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kierahn · 1 month

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DRIVEN. [ y ! assassin x m ! reader ]

[ nsfw, minors DNI ]

yandere! assassin x journalist! male reader

warnings :

nsfw

forced non-con [in bold letters]

dead dove

reader death

slight torture warning

semi-necrophilia ?

hi, i'm back after three months of dying🧍‍♂️ it might take me awhile before i post a fic again, but here's an update for you guys.

malachi was a man whose services could be availed with just the right amount of money. he isn't the type to settle for less, confident that he was beyond excellent at doing his job.

ask him to dispose of someone and it would be as if they never existed in the first place. most of his victims' bodies had never been found. that, or they would be beyond recognizable when found. traces of his victims' existence would be gone in a pull of a trigger, with only their names to be remembered by their loved ones.

you were a journalist, renowned for your boldness and endless pursuit for the truth. unlike malachi, your silence can't be bought by any amount of money. you never hesitated to shed light on several issues which made you a formidable force in the eyes of the elite. after all, a journalist who values transparency above anything is someone to be feared by their kind; shrouded with secrets that they dare not reveal to the media.

you were well aware of the risks that came with your job, but that never once detered your work. truly remarkable, but idiotic in a sense.

you knew that it would all come to bite you back someday. with all those companies that you had brought down and names that you have ruined; maybe this was your karma catching up to you.

even as you stood at the receiving end of malachi's gun, regret never once entered your mind. you will never regret challenging the elites. they were nothing but a bunch of cowards, hiding behind their status and disposing of anything that threatened to destroy it.

over the past few months he had been keeping a watchful eye on you, malachi hadn't expected you to barely flinch despite having a gun pressed against your forehead.

"what an interesting reaction," the male on the other end mused as his calculating gaze studied your unfazed expression.

you truly were a bold one, always so headstrong and indifferent. even when threatened with a bullet through your skull, you stood your ground, not even a yell for help or a plead for him to spare you.

"why am i not surprised," a sound of amusement escaped malachi's lips. "you've always been so fearless. perhaps, you were already expecting this to happen."

he wasn't entirely wrong, you've long envisioned this scenario inside your head.

you stood with an oddly placid expression before the barrel of his gun, but your hands told a completely different story. they trembled against your sides, a stark contrast to your calm demeanor.

you were scared.

you could only hope that he could do it quickly to save you from further embarrassment.

"there's no point in prolonging this, is there ?" you spat out in spite, opening the door for death who stood at your doorstep.

your eyes were always so full of challenge, malachi wanted to rip that away from you. he had always wanted to see you with a different expression; whether it was fear or something more.

"a shame," he slightly lowered the gun in his hand, now pointed right where your heart lies. "i've grown quite fond of you, journalist." malachi shamelessly confessed.

something you two had in common was being highly driven by your work. unfortunately for you, malachi still had a job he was committed to.

‘ bang! ‘

he didn't fret over the possibility of the gunshot being heard by a passerby. if anyone were to investigate the source of the sound, he would simply dispose of them too.

malachi watched intently as you dropped to the ground.

and there it was. your fearful expression.

your eyes were wide with tears as you clutched your side where the bullet lodged itself, your breathing laboured as your mind quickly worked to try and numb out the excruciating pain you felt. curses left your lips, the warmth of your own blood trickling down your wrist.

he wasn't quite contented in ending things there. normally, he would go for a swift kill and dispose of his victims afterwards. however, he had purposely shot you in a spot that didn't instantly put you to rest.

the sound of footsteps nearing your fallen form reached your ears before your hand was forcefully ripped away from your bleeding side and pinned beside your head, leaving you more vulnerable than you intially were as your killer straddles your bloodied waist.

malachi's eyes scanned your tearful expression with a hint of content. absentmindedly, his free hand moved to caress your open wound.

"!!" an excruciating scream left your lips when malachi suddenly dug his finger through your bullet wound.

his grip around your wrist tightened when you started to thrash around under him, your survival instincts kicking in. you tried to throw him off of you, but your frantic movements only caused your wound to open up more.

malachi clicked his tongue in disapproval, removing his finger from your wound. "now you're just making things harder for yourself."

“HN!– ha.. f.. uck you,” you curse him through gritted teeth. your expression hardened as you shut your teary eyes tightly, trying to minimize the pain.

he leans down to move his face close to yours, examining the tears that slid down your reddened cheeks and the saliva that trickled down your chin. malachi drew his hand that was stained with your blood, brushing it under your eye and leaving a streak of crimson red.

"you know," he starts softly, feeling you tremble underneath him. "this look suits you better than the stoic one that you always wore.”

"i bet i can make you show so much more than that," malachi chuckled darkly, his words holding anticipation. "consider this a parting gift for my dear journalist."

the male roughly grabbed your cheeks to prevent you from struggling when he leans in to capture your lips into a forced kiss. his other hand left your limp wrist to rest, slipping under your bloodied shirt and brushing over the bullet wound up to your chest.

his touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the tight grip on your cheeks. anyone could tell that malachi was, to some degree, fond of the man under him.

he soon broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. his lips land on your shoulder where he suddenly bit down to leave his mark, making you flinch and let out a pained groan.

malachi pulled his lips away and gently licked the bleeding bitemark to try and soothe you in a way. he straightened back up to examine his handiwork.

your eyes seemed to be in a daze, your breathing slowing down. it was a clear indication that your conciousness was beginning to slip. but before life could completely escape you, malachi lands a harsh slap to your cheek.

"don't be so ungrateful, y/n." he warns, grabbing your cheeks roughly once more, his hand that was under your shirt leaving to grasp onto your thigh. "leaving without accepting my gift. no, no. i won’t let you do that.”

malachi released his grasp on your cheeks by roughly tossing your head to the side, he worked to unbuckle your belt before slipping your trousers down to your knees. he was seething. you couldn't leave him just yet, not without him seeing your expressions as he's (literally) fucking the life out of you.

your vision swayed as the blood loss eventually made you cease your struggles. the light in your eyes was slowly fading and so was your warmth.

but that didn't stop malachi from getting his entertainment. after pulling down his own trousers, malachi rammed himself into you in one single thrust, leaving you with no preparation as you jolt at the sudden intrusion.

you weakly claw at the male's clothed chest. there was just so much pain, from the bullet wound on your side to the bitemark on your shoulder, and now the size that stretched you out dry. you could feel something warm trickling down your thighs, a a texture you could recognize.

you sobbed quietly as the pain doubled when malachi started to move without giving you the time adjust to his size. the tip of his cock worked its way on your insides, trying to find the spot that would make you melt under him.

his eyes watched as your pained expressions turn into one of hesitance. readjusting himself, malachi sets his pace. he knew that he finally found the right spot when he felt your thigh twitch in his grasp and your walls tighten around his dick. lo and behold, your look of hesitance contorted into a disturbed one as you quickly throw an arm over your face to cover yourself.

a shameful moan escaped your lips as soon as he finally hits the spot that broke it all for you. it wasn't long before you turned into a hot mess under him. your chest rose and fell in a rapid rate as you whimpered and moaned under him.

malachi's free hand roughly removed the arm that covered your slutty expressions. you looked so lewd with his cock inside you, drool spilling from your lips and your eyes rolled back in undeniable pleasure.

now this was the sight he had been longing to see.

the pain from your wound was long gone as intense pleasure eventually replaced it. malachi quickened his pace when he noticed how your cock twitched, indicating that you were near your climax. he wasn't that cruel to deny you of orgasm in your last moments.

or maybe he was.

before the knot in your lower abdomen could come undone, malachi grabbed a hold of his gun and shot you straight in between your eyes, lodging a bullet through your skull and finally putting you to rest.

your warm blood stained his lower abdomen, trickling down to his cock that continued to drive into you who had long went limp under him, your eyes deprived of life.

he gave a few more thrusts before finally spilling his warm seed inside of your ass. his breaths were heavy as he kept his cock buried inside your now freezing and stiff body.

malachi soon pulled out of your corpse, fixing his trousers and standing back up. he sheated his gun back on its holster as he gazed down at your limp body.

he knew he was fucked up, but this was on another level.

he smiled smugly.

maybe you should've picked another job in the first place.

#male reader #yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #kiahndere

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nyoomfruits · 6 months

Note

for landoscar: one having to sit in the other's lap when space is tight and them both blushing like crazy over it!

this little drabble (as far as you can call 1k of fic a little drabble) features lando being a menace, seb and his bees, and the hilarious little school trip the entire grid took to buzzing corner during the japanese grand prix which i cant find the pictures of anymore.

If anything, it’s Lando’s own dumb fault.

He’s running late, because he’s always running late, following behind Oscar who is also always running late, and seriously, who let them be teammates? Clearly they are just enabling each other’s worst habits.

They make it onto Seb’s stupid bee bus just in time, squeezing in just as Seb starts throwing impatient glances at his watch, muttering an annoyed ‘there you are’ as Oscar takes the little step into the bus, his stupid shorts sliding over his leg to reveal a tantalizing strip of thigh.

It’s the only excuse Lando has for nearly face planting himself onto the floor of the bus as he trips inside himself. He can’t believe they’re being carted around the track in an oversized van like a bunch of high schoolers going on a school trip, but it’s Seb, and most of the grid would give their lives for Seb if he asked, so.

The bus is crammed full, everyone already having taken a seat, and Oscar slides into the only seemingly available seat next to Fernando.

“What about me, then?” Lando says, waving his arms around, a little annoyed.

“Lando,” Seb says, in his ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ voice, “I would really like to leave now.”

“Well I can’t just-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lando,” Alex says, from two seats over. “Just go and sit in Oscar’s lap or something.”

Lando opens his mouth to protest, but everyone is looking at him with slightly disgruntled facial expressions, and he sighs, defeated, before turning to Oscar, who is looking at Lando with wide eyes.

“Uh,” he says, and then shuffles in his seat a little before he goes. “Yeah, sure, just. Sit down.”

“Right,” Lando says, and then carefully sits himself down on Oscar’s thighs, trying not to inconvenience Oscar too much by putting his weight forward as much as possible.

He fails immediately, when the bus jerks forward and Lando gets flung backwards into Oscar’s lap, nearly toppling onto the floor altogether.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, but just as he’s about to slide off completely Oscar’s arms find their way around his waist, pulling him close so his back slots against Oscar’s chest.

“Careful,” Oscar says, and his mouth is right at Lando’s shoulder, his lips brushing against the fabric of Lando’s polo and Lando is going to kill Seb and his stupid bees.

“Yeah,” Lando says, “Yup, yeah, sorry.” He tries to scoot forward again, suddenly way too aware of the proximity of his ass to Oscar’s dick - and fucking damnit now he can’t stop thinking about Oscar’s dick -, but Oscar tightens his arms around him, presumably in an attempt to protect him but only resulting in making Lando feel like maybe Seb and the bees should kill him.

In the front of the bus, Seb is enthusiastically telling them about the bee project. Next to them, Fernando is staring out of the window, nodding along to whatever Seb he’s saying. On Oscar’s lap, Lando’s been stuck on a horrible loop of ‘Oscar’s dick Oscar’s dick Oscar’s dick’. Seriously. Why does the guy insist on wearing those stupid flimsy shorts. It can’t be just to torture Lando’s entire existence.

It also doesn’t help that Oscar’s breath is fanning over his neck, his mouth brushing against Lando’s shoulders, his neck ever so often as the bus bounces around the track.

Lando’s dreamt of this, before, maybe. Of Oscar behind him, of Oscar’s hands on his waist, Oscar’s mouth on his neck.

The dreams had involved considerably less clothes. Also considerably less the entire fucking F1 grid.

“You, uh, you okay?” Oscar asks, and his voice is a little tight, as he whispers low into Lando’s ear, sending shivers down Lando’s spine.

Lando once again considers the pros and cons of just flinging himself out of the window.

“Yeah. Yeah, why?” He says, trying to act casual, trying to act like Oscar’s arms aren’t currently burning a hole in Lando’s abdomen with the way they’re wrapped around him.

“You’re uh, you’re squirming. A lot. And it’s-“ Oscar cuts off, and his voice is still tight, his breath a little shaky, and when Lando scoots back only a little bit he can feel-

Oh.

Now that’s interesting.

It’s like a switch flicks, in Lando’s brain. See before it had been the embarrassing reality of having the hots for a teammate who probably doesn’t… hot you back. But now. “It’s what?” He asks sweetly, pretending like the corner the bus takes makes him slide further back into Oscar’s lap, ‘accidentally’ grinding his ass down on Oscar’s dick.

Oscar groans, quiet and barely audible over the roar of the bus if Oscar’s mouth wasn’t right next to his ear, and his arms move from around Lando so he can grab Lando’s waist with his hands. “Lando,” he says warningly.

“Yes?” Lando asks, wiggling experimentally and letting out a frustrated little huff when he realizes Oscar’s grip is quite strong, actually.

“Will you just fucking keep still,” Oscar grits out, his hands tightening on Lando’s waist, and oh, okay. That’s kind of hot. Lando should explore that. Later. When they’re not in the stupid fucking bee bus.

“All right, that’s my queue to leave,” Fernando says, getting up out of his seat next to them. Lando hadn’t even noticed the bus had come to a standstill until everyone is already filtering out. Lando twists around in his seat to look at Oscar, and oh.

Oscar’s cheeks are a wonderful shade of bright fucking red, his pupils dilated as he pokes out his tongue to lick at his lips, and Lando briefly – very briefly – considers the pros and cons of bus sex.

“I’m-“ Oscar says, and he looks a little unsure, a little unflustered, and Lando realizes that while Oscar’s feelings have been, well. Very obvious, Lando hasn’t done anything so far but wiggle. So he surges forward, kisses Oscar quick, soft, while the camera’s are busy filming Seb showing the rest of the grid the bee hives.

“Later,” he says, promises, vows.

“Later,” Oscar agrees, voice a little hoarse, eyes a little wide.

Maybe, maybe Lando won’t kill Seb and his bees after all. Maybe, instead, he should send them some flowers. Just, as a thank you.

#ALSO thank you for all the well wishes i do feel a lil better now :)#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble #ask game

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spicyclover · 10 months

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Fireflies

Summary: After having a horrible beginning of the year, you slowly recover from your trauma and his. You soon realize that Lance will always be by your side.

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!

I’m open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING: Mention of miscarriage, blood and injury. BE AWARE

Some characters are invented. I don’t know exactly the name of every team member of each driver. Please be respectful, and you can correct me in the comments. I’ll make the adjustment if I get something wrong.

Dialogues from: Cha Cha Real Smooth

When Lance had his bike accident. She miscarried and didn’t tell him because She didn’t want him to worry about her. Weeks passed, and he slowly recovered from his injuries. Now that this dark time has passed, she feels it’s time to tell him.

She is working in the hotel room when she gets the call from Lance’s coach. He quickly informed her of the situation, and she jumped into the first taxi to the hospital where he had just been admitted. He didn’t directly describe the damage the accident caused, but she felt in his voice that it was severe. The stress has escalated, and she imagines the worst possible scenarios.

She rushed to the emergency room, quickly spotting Lance’s team in the corner of the waiting room.

“What happened?” She asks quickly. His coach once she gets close to them.

“I... I don't. I don't know. Everything happened so fast.”

“How bad is it?” She questions nervously.

“Very...”

They’ve been waiting for hours, and no one wants to give them any information until his father arrives. She tried to get information, but apparently, being his girlfriend is not close enough to him to be able to receive any information. The nurses are reluctant to tell her anything; she only knows he’s with the doctors to save his hands and feet.

She returns and sits with Lance’s coach, Rob, for the fifth time. She let a giant sigh escape and crossed her arms with discontent. She has had a stomach ache since early morning, and she’s getting increasingly irritable with the hours that pass.

She’s trying to camouflage her discomfort, but she’s starting to feel cramps twisting her in half. She apologizes to the team and heads to the nearest washroom. She feels blood running down her thighs. "Oh no." She hurries and opens the first cabin available.

She lifts her dress, which is now stained with blood and looks. Tears invade her when she sits on the toilet bowl, waiting for her to finish bleeding out. "Why it’s happening to us."

A few weeks ago, she noticed that she hadn’t had her period for several weeks, but she didn’t tell Lance because she didn’t want to worry him about anything. So she said nothing and lived in denial over the holidays and Lance’s vacation. They went to the mountains, and that’s when she realized the changes that began to happen. They went back to Canada and finally decided to consult.

So the doctor told her a week before Lance’s accident that she was 13 weeks pregnant.

“Congratulation Miss Strulovitch. Thirteen weeks pregnant. We can schedule your first ultrasound for the end of the weekend.”

“I...”

“I know this is quite a shock, especially since you didn’t know about it. You can take your time to think about it and talk to your partner.

“Umm...”

“You can call our office anytime.”

She left the office not knowing what to do or think. She didn’t want to talk to Lance immediately until she thought about it and knew what to think. They went to Spain on the weekend and had her ultrasound picture in her bag, waiting for the right moment to tell Lance.

“When... Is there a date of conception? She asked them on the phone some hours later to the doctor.

“Well, if my calculation is correct, it will probably be around the end of November.”

“End of November, she whispers back.

She remembered right away the night it happened. She had been sick for a few days and forgot to take her pill, but she didn't think much about it when she was in Abu Dhabi with Lance. Lance and she have been together for quite a long time and have done it multiple times without protection. So she didn’t think much about it, and it was Lance.

She cries, trying to find a solution. A way for her to go back to the hotel and change. But she’s bleeding out, and bleeding out her baby. She can’t believe it. She didn’t even have time to tell him. She didn’t have time. Why didn’t she have time?

She finally calmed down a bit to be able to text Rob, Lance’s coach.

“Hi, women’s bathroom. Hum, I’m looking for someone. Is anybody in here? Is anybody’s name Y/n in here? Start with a Y?” Asks Bob entering the bathroom.

“Bob,” She whimpers in pain.

“Yeah. Y/n.”

“Is Lance okay? Have you seen him?”

“Yes. Yeah, he’s, and he’s keeping it up. Are you okay?”

“Um, I’m kind of stuck in here.”

“What do you mean?” Do you need toilet paper?”

“I’m. I just. I got some blood on my dress, and it’s not. I’m fine. It’s not a cut. Um...”

“Oh, word, okay.”

“Um, but I need. Can you get me some paper towels?”

“Yes”

“Like ten?”

“Yeah”

“And can you wet some?”

“Uh?”

“Will you wet some of them?”

“Yes!” He approaches the door. “Okay. Can you reach that?”

“Fuck”

“What?”

“I can’t reach that. I just got more blood on my drip on my dress.”

“I can go a little further.”

“I can’t. I. Just throw them.”

“I can, but I feel like it’s gonna fall on the floor, and it’s gonna be, like, not sanitary for you.”

“Go under, then, go.”

The door opens. He gives you the toilet paper.

“Close the door.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah...”

“Do you want me to see if someone has a tampon or something?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Lance, I need you to help me get to my car. Because I don’t want people to think I’ve killed somebody in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, it does look like that. Do you, um, that’s a period. Do you want my... Do you want to wear my coat? I have a coat.”

“I don’t think your coat will cover my ass.”

“I feel like it is. I’m pretty tall.”

“I don’t want people to see me wearing some guy’s jacket.”

“Okay, I think I have an idea.”

She spends several minutes in there while Rob goes looking for his coat. She whimpers in pain, trying to breathe through the contraction. Tears flow down her cheeks, and she feels something leave her body.

She went back to the hotel room. Looking like a maniac trying to keep her mind busy. She’s shaking but tries to cover it. She mumbles to herself. She nervously eats her nails, and she passes multiple times at the same place. Her mind wanders away. She needs a shower. She needs a shower right now.

It is only when the shower starts running that her minds finally silence itself. Taking a part of hers in the drains. She watches the blood flowing away. The warm water makes her feel a bit better, but she can’t help to cry again. She stays under the water for ages. Letting the water flow her emotions away. She needs to be strong. She needs to let go of the pain. She needs to be strong for him. “He didn’t have to know. He didn’t have to know.” She mumbles again to herself.

She wears sweatpants with an oversized hoodie and returns to the hospital. Her hair is still wet, and she didn’t even bother to put makeup on. The surgery is over, and she can finally see Lance again. Seeing him, in his hospital bed, with his casts on moves her. She keeps your tear to herself and goes to kiss him. Acting as normal as possible. Even though inside of her, she just went to let her pain out. Let it out to the world and be normal again.

The week passed, and his recovery went rapidly, and the possibility of him getting back in the car was more and more present now. She gets nightmares every night, and each worsens, keeping her awake. Sometimes, she sees Lance getting hurt in the car, in the street. Sometimes it’s her being persecuted by Lance, her family, and his family for how an awful mother she is, for losing this child. So, she lays awake in bed every night, waiting till the morning comes.

It’s the first of the year. Overwhelmed and tired. She enters the paddock with him. Her glasses are up to her nose, and her head is down.

It’s FP1, and she’s decided to stay in Lance’s driver's room to try and get some rest. She rested her head on her fist as her tired eye slowly started to close. Her lips slightly parted, and she drifted away. Forgetting all the sound and the agitation around her.

A dream begins to appear in her mind. Images and sounds start to occur more for her as she finds herself on track, in the middle of it. Her eyes wander around her. All the lights on the track are on, but no spectators, no sounds, and no vibration.

Then the sound of a Formula One car begins to reach her far away, like a storm. The atmosphere becomes heavy and humid. She is unable to move or step forward. Just her eyes move from left to right. She feels her heart palpitating, her breathing pressing, and her body hair bristling.

She feels that her body is reacting violently to what is happening. As if a great danger is going to happen and she can do nothing to stop it. She’s watching her own misery.

Then, in the distance, she sees the car heading straight toward her. The ground begins to vibrate under the pressure of the coming storm. The wind blows violently, and her breath is cut off.

She blinks, ready to scream with all her lungs, when suddenly she feels a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her.

Her eyelids suddenly open, and she desperately seeks her breath. She crosses the worried look of Lance, who still holds her shoulder.

He’s still in his suit. Light sweat on his forehead. His fireproof clothes are soaked with sweat, and his suit is tied around his waist.

“Are you okay?” He questions, visibly concerned.

“What time is it?” She asks, still confused by her dream.

“Haft past seven, I think.” She looks at him confused but sits up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired...” She mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

Lance didn’t believe a word she said. He knows this lack of sleep has been going on for a while now, even though he didn’t say anything initially, thinking that all this stress comes from his accident. He wanted to prove to her that everything was going well for him by going up to the Grand Prix and into that car, but he sees that it is no longer that that bothers her, but something else.

“Your eyes are red. Did you get enough sleep last night?” She sighs. She doesn’t want him to be distracted. Not right now, not now. She wants to tell him so badly. All this sadness and pain she feels, but she has to wait.

“I had a bad dream.” She says, looking up at him. “I’ve been having the same dream over and over for the last few weeks, and it’s keeping me awake, and I can’t sleep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You should have woken me.” His voice calmed the storm inside her mind, making her focus on what was really important.

“I wanted to, but every time I turned around in the bed, you’re here with your cast and blaster, and you finally look peaceful, relaxed, and rested. I just couldn’t do it.”

Lance let it go, but that night. He lay awake next to her. He waited until she closed her eyes to finally closes his. The next day flies by, and the excellent result comes in. She didn’t sleep much, but at least Lance took her in his arms all night, making her feel safe again.

It’s already Sunday, and the race went amazingly. Lance got P6 despite the pain and everything. She’s full of joy and sadness at the same time. Watching him being happy again makes her heart full, but at the same time, she can’t stop thinking. Thinking about what could have been. What will it be? She can’t hold it back and start crying when they return to his driver’s room.

“Hey. Hey, baby. What’s going on?” He asks, taking her into his arm. “It’s all right, I’m all right.”

“No...”

“What is it?

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you crying? Has something happened?”

“I lost it.”

“What?”

“I lost our baby.”

“What are you talking about.” Lance wanders, worried. “Breathe, baby.”

“I’ve lost our baby.” She whispers, finally calming down. She breathes before continuing. “I found out I was pregnant a week before your accident, and I wanted to be sure before telling you anything, but...”

“But I crash my bike.”

“I don’t know why, but I did a miscarriage when you were admitted to the hospital.”

“You went through this alone?” He asks, surprised it’s been this long.

“I didn’t want to put more on your plate, I...” She started to cry again, not wanting him to be mad at her. Lance feels bad and pulls her close to him.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish you had told me sooner. I want to be there for you as you are for me.” he says, kissing your temple. “That’s why you are not okay for the past weeks?” She nods, her head resting on his chest. “We should see the doctor to see if everything is okay.”

She nods again to his suggestion and stays like this for several minutes. Listening to his heartbeat. They never discuss the possibility of having a baby, but Lance never shows he is against the idea of having children. He wants kids, but he never thoughts it would be this young, this soon.

He does not know how to feel after this revelation and must admit that he is disturbed by what could have been. A small them. A mix between her and him. He sighs and squeezes her harder.

“Will try again,” he spoke softy. “And this time, we will be ready.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, looking him in the eyes.

They went out for dinner that night. Just the two of them, alone. In their little comfort bubble, away from socials, friends or family. It’s only a few days after the Grand Prix that Lance took the time to make a post on his social. Looking back on his journey through recovery. On international women’s Day, he dedicated a beautiful message to her. Posting their first couple picture together on his Instagram.

In the garden, she looks peacefully away. The doctor says they will have no problem being pregnant again. He even proposed to put her to be on the pill. She thoughts about it and turned to Lance before saying she won't need it. Lets the faith decide what comes.

Later in the evening, she’s looking at the field of the lantern lighting up the sky. There is a special event in north London, and she begs Lance to go. Their wish lantern goes away with the ultrasound of their unborn baby on it. Saying a last proper goodbye. They watch it together, flying out. Flying away to heaven. Her head was on his shoulder.

“I'm glad you're feeling better.” He whispered in her ear. She smiles, delighted to have found peace and acceptance. To accept the loss. To accept the misfortune. To accept destiny.

When they went back to Monaco weeks later. She had never been more in love with him.

She's in his arms. On a boat. Looking at the sunset while listening to his multiple stories. She loves hearing him talking. She kisses his cheeks while he looks around the mountains and the ocean around them. His arms are around her body, keeping her close to his chest. Feeling her light skin warm by the sun. He finally settles in, contemplating her. She smiles. A real smile. Fill with love and admiration. He pulls her hair out, telling her how much he loves her. Scooping her face in his hand and giving her a kiss. Pulling her into a warm hug.

“My little fireflies.”

#lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fluff

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 1 year

Text

Couched

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: You and Wanda fight.

A/N: Here’s one of the few reasons why Wanda would end up couched. Enjoy! I’ll be posting chapter 8 this weekend.

Warnings: Angst.

You’d been upset with Wanda for a few days now. Last weekend had been your anniversary and you’d planned dinner and a nice night out with your girlfriend, but she’d been too busy with work to join you. She was well aware of what day it was. She wasn’t the type of girlfriend to forget such an important milestone, but the problem was that she just hadn’t been able to get away from work at all that day. She’d been busy negotiating a major deal that would make a huge difference for her business.

You hadn’t cared about the details or even the end result because you’d been too miffed at the time. You had sat at dinner alone and then sat at home all night when Wanda had bailed on you, and since then she’d been sleeping on the couch. You hadn’t demanded it, but when you’d locked the bedroom door that night before Wanda even came home, she got the message.

She’s realized that maybe she should have let her brother and Nat deal with it. They both had known what day it was, and they’d tried to get her to go home, but she’d been too high strung and anxious to leave it in anyone else’s hands. Usually, you understood this and you could commiserate, but this was just one night out of many that you asked Wanda to be available and she wasn’t.

She was almost as upset as you were at this point. She hated sleeping on the couch, but she also didn’t feel like she deserved to sleep in the guest bedroom, so she continued to suffer on the uncomfortable couch.

It wasn’t just when it was time to sleep that you were ignoring her. You were giving her the silent treatment as you got over the fact that you hadn’t been important enough for Wanda to want to spend time with you. You had to convince yourself that you were just being silly, and she didn’t really value her work more than you, multiple times during these past few days.

It’s not until you’re trying to go to sleep on the 4th night that you finally cave. It’s nearing midnight, and you heard Wanda go to sleep a few hours ago. At this point, you had begun to feel guilty about locking her out of the bedroom for so long. It wasn’t really fair to be mad. She had her work and you knew this could get in the way when you started dating. You’d just expected her to be a normal girlfriend and share an anniversary with you without any work obligations.

You consider how you could have celebrated another night, and that you really just need to be more flexible and not so demanding. This line of thought is what gets you out of bed with a defeated sigh. You need to apologize, but first and foremost, you need to let your girlfriend come back to bed.

You sneak down the hall and into the living room to see Wanda sleeping fitfully on the couch. She is curled up in a ball and is frowning as she shifts to get more comfortable. You feel your guilt increase ten-fold, and you reach out to her with a frown.

“Wands? Wake up.”

You’re careful not to startle her because you only have to do that once to learn your lesson. You reach out for her shoulder and shake her gently until she wakes up. Her eyes open and she is quick to look to you and try to figure out what’s wrong. She’s always on alert, even if she doesn’t mean to be, and you shake your head quickly before tugging on her shirt.

“Come to bed?”

Wanda doesn’t react immediately, and you almost think she’s going to refuse and continue to sleep on the couch. You only have a moment to consider the possibility of Wanda being spiteful before she nods and stands up quickly. She leaves her blanket behind and follows you back to the bedroom wordlessly. You tug her along and shut the door behind you two before moving toward your side of the bed. Wanda pulls the covers down on her side and sighs as she lies down in bed for the first time in days. She nearly groans as she closes her eyes and waits for you to get settled. She’s glad to be back in bed with you, and despite knowing that you’re going to talk about last weekend at some point, she just wants to enjoy this moment.

You are of similar mind and you move closer to your girlfriend and pull her towards you by the arm. You end up cuddling her and Wanda just turns her head to see where you’ve rested your head on her shoulder.

“I missed you. “

Wanda kisses the top of your head before nodding in agreement. She hates being away from you, and sleep was hard to come by these past few days both because of your absence and the fact that you were upset with her. You sigh happily at the contact and move impossibly closer before settling.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry about everything.”

You consider just going to bed and waiting until tomorrow to talk about this, but then you realize that Wanda’s gone far too long without an apology, or at least acknowledgement from you. You eventually just shake your head before taking a deep breath and telling the truth.

“I’m sorry too. I overreacted and I should have let it go.”

Wanda thinks about how often she’d wished you’d done this in the past few days. She wasn’t sure if it was fair, but she wished that you could have just gotten mad and then gotten over it. She still wanted to take you out to celebrate because this was a huge milestone for the two of you. However, she was worried that you weren’t in the mood anymore and that neither of you would enjoy it. She would hate for this to be a stain on every anniversary you have in the future, and she intended to have many with you.

“It’s okay, I get why you were mad.”

You shake your head again and Wanda waits for you to respond. You’re trying to figure out how to tell her you weren’t as mad as you let on, or that you were really more disappointed than anything else. You go back and forth with the decision to tell her, but ultimately you want to be truthful.

“I wasn’t so mad. I was mostly disappointed. I know that work is important to you, but I was hoping just this once to be more important.”

Wanda stiffens where she lies next to you and she turns to you immediately. She looks you over to see if you show any signs of not meaning what you just said, but you’re just frowning and Wanda immediately feels horrible. She never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t important to her. You were honestly the most important thing in her life, but the trouble was figuring out how to say this in a way that didn’t make her sound like a hypocrite. If you were the most important person in her life and work truly paled in comparison, why wasn’t she with you this weekend instead of with Nat negotiating a deal?

Wanda sighs in defeat as she reaches out for you. She lifts your chin so you’re looking at her, and at this point she sees the unshed tears in your eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry I made you think work took priority over you. I love you, and you’re everything to me. I just made a stupid decision and I wish I could take it back and go out with you instead.”

You try to turn away but Wanda’s hold on your remains firm as she continues to speak. You start to cry, but she wipes your tears away as she kisses your cheek.

“I will do better for you, for us, I promise. I promise that I will leave this life for you.”

You stop to consider this for a moment because despite the fact that this is not the first time Wanda has brought this up, it is the only time she’s sounded so sincere. You know that her life is complicated, and completely leaving it behind is not an option. That said, you’ve both discussed the idea of her letting someone else take over, most likely her brother, and she’d just be on the sidelines, not actively involved, but still close by if needed. You like the idea of this despite how unrealistic it sounded. Wanda’s entire life was the empire her parents started, and the idea of her leaving that behind for you, made you feel selfish. You didn’t want to take Wanda away from her family and her work. You just wanted to take her from the danger if possible.

You shoot her an uncertain look because you do realize that she could be saying this because she’s desperate to get back into your good graces. You refuse to believe that Wanda would lie to you, but whether or not she’s as willing to do as she says, as she’s leading you to believe, is another matter. You want her to be happy, and you want her to be safe, but with each day that passes you realizes this is not always an option as she continues to work.

“Do you really mean that?”

You whisper this question just loudly enough for Wanda to hear and she’s already nodding before any silence can fall between you two. She’s put a lot of thought into it and despite knowing that it might not happen soon, she is willing to turn over her criminal empire to her brother. She knows it will take a lot of work to prepare him and prepare herself enough to leave, but for now she’s willing to at least commit to this.

“I do. I promise. One day we’ll be able to move out of the compound and have a family.”

Wanda kisses you again, and when she pulls away to see you smiling, she promises herself that she’ll talk to her brother tomorrow. It won’t happen quickly, but starting the conversation with him will at least set things in motion and remind him that she wants out. When you cuddle close to her to sleep, she sighs in relief as she pulls you against her. She hates fighting with you, and she’s already figuring out how to clear her weekend by the time you fall asleep.

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #silver springs drabble #silver springs #mob au

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oftenwantedafton · 2 months

Text

Indebted - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - no explicit content in this chapter

Also available on AO3

The night you meet him begins like any other.

You’re walking home from your job at the small convenience store that’s one of the few surviving businesses in this less populated part of town. You always cut through the parking lot of the shuttered pizzeria that’s rumored to be haunted because it shaves some time off your trip and you really just want to get home and take a shower and collapse into bed. You don’t believe in ghosts anyway.

You become aware of the footsteps just as you step into the rear parking lot of the abandoned restaurant. Their pacing is casual, unhurried. You move a little faster along the cracked asphalt and the sounds of your pursuer intensify. You are definitely being followed.

A quick glance over your shoulder. Difficult to see in the darkness, but it’s a large shape. You hear panting. Your hand slips inside of your purse and you reach for your keys, slotting each piece of metal between your fingers. Apartment door, deadbolt, employee locker. An improvised weapon.

Your stalker is getting closer.

There’s still too much of the vacant lot ahead of you. You’re too far from any immediate signs of civilization to seek help. You can barely make out the indentation of a door in the rear of the building. You quickly weigh your options. Was it riskier to remain outdoors or try to find a place to hide inside?

You choose the latter, abruptly turning and shoving your body weight forward, relieved to find the entrance is unlocked. A curse behind you. Definitely a man’s voice. You let the door swing shut and try to move forward as quickly as possible in the foreign space. You’re surprised to find it’s dimly lit, an eerie red glow from what must be emergency lighting. Someone must have forgotten to shut off the supply of electricity when the facility had closed. You see a series of doors on the inner wall, trying the first one and finding it locked. Another, also locked. The door that had granted you access to the interior opens and closes behind you. You try to swallow your rising panic, not daring to waste time glancing at the man again. Your hand reaches towards a third handle, never getting the chance to make contact as it swings open from the inside.

There is something there, in the darkness.

Twin pinpoints of light high above you. They almost look like eyes. One of the animatronics? You recoil instantly, your back striking the wall, your purse jostled from your shoulder. Your keys are still clutched in your hand, palm sweating. You can smell the metal.

You hear a loud footstep. Whatever was inside that room across from you is now leaving it. Moving closer, into the grim crimson light. The weight of that tred terrifies you. It’s not the sound of a man but a machine. Another step. Hydraulics. Gears moving. Steel kissing cement. The shape reveals itself. A rabbit. A seven foot tall rabbit that looks like it’s seen better days. Ominous dark holes gaping in the suit. Wires jutting from exposed areas. Part of one ear missing. The rows of teeth in the headpiece bared in a permanent rictus grin, the material that had once been covered in fur decaying, giving the appearance of a rotting corpse.

Heavy breathing and normal footsteps now. Your pursuer has finally caught up to you.

You feel the breeze as the rabbit’s arm swings in the direction of the man. A surprised grunt of pain. The sound of something soft being invaded. Slightly damp. You try to creep sideways, the cinderblock outer wall still at your back. Another wet thud and a gurgling groan. Your would be assailant’s heavy body hits the floor.

The rabbit’s head swivels to regard you. The hand holding the keys trembles violently but you manage a shaky swipe in the air in front of you, a rehearsal for the scratches you’re going to attempt. A dry chuckle resonates from within the figure.

“Is that any way to thank your savior? Not that you’d be able to do any damage with that. Pitiful.”

Your arm lowers but you keep the keys clenched at the ready. “What…what happened to…”

“No longer part of this mortal coil.” The voice sounds modulated. A human speaking inside the suit? But how? What was he doing here? You realize what the suited person has just told you. “You killed him?”

“Of course. Did you think I was going to let someone that reprehensible wander in my property?”

His property? He owns Freddy’s? “You knew him?”

He makes an exasperated sound. “Not personally. But I know his type.” A pause. “Now what to do with you, I wonder.” You catch a glint of metal in the dim lighting. The rabbit was holding a knife, stained an ominous color.

“I was just walking home and I heard someone following me and I ducked inside to hide. That’s all. I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again. I…I won’t tell anyone about what happened.” You’re not sure about that last part, but you’re certainly not going to tell this strange creature that you’re ratting him out to the police.

You hear the individual inhale deeply. “So frightened. I’ve missed that scent,” he murmurs softly, then his voice sharpens. “Of course you won’t tell anyone. You’re not going to mention this dead man. You’re certainly never going to tell anyone about me. But as for simply leaving…well, that’s another story.” A brief hum. The rabbit’s head tips to one side. “The way I figure it, I’ve done you a service. Which means you owe me.”

You lick lips that have gone dry. The air is so stale inside the building. “What…what do you want?”

“I haven’t decided yet. A debt to be repaid at a later date, I think. Some night when you’re walking home again, I’ll come to collect.”

“How…”

“Did you think I didn’t notice? Security cameras, silly girl. I know everything that happens here. Everything.” He takes a step closer and you cower against the wall. “The only reason you have breath in your body right now is because you’ve never done any damage. Passing by respectfully.” He kicks at the corpse lying at his feet. “Unlike this wretch here.”

You suddenly feel an overwhelming need to vomit. “Please let me go home,” you whisper.

“Of course. You’re free to leave.”

You take a tentative step forward. Another. The figure beside you is motionless. You give the dead man a wide birth, refusing to look down again after you inadvertently catch a glimpse of a sinister looking pool of dark liquid. You count three doors and move back to the outer wall, heaving a sigh of relief when the door surrenders and you get a lungful of fresh air.

“Wait.”

You freeze. He’d changed his mind. He wasn’t letting you go after all. A cruel taste of freedom.

“You forgot this.”

Something tossed in your direction. Your handbag, the small artificial leather case landing near your feet. You hastily swipe at the strap and settle it back on your shoulder. The mascot encased figure bends and you hear a scraping sound as the body is dragged in the opposite direction, deeper into the shadows, lost from sight. You swallow another wave of nausea and hurriedly exit the building, running the rest of the way home.

***

Everything seems so deceptively normal the next morning.

You wake up and pad barefoot into the kitchen to make coffee. Maybe you’d dreamt the whole thing. Watching too many horror movies before bed. There’s no way something that scary could have been real. You continue denying the events, almost convincing yourself before your eyes fall on your purse siting on the kitchen counter. The white material is stained red. Your stomach lurches. Blood. It had been real.

You slump into the nearest chair. You’d been responsible for a man’s murder last night. Granted, he’d been planning on mugging you, raping you, God only knows what. But still. He was dead. And now you owed a favor to that…that thing in the pizzeria. A man wearing one of the animatronic suits, wandering the darkness.

You don’t want to think about what kind of dark desire a person like that might have.

He’d murdered the man so effortlessly. Without remorse. You knew somehow this wasn’t his first victim. He’s killed before. Many times.

Maybe he was the one responsible for all those missing children.

It was impossible to grow up in Hurricane and not hear the stories. Kids that just vanished into thin air, one after the other. No evidence. No answers. The only common thread the location where they’d last been seen. The news reports announcing the restaurant’s closure. And then nothing. No more missing children. No more anything. Just a building left to rot steeped in a terrible rumored legacy.

You consider going to the police. Your hand reaches for the phone more than once. But you hesitate every time. See the white eyes and the rows of teeth and hear the rusted voice. The implied threat.

You won’t tell anyone.

***

The door to the convenience store chimes as you enter.

You’re grateful you’re working first shift today. At least it will be daylight when you walk home.

You wonder if the sun is really enough to keep the shadowy nightmare of Freddy’s at bay.

“You look like shit. Rough night?” Your coworker quips.

“Yeah, you could say that. Not like that,” you add at the suggestively raised eyebrow. “I just didn’t sleep much.”

The girl smirks, depressing the pricing gun and affixing a sticker to the bag of chips she’s setting on display on the end cap. She reaches for another bag, pausing as she glances towards the entrance. “Looks like your favorite customer is on his way in.”

Your cheeks flush and you turn to see a middle aged man entering the store.

He’s been a regular for several weeks now. Very tall, well over six feet. Lean without being too skinny. Office attire. Graying hair and beard. Glasses that seem the wrong shape for his face, the lenses too large and round. The glimpses of his car in the parking lot reveal he drives an older sedan. He‘s always very polite. His voice was a little odd, a combination of nasal intonation and a harsh rasp like a smoker’s. Except he never purchased cigarettes. It was usually candy or coffee. Sometimes something for lunch. Maybe when he was rushing out the door and didn’t have time to prepare a meal to take with him. No wedding ring. Maybe no wife to pack a lunch for him?

He nods and smiles at you and your stomach somersaults. It was a pleasant change from the nausea you’d been experiencing off and on since last night. He has dimples. Nice even white teeth. He always smells good, like soap and cologne. You know you’re staring and you force yourself to look away, catching the dark grin of your coworker.

You walk to the register, rubbing a thumb absently over a peeling sticker stating the tobacco and alcohol age requirement laws on the counter. Sandwich today. Apple. Chocolate chip cookie. Bottled water. You ring it in. He hands you a folded bill and you admire the fingers pinching that currency. Long and slender, but strong looking. Wide palms. You wonder what it would feel like to have them on you.

You fumble his change out of the drawer. A soft smile that makes your stomach flutter again. He tucks his fingers through the handles of the plastic bag and leaves. You realize he’s left something on the counter. A business card. He’s a career counselor. Steve Raglan. Now you have a name to go with the face. For some reason it feels off. He just doesn’t look like a Steve.

Your fellow employee has emptied the box. She begins to break it down, slicing through the packing tape as she saunters over to the counter. “Well, shit. Looks like your dad crush has a thing for you, too. Go get him, girl.”

You blush again, tucking the card against your palm to hide it from sight.

***

You decide to call Steve Raglan on your lunch break.

The business card is already becoming dog eared, creased from your constant nervous handling. You trace the blue embossing one final time before you dial the sequence of numbers. One ring. Two. A familiar voice on the other line. “This is Steve Raglan. May I help you?”

You wrap the phone cord around your index finger. “Yeah, um, hi. You left your business card on the counter at the Convenience Mart this morning after I rang you up.”

“Ah, yes. The attractive blushing young woman.”

You feel your cheeks grow hot. “Yes, that’s…that’s me.”

“I wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me after work some night?”

Your pulse quickens. He was actually asking you out. “Sure, I’d love to.” The phone cord tightens.

“Wonderful. Let me know the next night you’re free and I’ll pick you up after work.”

“I’m doing second shift the next two nights but then I’m working first shift on Thursday. I’ll be done at four.”

“Thursday it is, then. I look forward to it.”

The dial tone hums loudly in your ear and you relax your grip on the spiraled cord.

”So? What’d he say?” Your coworker is chomping loudly on gum, blowing and snapping a bubble, her arms crossed, leaning back against the counter.

”He asked me out to dinner.”

”Dinner, huh? You’d better bring a change of clothes in case he takes you somewhere nice. And, you know, maybe plan ahead.” She walks over to the aisle with contraceptives and pulls a box of condoms off the shelf. “Do you think he’s an extra large? A tall guy like that with that thick neck and those huge hands? He has to be, right?”

Your face is burning. She’d noticed, too. “It’s just dinner. Put that back,” you add hastily as the door chimes, signaling another customer’s arrival.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #springtrap

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fourmula1 · 9 months

Note

Maxiel, heat

summer of cum whatever i want day 27: anon's prompt from 6 months ago

max/daniel. anxious baby omega max 'verse. 866 words.

When Max arrives in the Paddock he beelines for Red Bull’s hospitality and to get to Daniel’s room with as little interference as possible.

He feels like everyone knows; like one look at him will give away the fact that he just went through his first heat and he’s a ripe omega ready for the taking.

He isn’t. He hates it. He wants to be anything else but this.

Daniel’s room is predictably a mess already but it’s comforting to know that that means he’s already here, somewhere. There’s a hoodie flung onto the little couch, and various snacks and half-drunk drinks on his table and it’s. Familiar and safe.

Max drops his backpack and settles himself on Daniel’s couch, pulls out his phone to scroll and not think about all the appearances and team duties he’ll have to face over the weekend. He’s already hyper-aware of the leers he gets from alphas, but now he fears everyone will know he’s been through his first heat and it will only get worse. He can go on suppressants now, his doctor said, but his appointment isn’t for another week.

When the door to the room opens Max looks up, expecting Daniel’s surprise and eye rolls at seeing him there like he’s come to expect when he hides away in Daniel’s room, but this time there’s no surprise and Daniel slips in and closes the door quietly.

“You’re not surprised to see me?” He asks, joking a little as Daniel raises his eyebrows at him.

“Mate, sorry, but anyone with a nose is gonna know where you’ve been,” Daniel says and Max’s enthusiasm to see Daniel faulters for a moment, heart sinking into his stomach. Everyone can smell it. Him. Available omega fresh off a heat. It’s insurmountably upsetting and Max curls in on himself a little, crosses his arm up over his chest to rub at his shoulder.

Daniel must smell the way his scent changes because he’s over to the couch in a moment to squeeze in next to Max, the way they always do when Max hides in here.

“Maxy, it’s not a bad thing,” Daniel says, shaking his head a bit. “Sorry, just. It’s not easy being an alpha either, you know?”

I don’t, Max thinks, bitterly. Alphas are strong and respected and don’t have to deal with the nerve-wracking idea that they’re vulnerable to the world.

“Better than this,” Max says and he knows he sounds petulant. Daniel laughs, a little bitter himself, and Max looks up at him with a frown.

“I can smell not only you and your heat, but that you’re pissed off, too,” Daniel explains, shaking his head a bit. “It’s not easy. Alphas have instincts too, you know. It’s hard when I can smell that you’re upset and there’s nothing I can do about it,” Daniel says and Max frowns deeper because he supposes he hadn’t thought about that. Alphas can smell the change in omegas’ scents and moods, and Max knows that… that the good ones tune in more. Daniel tried to explain it before – instincts driving him to fix and make things better.

“Well at least no one’s sniffing you out thinking about making you some bitch to conquer,” Max says as he nudges his elbow into Daniel’s side.

Daniel is quiet, next to him, and Max is torn between wanting to look, and being scared of what he’d see.

“I’m not doing that,” Daniel says and his voice is quiet, subdued. Disappointed.

Max looks.

Daniel’s eyebrows are knitted together, eyes downcast at his hands in his lap and Max can feel a wave of empathy wash over him. Omega sense, he supposes, for the way he can feel and smell Daniel’s hurt feelings.

“I would never do that to you,” Daniel continues and Max feels his chest clench, feels like he needs to come up for air with how thick and cloying the emotion in the room is all of a sudden. He believes Daniel. He knows it’s true. Daniel’s been the one Max goes to escapes it all.

“I know,” he agrees, watching the way Daniel’s gaze is downcast, how he won’t look at Max. Something prickles at Max and he frowns a little, trying to work through what exactly he’s feeling. “I’m sorry, I know. You’re the only one, though,” he says, and Daniel snorts a little but it’s not a laugh. It’s annoyed.

“I won’t let anyone else, either,” Daniel insists, nostrils flaring a little, no doubt scenting Max without even really meaning to. “Just. Come to me always, yeah?” Daniel asks as he finally looks up at Max and meets his eyes.

Max feels a shiver up his spine at how intently Daniel is looking at him. Something… something beyond his understanding is happening here and he doesn’t know what to make of the woosh in his belly when Daniel’s hand reaching out to squeeze Max’s thigh gently.

“I will,” Max nods, watching Daniel’s tension soften at the assurance.

Something peculiar that Max hadn’t felt before… before his heat brought him into being a fully developed omega. A weird sort of pull, a tug, to assure Daniel and calm him.

Peculiar.

#summerofcum2023 #maxiel #anxious baby omega max #my ficlet

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septimusmoonlight · 2 months

Text

Anonymous: Idk if you've ever written anything abt this but I love the idea of some small foreign entity crawling inside my womb while I'm asleep and like. Fusing I guess? And just constantly fertilizing me to the point I'm always pumping out its kids. Makes me go straight to Niagara falls lol

I'm sure I have some permapreg like it somewhere around here, but it's always something I'm willing to explore <3

It's just an ordinary night for you, so you manage to get to sleep eventually. That's when your uninvited guest comes out to play. Maybe it was under your bed, or just outside your window, or somewhere else in your room that you don't check often enough. Whatever it is, the thing slinks out from its hiding spot on too many limbs and seeks out your available hole. It knows it has a good project on its hands - you can be turned into a good tool for it, something to pump out not-quite-humans infected with its genes.

Its body secretes sedatives that keep you fast asleep as it opens up your cunt with its tapered body, pulling itself deeper and deeper inside of you until it presses right up against your cervix. With a little extra force, it pops inside, sliding perfectly into place as it latches to the top of your womb. It quickly dissolves a portion of the inner lining so that its body can fuse to yours, and it even incorporates some of your DNA into itself so that your immune system doesn't recognize it as a threat. Within minutes, its skin and your womb flow into each other seamlessly, and it can begin its work.

It takes a little while to get your body up to speed on what the new plan is. The first round of hormones it secretes is meant to prepare its environment for its young in particular - they may be similar to humans in various superficial ways, but they are most certainly not the standard young a human should be bearing, and certainly at a rate far too fast for any human. Then, once your internal workings have been altered to its tastes, it starts releasing its seed into your womb - in fact, with bifurcated genitalia, it can simply insert a long probe directly into your fallopian tubes and bombard your unprotected ovaries with its sperm cells, fertilizing engorged eggs much faster than should be possible. In fact, new eggs are forming just for its purposes, which is normally an incredibly rare event - but, then again, this thing isn't producing humans, so human biology is mostly irrelevant.

The first cells start dividing late in the night while you're still peacefully sleeping, entirely unaware of how you've been changed. Permanently. Forever.

In the morning, you become acutely aware of the new developments when the first hints of labor pull you harshly into the waking world. You gasp and moan, clutching at your rounded, swollen belly. You're so large that you can't even adjust your position properly, and you're left to wonder, terrified, what must have happened last night for you to end up like this. You're not allowed to think much further about it, however, because the pain of a child pressing against your dilated cervix is a distraction from everything else, and you have to follow through on the urge to push before anything else can be done.

Labor is fast, in comparison to how long an active labor normally is, and it's agonizing as a result. Your body isn't used to being stretched open and pulled apart like this, much less from the inside out, so thoroughly claimed by something you can't identify - and yet, despite the pain, pleasure still washes over you, and you can't help but cum multiple times, delaying the birth as you clench hard around the inhuman child still sliding through your birth canal. Your cervix and cunt are stretched wide, wide open, torturous and euphoric at the same time, and you're tempted to linger at the crowning stage just to bask in the horrible, searing burn that comes from something just too big. Your body screams at you to bear down, though, so you do, your legs shaking as you cum again at the sensation of a newborn slipping wetly out of your newly-sloppy cunt.

As you lay back, fighting for breath, you can feel more weight gathering in your lower belly. Placing a hand on your midsection greets you with the sensation of your skin pulling tight under your fingers, an alien mass pushing out from within, filling up your womb with something you didn't ask for - and yet something that makes your skin burn with arousal, makes your eyes roll back in your head and your tongue loll out of your mouth when your cervix hugs another small body on its way out of you. The process seems to be speeding up - even as you're giving birth, another body stretches your insides.

These are just the growing pains as the organism that's taken you over makes sure its systems are in place properly. It's making sure that you can push out as many children as it commands, making sure that you're hyperfertile and loving it, making sure that the elevated pain response you're experiencing is simultaneously translated to pleasure so that it hurts and makes you cum at the same time. So far, everything is going well - but it wants to keep up the test run for a little while, pump out enough children to make up for its time outside of a human womb, when it couldn't produce young.

You're trapped in bed all day, screaming and sobbing through orgasm after orgasm as babies open you wide, an endless chain of children you can't identify, not at all human and yet with the appearances of oversized newborns. The way they can crawl immediately after birth - and climb up the walls, no less - tells you that you're not dealing with a weird human pregnancy; this is something entirely out of your wheelhouse, but you're finding it harder and harder to care as your brain learns more and more to enjoy your new position as a permanent baby factory, a sloppy hole for babies to come out of, an incubator. You're forgetting everything else you had planned for today, for next week, for the upcoming month, the rest of the year. Pleasure and pain, and this implacable urge to give birth over and over again, are quickly wiping out the desire to do anything else.

By the end of the day, things have slowed back down, but you're still giving birth at least once an hour. In between, you're rubbing your cunt, easily sliding a fist into your sloppy hole to keep yourself open for the next child that needs to come out of you. You're all too happy to stay like this, but when there's an extended pause, you take the opportunity to fall back asleep, exhausted without realizing it.

Then, you wake up, and your midsection is larger than it was yesterday morning. The morning sun says hello through your drawn blinds as you wail, squeezing out a batch of easily five or six newborns, apparently left gestating inside of you all night while the thing that took you over let you get some rest. It seems to have a good picture of the human limit, but you have no clue of any of this; all you know is that something happened to you, and it's the best time you've ever had in your life.

#Originally posted May 23 2023 #asks #anonymous #my writing #nsft text #patreon.com/septimusmoonlight #constant preg #body invasion #body modification #constant birth #forced impreg #forced birth #birth #preg #impreg #somno

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bfpnola · 3 months

Text

image description under the cut

when i was 12, i was ambitious. a heart of gold, in the words of earth, wind & fire, i truly believed that nothing could stop me so long as i gave it my all. no obstacle was too large, no goal was too distant. now, at 20, my dreams are shattered in many ways. yet in many ways i am still grateful (and i am aware that i have so much left to live). i owe it to the family i have created to tell this complex truth over a neatly told lie:

for the nearly 8 years that better future program, inc. (bfp) has existed, i have run it almost entirely alone. each time that we gained momentum, it was as though the narrow visions of others dragged us right back to the depths of the void. and i was the one always left to pick up the pieces. you see, for nearly 8 years, i fought and cried, chased and fell, lived and died. but it was through my struggles that i made lifelong friends to kiss the very scars this organization has graced me with. i will always hold a place in my heart for the volunteers who showed up, who bleed alongside me as these words rip into our spirits.

you see, i am writing this because i am a changed person. called every name in the book right down to ngger whore*, something about my soul is hurting. my children and i, my wonderful children, have spent 8 years begging our white peers to care. it does something to you… to look into someone’s eyes, to say that you feel as though you could die, that the world has cursed you with this endless sense of urgency, and for them to only center their themselves whiteness in the end. even in the home we had created, we could not escape white supremacy. i refuse to sugarcoat just how heartbreaking a revelation this was. in the words of one of our truest and most gentle-hearted allies, internally, we had become parasitic, only existing to serve the needs and wants of our white members. and of course, we were disposable. when cycles of harm were disrupted, they left us without a single word of remorse.

my children and i, we are a broken people. torn from our homes, our hearts cracked open, we are a people whose throats are hoarse from screaming, who eyes flood like the mississippi river, whose soles are calloused from chasing after dreams (after humanization) across red-hot coal. we are burnt out.

so where does this leave us? what does any of this mean? crucial details highlighted below:

better future program, inc. (bfp) is changing. our nonprofit status will remain. but our volunteer positions will not. our liberation library will remain. but our discord server will not. we will no longer accept donations. our current funds will be redistributed through mutual aid networks. our 3,000 free resources will still be available. but our capacity for material change has truly been diminished. we hope to continue to provide marginalized youth with educational materials for as long as we possibly can. and so we will do so, for as long as we possibly can.

you see, my children and i, we are a resilient people. borne of slave ships and reservations, occupation and colonization, abuse and grief, we are survivors. our hands grasp one another’s tightly so that we may never lose each other in this world. we have held hands since before we ever even met. as we venture back out into our local communities, we will never stop being intentional in our relationships (in fact, we already have a new project in the works so that may stick together). better future program, inc. (bfp) has still given us so much. and for that we will always be grateful.

if you have any further questions, which i imagine you might, feel free reach out through [email protected], instagram (@bfpnola), or tumblr (@bfpnola), as these socials will remain available.

thank you so much for supporting us for as long as you have. it’s time we take a new path.

sincerely,

reaux (she/they)

founding executive director

#reaux speaks #announcements

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hellavile · 2 years

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baby, wyd? ichigo kurosaki.

warnings . . . fem!reader, black coded, established relationship, modern au, fluff, erotic filming, mirror sex, smoking ꒰ blunt ꒱, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl position, eating each other’s faces, cuddle fuck, sloppy intimate slow nasty sex lmao, pet names, use of daddy a few times, reader creams, ichigo’s rlly in love with reader.

mocha’s note .ᐟ . . . i did it yall *cries* i finally wrote for ichigo.

ichi ♡

baby, wyd?

cupcake ♡

just got home from work ! whyyyyy? 🥺

ichi ♡

gonna take you out. i’ll be omw in thirty.

thirty? after all this time he still doesn’t understand how time consuming it is to get yourself ready to go out. definitely when you weren’t aware of where you’re going. your boyfriend didn’t give you any hint so you were unsure of how to dress. on top of that, it was nearly midnight. your late shift at the hospital draining you, and the moment you came home and kicked off your scrubs, the last thing on your mind was to get ready to go out. your bed was calling you. so close yet so far. ichigo had literally messaged you the moment you leaped out of your convertible. sucking it up just for him, you hop in the shower with no further questions. it has been a while since you’ve seen him, both equally busy.

maybe he just missed you the same and wanted to do something nice for you. or just craved to be in your presence again. weekends were really the only time the two of you were available. the sweet scent of olay white strawberry and mint body wash mixed in with the thick charcoal rag scrubbing against your skin relaxes your body to the fullest. phases by chase atlantic booms through the cream tile of your shower walls, vibrating in your ears inimically as the hot water beats down onto your skin. you made sure to leave the door unlocked for ichigo to step inside, usually welcoming himself in without letting you know. one time having to smack him for being inconsiderate even if he blamed you for leaving it unsecured. cleansing your face and then finishing with your to die for tree hut strawberry scrub, you’re wrapped up in a towel while you brush and rinse your mouth.

patting dry, you lather yourself in baby oil from head to toe, hair still caught in your shower cap. you smile down at your chubby black cat brushing up against your ankle with a silver anklet labeled with your boyfriend’s name. a gift for your first anniversary. the short feline skips behind you as you stroll through your studio to reach your bedroom, sighing to yourself because you’re suddenly stressed about what to wear. nothing could possibly be open this late to really head out for. he has to be fucking with you. what if you get all dolled up just for him to pull up to mcdonald’s? you’d be irritated, but thankful nonetheless. quality time is all that mattered. even sitting in his car listening to music would mean everything right now. a passenger princess is what he called you one time. you just loved the idea of being around him.

when he said thirty minutes, he meant it. a heavy knock on your front door before it’s pushed open alarms you instantly. sucking your teeth at his obsession with always being too early. as you’re closing the curtain that blocks your bedroom, out peaks an adorable fluff of tangerine hair from the door, a smile on that face you love so much, teeth bright as pearls.

“hey, cupcake!” ichigo chirps, closing and locking the door before he takes off his travis scott dunks, knowing you don’t allow shoes in your house. he’s picking up the cat the same time he’s glaring at your silhouette past the sheer white curtain.

he catches you slipping on a piece of clothing over your head, taking off your cap and shaking out your curly head. he respects your privacy by keeping himself from walking in there and smacking your ass as a proper greeting . . . his way of one, at least. takes a seat on the low emerald, velvet textured sectional, the animal in his arms purring as he caresses it.

“i hate you.”

it’s the first thing he hears, and it immediately has him cackling. “why? i’m taking you out, aren’t i?”

“well, yeah, but . . . you could’ve told a girl mid-shift. i would’ve had more time to plan an outfit. i can’t even do my makeup now. my hairs lifeless. it’s midnight. i worked a twelve hour shift, you know that? no consideration for me as a woman whatsoever.”

“all i’m hearing is that you’re ungrateful.”

“fuck you, carrot top!” a heavy slap following with a gust of wind is nearly enough to overshadow the low level of slow rnb. ichigo raises a brow at you, slowly licking his lips while tilting his head to the side, humming as he observes you. body clad in a white spaghetti strapped bodycon dress that accentuates all your curves, tits pushed higher due to your bra being adjusted halfway up your back. a hot pink, suede chanel bag hanging on your shoulder. big curls flowing around your face like a greek goddess. an angel.

“baby, you lookin’ good as fuck. but you're gonna be cold as a bitch.”

“why?” you frown.

“we're going to the waterfront pier.”

a cheerful gasp you bellow makes ichigo’s smile extend, your cat jumping out of his arms from the noise of you jumping up and down. “babyyyy. the birria truck is there! you remembered?”

“of fuckin’ course,” he leans back with an arm thrown behind his head, hand on his bare stomach he tucked under his white tee. ichigo swings his legs dressed in black adidas joggers inward and outward, elated from the smile still on your face as you giggle and walk around the house in search of a shoe, eyes tracing you. “they're open till 2am.”

you glance at the oval clock on your wall, pouting. “i didn't do my makeup.”

“it's one in the morning. we coming back and cuddling.”

sucking your lips in, you nod.

“now come give daddy a hug,” ichigo motions you over with his finger.

standing straight with giddy in your heart, you stroll towards him, your hips switching effortlessly, the silver chain labeled 'daddy's girl’, which you bought for yourself, dangles along with the ocean blue evil eye as you bend forward to press a kiss to your man's soft lips, the tingle from his blistex vibrating your own. he sits up with you standing between open legs, hands wrapping around the back of your thighs as he hugged you around your midsection with his cheek on your stomach.

ichigo let's out an exasperated sigh, as if he was getting into a comfortable bed after a long day, squeezing you tighter. “missed you so much, baby.”

the tips of your fingers strum through his hair as you reply, “missed you too. thank you for taking me out tonight.”

“don't thank me yet. i need to see if you'll like the food first before we decide what mood you're gonna put on.”

“are you saying i'm bipolar?”

“i'm saying you're picky.”

“correction!” you announce loudly while pointing up a finger. “specific. i like what i like.”

“i can say the same,” ichigo groans before smacking your ass with a hiss, grabbing a chunk full before shaking it in his hand.

you laugh at him and shove him away. “stop! let's go.”

“lemme jus’ . . . ” ichigo gets lost in his thoughts, your eyes widening as he reaches down to grab your calf to lift. “get a taste real quick.”

“boy!” is what you exclaim as you give his hand a firm smack, like you're popping a child for misbehaving. ichigo snickers, saying he was joking but you knew he wasn't.

by time you leave the house, it's one fifteen in the morning. the streets are partially clear for your city's night. ichigo passing you his phone to browse through his playlists, immediately going for the ‘late night drive' one which was your favourite considering you helped him pick most of the content. the windows are cracked halfway, warm air breezing your faces as he speeds down the road like an asshole in his pristine white nissan gtr, two usual hand placements; one on your inner thigh and the other gripping the steering wheel.

it's so hard not to smile like an idiot when he does that. hiding your face in your shoulder as you look up at him like a lost puppy. singing to bryson tiller’s song in check as you intake the scent of the vehicle. it smells just like him. tobacco vanille by tom ford. the opulent scent lingering onto your body whenever he hugged you long enough, or when you stole his hoodies and shirts to wear just to keep him close.

the drive wasn't long. not even twenty minutes and you were pulling up to the pier, barely packed since it was a sunday night. lots of teenagers came out around this time to smoke and since there was plenty of food available it'd help with the munchies. hand in hand, the two of you walk towards the beaming taco truck with various of color's ranging from yellows, reds, and greens. birria landia was their label. very well known and talked about business. they moved locations so you were super excited to finally get your fill on it.

ichigo has his right arm thrown over your shoulder, pulling you close to his chest where you rested and listened to his heartbeat and the rumble of his torso as he ordered your food. each order came with four quesabirria’s and a side of consommé, totaling fourteen dollars each which was a steal to be honest. ichigo wanted to try horchata as a drink, getting a large so the two of you could share.

“you cold?” he asks briefly, spotting you rubbing your arms before you nod frantically, muttering a tiny ‘yes’. embraces you into a hug instantly, tall frame towering you as he rocked the two of you side to side while you waited alongside a few other people, laughing between his armpit where you buried your face.

you were talking on and on about cotton candy, looking up at him with your chin on his chest, a pout on your lips. glancing deeper into the boardwalk and catching glimpses of big bags of pink or blue cotton candy hanging horizontally beside jumbo cartoon character while that song from ten years ago that always plays at amusement parks blast through the speakers. yes, it's call me maybe.

“hey, i just met you,” ichigo begins, bouncing his knees to the beat of the song.

“no!” you groan.

“and this is crazy! but here's my number. so call me maybe!”

one things for sure, you fucked those tacos up. licking your fingers and swinging your feet like nothing else mattered in the world. ichigo lovingly resting his palm in his hand as he watches you squeak as you bop your head to the music. could never stay still when you ate. you thanked him dozens of times with your mouth stuffed, dunking your tacos into your lime infused broth before chowing down, juices dripping. unfortunately, you weren't full enough after, and by then the truck had already gone. the two of you cleaned up your area on the bench before ichigo decided to grab a bag of cotton candy for you before you headed back to yours.

his favorite thing about your living room was the beautiful collection of the weeknd’s entire discography hung up on your wall in vinyls. a glass record player sitting beneath. choosing an album, going with my dear melancholy because why not? sliding the disc from out of its slot, blowing on it to rid any dust before twirling it between the pads of his fingers and inserting it. you were sitting on your dark gray tufted bench displayed at the bottom of your bed, dressed comfortably in a white tank and royal blue panties. the tips of your pink toes are arched in the fluffy white rug beneath them, a tropical baby blue scarf on your head and your necklaces still in view. you were rolling a blunt on the alice in wonderland tray that sat on your lap.

ichigo had just gotten out of the shower, ruffling his damp hair with the towel and finding a pair of his basketball shorts in your bottom drawer. the projector on your wall is silently playing avengers’ civil war. it's about five in the morning you presume, wanting to smoke just because. both of you love how quiet the home was, your cat sound asleep on her strawberry printed pillow by your foot, ichigo laying in your bed while scrolling through twitter on his phone until you were finished.

crawling to him with a tired smile, you flick your plated heart shaped vivienne westwood lighter and pass it to him first, arching over his body sinking into your mattress as you hold it to his lips as he stares you in your eyes. ichigo takes a puff, drags it too long which has you snatching it away and giggling. his hand takes the back of your neck in his grasp, tugging you closer to blow the smoke directly into your mouth before kissing you. he sits you entirely on his abdomen and watches you take your share of it. caressing your skin lazily, and gazing behind you as you hold his face in your chest with your hand sprawled over his cheek, both of you watching the movie.

the air shifts without the two of you even realizing it. it's when your clutching onto the duvet that's falling halfway off the edge of the bed you bury your face in as you bounce dirty on his cock in cowgirl that it resonates. ichigo now has possession of your blunt, holding it like a cigarette between his fingers in his left hand he uses to gently pinch your ass. fixating on the grip your slick pussy has on his dick, coating it perfectly, driving yourself up and down slowly. he's got his phone on camera mode, recording the way you fuck him in your mirror, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as his brows crease.

you rock forward after your lips quiver when a shock strikes up your spine, heaving and slipping off. gripping onto his ankle for support.

“put it back in,” he's haste when he hits your ass, your salacious whimper making his dick jump. raspy voice completely succumbing you as you reach behind yourself to wrap your dainty hand around the base, sinking back down and rocking your hips. his eyes scroll back when a ring of white centers his cock, a deep ‘fuck’ escaping his mouth as you cream around him. “yeah, pretty girl.”

“ooh, baby,” a guttural moan vibrates deep within your throat as you drop your ass lower, taking in as much as you could. gasping as you fist the cover in front of you and move quicker, eyes crossing. “ichi !”

“it's good baby, i know. i fuckin’ know,” ichigo whispers, hissing and clapping a heavy hand down, taking a quick pull from the blunt before putting it out on the ashtray on your nightstand. he abandons his phone, craning his neck to the side to blow out the remainder of clouds before he’s lifting you by your waist until you’re laying on your side facing him.

ichigo tugs you close, slotting himself in between your thighs once your leg hikes itself over his hip, entrapping him with your arms locked around his neck. both of you breathe in each other’s air, rotating your waist to get his cock closer, wanting it back inside before you cried about it. he sees how cute and whiny you are, sloshing his tongue and mouth all over your neck, the most sensitive spot on your body. it makes you insanely wet, gasping, bringing him in more, wanting to be completely entwined. ichigo groans in your neck, reaching between where you two meet to fist his cock, groaning when he finds that gushing hole of yours that sticks like honey and sliding back in.

now his lips are on yours, sloppily tangling tongues and breathlessly moaning into your mouths, the heel of your foot that’s thrown over his waist applying pressure to his backside to drown him in deeper. ichigo has his hands on your ass he’s squeezing until the flesh is imprinted with his marks, cursing and rutting up to sheath his cock in your sweet, sweet fucking pussy. something’s he’s been dying to do for days now. hating how busy the two of you were. there wasn’t enough time to do this as frequently as he desired. that had to change. effective immediately.

“i missed you,” a broken cry sings in his ears from you, slightly squeaky with cute hiccups, ichigo snapping his hips fairly faster, clenching his sharp jaw before kissing your forehead. “f-fuckin’ missed you, ichi.”

“daddy sorry, baby,” ichigo replies, skillfully rolling his hips to hit just the right spot that always makes you scream and claw at his back. he maybe crazy for liking it so much. but when you dig your nails into his strong back, and his skin feels like it’s bleeding . . . sometimes is, he fucking loves it. his strokes ease when he drags out a series of words you’re unable to comprehend. thrusts becoming sloppier. “promise i’ll make it up to you. know you get needy when i’m too far. gunna change that.”

“mng. you gonna make me cum, baby,” your voice is higher pitched now, eyes low and your mouth dry from hanging it open too long. ichigo knows what to do in an instant, pinning you flat on your back and holding your throat in his hand, raising and dropping his weight onto you so his dick sinks in how you like it. “baby you gonna make me cum.”

“cum,” ichigo pants, his face churning along with yours, your voice going silent as you reach down to rub your fingers over your clit, keeping your eyes focused on his as the faint sound of skin clapping echoed the room. your body’s jolting beneath him, a dry gasp crumbling through. “cum right now, baby. right fuckin’ now, please.”

your knees stutter by his waist, holding onto him tight as the tone in his voice lightens, begging you to cream all over his cock, to cum with him, to give him what he wanted. and you do, roughly slapping your hand on his forearm for security, streams of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ undulating past your puffy lips. ichigo loses his balance and falls down onto you, chest to chest, puts you in a headlock to hold you still while he switches his pace entirely and fucks you harder, his eyes white as pinballs. “fuck, baby. this my fuckin’ pussy. my fuckin’ pussy. can you tell me that, baby? let me know.”

“it’s. your. fuckin’. pussy,” your voice splits with every heavy pound, writhing in his entrapment. holding your knees to the bed with your hands. lewd squelching only gets louder the messier you become. eyes shut with your soul leaving your body. ichigo’s ‘mmm hmm’ as a reply enough to make you cum again, squealing and arching your torso off the bed.

going numb, mind distorted and ichigo holds the back of your head so it’s bending enough to see him fucking you. even with the low lighting from the television you could still spot how drenched you were. ichigo kissing the bridge of your nose, then chastely your lips. “be a good girl n’ watch me cum for you.”

your toes curl when he slows his hips to pull out, resting his cock on your stomach and being rewarded when he cums in long ropes of white, painting your tummy with a shaky moan before mashing his lips back to yours, still thrusting.

“i love you,” he says. “i love you, i love you.”

and you loved him more.

visual. visual. 18+

. . . taglist; @dejwrites @indiecursor @massivelynervousprincess @gabzlovesu @emomanswhore @sanwioz @taesd-urag @anajah @rinhoes @festive @erentoes @erenyeagerswhore @caribbeanwifey19 @yooniluvbot444 @cinnitsuki @hannas16 @bubs-world @sintiva @yoshimurah

#ichigo smut #ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo kurosaki smut #ichigo bleach #ichigo x y/n #ichigo x you #ichigo x black reader #ichigo x reader #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki x you #bleach smut #bleach au #ichigo au #☆. hellavile.

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minhosbitterriver · 5 months

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Hi green! Since you've left me some lovely requests, I thought I'd leave you one! I'm in love with the friends to love trope, so if you could do something like that with Felix, I'd eat it up. I'm thinking of something like the reader (gn please) has a really hard day and decides to go to Felix, but then it starts raining, so when Felix opens the door, reader is soaking wet and distressed. You can do anything from there! Again, I love your writing, so anything you come up with will be undoubtedly amazing. Hope you're doing well! <3

everything is you.

other works by green.

pairing: felix x gender neutral reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of parental abandonment years prior, mentions of recent death of a parent, smoking weed, daddy issues

rating: 13+

summary: through every single hardship you'd ever endured, felix always waited for you, ready to bring you into the safety of his embrace. so when you're stuck amidst the complicated emotions following your father's recent passing, the first and only person you sought for comfort was your best friend.

Echoes of the youth you’d spent in this house haunted the eerie hallways of this vacant home. Every inch of this familiar place has remained the same, though you certainly haven’t. Sitting on the front porch floor, a joint you’d just rolled burning between your fingers as you watch the rain pour outside, a vacant expression on your face as you decided on what to do. The initial plan was to walk towards your best friend’s house, which was a short walk away but the sky seemed to have other plans. And so you remained there, stuck sitting beside a box full of letters addressed to you, but that had never been sent – all written by your father.

Too many times you had driven past him on your way to visit your best friend, making the point to keep your eyes on the road in case your father sat out front like he sometimes tended to do. The two of you had never been on good terms, especially since your mother left when you were a teenager to chase another man who’d made empty promises to her, and your father didn’t know the first thing about caring about another human being. It wasn’t a surprise to anybody when you left without a word the very minute you were old enough to do so and never returned. And yet, here you were, years since you’d gone – a box of letters he’d written to you though never sent, and you knew you didn’t have the nerve to open them alone.

An exasperated sigh escaped your lips, pulling your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans for what was possibly the millionth time only to be met by the same symbol of no signal available for you to message Felix, the aforementioned best friend – the boy you’ve known since you could barely form a sentence due to living so close to each other. He was the kind of guy who would smile a little bit wider whenever his eyes landed on you, the one to allow you to lash out when you were angry despite how sensitive he was because he wanted you to feel better, the one to remember your birthday and plan something intimate and special even if nobody else bothered, the one to pay attention to the little things you would mention in passing and always remember – he was very much in love with you, had been for a very long time and you were well aware. But he never mentioned it directly, and you decided that you wouldn’t bring it up either because you knew that the reality of this lifetime is that you were made to destroy and hurt while he was made to heal and rebuild and you couldn’t risk having him be the next victim.

In moments like these, while alone with your thoughts that slowed down from the flower you smoked that still seemed to suffocate you all the same, you wished things were different. If only you were a stable human being, good enough for him to safely lay his head on your shoulder the way a lover would do, someone who’s sane and loving and all things good – all of which you were not – then perhaps he would be sitting beside you already, encouraging you to open the first letter while being ready to kiss your forehead at the first sign of distress. It’s selfish, and you knew, but as the screen of your useless phone remained blank you couldn’t help but wish his name would pop up.

Your mind swirled with thoughts that made it harder to breathe with each passing second. The box of letters beside you. No signal. Felix’s smile. Childhood home. Your mother leaving. Your father’s cold demeanor. Yourself.

Not willing to wait for the rain to end, but also not wanting to dwell in here any longer, you grunted as you put out your joint and walked inside. A plastic sheet that covered one of the cushioned chairs in the living room was the only thing you took before making a b-line back outside. You lazily throw the sheet over the box, struggling only slightly to lift it before leaving the shelter from the rain, instantly drenched as the it offered no mercy. Barely able to keep your eyes open, you followed the same path you’ve walked a thousand times throughout your life, the pull of your best friend’s comfort and warmth being the true source of your rush as your pace quickened.

The neighborhood was the same, with the same married couples still residing in them – though most of their children were gone, already having moved on in their adult lives as their parents awaited for the next holiday to see them again. Everywhere you looked, a memory tied you to Felix as though his entire, beautiful being had been burned into your consciousness forever. Perhaps he had been, not that you would complain about it one bit if that were the case.

Felix’s childhood home came into view at last, and you all but sprinted clumsily with the box in your hands as your mind, body and heart yearned for his strong arms around you. Your heart was pumping blood through your veins harshly by the time you’d made it to his front door, dropping the box at your feet before banging on his wooden door. The air was having a hard time reaching your lungs and you realized that you were crying now that the rain was not hammering onto your skin – flashbacks of a similar scene played in your head, your teenage self distressed after you’d read your mother’s goodbye letter and your grief engulfed you and sent you down a spiral while the scene of your father sitting on the dinner table reading his newspaper and sipping coffee as you screamed at him to see you and your broken heart left at the departure of your mother. Your fists shaking as you gave up, falling onto your knees in despair just as the door swung open.

A wide-eyed Felix stood before you, shocked to see you in such a state and so late at night. It only took him half a second to react as he practically threw himself onto the ground and pulled you into the safety of his embrace despite how drenched you were. A sob you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back escaped your lips, and the gravity of the fact that you were officially alone dawned on you. Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t describe and all you could truly focus on was the fresh scent of his blueberry shampoo and vanilla soap on him as you briefly realized you must’ve caught him getting out of the shower.

“Hey, hey,” Felix attempted to pull away slightly to speak to you but you tighten your hold on his torso, not quite ready to let go yet. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

You said nothing, silently cursing yourself for being so weak – crying over a man who had never even smiled in your direction.

“Felix, darling, what was all that noise?”

The sound of Felix’s mother’s sleepy voice caused you to jerk away from him, cheeks heating up in shame. You were on your feet in a second, bowing deeply to the kind woman who’d supported you through all of your hardships.

“I– I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking when I came here, making all that noise. I just–”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lee waved you off with a concerned smile. “I’ve been telling you for years that you’re welcomed here at any time of day. Come in, darling, you’ll catch a cold. Come!”

Felix moved out of the way so that you could enter his home, pushing you away when you tried to grab a hold of the box you’d carried through the rain so that he could take care of it himself. You knew that you must’ve looked deranged, but there was no hint of judgment in their eyes as they watched you take your shoes off at the entrance. Mrs. Lee guided you into the living room by the shoulders despite the fact that you knew your way through the house like the back of your hand. The tenderness of such a simple touch made your sight blurry with tears that you refused to release this time.

“Darling, go take a warm shower and Felix will bring you a fresh towel and some spare clothes for you to change into, deal?” Mrs. Lee raised her brows as she waited for your response, you merely nodded. “Good, have you eaten?”

“N– No.”

“I’ll heat up some leftovers from tonight’s dinner, then.”

With that, she rushed over to the kitchen. You remained in the same spot though, letting the rain drip onto the floor as your body trembled from the chill the weather outside had instilled into you. Felix gently dropped the box on the couch, paying no mind to the wet plastic sheet that was still covering its contents.

“Y/N,” Felix said, voice low and warm. “You told me you were coming tomorrow in the afternoon. Why are you here?”

“I lied,” you sighed defeatedly. “I just didn’t want you to worry too much and I thought that I could– I thought that I would be able to go in there myself. And I really was fine, really…until I found that stupid box.”

He glanced back at the box behind him, sighing. Felix didn’t say anything, choosing instead to lead you towards the second floor and into the bathroom he typically shared with his sisters, closing the door behind you.

While standing under the scalding hot water in the shower by yourself, you couldn’t help but scold yourself at the lack of impulse control. You could have knocked like a normal person, instead you simply decided that you would bang on his door as though your life was in danger which in turn startled everyone in the house and probably the neighbors as well. The thing that had you so upset was not something that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t urgent at all. It was just a dumb box filled with letters that you’d never received while your father had been alive. So dramatic, you chided.

Just when you were about to shut the water off, you heard the bathroom door open quietly while you assumed Felix gathered your wet clothing and replaced them with fresh ones along with a towel. Once the door closed again, you drew the curtains back to be proved right. You dressed quickly, not bothering to brush your hair as you made your way back down and into the kitchen only to find that Mrs. Lee was no longer there, instead you found Felix looking for chopsticks for you to use while you ate.

“I told my mom to head to bed,” Felix informed you without looking up, placing the chopsticks on a napkin beside your warm plate. “What’s in the box?”

Your feet felt heavy with each step you took closer to your meal – to him. You leaned your lower back against the counter, gingerly taking the plate into your hands. “My father wrote me letters. A whole lot of them. But he never sent them.”

Felix’s eyes remained on you, taking his place right beside you, leaving only a hair’s distance in between. In order to not get distracted by this silly fact, you shoved your first bite into your mouth even though you didn’t feel particularly hungry. He didn’t seem to notice, only waiting patiently like he always did.

“The house hasn’t changed a single bit since I left,” you swallowed, voice thick. “I could tell exactly where he spent the majority of his time– the same spot at the head of the dinner table where he left stacks upon stacks of newspapers he never did bother to throw out, the reclining chair right in front of the TV where his weight had left its mark over the years, and his room that was a complete mess of clothes and books and papers and everything he ever used was thrown onto the ground.”

Another bite. Felix still said nothing.

“My room was left intact,” you continued. “It almost felt like time had stopped when I left, and the clock only continued when I walked in again. It was clean– my father kept his own room in chaos but cleaned my room. Not a speck of dust anywhere, and I checked.”

A third bite and then you set the practically full plate back onto the counter, you didn’t have the appetite to finish it. Felix wordlessly cleaned the area and left your plate in the fridge.

“I think the only thing that changed there was that all the family photos were taken down.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as your breath becomes slightly shaky. “Not even put away, he just– took them and smashed them on the floor and left everything there. I can’t help but wonder just how long ago that was, and how many times he turned a blind eye to the broken glass as he stepped over them.

And then I went down to the basement, and everything was pretty much the same except for this stupid box. All of the letters with my name and address written on the envelope and I just– I lost it. I don’t know what to think anymore, of him…of anything.”

Felix’s arms suddenly wrapped around you tightly, surprising you for a second before you returned the gesture. Your heart was beating erratically in your chest despite this not being the first time he’d hugged you, but this one felt like it did when you were a teenager. It was strong, yet gentle; protective, yet freeing. Although it’d only been a few weeks since you’d seen him, you missed him deeply. You had left town, and he remained here with his family and his happy childhood memories – though you visited often and he did as well, but still; you missed him deeply.

“I think that your father loved you in his own twisted way,” Felix murmured in your ear at last, arms tightening around you. “He was hurting, too. And you still didn’t deserve any of the things he did and didn’t do to you, because you were hurting and you were the child. But I think he loved you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, hands shaking as you gripped Felix’s blue hoodie.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ☀️

The rain had stopped after a while, so you and Felix took advantage of that and sat on the roof right outside his bedroom window like you’d done a thousand times before. Overlooking the neighborhood in the dead of night as you lighted up the freshly rolled joint between your lips, inhaling the comforting flower before exhaling its smoke. The weight on your shoulders and mind was lifted as your anxiety dulled and your body relaxed. You passed the joint to Felix, who mimicked your actions.

Your tears had long since dried, and the box had been left in the living room as you decided not to look at them tonight. Instead, you focused on the serene atmosphere that surrounded you and Felix like a warm hug. He passed the joint back to you, though you didn’t immediately bring it up to your lips again, letting it burn slightly between your thumb and index finger. Your eyes slowly found their way to Felix’s that had already been on you, analyzing you in the same way he had always done. You couldn’t tell if the glitter in his eyes were a reflection of the stars in the sky, or if they were truly his though they looked enchanting anyway. His smile widened when he noticed you meet his intense gaze and your heart burned at the sight, thinking back to your train of thought back on the front porch of your childhood home right before you’d come here.

After all of these years, all of the tears, grief, arguments, and lashing out – he remained beside you, eyes on you as if you’d placed the sun in the sky yourself. You would never understand how he could stay by you when everyone else had left, there was nothing special about you other than your cutting tongue and vengeful heart. Though you couldn’t help but soften at the sight of him and his optimistic way of seeing the world. He was far too good, too pure for you or anyone else. And yet he sat there, subtly inching closer to you though you had still noticed.

Lee Felix was in love with you, and had been for a long time. You were well aware, and had been for a long time. Though he never mentioned it directly and you decided that ignoring this would protect both you and him; but after all of this time, perhaps you’d maybe fallen in love with him too. It would be impossible not to let your own smile widen at the sight of his brown eyes watching you with so much genuine gentleness, to not feel your heart quicken every time he touched you, to not think of him when your bed was empty and cold, to not wish with every aching cell in your body that you were not as damaged as you were so that maybe, just maybe you would have a chance of deserving such a rare soul.

Despite knowing all of this, you allowed him to move closer to you as the joint became smaller and smaller with each pass between the two of you. Eventually, your arms and legs were touching, and you could practically feel Felix’s erratic heartbeat.

“What are you thinking about?” You surprised yourself by asking him, pointedly staring at the streetlamp directly in front of Felix’s house. His breath hitched slightly, though he didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“I don’t know,” he eventually mumbled with a half-shrug. “Everything, I guess.”

“What is everything, Felix?”

His eyes met yours, wide with curiosity as he attempted to read you. Your own veins were pulsing with adrenaline from your boldness, though somehow you weren’t as mad about it as you thought you would be.

“I– I’m not sure.”

“I don’t believe you. What is everything?”

This was everything against what you’d done since you noticed his feelings for you, this was not keeping a safe distance. But you couldn’t help it, it was as though your heart had finally gained control over your brain and was pushing you to confront your own feelings for the first time in years. Because the truth is, your heart did burn for him in a way you couldn’t explain; it fluttered and skipped a beat a thousand times whenever he was around and it had been for as long as you could think back. You didn’t deserve him, but he thought the world of you – so maybe that was worth something.

“Everything is–” Felix’s eyes searched yours, his breathing picking up slightly. “Everything is you.”

If your heart either exploded or simply stopped beating, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least. His words sent a chill down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the smile that snuck onto your face.

“Good.” You stated, putting out what little was left of your shared joint on the roof before moving to straddle him, and you might as well have pushed him off and onto the ground before with the way the wind seemed to have been knocked out of him. His eyes were so wide, so surprised yet so excited. “To me, everything is you, too.”

His eyes scanned yours for a moment before he released an incredulous, airy chuckle. He didn’t get the chance to say anything, however, as your lips met his for the first time and the world melted away.

word count: 3.3k ☀️ posted: 12 • 05 • 2023

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for the request! I truly, truly enjoyed writing this for you. I just sat here and the words just kept flowing and flowing and I just couldn't stop, so I hope you enjoy it! (Side note though: I'm sorry if this a bit darker for your taste, I read it back and was like 'yikes, didn't mean to start off like that'.)

Anyway! I appreciate your compliments, always. Your feedback is something I genuinely look forward to every time I post, and so I'm happy that we're mutuals out here supporting each other because honestly – you're a magnificent writer as well, so I can promise that every time I think of something new for you, I'll grab my phone and tell you all about it no matter where I am!

Again, I hope you enjoyed this and thank you!

🪲 TAGLIST !

# @grandpafelixx

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glorf1ndel · 1 month

Note

Eyes that fire and sword have seen and Erestor please! ✨

Anon, after over two months, I finally wrote a fic in response to your prompt! I hope you enjoy it. ♡ Also on Ao3 here!

Eyes That Fire and Sword Have Seen (1k, Glorestor)

“Elrond!”

Glancing up from his paperwork, the Lord of Imladris found the captain of the guard suddenly in his office, looking concerned. Honestly, Elrond had expected this moment, and he was surprised that Glorfindel hadn’t come by earlier. He gestured for the other Elf to sit down, but Glorfindel shook his head, blond curls whirling around his shoulders.

“It’s urgent,” Glorfindel said. “Erestor has been in his room with the door locked all day.”

At that, Elrond sighed. He did not have to guess at why. Last night, a traveling Elf had recognized Erestor as one of Fëanor’s former followers. Needless to say, the ensuing conversation had not gone well. Erestor had fled, and since then, he’d apparently been in his room, unwilling to come out.

“Can you blame him?” Elrond asked.

“No, but he can’t sit in there forever. He hasn’t had breakfast or lunch. And I’m sure there’s work he wants to get done instead of ruminating.”

Elrond smiled. The captain of Imladris was always so concerned about his chief counselor. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Erestor and Glorfindel were courting – but Elrond knew better. Those two could dance around each other for a century without either of them making a real move.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Unsuccessfully. I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

Of course. Elrond doubted that Glorfindel had known about Erestor’s past until last night; it was a topic that the counselor rarely discussed. Elrond was only privy to that information as Lord of the Valley, and as someone with a personal connection to the Fëanorians. Erestor and Glorfindel were close friends, but the chief counselor had never wanted the reborn Elf to know about such things.

“Eyes that fire and sword have seen are ever on guard.”

“Elrond...”

“Don't give up,” he urged Glorfindel. “Just take what I said to heart. And keep being yourself."

****

Deep breath, Glorfindel told himself, before knocking on Erestor’s door. He tried to make the knock sound as friendly as possible, but to no avail.

“Go away,” Erestor called. Although the counselor appeared to be sulking, his tone had lost none of its sharpness.

“It’s Glorfindel.”

“Oh,” came a voice, smaller than before. “Definitely go away, then.”

“Come on,” Glorfindel pleaded. “I just want to talk to you. Look, Erestor, you shouldn’t–“ he caught himself, knowing that Erestor loathed being told what to do when he was in a bad mood. “The opinion of some random elf doesn’t matter. So what if he made a fuss about you being a–“

Suddenly, the door opened, and Erestor flung out a hand to grab the collar of Glorfindel’s tunic and pull him inside.

“Don’t talk about it in public, Glorfindel,” he hissed, slamming the door behind them. “For Eru’s sake.”

Glorfindel blushed. He straightened his collar, fingers brushing against the spot where Erestor’s touch had been.

“I thought you Fëanorians had a messy relationship with Eru.”

Erestor gave him a look that made sweet, sunflower-like Glorfindel feel as though he would wither on the spot.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Erestor murmured, yet he was playing with the edge of his shirt sleeve in that way that signaled to Glorfindel that no, he wasn’t fine.

Glorfindel ventured a smile and took a step toward him.

“I just don’t like seeing you like this.”

“What do you expect, Glorfindel?” Erestor scoffed. “They called me a kinslayer to my face. And before you state the obvious, yes, it’s true; I’m certainly aware. That still doesn’t mean I’d like to be reminded of it. I do not feel proud of that time in my life.”

Glorfindel nodded. Then an idea took hold inside his head, and he beamed.

“Well, instead of wallowing in unpleasant memories, let’s go for a stroll through the gardens.”

“What?” Erestor asked flatly.

“Let’s go for a walk!”

“I don’t want to appear in public right now–“

“Come on!”

“Glorfindel, I swear–“

“Fëanorians are banned from swearing!”

****

In the end, after much protest from Erestor, they went for a walk. Glorfindel insisted on putting his arm around Erestor’s, which initially annoyed the counselor, but he relented. In the end, Erestor could not object to being close to Glorfindel. While the captain spoke at length about all of the beautiful flowers in the garden, many of which he’d planted himself during his spare time, Erestor stayed quiet.

“And these daffodils really took off this year. I’m delighted. Last year, they were kind of… I don’t know, droopy? Like Lindir’s face after someone insults his lute playing.”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor began, stopping in front of a bench. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on a rose to his right, not meeting the captain’s eyes. “Why are you trying so hard to cheer me up?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Erestor hesitated. He sat down on the bench, and Glorfindel followed suit. His mind was still racing with thoughts of last night. Of the Elf that had spat in his face and hissed, Kinslayer. Which, understandably, brought… Other thoughts to mind, of staring down at his blood-soaked hands and not being able to recognize them.

“I suppose I’m not used to–” Someone looking at me like I’m Arien shining in the sky, his mind supplied, but he didn’t voice the words.

“You are dear to me,” Glorfindel said, “As you are.” It was so honest and open, Erestor felt himself holding back tears.

“You’re going to make an old Elda cry,” Erestor said, managing a laugh instead.

“Oh, come on. You’re not that old.” Glorfindel reached for Erestor’s hand and pressed a small kiss to the inside of his palm. “I would very much prefer to hear you laugh again.”

At that, Erestor’s small smile widened. For a long time, he had thought that he’d followed Fëanor to a place past the point of no return. It was only after living in Imladris that Erestor realized there was a place beyond that one: somewhere he could call home. And Glorfindel was essential to it all.

“Spend more time in my company, and maybe you will.”

****

And if Elrond, admiring the gardens from his balcony, happened to see his chief counselor and captain share a kiss, then he simply grinned and said nothing.

#lotr #lord of the rings #silm #silmarillion #glorestor #elrond #elrond peredhel #glorfindel #erestor #feanorians #tolkien #tolkien fic #lotr fanfic #silm fic

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desire-mona · 12 days

Text

dps boys hcs! this has been requested of me! lets make it modern bc thatll be fun

- todd absolutely DESPISES "booktok" and its addiction to smut. can go on a VERY long rant abt how only reading things with sex scenes is, in fact, a porn addiction.

- knox has tried on many occasions to become an influencer, failing every single time and blaming it on the algorithm or whaver

- neil, type of mother fucker to not be on social media like at all. has one private instagram that he posts on maybe twice a year, and has a tiktok only to watch the videos todd intermittently sends him.

- ^^^ followed immediately by a text saying "i sent you a tiktok go look at it" which always sparks a mini argument about whether or not its easier to just save the video and text it to him. goes nowhere every time.

- meeks has fashion taste that makes him look insufferable, band tee's and the worst jeans you ever did see, exclusively. also modern meeks would have clear glasses frames.

- saw someone say charlie would vape, id like to add to that. has a COLLECTION of elf bars, its vast, its colourful, it's annoying, it's turning his coughs wet.

- pitts was a fast fashion guy for a total of 6 months before finding out all the shit about how unethical the industry is. didnt get rid of any of those clothes bc thats wasteful but he IS fighting for his life whenever anyone looks at his wardrobe.

- cameron is a BIG analog horror fan, local 58, walten files, fnaf tapes, thats his jam. can we popularise cam being a big horror fan in general bc im so attached to that hc. horror cam i love u.

- all the boys have a life360 circle (enforced by cam and pitts due to charlie's horrendous reckless driving) and todd CONSTANTLY needs to be yelled at the charge his phone.

- neil's phone is ANCIENT, had the same one for nearly a decade, and its evident. has a bigass crack right down the middle, the back is shattered and held together with tape, a phone case, and a dream. theres marks from shit burning into the screen, most notably a rectangle in the bottom corner from the billions of facetime calls with todd that ultimately set his phone on fire every time.

- todd is secretly a grade A yapper but ONLY in digital form. his online presence is VAST, but impressively anonymous. has a very active substack, letterboxd, poetry tumblr, and even started his own blog. no, not a tumblr blog, a blog blog.

- charlie's car is decked out in the most idiotic add ons that you can think of. comically large mirror dice, a bumper sticker that says "honk if you want me bad", stupid car door lights that project a photo of jimmy fallon onto the ground when u open them, the whole 9 yards. took neil, pitts, and cameron 20 minutes to talk him out of getting flame decals (as a bit.)

- knox refuses to play any other videogame besides GTA, which he plays concerningly often. if ur having trouble reaching him then odds are hes on GTA. its the only hobby of his that his parents know about. christmas is tough for the overstreets.

- meeks is well aware of his general ☝️🤓 demeanour so he started making jokes about it before anyone else can. any time he says anything remotely smart sounding then he MUST do the voice and put up a finger. it became a force of habit and he did it while talking to a teacher once, he left the room mortified.

- pittsie lives on spotify, he has a playlist for every possible emotion, over 3k liked songs, and 200k+ minutes listened when wrapped season rolls around. additionally he does every spotify stat game available, and forced the boys to download a spotify activity widget thing. (WHAT DO YALL KNOW ABT AIRBUDS ‼️‼️ add me @ monahatesya xoxo)

- cam loves to make jokes about DARE and the "this is ur brain on drugs" ads but he is, in fact, the main demographic of said ads. said this before, saying it now, will most definitely say it again, he is beyond susceptible to peer pressure. marijuana isnt a gateway drug for everyone but it certainly is for him.

bonus! chris and keating! just for you!

- chris is avoiding the lesbian masterdoc purely out of fear. not out of fear of being gay, but out of fear of the sheer amount of subsequent other things she'll likely also have to find out about herself.

- keating spends an inordinate amount of time on youtube, which nobody actually expects. big video essay fan, imagine the shock from the boys when he pulls up youtube for a lesson and he's halfway thru the 4 hour iBinged iCarly video. was previously a james somerton fan but considering... the james somerton part.. hes now a defunctland loyalist.

#desire mona #WHOO #i successfully remembered all the hcs that got deleted please clap #i forgot how fun these types of posts are #i luuuvvvv getting specific with it #also congrats swifties on the new album release personally i very much dislike her (for the carbon emission reasons not the misogyny reason #) but im glad yall are eating good #dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #steven meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron #chris noel #john keating #banger

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ncteez · 2 years

Note

10 AND 32 WITH MARK FOR THE DRABBLES

“Try to stay quiet ok” + “It’s just us, everyone else has gone to bed”

wc: 2.7k

paring: mark lee x afab reader

tagged: ex bf mark, they still have feelings, angst kind of at the beginning, jealousy, fingering

note: when i say i took this and SPRINTED || not proof read

minors dni

Being on vacation with a group of friends would seem to be a great distraction from everyday life. It should be a time where you can relax your body and mind, a time where you can let go of everything that muddies your thoughts.

There’s one issue. He’s going to be here. He, as in your ex-boyfriend, Mark. To be fair, it was understandable that he was invited. After all, the two of you ended on good terms, great terms even. He was still around during most hangouts and almost always available to you if you were to ever need his help. But also, to be fair on your end, you never really lost feelings for him. Nor has he, though you’re not aware of it.

You’re unsure as to why the two of you haven’t gotten back together, aside from the fact that the two of you lead two very different lives, with very different goals. You were never able to meet in the middle. Either you’re too busy or he is. At least it was like that. Now that the two of you have been broken up for the better half of a year, suddenly the two of you have all of the time in the world to pretend you don’t want to get back together.

Despite seeing Mark multiple times a week, this vacation for you could have been your first and only chance to really sort out these feelings. You could have talked about it, you could have admitted your faults and wishes, your dreams even. But not with him there. Mostly because you’d definitely end up admitting before he does if he still feels the same.

So now, here you are laughing at some joke that wasn’t even funny, and there he is, texting someone with full focus. Part of you wonders who he could be texting when all of your friends are right here in the same room, but you try to not think of it too much.

“What about you? Do you want to go?” Your friend asks you, mentioning a local club that, apparently, offers all sorts of experiences.

You nod, glancing over to Mark, who was already looking at you. The thing is, this little club trip is for the girls only. Meaning, Mark can’t go. He can’t go and see you get all touchy with some other guy and that, oddly, upsets him. He doesn’t want you to go. Then again, he’s not your boyfriend so he doesn’t have a say in it. Even if he were, he knows he still wouldn’t be able to stop you.

The club was a bust just as expected. You danced with both women and men, your friends urged you to open up and have fun, to loosen the reigns on your heart and get laid for the first time since Mark last touched you. It wasn’t possible though, even in your tipsy state, no one had his face, his voice, or his hands.

Still you at least try to indulge as a man presses his non-mark cock against your ass in a heated dance. You try even harder when the man’s voice heats up your skin and forces the goose bumps to swell. Are you finally tipsy enough? Did this man make a break through? Turning to face him, you’re hit with the reality that even if you have every right to be out here having fun, you’re just not. The goosebumps sink back into your skin the moment this man makes eye contact with you.

He looks so eager and willing to come home with you, but your face is all he needs to get the hint.

“What happened?” Your friend chimes out as you take a seat on a cushion beside her. “He was hot, why did he leave?”

You look at her with an exhausted face and a shrug, the drinks in you doing little to calm your nerves knowing that you’d just have to go back to your temporary home where Mark is waiting.

“You look like you want to leave.” She pats your shoulder, knowing full well that she’s having a much better time than you are, but you’re thankful that she picks up on your needs. “Do you want to?”

You nod, but insist that she can stay and have fun with the others that are still somewhere on the dancefloor being enticed by all sorts of new people. Ignoring her arguments, you were happy to see her finally agree and lean in for a swift kiss to the forehead.

“Make it back safe, okay?” She says, dipping her head to look at you. “We will get you out of this funk before the trip is over, I promise.”

An assuring nod from you at that, but you know deep down that you’ll go home twice as exhausted from your heart as you already are.

Walking through that door felt like you were between two different situations you didn’t want to be in. Situation one being at a club where Mark isn’t, and situation two being in a house where he is.

Thankfully, you walk in to an empty kitchen and living room. Weird, but you appreciate the silence as you slip off your shoes with a deep sigh. Running your fingers over your face, you make your way to the fridge to grab yourself some water.

“Have fun?”

Mark’s voice startles you, causing you to jump back from the fridge with a slam of the door and a small yelp. You look over at him in question, noting his loose t-shirt and sweat pants. You remember wearing that specific shirt many times before having to give it back along with his other things.

“The guys went out too, I wasn’t feeling it tonight.” He says, noticing the confusion on your face. "Well? Did you have fun?”

You just look at him, the atmosphere instantly feeling heavy because it’s the first time since you’ve broken up that the two of you were in a room alone together.

“Yeah, it was fun.” You laugh, trying to shake off the nervousness you feel around a man that once made you feel so at home.

Maybe the reason he doesn’t feel like home anymore is that you’re searching for it in everyone else but failing. Maybe it’s because he locked the doors and swallowed the key.

“Oh? Did, um, did you meet anybody?” He looks away from you when he asks. What business is it of his to ask anyway?

“Yeah.” You say back in a cold tone, stepping out of the kitchen and preparing to head to your room.

Mark can’t stop you, and does his best to forget that you definitely ignored him when he tried to ask you to stay before leaving for your room.

The silence in the house didn’t last long. One minute you’re drifting to sleep at the muffled sounds of whatever the fuck Mark is watching in the living room, the next minute you can hear the front door swing open with loud laughter.

“Mark! You’ll never guess who we ran into!” One of the male friends shouts with glee before moving to the side and presenting the group of girls who forbid them from joining their club night.

You can hear all of your friends in the best of moods, but to you, you know that escaping Mark would have been impossible anyway. If you had stayed at the club, you’d have ran into Mark with the others, and you would have probably had to sit and watch him sweet-talk someone that isn’t you.

“Oh, is she sleeping?” You hear echoing through the hallway and under your door.

With a groan, you pull yourself out of bed and head for the room of chaos.

For a while, the party continues. Everyone is drunk save for you and Mark, and everyone is slowly showing signs of exhaustion by the time the clock hits four in the morning. The loudness of the laughter begins to fade away and be replaced with hushed whispers. Pairs of your friends going off into bedrooms and shared rooms in order to stumble to their beds to rest. You follow suit, opting to disappear with the other faces in the room before Mark can make eye contact with you again.

Not even an hour passes by before the house is almost entirely silent. You’re drifting for a second time when your phone vibrates aggressively against you. In a sigh, you check the screen. You’re awake now. Wide awake.

Mark: can we talk?

You feel at a loss, remembering how full this text box used to be. You had deleted all of your conversations save for one single text several months ago where he wished you a happy birthday. It felt about as empty as your heart does at the very thought of ‘talking’ with him.

Of course, the most you thing you could possibly do in this moment is go against what your gut is telling you. You lift yourself from the bed and tip-toe back into the living room where Mark is lounging against one of the sofas watching a nearly-muted sitcom.

You look at him, sleepy and exhausted, and he looks back at you much the same.

“Did you really meet someone?” He asks softly when you walk closer to him.

You don’t miss the way his face falls a bit when you nod to him. You did meet people, but that didn’t mean that you kept them.

“Why are you being so nosy about it?” You try to argue, sitting down on a different sofa next to the one he’s claimed.

“You came back so early. I knew you didn’t want to go.” He whispers back protectively. “You shouldn’t have gone. You could have stayed here with me.”

“Mark, I left specifically to get away from you.” You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration, not yet wanting to look at him again.

“Why!?” He asks in a slightly louder whisper. ”I’m always trying to spend time with you, and you always blow me off!”

In a fit of all of your emotions bubbling to the top, at the worst of times in this darkened silent house, you release your feelings as if he were a diary.

“Because you’re too much for me to be around. I can’t look at anyone else anymore, i cant even look at you the way I want to.”

Mark winces at your tone but his eyebrows raise a bit.

“What do you mean?” He asks for clarification, knowing that the subject is touchy.

“It means I miss you. I miss being able to look at other men and know why I felt no interest. I miss when you’d be beside me, and not always in front of me and out of reach.” You spill more, realizing that this is the absolute worst thing you could do to yourself.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and instead stands up from the couch and walks over to you. Looking down at you, every feeling that never went away was confirmed.

“So, you too?” He asks, gently placing himself beside you and hesitating to move your hair from your face so that he can see you.

You look at him for the first time since you’d finally released how you felt, though you could argue having much more to say. His eyes are just as shining as they always have, and you missed looking into them for more than a mere second of awkward eye contact. He looks at you the same way he always did.

“Can I kiss you?”

Shocked, you glance down to his lips and want nothing more than to feel them against you again, even for just a second.

“No, no.” You say, backing away from the void you know you’re about to fall into. “Not like this.”

You look around the room, wondering who could be listening in. Anyone could walk in and call out this mistake the two of you are making. They could point, laugh, and mock the fact that you’ve been hurting so badly just to hear his voice speak to you as more than what you were.

“Not like what?” He pulls back, reaching for your face to turn your attention back to him. “Not when i’m literally, always, trying to get you alone so that we can talk? So that we can work out whatever the fuck happened between us before?”

Your eyes widen, realizing that maybe, he’s just like you. Maybe, you avoided him without entire intent, assuming that he’s already moved on while thinking you’d be perfectly fine with it.

It’s almost like you’re breaking free from a glass bottle filling with water, the truth of it all hits you so hard that you can physically feel it pushing you closer to him, leaning against him, looking into his eyes with a sort of ‘please don’t be lying to me’ look.

He looks back at you just as intently, holding you steady as you lean closer and closer.

“Do we really even need to talk about it at this point?” He whispers, looking to your lips and being unable to take his eyes away from them.

He doesn’t even see you shake your head before you’re feeling all of the things you’d missed at once. His lips, soft and plush against your own. His breath hikes up like it always did when you kissed him, as if it were always a first time. His tongue still felt the same, and held the same skill as before when he began to use it. You wonder if he kissed anyone else while the two of you were separated. You wonder if he used it in other ways, for other women to cry out for him.

The thoughts are erased the moment he breaks his own walls down. It happened so fast, his hands holding the back of your head and adjusting to lean himself on top of you, all the way until you’re lying on your back with him breathlessly giving himself to you through his lips.

Truth of the matter is that, Mark tried to get with other women. He tried to move on and let you be free, but he couldn’t. He hasn’t done more than hug a woman since the two of you broke up and he kind of hopes, though embarrassing, that you can tell by his excitement.

The temperature in the room begins to feel hot as he kisses you, his hands going from different parts of your body that he missed the most, but you stop him when he reaches to your thighs. He pulls back from the kiss and looks at you with question.

“It’s just us, everyone else has gone to bed–” Mark assures you when he notices you lift your head to check the room.

He’s right, but the worry of someone walking in on the moment you needed most still bothers you. On any other day, you’d be floored to know Mark wanted you again, and you would let him have you at any moment in any place. Now that it’s happening though, you almost wonder if the two of you should retire into a room with a door.

“Just, try to stay quiet, okay?” He dips down to whisper against your neck, simultaneously prying your legs apart with his own. “If you want me to stop, just tell me–but–”

He presses his fingers beneath the hem of your pajama pants and lifts his head to look at you. You know what this look is, and it’s something you’ve never been able to resist. His eyes are almost pleading.

“You always look so good like this, do you really expect me to not try?” He admits, trailing his fingers lower and lower to toy with your slick folds, tracing a finger up and down. He groans at how much he’s missed this, and coos at the way you react the same way you always did when he eagerly presses his fingers into you.

He listens closely to the sounds your body makes as he works you apart with his fingers, all while kissing as much exposed skin against your neck as he can.

“You still get so wet for me after all of this time–” He mumbles as he begins to lift your shirt with his other hand. “I swear, you drive me insane.”

#mark smut #mark lee smut #[mark]#nct smut

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mykinkyyandere · 1 year

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Yandere Xavier Thorpe (Based on S1)

AO3

Pairings: Yandere/Dark! Xavier Thorpe X gn!Reader

Warnings: Yandere, dark, contains smut describes, language, noncon/dubcon touches & kisses, stalking, stealing stuffs, obsession, possession, obsessive/possessive/delusional/controlling/ behaviours, overly protective, manipulation, threatening, implied future kidnapping, implied secret smut, implied sexual fantasies, making the reader feel extremely guilty, emotional contol, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, shouting (sorry if i missed sth)

A/N: I believe I've posted this work on December 13th. After the scandals about the actor, I've decided not to write or post anything about him, except for this work because I've put a lot of effort into these headcanons. Then, while quickly deleting my reblogs about him, I've accidentally deleted this work as well. It was already available on AO3, so I didn't see the need to repost it here. But I've changed my mind, and I don't want to use his face.

Welcome. You can be a regular normie working in a coffee shop, or a regular outcast who goes to Nevermore High. Maybe your life is full of events, maybe you wish you could get rid of your boring life. Your outlook on life is pink or black, your behavior towards people is warm or cold, your heart is open or closed to love... Maybe love is such an insignificant detail for you that you don't even bother to think about it, maybe love is a wish you sleep and dream about every night. You name it. Is it a luck or a curse to have someone who would fall madly in love with you in every single situation? Many possibilities, but one outcome. You are doomed to a sick lover.

Xavier Thorpe. You probably don't know him. He's more interested in spying on you from afar and sticking your face in his mind. Dreaming about you each night then reflecting his fantasies on his canvas is offically his number one hobby. His roommate definitely knows his obsession and sees that it's more than just a blind love. His pinboard and sketch books are full of you, and he even sees some obscene drawings Xavier missed to hide. Creepy and sad, he thinks. He tries to talk about it with Xavier but gives up when he gets aggressive. He doesn't want to involve himself in this and leaves you to him.

Xavier enjoys admiring you from afar before approaching you. As an artist, he's aware that life, like art, has stages, and he allows each to take its time as it needs. Especially if it's your life and time. He's very attentive and patient. Admiring all the time.

Actually, if we go where all this obsession begins, your face starts lingering in his mind before he even sees you. His dreams have a complete effect on the development of his obsession. He saw your future together. He saw you being his soulmate. You're the one, you're his true love. It's unclear how long he's had his dreams, but it sure has been long enough for him to be mad about you.

When he sees you for the first time, an intense emotion pierces his heart. Hard to describe. His heart aches and beats like crazy, his breathing becomes erratic, and he becomes dizzy. The urge to kidnap you in that moment and lock you up where no one can find you becomes irresistible. He gets so jealous that he wants to be the only person who can be around you, look at you and talk to you. An intense jealousy that he doesn't want to share you with anyone and that always hurts him. He can't help staring at you, maybe that's partly why he's not in a rush to get you. You're so perfect that it's a pleasure for him to watch you live.

If you're a normie, seeing you in limited time kills him inside. Although he appreciates each of the stages individually, staying away from you for the tortured time encourages him to shorten or skip these stages. What's the point if he can't see you? He already starts manipulating you into loving him. What do you do if a charismatic and handsome young man gives you the most beautiful drawing you've ever seen in your life and asks you to give him a chance? Plus it moves! Even if you don't fall for these tricks, he doesn't give up trying. He'll get you eventually and he prefers your free will. It may be too late for a normie to realize his dark obsessions. Like, "going on multiple dates and giving him the exact moment he needs to finally kidnap you and not letting you go anywhere ever again" kinda late. It's easier to have you if you're a normie.

If you're an outcast, be prepared to be stalked. Do you feel like there's someone following you wherever you go? Even in your bedroom it feels like someone is watching you from the balcony? Unfortunately and naturally he can't stalk you all the time, but he watches over you as best he can. He also misses you a lot. After dozens of dreams, drawings, and collecting collections (correct, he makes a habit of going into your room and taking everything he thinks you won't notice) he finally decides it's time to talk to you. With small steps.

Sitting next to each other in class: His eyes are always on you. It's impossible not to notice this, of course you noticed. Almost creepy. He looks at you so much that all the teachers want to separate you. It's not clear whether he's there for the lessons or for a movie that you're the main star. He always entertains you with small moving drawings so that you don't get bored and smile all the time.

During the lesson, he takes off the hair tie with which he makes a bun and puts it on your wrist. He definitely wants to see it there until your "relationship" gets serious. If he can't see it, he questions where it went and gently tells you that wearing it makes him happy. So please wear it. Please.

Helping you with your homework: If you want, he can even do all your homework and won't let you get stressed, but this would be so obvious, right? Besides, when you're struggling, it's much better if he takes the opportunity to lean you on his shoulder and help you by smelling your hair from the top of your head. It's a win-win.

His exclusive drawing lessons just for you: No matter what your talent is, he insists on practicing together and sharing your art. He takes you to his special drawing area where he doesn't take anyone. After removing everything about you, of course. Oh, his instinct to chain you just over there... He leans over your shoulder and takes your hand and guides you slowly. Your spine chills when he gently grasp the back of your neck with his other hand. Is all this a bit too much? But he denies it.

When you take a break, you look around and see a painting that escaped his notice. Your painting. You're likely to find it innocent. But the panic on his face looks like there's more than that. You ask him why he's so worried. He lets out a nervous smile. "I don't want you to think I'm a crazy pervert." You ask if you can keep it. "Of course you can, I have- I, I have to start our lesson in a minute so, let's sit."

He's a sneaky guy who really knows how to play so that you don't sense anything wrong. So you accept to be his prom date. Eventually become his darling. He feels on top of the world. Being a "wealthy snob", he gives you everything you want and need. Whether you like it or not, he can't stop the urge to take good care of you. You deserve the best. If you don't accept he'll put emotional pressure on you to accept.

You have no idea how devastated he is when you faint or have an accident. He's very worried about your health, very afraid that something will happen to you, and always needs to make sure that you're okay. The fear of seeing something bad about you because of his unrelated dreams inevitably pervades him, so he's extra strict about your health. Always there for you if something happens. He takes your hand, looks into your eyes for a few seconds and says that you scared him. And that he missed you so much.

He's very calm and controlled until a new player joins the game. Now he's aggressive, resentful, impulsive and jealous. You can see him competing with them. Whatever they offer you, he comes with more. He never lets them spend time with you. When you're alone he speaks to you in carefully chosen sentences to make you feel bad and stay away from them. He knows how to portray himself as the victim. "Why do you want to spend time with them and not me? Maybe you don't care about me at all. Can't you see how much you hurt me?" Along with the psychological pitfalls and the emotional responsibility of a finely crafted relationship, he manages to keep you bonded to himself. Your little aspirants? Don't worry, they will never, ever talk to you again.

Unwanted experiences cause unwanted results. As his jealousy rises to high levels, he starts to visibly control you. "Where were you, why did you go, dangerous to go alone, who was there, stay by my side, stay in your room..." He gradually establishes his dominance over you under the name of possessive boyfriend. He's so gentle and full of love all the time, you can't see the red flags. He's just protecting you, that's all. But Ajax and Enid are disagree. They try to warn you many times and Ajax talks to Xavier but it doesn't end well. As a result, they go on with their lives with a threat that they can never dare to come near and confuse you again.

Monster cases make him even more paranoid. You being in the middle of danger stresses him a lot, as if his romantic rivals aren't enough to drive him crazy. His dreams get complicated and he thinks it's about you. He has to protect you. If you haven't noticed by now, you'll start noticing red flags from this point on. His efforts to control you become overwhelming. "Stay in your room for me, if you love me don't leave my side, if you really care about me you won't go there..." You get tired of him making you feel guilty and responsible. You also find more of your own sketches. Some are... His defense is surprisingly reckless. "I love you so much and what's wrong with drawing my darling's sexy body?"

He wants you to wear his clothes. It won't kill you to wear his jacket when you go out, don't worry. He wants to walk under the same umbrella, eat on the same dessert plate, listen music from the same earphone. There's a good chance he'll even want a matching tattoo. Being rich allows him to buy a necklace or bracelet that he has specially designed for the two of you. Valuable, unique, and private items should always be worn. They represent your commitment to each other. He wants everything that proves you belong to him.

He's also not as soft as he used to be. He's being a little harsh on you and you find that it's because of his jealousy and his desire to control you. Without trying to hide it, he gets angry directly at you, holds you harshly and leans you on his chest. Squeezes your arm hard and brings your chin to his face. Or he pulls you into his lap and hold you tight, looking around sharply. Emotional violence? There's no such thing. It's his instinct to protect you.

Being taller and stronger than you gives him an advantage. Like dragging you wherever he wants without permission. Or the way he puts his big body in front of you when you want to go. Seriously, you must have realized that you can't go anywhere without him anymore. Can't you see how dangerous it is? And most importantly, you are his. Only his. What the hell are you doing alone, away from him?

He starts touching and kissing you without permission. He grips your hair and neck comfortably and buries his lips in yours. He can't hide his excitement as his hands abuse your body, he's pretty horny. After waiting for long periods of time, taking it so slow and satisfying himself with your paintings all those times... Makes him want to put you in bed and fuck you for hours.

How angry he gets when you try to avoid him. He shouts and says he has the right to touch you because he loves you and you love him. "Don't you love me too? What's the point of running away from me then, huh? Are you disgusted with me? Don't tell me you're playing with my feelings!" You feel guilty enough and make love to him but it just doesn't feel right. He's your boyfriend, so why do you feel like you're forced? This can't be harassment, or can it be?

When he feels that you want to break up and is pushing you too hard, he's ready with a surprise to confuse you. He reminds you how much he loves you and that he's always the first day Xavier. He's soft on you for a while, distracting you from your thoughts and then unknowingly gets obsessive again. How long can this go on like this? He knows that he'll eventually have to take drastic measures. Sirens are the last option for him. Wednesday would be a perfect and sufficient threat to stop you.

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anonymousewrites · 11 months

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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Eighteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eighteen: Painful Aftermath

Summary: (Y/N) shuts down with the loss of their family.

Mouse Note: Thank you so much for supporting me through A Study of the Heart and Brain Book 2! I hope you guys enjoyed, even if I did torture you all! I don't know when Book 3 will be coming up, but until then, my Father Figure Mandalorian x Reader will be posting, so feel free to check that out. Until then, thank you all for all the support. You all make writing worth it, and I love you all!

(Y/N) watched as the coffin was lowered into the grave. The air felt too heavy in their lungs. The black clothes around them felt too tight on their skin. The entire world felt wrong. (Y/N) hardly heard the preacher speaking. They were barely aware of Mycroft and John speaking to the crowd. They scarcely registered Mrs. Hudson crying beside them.

(Y/N) just knew that Sherlock was gone. Nothing would ever be right again.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” asked John, standing beside Sherlock’s the armchair (Y/N) was curled up on. (Y/N) didn’t respond, and John’s gaze softened. “Here, do you want a lollipop? You left them all in the kitchen.” (Y/N) turned away, burying their head in Sherlock’s their sweater. They didn’t pay attention to John walking away again.

“Nothing,” murmured John. “It’s been days, and I haven’t heard them speak a word. I don’t even know if they’ve eaten or slept.”

“Poor dear…” said Mrs. Hudson softly. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted John. “Sherlock was always the one who made sure they took care of themself. But if it gets worse, I’ll try to see if anyone can help.”

It did get worse, and John called in help. He brought in possible cases, not too dangerous but slightly odd, trying to entice (Y/N). But they just glanced at the people and turned away.

He brought Lestrade in, and the inspector told (Y/N) about murder cases Scotland Yard was “out of their depth in.” For a moment, John and Lestrade held their breath as (Y/N) looked at them, but they just stood and walked away.

John was running out of options. From experiments to cases to psychiatrists to family, he had talked about everything and brought in everyone, but it had all been to no avail. (Y/N) wasn’t reacting. They were barely eating or sleeping. They were running themself into the ground without Sherlock there to help them.

So John went to his last resort. He called Mycroft.

“Mycroft, I need you to come down to 221B,” said John.

“I’m quite busy, John,” said Mycroft.

He was as deeply involved in his work as ever, and John hated that he seemed to not react to his brother’s death. John only hoped that it was Mycroft’s coping mechanism, otherwise he really did have a heart of stone.

“It’s (Y/N),” said John. Silence. “Mycroft, Sherlock cared about them. They’re your family. And they’ve been running themself into the ground. I’ve done everything I can, but I can’t help them without snapping them out of this. (Y/N) needs someone clever, and I’m…not. Please, Mycroft.”

There was a pause, and John held his breath. He was preparing to yell at Mycroft for being a bloody cold-blooded bastard for not being there as an uncle, but he was abruptly stopped.

“I’ll be there immediately,” said Mycroft.

John was going to thank him, but Mycroft had hung up already.

(Y/N) lay on their bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. They couldn’t stop replaying everything with Moriarty and Sherlock. They were plagued by guilt and tried to find a way they could have saved Sherlock, but they couldn’t. It was an endless cycle of hopeless pain. (Y/N) turned over and curled up as if they could hide from their grief.

They stared up at the door as it creaked open. They expected John bringing in food to try to get them to eat more regularly, but it was not. It was Mycroft.

“(Y/N),” he greeted them.

He was met with silence.

“(Y/N), you have to take care of yourself. John is beside himself with worry,” said Mycroft.

Still nothing.

Mycroft considered before closing the door behind himself. He sat down on the bed beside them. “Sherlock would want you to eat,” he said.

(Y/N) squeezed their eyes shut.

“I remember when he really became intelligent,” said Mycroft. “He grew into it at about your age. He ran through so many books and experiments without eating or sleeping that he collapsed. It nearly gave our mother a heart attack.

“But he learned what he needed to survive and didn’t fail again,” said Mycroft. “Yes, he stumbles and forgets, but he makes sure he doesn’t risk himself quite that way again. Because he knows that if he wants to succeed, he can’t be collapsing like that.

“That’s why he watched over you and your habits. Sherlock wants you to grow stronger and smarter. He wants you be healthy and able to handle whatever the world hands you.” Mycroft looked down at them and saw their gaze was on him. “Do you understand?”

“How do I keep going?” whispered (Y/N), their voice shaking slightly. “I…I don’t know what to do without him.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Mycroft.

(Y/N) paused. “I want everyone to know Sherlock didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t take me away from my ‘family.’ ” Theirs hands curled into fists as they gripped the blankets beneath them. “Moriarty was the monster, not Sherlock.”

Mycroft nodded. “I have resources.”

(Y/N) lifted their head. “You’ll help me?”

“Yes,” said Mycroft.

“Thank you,” whispered (Y/N). They gripped the sheets tightly. “I—I want everyone to see Sherlock for who he was. Because he was good.” Tears gathered in their eyes. “He was my dad.”

Mycroft hesitated before reaching out and resting a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. They sat in silence; Mycroft sitting beside (Y/N) as their shoulders shook in silent sobs.

“I did it,” said (Y/N) softly, sitting in front of Sherlock’s grave. They twirled a lollipop between their fingers, but they didn’t unwrap it. “I found the proof you were protecting me. All the people that let Moriarty in, that let him get away with everything, let him take me away…they’re getting what they deserve.”

(Y/N) swallowed. “I think you’d be proud of me. At least, I hope you would. I was really clever. I did what you would do. I know you would have done better, but I managed. I solved the case.”

They reached out and placed their hand on the grave. “I miss you, Dad. I wish you were here…I need you.” (Y/N) closed their eyes tightly. “I love you, Dad.”

Across the graveyard, Sherlock stood and watched (Y/N). His heart clenched painfully. He wanted nothing more than to run to them and hold them tight, to promise that he was there, their dad was there and was so, so proud. But he couldn’t. Sherlock had to keep (Y/N) safe, and he could only do that by keeping his distance for now.

I swear, I’m coming back, thought Sherlock. I love you, (Y/N).

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

#a study of the heart and brain #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #nb reader #x nb reader #x teen reader #x teen!reader #sherlock x teen!reader #sherlock #sherlock x teen reader #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #father figure #found family #found family trope #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader

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