instead? and what if instead of ford being pushed into the portal it was reader? idk man i justn want some sibling angst >:]

World/Insured

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

᧔o᧓ i told myself it was gonna be a short lil fic

᧔o᧓ its 3k words guh

᧔o᧓ i had a lil too much fun writing this

᧔o᧓ if i made a taglist, would anyone be interested in being in it? if so, dm me or comment :p

᧔o᧓ angst!!

᧔o᧓ gnreader!

᧔o᧓ thats really all, enjoy!

᧔o᧓ request r open!!

𝜗℘ “[Name]! There’s some mail, can you be a doll and get it for me?” Stan shouts from the living room, a loud cheer following right after. His favorite football team of his was currently playing out of state and by the obnoxiously loud whistling and joyful cries, they seem to be doing good. Moodily stomping your foot on the ground, you yell; “Why don’t you get you slob!” while furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes clean. “But it’s sooo farr.” He whines. You could perfectly imagine his hand lazily reaching towards the door, exaggerated groans leaving his lips. Letting out an annoyed groan, you drop the plate down in the sink and shut off the sink. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, you point an angry finger at him. “You’re washing the dishes since you’re being a lazy bum right now.” You walk away, ignoring his protests against washing the dishes. Opening the door, you pop your head out and see a single postcard placed on the floor matt. You picked it up, curious about the unfamiliar postcard. “Gravity Falls?” You read out, closing the door with your foot. You’ve never heard of a place called that before? Flipping it on its back, in bold big letters read ‘Please come! - Ford’ Your heart catches in your throat. You had to reread the message again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

𝜗℘ “Stan!” You need to show Stan this. He’d be the one to make sense of this all. Maybe you were imagining things, so delirious on the sadness of your distant brother your brain chose to cheer itself up by hallucinating postcards by Ford. That sounds plausible, right? “What’s up? Did you change your mind?” You don’t bother responding and shoved the postcard in his face. His face scrunches in confusion as he plucks the postcard from your hand. “Gravity Falls?” The same lost expression was pulled on his face. “Now, flip it on its back!” You said, tapping the card eagerly. Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, slapping your hand away. “I will! If you’d let me.” He grumbled, turning it around. He reads the text, his eyes slowly widening. “FORD?!” He screams, abruptly standing up from the sofa. “He wants to talk to us now?” He glares at the postcard, anger swirling in his body. “What could he possibly want!”

𝜗℘ “I dunno but it sounds urgent.” You said, uncertainty in your tone. “You’re seriously considering seeing him?” He throws the postcard on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this something you really want to do?” Stan asks you, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s eyeing you carefully as if you have no idea what you’re talking about. “Yes, Stan! This is our brother. We need to go see him.” Stan pinched his nose, grumbling under his breath. “Fine,” He rolls his shoulders. “If we want to leave now, we better start packing.”

𝜗℘ While packing you wondered what Ford would have wanted. Did he want to reunite? Is this a sort of wedding invitation? Has he gone mad? So many scenarios filled your head and yet none of them felt right. Stuffing your clothes in your bag, you zip it close. “I’m done packing!” You announce, walking down the stairs. “Hurry, Stan! Or I’m going to leave without you!”

𝜗℘ “You better not!” Stan came rushing down the stairs, a bag strung across his body. “You ready?” You ask him, turning off the lights in the hallway. “I guess,” Stan shrugs, twisting the knob to the door, pulling it open. “After you.” He bows down to the floor. You kneed his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You look ridiculous, get up.” You laugh.

𝜗℘ The car ride over to Gravity Falls was full of bostrious conversation from you and Stan. “Do you think he has a beard now?” Stan gasps, a grin pulling to his face at the thought of Ford with a beard. “Or a buzz?” You add, moving your head to the beats of the song that faintly played on the radio. “Nah, he would never.” Stan shakes his head. “The chances are never zero!”

𝜗℘ Checking the weather for probable storms was something you should’ve done beforehand. Stan was the first to notice how much snow had been falling and how roughly the wind slammed against the car. Thinking nothing of it, you continued onwards, telling Stan that he was probably making a big deal. He wasn’t. Nearing Gravity Falls, a snowstorm plowed through the small town and unknown to you and Stan, you got caught in it. That led you to pull over onto the side of the road that was practically just a white forest wonderland. “And who’s fault is this?” Stan asked sarcastically, motioning towards the car that was stuck in the snow. Fortunately for you and Stan, you were right where you needed to be. “Whatever, we’re close anyway.” You scowl, treading through the thick snow. “I think I might get blown away!” Stan’s loud voice pierced through the loud wind. “Stop being so dramatic!” You latched your hands around Stan’s wrist. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” Stan said, covering his face from the snow with his forearm. “Sure,”

𝜗℘ Approaching the shack, you knock on the door. “Ten bucks he doesn’t—“ The door whips open and a crossbow gets shoved to your face. “Woah, woah!” Stan swiftly stood in front of you, his body shielding you. “Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes!”

𝜗℘ “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan said, unbothered with Ford’s unusual greeting. Standing on your toes, you peered your head over Stan’s shoulder. You warmly smiled at Ford. He saw you and Stan, his eyes softened and his shoulders untensed. And for a split moment, Ford had a comforting feeling settle on him. He thought everything was going to be alright, but a slight shadow moving behind the trees triggered his paranoia back tenfold.

𝜗℘ “Guys! Did anyone follow you at all?” He looks warily side to side. “Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Said Stan, annoyance evident on his face. With one final look outside, Ford grabs you and Stan by the collar and pulls you in the shack. He shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes then yours. “Why did you do that?” You pushed Ford away from you. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't... uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in.” He urges you in, darting away further into the house. You closed the door and surveyed his house. Skeletons of certain animals were hung around, various books were stacked on top of each other and thrown around the house, and loads of crumpled up balls were scattered across the hallway. “What a mess this is.” You whisper to Stan who chuckles softly. “I’m telling him you said that.” Stan cheekily smiled. Removing his hand from his jacket pockets, he held his hand palm up in front of you. “You owe me ten bucks from earlier.” You sighed, grabbing your wallet out of your pocket and grabbing a crisp ten dollar bill. “Thank you!” He grabs it, sniffs it and shoves it in his pocket. “You’re weird.”

𝜗℘ “Uh, you’re gonna explain what’s going on here?” Stan asks, as you walk into another room, your mouth going slack in shock at how messy the room is. “You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee!” An amused puff of air left your nostrils. “He’s acting way worse than her.” You say, your eyes locking on a large animal skull that laid on top of an empty tank. “Don’t touch that!” He already knew that look in your eyes, a look where it told everyone who knew you that you were going to touch whatever caught your attention. “Thought I could get away with that.” You mumbled.

𝜗℘ Ford fills his arms with stacks of paper and a thick journal with the number one drawn on it. “Listen, there isn’t much time.” Ford starts, looking back to see if he missed any papers. “I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I could trust anymore.” He glances over to the skeleton who was positioned to where it's empty eye sockets stared directly at Ford’s side. Uncomfortable with the skeleton, he turns the head around. Stan’s immediately off put with how Ford’s talking. “Hey, uh, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?” He says, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. A glimpse of conflict flickers on Ford’s face. “I have something to show you two. Something you won’t believe.” Stan claims he’d understand, you heavily doubted that, this is Ford we’re talking about. Whatever he has to show, it is nothing within the lines of normal.

𝜗℘ He instructs you to follow him down to his lab. “Is this what you’ve been doing for 10 years?” You pondered out loud, your eyes taking in every machine that covered the place. What you weren’t expecting was the big triangular portal that stood in front of you and Stan. “Do you understand any of this?” You harmlessly jested. Stan dumbly stared at the portal in front of him. “Nope!”

𝜗℘ Taking steps towards the machine, Ford began to explain why such a thing was built and why it should never be turned on. He opened the side of his trench coat, his hand grabbing the book that was tucked in a pocket. “There’s only one journal left.” The journal was in front of you. “This is why I’m entrusting [Name] to hold onto the book.” You grabbed the book and you instantly felt queasy. “I have something to ask of you both,” His hands lay on you and Stan’s shoulders. “Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Your eyes glimmer with excitement. Was this the moment you and Stan have been waiting for? Are the Pines finally reuniting once and for all? “Take this book, get on a boat and sail away as far as ya can! To the edges of the earth!” He emphasizes this with a raise of his hands. “Bury it where no one can find it!”

𝜗℘ “You want us to get away from you?” You restated, voice slightly clipped with anger. “We just got here, Ford! And now you’re saying to get away from you?” You repeated, hoping your words held some kind of weight that would’ve shattered the ridiculous idea Ford had conjuring in his mind. “[Name], you don’t understand what I’m up against!” Ford says. “What I’ve been through!”

𝜗℘ Stan must’ve took what Ford said personally with how he was huffing out through his nose. “No, no!” Stan points at Ford. “I’ve been ban from three different countries! [Name] was outcasted by Dad because he didn’t bother taking care of them after you left! You think you’ve got problems? Me and [Name] have been struggling to stay afloat, Stanford.” He directs a finger to Ford’s chest. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

𝜗℘ “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley?” His eyebrows furrow inwards. Ford opened his mouth, ready to blow a few holes into Stan when you interjected. “I did not come here to hear you guys fight!” You stood in front of Ford, shoving his book in his hands. “Ford, I love you so much but we did not come all the way here just to do your dirty work.” Ford jerked his head back in disbelief. “My dirty work? Really?” He chuckles dryly. “And to think I could trust you with something valuable like this!”

𝜗℘ “Forget it,” Ford looks down at his book. “Forget all of this.” He waves his arm around his surroundings. “Why did I bother to ask you guys to come here? It’s pointless, everything is!” Ford babbles to himself, his hand that wasn’t holding the books was deeply entangled in his hair. You grew concerned over your brother, taking a step toward him, you reached a hand out. “Ford, are you o—“ A hand slams straight into your chest, pushing you back and stumbling over your feet. Stan grabs a hold of you, steadying you before yanking the book away from Ford. “You want to get rid of this book?” With his other hand, he digs it in his pocket. “Fine, I’ll do it then!” He pulls out a lighter. Flicking the lighter on, he holds the fire below the book. “My research!” Ford tackles Stan to the ground, the book flying out of Stan’s hold. You hurriedly rush over to where the book is and grab it. Ford removes himself off Stan and steadily approaches you like a wild animal. “Give me the book back, [Name].” He swipes his hand towards you, but you quickly back away into his lab.

𝜗℘ “Don’t let him get the book, [Name]!” Stan groans out, standing back up from the floor. “No!” Ford snarls. “Don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Ford took two steps forward while you took two steps back. “I’m sorry, Ford!” The back of your shoe slams against metal. Whipping your head behind you, you see yourself backed into a control panel of some sort. “Why must you do this to me? To your own brother!” His voice cracks with each word. “Whatever you’re doing here is slowly killing you, Ford. This isn’t right.” You shake the book in your hand. Whatever that’s in this journal must have something to do with Ford’s declining sanity. “Your brain can’t comprehend the sheer amount of important information that is in that book! You can’t destroy it!” Ford lunges towards you but you were faster than his fatigued body, you duck below and roll out of the way. His fingers brush against some controls, powering on the portal.

𝜗℘ Running back to where the portal stood, you threw the journal to Stan. “Catch!” You yell. Stan perfectly catches the book. “What do we do with it?” He questions, his eyes speedily darting to the book and Ford who was running up to him. “Destroy it!” You watch Stan stepsids Ford. “No!” Ford desperately yells out. Stan ran back into the lab but was pulled down by Ford delivering a well calculated kick to his ankle. “Give me back my book!” Ford cried out, kicking Stan to the back of the control panel. A guttural howl of agony left Stan, his hand flying to his back. He fell forward and you could see the upper right shoulder of his jacket was burnt off, a sizzling marking was blistering on his skin. “Stanley, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, are you alr—“ Stan punches Ford in the face, causing him to stumble back into the lever, fully activating the portal. “Some brother you turned out to be!” Stan threw his book to the floor. Ford raised himself to his feet and was about to run to the book when you grabbed the back of his shoulder.

𝜗℘ “Stanford, do you really care more about stupid mysteries than your own family?” You spoke quietly, your sorrowful eyes locking with Ford’s erratic ones. “I—“ He gulps, his eyes shooting to the discarded book on the floor. “Don’t reach for the book, Stanford, please,” You beg, your voice shaky. “I can’t watch you guys fight anymore.” A look of sadness covers his face as he pushes you back, your feet overstepping the yellow and black caution tape. “I can’t let you take this away from me too!” Ford snatches the book from the ground, a relief sigh leaving him. The book was finally—

𝜗℘ “[Name]!” Stan screeched. “Stanford, what did you do!” He screamed, his hands grabbing his shoulder, fingers digging into Ford’s skin. Ford turns over to see you being pulled in by the portal. “[Name]!” Ford runs to you and he attempts to grab you, but you’re too far up. “Stan, Ford!” You call for them, your hand reaching to them. Stan fruitlessly tried snagging a finger, your sleeve, absolutely anything! But nothing. “What’s happening?!” You cry out in fear, seeing half of your body disappear within the portal. “Stanford, fucking do something!” Stan shoves Ford back. “I-I don’t know what to do!” He stammers. Stan grips the lever and with all his strength, pulls back, trying to switch it off but it wouldn’t budge. “Stanle—“ Your voice gets lost to the whirling wind of the portal and with a quick blink, you were sucked in, lost to time and space. The portal blasted Ford and Stan back.

𝜗℘ Stan groggily gets up, clutching his head in his hands. “Y-You!” Stan stumbles over his words, ears ringing loudly. “If it wasn’t for your obsession with this book, [N-Name] would’ve still been here!” His eyes water with tears. “Stanley, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Ford glanced at the portal, it was still intact, there was some hope! “We can power the portal on!” Ford scrambles to his feet and runs over to the portal. “It’s not going to work, Stanford.” Stan says, clenching his teeth so tightly he would’ve chipped a tooth. Stan watches with blurry eyes as Ford pathetically puts all his nonexistent strength into pulling the lever. “Stanley, help me!” He pitifully pleads. “It’s not going to work!” Stan yells. “All you do is bring bad luck wherever you go! You-You don’t do—“ His voice dies in his throat, a shuddered sob leaving in its stead. “Forget it, Stanford.” If you were here, you knew you wouldn’t want them to fight anymore. He held back his words in favor of you. “Stanley, we can fix this! We just need to find the other books.”

𝜗℘ As Ford shouted out different ways they could boot the portal back up, Stan left the lab and stared at the bag you left near the door. Grabbing it, he pulled it to his chest and sobbed onto it. You were gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to get you back.

Part 2

[fraugwinska]

Hiya Guys - Anyone up to read a fic I wrote to battle my little writers block? :> I know jack shit about Alchemy, so I drew a lot of my references and ideas from FMA - But I've already planned for a second part, and thanks to the lovely @impale-me-radio-daddy I have some good pointers and sources to dip my toes in more into the mechanics of Readers ability! ;> Until then: Have fun with this!

"Again, thanks, but no thanks, Carmilla. The whole 'overlord'-thing isn't my cup of tea."

The demon in front of you sighed, closing her eyes for a moment - maybe to not appear as aggravated as you knew she was. Carmilla Carmine has hounded you to join the other big players of Pride who called themselves overlords and acted like they were above everyone else. But you had no intentions or aspirations to mingle among the power-greedy wannabes and parochial moguls, as you told her - in much more diplomatic words - multiple times. The fact that she hadn't tried to force you into compliance only spoke about the power you held, almost wasted on you. Almost.

"I really think it would be...", Camilla started again, but your patience had run thin.

"...beneficial for all involved. It's like a broken record player at this point, no offense. And I hope you'll finally take my 'No' as an answer - Cross my heart, you'll be the first person to know if I change my mind." The warning tone in your voice and you standing up from the chair opposite to her office desk made her give you a sharp, cautious look, but she retreated.

"I understand. I won't press you on the matter anymore." She said, tactically calm, and raised her hands in surrender.

You just nodded her a courteous goodbye and exited her office, chin high as you walked down the corridors of her headquarters and out into the streets of the city. Hell was always busy, but the afternoons were the worst - everyone tried to do their last errands before nightlife took over Pentagram City and people weren't out for shopping or dinner, but for cheap and easy fucks or fights. A little kid - a cannibal child by the looks of its pitch-black eyes and sharp, pointed teeth - ran into you, preoccupied with its popsicle that looked too much like a tongue for your taste. Its mother, horrified, stammered apologies and pulled it hastily away, eager to get in some distance to you. You smiled at them - it may have looked a little malicious to them, although you meant it as genuine. But you knew she knew you were her. The one they called the Alchemist.

You made your way through the parting crowds, just wandering around. You had nothing to do really, and you generally enjoyed just walking through the city you've come to know for only a year. It didn't take long after your fall to get you the infamous name - Only the Radio Demon Alastor rivaled you in the speed you climbed up in the hierarchy of Hell. Tales were told, some true, some heavily exaggerated, some utterly ridiculous. Have you disintegrated demons into their very elemental parts? Yes you had. Have you taken out a whole district because you were catcalled? Not quite, you did that because those bastards from Mayhem Square decided to raid your laboratory and sprayed very vulgar and disgusting things on the walls after they destroyed your latest experiment. Have you sacrificed your loving family in exchange for the ultimate knowledge in alchemy before you died? Definitely not.

You laughed softly about the rumors. What loving family had been there to sacrifice to begin with? You were a war orphan. Abandoned and alone, only taken into a makeshift home and earning your living by signing up for human experiments when you were old enough to be smarter than just steal from abandoned crops and trash cans. If someone ever wondered if one could inject radioactive waste into a person and what the outcome would be, they would've found their answer in your blood and cells - a pinch of insanity, a lack of empathy and painful hallucinations. In exchange for your years of help and your resilience, you were offered a university tuition. You quickly took to science, studying biology, chemistry and, outside of the curriculum, alchemy. To the very last day, you wished you'd studied physics just to finally figure out the universal gravitation formula.

Your career had ended very shortly after your graduation, when you came back to work in the very same lab you've come to be tortured as a teen. But now you were the one experimenting on desperate souls that no one would miss. The only set rule you wouldn’t deviate on: No experiments on children. One of your subjects, overtaken by the pain your hands caused, had gone mental and stabbed you with the syringe you've used on them. Stabbed you many, many, many times. A fitting death, you thought. Your next time awaking, it wasn't with the sight of the tiled, sterile laboratory, but the busy street you just walked on. 

It had been a throwback to your childhood, really. No home, no one you knew, no money. But now you had your power. And OH, what a power it was, effortless and gloriously embedded in your being. Paired with your absence of empathic feelings you quickly gained souls under your belt. Mostly lower-rank and no-name-demons, you left them intact, unless your scientific curiosity got the best of you.

Of course the Radio Demon had sensed the birth of another powerful sinner right below his nose and you had the displeasure to meet him not even a month after arriving. While Carmilla seemed to have the strong aspiration to have you among her fellow Overlords, Alastor's ambition went in a completely different direction. First he wanted to be sly and get you under contract, and when you laughed in his face, well... he wanted to consume you and your power, rip you limb from limb and put an end to your existence.

Alas, you were way too powerful for his liking. The moment his claws sunk into you, the moment he would break a limb and rend flesh, the wound was closed up and the bone repaired. You weren't just good at disintegrating - the principle of equal exchange applied to rearrangement and repair too. His conjured voodoo-minions fell apart into cloth, ash and thread at your will, and his ego took more than just one hit that you resisted, that you held your stance, didn't even move out of his way but buried your feet deeper into the ground with a cold smile on your face - that you were equally as powerful as him. If not a little more. Time and time again your paths crossed. Where Alastor was Entertainment, you were Rationality. Where he was Chaos, you were Order. He was looking for the end of his boredom, you for the ultimate knowledge. His smile a facade to hide his frustrations, your stone cold face a facade to hide the joy you felt with every missed blow from him. You were attracting opposites, the only overlap was your shared egocentrism - You knew he believed himself above you. And he knew you thought the same about yourself to him.

So that's why Carmilla was trying to convince you to join the overpowered. So you would change from an unpredictable threat to those hot-shots into a controllable part of them. What a shame, truly, that power was never something you aimed for. Your only ambition was to further your knowledge about existence, about the nature surrounding you, about yourself. You craved understanding and finding order in the chaos. Especially since Hell was the ultimate chaos.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you suddenly felt a strange sensation. You were just walking past the outskirts of the Cannibal Colony to round (and avoid) the Doomsday District to make your way back home, but now something had drawn your attention. A sixth sense, a force, an itch at the back of your head. Electricity was in the air, and you only had time to rearrange the particles of dust and debris around you into a makeshift shield when a black tentacle burst from the ground and smashed it into pieces. When the cloud of dust around you settled and you coughed, you were met with the sight of Alastor in the middle of the street, his smile as wide as ever.

"Normal people go for a courteous 'Hello', you know.", you stated and straightened yourself.

"Ah, but my darling, you and I both know we are not normal. Or people." Another tentacle darts at you from behind, its tip sharpened like a spear, but you were quick to dodge and let the appendage crash into a digital advertisement for VoxTech newest useless and frivol products. The screen flickered for a moment before returning to its previous content, but the damage was already done - the pole was bent and the screen had a hole in the upper-left corner. You turned back to Alastor, giving him a displeased glare.

"What is your issue with me today? Do I wear the wrong shoes? Maybe my hairdo isn't to your liking? You seem to be a little more... enthusiastic than usual. And not in a good way."

The Radio Demon twists his cane in his hands with a sneer, his burning, narrowed eyes not leaving you as you crossed your arms in boredom and tapped your foot.

"The issue on hand, my dear, is that you encroach onto my territory yet again. How about this: A final fight, you and I. The winner gets to decide if the loser is eaten alive or is granted a merciful death."

"Huh. You sound like you've had a really bad day."

With the flick of your wrist, you rearrange the ground beneath him, shifting solid stone and concrete into sticky bitumen and tar. You can't hide the grin when he struggles to stay upright, his polished shoes glued to the spot, but his smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens.

"I take this as a yes, then."

Before you can even think of a comeback, your view is obscured by a swarm of his minions. They're coming at you from all sides, claws outstretched and snarling. With a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand, you let them fall apart into their basic elements, pieces of stained cloths and clouds of foul smelling ashes falling all around you. Alastor's grin is as wide as ever and you see the telltale glow of his power around him - and before you can even blink, he's right in front of you, his shoes still sticking in the viscous black matter where he formerly stood, his claws reaching for your neck, your head. You feel his razor-sharp fingertips scraping the skin of your throat, not deep enough to really do any damage, but still droplets of your neon green blood dripping from the cuts. With a grunt you grab him by the lapels of his coat and throw him over and above your head, and while he flies through the air, his laughter echoes through the streets. He's having fun, you know that. But deep down inside... so are you.

"Your back alley voodoo tricks are getting a bit repetitive, Alastor. At least make it interesting."

He lands a few feet away, gracefully like an antelope on his bare hooves, and the static of his laugh sends shivers down your spine.

"Who am I to deny a dying lady her last wish?"

His shadow detached from his body, the pitch-black entity’s teal grin a stark contrast to his red, glowing eyes, the wickedly growing antlers and his pale skin. The immaterial monster opened its maw wide with a deafening screech, and it shot forward at blinding speed. You finally moved, darting away from the shade as it swished towards you - it almost looked like a morbid ballet as you avoided as much contact with the ground as you were able to, frantically thinking of what his shadows are made of so you could destroy it. He had never stooped down to use it in your fights, and you knew that they had to be more than just abscence of light, as sentient as it was. The basis of Alchemy was simple: You can't form something out of nothing, but if you knew the compounds, you were able to rearrange, dispatch or destroy almost anything. You tried to buy yourself more time to think by another high jump into the air, only to hear Alastors static next to your ear, a hand wrapping around your waist with a grip that was intended to hurt and another on your chin, holding your face in place. Your instincts told you to twist under and out of his grasp, to rearrange your skin into something harder to prevent his claws from tearing into you, but find yourself unable to move. A hiss from below you makes your eyes dart to Alastors shadow - it has your own in an iron grip, holding it hostage in its black claws.

"Is that interesting enough for you, darling?", the demon above you purrs into your ear, but the question was unnecessary, answered in his laughter and his ironclad hold of you, your body pressed against his, arms frozen mid air and useless like a marionette without it's player. His hold around you is painful - it would crush a lesser demon easily, but luckily, you weren't lesser. And you still could, even without the usage of your hands, will your side he pierced with his talons to at least harden enough with the iron you drew from your blood so he couldn't tear you apart that easily.

"It's certainly interesting that you have to resort to gagging my shadow to subdue me."

The words were all but pressed through your gritted teeth. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape at this point. This part of his magic, his shadowmagic, was one of the only things you practically knew nothing about. And lack of knowledge, as usual, meant lack of power. In this case - the power to get out, to flee and regroup.

The touch on your waist disappeared for a second before appearing again, stronger now and accompanied with a pain shooting from where his fingers had dug themselves into the weak metallic coat underneath your skin. You hated the quiet whimper your body unwillingly let out at the sting, reminiscent of the scalpels that were used on you many times, so long ago. He chuckled, deep and guttural right below your ear before leaning his head down to your eye-level.

"Subdue you? Oh, no, no, no my sweet Alchemist. This fight is over, as you are well aware and I'm pleased to say that at last, I am the one victorious. The deal was the choice between eating the other alive or granting a merciful death. I just have yet to decide what option to choose."

He releases his claws from your jaw and rakes his nails down your neck and collarbone, his face inches away from yours, red eyes glowing even brighter and his smile that reached his ears with open delight as his claws tear deeper and deeper into you, his static now drowning out the sounds of your pained gasps as darkness grew from the ground, encasing you.

"I... really hate you, you know?", was the only thing you could bring yourself to hiss. His snicker was dark, malicious and infuriatingly cocky.

"Oh darling. I hate you more." And then it all went dark.

You opened your eyes. A blank, charcoal canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. A monochrome dimension for monochrome creatures. Everything had a certain damp feeling to it - the air, the atmosphere, even your own skin felt slick, damp and oily to the touch. Freezing. Unfamiliar and strange.

"Where are we?"

You still felt Alastor’s long fingers holding you in place, but the pain was gone, replaced by a burning heat where he pressed your back into his chest, a stark contrast to the coldness of the air surrounding you. Clean air. You felt no specs of dirt, dust or carbon on your tongue, the air tasted neutral and smelled void, the flavor almost painful in your throat.

"This, my dear, is a little pocket dimension I've crafted. To be specific - it's the one I've crafted the moment I met you."

Your eyebrows arched up, and his shadow let yours tilt your head just enough so you could see his face and his overly excited grin. His words struck a chord and the penny dropped - He, in his deluded mindset of superiority, had anticipated this day to come ever since your first encounter. This wasn't just a spur of the moment, he had planned this, crafted a punishment for the - to him - inevitable scenario that one day he'd finally get his comeuppance. Where he'd finally beat you. Planned to get you here to destroy you.

"It's not very... showy, considering it's created by Hells Greatest Showman himself." Your voice betrayed you. You wanted to sound bored, neutral, indifferent - but every syllable dripped with hidden defeat. Alastor had purposely created a place that you couldn't decipher, that held nothing you could use to defend yourself.

"Au contraire, darling. I think this is the most appropriate stage for our final performance."

His voice was dark, low, and vibrated from the bottom of his chest. His breath was hot and wet on the nape of your neck and the tips of his fingers on your chin burned. You could feel his excitement reverberating through his body. He was looking forward to this. To eradicate you. You closed your eyes. Rationality told you there was no use in defiance.

"So, Alastor. What's it gonna be? Are you a man of your word or aren't you going to kill me the way you've promised? What was it? Eat me alive or make it a merciful death?", you asked, but the only reply was his grip around you tightening and his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck. It was a pain so sharp and yet so tender that it made you almost moan. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, and you hated how you could feel his lips on your skin curl into a smirk.

"My poor, little alchemist. I thought you, as a woman of science, knew that one has to define the terms you work with."

His fangs grazed the soft flesh of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail along the bite marks they had left. A shiver ran down your spine and your skin broke out in goosebumps. The grip on your jaw tightened and he tilted your head to the side, exposing your throat to him even more.

"Killing is just one mundane interpretation of our deal. There is more than one way to eat you while you breathe, my dear, and as for a merciful death... well..." His hand left your waist, wandered down over your hips to the hem of your pants and slid beneath. "... the meaning of that will depend on how this plays out."

The tips of his claws dragged over your underwear and your back arched, subconsciously pressing yourself against his broad chest as much as his shadow allowed it. He chuckled darkly at the reaction he drew from you, his fingers rubbing your core through the fabric, and your eyes fell shut in furious pleasure. You were unable to stop the whimpers and quiet moans that came from you, and he laughed at every sound he forced from you.

You understood the principles of biology and chemistry enough to understand why your body reacted the way it did to his touch. Hormones released, muscles tensed, senses sharpened, brain focused - and all that with one purpose. Carnality. Sexuality. Lust.

You understood the social components : Alastor, despite his infuriating personality, was a powerful and attractive demon. He was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for the hungry ones - you maybe lacked empathy, but you weren't blind.

What you didn't understand was that, despite your deep dislike you felt for the Radio Demon, despite the many times you've fought each other and how he's tried to erase you multiple times - your emotions were telling you that you craved his touch, wanted what he was threatening to do, what he was implying with his words and emphasizing with his actions, his hands working themselves towards your slicked heat and with his lips still on your throat.

And the worst thing was, he knew.

He could sense it, probably even taste it, in the scent of your arousal and the taste of the sweat on your skin. He could read it in your body language, how you subconsciously tried to move against his fingers, how your body melted into his when his teeth scraped over your collarbone and your breath hitched when he sunk them deep into the soft flesh of your neck once more.

The force behind his jaws was sharp and without any mercy, but it only lasted for a moment until it became deliciously soft and firm, his lips soothing your tormented skin after the beast within had taken its fill of your blood just as he breached the last physical barrier of your underwear and dipped two of his digits into you. He forced a soundless sigh from your lungs with the way his fingertips caressed you, igniting a feeling inside you didn't know you could feel.

The satisfaction you got from giving and receiving physical pleasures up until this point mostly to serve your biological needs, impersonal. The connection that existed between partners was short-lived and never personal, almost medical, with the barest minimum of any physical contact necessary, just enough so the mechanics of your hellish body came to the desired effect of pressure release to let you focus on more important matters.

But with Alastor, with his mouth still feasting on the sensitive, marked flesh at your nape and his dexterous fingers working between your thighs, nothing of what was happening was impersonal. Medical. There was no need - But want. A craving desire that arose like a hot flame deep inside you, making the pleasure you were given intensify and left you almost in a frenzy, to try and get more of it. A feeling almost animalistic, something raw and purely instinctual that you wanted to prolong instead of getting it over with.

There was no logic to the way your body reacted, no formula you could apply to ease your frustration at the way he touched you - he played your body like he knew it by heart, a strange turn of events. While you seemed so illogical in your behavior, he was strangely tactical. You were frantic, he was calculating. Every touch, lick and nibble was done with an intended purpose. And in return your reactions to it were completely without rhyme or reason. You couldn't stop the moans spilling from you as he dragged his long fingers in and out of you in an agonizing speed, the pad of his thumb teasingly rubbing over the little nub hidden between your folds, your hips were moving on their own, in sync with his movements as much as they his shadow's grip on yours granted you.

"I... don't t-think...", you gasped with another cruel flick of his thumb against your sore clit, "...you can c-count that as.. e-eating."

To your frustration his motions did slow down, the thrusts and motions he drew from you fading, the tension within building so painfully inside of you, uncoiling so suddenly just to be denied. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and he retreated his lips and teeth from your throat.

"I'm nothing but a connoisseur, darling - one has to prepare and season his meal properly in order to feast."

The sudden loss of contact made you whine in your throat as his hands withdrew, from your wetness as well as your neck and chin. The air felt even colder against your heated skin now, and you shivered when your limbs suddenly contorted, were rearranged by ghostly hands. From the corners of your eyes you could see Alastors shadow force yours into something of a bridge position, back arched, arms bound over its head and legs spread - and through the unexplainable connection between you both, your body followed, having no other choice but to obey what the immaterial shapes dictated.

Alastor stood aside, waiting, watching intently as your trousers were pulled messily down your legs by invisible claws, revealing the soft skin hidden beneath. They dragged the fabric over the swell of your hips, under your rear and over your thighs. For a few agonizing seconds everything was still, the monochromatic world around you in perfect silence, the only visible life your panting breath and Alastors everlasting static. When the last bit of fabric left your body and you were completely bare, he stepped in between your legs, raking his claws over the inside of your thighs before coming to a rest on your hip bones. He looked smug, he looked manic, and most of all he looked hungry. His tongue swiped his sharp teeth, coating them with thick, dark saliva, and you shuddered with a mixture of humiliation and anticipation alike.

"Well now, I think it's time to dig in, right dear? Especially since the table's so nicely set and all."

The impact of his burning mouth on your dripping sex was beyond the comprehension of words, all your synapsis concentrated at the singular sensation of the demon below you working his jaw with gusto and enthusiasm only a cannibal like him could, teeth and tongue and lips unabashed and unapologetic in their efforts to elicit sounds from you that bordered on the screams he loved to broadcast. You could feel him smiling at each and every breathless moan he wrenched from you, you could feel his cold red eyes burning holes into you as he kept eyeing you from below, tongue buried to the root in you, his claws pressing painfully into your flesh in a vice-like grip, threatening to break and rip at the soft skin when you tried to suppress the mewls in an effort to deny him his self-righteous satisfaction.

"Darling, I know you're normally the one who takes others apart - but I just have to wonder what you will look like undone."

You were pushed even closer, even more at his mercy as he forcefully shoved his face deeper between your legs, his black, twisted antlers piercing into your stomach, leaving dainty puncture wounds that stung and begand to trickle with your blood. Your breathing became more desperate with each minute, more keening and so much harder to keep steady - when one of his dexterous hands joined his mouth between your legs and curled the long digits deep inside you in search for the certain bundle of nerves - located an inch inside the vaginal opening, on the upper vaginal wall - that his skilled tongue had neglected so far. Your mind went blank and your whines became constant, unchecked and vocalized so much louder when he found what so many demons (and humans, if you were honest) thought to be a myth - the Grafenberg spot.

He hummed in self-satisfaction as you moaned shamelessly now as he rubbed and probed, curling, stroking, doing everything at once with his fingers on the spot while his mouth worked at your sensitive clit above, suckling hard, bordering on painful licking and even biting. You struggled in the immaterial grasp of his shadow, wriggling on his mouth, the intense, uncontrollable, uncontrolled and unrivaled sensations sparking from your core leaving you desperate for release, for any kind of relief, the pressure of it building so unbelievably fast in you, his movements, the vibrating static and his quiet laughter sending you towards a feeling that you knew, once experienced, wouldn't leave again. You hated that you loved what he was doing, hated that he was able to do what so many others had failed to, that your mind was consumed by pure, undulated desire for the damn Radio Demon as he - in a twisted sense of your own profession -destroyed and rebuilt you simultaneously with the same kind of unceremoniously fervent frivolity that was oh-so-characteristic for him.

Your eyes fell shut, a vocal and shuddering breath escaping you as you felt your end coming nearer and nearer, every flick of his tongue and every slight graze of his teeth were a thousand-fold amplified and yet purposefully too little to finally grant you the relief you yearned for so badly, to put out the element of fire within that threatened to burn you alive.

"Alastor... Please...", you managed between breaths. The words felt sour and sticky on your tongue, but you knew he was waiting for them. You had never begged for something before. Not for mercy when some of the researchers went over the limits of their set experiments on you. Not for recognition when papers you wrote were released in your colleagues name. Not for your life when the thick needle in the hand of the deranged patient rose to the sky, ready to strike. But for Alastor, you begged. 

Your plea earned you a victorious glare and another harsh suck on your swollen nub that made you cry out in pleasure and pain. With a last stroke of his tongue in tandem with his fingers against the exact right spot and a firm flick to your clit, your climax felt like you were falling apart into particles and atoms, crumbling around the mouth of your arch-rival. He had been right. Definition was everything, one of the rare things the Alchemist and the Radio Demon could agree on - He promised death, and that's what he gave you: A metaphorical one, devastating, humiliating and everything but merciful. Each spasm was a shovel burying your pride, each sob as he licked you through the ebbing waves of your high a eulogy for the respect you had for yourself. But this death, as disgraceful as it was, was pure bliss, was what ascencion must feel like.

Your body was slowly released from its restraints, feeling heavier than it should as you were dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and you closed your eyes again, feeling oddly empty when he removed his mouth and fingers and stood up to his full height, towering above you. You didn't even struggle even though your limbs were free now, just sighed and turned your head to look up and face Alastor as you heard the clicks of his heels next to your face.

He looked disheveled and wild - a mess of tousled red hair entangled in sharp antlers and sticking messily onto his sweaty forehead, the corners of his mouth glistening with your fluids and his blackened eyes alight with mischief. You could see the outlines of a massive erection through his strained pants, a small consolation that the ordeal he had put you both through hadn't been above his biology too. But before you wasn't the jovial trickster that all of Pride knew and feared, and it wasn't the tactical torturer that had worked you over the edge of your emotions either. This was the animal, the demon within, the monster hell made out of a man in its essence - limbs cracked and elongated, spine twisted and curved, aura dark and almost glowing in green. And it was stunningly beautiful. It was such an incongruous appearance, contrasting his normally smooth, proper and almost human demeanor so much that it might become your new definition of a paradox.

His hand suddenly went behind your head and roughly grabbed you by your hair and dragged your head up, just enough so he could bend on his waist to be on eye-level with you. It stung beautifully at the roots, and you hissed at the delicious pain as you met his gaze.

"Th͑an͊k y͈͝o͔̲͒u̧ͥ f̌͌or̬ t̜ͦhe̬ͯͅ m͉̋ȩ̞͙al,͍ l̵̅͝it͓͙ͤt͘lè̍ A̰̞l̇c̭̙̕h̏̒emis̏͑t." 

His voice was distorted and thick, it sounded sticky and heavy and even unhinged. For a moment, you saw his wish to bite you, to tear into your jugular and finally dismember you reflected in his ticking eyes. And in that moment, defying all logic and instincts, you would’ve let him do it. But the strike didn’t come, and the moment faded, along with his monstrous form. He shifted back to the demon you knew, hair still out of place but expression a mask again, a play, a facade. But there was a strange conflict behind his smile, a weird furrow in his cocked brows.

“I believe with that the deal is fulfilled.”

Alastor snapped his hands, and you fell, through darkness and light, fire and water and earth and wind swirling around you until you hit concrete ground. Quickly stumbling to your feet, you blinked. You were dressed again, back in Pentagram City, back at the exact spot where you turned the corner just before...

You whipped your head around, but the Radio Demon was nowhere to be found. The street before you was empty, car horns and gunshots and bomb explosions filling the air coming from the Doomsday District. For a moment you panicked - had it been just another one of your hallucinations? You thought you had left this special side effect of your brain behind in the living world, but you were smart enough to consider the chances of possibility. It would explain everything. Your hand snapped to your neck - no lacerations, no bite marks. Contradictory evidence. It didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened, but it increased the likelihood of the perceived experience being just your brain playing its cruel tricks on you. Just like it did now, flooding your nerves with a faint feeling of... disappointment.

You shook your head and sighed, turning on your heels to continue your walk home. When you put your hands in the pockets of your lab coat, a wrinkled piece of paper brushed your palm. Confused, you pulled it out and unfolded it, your eyes widening as you read it with a gasp that got stuck halfway in your throat.

Until next time, my dear. And if you ever crave more, there is always a table set for you. A.

It read in an obnoxiously neat, cursive handwriting. In a hue of crimson red.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Can I request a Shinobu x female reader, where in both are pillars and are assigned to kill this old uppermoon (like before but was removed) and the blood demon art is that they can control or make them hallucinate so, r was affected and suddenly attacks shinobu.... Happy ending.. I'll leave the rest to you because idk what else...

P.S I love your fics !!!

Don’t Blink

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: I had written the Makima fic just before starting this one so of course I had to make the demon Makima. I think Muzan would legitimately be so afraid of Makima and want her dead. That’s probably why she’s not an Upper Moon anymore. Anyway, some angst with a happy ending. Thanks for reading, hope you like it! Word Count: 2,850

“Well then, (Y/n), Shinobu, do you understand your assignment?” Kagaya asked, smiling kindly in the direction of the two young women.

“Yes, Master.” They answered together, confident and proud that they had been chosen for such an important mission.

“We will not fail.” (Y/n) added for good measure.

Kagaya hummed, pleased, then added,

“Remember, this demon used to be one of the Twelve Kizuki, an Upper Moon. I believe that your tightly knit relationship and knowledge of each other will be key in finally taking her down. I wish you much good fortune, my children.”

“Thank you, Master.” They bowed their heads and dismissed themselves, finding that the sun was sinking down towards the tree line. The mission briefing had taken longer than they thought it would, but it was an ex-moon they had been discussing.

“Ready to go?” (Y/n) asked, a bit softer than her normal speaking volume.

“If I didn’t know better (Y/n), I would think that your nervous.” She lightly teased, taking (Y/n)’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Maybe a little, but you can hardly blame me. Ex-moon or not, very few slayers have survived her. And those who did survive were physically unable to report any information about her demon art. It makes me wonder how she ever fell out of favor with Kibutsuji.”

“The reason hardly matters. All we need to focus on is killing this demon as efficiently as possible to avoid mistakes brought on by fatigue. We can do this as long as we have each other.”

“Right, no second guessing.” (Y/n) gave Shinobu an appreciative look.

It would be the first time either of them had been faced with a demon once so closely related to Muzan. (Y/n) and Shinobu had both become Hashira through beheading and poisoning over fifty demons respectively. They had yet to be subjected to a foe seemingly so powerful.

They followed their crows to the last known location of the demon, silently taking in their surroundings as they walked through the dark forest. They didn’t have to look hard, down the rugged path ahead of them, a demon emerged with her hands clasped loosely behind her back. Hypnotic golden eyes stared between them.

“More visitors so soon? I had suspected the loss of my previous status would have slayers crawling all over my territory, but this would make a combined total of seventeen slayers this week. Does your Master really think his blood was the source of that much of my power?”

“My, you seem quite confident in your abilities, but I assure you that my partner and I are more than qualified to finally bring you to the grave.”

“I find that unlikely, but I urge you to try.” The demon smiled blankly, almost surely mocking the smile Shinobu wore.

Shinobu wasn’t going to waste time bantering any longer, not on a mission this important. She unsheathed her sword and (Y/n) copied the motion only a couple beats behind. They charged at the demon, one diving from the left the other from the right.

The demon did not flinch, but she did lock her spiraled eyes onto (Y/n) as she flew towards her.

“Drop, lunge, strike.” She drawled.

Shinobu almost thought nothing of the muttered words, but she saw (Y/n)’s stance change in her periphery, followed by a frantic warning call of her name.

“Shinobu, watch out! Watch out for me!”

Shinobu turned to face her more fully, twisting her body out of the way just before (Y/n)’s sword could be buried in her stomach.

“Ready stance.” The demon ordered, walking behind (Y/n) with a sharp smile.

“What the hell are you doing to me?!” (Y/n) couldn’t help but sound panicked as her body moved accordingly. She had no control over her body and had nearly skewered her girlfriend.

“How do you like my Demon Blood Art? I’ll admit it isn’t as strong as it was with his blood more prominent in the veins, but I can still control one person’s actions at a time,” she patted (Y/n) on the cheek, her expression taunting Shinobu, “What do you think? Are you impressed? I could numb her mind too if I desired, but I think it’s much more fun to hear the desperation of teammates, friends and lovers before one ends up killing the other.”

“You demons are all the same,” Shinobu spoke lowly, a vein pulsing angrily against the skin of her temple, “such cowardly tactics.”

There was a very abrupt sound of a foot scraping against the rugged earth and (Y/n)’s swords glinted as it caught the moonlight. The demon rose her eyebrows, mildly impressed.

“Freeze.”

(Y/n) stilled, breathing a little heavier than she was a moment ago.

“I’m surprised you could move at all just now. You must be a Hashira, am I correct? That would be the only plausible explanation,” she moved around behind (Y/n) again, dancing her fingers across her shoulders, making Shinobu scowl, “I was just going to have you gut yourself after I had you finish off the little butterfly for me, but I think it would be much more fun to keep you around. It’s been ages since I had a Hashira to do my bidding.”

“That’s enough!” Shinobu sped forward, her blade poised to stab right through the center of the demon’s skull.

“Block.”

Metal clanked against metal and sparks flew.

“Kick.”

“I’m so sorry, Shinobu!” (Y/n) gasped, trying to pull back on the kick as much as she could, but she still landed a pretty solid blow against Shinobu’s ribs.

“Don’t—“ Shinobu coughed, trying to keep her breathing strong and regular, “This isn’t your fault, just keep trying to fight her.”

“Follow through.”

Shinobu lifted her sword just in time to meet (Y/n)’s, their faces so close that Shinobu could see (Y/n)’s pupils tremble in fear.

Shinobu’s sword began to crack from the pressure (Y/n)’s blade exuded.

“Shinobu, you have to go, please.” (Y/n) urged.

“I’m not leaving you, so don’t ask me again!” Shinobu braved a smile, “I’ve beaten you in sparring plenty of times, this will be no different!”

That was sparring, not life or death combat! (Y/n) wanted to yell, but the demon commanded her to her knees in an attempt to sweep Shinobu’s feet. Luckily, she jumped away, putting a few meters distance between them.

“I have to admit, you are putting on a good show.” The demon praised, “If he hadn’t cut me off because of his ego and paranoia, I would have loved to keep the both of you. We would have made quite the team.”

“SHUT. UP.” (Y/n) hissed through clenched teeth. She was trying her best to pivot towards the demon, but she was told to stand still as soon as her foot nudged slightly to the left.

“Careful now, I’ve been generous with you so far, but if you speak to me like that again, I won’t let you speak at all.” The demon warned, her tone almost jovial.

Again the demon came to stand behind (Y/n) to rest her chin atop her shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at Shinobu, smirking when Shinobu’s grip on her sword visibly tightened. She could practically hear her teeth grinding despite the distance between them.

With a few quiet orders husked against (Y/n)’s ear, they were forced back into combat. They went on for several minutes, both starting to feel the fatigue, but the only difference was that (Y/n) would be forced to keep going beyond her limits while Shinobu could not. Shinobu had been wracking her brain as she fought for her life against the love of her life, until she knew what had to be done.

“(Y/n), I need you to trust me, okay? You trust me don’t you?” Shinobu asked when their swords crossed once more.

“Of course I trust you, but I don’t like what that might entail in this moment!” (Y/n) exhaled harshly, swiping at Shinobu’s head.

“Then the next time she orders you to stab, you aim as far to the left as you can. Don’t worry about what I’m doing, just focus on aiming left. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh huh,” (Y/n) was close to tears and though her vision blurred, she was still making attacks like she could see clear as day, “please, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who do you think I am, (L/n).” Shinobu joked, though she knew (Y/n) would no doubt hate her for this.

Shinobu found an opening and flipped over (Y/n) to begin running towards the demon lounging upon a log a ways away from the scuffle. She eyed Shinobu curiously, but soon had (Y/n) blocking Shinobu’s path. Shinobu didn’t slow, still running towards (Y/n) head on and making her very nervous.

“Pierce through.”

As (Y/n)’s sword moved without her permission, she did as Shinobu had asked, using ever fiber of her being swing her pointed blade as far left as possible. Her breath came out in panicked bursts. Shinobu was coming in too fast. There was no way she would miss her completely if she kept sprinting at her like that.

“Shinobu!” She screamed, “Stop!”

But then they collided, falling to the ground, knees between knees. (Y/n) would never forget that sound for the rest of her life. The sound of her blade, stabbing deep into Shinobu’s side by her own hard.

(Y/n) felt something warm and viscous trickle over her tightly clenched hands, Shinobu’s pained whimper of a wheeze as her head fell to rest heavily against (Y/n)’s shoulder.

(Y/n) felt her whole body grow cold. Her mouth agape in a silent scream as tears fully began to roll off of her cheeks in waves. It hurt so badly, she thought that Shinobu’s sword must have ran right through her too. Which was just as well, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself after what she had just done, under the control of a demon or not.

“H’nobu…?” (Y/n) sobbed, her vocal chords felt so tight in her throat that they burned, any attempt to speak was nearly unintelligible.

“Awww,” the demon cooed as she glided up behind (Y/n). She knelt down and tilted back (Y/n)‘s head, drinking in the look of utter despair, “Chin up, darling. Rest assured I’ll take good care of you. After all, I need you to be in tip-top shape for whoever those tyrants send next. Whether demon or human, you’ll take care of them for me in return, won’t you?”

A breeze cut through the forest and blood suddenly spurted across (Y/n)’s face. The demon clutched at her heavily bleeding throat, looking down past (Y/n) with a bewildered expression.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,”

(Y/n) took in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Not while I’m still breathing, even in the afterlife, I would find a way to hunt you down. Have fun crawling in the fires of hell, fucking mistake of nature.” Shinobu grunted in pain, letting her hand fall back to the ground, sword clattering into the dirt.

Of course that cocky demon couldn’t be bothered to think that Shinobu would set such a clever, albeit very dangerous trap.

Though the demon was clawing her her own throat, poison bubbling through her skin, she still managed to fix Shinobu with a look almost akin to awe.

“Well played,” she croaked, “you have my respect.”

Then the demon fell to her side and after a bit of jittery flailing, she stilled, her golden ringed irises staring blankly at the couple still connected by a blade.

“Shinobu?” (Y/n) choked out, shoulders shaking.

Shinobu slid a hand up to rest atop (Y/n)’s thigh, “Try not to move too much love, you played your part perfectly, but if you jostle me too much I might be in trouble.”

“Might be?” (Y/n) bit back, making Shinobu wince because of their proximity, “I fucking stabbed you, Shinobu! I- I can feel your blood drying between my fingers.”

“Just stay calm, (Y/n). You did exactly what you needed to do. This is probably one of the better places to be stabbed in the whole abdominal cavity.”

“I’m going to need you to shut up unless you are going to tell me how we move on from here while keeping you alive!” (Y/n) yelled. Her emotions where flying through her so fast she was starting to get whiplash.

“The Kakushi should be here soon, but in the meantime if you could, very carefully, let go of your sword and perhaps create a makeshift tourniquet just to be on the safe side.”

(Y/n) did as Shinobu instructed, her eyes seldom leaving the sight of her hilt sticking into the side of Shinobu’s torso until bloody fingers tilted her chin upward so she could look Shinobu in the eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself for this. You can blame the demon, you can even blame me, but this was not at all your fault.”

Before (Y/n) could try to argue, the tandem cawing of two familiar crows and the pounding of quickly approaching feet broke her concentration and soon they were surrounded by a small pack of Kakushi fussing over them.

(Y/n) was sore and a little roughed up from some of Shinobu’s evasive maneuvers, but she was much better off than Shinobu. She waved off any Kakushi that came to flit over her while the others hoisted Shinobu to rest on her side as they loaded her into the cot.

The voices began to become garbled in (Y/n)’s ears and the edges of her vision became fuzzy and dark. The night had already been too much for her, but seeing how her sword had gone clear through Shinobu’s back, her eyes rolled back and she fainted dead away into the arms of a waiting Kakushi.

***

(Y/n) slowly faded back into consciousness, a soft humming above her and a gentle hand softly scraping at her scalp. She released a breath, she hadn’t realized she had been so tense until she sunk into the body sitting up in bed beside her, partially beneath her.

“Good morning, dear. Are you feeling a little better? It’s funny, all these years together and I hadn’t pegged you for a fainter, but I do suppose the circumstances were a bit intense.”

(Y/n)’s hand darted upward, splaying over Shinobu’s stomach, finding nothing.

“Ah,” Shinobu sucked in a breath, “Gentle please.”

“Sorry, how long— is everything— are you—?”

“(Y/n), breathe,” Shinobu coaxed, lightly scratching her nails up and down (Y/n)’s arm, “we made it home about six hours ago, my surgery took about four, and yes, I’ll be perfectly fine. Everything is alright.”

“How long have you been awake?” (Y/n) asked, allowing her head to relax fully against Shinobu’s thigh once more.

“Pretty much the whole time. I took a quick nap after my surgery and now Aoi has me on bed arrest.”

“You mean bed rest?”

“I said what I said.”

“Wait…” (Y/n) grunted as she raised herself up on her elbows to fix Shinobu with the dawnings of a disbelieving expression on her face, “Were you awake for your surgery?”

“How else was I going to know that they were doing it correctly?” Shinobu spoke as if it was obvious. “I could have just done it myself honestly, the abdominal suturing at least, but even I have to admit it wouldn’t have been the best angle.”

“Shinobu if you ever try to do your own surgery I will hit you. Do you not trust the people you trained?”

“Of course I trust them,” Shinobu chuckled, “but it’s not everyday that I get to be the patient. I wanted to see how they would fare. Between you and me, I think they were quite nervous with the exception of Aoi.”

“Of course they’d be nervous, are you crazy? Gods, and I was out cold for over six hours. And I wasn’t even shish kebabed. I’m pathetic.”

“You are not.” Shinobu sternly proclaimed. “You were put through a lot last night. I put you through a lot. I know that had our positions been reversed, I would have lost one of the last threads holding me together. I’m sorry I made you think for even a second you had killed me. I could feel your anguish down to my very core.”

(Y/n) pressed her face back against Shinobu’s thigh and looped her arms around her torso, mindful of Shinobu’s left side.

“I won’t lie, that moment is probably going to haunt me forever, but I’m so, so glad that I still have you. I love you so much.”

Shinobu’s hands came to rest between her shoulder blades and the back of her head, “I love you too, more than you could ever know.”

They held each other for many quiet beats, but then Shinobu wiggled a bit, exhaling a particularly long breath.

“Do you think Aoi would let me check the progress of some of my experiments if I ask nicely?”

“For the last time, stay in bed, Shinobu-sama!” They heard Aoi yell from the hallway.

“I am going to take that as a no.” (Y/n) chuckled, feeling Shinobu deflate beneath her.

[batsyforyou]

Of Elves and Men Part 1

Pairing: Beleg x reader 

Elvish Words: I mean Loth = flower as far as I’m aware but I don’t think there is anything else

Warnings: Brief mention of being buried alive, bugs crawling on reader, dark cave, betrayal, friends turned enemies, blood, the dead moving, one dead guy, implied beheading,  nightmares, hallucinations, sickness, character death, a slight mention of a baby at the end. If I missed anyone up here or in the tags please let me know. 

A/N: I should tell you that I don’t actually expect anyone to read all this but if you do, I love you dearly. This was heavily inspired by my mythology class. Also, this was originally called “Immortals” and I did change it. I’m sorry if there has been any confusion. I want to say that I had fun with this, but I didn’t. This story tried to kill me and frame me for murder at the same time. I felt so defeated over this fic I might actually have to take some time off tumblr to get some mental energy back. When I tell you I legit cried and went to sleep when this was done.

Warning I tried my hand at romance, but none of this came out the way I wanted. I don’t know if that means I wasted three months or what but yeah. Also, for the romance I did summarize some parts instead of writing all of it.

Thank you so much for the support @a-complation-upon-flowers and @asainbutnotjapense ! I’m so sorry for the wait.

Blackness. It is all you can see. 

Though the cool dampness of the hard dirt floor didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it once did. Maybe that was a good thing, a blessing in disguise. You had no idea how long you had been lying here, cold, stiff, and hungry. The only noise in this prison was the sound of water dripping. From the cavern's ceiling and down into the puddle below to join the rest. 

Drip. Drip drip. Drip. One-two-one, or maybe three. 

It was like the little droplets played in a marching band that never ended. 

You were not alone, what you could now tell as a man with a rotted face sat with you sharpening a knife and every once and a while he would mumble, “I told you not to follow me.” The sound grated on your ears.

In this place the mind talked, and it spoke loudly. After all, what else is there for it to do? Trapped in its cage made of flesh and stone, chained. It spoke of revenge, of hunger, of pain, of fear, and of anger—hurt. It ate itself up and left nothing. Leaving you to contemplate your betrayal and your inevitable demise.

Bugs and other things you couldn’t name, crawled, itched and tickled the bare skin of your arms. A thousand things with a thousand names moved across you. Like they and the dirt owned you. It was easy to imagine that this is what it was like to be buried. In tombs and in coffins with maggots eating at your flesh. Yes, you thought, this is what it is like to be buried alive.  

The story of how you found yourself in this predicament is a rather long one, but you felt that while you were here, you might as well recall the tale.

Everything is always innocent in the beginning. 

You remembered the days when you did not understand phrases like ‘orc-play’ or ‘orc-work.’ The sun was out on a nice summer’s evening, a warm breeze rattled the leaves and there was not a cloud in sight. Tilting your nose to the sky you breathed it all in. You and your friends Walter, his brother William, Rosetta, Terry, and Evelyn were all headed into town for a nice day out in the market. In the coming weeks the town was going to hold a celebration in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Stubble’s newest addition to their family and everyone was quite excited. 

To get into town from your house you had to walk past the cherry trees owned by Mr. Fiddle, the town's physician. Up past the apple trees of farmer Robert. Past the wheat fields of the Lady Grey. By the fields that housed the cows and past the barns that held the goats and chickens. On this path you could find the stables and fencing where the horses roamed. And finally, the guard house of Sir Martin and into the front gates. 

But you had barely passed by the wheat fields with your friends pushing each other and laughing merrily when you saw an old man sitting on the roadside. When you got closer you could see the man was old and dirty, clothed in rags and a torn cloak drawn tightly over his shoulders, as if he was freezing under the hot sun. Your friends ignore him and trot right on by laughing and giggling like he wasn’t even there. 

You stopped and considered him, knowing you’d never forgive yourself if you'd left him there. If you’d walked past him and left him ignored. You knew that pain all too well. Instead, you crouched down in front of him and asked if you could take him to your home to help him and he agreed. 

A way down the path your friends notice your absence and they look behind them and scuff. Watching you help the man to his feet. “Leave him be Y/n!” They called. 

“What business could you have with a man like him?” They laughed, Walter patting Terry on the back as he smiled. You ignored them at first but said, “My friends! I see your hearts are empty this evening. I will meet you tomorrow for lunch at the Inn.” You left your friends unsatisfied and grumbling as you led the man to your home. Though they did agree to meet you for lunch. 

Upon arrival you prepared a nice warm bath for him and helped the man into it. Scrubbing his back and washing his dark gray hair and pouring a cup of water over his head. It looked overgrown and his bushy beard was long. You asked if he’d like it trimmed but the old man did not reply. In fact, he did not say much during his time with you. He only kept his head low and bowed to his chest. 

You thought it’d be a nice thing to do. A decent thing. So, once you’d scrubbed him clean of dirt and grime you pulled him to his feet, toweled him down, gave him a nice robe and sat him in one of your kitchen chairs. You took a comb and a pair of scissors to untangle his glossy locks and cut him a new look.  

You combed and snipped and brushed and clipped again and again until you could see some resemblance of his face. He was handsome for his age, and you thought that he must have been breathtaking in his youth. Surely, he’d been a heart breaker in his day. When you’d shaped his beard to his face you grabbed some soap and applied it to his neck. Taking your only razor you shaved his neck clean and when you finally finished, you brushed his freshly cut bangs to the side, and you smiled at the sight of brown eyes. 

Deciding that the man needed some food to fill his belly and medicine for the night, you got up and went to the kitchen, working to prepare a hot home cooked meal for him. “Who are you?” You asked. No reply came, only the sound of his strained breathing answered you. 

You felt frustrated at first. After everything you’ve done for him, he would not give you his name? Quickly, you chastised yourself. This stranger was exhausted, sick and hungry. You knew you would be if you were in his place. After all, you did find him on the roadside. Give him time, you thought, he’ll come around. 

You didn’t have much in your pantry, but you cooked him mashed potatoes, some leftover meat, a bread roll and what fresh vegetables you had. While you were cooking you opened your cupboard and stared up at the only medicine you had. Medicine in this part of the land was hard to come by and very expensive. 

Most people couldn’t afford good quality medicine, nor did they have the skills to know what herbs helped and what didn’t. You were no exception. What herbs you grew were for cooking and tea. So, when a merchant came into town hungry and recently robbed of his belongings by bandits and thieves. You got him to trade you for the sole surviving item—elvish medicine. 

To even fulfill a mere fraction of the price you had to house him for a two week stay in your home, three hot meals a day, fresh clothes for each day, six of your best hens and a rooster, supplies for the road, your donkey, and what coin you could spare him. The whole thing nearly bled you dry.

Typically, only rich nobles could afford it. But when you confronted the man, he said he was going to trade it in exchange for gold so he could buy what he needed. Not only for what he needed during his stay in town but also his supplies for his trip. In the end the man had pity on you and accepted what you were willing to give him once you shared about your father…

You looked behind you at your guest. His head was bowed, hair dangling in his face, the robe pulled tight around his shoulders, and was shaking with fever. You looked back to the medicine and felt a shadow pass over you. Slowly, you wrapped your hand around the tonic and placed it beside his plate. 

When the food was finished you quietly placed the steaming plate in front of him with butter and jam for his bread and a warm cup of tea. “Eat up.” You say. “Once you’ve eaten, I’ll give you some medicine and then you can rest.” 

The man didn’t seem to notice at first, but after a moment, he picked up the fork and knife and began to eat. You sat at the table beside him thumbing the elven medicine. To pass the time you told him about your day and the upcoming events for the town hoping that he’d find it within himself to speak. 

Once he had finished and downed the medicine you supplied him, you helped him up your stairs and placed him in your bed to sleep. You went to leave, intending on talking to the seamstress about fresh clothes for him. It’d be expensive and there was a possibility you could not afford it, but you hoped the investment would be worth it. However, the man stopped you with a gentle grasp on your hand. 

“Thank you.” He said. You smiled, shocked and surprised to hear him speak, but pleased to hear it. “I was happy too.” You say. 

The old man looked at you, scrutinizing your face before nodding to himself, having decided something. “Listen stranger, I will not last till morning, this I feel deep within my bones. For your kindness and generosity, I will give you my land, my house, my animals, my fields, and I will order my servants to serve you as they served me. They will tend to you loyally, as if you were my blood. I will claim you as my heir and everything I have will be yours.” He coughed, lurching up from the bed in a fit. You were speechless, but quickly reached out to steady him, soothing him with sweet words as you did. You couldn’t believe what the man had said. What could this man possibly offer you? Was he not homeless? Without belongings? How could he claim to give you such grand things? You thought for sure he had lost his mind to old age. 

When his coughing had ceased, he gripped your shoulder and said, “Fetch me a paper and quill, and bring me Sir Thomas, my counselor, as witness. The man tends to set up his work at the law house. Tell him that Lord Arthur calls for him, and that it is urgent. Do this, and I’ll fulfill my promise.” 

Flabbergasted, your jaw fell to the floor. You didn’t know what to do, what to think! But your body moved on its own accord, and you rushed off to fetch Arthur what he asked for. 

You sprinted down your stairs throwing open the door to what used to be your father’s study. Running to the desk you grabbed a fist full of the cleanest papers you could find, and swiped the quill and ink, stumbling over your father’s chair in your haste. Quickly, you delivered what you had to your room, placing them on the bedside table. Before you turned, practically throwing yourself down the stairs with the unusual haste that consumed your being. You did this despite your misgivings and beliefs about the man’s sanity. Still, something in you told you to hurry, so you slung your warmest coat over your shoulders and grabbed your hat, clumsily falling out your front door. 

You raced to town as fast as your legs could carry you and ran past the front gates. 

“Excuse me! Coming through!” You shouted. Darting between men and women, evading rolling carts, ducking beneath overhanging signs, clipping shoulders and occasionally slamming into someone’s side. The people shouted at you, shaking their fists in the air and scolding you harshly as you ran through town. But you ignore them, dashing up the steps of the Law House and slamming open the door. “Excuse me!” You cried. A man startled up from his desk with a shout saying, “What? What is it?!” 

The man was tall and dressed in ivory robes. He had long strands of waved hair like gold, a trimmed beard around his face and his eyes were a sharp green. 

“I’m looking for Sir Thomas, a man that knows the law and counsels’ others, are you him?” 

“I am.”

“Then come quick!” You cried. “Lord Arthur calls you to my house and claims that he won’t survive the night.” 

The man moved at once, shoving all necessary papers and documentation into a brown bag and dashed for the entrance. Seeing him move, you turned on your heel and ran back to your house with shaky legs and empty lungs. Thomas followed you, overtaking your steps when he saw your house. “Where is he?” He asked.

“Up the stairs and in my bedroom!” 

Thomas flew past you; up the dirt path of your home and you watched him fling open your door and charge in. You tried to keep up, but your body was tired, and you slowed your pace to a walk, gasping for breath. When you made it to your door you leaned against the frame sweating and holding a hand to your chest as you wheezed. Goodness, I need to run more. 

Once you were sure your heart would not burst, you shut the door behind you and climbed up your stairs, following the soft voices that drifted down from your room. 

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Your day seemed so normal and sunny; how could it have turned so quickly? Though, you supposed it was for the best, whether the man could fulfill his claims or not the thought of him dead on the side of the road filled you with great sadness. You couldn't imagine what it’d be like to be sick and hungry, dying while uncaring people walked past you. Alone. Too tired to even ask for help. You shuttered and hugged yourself at the thought. You look into your room, but stay back in the hall for privacy's sake, your door open. Dying alone had to be the worst fate you could think of. 

It was well after dark when Thomas bowed his head, grabbing the sheets and slowly dragging them up over Arthur. Your heart sank, such a shame, you thought. It appeared that Arthur's assumption had been correct; he did not make it through the night. 

Thomas stood there a moment holding the bag close to his chest with his hand over the deceased. You wondered briefly if Thomas knew the dead well. He seemed so struck over Arthur’s passing and you didn’t know what to do. You stood there in an empty hall, watching as a man grieved instead of offering your condolences. At the very least, you could offer him tea. With that in mind, you quietly left making your way back down to the kitchen and putting some water over the fire to boil. 

Everything had happened so fast, and it left you confused and tired. Your mind felt as numb as your legs. You took a seat at the table listening to the fire crackle and pop and the cricket’s chirp. You rested your head in your hands unsure of what to do. The man, who you knew now as Arthur, was dead. Most importantly he lay dead upstairs. 

There was a dead man lying in your bed. 

You dragged your eyes around the dark room and furnishings. Did a person burn their bed and bedding when someone died? Certainly, they didn’t just wash and keep it for use. You scrunched up your nose at the thought, something in you churning at the idea of keeping the items in your house let alone putting them to use again. I wonder if I should ask the Lady Grey, you thought, her son is well versed in death. Afterall, he helps bury the coffins he creates. Maybe he’ll know how to dispose of unsavory items. 

And what about all those claims Arthur made? Should I ask Thomas about it? You yawned. Leaning back and listening to the wooden chair creak as you rubbed your eyes, exhausted. Would it even be right to accept those things if they were true? Did he not have any close relatives to take his land? And if he did have such grand things why then, did I find him on the roadside in rags? 

All this you pondered, your mind ran through and questioned every detail you could remember but you could not come up with a suitable answer or theory to solve the mystery of how this problem, and Arthur, had come to you. After a while you settled for hoping that Thomas could provide you with all the answers you wanted but you doubted it. 

The sound of water sizzling against coals caught your attention and you leapt up, quickly pulling the pot away from the flames and laying it to cool on the counter, leaving the tea too steep. You turned your attention back to your table where you still had messy dishes from when Arthur ate his last meal and you felt sorrow creep into your bones. You wish you had given him better food for a last supper. Alas, what was done was done. 

Sighing, you gathered up the dirty dishes and brought them to your sink to clean and swept up the hair off your floor. After all, it’d keep you busy while you waited, and it needed to be done anyway. You scraped whatever food remained off the plate and rinsed out the cup. The sound of running water worked to keep the silence at bay. Till you heard your stairs groan and your heart jumped into your throat with nerves, abruptly, you dropped the dishes to soak, shutting off the water. You barely got your hands dry before Thomas trudged in looking as exhausted as you felt. His eyes were rimmed red, his lips pinched, and he clutched his bag close to his chest with white fingers. 

All was still as you looked at each other, both of you at a loss for what to do next and the silence grew thick. 

“I—my apologies,” he cleared his throat and bowed his head low to his chest. “I did not mean to interrupt.” 

You smiled, his voice was deep and charming, effortlessly adding to the choir of crickets outside. 

“It is alright, I have just finished.” You gestured to your now clean table, “Please sit. I’ll get us some tea.” He nodded grateful for the distraction and sat heavily in his chair. 

From your cupboards you grabbed the best mugs you had and poured the drinks. Carefully you set the steaming beverage in front of him trying not to splash any out the sides. 

“Here, it is still hot so be careful.” 

“Thank you.” 

You gingerly took the seat closest to him as he had chosen to sit at the head of the table. And you didn’t want to risk offending him by moving too far away. Out of nervousness you licked your lips and skipped your eyes from him, “Well, Sir, I do not have much experience with matters such as this, so I’ll let you lead, when ready, of course. But know I have many questions for you.” 

Thomas sighed, dropping his bag to the floor and leaning back replacing the hold he had on his bag with the mug. “Yes, I know you do.” 

He stared into his drink for a time turning things over in his head and you let him do so in silence. Confident that once he had thought things over, he would have a quick and concise explanation. Though it seems you were out of luck. 

He took a sip from his drink and locked his gaze on you, but you squirm underneath his eye and could not meet his gaze instead you watched the fire lick the brick walls of its home. “I have decided that I will explain what I can in the morning but for now I insist that you come with me to town.” 

“What?!” 

Your head snapped around and you felt your neck pop, but Thomas looked resigned. “Yes, I believe that with all that has happened today it would be better if we continued in the morning.” 

“But-but I.” All you could do was stare dumbfounded. “I have so many questions!” You shove yourself to your feet, “And I cannot leave for town at this hour! I will stay on the couch tonight, if need be, but I will not go into town! Not at this hour.” 

You glared at your guest, unable to believe the absurdity of the situation. Awake all night with a dead man lying in your bed and he wouldn’t even answer you! He wouldn’t even consider sharing some of what he knows?! This was outrageous! Absurd!  

Thomas leaned into the table with passion in his eyes and desperation dripping from his lips. “My friend!” He exclaimed. “I do not ever plan on withholding information from you! Nor do I intend to. But I, well—” he gestured towards himself with a wave of his hand— “I cannot, do not, have it in me to continue with this tonight.” 

You paused your anger dwindling as you observed the man at your table. Indeed, he did look wary, and his shoulders slouched like he carried a great burden on his back and all at once you remembered this man mourning at Arthur’s bedside and shame flooded your heart. Here you were berating a grieving heart that could go no further than it had. Your mother would have skinned your hide. 

“My apologies, friend.” You placed a firm hand on his shoulder in comfort, “I forgot myself.”  

The corner of his mouth quirked, “No, I’m afraid you hadn't. I too would demand an explanation as to why I had a dead man in my house. In fact, you have been quite hospitable to me. The only thing you have forgotten to give me is your name.” 

You flushed red, “Ah, sorry, I am called Y/n.” 

At that Thomas grinned and raised his mug to you. “It is a pleasure Y/n.” 

“Yes, indeed it has been for you as well.” 

He ran a hand through his locks of gold and sighed, “And if it helps to convince you to come into town with me. I’ll tell you everything first thing in the morning and whether you like what I have to say or not I’ll buy new furniture and bedding for your room.”

Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you felt your reluctance break away. You could not afford to buy a new set of furnishing, nor could you imagine laying in that bed knowing that the dead had slept there also. But you couldn’t really afford a night at the Inn either… 

You shook your head, “I would agree to this, but I cannot pay for a night at the Inn anymore, the master there has raised the price too high.” 

Thomas shook his head and waved your words aside, “Nonsense! If that's what's stopping you, then I will pay for your room tonight.” 

“Oh, but I could not ask-” 

“But you aren’t! I am offering you my favor, after all, you are the one who has done so much already! Saving a man, you did not know from dying on the side of a dirt road? That is a good deed to be repaid.” 

Still, you hesitated, “Are you sure? I do not want to intrude.” 

Thomas grasped your hand with an endearing look in his eyes, “My dear, if it was such a trouble for me, I would not have offered.” 

“Well.” A small smile graced your lips, and you raised your free hand in defeat, “Alright, consider me convinced! I will go with you.” 

He clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He pulled himself to his feet and motioned towards the door with a bow, hair falling from his shoulders. “After you.” Startled from his fine gesture and a little numb in the mind. You took one last look at your table, staring at the mugs still full of tea. I’ll clean those when I come back in the morning. Quickly you stamped out the fire and then without any further delay, you headed towards town with Thomas as your escort.

Part 2

Masterlist

[schizosamwincester]

Hello! Welcome my sideblog! If you want to see me post about not Supernatural, my main is @drowninginredink.

If you're not going to read this introduction, it/its please, yes I am actually schizophrenic, and beware, incest lies ahead. The rest is below the cut.

Fics:

You sound absurd, even if you're right - schizophrenic!Sam, sampreg, Sam & Dean, past Sam/Lucifer

Sissy - closeted trans woman!Dean/John

Sister - Sam finds out about trans woman!Dean (Sam & Dean)

I remember when your head caught flame - Sam/John, underage, first kiss

But they were fucked up in their turn - closeted trans woman!Dean & closeted trans woman!John

Take My Body - trans man!Sam/John

like the baptism he never had - Sam/Dean, necrophilia, piss (All Hell Breaks Loose)

Silver Linings - Sam/Dean, necrophilia, piss (yes, again. But this time it's Mystery Spot)

Tonight I give in to the fantasy - Trans woman!Dean, sex worker!Dean

I'll use you as a warning sign - Sam/John, Dean/John, unplanned pregnancy

Webweaves:

Sober II/samjohn

An Overdue Downfall/Sam

The Sonnet-Ballad/deanjohn

Drowning in the Sound/John

I Haven't Masturbated in Five Days for Fear of Crying/wincest

Z-E-P-H-Y-R/Sam and Dean (and the Impala)

Big Houses/wincest

And Saints/John and Mary

The Cigarette Duet/wincest

What Makes a Man?/deanjohn

Rent/wincest

The Moon Will Sing/John & Dean

less words/wincest

Bike/wincest

Big Houses/Dean

San Cristóbal/Sam

Young and Dumb/Sam (implied wincest)

Father/deanjohn

I use mostly my own screenshots for weaves, so if you ever want one for your own thing, just ask and I'll send you the original!

All the posts about my pet headcanon are tagged "#schizophrenic sam winchester." Creative, I know. The occasional solely schizophrenia related posts are tagged "#schizospec education." Queue tag is #hallqueuecinations and oh boy do I have way too much stuff queued. I do tag ships so you can filter them out if you want to, but like... I am a johndean and wincest person. If you really don't want to see that, you should just leave.

I am watching SPN for the first time and am currently on episode S3 E7. Don't worry about spoiling me. Trust me, I've already been all over SPN tumblr. And yes, I am already headcanoning Sam as schizophrenic despite having not yet gotten to the part where he actually hallucinates. Pretty early on, I'd seen enough from the fandom to know that Sam was going to give me ~feelings~ as a schizophrenic, but Home was what sold me on it. The way he responds to the vision is exactly like my experience of delusions. It's like having blinders on. You can't think about anything else and you need to figure it all out and fix it right this minute. It's urgent and obsessive in the same way Sam was. His body language, too, was just perfect, down to just what he did with his hands. I look at Sam, especially Sam getting visions, and I see myself. So. Sam Winchester is schizophrenic. Not in some "Sam hallucinated the entire show" way (God I hate those theories) or that none of the supernatural stuff is real. Everything we see is real, but Sam's brain also pulls some shit of its own.

A very important note, given the name of my blog: schizo is a slur. I reclaim it a lot. I was diagnosed by people who want to change the definition of schizophrenia, and so for a long time, I was explicitly told not to call myself schizophrenic. That's bullshit. My symptoms aren't quite traditional, and I am at the more mild end, but as per the current DSM? I'm schizophrenic. But because for a long time I got told "you're schizo-spec, but not schizophrenic," the word I associate myself with more than anything is schizo. I try to actually write out schizophrenic when I'm on this account, but in real life, I usually don't. But if you are not anywhere on the schizophrenia spectrum, you should not say it (unless you're tagging me). I don't want my handle to give anyone the idea that you can go around calling Sam a schizo. I can. You can't.

My purpose isn't directly to educate about schizophrenia, but I know that the general cultural perception of it misses a lot, so just by shouting about how I headcanon Sam as schizophrenic, I will accidentally teach you all things. In light of that, there will be the occasional reblog of not at all SPN related awareness posts, and my asks are always open. You all have my permission to ask rude and personal questions about it that you should not ask strangers. Schizophrenia is basically a special interest of mine at this point. I am very open about stuff, not so much because of desire to educate or what have you but just because part of my schizophrenia is having very little filter. I will say that if you ask me about the delusions I've had, you're going to get an incomplete answer because going into them too much can be triggering. Everything else is on the table, though.

My banner is from this webweave (which I made).

And once again, I am very much johndean trash, with a strong love for samjohn. I do certainly partake in my fair share of wincest as well, but really, I'm here for The Dad Ships. Point is, this blog is very much not an incest-free zone. I'd say that I'm sorry, but I'm not. You're watching The Incest Show. What do you expect? If you do not like that, block me now and move on.

Fun fact: my birthday is November 5. No wonder I eventually broke down and decided I needed to see what SPN actually was.

[apenapaperandadoofus]

Whats up guess what i go into JJK and have been crying non-stop so enjoy

Here’s on AO3

And if you’re too lazy for that (pls don’t, kudos give me serotonin) here’s the fic:

Only One (Gojo x Geto) yes it do be a cheesy title I suck at them ahdbdbd

I can feel the blood dripping from my side and leaving a deep, red mark on my clothes.

It feels as if my legs are about to give in…I can’t really go on anymore but…I need to stay a bit longer. After all…

You aren’t here yet.

…Late as always.

I feel a gentle breeze brush through my hair. I can hear children laughing, people talking, unaware of the chaos they have brought upon the word.

Are they truly here or have I started to hallucinate?

I hate them all. I hate this world.

Everything about it disgusts me, and why wouldn’t it?

Selfish, greedy people inhabit this earth. It’s because of them so many of our friends have died.

So many sacrifices- and for what? For nothing to change? For curses to still roam around this shitty place?

Is it truly surprising that hate would eventually make its way into my heart, envelop me, embrace my body just the way your arms used to do all those nights before?

Is it really so surprising that I chose to leave, after everything that happened after all the death and suffering in vain- that I chose to break the hideous cycle that was helping those who didn’t deserve helping, those who caused all the chaos in this world?

Would you truly blame me, if you were able to feel the way I do?

I know why I chose this path- and I knew the moment I left there would be no going back.

That day I tried so hard to keep my gaze forward, trying my best to not look back at you because I knew, I knew, if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to leave you.

Three words from you and I’d go back. Just those three little words and I would have run back to your arms. I would have dropped everything just for you.

But you didn’t say anything.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you try to stop me, why didn’t you reach out for me, why didn’t you hold me and tell me you would stay by my side, that it would be alright.

I wonder what kind of face you were making at that moment, having to choose between me and the world.

I don’t know why I felt surprised you chose me.

You did always say you’d burn it all for me.

Is it selfish to wish that you still think of me?

To wish that every night you reach out to the side of your bed and feel your heart drop as the only thing that your hands touch is the coldness of the mattress? To wish that you think of me, that you yearn for me as much as I yearn for you?

Is it selfish for me to hope that you cry yourself to sleep every night? Is it selfish for me to hope that our choices left you as broken as me?

That every time you look up to the stars you remember all those nights we’d sneak out and make up our own constellations, coming up with the stupidest names just to see who could make each other laugh the hardest.

Is it selfish to still have that ugly shirt I stole from your closet and never gave back? That every time I think of you, I hug it close to my heart so I can feel as if you’re in the room next to me?

Is it selfish that I want you to hate me- yet I also want you to suffer as much as I do because of how much I love you?

Is it so wrong of me to wish that you miss my touch as much as I do yours?

People say love is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Then tell me, why is it that our love is destroying me from the inside out.

Tell me, why is it that our love is one that only fills my heart up with pain and longing.

Why does our love have to hurt so much that it makes me want to tear my heart out; yet I don’t because I know that the moment I do that I’d stop loving you and goddammit am I not ready to let go of that yet.

Why, why does our love have to be the one that kills us in the end?

Why can’t I just stop, stop missing you, stop seeing you, stop feeling you, stop thinking about you because of every damn thing.

The anger and yearning I feel for you drives me mad- they say that love and hate are opposites but are they really?

One cannot exist without the other- love cannot exist without hate, happiness cannot exist without sadness, light cannot exist without the dark.

I cannot exist without you.

….

The sun is setting.

And there you are.

But…why are you staring at me like that? Why do you still look at me like I’m someone precious, like you love-

Why!?

Why aren’t you looking at me like you despise me?

Why do you still care about me?

You should at least curse me out.

But you don’t.

You crouch down and reach for my hand, and oh, how long has it been since I’ve felt your skin against mine?

How can it be that just one small touch makes my heart skip a beat, make the pain disappear.

How can you make everything better by just being near me?

And then you smile, and fuck, why can’t I go back, why can’t I take it all back, why did I choose this, why did I choose all this over us?

Why didn’t you call out for me, why didn’t you try and help me, why didn’t you love me harder, why didn’t you love me enough to make me see the good in the world again, why did you let me leave?!

Why couldn’t you love me as much as I loved you?

I try to move my hand away- but then you grip them tighter and point up at stars that have begun to appear in the sky.

You say it looks like those betta fish we saw in the aquarium all those years ago. And the ones to the right look like our dragon. And those small ones to the left all look like smiling faces.

We both know you’re just trying to buy us time.

But I don’t stop you.

I missed you. I want to stay here, holding you and never letting you go…

But how long are we going to keep this charade up? How much longer are you going to try and salvage the unsalvageable?

You call out my name.

Suddenly it feels as if time has become frozen. It’s just the two of us now.

You keep smiling, but why are your eyes filled with so much sadness? Why is it that, as much as I hate it, a part of me feels happy you care enough to shed tears for me?

And then you say it.

Those three little words.

You truly are a despicable man. Do you realize the hold you have over me?

I place your hand on my heart.

Can you feel the way it beats just for you? How all this time you were the one thing that kept it beating. It’s all yours. I am all yours.

Maybe in another life it wouldn’t have ended like this.

But is there really a place on this earth for two people that would give up everything for each other? For people that love so hard, that they’re willing to destroy everything around them just to hold each other again?

I don’t think there is. At least not here...

Please…don’t cry for me. Don’t miss me. Don’t yearn for me.

Please fix my mistakes.

And as selfish as it may be, please keep living for me….

I’m glad the one to end it was you.

You’re my beginning and my ending. My reason to be.

My one and only….

….

I can see the stars shining brightly above us.

I’m glad I could see them one last time with you.

[hahahahahangst]

Devil’s work (Be The Young 38)

TW: [suicidal thoughts, self h*rm, violence, s*xual assault]

Other tags: [sister fic, canon-level violence, dean is an asshole, angst]

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will occasionally break canon✨ .

Summary: Emily Reed, born and raised in Portland, is preparing her admission papers for Stanford, medical school. Little does she know, her life is about to change forever.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

A/N:  I swear to god dean has the iq of a peanut

MASTERLIST

Devil’s work

Isn't it sad the way it works That we think we're the only ones who hurt? So just breathe for a second I know you're feeling so damn helpless

“You have no idea how it was, being in there.” She cried, sitting on the couch in Bobby’s living room. “He was hallucinating, Dean. He was being tortured and then- He thought I was your mother and he-” She took a deep breath. “He kept crying and saying that he had let everybody down, I didn’t know how to stop it.”  “There’s nothing you could have done.” She stood up. “Yes, but Dean… I called you. I screamed for you to come back, to make him stop, and you-” “I get it, you’re mad.”  “MAD?” She yelled. “It was like hell all over again! I CALLED YOUR FUCKING NAME, DEAN WINCHESTER! I CRIED FOR YOU AND ONCE AGAIN, YOU IGNORED ME! YOU DID WHAT WAS EASIER!”  ”...alright-”  “NOT - ALRIGHT“ She screamed, tears falling down her face. “YOU KEEP BREAKING ME DEAN! OVER AND OVER!” She pushed him towards the iron walls. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! SAM IS DYING, AGAIN, AND WE ARE HERE, FIGHTING, AGAIN!” “Emily-” “No, just say it- nothing changed. We’re still the same two bastards that almost killed each other back then.”  “You know that’s not true!”  “THEN PROVE IT!” She threw some books off a table. “Don’t stand there looking at me, DO SOMETHING!” Dean lept towards her and she expected him to punch her. She closed her eyes and braced for it, ready to strike back. But instead, she felt Dean’s arms wrap around her. She opened her eyes, surprised, and slid away.  “Dean, don’t- Don’t, okay?” She said, uncomfortably folding her arms.  “Wh-”

Emily heard the faint voice of Sam talking to himself in the panic room. “We’re killing him, Dean.” She fell back on the couch. “Going cold turkey isn’t working.”  “Emily, we aren’t giving him demon blood.”  “Dean, he-” “I KNOW!” He raised his voice. “I know, he’s going to die. But at least- At least he’d die human.”  Emily exhaled. “Dean, these hallucinations he’s having… They feel real to him. He’s really suffering, you know?” “Yeah.” “Doesn’t it make you want to go down there and help him?” “How? There’s nothing I can do.”  “Did you even try looking?” “I did.” “Or did you just go with the most self-destructive solution?”  “We’ve already had this conversation, Emily.” “Yeah, and it ended up with me kicking the hell out of you, opening the gates of hell and triggering a domino effect that brough to me calling it quits.” She said, cold. “We need to do something. Our powers won’t work if we are in a devil’s trap, but I can try and talk to him telepathically if we are both out. Maybe we can-” “No, stop- I’m not taking him out of the panic room. It’s too dangerous.”  “I can overpower him, it won’t be a problem.” Dean seemed to think it over. “Dean, the other choice is letting him die alone in that room.”  “Okay. I’ll let you try- but the second I see you can’t control him, I throw him back in the panic room and we do it my way.”  “You won’t have the chance.” Said Bobby, coming into the room hurriedly. “Sam is gone.”  “What- How?” Asked Emily.  “I don’t know. All devil’s traps are busted.”  “Well, it’s not important, we need to find him.” Said Dean. “And let me tell you one thing. I hope he’s with Ruby.”  “Why?” Asked Bobby.  “'Cause killing her's the next big item on my to-do list.” “Finally!” Groaned Emily. “I’ve been waiting months to send that whore back to hell.”  “Let’s get to work, Sam can’t hide forever.” 

As they worked through the stolen cars to locate Sam, Emily took on the tasks he would usually do when they researched. She managed barely to enter the police databases and cursed Sam for teaching her how to exorcize but not how to hack a database. “There.” Said Dean, stopping her from scrolling any longer. “That’s the one.” “An Escalade with custom rims?” Asked Emily. “That’s like going around with a neon sign!” “Sam would never take that, right?” Asked Dean. “Well, he might call you his best friend, but I’m his brother. Trust me, that’s exactly what he did.” “Weird flex.” Giggled Emily. “But okay, I trust you. Let’s go.” She took her jacket and they rushed out the door. 

They drove for two hours in complete silence before Bobby called Emily. “Cops found the Escalade outside Elk River.” He announced.  “Right, how far are we?” “A couple of hours. There’s a town not from that- Cold Spring. Filled with demon signs.”  “Thanks Bobby.” Emily hung up. She turned to Dean. “Cold Springs. Two hours away.” The car started going faster. “Dean, listen-” Sighed Emily. “When we find Sam, you let me do the talking, okay? We need to bring him back, not push him away.”  “Okay.” He exhaled. “You trusted me on the car, I’ll trust you on this.” He nodded. 

They scanned all the motels around. Dean pointed the one he thought Sam would have been hiding in. “We go in, kill Ruby, bring back Sam.” He instructed. 

Soon, they were hiding in the adjacent room, watching Sam leave. As soon as he was out the main door, Dean and Emily snuck out of their room and entered Sam’s. When Emily opened the door, Ruby was frantically making her bag, clearly about to go.  “Housekeeping.” Said Emily, as serious and cold as possible. The second Ruby noticed her, Emily used her powers to have the demon fly against the wall. Dean approached her with his knife, but something hit Emily in the back of her head, making her lose concentration. Ruby fell on the ground and fought Dean back. Emily didn’t regain balance in time and Sam had already gone through the room and separated Dean from the demon. “Just take it easy.” He said. Emily checked his entire figure. He was fine. He was not hallucinating, he was not suffering.  “You did it again?!” She asked, outraged. “What’s wrong with you?!”  “Look, I’m glad you guys are here. Let’s talk-” “No, enough talking. She’s dead.” Emily pointed at Ruby. Sam shielded her with his body. She quickly left through the door. “Come on- really?!”  “What’s going on with you? Can’t you see what she’s doing?!” Asked Dean. “It’s not what it looks like.” Said Sam, weirdly too calm for the situation.  “I can’t believe you-” “Emily, I thought you were going to-” Dean interrupted Emily. “What, be nice? Have some comforting wittle words for wittle wittle Sammy? Sorry, I’m done being nice.” She scowled at Dean before she returned to Sam. “Sam, Ruby is poisoning you. Literally.” “That’s not true.” “She’s drugging you and then leaving you looking for another hit!” She stated. “That’s poisoning.” “SHE WAS LOOKING FOR LILITH!” “AND YOU BELIEVE HER? YOU BELIEVE HER BUT NOT ME?” Sam sighed, not answering. “Can’t you see she’s manipulating you into taking distances from your family! Nothing of what she says is real, Sam.” “You’re wrong!”  “I’m not-” Emily groaned, frustrated. “Sam, we’re trying to help you here. Please, come back with us.” “No, listen- We’ve got a lead on a demon close to Lilith. If you come with us, we can get to her. This can be all over.” “You think this is a real lead?” “I’m sure.”  “Right.” Emily glared at Dean, who had, just like she requested, stayed out of it. “But Ruby’s not coming. We go us three.”  Sam thought for a second. “I can’t.”  “I beg your pardon?” Asked Emily. “Sam, I’m giving you a choice here. It’s us…“ She glared at Dean again. He lightly nodded. ”...or her.”  “You can’t ask me this, I need her help to kill Lilith.” Emily turned around. She closed her eyes and took a big breath, trying not to cry. It was not the time for that. “I'm the only one who can do this, Emily. You know.” “Why, because she told you so? Then why-” A sob escaped from her lips. She stopped, trying to steady her breathing. “Then why did she teach me as well?”  Emily looked at Dean. He took a step towards Sam and talked. “And why would the angels say that I’m the one supposed to stop it? Can’t you see? Something doesn’t add up.”  “You can't. You're not strong enough.” “And who the hell are you-” “I'm being practical here.” Sam sighed. “I'm doing what needs to be done.”  Emily was still turned the other way. She closed her eyes. “Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing.” Said Dean.  “Stop bossing me around, Dean!” Sam raised his voice. “Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me.” Dean waited a while before answering. “No. You don't know what you're doing, Sam.”  “Yes, I do.” Emily dried her face and face back to Sam, starting to feel angry. “Then that's worse.” Said Dean. From his tone, Emily could tell he was also upset.  “Why? Look, I'm telling you-” “Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means-” “DEAN!” Emily cut him off. “Don’t.” She warned.  “What? No. Let him say it.” Sam started crying.  “It means you're a monster.” Dean’s voice sounded like a bomb in the neighborhood. Way too loud, way too clear, way too close. For a second, everybody stood still. Tears were streaming down their faces. Emily, upset, was just about to answer, but Sam punched Dean, who fell on the ground. Emily ran to divide them, but Sam was too strong and too pumped for her to lift him off Dean’s body.  Emily tried to unsuccessfully stop the fight for a good minute before resorting to her powers. With a gesture, Emily tried having Sam move away from Dean, but he resisted. Surprised, Emily tried again. The second time, Sam was not prepared and his body flew against the thin motel walls. “You want to fight?” Said Emily, walking towards her. “You better do it against someone your size.” She punched him. His powers overcame hers and a book flew to hit her head. Disoriented, Sam had time to punch her, but she was soon back up.  “Sam, just come home with us. It doesn’t have to be this way.” She said. Sam looked at her and started walking towards the door. “Sam.” She warned. “You walk out, you’re choosing Ruby. You’re not gonna get a second chance.” He left the room, and Emily tried to run after him. “YOU FUCKING RUINED EVERYTHING!” She screamed to the empty hall.

[hhannigram]

Hey :) do you have a list of your top hannigram fics? 🤍

yes, yes i do! thank you for asking - here's fic recs part 1 i did a while ago, but since then i've read more <3

HANNIGRAM FIC RECS

//

at the moment my ultimate favourite, and 100% worth investing the time to read it:

Paragon by BloodyWar2411, 530k / When Hannibal met Will Graham (the man who had, three years prior, been mistaken for the Chesapeake Ripper), he expected amusement. What he got was his first taste of obsession. Dark and bitter in the back of his throat but achingly sweet on the tongue. He knew at once that this feeling, this Man, would consume him. And Hannibal would consume Will right back.

//

I Am Not A Morning Person by StratsWrites, 14k / I Am Not A Morning Person opened at 4:30 AM. Usually. Their menu was obscene and ever changing, and they offered shots of tequila in their coffee to anyone with an ID. Hannibal fell in love with their grouchy baker anyway.

Pretty Kitty by StratsWrites, 42k / Hannibal had never wanted a pet, of any kind. [..] So, when he woke on a Tuesday morning to the sound of a crash from the kitchen, without the accompanying scurry of fleeing footsteps, Hannibal knew to be on the alert.

The Fox's Wedding by thehoyden, 11k / Because Will’s life is bullshit, he gets gently kidnapped from the hospital after Hannibal guts him.

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems, 72k / [..] an AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

A Gentler Ending by damnslippyplanet, 8k / Perhaps what is called for is nothing so simple and clean as separation or joining. It will have to be a field amputation, of sorts. Fast and brutal, and neither of them entirely whole afterwards. But, perhaps, survivable. [..] A little Digestivo fix-it fic because sometimes you just want your beloved characters to USE their WORDS and avoid several more years of pain.

An Ounce of Wit by Winddrag0n, 69k / “It’s heavier than I expected. Anyways, here.” She walks in front of Will, and in her hands she is holding a long, furry snake. It’s white on the bottom, the top a dirty grey, with dark, blurry rosettes sprinkled along its length. [..] “It’s attached to your ass, dude. You have a fucking tail.” AKA a modern magical AU where the entire point is to turn Will Graham into a catboy.

Atë by Winddrag0n, 50k / The FBI are after a serial killer who preys on online celebrities, and their investigation leads them to renowned floriculturist Hannibal Lecter, who seems more interested with one of the investigators than helping with the case itself. With a shared interest in gardening, Will finds himself drawn to the strange man, and can't seem to muster the desire to rebuff any of his advances. [..]

The Postman's Knock by ironlotus & laststop, 48k / Guilford, a quiet, well-to-do neighborhood in Baltimore, has its peace shattered when Will, a discourteous postman, takes over their route, makes a habit of mishandling their mail, and wages war on Hannibal’s sanity. A war which will end in bloodshed, one way or another.

Golden Promises by Shotgun_sinner, 68k / Will stays for the dinner party, where he may or may not hallucinate that Dr. Lecter is wearing a gold plug in front of his friends. Hannibal gets Will treated for his encephalitis, and they grow closer in Will's recovery than they ever were before. The maybe hallucination keeps Will up at night, and he learns that the feelings he has for Hannibal might not be platonic after all.

Four Days, Three Nights by Devereauxs_Disease, 10k / Hannibal Lecter needs to get to the Amundsen-Scott Station in Antarctica. Unfortunately, his research partner had other plans. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, Hannibal will have to rely on a scraggly dog sledder named Will Graham to get him across the frozen wasteland. What could go wrong with that plan?

Awaken by NeuroWriter14, 61k / Will Graham is the son of wealthy socialite Frances DuBois. Raised by his mother, he learned from a young age the darkest parts of himself and how and when to embrace them. Hannibal Lecter is a renowned psychiatrist and a darling of the Baltimore elite. He's known for his extravagant parties for the elite. One night, a newcomer to his party captures his attention. Both are serial killers.

oh, to be the life and soul will be the death of me by Serindrana, 7k / "[..] A muscle by Hannibal’s left eye twitches, from the unpleasant combination of irritation, confusion, and fascinated charm that is circulating through his upper chest at the moment. For a moment, he dares hope that Will is drunk enough that he won’t remember finding the basement in the morning." AKA The third time Hannibal Lecter invites Will to a dinner party, he says yes.

invisible to all/the mind becomes a wall by Serindrana, 75k / “Somebody got inside his head and moved all the furniture around.” [..] & First problem: He doesn’t know how he got here. Chilton’s car, likely, but he doesn’t have keys in his pocket, and there’s no sign of any vehicle at all. Second problem: He also doesn’t know the extent of the carnage between here and the BSHCI, or even, with any real certainty (a lie, that’s a lie, isn’t he finished lying to himself?), that he caused it, which means he has no idea how quickly or easily law enforcement will find him. Together, those problems leave him with very little to formulate an escape plan. What he does have, though, is a gun and access to Hannibal Lecter’s house. [..]

[psychedelic-ink]

chapter 3. still don't know my name

pairing: tasm!peter parker / fem!reader

genre: romance, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

wordcount: 3.4k

content warnings: Peter's POV, alcohol consumption, peter getting really drunk, seeing hallucinations, suffering from dissociation, negative self-talk (peter) , mild depression indicators for reader, another girl flirting with peter and kissing him yes she's based off of haley dunphy because i love her , graphic horror imagery

summary: one night you stop spider-man from almost killing someone, the next day you see your neighbor getting changed into the red and blue suit in the alley.

taglist: @raylan-c , @leydileyla , @kominnfyrirkattarnef , @scandalous-chaos , @kdatthecastle (tell me if you want to be added to the list <3)

I made a playlist for the fic! click here it’s unfinished so feel free to recommend me songs ❤

masterlist

previous / next

The voice of traffic echoed through the streets, bright lights of commercial boards and headlights mimicking the light of the stars above– Only more blinding and less beautiful. Up in the skies, Peter swung and landed on top of the Chrysler Building. He looked down, his eyes searching for a certain octopus that’s been missing for about a week. When all he could see was the common after-work rush, he sat down. His feet dangled as he removed his mask, he was unbelievably tired and sleep deprived. He hadn’t been able to sleep since his temporary move into Aunt May’s. Her poor aunt was so surprised when he came back in the middle of the night, covered in cuts and bruises. Honestly Peter was pretty sure she knew about his extracurricular activities, but still, he was grateful she never mentioned it.

He let out a sharp breath as his mind wandered and thought about everything that led him to this point. Doc Ock hadn’t really been a surprise, Peter had his suspicions after his multiverse adventure so he already was keeping a close eye on him. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to get so involved. He couldn’t have that, not after– Peter furiously shook his head, not wanting to think about it. As long as he was far away from you, you would be safe. He cared little about if he came out as the bad guy or not.

All he had to do was find Doc Ock and everything would be fine. He could go and explain everything to you, making it clear why your feelings– and his to some amount, was dangerous.

Peter put the mask back on, his nose scrunching up as the musty scent filled his nostrils. He mentally added washing the suit to his to-do list. Which, much to his disappointment, wouldn’t be tonight. He had made a promise to a couple of friends, specifically Ned, that he would show up at the club today. Apparently social distancing wasn’t good for his “mental health” , like some crummy club would do him any good.

Peter shot a web to the building across and started swinging. He was on autopilot as he swung, desperately trying to collect his scattered mind. He thought about tonight. It has been a while since he last saw Ned. Peter’s friendship with him had an awkward start, especially on Peter’s end. It was quite shocking to see almost the exact replica of a friend that belonged to another Peter Parker. The only difference that he noticed was the way Ned acted, he seemed much more outgoing, more too cool for school type of guy. Ned Leeds was definitely a player in this universe. The two of them met at the Daily Bugle, he had a story to report and asked for Peter’s help which Peter obviously didn't say no to. He needed the cash.

After that they grew close as friends, Ned had no idea he was Spider-man but he did know about Gwen. Which was why Ned practically begged him to go out and be his wing-man. Though to be fair Ned was quite successful on his own, it was still nice of him to act like he needed a partner. Peter appreciated it.

Peter landed in the alleyway right behind the club. He quickly stripped himself and put on his regular clothes, which in retrospect, shouldn’t be doing in the open anymore. After ruffling his hair and rolling his shoulders, Peter swiftly entered the club, praying that Ned was already there. But as soon as his foot passed the threshold Peter was quick to realize that even if his friend was inside, there was no way he could tell from the crowd.

The colorful flashing lights made him want to hurl, with squinted eyes he elbowed the crowd, trying to reach the bar. Peter could’ve sworn that everyone inside was thrown into glitter before entering, every face he saw was covered with it. He felt off being the only one with bare skin. With his hands in the air he slid between two girls and finally reached the bar, he looked around but saw no sign of Ned. Groaning, he pulled out his phone and squinted as he tried to see if he had any new messages.

“Great, nothing-” he muttered from under his breath.

“You waiting for someone?”

Peter flinched at the sudden shout coming from his right side. Turning, he saw a woman with dark brown hair, she had pink eyeliner and, of course, glitter all over her round face. She had a small nose, full lips and big brown eyes. Peter’s first initial thought was that the woman smiling giddly at him, probably slightly drunk, was very cute.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for a friend,” Peter shouted back, trying to get his voice across.

“A girlfriend?” she asked in a hopeful tone. She batted her eyelashes at him like a cartoon.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head, “No–”

“Haley,” she cut him off, extending her hand. “And you are?”

“Peter,” he replied and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you,”

She grinned, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Peter forced a smile, he internally cursed at Ned and his tardiness. He wasn’t in the mood to mingle with strangers, especially ones that were intoxicated. It a hassle to deal with.

“You seem nice but I can’t,” he shouted. “Sorry,”

Haley shot him a confused look, slowly blinking.

“What, are you pregnant or something?”

Peter opened and closed his mouth. This girl wasn’t going to back down was she? He glanced around once more, the club was filled to the brim and still no sight of Ned Leeds. Peter leaned against the bar’s counter and propped himself with his elbows, his shoulders fell with defeat.

“Not really,” he muttered. “I would love a drink,”

Peter tried hard not to flinch when Haley playfully placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling as she turned to the bartender. Peter didn’t bother to listen to what that order was. At this point he would’ve guzzled savage water if it would numb the emotions stirring in his heart and mind. This was why he didn’t want to come here, every beating heart he came across reminded him of those he couldn’t save. The ones that stopped beating due to him– He quickly blinked, straightening up as the hand on his shoulder disappeared and placed a drink in front of him. When he turned, Peter noticed that he had a scotch on the rocks sitting idly in front of him and Haley held a pink cocktail between her perfectly manicured nails.

He took a sip, appreciating the bitter drink that burned his throat. Haley smiled, scooching closer as she started to converse.

———————————————

Peter had no memory of how it happened but he suddenly found himself on the dance floor. The music was loud and made his ear thud, also somehow the colorful lights had become brighter and more horrendous. Clubs were definitely the worst place to be when you were a heightened-sense superhero. Haley danced in front of him, giggling as she held his hands and placed them on her waist. Bending her knees, she rocked her hips like a snake, pulling Peter closer to her own body. Sensory overload mixed with alcohol was a dangerous thing. Peter felt dizzy, not knowing what else to do other than mimic the movements of everyone around him. He grinded his body against her’s, his lips grazed against her forehead feeling the dampness of her skin. The friction and heat made him crave a dessert he hadn’t had in a long time.

Haley smelled of a mix between sweet and spicy, she tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck– Without even thinking Peter leaned in and kissed right above the artery, his plush lips grazing against the curve. A small whine tore away from Haley’s strawberry smelling lips. He felt her pulse getting faster, her breathing becoming uneven as the base of the music got lower. Peter vaguely remembered hearing the song before, it had a certain sadness laced into the beat. It echoed how he felt. Much better than the typical club music that was playing before–

Then Peter felt a pair of soft lips against his own.

Her lips tasted just how they smelled; strawberries. Peter stood still as she devoured his lips, kissing him with her hands traveling up and down his chest. With the music starting to fade Peter finally closed his eyes and kissed her back, slowly moving his lips alongside her’s. She was…different, the kiss to him felt numb, emotionless and without heat. But his instincts urged him to go on, letting her grind into his hips as his hands squeezed her tiny waist. He slid his tongue between her lips and tasted her, she tasted whatever the hell that pink cocktail was. Something fruity and bitter.

Peter’s pulse quickened and his stomach started to churn. He felt sick, sick, sick, sick– He felt helpless, unable to control a situation he could’ve prevented. The voices of the crowd and the sound of the music faded, his face felt numb. He vaguely could feel Haley’s presence but that also soon faded, fear struck his heart and he finally parted his eyes.

Gwen Stacy.

There was no mistaking it, the platinum blond hair, the big blue eyes, the round face– The same outfit she was wearing when she…died. She was staring at him, her lips thin and her eyes lifeless. Peter’s breathing faltered as he parted away, looking down he realized with horror that Haley had disappeared, leaving Gwen Stacy looking up at him. She was pale faced, her lips purple and eyes clouded. Peter shouted as he scurried back, hitting things that he couldn’t recognize.

“How could you let this happen?” Gwen’s voice echoed, “Why didn’t you save me, Peter?”

Peter’s chest trembled, his breathing faltering as he continued to fall back. Every person in the bar was replaced by her, by her ghost, staring at him, blaming him for what had happened– And rightfully so, Peter’s mind spoke back to him. Gwen followed him until his back was blocked by the bar counter, his fingers twitched and his knees shook. Oddly enough, despite everything that was happening, his spider-sense was dead silent.

Gwen tilted her head, a patch of her blond hair falling to Peter’s feet. He clenched his teeth, her face slowly started to decay in front of him, her skin drying and turning a gray-ish color. Peter closed his eyes, he felt his heart in his throat.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted. “I regret not saving you every day– I’m still thinking of you, Gwen. Reliving it everyday… I’m sorry Gwen,” his voice cracked but his eyes remained shut.

“Peter what’s going on?” a voice asked and Peter quickly turned his head towards it. His eyes blinked open, he could still feel Gwen’s presence, he could still feel her gaze.

Among the sea of Gwen Stacy’s, among all of his ghosts, he saw a familiar silhouette– He saw you. His heart beated two times too fast, you looked at him with worry, walking through the crowd as if there was no one there. He saw you extend your hand and suddenly you were right next to him. Your hand touched the side of his face, forcing him to turn his downcasted gaze upon you. He swallowed right before his lips parted with a gasp.

“Peter snap out of it!”

The next thing Peter heard was the sound of water splashing against his face. He flinched, almost climbing up the bar as he took in quick, panicked breaths. Water dripped down his hair and face.

Gwen had disappeared into the night, so had you. The crowded bar, the loud music, everything was back. Peter blinked a couple of times before everything that had happened registered, his back was against the bar counter and two women stared down at him. One was Haley, she had a frown, her big eyes had worry written all over them. The other was Felicia Hardy, aka Black Cat. A close friend, a reliable, at least most of the time, partner while fighting crime. She wore a red thight crop top with a leather skirt equally as tight as her top. She threw a handful of her white hair over her shoulder and turned to Haley.

“He seems fine now, you can leave him to me.”

Haley’s glance traveled between both him and Felicia, “A–Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Felicia answered with a grin. “We’re close friends don’tg worry, thank you for looking after him,”

“ ‘Kay.”

With that Haley disappeared, leaving a very angry Felicia behind.

“I told Ned this club was a horrible idea, we would be better going to a pub instead,” she elegantly crossed her arms in front of her. “Where the devil is he?”

“Don’t know, he hasn't texted me,”

Felicia’s look softened as she looked down at him. Peter scrambled back up, sitting on one of the bar stools. Finally his racing heart had started to settle. She placed a hand on his shoulder, his mind still scattered, he flinched away.

“Was it her again?”

Peter nodded. He still had trouble collecting his thoughts, a memory of Gwen flashed before his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He let out a shaky breath. Pulling out her phone, Felicia sat down next to him.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Not enough to get me through tonight,” He turned the stool and ordered a beer for him and a glass of champagne for Felicia. She eyed him suspiciously but if she did have anything to say she had voted against it, her glance falling back to her phone.

She clicked her tongue, “Apparently Ned was preoccupied with Betty, he’s on his way right now,”

“Great,” Peter replied unenthusiastically as the barman placed their drinks. “The more the merrier.”

He felt nothing as he downed the whole bottle.

———————————————

“Peter?”

Peter’s lips twisted into a lopsided smile, the side of his body pressed against the door frame. The wood creaked under his weight and he giggled at the sound. He shook his head, forcing his bloodshot eyes to focus, when they did, he noticed that you were wearing a baggy white shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. His eyes traveled up, the inside of your eyes reflected the feeling of distraught. The look pulled at his heartstrings and he clumsily straightened up, crossing his arms in front of him.

“How’ve you been?”

You wrinkled your nose, presumably because of the heavy scent of alcohol that lingered in his breath.

“It’s 3 AM in the morning,” you replied. “Is everything alright Peter?”

A knot formed in Peter’s throat, he swallowed but it didn’t make it go away. He couldn’t remember what led him here, the last thing he remembered was Felicia asking if he had somewhere to go– After that was a blank.

“Can I come in?” his brows furrowed at how hoarse his voice was.

“Sure,” you replied, scurrying out of the way with urgency.

Your quick scan at his body didn’t go unnoticed by Peter. Probably scanning for wounds, he thought as his pulse quickened. He walked inside and examined his surroundings, it was pretty much the same. Books, the faint scent of coffee, candles- The only unfamiliarity was the heavy blanket on the couch, a blanket clearly for the bedroom, then he noticed the mess on the table– School books, unclean mugs, a half eaten meal. Peter turned to you but before he could say anything you cut him off.

“Ah sorry about the mess,” you passed by him with a nervous laugh. “Let me clean up a bit.”

He watched as you threw the blanket on to the armchair and collected the dishes, quickly dumping them into the sink.

“Would you like anything? Coffee, water?”

“You have any beer?”

Despite being unadvised many times by both Felicia and Ned, Peter couldn’t help it. He couldn’t remember what he was here for, he only chased a feeling, the longing for comfort. And when he thought of comfort, funnily enough, he thought of you. Drunken or not, his hallucination of Gwen was still vivid in his mind along with the image of you parting the sea of ghosts like a breath of fresh air. The only thing Peter knew was that he needed to see you, be it wrong or right.

Soon you returned to the living room, placing a bottle in front of him and sitting on the armchair across from the couch. Peter took the bottle and downed the contents inside, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each gulp. He sensed that your anxiety was growing with every passing minute, you started to gently hit your upper thighs with your palms, the soft pitter patters filled the room.

“So,” you broke the silence, lips curling up with a nervous smile. “Have you found Doc Ock yet?”

Peter shook his head and chuckled with the beer bottle still between his lips. He gently placed it back on the table.

“No,” he replied. “I have no idea what he’s planning, I feel like I should, considering other versions of myself fought with him before–”

“Other versions?”

Peter’s lips parted when you cut him off, he turned to you and squeezed his eyes shut, then he opened them again. He was trying to focus, and trying to remember.

“You know, like other me’s but in another universe? Ah, like a multiverse,”

“Peter, how drunk are you?”

His heart sank at your words. Wide-eyed, Peter turned his glance down to his hands, his fingers twitched. His body felt almost frozen.

No no no no no no she doesn’t understand.

Gwen would understand.

Gwen would know what I was talking about.

She doesn’t understand.

Peter felt frantic. His pulse quickening and heart beating in his throat, he was spiraling. He didn’t know what to do anymore, he had no guidance, no help, an octopus on the loose and the ghosts of his past haunting him day and night. Peter curled up, his knees touching his sweaty forehead and fingers maniacally scratching his nape. His mind felt numb and all he could do was fall further into his thoughts, memories of a past he so desperately wanted to forget. You could never be her. It was impossible to find someone like her, she was one of a kind. A snowflake. And she’s still gone.

A hand on his knee.

The touch brought goosebumps to his skin. It was a kind touch, the inside of your palm covering his knee, your thumb grazing against it. You said something– Something soothing Peter imagined. His heart rate slowed down, so did his breathing. Your voice soothed him like a lullaby, it made him come back and see where he was once more.

Then he saw you.

Your forehead was pressed against the back of your hand that was holding his knee, you had moved to the floor, still muttering things that Peter couldn’t quite hear. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes and his breath got caught in his throat. You weren’t Gwen– Far from it. But you were a perfect version of what you were, someone good, broken maybe but good nevertheless.

Prompting you to look up, Peter touched the side of your face. His breath hitched when he noticed the wetness of your eyes, the dark circles underneath it. He leaned down. It was as if time stopped. An inch away from your face his breath lingered in the air, swallowing, he closed the distance and captured your lips with a kiss. It was much more different compared to the kiss at the club. You tasted like brown sugar and mildly of coffee, your lips were cracked but soft. Peter took in a deep breath, tasting you one last time before pulling back.

Your shock was written all over your face, if he was in the right head-space Peter might’ve laughed.

“Sorry,” he slurred instead. “I…should go,”

He attempted to get up but fell back down, your hand was still on his knee. Peter looked down only to be greeted by your glare and frown.

“What the hell is going on?” you hissed. “Are you okay? Just tell me please,”

His heart shattered at the way your voice trembled. He sighed, taking your hand and placing a gentle kiss on top as he picked himself off of the couch.

“I’m not– But I’ll figure it out soon, promise.”

Without waiting for an answer Peter left. He stumbled across the hall and for the first time in while he stayed at his own apartment.

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum​ and turn on notifications✨

[novamirmirsblog]

Favourite crime pt 2

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word Count: 2936

Genre: angsty fluff? or fluffy angst 👀

Request: yes

Warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, slight coercion into sex (it doesn't happen tho)

Part 1 is here

A/n: The long awaited part two is officially here. I had lots of people who wanted the reader to move on, people who wanted them to get back together and people who wanted both. Thank you everyone for your INDECISIVENESS (kidding. ily). Also Emma was a randomly generated name - I'm sorry :3

Did I write this fic instead of sleeping? Yes. I have no regrets.

It had been a year since you moved back home. The seasons had come and gone and with that, so had your thoughts of Natasha. The same could not be said for the assassin. She had spent a blissful 3 months with Bruce before he had dropped off the face of the Earth and she was missing you. By the 5th month, she had stopped moping about and tried to find you. She searched everywhere but your town was large and unfamiliar and you didn’t want to be found.

Natasha both regretted what she had said and didn't. She regretted it because she realised just how much she adored you once she saw all the areas Bruce fell short in. You knew her better than she sometimes knew herself. You knew when to back off and when to put pressure on. You knew when she needed control and when you needed to take control. You knew when she wanted ice cream or when she wanted brownies. Bruce didn't. However, a part of her didn't regret those nasty things she said because she really didn't deserve you. You were everything she wasn’t, and she didn't know how to measure up to you.

She never voiced these concerns and so they festered and grew until she believed the only way out was to cheat. She knew that was the only thing that could drive you away. Natasha had told you all about her past, how she believed the Red Room had stripped her of her humanity – of her choice whether to become a mother. She knew there were other ways to have children - of course there were, but she hated the fact they had taken that option from her.

You were not like Natasha. You voiced your concerns which is why she knew exactly what to say and do to get you to hate her. Your previous boyfriend had cheated on you with your once best friend. You had watched as your father cheated on your mother and how that made her a hollow shell for a while, her never understanding why the man she loved could hurt her in that way. Supposedly, everyone models their future relationships on what their parents’ relationship looked like. Perhaps that’s why you kept choosing the cheaters. You were content with where you were. You had a forest, a busy town, and a beach all within a 15-mile radius of your house. You were far enough from civilisation that you could forget about reality for a while but close enough to occasionally dip back in whenever you wanted to.

You had kept in contact with Tony and Pepper, congratulating them on the arrival of Morgan and insisting that they should visit. You also continued to occasionally talk to Wanda when Carol was off world. Carol was overjoyed when she found out you had started dating someone new.

You had met Emma when you were taking a dip back into reality at the local supermarket. Her blonde hair vaguely reminded you of a woman you used to know, and you guessed that’s why you felt drawn to her. It wasn’t the electrical crackle that stole your breath away like your first meeting with Natasha, but it was something. Emma could occasionally be a little controlling, but you guessed that’s what normal relationships were like. She didn’t like you going to bars or pubs anymore and you certainly weren’t allowed in any clubs. You didn’t mind it too much as you hardly minded giving up a few nights out if it meant you could have something that resembled normalcy.

“Who’s that?” Emma asked, your face illuminated from your phone as the ding rang out.

“A friend. He’s bringing his wife and new baby over tomorrow and was reminding me to baby-proof the house.” You smiled lightly as you texted Tony back. You hadn’t mentioned to Emma that you were an ex-avenger, but it just kept slipping your mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who is he? Where will he be staying?”

“I just forgot. Sorry. He’ll be staying here.”

“But you only have a single bed.”

“Yeah. I was planning to sleep on that and Tony, Pepper and the baby can stay in my room.”

“You mean our room.”

You said nothing, too engrossed in arguing with Tony about how under no circumstances will there be any celery in your house. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.

“Our room, right Y/n?”

“Um yeah.” You wave her off was apparently your second mistake, but you didn’t multi-task too well and so half answers were all you were good for while texting.

“I have been your girlfriend for 3 months Y/n. The least you could do is answer me properly and tell me what’s going on in your life.” She huffed, pushing your feet from her lap, and turning to face away from you, all of which you missed. You really weren’t having that evil green vegetable in your house.

“Seriously, what is even so important that you’re ignoring me right now!” Emma’s voice cut through the fog, and you looked at her with a blank expression. It was times like these that you really missed Na- No. You refused to go there. You didn’t miss her. You were over her.

“No celery.”

Emma threw her hands up in the air. “You seriously don’t see what’s wrong, do you?”

“No.” You tilted your head, confused at what your girlfriend was talking about.

“Well, I’m not just going to tell you! Jesus. You should know. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Emma stood up in a huff, making a lot of noise while getting ready to leave.

“Okay – bye” Your attention was bought back to the phone when Tony sent you a cute video of Morgan crawling about, probably as a bribe to get you to buy celery. You stood, watching the video a few times before you shut off your phone, finally getting around to babyproofing your house.

~~~~~

Babyproofing a house was a lot more work than you originally thought. You had spent most the night picking sharp objects up from baby-height areas and making sure you hadn’t left any weapons about. All the guns taped under tables had to be relocated and you found enough change to set you up for retirement. You just hoped and prayed there were no small beads for Morgan to choke on. You didn’t even get around to putting soft corners on the edges of tables and counter tops, but you told yourself that it was survival of the fittest at that point. The whole endeavour had taken most the night which is how you found yourself with only an hour till Tony, Pepper and Morgan arrived.

There was a knock on the door, and you saw that you were 15 minutes late. Luckily your girlfriend had arrived half an hour before so you figured she could let them in. You shouted down, telling her to get the door as you finished putting on your socks.

“Hiya baby!” You cooed at Morgan babbling in Pepper’s arms, watching as her chubby hands reached for your hair, grabbing on with a crazy amount of strength. “Oh my god you’re strong. Pep, are you sure she’s Tony’s? I’m pretty sure she’s as strong as Thor.” You laughed, looking over at Tony. Your face dropped into careful neutrality as you saw the redhead standing behind him.

“Of course she’s mine doofus. We had multiple paternity tests.” Tony winked.

You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t ready. Your throat went dry as you asked if anyone wanted any drinks, your girlfriend waving them into the living room. You prepared the drinks, and you felt a presence behind you, wrapping their arms around your waist, their head resting on your back. You hated it. You felt suffocated. You took a breath and handed half the drinks to Emma, opting to grab a wine glass and fill it with the wine you had been saving for a special occasion. It might not have been a special occasion, but you needed something strong to get though the next few hours and you knew this would do the job.

You made your way back into the living room and Tony gestured to Emma “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“I’m Emma.”

“Tony. This is Pepper, Morgan and Natasha.” Your heart dropped at the mention of her name, realising that she wasn’t some cruel hallucination but was in fact standing in your living room.

“Sorry. I forgot to introduce you all.” You smiled and took another large swig from your glass.

“Hey how come you’re the only one with alcohol?”

“Because you’re a parent now.” You rolled your eyes at Tony, feeling Natasha stare holes into your face.

“So I need it even more!” Pepper hit Tony as he said that, causing Morgan to laugh.

“Don’t worry about Y/n getting drunk, she can handle her alcohol pretty well.”

“We know.” Natasha finally spoke. Her voice bought back floods of memories and you realised you missed her voice – just the tiniest amount. “Who exactly are you to Y/n?” To anyone else, the question was flippant, like asking about the weather but you, Tony and Pepper could all hear the carefully laced venom within her words and while the question sounded like it was aimed at your girlfriend, you could tell she was speaking to you.

“Where’s Bruce this fine day?” You shot back, not letting Emma speak.

“My question first.” Natasha finally turned her gaze to focus on you.

“Why are you here?” You felt Emma’s arm slither possessively around your waist. Perhaps if it had been another day, you would have appreciated it but right now, you felt like you were drowning. She held you too tight, you couldn’t move.

“Ah.” Natasha wore a smug look on her face and yet her eyes flashed with hurt. You hated that she had found out information you weren’t willing to give.

“Why are you here Agent Romanoff.” You wanted- no needed her to answer you. You needed to know why she came to you. Then you looked at Tony. “Why would you bring her here?” Your voice was level, Morgan was pulling at your leg to get you to pick her up. You used that as an excuse to escape your girlfriend’s grip.

“We need you back.”

“So you bring your baby to try and bribe me back?” You ran a hand through your hair, lightly bouncing Morgan. “That I can understand but why bring her?” You waved at Natasha, feeling both her and Emma’s eyes bore into you.

“She’s part of the team too and you both need to get on.” Pepper said.

“You were in on this too?” Your throat felt tight. You couldn’t breathe properly.

“I’m sorry but who exactly are you?” Emma asked. Natasha scoffed at her, folding her arms, and rolling her eyes.

Everything was a little too loud and muffled. It felt as if you were underwater. The sun was too bright, and it made everything a little too hard to look at. You could see your furniture, but it wouldn’t stay in your brain long enough for you to fully register it. You placed Morgan on the sofa and took a deep breath, closing your eyes to focus. When you opened them again you looked straight at Natasha.

“I am not going to play nice with you. You broke me and now that I’m moving on you suddenly decide to show up? No. I don’t believe it. Why can’t you just let me be happy? Leave me alone. Besides, I thought I was a ‘fun little distraction’.” You spat at Natasha. You were tired of being the bigger person. She had hurt you and you wanted to watch her bleed. It’s why you leant over and kissed Emma harshly, why you let out a slight moan so Natasha could hear. It didn’t matter that it was completely fake because even though you knew you should feel satisfaction at Natasha’s hurt face, the twinge of sadness upset you more than you would have liked.

Natasha knew the kiss was forced. She knew it was, but it didn’t stop the knife digging deeper into her heart. You had moved on and she had to respect that. She had said some awful things to you, and you really did deserve someone much better than her. You stormed out of the house, saying that you were going for a walk, leaving your girlfriend to entertain your guests.

~~~~~

It was dark by the time you got back. You saw Natasha on the sofa and ignored her as you walked straight to the guest bedroom. All you wanted to do was curl up and sleep this horrible day into the past but unfortunately for you, you had a girlfriend sitting on the bed.

“This bed isn’t big enough for-” Emma cut you off with a rough kiss. “Emma not now-”

“Yes now. I want to remind your ex what she’s missing.” Emma went back to kissing you and you wanted to cry. You didn’t like her possessiveness, didn’t like her jealousy. With Natasha that had been fun but with Emma, it made you feel afraid.

“Emma seriously.” You grabbed her wrist, not letting her reach into your underwear.

Emma huffed and stepped back. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m really tired. Can’t we just sleep?”

“It’s your ex, isn’t it? Why is she even here? I can’t believe you were going to just let her stay here and not tell me!”

“I didn’t know she was coming!” You were both stage whispering, conscious of the fact there was a baby that most likely didn’t sleep all that often.

“Then kick her out!”

You said nothing. You couldn’t just kick her out. That wouldn’t be fair.

“Oh my god you still love her. You still love her and she’s in love with someone else. Or she was. Ha.” Emma let out a bark of laughter. “That’s so fucking rich. You know what, crawl back to her but don’t come crying to me when she fucks you over again do you hear me?”

“Emma that’s not- I don’t love her anymore. I hate her. She ruined my life.”

“You truly hate her?” You nodded at her. “Supposedly, you can only truly hate someone if you loved them first. We’re done Y/n”

“Seriously?! What? Because I used to love Natasha? Because I don’t want to have sex with you? Grow up Emma. I’ve loved people before you and at this rate, I’ll love people after you too. I’m tired. I don’t have to have sex with you. You can’t make me.”

“I’m your girlfriend! You’re supposed to want to have sex with me!”

“Well not when I’ve had a long ass day!”

“Guys, I think you might wake Morgan.” You winced a little at the addition of Natasha. You knew this was going to end badly.

“This is my fucking house!” Emma said, not lowering her tone.

“Actually, it’s Y/n’s.” Natasha calmly stated. She really wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

Your girl- sorry- ex-girlfriend, fumed next to you. “You know what? Have her. She’s so screwed over from whatever you pulled that I don’t think she can love anyone ever again anyway.” Emma seethed, grabbing her shoes, and slamming the door on the way out. The sound of baby Morgan crying echoed through the house.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You ran your hand over your face, the exhaustion of the whole day catching up with you.

“No, it’s not. I betrayed your trust over the one thing I knew you couldn’t tolerate. I knew how hurtful cheating is to you and I did it anyway. I know it’s not an excuse, but I guess I just felt like you deserved someone more than me. Someone better.”

You said nothing. You were so so tired. You missed her and it ached, but you couldn’t forget what she had done. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

“I know but please let me try again. Bruce wasn’t worth it. He only made me realise how much I love you.” Tears were filling up Natasha’s beautiful eyes and you could see just how tired she looked.

“I missed you.” You whispered out, not wanting to break whatever was being formed

“I missed you too. So so much.”

“I can’t forgive you. Not yet, but…you can have one more chance Natasha. That’s it. You get one chance at my forgiveness.”

“Okay!” Natasha sniffled slightly “I promise I won’t mess this up.”

“I’m serious Natasha. One chance. I don’t play baseball. There are no three strikes.”

Natasha gingerly reached up to cup your face. “I won’t waste this.”

“Good because I never really stopped loving you and I’d hate to be a simp.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that dove.” Natasha let out a watery laugh.

“Excuse me?” You let out a fake gasp and wiped some of the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s okay, I’ll tell you a secret.” Natasha ushered you to lean closer and you did, she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and whispered, “I’ve been whipped for you for as long as I can remember.”

You were looking forward to all the ways Natasha was going to make it up to you and hopefully, you’d get to give Bruce a good punch too. You both knew it was going to be a long road ahead but you both felt a little more ready for what lies next.

[dorimena]

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖕𝖙.𝟏

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; monoma neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬��𝔫𝔱; 5.1k of filth,

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; nsfw, Overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, degradation/humilliation, cursing, cockwarming, crossdressing, school girl kink (?), mommy kink, pegging, cum play+eating, dom!fem reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; whiney Monoma, loud sex, Monoma in a skirt, soundproof dorms, mentions of other 1B characters, aged-up character, Monoma is 18 in this

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; this was meant to just be some long fic, but I find it easier to just divide it into 2 parts while I figure out how to write out the scene I actually wanted to get to. I got carried away. This is what I've been doing during holy week. My religious school would be ashamed of me. This has been proofread, but if there are still any mistakes, I apologize.

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦.; incomplete/in progress.

Monoma had a shit week.

It all started on Monday when his school pants ripped conveniently from the back as he bent down to pick up his fallen notebook. They didn’t even look like they would rip! So how did they...? All he could hear during his inner turmoil and growing embarrassment were murmurs of pity, whispers of curiosity, and his homeroom teacher calling his name countless times to send him back to the dorms to change. Permission slip in hand and underwear out, he silently nodded and made his out, all while ignoring a burning sensation in his eyes and sudden dryness in his throat.

(Walking out the doors with his blazer tied around his waist, he swore he heard a familiar giggle and mockery coming from a smart-mouthed girl.)

Tuesday came bulldozing so suddenly that it ran over him. Well, really it was Yaoyorozu’s canon that almost ran him over. 

The day, in general, was normal, none of his classmates made comments about the minor incident the day before, well, except for Y/N who asked if he sent his pants to be fixed or not. (He didn’t, so she demanded him to hand it over to her.) He didn’t go back to the dorms after their last class, since he has to carry out classroom cleaning duties after he accidentally pushed Bakugou into the mud last week. No, seriously, it was an accident. First off, he didn’t see the mud. Second off, he was messing around with Kaibara’s quirk, which spooked Nirengeki who was somehow walking close by to the hot-headed explosion man- and… well, Monoma mistook Bakugou for Honenuki. For some odd reason. How insulting to his intelligence and great memory skills.

So after such a tiring task of brooming, wiping, dusting, and inspecting, he expected to be knocked off his feet with whatever Kendo decided to cook for dinner, not Yaoyorozu’s canon. God, and he shrieked! Who fucking shrieks?! He’s 18, he’s not supposed to shriek! Unless you’re pegging him just right-  

Wednesday only sucked because you canceled your biweekly study session in favor of hanging out with the girls in 3A. Now, regardless of what people still say, he has matured and slowly grew out his competitiveness and “jealousy” over class A, and doesn’t really have much issue with most of them (mainly because Shinsou somehow helped him become more “friendly”). However, how dare you choose the girls over him! You’ve never done that. 

(And whether or not he was moody and pouty is just a hallucination of yours, he swears it.)

The only bad thing, if you could even call it that, that happened on Thursday was that it slipped his mind how much time he had left to use Tsuburaba’s quirk and lost against his good ol’ pal. 

Friday though… Friday was just really weird and he hated how it only felt weird for him. Maybe it’s pent up frustration with how the week went? Maybe it’s the pouty baby in him still being butthurt over Wednesday’s missed study date? Maybe it’s you staring at his legs and ass? Maybe it’s the way you look so delectable in your hero outfit? Maybe- well, now he was just overthinking it, and he rarely ever does! He was tempted on asking Shinsou to, y’know, brainwash him so he could forget this weird feeling of him feeling weird.

Now comes Saturday. 

Today is Saturday.

Today is 10:06 pm on a Saturday.

You’re over at his dorm for the already mentioned biweekly study date. He should feel happy, considering you brought over some snacks, ordered take-out from his favorite French restaurant, even played with his hair every time you guys had the 15-minute study break. 

But he’s not happy.  He’s not unhappy, but he isn’t happy? Again, the weird feeling he felt the day before hasn’t really left and it’s been crawling around his skin, only getting worse when he saw you coming in with pants. 

It’s not supposed to make him feel not happy, but you usually come over with a cute skirt or dress, showing enough of your thighs and panties to keep him up at night, fantasizing about them wrapped around his head, suffocating him as he eats you out so delicately or ferociously, littered with his desperate bites and kisses, making him whine out in horny pain-

“Monoma?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry as you ditch your phone to look over at your whining boyfriend. “You okay there?”

Shit. He must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts. “Yes, I am perfectly fine, darling.”

Now that’s weird. He’s speaking so softly, and he only ever does that after he’s cum at least a few times, or when he’s totally relaxed and ready to call it a night. Well, there are those few times where he lies and he speaks about the same.

Humming, you smile sweetly at him. 

“Are you sure about that, baby boy?”

Oh, that sent a shudder through his body, his white shirt suddenly feeling too thick and his shorts feeling a bit constricting. In other words, he’s now turned on.

He stays quiet, however, because he feels like his voice will give away his actual feelings, whether it continues being soft or it decides to crack and show how he’s ready to give himself away to you.

“Neito. I asked you a question.”

“No, mommy! I-I mean, I don’t know…” He huffed out, embarrassment now outweighing his neediness. God, why did you have to pull out the mommy card?! You’re so wicked. Did you not know how horrible his week was and now you want to be mean to him?

“What do you mean by that, baby?”

“Well, I’ve had a horrible week, mommy! You should know that!” 

“Don’t dare yell at me, Neito. Mommy’s trying to be patient and understanding, but if you’re going to just be a brat, then I should just leave you in time out, right?” Monoma gawked, his whole body and attention turned towards you as you got off of his bed, arms crossed and disappointment showing on your face. Really? You’re disappointed? Just as he opened his mouth to talk back, you spoke first.

“And here I brought one last gift for you. I’m here trying to be such a caring, doting girlfriend, and you start making assumptions about my efforts? Bad boy!”

Wait, gift? These were gifts? Oh! You… you were trying to comfort him? God, guess he was a bad boy. 

Seeing him deflate, eyes losing whatever snark they possessed, you sigh and walk towards your bag near the door. And this made him stand up so quickly he lost his footing and slightly fell forward, shocked that you could be leaving already, which you aren’t. Startled by his sudden movement, you quickly take out a plastic bag and hold it in front of him to show the last gift. 

It was quiet between you two, staring at each other before looking down at what you are holding. 

“What is that?” He’s the first to speak, blinking as he tries to figure out what the dark blue item could possibly be. It’s pleated, though, so-

“Is it the skirt you’ll change into?” And you laugh, shaking your head as you walk back to the bed and sit. 

“Not me, baby. You will change into it.” He’s going to be wearing a skirt? 

Blinking once more in confusion, he giggles awkwardly before frowning. 

“You’re joking, right?” Now it’s your turn to frown.

“No.” And you smile confidently. “I promise, if you wear the outfit in here, it’ll lead us to the actual last gift, hm?” You bat your eyelashes like a little girl asking her dad for a new Barbie doll, or whatever it is they bat their eyelashes for. You’re curious to see what he’ll do.

And you didn’t have to wait long for his decision to be made.

Sitting on your naked lap, thighs trembling in either overexertion or overstimulation, is a certain sweaty, defiled blond male with gorgeous teary, periwinkle eyes trying their best to focus down on you. 

After he swiftly and elegantly changed into the outfit, it came to show on his mirror that this wasn’t some random crop top and skirt combo, but a whole schoolgirl uniform: apart from a cropped school girl top and the pleated navy skirt, there were white thigh highs and cute hair clips. 

Turns out, you misunderstood his ‘subtle’ hints of some kinky schoolgirl skirt sex; you thought he was offering, with the way he’d bat his pretty eyelashes at you and stare at your skirt during lunch. Really, he was implying you stay with it on, somehow. 

Regardless of who was wrong, the fact your pretty boy is squirming uncontrollably with your strap-on deep inside him is something you just have to engrave in your mind. Who knows when you’ll be able to buy another skirt his size? You can’t wait to render it useless.

“Y-You’ve been thin-thinking for too-oo long!” Monoma whines, bringing a hand to wipe away his bothersome tears he doesn’t want you to see, huffing at the end before moaning loudly as you roll your hips upwards, the tip of the dildo teasing his sweet spot.

“Mm, I didn’t say you can speak yet, did I? Guess mommy spoiled you too much.” Sneering, you shift on the bedsheets under you while placing your hands on his thighs, slowly raking your nails upwards. You try your best to avoid the white thigh-high socks, not wanting to make him ticklish and forget why you’re even touching him there. 

Monoma shakingly gasps, squirming even more as he tries to have his pathetic, precum weeping dick grab the attention of either one of your hands but ends up staining the clothing covering it. Rolling your eyes, you smack the hairless skin hard enough to watch it quickly flush red and hear him groan, whether in pain, arousal or both.

“Stop it. You’re making me angry with how selfish you’re being. Isn’t mommy supposed to be satisfied first? Or did you forget our rules, baby?” 

“N-no! No! No, I- no!” Is whining all that he can do? He’s been whining or moaning for the past hour, with the occasional groans or gasps. You don’t want him to only whine, you need to see him cry. 

Cry prettily as he did on Monday when he thought no one was looking back at the dorms.  Watch him struggle to keep his whimpers of humiliation at bay. Make him forget all about his silly pride and stupid competitiveness against a class who doesn’t really see him as a threat, but just a crazy motherfucker (or so says Hagakure.)

“No what, Neito? ‘No mommy! I do know the rules!’ or ‘No mommy! I forgot the rules!’ C’mon, baby. I thought you knew how to speak properly? Now you’re making Bakugou seem eloquent.”

Oh no, you’re upset at him. Monoma gasps in offense, though, at the implication that the anger and pride-driven Bakugou is better than him at speaking. Ouch, okay, that actually kind of hurt but it was kinda hot? Kinda not? What’s wrong with him?

Yeah, what’s wrong with him? You’re expecting him to go on with his speech of how Bakugou isn’t anywhere near his expertise and social skills, how he’s clearly more coherent than the other, or the typical ‘how dare you’ sentences. What you didn’t expect was him to whimper and clasp his hands together as if asking for forgiveness so soon.

“No mo-mommy! I do know! Th-The rules, th-that is! I know ‘em!” 

“Then you’ll stop moving so much and let mommy continue marking you? If you do, and I’ll be repeating this for the last time, Neito, mommy might let you cum first, mm? Sounds good?”

“Ye-ES!” Okay, maybe you should’ve waited until he answered to land another slap on his thighs, although this one was close to his dick. Oh well, at least he’s making other sounds, but no struggle or tears. 

Leaving nail marks around the pale, smooth skin, even carving your name on both thighs with light scratches, you’re in awe at how he’s trying not to move too much. Then again, he is your sweet baby boy, who thrives and gets off of making you proud of him and cumming because of him. 

Lifting your eyes from the satisfying reddening skin to his face, you’re struck with awe again: finally, as if some god were listening to your wishes, you see him blinking rapidly as a new batch of tears quickly accumulate on his lashline and slowly trickle down his red cheeks before being furiously wiped away by him. Seems like this has been going on for a bit, seeing how his eyes are slightly red and his hands, clasped back together, if not tighter, look kind of wet. He didn’t want you to know he was trying not to cry and then failed so beautifully.

Gosh, and here you were expecting him to be a brat, to defy your authority over him, to challenge you like he usually does. 

(If only you had some mind-reading quirk, you would’ve known he actually had been planning his next moves.)

“Good job, baby! You let mommy mark you so pretty with her hands, and look! Mommy’s name is on your thighs, so that next time you touch yourself you won’t forget who you belong to- I mean, who you’re a baby boy for.” 

You’re basking in happiness, in pride, in complete bliss while he thanks you in small whimpers, hips twitching and hole clenching around your strap. Right, you forgot how long he has been cockwarming you; guess he deserves an even better award. He never manages to hold back for so long when sitting on your silicone cock.

Rubbing your palms around his thighs without moving your stare from his face, you command him to put his hands to use and lift the hem of the skirt, getting a good show of a new dribble of precum dropping heavily onto your pelvis. His dick is even shaking just as much as his body, pulsing even more than any other past encounter. It’s also competing against Kirishima’s red hair for the title of the “most red thing ever to exist”. 

Monoma’s opening and closing his mouth, eyebrows furrowed in question and silent begging.

“You can speak now.”

“M-Mommy, you pro-hah-mised t-to make hn-me cu-um!”

“...Watch that tone, little boy.” You glowered before continuing. “Remind mommy what she promised you and explain why you deserve it.”

Now you’re being unfair again and Monoma doesn’t want to deal with how you’re suddenly trying to milk out his responses to the way you want. Crossing his arms and glaring down at you, he mutters, “Wh-why should I? Did y-you forget?” 

Humming, you move your hands to his hips, rubbing your thumb on the cheap material covering them before beginning to lift him off, at least trying to. “Guess mommy should go back to her room since her baby boy decided to be a little bitch.”

“No!” That’s startling on both your ends hearing such a loud, anguished tone come out of him. Bottom lip trembling and quickly putting his hands to grip tightly at the skirt, Monoma holds back a sob. 

“I’m so-sorry, mommy! ‘m not a-a, um, little b-bitch. I’m sorry.” Ending with a whisper, he slowly puts all of his body weight down on your lap, wanting to keep you there and make it impossible to lift him off, and hangs his head in defeat. (Really, it’s because of shame, but you’ll never hear that from him.)

Do you not realize how hard he’s shaking? He can feel his heartbeat in his ears and hear it from his brain. He’s all sweaty and flushed red, his pupils dilate every time you look deep into them. He’s seen the way your eyes light up when glancing at his weeping dick, and he loves how wet it looks, it feels, it sounds, whenever he shifts. 

Most importantly, other than his neglected manhood slowly turning a shade of purple, his prostate has been teased for so long that he just wants to ride you hard enough to find bruises tomorrow and hypothetically ‘destroy your cock’.

“If you’re sorry, you’ll tell me what I want to hear. I’m not going to repeat what I asked for.”

Gulping to ease down the shame building up in his body, he lifts his head enough to catch your gaze before softly responding. 

“Mommy, um, promised I-I get to cum… she’ll m-make me cum if I-I stopped movin’ s’ much.” Goddamn it, Monoma, get yourself together! “I d-deserve this be-because I stopped. Was a g-good ba-um, baby boy.” He loves hates it when you make him do this, even if not often.

Satisfied with the answer you’ll probably only ever hear once and as clear as possible, you nod your head. 

“Then fuck yourself on my cock, Neito.”

No need to repeat yourself. Every little noise he tried so hard to hold back, every twitch and shudder he tried so hard to subdue, every twist of his face to show off the agonizing pleasure is quickly overcoming his insides and dick.

He’s whimpering so loudly, so shamelessly, as he bounces greedily on your lap. Loud and wet skin slapping against each other, and you at first thought, through every lost huff of air, that it’d be his ass connecting to your lube-covered thighs. Instead, your eyes shift towards his crying cock, the way spurts and spurts of precum are left on your lower abdomen, how this furiously blushing extremity keeps slapping itself onto you with every one of his desperate bounces. It’s even wetter than moments ago, you would’ve thought it’d be lube.

Monoma opens his eyes, which seemed to have closed at some point, and looks down at your face, huffing out airy whines of ‘what’, not knowing what you’re looking at. His dick has been wet with his precum for the past hour, so what could be new?

Until he looks down at himself and is mesmerized with how his dick, heavy with unreleased cum and flushed with blood, is tainting and slapping against your beautiful skin with his horny juice- wait, how stupid is he to refer to his precum as ‘horny juice?’ 

Stupid enough to forget to close his mouth and make his built up drool mix in with the mess below, his whimpers and whiny moans turning into high-pitched cries of your name and loud moans, a normal person would worry about their neighbors. The more he stares at himself, the louder he gets and the sloppier his hips gyrate.

Until he suddenly feels the tip of the toy punch against his prostate. 

“Ahn! AGAIN! A-aga-again! Nngain!” Monoma screams, eyes crossing and welling up with old and new built-up tears, ready to drip down. He’s gripping and pulling the hem of his skirt in all directions, his hands never staying still even when a light rip could be heard upon a harsh pull. He recreates the same move, thighs quivering and tensing, begging to be closed. Each accurate hit to his sensitive spot forces out a louder cry and threatens his tears to let loose. 

His movements get sloppier and lazier. Seems like he’s tiring out, which isn’t good. Sure, you’re hoping to make him cry with pretty tears and ugly sobs, but you were also hoping to make him do so repeatedly. Then again, if he’s tired out, there wouldn't be much fight or snark from him and maybe you can still make him cry freely. 

Good thing you know how to execute fantastic sneak attacks against him.

Under the pillow where your head is situated, you reach for a not-so-small device that kind of looks like a walkie-talkie. Monoma sees this when trying to focus his sight, tensing up at the thought that maybe you were recording this for some benefit or blackmail. But why would you want to blackmail your own boyfriend? Had he done something not to your liking?

The answer came in the form of loud buzzing and sudden quaking starting from deep inside him. 

“Wh-wh-wha-what is- hnngh, st-sto-op!”  Monoma wails out, almost falling onto your body with how powerful the vibrations are churning hot inside of him. His vision is getting blurry, blocked by the tears that finally, finally are let go and kiss his cheeks with every hot trail left behind. 

“You, oh, want me to stop?” He can kind of see your wicked grin, the mockery in your tone and amusement oozing out making him let even more tears fall. Why would you want to stop? 

“St-sto-op?! No? N-no! No! P-pluh-plea- nnnghh!” 

Ah, so he’s gone dumb. He doesn’t realize he said to stop. Well, now you can either continue watching him break on your lap and admire the waterfall of precum and fresh tears and make him continue working for his orgasm; or, you can tease him some more while turning up the intensity of the toy, now that it’s pleasuring you for once. The way it tickles your clit is enough to make your panting much more noticeable and thighs tense. You wonder how a setting at 4 could already drag out such reactions from the blond male. Enticed now, you decide to go with the second choice. 

“P-pluh-plea…? Didn’t think y-you’d be stupid! Where did m-my smart-mouthed baby go? Ugh.” 

“N-n’where m’mmy! ‘m h-here- Fuck! Fuck, pl-please! Please! Mo-more? Nngh!”

“You’re slurring, b-baby. But, you a-asked politely.” You hover your thumb over the ‘+’ button, hips grinding upward to drag out some more tears, more cries, more whimpers as you melt into the bed.

“Mommy’s g-gonna count to 10, al-alright? Ugh, then you’ll c-cum, mm. Understand?” 

You’ve never seen so much eagerness come from Monoma before, well, not unless it’s because he knows he’ll win at something or get to prove his worth even more. But the way he nods reminds you of a bobblehead: empty in the head, cute to look at. 

“G-good. Don’t forget t-to keep riding m-mommy’s big, th-thick cock.” You then lower your voice, sending shivers down his spine even with how hot he feels. “Understand?”

You don’t wait to see more of his eager nods. You press down on the button until it reaches the maximum intensity, which makes your hips jolt up so harshly, thrusting the silicon toy back up to him that it’s enough to make him squeal. Now that’s new. 

As much as you’re enjoying how satisfying the stimulation is on your wet cunt, you can’t help but moan out loud Monoma’s name as the boy’s reduced to short-lived squeals and rapid hiccups, so rapid that you’re beginning to think he might be hyperventilating. Worried, you bring your thumb to reduce the intensity before feeling him grind so desperately on your lap. So without any more distractions or hesitations, you quickly begin the countdown.

“Ten.” Monoma repeats with a strained moan, his hands flailing about as he tries to grab purchase onto something, letting go of his ‘forgotten’ skirt.

“N-nine.” Monoma finally plants his trembling hands onto your shoulders, pinning you down enough to give enough strength to his arms. Hovering over you, you frown at his skirt-covered dick. 

“Ei-eight.” Monoma tenses his thighs as much as possible to stop the shaking. Even if it didn’t do much, he begins riding you again with more vigor and desperation than previously. A high-pitched whine of your name quickly leaves him as his sensitive dick receives friction from the fabric covering it, the stain that had dried over time reviving as more precum marks it.

“Seven- shit.” Monoma’s trying to look down at you. He can’t really see much of anything, not with his tears never stopping or his mind not setting back into an intellectual phase. He can barely think to say anything else but lewd chants of your name and ‘please’, ‘more’, ‘faster’. It’s not until he moans out a timid “f-fu-ugh- fuck!” that you pay mind to the rapidly growing heat in your stomach.

“Six! Fuck, Neito!” Monoma’s continuous chants and growing volume suddenly sound babbled as he drools down on you, his saliva hitting your chin before you growl up at him. No words are exchanged as he swallows the liquid that had accumulated, although with difficulty. His thighs are beginning to burn and shake with exhaustion, quaking even worse than when he was cockwarming you. His riding turned into hard bouncing, finally stealing your breath away physically and providing some movement on the other end of the silicone toy to press harder onto your clit. 

“Fi-five!” Monoma’s eyes cross for the second time, staying longer in that position as he chokes on his scream, all because you’re beginning to meet up with your own thrusts. Your feet planted on the bed as you let go of the control for the vibrator, gripping onto his hips tightly to match him with you. You’re beginning to moan so sweetly, gasping out his name loud enough for him to-

“Cl-clo-ose! F-ugh-fuck! Fuck! Clo-oooose!” 

“Ho-hold it! Hold i-it, baby, a-almost the-there!” God, the heat is growing so deep in you that you know this will be violent.

“Four- shiiit.” Monoma’s sobbing now, ever since you told him to hold it. Mission accomplished, so far. He’s blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears and allow him to actually see you. He needs to see your lewd faces, ignoring the fact he is probably rivaling yours. The intense need to cum is building up far too quickly for him to even catch up and he just wants to cum right here, right now. But if he does, you’ll punish him. So, he tries his best to hold it. 

“Three! Three, Neito!” Monoma’s trying so hard to not cum, to not even think about it, but how can he if his prostate is being overstimulated and his cock keeps receiving such familiar friction, enough to make him sob even louder. He’s not going to make it.

“T-two! Lif-ft your sk-skirt!” Monoma can’t or else he’ll fall on you. But you’re grabbing onto him so hard that he hasn’t felt the need to support himself on your shoulders. Using whatever energy he has left, he throws himself up to his old sitting position, making his bouncing sloppier and unsynchronized with your thrusts. He quickly grabs onto the wet hem, biting his lip as he tries to swallow and control his sobs. Lifting it, he’s rewarded with the sight of his slick covered cock, so red and noticeably throbbing that his eyes slightly roll to the back of his head.

“One! Fuck, one!” Monoma’s mouth opens wide, his throat constricting as every choked moan and cry tries to escape while his ass begins to tighten alarmingly fast around the toy. He jumps when he feels something wrap around him, quickly looking down at himself again to see, then feel, you viciously stroke him. And that does it.

“Cum.”

Monoma gasps as he relaxes his thighs and lets go. One more hit to his prostate and he’s…

He’s quiet.

Your eyes are as wide as dinner plates as you watch him reach his orgasm: on you, in all his beautiful glory, is Monoma Neito. A guy whose back is arched at a certain angle you’re sure it’s uncomfortable. A guy whose nipples are completely being seen through the drenched crop top. A guy whose mouth is leaking trails of drool, but not as much as his eyes are leaking streams of unstoppable tears. A guy whose face is so red and sweaty, his bangs are striking to the skin and his eye color pops out more. A guy whose only warning of his cum leaving his body, as much as his soul had, is to roll his eyes so violently to the back of his head and convulse forward.

You forget about your orgasm as you try your best to support his body in the current position, not wanting him to fall on you or backward. Well, maybe you should’ve let him fall onto you.

His cum spurts seem to be gold medal Olympians in ‘how far can we reach’ and ‘how much can we be’. The first one barely misses your eyes, but the second one hits you on the forehead. With each spurt leaving his twitching cock, Monoma hiccups whiney and loud words of gratitude and mercy, hips jumping up, torso jolting forward. His knuckles are white upon the unforgivable grip he has on his absolutely ruined skirt, slowly but surely being dirtied with each load forced out of him with the still-buzzing toy inside him.

This whole scene is enough to remind you about turning down the intensity of the vibrations while grinding slowly, both to help milk him out his incredibly overwhelming high and to bring you back to the tip of paradise. 

By the time he’s done, he nearly collapses on you but first lifts himself, somehow, off of the toy before leaning back onto your lifted thighs. He’s still twitching, the color of his face slowly coming back as his eyes dry up from the tears. The socks have moved a bit down on his legs and most of the pretty hello-kitty themed hair clips are barely fastened on his hair. You’re pretty sure some are littered around the bed.

Monoma’s eyeing his mess curiously and taking in a cum-covered you before he scoops up some of his cum, tastes himself and you both moan softly. You turn the toy off, still rolling your hips as much as possible to ride out your harsh, hot, and wet orgasm. You’re pretty sure you somehow squirted, but that doesn’t matter too much right now. 

Because the moment Monoma came back to his senses and made eye contact with you, you find yourself living in a slow-motion picture: with a shaky hand, he uses the same fingers to write down his first name before scooping up as much of his excess cum and, without any warning, moves forward to thrust his fingers in your mouth, dragging the pads of his fingertips down onto your tongue as you swallow. 

Pulling his fingers out slowly while giggling breathlessly, his signature smirk grows onto his blissed-out face.

“H-how do I ta-taste, m-mommy?”

[stolen-pen-name23]

13 for the prompts? (If it hasn’t been done yet) with obi wan and qui gon because yes 💜

I sure can! Thank you for the prompt! // From these prompts.

So I think I'm going to actually write a prequel chapter (or 2) for this fic later, so keep an eye out for that!

Anyway, here ya go:

---

As a Jedi connected to the Living Force, Qui-Gon has greater respect than most for life — human or otherwise. So for a practitioner of the Living Force, it is a little unusual for him to feel this homicidal.

No, Qui-Gon has rarely felt rage quite like this.

Of course, he does not want the people… No, wait. "People" is too kind of a word for them. He does not want the vermin slavers who did this to his Padawan to die. He just wants them to suffer for a bit. Suffer like his Padawan is currently suffering — and maybe a bit more after that.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan screams, pulling on the restraints holding him in place on the bed. Neither Qui-Gon nor Vokara Che had wanted to do this — not after Obi-Wan had just been freed from chains — but he was clawing at his skin and objects around the room had started floating with every aimless gesture of his hands. “Please, Master, let me go,” he begs, his voice raw from screaming.

“Soon, Padawan, soon,” Qui-Gon soothes. “The drugs just need to work their way through your system.”

The logic was lost on Obi-Wan. The young man before him, just barely 18, looks as though he has been betrayed.

“Let me go. Please let me go. I need to stop it, I need…”

“Stop what?” Qui-Gon prods, hoping that humoring his padawan will help him work through it faster.

“Stop him.”

“Who?”

“The man!” he says it plainly like it is a well-known fact who the man is.

“What man?”

“The man with the scar on his eye.”

Qui-Gon tries to think through everyone he knows. He can’t think of a single person with a scar on their eye.

“What is the man’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, frustration mixing into the fear that hangs potent in his Force presence.

“Why do you have to stop him?”

Obi-Wan stops straining against his bonds and his eyes clear momentarily. The sudden stillness feels heavy — like something lying in wait.

“He will tear everything down,” Obi-Wan turns to look at Qui-Gon and his eyes are clear and certain. “Everything.”

A chill runs down Qui-Gon’s spine.

Then the fog returns. Obi-Wan strains against his bonds once more.

“Let me go. Let me out. I’m not supposed to be here!”

“You are exactly where you need to be, my Padawan.”

“No no no no no.” There is a crazed look of hysteria in his eyes. It is so unnatural an expression for his Padawan, Qui-Gon almost cannot bear to look. But he looks anyway because he swore to stand by his Padawan’s side through all things, even this.

“Stop!” Obi-Wan screams. “Stop it! Please! I don’t want to hurt you!”

Qui-Gon shifts uncomfortably. “Who are you talking to?” he asks.

“You were my brother!”

What?

“You… Obi-Wan, you don’t have a brother,” Qui-Gon stutters. Who is he talking about?

Obi-Wan tosses his head to the side and then tosses it again until he’s looking at Qui-Gon.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan yells.

“So there’s been no change huh?” A female voice cuts in.

Qui-Gon jumps. His attention was so fixed on Obi-Wan, he didn't notice Vokara Che slip into the room.

“What the hell did they drug him with?” Qui-Gon growls, his anger threatening to spill over at just the thought of the slavers and what they did to Obi-Wan.

“We’re still running tests on his blood. But we narrowed it down to some sort of hallucinogen.”

“I could have told you that,” Qui-Gon mutters.

Vokara fixes him with one of her strongest glares.

“Apologies, Master Che,” he amends. “I am just concerned for him.”

“I know,” Vokara says. Qui-Gon is grateful that she does not tell him to release his anxieties to the Force. He is not quite ready to part with them yet.

“Do you have any idea how long this will last?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping this nightmare will end soon.

“It’s hard to say. It depends on his body and how fast it works through the drugs. Hallucinogens can last six hours or they can last as long as fifteen hours.”

“It’s only been three hours,” Qui-Gon says, feeling sick at the possibility of his Padawan enduring this for twelve more hours.

Vokara squeezes his shoulder in sympathy. “He’s a strong boy,” Vokara said. “A strong young man, I should say,” she adds on. “He’ll make it through this. I can’t say for certain without knowing what exactly is in his system, but most hallucinogenic drugs don’t cause any permanent damage.” “Most?”

“What I’m saying is that I think your Padawan will be okay. I have him on an IV so he won’t get dehydrated, which is usually the biggest concern with hallucinogens.”

Qui-Gon turns his attention back to Obi-Wan. Sweat has matted his hair and his skin is a sickly pale color. His screaming has turned into sobbing.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries. He pulls at the restraints. “I don’t like these.”

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Vokara says calmly. She runs a scanner over Obi-Wan’s body and looks at the readings. Whether it is good or bad, Qui-Gon is not sure. Her expression gave nothing away.

“If anything changes, please come get me,” Vokara says.

Qui-Gon nods. “Of course.”

Vokara takes her leave and Qui-Gon gives his undivided attention to Obi-Wan.

“Let me go,” Obi-Wan begs again.

“I can’t,” Qui-Gon says. “You heard Master Che. It’s for your own safety.”

Obi-Wan groans. “What is happening to me?”

Qui-Gon’s heart feels like it is breaking open in his chest.

“I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says “You’ll be okay soon.”

“But what’s happening?” Obi-Wan asks. Qui-Gon is hopeful that this moment of partial clarity lasts. Obi-Wan has been giving him false hope over the past few hours. Moments of clarity, all chased away by delirium.

“You’ve been drugged,” Qui-Gon says.

“Oh. I feel weird. I feel… not good. Hot.”

“Do you want some water?” Qui-Gon asks.

Obi-Wan looks like he’s going to answer, but his eyes glaze over and he is no longer looking at Qui-Gon.

“I keep seeing…”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks.

“I see…”

“What do you see, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping he’ll be able to help Obi-Wan realize his hallucinations aren’t real.

“No!” Obi-Wan screams.

Qui-Gon’s hope vanishes. With a sigh, he begins stroking Obi-Wan’s sweat-drenched hair, smoothing it out from all of his tossing and turning.

Hours of begging and screaming and pulling at restraints pass until it seems Obi-Wan’s body is exhausted beyond its limits. His howls turn to whimpers. His sobs turn to hitched breaths. And finally, he passes out. Qui-Gon sighs a breath of relief and prays to the Force that when his Padawan wakes up, he will be his Padawan once more.

***

Qui-Gon can sense Obi-Wan coming back to consciousness before he even notices him stirring. He squints at the bright light of the room and groans.

Obi-Wan tries to move his arm but is held back by the restraints still keeping him down. Panic sets itself in Obi-Wan’s widened eyes.

“Why am I… M-Master?” His chest heaves with growing panic and he starts pulling at the bonds with renewed vigor.

“Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. It’s me. You’re alright,” Qui-Gon says, moving into his line of sight. Obi-Wan stares at him, unblinking and terrified. “What do you see right now?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. “I see you. I… I see this room. There’s not much in it.”

“Okay, good. Can you take a few deep breaths for me while I got get Master Che?”

“You’re leaving?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice going an octave higher.

“Only for a moment. You need to get looked over before I can let you out of those things,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing to the restraints with disdain.

Obi-Wan eyes the restraints and nods his approval.

Qui-Gon races out to find Master Che and she follows him back to Obi-Wan’s room.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Vokara says in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods glumly but does not offer her much else.

“All right, well I’m just going to perform a quick examination okay?”

Obi-Wan nods his consent and Vokara gets to work.

“I’m going to take these restraints off of your hands and ankles all right?”

He nods vigorously and Vokara undoes the buckles. When his hands are freed, Obi-Wan rubs his wrists. They’ve been chaffed raw and the skin is an angry red.

Vokara does not judge. She does not say a word about the welts. She simply takes a jar of bacta gel and rubs it on Obi-Wan’s wrists.

“Those should feel better in a few hours,” she says. Vokara follows the gentle administration with a blood sample. She runs a scanner over his body.

“Your vitals are normal, which is a good sign,” Vokara says. “I’m going to run your labs, and after that, we can see about letting you go home to rest.”

No protests, no haggling, no complaints come from Obi-Wan at the prospect of staying in the halls of healing even longer. Even Vokara raises an eyebrow at this.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” she asks. “Any nausea? Headache?”

“A little,” he says softly. Vokara exchanges a glance with Qui-Gon at the admittance.

“That’s pretty normal,” she says. “Is there anything else bothering you? Any other pain?”

“Just tired.”

“That’s to be expected after what your body has been through.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to run these labs, but let me know if your headache gets worse or if you feel like you need to throw up.”

He nods obediently.

Vokara leaves Qui-Gon alone with his Padawan.

Obi-Wan’s face scrunches up in concentration.

“What is it, Padawan?”

“There was something… something important…” Obi-Wan starts. Some of his earlier panic starts to return and his chest begins to heave. “I saw it. I just… I don’t know...”

“Hush, it’s alright. None of it was real,” Qui-Gon soothes.

“No!” Obi-Wan says forcefully, and for a moment, Qui-Gon worries the drug has not completely left his system yet. “It was… it felt…”

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks.

Fear, sorrow, and anguish all flash across Obi-Wan’s eyes. His fingers dance in a nervous tapping pattern on the frame of the bed.

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks again.

Obi-Wan stops tapping his fingers.

“Like the end of all things.”

The young man is still, as though he is afraid that the next move he makes will set his visions on a path to fruition.

“You need to stay grounded, Padawan. Stay in the here and now.”

Anger flared in the Force — white-hot and foreign.

“Oh yeah? You try to stay grounded after you get kidnapped by slavers and then drugged with some unknown substance that makes you question everything you see and feel,” Obi-Wan snaps.

Qui-Gon gives him a moment. He needs a moment.

Obi-Wan’s face crumples and he buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled by his own hands. His shoulders shake. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, Padawan. You’ve been through a lot in the last 48 hours. I will not fault you for taking a tone with me.”

Obi-Wan offers him a strained laugh and he wipes at his eyes before looking back up at Qui-Gon. “I just…”

“Tell me, Padawan. Anything.”

“Is this real?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. This is real.” Qui-Gon grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and squeezes it. “Feel this?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“That’s because it is real. You and I. Here and now. We are real.”

Obi-Wan takes in a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Qui-Gon reaffirms.

Obi-Wan nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Qui-Gon reaches over and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid.

“Hey!” Obi-Wan exclaims, rubbing his scalp. “What was that for?”

“For scaring me,” Qui-Gon says, giving Obi-Wan a faux look of reproach.

“Apologies, Master,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Obi-Wan grins at him before yawning.

“You should get some rest.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, but he yawns again.

“You are obviously tired,” Qui-Gon says, unimpressed. “Why don’t you want to sleep?”

“I don’t…”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“If I fall asleep, will you stay?” Obi-Wan finally says, his voice quiet and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds on. “I just. I don’t want to be alone and I’m still not sure if any of this is real and I want it to be real, but I—”

“Of course I will stay,” Qui-Gon says. “You’re real, I’m real, and I’m staying.”

“Thanks, Master,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes fluttering closed.

Qui-Gon stays and keeps guard over Obi-Wan’s dreams.

[itsivyberry]

after the war

Draco Malfoy x f!Hufflepuff!Reader

A blurb, continuing the Tri Wizard Champion series.

request: I'd really like to see another fanfic with Draco showing what happened to them after the triwizard tournament! That would be a great idea! [via @booksmione ]

a/n: HI! Here’s a request! I loved writing this, I usually am not a fan of after-war fics and prefer fics where the characters are still attending Hogwarts, but this makes my heart SOAR I love it. I hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting this and keeping my favorite (and only) series alive <3

word count: 1160

warnings: mentions of blood loss, crucio, scars, death, war, etc. also fluff LMAOOO

summary: Y/N and Draco managed to find their way back to each other after three years of healing from the well-known Tri Wizard Tournament.

taglist: @drawlfoy @fanficflaneuse @babyhoneystvles @ccelinewritess @nekee-lilac02 @dracofeltonmalfoy

masterlist

read the series if you haven’t already!⬇️

{ 1 } { 2 } { 3 } { 3.5 } { 4 } { 5 } { 6 }

gif credit: @popartism

The war was a massive devastation for the Wizarding world.

Y/N was still grieving the loss of her best friend three years prior. Her school, her home had turned into a place she didn’t even recognize. A prison.

Just as quickly as Hogwarts had changed, she had watched family and friends die within its walls, protecting the students within.

Every single night in her dorm before the Battle of Hogwarts, Y/N would listen to the radio in search of any names listed off that she knew.

Although she claimed she was listening for loved ones, she was really listening for one particular name. Malfoy.

Y/N knew that there was no possible way the Malfoys would be put on the casualties list that grows every day, but she still listened with quiet breathing and a rapid heartbeat to hear the name of the boy she still loved.

From what she could remember, the battle was a blur. A blip in time. Faces that she knew, lifeless on the ground around her. Faces she has grown up with for almost the past decade.

Y/N couldn’t count how many people she loved and held dearly that she had seen dead. Fred Weasley, leaving his other half George. Nymphadora Tonks, a beloved Hufflepuff alumni, and Remus Lupin, Harry Potter’s last standing familial figure and spouse to Tonks. Lavender Brown, the Gryffindor that Y/N had grown quite close to while Hogwarts was under the direction of multiple death eaters. Colin Creevey, the young muggle-born Gryffindor who stood incredibly brave, and another close friend of Y/N’s.

~•.*✰

While attempting to save another young student, Y/N was hit with the Cruciatus Curse, and was severely attacked by multiple Death-Eaters. She could barely feel the pain, when her eyes focused on a head full of white hair that was speeding to wear she lay in a puddle of her own blood in the Forbidden Forest.

“How did you get out here? Why are you out here, Y/N?” Draco’s voice was deeper, aged, yet frantic and shaking. “Oh Merlin, you’re bleeding so much. We need to get you to the Great Hall.”

“Draco?” Y/N’s quiet voice asked. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was trembling, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She touched his face, leaving a bloody handprint behind. She tried to convince herself that he really was here, that he really was trying to get her help, and he wasn’t just a hallucination from the blood loss.

“Close your eyes.” Draco instructed.

A moment passed, and Y/N felt her stomach drop as if she were on a fast roller coaster.

“I need help! Help!” She soon heard Draco screaming, his voice cracking with every syllable. Bustling voices around her had forced her to open her eyes, and she soon realized he had apparated both of them into the Great Hall. Molly Weasley, a dear friend of Y/N’s mother, rushed over as two students behind her carried a cot.

They transferred her onto the cot, working as quickly as they could to heal the wounds without any more blood loss. Y/N was walking the thin line of unconsciousness, but refused to let herself pass out while Draco was still near her.

She knew he worried too much. The creases permanently etched into his forehead told her enough.

With the remaining strength Y/N had, she reached towards him to grab his hand. His eyes snapped down to her the second she made contact with his hand, and he clasped it in both and immediately started planting tear-filled kisses along every inch of her exposed skin.

“You’re gonna be alright. Everything is going to be fine. Please, stay awake. Stay awake for me, Y/N/N. Please.”

~•.*✰

“Wow, so Dad was a softie!” Y/N’s and Draco’s eldest daughter, Lyra, exclaimed.

“Yes, he really was.” Y/N smiled warmly, laying her hand atop Draco’s as they sat on the couch.

“So, that’s how you got that scar? It’s cool!” Scorpius piped in, pointing to Y/N’s stomach, where a prominent white scar lead up to her shoulder, meeting the three scars on her back from her fourth year.

“Mom, you have had some crazy accidents. How did Dad never have heart attacks?” Cassi asked, leaning forward in complete and utter amusement.

“Oh, I can promise you, Dad did have heart attacks. I enjoy keeping him on his toes.” Y/N winked, leaning back into Draco, who had an arm over her shoulder.

“Can you tell us about the tournament again, Mom? Please?” Scorpius begged, pouting.

“I think it’s about time for you three to go to bed, hm? Mom’s had enough revisiting her very, very dangerous experiences throughout her years at school. Let’s get you all to bed, shall we? Big day tomorrow.” Draco piped in, pushing himself off the couch and helping his children stand from the carpet.

“I’m nervous for tomorrow! First day of fourth year. I wonder if mine will be as adventurous as Moms.” Lyra said, walking slowly to her room.

“And first day of third for me. I hope I get to meet a Hippogriff like you did your third year, Dad.” Scorpius followed his sister through the hallway to their bedrooms.

“And first day of Hogwarts for our darling little Cassiopeia, isn’t that right?” Y/N appeared behind them, scooping her youngest up and planting kisses everywhere on her face. Cassi squealed, giggling loudly as Y/N continued walking to their separate rooms.

“Goodnight, my darling lovebugs.” Y/N said, blowing kisses through each of the open doorways to her children.

“Goodnight, my favorite troublemakers. Get some sleep, or I’ll have the boggarts come scare you!” Draco laughed mischievously, just before getting whacked lightly upside the head by his wife. She quietly scolded him, and he put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Goodnight! Love you the mostest.” Cassi peeped up, flicking her tiny wrist to turn off her lamp.

“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad. Thank you for telling us the story again.” Scorpius yawned, turning on his side and doing just as his sister had done to turn off his lamp.

“Thank you, for reminding us again how cool our parents are. Love you guys.” Lyra said, snapping lightly to turn out her lamp. She always was a bit more advanced than her brother and sister.

Y/N quietly closed all three doors, before heading to her and Draco’s room to finally get some sleep. It wasn’t long before they were both dozing off, Y/N in Draco’s arms.

“Goodnight, my love.” Draco whispered, planting a kiss into Y/N’s hair.

“Goodnight, Dray. I love you.” She whispered back, her eyes closing and letting sleep finally take over.

Even though she struggled to get the happy ending she wanted after fourth year, she could now proudly say she was a part of a loving family with the boy she had loved since she was 14. She was has happy, healthy, and healed as she could be.

And that was her perfect happy ending.

~•.*✰

final a/n: as you can guess, Cassi is named after the constellation Cassiopeia and Lyra is also named after a constellation! I didn’t want Scorp to be an only child, so I gave him an older and a younger sister. I hope you all enjoyed, I really love this and now I’m mad at the lack of storyline after the war for Draco >:( anyways I just like smacked this out in 20 minutes because I’ve been in a Draco loving mood recently?????? Ok lol but I hope y’all enjoyed!!

[musette22]

Burning For You

Title: Burning For You Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan) Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3.1k A/N: Written for Evanstan Week day 6, a late fill for the Alternate Universe prompt. This silly piece of fluff is entirely inspired by the wonder that is the Mountain Lodge candle from the Yankee Candle Company. Yes, the one that inspired this iconic Tumblr post. The one that smells like Chris Evans. 

I was lucky enough to receive one as a gift from the wonderful @howdoyousleep3 and my life hasn't been the same since I smelled it for the first time. Thank you for introducing me to such delights baby K, ilyyy 💖 Also BIG thank you to the @evanstanweek​ team and to my beautiful beta @rainbowsandcoconut who came up with the outline for this fic when I told her my idea! Love you, boo 😘

Summary: Evanstan AU. Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

Read on AO3

“Listen, D. You’ve gotta smell this candle.” Sebastian leans in closer, nearly knocking over his - third - glass of red. “You know I’m not usually a scented candle kinda guy, but this one…” He closes his eyes and tips back his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Incredible. Glorious. Magnificent.”

“You look like you’re about to pull a Meg Ryan in When Harry met Sally over there, Seb.”

Sebastian straightens, giving Deirdre a meaningful look across the table at the low-key SoHo bar they’re having drinks at. “You kid, but I’m this close. It’s that good, not even exaggerating.”

“Sure you’re not,” Deirdre huffs, lifting her glass and taking a sizeable gulp of her Cosmopolitan.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Sebastian shrugs. “You know, I pity you for not having experienced the delights of the Mountain Lodge candle, really. If you knew what it smelled like, you’d be singing its praises too, believe me.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like, Sebastian, pray tell.”

Sebastian sits up eagerly. “It smells…” he starts, “like an evening in that lodge in the Green Mountains we rented with the others a couple of years ago. Remember that? How it felt to relax by the fire after a long day of hiking, the scent of cedarwood and toasted marshmallows in the air?”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre agrees. “That was nice, yeah. But hardly worth busting a nut over, I’d say.”

Sebastian holds up a single finger. “I'm not done. Because this candle doesn’t just smell like the lodge, it also smells like the lumberjack living at the lodge.”

Deirdre frowns. “There was no lumberjack living at the –”

“The metaphorical lumberjack, D, god. Work with me here a little.”

“Oh right, okay. Gotcha.”

“It smells,” Sebastian continues, undeterred, “like soft, worn flannel. Like beard oil and a hint of clean sweat. It smells like a big, strong, gorgeous man who just got done hewing a ginormous tree with his massive axe and cutting it down into firewood, which he’s now using to light the very fireplace in front of which he’ll make sweet, sweet love to you, on the rug that’s actually the skin of a bear that attacked his rescue dog and which this man fought off and killed with his own bare hands.”

“Whooofffff,” Deirdre says, fanning herself with a napkin. “Fine, I’m starting to see the attraction.”

“It smells…” Sebastian goes on, pausing for dramatic effect before delivering his clincher, “like Chris Evans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Deirdre groans loudly, sagging back in her chair. “Ughh, shoulda known this was coming. For chrissake, Sebastian, you literally cannot go even one night without bringing up Chris Evans, can you?”

“I totally can,” Sebastian protests, like the mature, professional, Times-employed literary critic he is. “But you don’t understand, D. This candle, it’s actually like they bottled the very essence of Chris Evans and then infused a candle with it. It’s life-changing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a permanent boner for Chris Evans, you wanna marry him and have his little bearded babies, tell me something I don’t know,” Deirdre sighs, draining the last of her drink and immediately starting to look around for the waiter to order a new one. Distantly, Sebastian notices the song playing in the background changing to The Smith’s ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want'. Ah, if only.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian insists, unconsciously starting to speak louder, like he’s some small-town preacher trying to make his ignorant clergy see the light. “Deirdre, darling, you’re one of my oldest friends. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear, when you smell this candle, you too will feel like you’re being engulfed in the embrace of the brilliant, spectacular, totally unique smokeshow that goes by the name of Chris Evans. It’s as if the man himself is wrapping those huge, muscled arms of his around you, crushing you to his wide chest as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while his beard brushes your temple and you inhale his masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat, I swear to god – D, are you even listening?”

At some point during the last part of Sebastian’s homily, Deirdre’s eyes drifted to a point over his right shoulder and got stuck there.

“Did you just- zone out?” Sebastian asks indignantly, waving a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Hello? Earth to Deirdre.”

“Seb,” Deirdre says, still not looking at Sebastian.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian barrels on. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you I found a candle that smells exactly like the man of my dreams and you’re just… What are you doing, actually? Are you okay?”

At this point, Deirdre’s eyes have gone comically round, mouth hanging open just a little. “Sebastian,” she repeats, more urgently now – and just as he’s turning his head to find out what put that dumbfounded look on her face, someone nearby clears their throat.

Sebastian startles, looking up at the man who’s appeared next to their table.

“Hi,” the man says in a deep, rich voice.

A deep, rich voice that Sebastian knows all too well. A deep, rich voice that belongs to none other than Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob and actual smokeshow, himself.

Oh.

Sebastian gapes while Chris, dressed in dark wash jeans, a red flannel shirt and a brown shearling jacket, smiles at him patiently. He’s all soft-looking beard and strong nose and bulging biceps and long, lean legs, and Sebastian has died and gone to heaven.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Chris says, “but was just sitting a table over and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

And from one moment to the next, Sebastian crashes forcefully back to earth. His whole body goes cold, the blood draining from his face so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

Fuck. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. There is no way this is actually happening.

Except it is.

Sebastian had just been extremely, loudly and publicly horny about the very guy that’s standing next to him right now. The guy who is no doubt about to give Sebastian a piece of his mind at best, and a right hook to the jaw at worst. And honestly, he’d deserve it.

Since Sebastian wouldn’t even know where to begin apologizing, he says nothing. Just keeps staring at Chris in ever-growing horror, his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out the miserable sound of Morrissey still pleading in the background.

Chris clears his throat. “So,” he says, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “This candle smells like me, huh?”

Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- Oh my god, please, please, please just forget you heard any of that.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Puzzled, Sebastian chances a glance at Chris from between his fingers. He’s partly still covering his face out of embarrassment, and partly because Chris is so gorgeous in real life that Sebastian isn’t sure he could look at him directly without spontaneously combusting. It’s like staring at the fucking sun. He doesn’t seem too angry, though, thank god. In fact, there’s an amused twinkle in his blue eyes that makes Sebastian’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

“Because it was incredibly inappropriate?” Sebastian suggests, honestly a bit confused about having to explain this to him.

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “It sounded pretty great. Kinda want to smell it for myself now.”

For some unfathomable reason – probably because unexpectedly seeing his long-time celebrity crush in the flesh broke his brain, Sebastian blurts out, “Oh, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my apartment.”

Slowly, Chris raises a single eyebrow. The look sends a shiver straight down Sebastian’s spine, from the crown of his head right down to his toes. “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies breathlessly.

Chris’s gaze drops down to Sebastian’s brown leather boots before slowly travelling back up to his face. “I gotta say, normally someone would at least have to buy me dinner first, but…” He trails off, looking Sebastian straight in the eye before finishing, “I am really curious about this candle.”

“You are?” Sebastian says dumbly, and then “Ow!” when Deirdre delivers an impressively precise kick to his shin under the table. He turns to give her a betrayed look, but when he meets her eyes, with which she’s clearly trying very hard to communicate something to him, he finally catches on. “Oh!” Sebastian whips back around to Chris, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I- you- you mean like…” He swallows hard. “You wanna come back to my place to, uh, smell the candle?”

Although Chris’s expression remains amused, there’s a hint of trepidation there as well. “Sure,” he says, smiling crookedly. “If… that’s something you’re up for?”

Sebastian’s mind races. The way he sees it, there are two possibilities. Either Chris Evans is actually standing here in the flesh, propositioning him, or Sebastian hit his head in the bathroom earlier and is actually just lying on the dirty tile floor, hallucinating as a result of severe head trauma. The second option seems by far the most likely, but then, his shin does hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Well, fuck.

Sebastian clears his throat and sits up straighter, running a hand through his longish hair. “I mean, yeah, that’s- wow. That. That would be okay with me, uh huh. You mean like, now?”

“If that works for you?”

Without thinking, Sebastian says, “Well, I’m here with Deirdre –” before letting out another sharp yelp as said Deirdre crushes his toes under her heel. “Jesus, D!”

Deirdre ignores him. “Ohhh, would you look at the time,” she exclaims, holding up her wrist which very much doesn’t have a watch on it. “Boy, it’s much later than I thought. I really oughta get going, early start tomorrow.” She yawns theatrically, then grabs her purse and throws down two twenties on the table. “It was lovely seeing you, Sebastian, Chris… Evans,” she adds, with a wooden nod in Chris’s direction. “Hope you two have a lovely evening, bye now!”

And she’s gone.

They both stare after her for a second, and then Chris chuckles – a low sound that reverberates pleasantly in Sebastian’s chest. “Well,” Chris says, turning back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chris.”

Sebastian stands, taking Chris’s hand, which is warm and big and ever so slightly calloused, and exactly like Sebastian always imagined. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because he’s cool like that. And then, in a show of bravura that surprises even himself, Sebastian holds Chris’s gaze, tilts his head a fraction, and says, “So uh, my place?”

Chris smiles, casually dropping a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks, before taking a step to the side to let Sebastian pass. “Lead the way,” he says, lightly resting his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back as they make their way towards the exit.

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

It’s only once they’re outside and the cold February night air manages to cool down Sebastian’s overheated brain somewhat that it occurs to him to ask if Chris wasn’t at the bar with anyone.

“I met a friend for drinks but he just left,” Chris explains. “I was just waiting for the bill when I overheard you guys.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have any other plans?” Sebastian asks, because he’s nothing if not a self-sabotaging idiot.

They’re still standing outside the bar, the golden light radiating from a nearby lamppost decorated with a cluster of luminous orbs making Chris look softer, somehow. Still a Hollywood heartthrob, but also charmingly human. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to make Sebastian any less infatuated. If anything, it only endears Chris to him more, which he really didn’t think was possible.

“Not really, no,” Chris replies, amusement in his tone. “I was just gonna go back to my hotel and read for a bit.”

Sebastian perks up at the mention of his area of expertise. “Oh, yeah? What’re you reading?”

“I haven’t started it yet, but it’s this history of space travel? I read a great review of it in the Times the other day, so I thought I’d give it a go.” With a self-deprecating smile, Chris adds, “I’m kind of a space nerd.”

Sebastian blinks. “Not ‘To Infinity and Beyond’, by any chance?”

“That’s the one,” Chris confirms. “You know it?”

“I wrote the review.”

Chris’s eyes go round. “You did not.”

In lieu of replying, Sebastian digs up his wallet from his pocket, takes out his Times-employee card and holds it up for Chris’s inspection.

“Huh,” Chris says, studying the card. “What are the odds.” When his eyes turn back to Sebastian’s, he suddenly breaks out into a grin, wide and boyish. “Well, I guess that explains a thing or two.”

“How do you mean?” Sebastian frowns.

“I mean, that review was brilliantly written so you clearly have a way with words.” With a sly look, Chris goes on, “which explains your colorful descriptions of that candle earlier. The masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat was especially vivid.”

Sebastian groans, dragging a hand down over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing.”

Chris eyes shine with genuine mirth as he laughs, “Hey, come on, don’t worry about it.” He takes a step closer, ducking his head to try and catch Sebastian’s eyes, which are now firmly fixed on the pavement in an attempt to conjure up a hole to swallow him. “Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t exactly hate overhearing a gorgeous guy describing me as the man of his dreams.”

“Oh god,” Sebastian mutters, feeling himself turn a fetching shade of crimson. Trying to hide his blush, he turns around abruptly and nearly walks into the lamppost.

Chris, his savior, his knight in shining armor, manages to grab him by the back of his coat just in time to avoid the imminent collision. Sebastian still stumbles, but strong, capable arms wrapping securely around his waist keep him upright.

Carefully, Sebastian turns in Chris’s embrace so they’re facing each other, though he can’t quite make himself look Chris in the eye yet. “I’m guessing you caught on to this by now,” Sebastian tells the St Christopher pendant resting on Chris’s sternum, “but I’m kind of a disaster.”

Chris just hums, lifting a hand to tilt up Sebastian’s chin with his index finger, a small smile playing on his lips. “A beautiful one, though,” he whispers into the negligible space between them, before he closes that space and presses soft, full lips to Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian can’t suppress the small sound that escapes him when their lips meet, eyes closing on instinct as he lets himself sink into the kiss. Lets Chris take charge and coax open Sebastian’s mouth by running the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Sebastian doesn’t think twice about letting him in. When their tongues touch, sweet and soft and languid, he trembles, pressing closer. Chris tastes a little like beer, and while Sebastian’s never been overly fond of beer, it takes approximately two seconds of being kissed by the hottest man on the planet for it to magically turn into Sebastian’s new favorite taste. Ever.

The kiss starts off slow; a little cautious maybe, as if Chris still isn’t entirely sure it’s welcomed. But then Sebastian’s hands find their way to Chris’s waist, fingers gripping tightly, and Chris slides a hand into Sebastian’s hair, angling his head gently to the left to deepen the kiss – and suddenly, Sebastian’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He moans, relishing the feel of Chris's soft beard scratching at his clean-shaven cheeks, and way Chris takes control of the kiss, like something right out of every embarrassing fantasy he's ever had.

When Chris hums against his lips, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Sebastian is, Sebastian’s knees go all weak and useless. It’s a good thing that Chris is there, tightening his left arm around his waist and pulling him more securely against the hard lines of his own body – which actually doesn’t do a thing to help Sebastian’s current knee situation. He whimpers, curling his hands into the fabric of Chris’s coat to anchor himself.

When Chris finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. His breathing has deepened, warm puffs of air caressing Sebastian’s tingling, wet lips. Sebastian exhales shakily. The way his head is spinning might be partially due to the wine, but it's definitely mostly because of Chris sweeping him off his feet with his smooth, movie star ways.

Needing a moment to gain his composure before he speaks, Sebastian buries his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, taking a deep, steadying breath –

Oh.

“I fucking knew it,” he groans.

Sebastian feels rather than hears Chris’s quiet laugh; feels the vibrations of it shake his broad chest under Sebastian’s palms. “Yeah? Do I really smell like your candle?”

“Better,” Sebastian mutters. On instinct, he presses his lips against Chris’s exposed neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“You know,” Chris rumbles into Sebastian’s ear. “I still think I need to smell this magical thing for myself. Make sure you’re not just flattering me to get into my pants, y'know?”

Christ.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods. “Definitely, good thinking. Empirical evidence is paramount. In fact, it’s totally possible I’m just mixing things up right now because my brain’s all” – he makes a poof motion with his hands, trusting Chris will get his drift – “so I think maybe I’ll need to do some comparative research.”

Chris tilts his head in though. “Hands-on research?”

“I think that’s best, yes,” Sebastian concurs.

“Right. Well, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the higher educated one, so I’m just gonna take your word for that.” After a beat, Chris adds, “as long as I get to test a theory or two of my own.”

“Oh?” Sebastian licks his lips. “Such as?”

The wicked glint in Chris’s eyes is the only warning he gets before Chris is sliding his hand back into Sebastian’s hair and giving it a firm, experimental tug.

“Ah,” Sebastian breathes, his eyelids fluttering, the blood rushing south so fast he feels dizzy – again.

Chris grins smugly. “Such as that.”

“Okay,” Sebastian croaks. “Yeah, that seems fair.” Wasting no more time, he reaches out to grab Chris’s free hand and starts to pull him along the pavement in the direction of his apartment.

Chris, laughing as he squeezes Sebastian’s hand, follows closely behind.  

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

Read on AO3

[driven-by-bri]

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻

Wordcount: 1179

Warnings: Slight fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, awkwardness, tiny bit of daddy & praise kink (OVERALL FILTH, 18+)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Brian May

Sypnosis/Annotation: You and your boyfriend 'do it' for the first time

*************************

Backstory - You and Brian met at a school dance last week, got your first kiss and became girlfriend and boyfriend, but your dad doesn't really approve because of your relationship because 'it's slavery', but your mum is very teasy about it.

It's 11:30 PM, and the house is preparing for bedtime.

"Goodnight, sweetheart!" Your mum said while your dad is still mad:

"Night, Y/N." He said angrily.

They both go to bed, and before mum closes the door, she winks at you.

She also locks their bedroom's door and you go upstairs to yours, a bit embarrassed from the wink you received from your mum. Why did she do that? Did she know something you didn't?

After another short conversation with a poster on your wall, you lock your door and find a sexy maid outfit that was hidden in the back of the closet, just in case the things that your drawings' hallucinations said are gonna be true

The outfit was for playing Cinderella with mum when you were younger. Though now it's gotten too small and not really your style, so your mum made some size and fashion adjustments.

At around 11:50 PM you hear a knock on your window. You were in the dark, because you didn't want to seem suspicious being up at midnight. You go closer to the window and see Brian's face on the other side, he actually made it!

You let him in through the window and then close it quietly.

"Hello, love!" Brian kisses you, feeling welcome as he should be.

"Hi!" You were 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 happy to see him.

"Wow, you look... Beautiful in that outfit!- and that skirt-"

He flushes red and he's speechless, because he actually had feelings for you.

"Thank you! Your clothes aren't bad either, though~" You smiled at him, but Brian tensed up and said kinda seriously:

"Say, Y/N, uhm... Are you a v-virgin?"

"... Uhm- Yeah-"

This moment was awkward, but he got the courage and said it.

"Are you not afraid to... Change that?"

"No, I am not!" You said bravely, doubting it'll be bad because of some of the stories you've read ans fantasies you've had.

"Brave, Y/N!", Brian was surprised at first, because you're not scared or not asking if it'll hurt.

Then, he shyly asked:

"Mind if we... Make it happen, then?"

"... Sure thing~^" You didn't know if you should believe the many women saying that it's painful, or should you just go with it.

"Tell me, how far I can go, okay?"

"Mhm-", you say as you both sit down on your bed, Brian puts a pillow behind your back and lifts up the black skirt and carefully slides off your underwear.

"Ready, Y/N?"

"Mm.. yeah~ A bit nervous though.."

"It's okay.. you can tell me if you want me to stop."

He slowly slides one finger inside and you get slightly heated.

"This okay?"

"M-mhm," You whimper, but try to keep it quiet because you don't want to get caught.

"How about this?" He adds another finger and once they're in, he keeps them still, slowly stretching you out.

"Is this good, does it not hurt?"

"N-no, not at all..you can keep going~"

'𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮' you think and then he starts fingering you slowly. He goes on like this for a few seconds, then pulls them out. His fingers are covered in your arousal.

"Alright then, shall we get started?"

Brian unbottons his shirt and starts taking off his trousers.

"Or do you want to do it for me?"

"Uhmmm... sure~"

He takes his hands off himself and lets you undress him. Though, you remember some tricks from the fics and decide to use them on Brian in right here, right now.

You palm him through his trousers, feeling how big and erect he is under.

"Tssss~" He hisses: "Where'd you learn that?"

"I don't know.. just thought of it~" You answered, trying to hide the fact you were waiting for this moment forever.

"That's enough please.."

"Alright fine, I'll stop that~"

You pull down both Brian's trousers and briefs at the same time and his cock springs out immediately, pre-cum leaking from the tip. Brian moved the pillow you were laying on to be under your ass before he hovered over you and his tip slightly goes over your folds.

"Please~" You let out a small moan.

"Alright fine, this is the first and definitely not last time. -v-"

And after that, he inserts himself for real and stops.

"You alrigh-"

"I'm green! Very green!" You whined: "Do it~~"

Brian starts a slow pace of subtle thrusts,

putting his hand slightly over your mouth so you don't make much noise.

"You're doing so well~"

"Mmm.. Am I good enough for daddy?" You moan out, muffled.

"Yes, very good.."

Brian almost pulls out and then slams right back in repeatedly, cooing and calling you sweet names while you're moaning. He keeps doing this for a little while but then suddenly stops.

You become a bit disappointed of the loss.

"You alright, princess?"

"Yes, daddy.." You basically whined back: "But why'd you stop?"

"Because^.."

Then Brian pulls off your dress and clips open the bra with one hand while moving his tongue around your nipple and eventually sucks on it.

His dick starts moving again, hitting your g-spot once in a while.

"ohhh yeah, babe- 𝘂𝘂𝘂𝗴𝗵~"

He's grinning because he knows that he's the one making you feel so good right now.

Brian takes a blanket and pulls it over you both. He kisses you passionatly with his tongue, constantly meeting yours.

He cups your boob, but then things get really heated when he starts touching around your ass and flicking his tongue on your nipple almost violently. You can't take it anymore.

"Bri I can't! I'm- ohh- I'm going to cum!"

"Go on, do it before I do~

I know you can!"

You both were panting at this point and close to your orgasms. Multiple moans escaped your mouth as you came on Brian's shaft, but he was still going at it - moving inside you and riding out his high as he heavily moaned and cummed and spilled his seed inside you.

He pulled out, layed next to you and whispered:

"How was that, Y/N?"

"The best."

"How can you know it's the best if it's your first?"

"Because it was the best.. just a fact.... You're so big, Bri~"

"And you're a dream girl, Y/N." He smiled at you.

You had cum all over your inner thighs, but you didn't care if you'd get in trouble. You were asleep, with Bri.

Just Bri and you. You and Bri. The man of your dreams was with you, in bed, and you were no longer a virgin. You both happily slept together, snuggling, cuddling and satisfied.