#this is making every cell in my body rattle

[hazelfoureyes]

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦 (keep reading)

Alastor lets you leave the hotel! Together! For soup. Later, your plans to make Alastor lose his obsession backfire. But like, in a hot way so you’re not that mad about it. A+ for effort?

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: smut, I once again misuse a fucking prayer in a sacrilegious way, soup, spoon feeding, Angel texts, so much cum, bondage, tentacles, just good ole fashion fucking in the radio station, not quite dubcon but Alastor doesn’t really listen, hell has twitter and lets be real it’s just normal twitter, giant Alastor, Horse Luci」

Minors DNI ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You finally managed to leave the hotel. It was of course with Alastor at your side, microphone pressing into the small of your back like a third arm. It was as if he worried you’d just turn around and run.

He opened every door, pulled out your chair, and when your left hand shook and dropped your food he took on the task of feeding you. It was embarrassing, to say the very least. The sinners in the restaurant staring, a brave few filming or typing furiously on their phones.

You got a buzz on your own cell, a gift from Angel when he realized Alastor wouldn’t let you speak with others alone. 

He texted a link to a post on some hell site, to a photo of you right then, at that exact moment, being spoon fed by the radio demon. You considered smashing your head into the table until you blacked out. If you got up and left would you make it back to the hotel before someone realized you weren’t a sinner? You were absolutely terrified of someone noticing you as heaven sent.

Heaven kicked? Heaven thrown. Yeah that one felt right.

“You need to eat. You can’t heal like this.” Alastor sounded concerned, but you fought the urge to care. 

He hadn’t apologized to Husk, but Husk did say Alastor seemed to avoid eye contact which was basically a gift to him. Alastor had come to your room to dress you the next day as he always did, neither of you mentioning the day before. The hall was magically pristine by the time you left.

A tiny sliver of you thought he felt embarrassed. But decades of experience told you that Mania didn’t afford embarrassment, the stricken couldn’t be truly manic if something like that was holding them back.

Maybe it had been such a shallow cut he hadn’t gotten the full punch of Mania?

Another attempt to feed yourself, slowly bringing your spoon to your mouth, “You know when I heal I am going to finish my task and leave, right?” 

An odd laugh, a non-existent tear wiped away, “Adorable. No. I promise you, that won’t happen.”

“Alastor.” You put the spoon down with a clink.

“I love when you say my name. May I offer you more reasons to hold it in your mouth?”

“Al-,” you groaned, “I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed, a show of pretending to think about what you said, “Wrong! You can. And I argue, you will.”

You tried again with the spoon, regretting soup. Your appetite had been shot for awhile and it seemed easy enough. Wrong. Again. There was a constant tremble to your hands since arriving. Perhaps experiencing pain for the first time was rattling your body so much that it couldn’t cope. “Why would I ever do that? This is literal hell.”

Alastor leaned over, taking the spoon from you with ease and bringing it to your mouth, “Because I’ll make you understand it’s where you belong. They didn’t appreciate you,” his grin widened, “Not like I do. Like I can, if you’d let me.”

Annoyed and flustered, you took the help to eat. “Thank you.” A spoonful, “How can you say that though? I’m the one and only Cupid.”

“Actually, no. You’re not. You are just the current incarnation. They’ll replace you.” 

You regretted telling him that. They could. Just replace you, that is. There was nothing stopping them. You stared into your soup, lips curling down.

“Don’t look so defeated. I’ll make you happy, for eternity.” 

Your eyes rolled. “When do you plan on starting that eternal happiness?”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but you could see his hand slow, then become completely still. Had you wounded him?

He pivoted, “Doesn’t Cupid have wings?”

Another spoonful, “Of course.”

Alastor waited while you took a drink, determined to make you eat the entire bowl, “Where are they?”

A pause. Where were they? You hadn’t realized you couldn’t feel them. They weren’t everpresent, but their weight still sat between your shoulder blades at all times. Always. Normally. But now? 

“You don’t know? That’s troubling.” Alastor read your face with ease.

You shot him a look. Stop doing that. Stop replying to unspoken thoughts.

“Apologies.”

Another text before you could snap at him.

You slid the phone away from Alastor, face red. “Do you think, honestly, if you’re capable of it, that I’ll ever be able to go home?”

His hand came to your neck, running over your collarbone, “For the record, I’ve never once lied to you.” You rolled your eyes, fine, okay, “With your heavenly body, even as weakened as you have been here, I’d say just a few more weeks.”

You turned the phone face down.

“Good…that’s good. If you plan on winning me over, your countdown has started.” You pushed the soup away, appetite gone. The idea of never returning to heaven made you nauseous. He slid it back to you, face stern despite the smile he wore.

The walk home was quiet, your stomach full of unwanted soup.

No, not home. The hotel. 

He usually spoke a lot, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. His hand replaced the staff, settled on your back as he guided you. You could feel the warmth through your clothes. How could he be so hot and not be sweating? Another sinner thing?

The thought hadn’t left you by the time you came into view of the hotel gates. Maybe you had been replaced. How would you know? Maybe that was why your wings were gone. Surely there was some way to communicate from hell.

You found Lucifer as soon as you returned, unbothered by Alastor’s presence, “I need to speak to heaven.” 

Alastor was saying something but you had gotten quite good at tuning him out. Lucifer snapped back, the men quickly devolving into arguing again.

“Lucifer.” You said it with your chest. 

His apple topped cane whirled, a golden circle appearing with a crystal clear image of heaven’s glowing gates through its center.

A loud noise erupted behind you, a high pitched static wail, familiar tentacles flailed and a long shadow of a growing Alastor stretched across the wall. His back was bent into the lobby ceiling, perhaps three stories tall now.

The sounds of magic popping as Lucifer shapeshifted accented the sounds of horror with that of whimsy. You approached the portal, those black tendrils slithering around your ankles but you easily slipped out of them as their owner's energy was pulled to full demon Lucifer slamming into him.

Almost, you could see it. 

A monstrously large hand came down, shaking the hotel and knocking various objects off their perches in the lobby. Charlie and Vaggie, someone else you’d come to enjoy the company of, flew down the stairs.

The common area was filled with the sounds of yelling and breaking glass. You crawled over his hand as Alastor’s fingers curled around your body gingerly. He tried to pull you from the gateway but while he slowed, Lucifer now a flying horse kicking him in the face, your outstretched hand strained to enter the portal.

Your fingers grazed the doorway, the air around the lobby fizzing and warping as a desperate screech tore from Alastor’s wide and impossibly thin chest. The grip tightened around you. A static whine threatened to pop your eardrums.

As your fingertips pressed past the ring, they stopped. Something impenetrable and unseen between you and heaven. 

Alastor must have noticed it too, his grip loosening as you clamored on hand and knees to the portal. Your palm ran over the doorway, searching for a hole or seam to rip. Just under your skin was your home, bright and clean and painless. A tiny ‘no’ fell from your lips, smacking at the barrier with your open hand.

Alastor returned to his normal, still terrifying, height. Lucifer came forward, their fight losing motivation, his small hand on your shoulder as you sat on the hotel lobby floor. He closed the portal and apologized, “Sorry kid. Let’s try again when you finish that task, okay?”

Alastor’s arms went under your back and knees and lifted you off the ground. You didn’t resist or argue. Your eyes were unfocused, vision blurry with tears, as you were carried past the others. Vaggie looked ashamed, which was odd given she had more character than half the archangels could muster together between them.

There existed permissions for who could enter the heavenly realm, a list meticulously kept. They’d removed you from that roster. They’d locked the doors behind you.

You felt good. The final week of your first, and hopefully last, month in hell was marked with taking off your sling for the first time.

A good three day wallow in a metaphorical cave helped you emerge with renewed vigor. Of course they locked the gates behind you, otherwise you’d just go home. That made sense. That made sense.

That had to make sense. 

Deciding to take a risk and attempt to expedite your homecoming, you and Angel made plans. Like a teenager in a party movie you snuck out of the hotel when Alastor was asleep. Well, so you assumed. You weren’t really sure what he did behind closed doors.

Angel brought you somewhere he felt people would be receptive to discussing love and talking to angelic beings, and admittedly also very high. 

Sling off but still being as gentle as you could, you leaned across the small standing-only table to talk-shout with a rather cute aquatic demon. An eel? Or maybe some kind of water-fond lizard? It didn’t matter, his glasses were cute, both of you a little drunk,  and you quite good at saying the right things.

And all of the right things were said, and you felt maybe if nothing else you’d enjoy your first demonic lay, when the power shut off.

Everyone filed out, bummed and bothered to find most of the neighborhood shrouded in darkness.

Angel tapped your shoulder and pointed up the hill to the hotel, radio station a glow with a red light, “Ya know, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Nothing to do but to stare, you stayed quiet and angry while he flagged down a taxi knowing the trip would be fast without traffic lights, “Guess Daddy Dead Eyes is calling you back.” 

Anger grew and grew in your chest as you were charioted home.

Jesus, to the hotel. Stop doing that.

You burst into the radio station tower, Alastor barely reacting. Until, that is, you marched up to his desk.

Pinned before you could react, his body pressing into yours as your ass ran up onto the desk.

“Sneaking out like a child?” His voice was low, soft, unnatural. “Why do you intentionally torment me?” 

 “I have done,” you tried to move but only succeeded in rubbing your stomach against his crotch, “no such thing. You’re just possessed.”

He responded by pressing forward, no accident, as his eyes narrowed on you, “Correct. I am a man possessed.” When he rolled himself into you, an alcohol primed groan escaped your mouth. 

“I thought you didn’t care about those things,” your eyes flashed to his lap pushing into you and then back to his glare.

“You’re my exception that proves the rule. If you’re so desperate for attention there’s no need to leave the hotel to find it.” His smile was poisoned by the simmering anger in his eyes, “Dear.”

It was the alcohol and annoyance at losing a chance with glasses-man, Jake or Jark or something not worth a scrabble move, that made you sneer a reply, “Not yours. I am a divine creature, demon. Your body would just filthy me.” Nose up, feeling absolutely better than him in every sense, you pushed him off and left. 

That was easy. Wow. 

Proud of yourself, you made it to the elevator before you realized— illusions. Perhaps his illusion was the idea sex with you was worth the effort, more so than others. He said it himself before, he didn’t care for such things. Perhaps if you could show him it was as boring and unattractive as sex with anyone else could be, maybe you could shatter his mania with disappointment.

You pulled a u-turn and heel-toed right back into his station. Giving him no time to react this time, you climbed onto his chair and straddled him, “On second thought, try your worst. Let’s get it out of your system and move on.” You ground your hips down. He only smiled up at you, amused. Taking his hands you set them on your waist, giving him permission to handle you, “Claim me. Make everyone know I’m yours.” He didn’t move. You were starting to feel embarrassed, had he goaded you just to make you look stupid? He would.  But your kind invented the tension before sex between enemies, “If you can.”

That did it. His hair visibly stood on end, “It is not a matter of ability. It’s about-”

“If you can’t, that’s fine. No need to start lying to me now. But don’t say I never gave you the opportunity.” You smirked, hoping he enjoyed a taste of his own sardonic medicine, and lifted yourself off of him.

His hands came to life on your hips, helping you rise and then flipping you onto your stomach. Your arms pushed radio transmitters and various old timey fuckery away to make room for yourself.

Those talons slipped up the center of your bottoms and crooked into your underwear. Long and strong, his fingers felt you. “Is this a perk of a heavenly body or is this,” two fingers dipped into your already wet and relaxed entrance, “all for me?”

You fought the urge to respond with anything other than malice, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

In heaven no one needs preparation, no one needs lube or required stretching to keep things whole and fun. You would love to say that quality followed you down, but unfortunately, like perfect health and angelic wings, it had not. 

You decided to chalk it up to the alcohol. Always an easy excuse to offer yourself.

Alastor’s hands pulled away and up, finding the place just above the Rosie’s Emporium clothing tag and ripping the bottoms and underwear clean in half.

You bit into your hand to keep your excited shriek to yourself but unfortunately couldn’t stop your legs kicking up. His laugh echoed off the many windows. 

Why couldn’t he be worse at this? Why couldn’t Alastor be clumsy and meek and awkward at sex? No, the menace you’d gotten almost used to was confident and commanding, you felt yourself twitching in anticipation. People have a misconception that Cupid was a chaste and wholly emotional creature, which was false. First of all, Cupids varied based on the incarnation. Just like other heavenly creatures their personality was varied and unpredictable. 

Personally, you weren’t suited for the job. If you were honest. Why couldn’t your quiver just be full of Eros and Agape? Even of those two, sexual love was more your speed. Romance was fine and lovely but perhaps you’d gotten a little jaded. 

Luckily for you, fucking Cupid was something many winners had on their afterlife bucket lists and you rarely found yourself with an empty bed.

Your attention was stolen back, Alastor’s clawed hand grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, “Oops.”

Focus. Why were you doing this again? Your system was metabolizing the alcohol now, and with the air cooling off your exposed sex, everything was awash with lust. Did you want to diminish his mania or were you just horny?

Would it really be so bad to admit you were both?

Deep breath, you remembered. Boring. Banal. The plan was to be motionless and not provide him any satisfying sounds. Don’t touch him, don’t try to push back on him, no tricks or fancy shit. The sooner he was over this you could make someone trust in love and fuck off home. 

Seconds turned to a minute, your ass in the air as Alastor’s hands pawed at your skin. You wanted to ask what the hold up was, but you didn’t want to give away how much you were needing him to just fuck you already.

“Do you miss flying?”

You looked around, were you so drunk you missed an entire chunk of conversation while thinking about how to hide thirsting for his dick?

“Yes…?” True statement.

“Allow me to help with that.”

There was a moment you half expected to be chucked out the window, but almost worse than that, you heard him seat himself in the chair again before your body was picked up and off the desk. “Alastor! I don’t-,” Hands flailing, feet moving around the best they could, you struggled against the familiar tentacles he had command over. “I do not allow it!”

Your hands batted at them fruitlessly. One came under your knees and folded them to either side of your chest before wrapping around your waist twice, a second across your chest like a seatbelt snug and secure. Had you been on the floor you could almost be mistaken for taking a deeply devout praying stance. Only your arms were free to move, the position making you open and incapable of taking back any semblance of control. 

“Alastor!” Stretching, you could almost reach the edge of his work table, but your fingers and toes curled in as you were seated on something hot and stiff. Your lips quivered, desperate to keep silent as you were pulled down onto him. Reaching back your hands found his stomach, raking your nails across the skin in need of anything to grip. 

When you heard him chuckle to himself, you knew you were already losing. Plan backfiring entirely. You pulled your hands back to your center, taking ahold of the tentacle nestled between and across your chest. 

“Heavenly Father,” his voice was quiet but sure, your eyes so wide you worried you’d get stuck making a permanent face of utter shock and despair, “bless us and these thy gifts which we receive from thy bountiful goodness, through your name, our lord.” You were lifted off his lap, Alastor’s swollen tip dragging along your unstretched walls as he said the Lord's prayer, “Amen.” Pulled back down before the second syllable even reached your ears, you cut into your bottom lip as a scream bounced around behind your teeth.

Heathen.

“I would think you of all people knew how to finish a prayer.” Alastor chided, “What will heaven say?”

If heaven knew you were being impaled midair on an overlord’s cock, they’d create a second hell for you to rule. Population of none. Except maybe some horny nuns.

As he found a pace he seemed happy with, slow and long draws out of you, you realized how fucked you were. Looking down, you could see one of his hands was settled at the base of his cock, those long fingers draped down his balls. The other hand was unseen and unfelt. 

“Alastor.” You tried to sound stern.

“Oh I doubt heaven knows my name. Not yet at least.” He sounded unbothered, almost unaffected. “Not until I’ve spirited away their little angel of love.”

You were almost insulted at how easily he could speak despite being buried so far into your wet, hot cunt. Maybe you had been spoiled in heaven, people usually so turned on by the idea of you that they were coming undone as soon as you were wrapped around them or in them in whatever way you decided.  

A broken chant of “be bored, be bored,” in your mind as Alastor hummed, that mystery clawed hand falling at your back. Biting your lip, you tried to think about anything other than how full he was making you. Did the glasses man at the club have a cock as thick as Alastor’s? Would you have been as satisfied as you were now? Every down thrust made the tuft of fur at this base press against your ass. Soft. You wanted to grind against it, the idea pulling a wanton moan out.

Fuck. Failing to distract yourself because you got distracted. It was so hard to think about anything else than your body being pushed open again and again. The blood on your lips was sweet, licking them clean before finding a new spot to bite down on. Quiet.

“Ah, are you giving me the silent treatment?”

Could this son of a bitch read minds? Could sinners read minds?!

 If you didn’t reply, that was confirmation. But if you did reply, you were breaking your goal of not talking.

“Just…,” you took a deep sigh, knowing this was going to be rough, “I’m not really feeling like making any noise.” A shrug, the best you could manage at least while bound and held aloft in the space above his lap. Pretending this was normal and boring was a feat. “I’m not a vocal person during sex. I prefer to just lie there and get serviced. Don’t mind me.”

That sounded awful. Perfect. 

“Oh? Well then, I guess I’ll not worry myself.” You could hear the smile in his voice. Less perfect. He began to hum a little tune as your body, partially upright, was now being tilted forward at a 45 degree angle from his lap. His cock was bending in you, head pressing harshly up into your walls. 

Heart beating so fast you felt a dizzy spell hit you, that renewed anticipation almost as arousing as the sensations.

His humming continued like he was reading the paper. You’d never ridden a roller coaster, but you’d seen many people do it before and this was surely the same feeling; right at the peak before the drop. When the ride operator stills you and lets you stare down at the height before you. Your stomach was flipping, excitement tinged with fear. 

You were pulled off his dick until you felt the bell of his red tip get just outside your entrance. Was he going to pull out entirely?

No. He pulled you down by way of shadows and fucked you just a couple inches into your cunt. His head was dragging out past your tight hole and smashing back in, directly hitting your g-spot. The spongy bundle of nerve endings was dented with every thrust.

You weren’t used to having your entrance stimulated so much, the skin luckily becoming slick as your own wetness was fucked out of you. 

“That feels weird, please.” How quickly you gave up. “Stop pulling out like that.”

A considerate sigh, “But you’ve gotten so wet, my dear. You’re dripping down my thighs already. I don’t think you want me to stop.”

Could you cum like this? You felt like you could, maybe if you just…you quickened your breath, faster and faster. Your stomach heaving, you felt the crescendo of pleasure. 

“On second thought!” He stopped.

Your toes wiggled, hands gripping the tentacle on your chest. Quiet. Shh. Don’t argue. Boring. Don’t care. The building orgasm waned, you felt your blood pressure lower. This really was hell. 

Alastor’s head was just sitting in you, burning hot and throbbing. You were sure you could feel his heartbeat. 

You two were locked in a standoff. Someone had to let on they were enjoying themselves; Alastor releasing pent up frustration with your attitude toward his affections, you chasing down a rare penetration-only orgasm. 

An idea struck you, a way to hopefully antagonize him and bruise his pride enough to force him into your hand (pussy), “Thank God. I think it’s almost my bedtime.”

Alastor’s smile strained, a twitch coming over his left eye. A trap. But the idea of letting you down and off of him seemed far worse than the small defeat you were offering. “Allow me to rock you to sleep then, sweetheart.”

Success! Shit! 

You reached out, the angle of your punishment allowing you to grab the edge of the table and grip. Alastor’s annoyance translated to an inhuman pace, him pulling you off entirely from his cock before bringing you back down. He was positively slipping in and out of you, your lower lips puffy and soaked around him. This degree of wetness was something you couldn’t remember feeling outside of marathon sessions. 

When your hands tightened, a shock of pain tore down your arm, a scream bringing Alastor to a sudden stop. “My collar…” Pain was apparently not a kink you enjoyed, though you briefly wondered if heaven allowed it at all. 

You couldn’t even fuck properly. You couldn’t do anything right. All you managed to do was fail. A sting to your eyes as the air hit your welling tears. Did humans feel this pain often? Your body was righted and turned, you looked down to Alastor’s face as you were brought to him. He looked so soft, usual smirk a sweet toothless smile, “I told you to keep the sling on, didn’t I?” He looked happy.

Your arms found his shoulders and your head came to his chest, “Shut up and finish already.” He didn’t release you from the binding, instead pulling the right arm under the hold of his slender tendril to keep it safe and out of the way.  His hands were both at the base of his cock while you were gently riding him. Well, “you”. He was still using his powers to manipulate your body on and off of him. Alastor’s fingers were spreading your arousal down his shaft and along his tightening balls, if you had looked at his face you’d have seen a weakened man there, furrowed brows and lust drunk eyes. But you didn’t look, trying to hide the same expression on your own features. 

Left hand free, no need to hold yourself up, you made lazy, and you hoped subtle, circles around your clit. You weren’t sure if this was a total failure or not, but you could finish and say something good came of it. You, specifically. 

Things were quiet, though. The loudest sound in the room was the wet pop coming from where his body was meeting your sopping hole. His breathing was fast and soft, sighing when he bottomed out. Another bite to your lip, a few more deep hits to your cervix, and you enjoyed a small but satisfying release. The hand on you stayed through, riding out tiny waves of pleasure as you twitched around him. When you felt his release you sighed, you did it. You think. Maybe. Regardless. 

As he slowly lifted you, you considered if your legs could hold you—

Up you went and back down you fell as he took a new, quicker pace.

“A-Ah-lastor?! You,” you bit your tongue, “already finished?”

You had made a mistake earlier that you hadn’t even realized. But Alastor had been holding it between his sharp teeth, “How many times?”

Absolutely no idea what he was talking about, you gasped out a reply, “What!?”

“How many times should I fill you before you’re too filthy to return to heaven, do you think?” He couldn’t be serious. “Three? Five? You see, the advantage of using my tentacles is that I don't get tired.”

Oh, but he was serious. 

The battle was entirely forfeit somewhere around the third time he flooded you with his seed.

“These aren’t the usual screams I enjoy from my studio, but I’m not averse to them.”

 When he felt you’d learned whatever lesson you were supposed to be taking in by the pump full, you were finally removed from him. He covered your lower half with his coat around your waist. It would be lying to say you were surprised to find his wide shoulders and small waist wasn’t just an illusion of his well tailored, yet oddly torn, coat. He was annoyingly attractive. Who gave him the right?

Your legs gave out when you tried to stand, warm hands pulling under your armpits to get you back on your feet. As much as you wanted to push him away, you were still a little tipsy and your legs still getting used to full blood flow. His arm held out for you to use for stability, you took it and wobbled silently to the floor you both lived on. Before you left the elevator you looked down and saw a line of white dripping down your inner leg. Took longer than you expected, honestly. 

When you turned to the right to go to your door, his arm came around your waist and shepherded you to his room on the left. You shot him a look, asking what he thought he was doing. 

He laughed, “Oh, after tonight’s little escapade, you’re moving!” He opened his door and gestured for you to enter, “Welcome home, my dear.”

What was worse than a failure? A catastrophe? This was that. 

“Now come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” A hand patted softly at your ass before ushering you inside.

He did just that, wiping you down and undressing you before settling you into his bed. Exhausted and sore, you decided to argue after sleep.

When you awoke, you checked your shredded bottoms for your phone. Nothing. 

An answer was found when you mentioned it to Alastor, who asked what you were searching for so early in the morning, “Perhaps someone at that venue you enjoyed has it? Too bad you can’t go back and ask.” He was resting his back against the headboard, you realized he’d unbuttoned his shirt quite a bit. “Oh well!”

How was he always making you scream?

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp

#alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #smut

[roseykat]

TITLE: How they are when they cum

SYNOPSIS: OT8 version of...the title x

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions/descriptions of orgasms, blowjobs, sex positions. Nothing too major.

A/N: Take this as a filler while I wrap up my post for Shutterfly Butterfly. I actually really enjoyed creating these blurbs and will do more in the future.

BANG CHAN

Groans and grunts. He’s pretty vocal in bed and on the very strong occasion where he cums as hard as he always does, he’ll announce it, and it’s the hottest thing ever. There’s nothing sexier than a man expressing how much pleasure they’re in through such an erotic thing. Usually his moans and incoherent words sound so panicked before he combusts inside of you, like he’s dying to cum but doesn’t want to yet so as to savour your warm, wet, heat wrapping around his cock. 

-

MINHO

Is gripping onto you when he cums. Whether it’s by digging his nails into the skin and flesh of your hips or ass, grabbing a fistful of your hair, groping your tits - he needs something to help him channel such a surge of pleasure when he orgasms. His moans are very breathy and very consistent. He won’t always announce that he’ll cum but you can tell when he does. If it’s not the warm load inside of you, it’ll be the silence he exudes that will give it away. For some reason, that’s how you can identify how hard he’s actually cumming. 

-

CHANGBIN

Will not shut up, and you don’t want him to either. Every ounce of pleasure he gets from fucking you, sends him into another realm. But when he cums? A whole other level. The pleasure is out of his depth that it rattles throughout every cell in his body. His eyes will flutter, mouth slightly ajar for your name to spill out. When he cums, he also has the tendency to bury his face into your neck, depending on the position. Not because he’s ashamed, but because he just doesn’t know how to deal with the overwhelming waves of euphoria. 

-

HYUNJIN

He will moan your name repeatedly and it’ll be in the most beautiful airy voice known to this earth. Sometimes he can be quiet but not intentionally. He’s just trying his best not to cum so quickly and feels that hearing his own moans mixed with yours will get him there faster when he actually wants to drag out how good he feels for as long as he can. He’ll mutter quietly to you against your lips that he’s ‘gonna cum’ and when he does, his forehead might rest on yours or he’s kissing you as he’s cumming, and he’s all flustered and rushed. 

-

HAN

Whiny. Whiny as fuck and whimpers. He tries to stifle his moans with the back of his hand or maybe he’ll be biting down on your shoulder or something. But when you have both of his hands cuffed or pinned by the sides of his head when you ride him, he is the loudest, whiniest person in existence. You’ve even thought about gagging him, especially before he cums at least. He’s so prone to being overstimulated a lot and has most definitely cried before when you’ve made him orgasm. 

-

FELIX

Will most likely say to you “gonna make me cum,” every time the two of you have sex or you’re giving him head, right before he orgasms. He wants you to know that you’re the one unraveling his sanity for a good thirty seconds. Felix is vocal, loud, and almost borderline whiny. Despite having such a deep voice, his whimpers can be the complete opposite. It’s just a sign that he’s struggling to deal with so much pleasure that his body can possibly handle. 

-

SEUNGMIN

Sometimes he might hold his breath when he cums because he is just in so much of a state of pleasure, his body doesn’t know how to react. Therefore, you might not always get sounds out of him - which is good because that’s how you know he’s cumming hard. If you’re perhaps giving him a blowjob, his head will tip back, voice lodged in his throat until he’s spilling white wherever you’ll let him. But in the few seconds after he cums, Seungmin is either swearing or moaning as well; most of the time, both.

-

JEONGIN

Similar to most; moans a lot to a T. He can get sort of embarrassed by it even though you reassure him that it’s okay to express how good you feel in the moment, especially after you told him how much you like it. From there he’s become a bit more relaxed and now he won’t hold back. They’re sort of high pitched, but low and strained in some cases when he’s absolutely railing you. Will also breathe out “baby” over and over again as he approaches the edge of his orgasm.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #rosiewritesskz #bang chan smut #i.n smut #seungmin smut #felix smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

#ansy-writes #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dottore #yandere zandik #yandere dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore #columbina #arlecchino #lyney #il dottore x reader #il dottore #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin imagines

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.” 

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door. 

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything. 

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression. 

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud. 

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.” 

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were. 

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training. 

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor. 

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about. 

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge. 

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one. 

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses. 

This man seemed apart from that. 

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.” 

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.” 

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved. 

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?” 

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh. 

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?” 

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly. 

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #mw2 #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #captain mactavish #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #captain mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare 2009 #cod x female reader #x fem!reader

[abbyzmami]

pink toy.

• dom abby anderson x sub fem! reader

cw; explicit +18 content, exhibitionism, praise kink, praising, degradation, overstimulation, squiring, dom abby, use of toys (vibrator, dildo), masturbation (receiving), slapping, orgasm denial, finger sucking, fingering, dirty talking, hair pulling, kinda public sex, public masturbation… MINORS DNI

- notes: guys, this is my first time writing for tumblr, i have a lot of ideas and i hope you like them. sorry for any mistakes, i wrote this at 2am without proofreading much LOL 😭

laughter filled the atmosphere, the sound of glasses clinking and people chatting. it was one of those classic dinner nights with your group of friends at your favorite restaurant, everything was perfect. except for one small factor: you couldn't relax the whole night with a vibrator plugged into your fucking cunt, which abby controlled on the cell phone next to you.

as the desserts arrived on the table, everyone fumbled around trying to remember who ordered what, but everything was more than rattling around in your head, and all you could process all night were voices far away.

"are you even listening to me? hey!" dina says, completely frustrated as she tries to talk to you and gets no response. you keep your hand over your mouth, looking out at the street, trying your best to keep any sound or moan from escaping your lips.

"hey dina. i'm sorry, i'm a little distracted." you say, a little breathless but almost imperceptible to your friends who were already super drunk.

"you ordered the cherry ice cream, yea?" dina says, laughing and changing the words. you could feel the alcohol exhaling from her breath, while she was being pulled from side to side by ellie in her chair.

"yes, she did, thank you so much dina." abby says, picking up the dessert and placing it in front of you, one arm on the back of your chair. she moves closer to your face, speaking quietly enough for only you to hear. "if you keep panting like that, i swear, i'll put this on full speed and turn off my phone." she says, then kisses your cheek and smiles at you as if nothing is happening, picking up the glass of wine in front of her on the table and taking a sip.

you squirm once again under the table, crossing your legs in the hope of getting some friction for your relief, but abby immediately notices and grabs your thigh tightly, pulling them apart, leaving you completely open in the corner of the table which, luckily, was in a darker part of the restaurant. abby reaches up under your tight skirt, staring at you in disbelief as she realizes how wet and hot you were after all this time. the blonde decides to start an even bigger teasing game, massaging your needy cunt over the thin panties you were wearing.

she moves closer again, stroking your hair with the other hand that was resting on the chair, whispering in your ear. "if you make any noise, i'll stop."

you swallowed dry, desperate to feel abby's hands on you for the first time that night. god, how could she be so mean? you were practically begging for it with your eyes all night, while she slid her finger up and down on her cell phone, just giving you the most innocent, unintentional look of all.

abby uses one of her middle fingers to push your panties aside, massaging your throbbing clit painfully slowly in response, sliding in circles, in a light and extremely provocative touch, feeling all the heat exuding from your body at that moment. you squirm even more in your chair, feeling abby's hand squeeze your shoulder, silently scolding you. she stroked your hair so gently that anyone looking would never suspect that you were being completely fucked under that table.

"abby..." you said, sighing heavily, whimpering. "i can't take this anymore, please..." your legs were shaking more and more, accompanied by shivers that ran down your spine every time abby unlocked that damn cell phone to control the vibrations that were only expanding inside you.

"guys, we're going to the bathroom for a minute, we'll be right back." abby says, getting up and encouraging you to do the same, as she picks up your bag for you, holding out one of her arms for support. you look around and no one seems to notice that anything's wrong, everyone's too far away, laughing loudly and drinking their ass off.

as soon as you enter the bathroom, abby locks the door and immediately pulls you tightly by the waist, planting a violent kiss on your lips, as if she's been hungry for you all night. the taller woman sighs, helping you take off the short skirt that covers your hips. "god, you're such a slut, couldn't wait for us to get home to get fucked."

abby pulls you hard over the sink, standing behind you and inducing you to bend over for her, facing the mirror. she finally pulls the toy out of you, making your walls contract completely. "i'm fucking you in front of the mirror so you can see clearly what a whore you are" she says, bringing her own hand to her mouth. "open up and suck it good," she says, inserting her two middle fingers into your lips.

you completely moisten abby's fingers as soon as you open your mouth, which has been salivating for her for a long time, sucking carefully and eagerly, moaning muffledly as you do so. "you're a pathetic slut, all turned on just by sucking my fingers." she says, kissing your neck, moving down the area with licks and bites, making sure to give you goosebumps.

she removes her fingers from your mouth, patting your face twice before finally penetrating you. "that's my pretty girl, huh?" you moan in response to the pet name, leaning further over the sink, opening your pussy wide for her. "god, you're soaking wet." she says, slipping her two fingers into your hole, curling them inside you, with back and forth movements that make you moan louder, failing to control yourself.

she slid perfectly inside you, which was completely lubricated with your own juices and saliva. abby pulled you by the hair, wrapping it around her own hand, having complete control over you at that moment. in the reflection of the mirror you could see her smiling sadistically as she watched you in this situation, thrusting even harder inside you, hitting your sensitive inner spot several times. "will you be a good girl and cum for me? hm?" she said, making you melt even more, moaning and calling out her name, which was filled with even more lust, as if she possessed you at that moment.

you could feel your body weakening more and more as you felt all of your wetness dripping down your thighs, with her in and out of you with so much hunger, as she sucked on your neck like a fucking vampire, sucking your soul out of your body. using you as if you were nothing but a toy, with a completely devilish face, looking at you through the mirror with that stupid smile.

"abby, im gonna c-" you barely manage to finish your sentence when she speeds up her movements with precision, making you arch and tremble even more, moaning loudly as she laughs, watching you melt completely in her hands. "you're so fucking easy to please, such a needy whore."

a huge wave of pleasure-filled shocks unloaded over your body, after being overstimulated for so long, you felt your orgasm so strong that tears began to run down your face as you moaned her name, pulsing against the fingers still curling inside you. "atta girl." she says, chuckling.

"i think i might even need to order some dessert too, after fucking you all over like that." she says, teasingly as she watches you trying to come back to yourself, or at least recover enough to be able to get back to that table.

"i hate you" you say, annoyed by the cocky blonde's provocations.

"you know you love me."

#abby anderson #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby tlou #abby x y/n #tlou #ellie williams #tlou2 #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #abby smut #tlou imagine #wlw fiction #wlw smut #tlou abby #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou fic #tlou fluff #tlou x reader #abby the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x reader

[shaunamilfman]

you look like my next mistake

summary: A series of encounters you have with your friend's mother, Shauna Shipman, over spring break. A/N: im aware the age gap is controversial. live laugh love milf shauna, however.

Without fail you always seem to be loudest when you’re trying to be quiet. Here you are, in Callie’s kitchen in the dead of night, utterly convinced you’ve opened every cabinet except the one holding the glasses– just your luck. You finally find the right cabinet and grab the first glass you see, wincing guiltily when it makes a clinking sound against the glass next to it. You finally make your way to the sink to pour the world’s loudest glass of water, taking a well-deserved sip.

You whirl around as you hear a slight rattle behind you, followed by a swift whisper of metal on wood. The first thing you see is the gleaming edge of the knife, reflecting the soft glow of the streetlight back at you. The cold steel of the blade provides a sharp contrast to the otherwise warm and inviting atmosphere of the house, sending a chill down your spine as you struggle to take your eyes off it. 

It was strikingly sharp as if it wanted nothing more than to cut you open and see what spilled out. Your thoughts are a blur as you try to understand the reality of the situation, glass shattering at your feet as your hand shakes too hard to keep a firm grip on it. The sharp piercing noise echoes through the room, finally breaking an otherwise suffocating silence. 

You feel like the walls are closing in on you as you finally manage to tear your eyes away from the knife, focusing on the shadowy figure in front of you. You can just barely make out the edges of her in the dim light, deciding without a doubt that this wasn’t Callie playing a joke.

You make a pained noise as the lights suddenly flick on, blindingly bright to your senses. You furiously blink your eyes as you take her in– Oh, she's kinda…

“What are you doing in my house?” A gruff voice asks, looking surprisingly unphased.

“I'm– Callie,” You choke out, eyes wide as she brandishes the knife in your direction. This bitch was fucking serious: you think she might actually slit your throat in her kitchen. 

“Friend of Callie's. From college? She invited me over,” You're quick to add, hands held up placatingly as you try to look as unassuming as possible. 

Shauna lowers the knife slowly as she gives you a considering look. Still, her guard is up and you don't trust yourself to be able to outmaneuver her if she changes her mind. Every cell in your body is screaming at you that she's dangerous, even more so than pulling a knife on you would indicate. 

Oh god, you were going to be on dateline. You try frantically to remember if you’ve ever lit up a room, but Shauna quickly interrupts that line of thought.

“Callie didn't tell me anyone would be coming over,” Shauna comments, voice unassuming and softer than you thought possible. Her voice is like a siren call, utterly enthralling. You couldn't look away even if you tried. She was strangely alluring, even as she held your life in her hands. 

“I can see that,” You say dryly, speaking faster than you can think. You close your eyes with a wince, regretting the words the second they leave your mouth. Your eyes fly back open at the sound of a quiet snicker, catching her lip twitching ever so slightly upwards as she stares you down. Finally, she relaxes, placing the knife back in the block as she smiles like nothing ever happened. 

“A glass of water, was it?” She asks, walking towards the cabinet and grabbing for what you presume to be a cup. 

“Yeah,” You choke out, heart racing through your chest as you watch her move easily around the kitchen. Your hands still shake faintly, breathing speeding up whenever she steps near a sharp object. You have the sudden urge to get the fuck out of there, nearly taking a step forward when she suddenly speaks up.

“Stop,” Shauna commands, catching you off guard as you flinch backward into the counter. You freeze, eyes wide with shock and confusion as you look at her. She glances pointedly at the shattered glass cup at your feet. You nodded sheepishly, feeling a little embarrassed at the intensity of your fear.

“You’ll cut yourself,” She chides gently, stepping out of the room to grab a broom. You feel oddly guilty about making her clean up after you, despite knowing that it was mostly her fault for drawing the knife on you in the first place. You think anyone would react badly to finding a stranger in their kitchen at 3 AM.

Would anyone threaten them at knifepoint? A voice in the back of your head says, but you steadfastly ignore that as she walks back in.

You stand ramrod straight as she sweeps the broken glass away from your feet, humming quietly under her breath. What was this woman's deal? The sudden change in her demeanor was disconcerting, and the humming was starting to freak you out.

You stumble a few steps away as Shauna finishes cleaning up the glass, watching curiously as she fills up the glass she’d grabbed with water. She takes a few steps closer as if to hand it to you.

“I–I’m not thirsty,” You say quietly, edging your way around the kitchen in order to not turn your back on her.

She rolls her eyes, holding the cup out insistently. “You came all the way out here for it, obviously you were thirsty.”

You shake your head nervously, giving her a panicked smile. “No, really I’m not–”

“Drink,” She interrupts firmly.

“Okay,” You squeak out, grabbing the glass and downing it as quickly as you can– somehow your throat feels dryer than ever. You set the glass on the table and quickly back out of the room, pausing as you hear her pointedly clear her throat. There’s an expectant look on her face but for the life of you, you can’t figure out what she actually wants.

“Thank you,” Shauna says slowly as if talking to a child.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” You say quickly, wanting nothing more than to get out of here. Her nose wrinkles in distaste as she shakes her head.

“Shauna,” She says after a moment, giving you a quick once over.

“Thank you, Shauna,” You repeat, finally fleeing the kitchen back to Callie’s room. 

You shut the door as quietly as you can, leaning your back against the door as you try to get a hold of your racing heart, You can hear quiet footsteps padding down the hall, stopping for a moment just outside the door, before picking up again as Shauna shuts the door to her own room. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that the moment’s finally ended. If asked you couldn’t say what exactly it was about her that made you feel so uneasy, but something about Shauna Shipman just didn’t seem…right.

…

When your counselor advised you to add a minor in your last year she went on and on about how good it would look on your resume. What she conveniently forgot to mention was the only time slot for the required class was at 8:30 AM. After begrudgingly dragging yourself to a lecture hall at a time that was frankly criminal, you're absolutely dismayed to realize your professor is defining the scientific method. As if having to take an intro course as a senior wasn’t embarrassing enough, introducing yourself to your freshman lab partner certainly sent it over the edge.

That wasn’t an entirely fair assessment, as you had grown to quite like Callie over time. Her standoffish demeanor had a certain charm to it, something that you quite enjoyed in a person. Still, the first time you'd missed class she'd quietly emailed you a copy of the day's notes without even being asked. It was a pleasant surprise: you hadn't even realized she knew where you usually sat. You'd noticed with no small amount of amusement that they weren't her notes– the handwriting certainly didn't match her lab reports– but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

Thus began a fairly unlikely friendship. You ended up being the mom friend more often than you were comfortable with, but you figured that sort of thing was probably inevitable given the age gap between you. Besides, Callie was impulsive enough for both of you; There was no need to add to it. You swore you spent more time trying to talk Callie out of adding random chemicals to “see what happened” than you spent actually conducting the experiments. You swore you were going to let Callie blow herself up the next time she called you old and decrepit, however. 

You’d gathered from a few rather stilted mentions of home that she didn’t get along too well with her mom, especially after her dad had gone missing a few years back. So, it probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise when she tried blackmailing you into coming home with her for spring break after she realized you had no plans. You’d appreciated the attempt, even as pathetic as it seemed, but you weren’t about to humor it. 

She’d seemed so defeated when you called her bluff that you eventually agreed to go as a favor. You’d tell anyone who mentioned it that it was for the promise of free food, but you knew deep down it was because of how sad she seemed as she looked up at you with her teary blue eyes. Almost immediately afterward you realized that she was manipulating you, but then it felt too late to retract the offer.

Besides, you liked Callie well enough and you doubted her mom could be that bad, right?

…

After your third failed attempt at waking Callie up, one that had ended with her smacking you with a pillow so hard you fell off the bed, you finally decided to venture out into the living room by yourself. You were pretty nervous at the idea of running into Shauna out there, given that her living room was a likely place for her to be, but you’d finally gotten hungry enough that you were willing to risk it. Leave it to Callie to sleep past 2 PM when you’d been threatened at knifepoint in her kitchen the night before.

Shauna gives you an awkward smile as you walk into the room, not looking like she cares if it seems fake along the edges. It wasn't your fault that Callie had apparently invited you home without telling her, but it seems as if she couldn’t help herself from holding it against you anyway.

“Hey,” She says gruffly in greeting, focusing her attention back on the book she was reading. 

“Hey,” You murmur stiffly, quickly passing through the living room to get to the kitchen. You keep yourself busy making the world’s slowest sandwich, carefully placing every topping to buy yourself as much time as possible. You tried your best to focus on the task at hand, but you could feel Shauna’s eyes on you as she glanced up from her book far more frequently than necessary. The tension in the room seems palpable, and it makes your heart race for more reasons than one.

You wince at the sudden sound of a page tearing partially as Shauna roughly turns a page, quickly looking down as you avoid eye contact. Shauna closes her book with a sigh, finally standing up and walking toward you. She leans against the doorframe while keeping her eyes fixed firmly on you. She watches you for a long moment, and you get the strange feeling that she's sizing you up. You get a sudden urge to stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to seem bigger. Her lips curl at the edges as she takes you in, the movement certainly not escaping her gaze. The silence stretches on uncomfortably between you until finally she speaks.

“So… How did you and Callie meet?” She asks, attempting a casual tone that doesn’t quite fit her. You appreciate the gesture as futile as it may be. There’s something inherently intimidating about her, even when she’s trying to appear nonchalant.

You clear your throat softly before you speak, “She’s my lab partner. We’re kind of friends, I guess.”

You grin sheepishly, rubbing at the back of your head and you cross the room to put up what you’ve grabbed from the fridge. “She’s really cool once you get to know her, you know?”

“Sounds like Callie,” She comments with a fond smile, casting you a sharp glance after a moment. “Lab partners? You don’t look like a freshman.”

“Oh, no. Just a schedule thing,” You murmur awkwardly. “I’m graduating this semester, actually.”

“A senior, then?” She asks. You nod hesitantly, a little uneasy with the direction of the conversation. 

“A little old to be hanging around Callie, don’t you think? I hope you aren’t getting too close…” She trails off, voice laced with warning. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was just trying to protect Callie, but a confusing hint of jealousy underlines the whole interaction.

“Oh, no. It’s not like that,” You rush to say, surprise coloring your voice. “We’re just friends.”

Your response elicits a scoff from Shauna, arms crossing against her chest defensively as she stares you down. “Friends, huh?” She repeats skeptically, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“No, I’ve never– I mean Callie’s a little young for–” You fall over yourself trying to explain your feelings in a way that doesn’t seem insulting, even if you’re a little unsure of how the conversation got here in the first place. You finally settle on “I mean she’s very pretty, but I don't think of her like that.”

Shauna’s lips twitch, fighting a smirk as you fumble over your explanation. She visibly relaxes as her guard seems to drop a little, shifting her weight as she pushes away from the doorframe. She hums in understanding, seeming to mull it over before saying, “Well, she certainly inherited some good genes from me,” with a hint of playfulness you’d previously not thought she was capable of. 

“That she did,” You say, not quite meaning to say it aloud.

You can't help but acknowledge that she's pretty cute when she isn't brandishing a knife at you– she's hot then– as you watch a faint smile grace her lips. There’s a thoughtful quality to her smile that unnerves you; Even as you walk past her to take a seat at the end of the table you feel like she’s deliberating on something, carefully weighing all of her options as she sits down next to you.

She inhales sharply as your leg brushes accidentally against yours, clearing her throat as she purposefully brushes her thigh against yours again. Your eyes widen as you glance away, taking a bite of your sandwich just to have something to do with your hands. The feeling of her leg pressing against yours is more intense than you’d ever imagined it could be. 

This… This wasn’t how you saw your spring break going. You think you might blow up your friendship with Callie over this, an idea that makes you sadder than you thought it would. Still, you’re not sure you could find it in yourself to regret it. Shauna’s fingers drum idly against the tabletop, betraying a nervousness you hadn’t realized was present beneath her otherwise composed exterior.

“Do you like all your classes, then?” She asks conversationally, not seeming all that concerned with the answer

You shrug noncommittally. “I’m just glad to almost be done.”

“That’s right,” Shauna says, nudging your leg again. “You’re almost finished, aren’t you?”

“Prefer to look at things one week at a time, I guess. It’s my last break from school so I’m focused on enjoying that right now, honestly.”

“Maybe we could… hang out. While Callie’s sleeping of course,” She suggests, seemingly out of nowhere. A long pause stretches between you, the silence filled with possibility.

“...I think I’d like that, Shauna.”

You almost choke on your food as a hand abruptly makes its way to your thigh, squeezing firmly. Your breath catches as you see the intent look on her face as she watches for your reaction. You nod slowly before glancing down, watching as her hand slowly ventures up your leg. You jump apart as you hear a door slamming shut, pulling away at the sound of footsteps padding down the hall.

Callie calls out your name in question as she peeks her head into the living room, a surprised look on her face as she sees you sitting with her mom. They share a look that you don’t recognize, a silent argument ensuing that you can’t quite make out. Callie finally scoffs and throws her arms up in irritation, walking across the room as she sits down next to you. The two of them glare at each other from across the table, with you sitting awkwardly between them.

Callie grabs the sandwich off your plate, taking a bite out of it before dropping it back on your plate with a crooked grin. You glare over at her as you reach out and quickly flick at her arm, stifling your grin at her cry of pain as you finally eat your well-deserved sandwich.

You listen awkwardly as the two of them bicker in front of you about your presence, trying to be too put out about the whole thing. You really wish they had waited until you weren’t in the room to go down that particular avenue of conversation, but it seems par for the course as far as this trip had gone. You almost miss the feeling of your cramped dorm room as Callie’s voice starts to rise. Shauna snaps something back that finally quiets Callie, glancing curiously between them as you finally tune back into the conversation.

Shauna has a smug look on her face as Callie glares solemnly at the table, eyes shooting daggers as a scuff in the finish. Maybe it would have been better had you gone to your own house: you’re starting to think that even dinner with your extended family would be more peaceful than this.

You send Callie a pleading look as she finally lifts her head up, her expression softening when she sees the look of desperation on your face. Callie stands up abruptly, carrying your plate over to the sink and then walking off to her room. You watch hopelessly after her long after the doors closed, mourning your escape route as she leaves you to the wolves.

Shauna leans her head on her hand as she leans forward about to say something before Callie walks back out of her room, thankfully fully dressed. She waves her car keys at you with a grin, and you spare no time to make your exit. You hesitate as Shauna calls out a farewell, quietly returning the gesture. You sneak a look back at her to find her staring directly back at you, a smirk gracing her lips and her head tilted in a silent question. You scurry back out of the room after an impatient-sounding Callie as she calls your name in an irritated voice.

…

You scroll aimlessly through your phone as you lay back on the couch, noting absentmindedly that the waters stopped running. You weren’t quite sure why Shauna wouldn’t take a shower in the master bathroom instead, but at the end of the day, it was her house. Still, it left you awkwardly waiting around in your pajamas until she was done with the shower. You didn’t even bother to look up from your phone as the door opened, content to wait until she’d made her way back to her room.

As the sight of wet skin fills your peripheral vision you quickly realize that Shauna’s made that decision for you. You drop your phone on your face out of shock, wincing as you fumble to turn the screen off. There are so many places to look at, and so few of them are appropriate to stare at. She’s got a thin towel wrapped around her that did little to hide her body underneath it, a slip of a thing that barely reached her mid-thighs. Your eyes linger on her thigh, just a hint of skin peeking through where the towel doesn’t quite meet. You follow the seam up, lingering on her hips for a moment before reaching her eyes.

Your smile is strained as you look up at her, far too focused on resisting the urge to follow the path of the water droplets trickling down between her breasts and disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. Each droplet becomes a fleeting torture, almost begging to be followed by your mouth as it drips down glistening skin. There was a fragile tension between the two of you, but you weren’t sure how willing Shauna was to break it even as she continued to dance around the edge of propriety. It wouldn’t do to be accused of perving on your friend’s mother on your second day there, even if the idea was so damn tempting.

“Just wanted to let you know the shower was free,” She comments, the smug lift of her mouth the only clue that she knows what she’s doing. 

“Thanks,” You mutter, staring up at the ceiling as you recline back against the couch. 

Maybe if you just pretend she isn't there… 

“Are you feeling okay?” She asks softly, making you squirm with guilt until– “It's just, you look a little flushed, is all.”

“Fine,” You say stiffly, eyes shut tightly lest you sneak a glance at Shauna's legs now that she's stepped closer. 

She makes a muffled noise that borders on a laugh. It probably is a laugh, but it gives her just enough leeway to maintain her air of innocence. She presses the back of her hand against your forehead, humming in feigned concern. “You seem a little hot,” She comments amusedly.

You groan, rolling away to bury your face into the couch cushions as you hide from view. You ignore the sound of her snickering all the way back to her room, quickly darting towards the shower the second her door closes. 

What a mess.

…

“This is a mistake,” You murmur, panting as you rest your arms on her shoulders. Shauna's heavy breaths against your ear are more enticing than you'd feared they'd be. 

“Probably,” Shauna agrees, her voice low and breathless. She huffs a quiet laugh against your ear, wrapping her arms tighter around you as her lips brush your neck. “I want you so bad.”

You inhale shakily, peeling her away from you to get a good look at her. You need the distance just to think, not trusting yourself to make decisions while her lips are attached to your neck. She sighs 

“We could stop,” Shauna offers, a hint of a smirk on her face as she stares down at you. 

She knows damn well you're not going to stop. You say as much and she just grins, a light look in her eyes as she shakes her head.

“Is that supposed to be my fault?” She asks. You glance down knowingly, eyes lingering on the exposed skin where her flannel has been unbuttoned, before meeting her eyes again. Shauna huffs a quiet laugh, shrugging her flannel off with a pleased look on her face as your eyes unconsciously follow the motion. 

“She'd be so upset if she found out,” You protest, with no real conviction behind the words. You just figure someone should probably acknowledge it aloud. 

Her lips meet your face, tracing a trail on your jaw as she makes an understanding noise. “Mm. I know,” She breathes out between kisses, pulling away as warm breath meets your ear. “But you taste so good.”

Her eyes meet yours, challenging and intense. She leaves the decision up to you but makes sure you'll have to look at her as you make it. You glance down, uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment but that doesn't persuade her. All she does is lean forward, filling the entirety of your vision as she gently holds your chin. 

Even knowing it was wrong, knowing how much it would hurt Callie, you still pull her closer for another kiss. Unable to deprive yourself of her for too long at a time. How could you turn down what was oh so freely offered? 

You get lost in each other for a long while, only shooting apart when Callie's door suddenly sounds down the hall. You stand up quickly, glancing into her vanity as you quickly unruffle your hair to the best of your ability. 

You stand in the doorway as you debate the option of abandoning Callie altogether as Shauna looks up at you from the bed, lounging back and propped up on her elbows with a smirk firmly in place. You can tell how much she loves the attention, almost squirming as your attention lingers on her bare chest. She looks you directly in the eyes as her hand starts playing with the button on her jeans, finally motivating you to get back to Callie before you do something you regret. 

… 

“This is a mistake,” You protest, mumbling the words in between kisses. You chase her mouth every time she pulls away despite yourself.

Shauna moans, tilting her head back to give you better access to her neck. “You said that last time,” She comments lightly, her hips rocking slowly against you in an enticing motion. Not that she needs it. She's enticing enough by herself: you'd follow her to the ends of the Earth if it earned you an amused twitch of her lip. 

You'd certainly betray your friend's trust for her, fucking her mom just two doors down from her own bedroom. You table the thought, quietly reassuring yourself that your friendship probably would have ended when you graduated in a few weeks anyway. 

“It was a mistake last time too, ” You mutter. Shauna lets out a breathy chuckle, resembling more of an amused sigh than anything else. 

When Callie had asked you if you wanted to go hang out with her and her friends today you had just rolled your eyes and joked that you didn’t feel like babysitting, knowing full well what you were planning to do with the empty house. The guilt you’d felt only grew when Callie sheepishly apologized for abandoning you all week, citing the weird relationship she had with her mom as she idly scraped at the dirt with the toe of her shoe while refusing to make eye contact.

“Maybe you should stop talking,” Shauna whispers, fingers dancing along the hem of your shirt. 

“Make me?” Shauna’s grin in response is absolutely wicked, and you almost regret saying it.

Almost.

… 

The scent of her perfume surrounds you, face buried in her neck as she traces nonsensical shapes on your back. It’s so warm where you're pressed together that you consider moving away, but decide quickly you’d rather sweat than put any distance between you. As if she could sense the direction of your thoughts she pulls you flush against her, fingers carding gently through your hair as she presses a kiss against the top of your head.

The two of you lay in silence, but you can sense an air of unease on Shauna's end. You know she wants to speak by her nervous shifting next to you, but she seems to struggle over exactly what she wants to say. “So,” She starts, clearing her throat. “That thing you were talking to Callie about the other day?”

You glance up at her and she must see the confusion on your face as she clarifies, “Your roommate?” 

Ah. Okay. Your eyes narrowed in suspicion at the question: You hadn't remembered Shauna being in the room for that one. Whatever. You wouldn't put spying on you past her. It was strangely thrilling. 

You're happy to retell the story, listening to Shauna's soft laughter whenever you get particularly incensed. She continues to ask probing questions which remind you uncomfortably of speaking to your relatives at Thanksgiving, all “How's school?” and “What do you want to do after you graduate?”, but it was endearing that she'd at least try. 

She interjects a story every now and then whenever it relates to the topic at hand, but she seems more than content to let you lead the conversation. The only personal information she really offers up is about her relationship with Callie's father, and even that was surface level. You wonder idly why she'd marry such a loser, but you figure that you're evidence enough that Shauna doesn't tend to make good decisions. 

Still, it was nicer than you thought it would be. Admittedly the two of you hadn't done that much talking during the time you've spent together; Understandable given the nature of your relationship. You found yourself more smitten with her than you thought you'd be, silently mourning the end of your time together when you had to head back to school in a few days. 

…

You grin as your phone vibrates, letting your pencil fall to your desk as you lean over to check your messages. Glancing at your lock screen you eagerly fumble to get your fingerprint read as soon as you see that it’s from Shauna.

I heard you failed your exam. LOL ??? Lots of Love. Callie told me about it.

You sigh.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #shauna shipman x reader

[cosmal]

aerial. i need need NEED (only if u want) drunk Remus being taken care of by reader and he doesn't realize it's you and he's just rattling off everything he loves about you and maybe he says something like: "I hate guys who propose and say "would you do me the honour of making me the happiest man in the world" 'cos you should already be the happiest in the world with your partner. my parter makes me the happiest in the world" and it's just so much fluff

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

summary remus tells you that he's happiest because he's with you. he’s just drunk, obviously.

warnings/notes fem!reader, she/her pronouns, drunk!remus

word count 890

“You haven’t seen Y/N, have you?” 

Your hand stills where it’s tucking stray locks behind Remus’s ears, “What?” 

“My girlfriend,” he hiccups, wrinkling his face, “She’s here somewhere. You should probably stop touching my hair, she’d hate that.” 

You smile, fighting the strong urge to laugh, “Oh, yeah?”

He nods and the hair you’d done so well getting to stay back, falls right into his eyes again. “Yeah. You shouldn’t flirt with someone who has a girlfriend.” 

Your laughter now bubbles up your throat, “Well,” you snort, “You tell me what she looks like and maybe I can help you find her.” 

Remus sits up straight like he’s just been given the best opportunity in the world. In his mind, he has. You can tell he gets a little dizzy when he scrunches his eyes closed. 

“She’s really pretty,” he hiccups again, “And- and super gorgeous.” 

“Super gorgeous, huh?” you parrot, completely amused, “She could be anyone in this room.” 

“No, no,” He shakes his head, a little frowny, “No, she's the prettiest here. No one’s like her.” 

Now, your face is getting warm. Half of you wants him to stop, hating that you’re taking advantage of his drunken kindness. The other half wants to see how far you can get him to go. You could meet halfway. 

“Oh, okay. So I’m looking for the prettiest girl here?” 

He’s very noddy tonight. Sober him will regret this when his head hurts more than normal in the morning. “Yeah. She’s beautiful. And super funny. Funnier than my friends but don’t tell them that.” 

You giggle. You definitely will be telling them that. Especially Sirius. “Okay,” you nod along. 

Remus sighs, all lovesick and dazed, “And she’s like, the love of my life, y’know?” He throws his head back against the couch cushion with a deep and heavy sigh. Like he’s lost for words. 

Your heart ticks faster. Drunk Remus is double the amount of lovely he is when he’s sober. If that’s entirely possible, you think. 

If you were actually looking for someone, how would the love of my life help? You laugh at the thought. He’s useless. 

He’s hiccuping more now. Eyes fluttering closed like he might fall asleep. Then he’s sitting up again with more importance than a drunk person should have, “Actually- actually! She’s so amazing, I think- I think I’ll marry her one day!” 

Your face flushes, like every cell of blood in your body, has raised to your cheeks. You close your eyes. His earnest affection replays in your mind. It might all night. “All right, Remus, I think you’ve had enough.”

“No, I need to find her! I think I should tell her,” he admits. He seems suddenly very sober and very adamant about finding you now. You’d try to convince him you’re right here in front of him but your words might die on drunk ears. 

“Well, I’ll help you out to her car, yeah? And then I'll find her and she can drive you home,” you try to tell him, looking around to find James or Sirius or Frank for all that matter if it meant they could help you talk some sense into your boyfriend. Maybe help you get him to your car. You’re hopeful you can manage when you can’t find a single one of your friends. 

“Yeah,” he replies. Letting you, too willingly for a man that won’t let strangers touch his hair, needle your arms around his back and pull him to his feet. Remus is tall, it’s no easy feat. 

Once he’s letting you take him to your car, he’s babbling away again. “You know when a guy proposes, right?” 

“Yeah, Remus,” you giggle, guiding him towards the front door. You make a mental note to never leave him alone at a party when he’s this drunk. He’s very compliant. 

“They always say the same shit,” he mumbles, almost grumpily. Suddenly grouchy at the thought of a stereotypical proposal, “Like will you make me the happiest guy in the world? Like weren’t they already at their happiest? They’ve got the best partner they could ask for."

“Right,” you somewhat agree with his drunken rambling. “Uh-huh.” 

He stands for you so that you can open the door to your car and move to usher him inside, “Because- because, I have Y/N. I’m at my happiest because I have her.”

You fucking die on the inside. He’s amazing, truly. 

“Well, wouldn’t it make you happier to know you’d get to spend the rest of your life with her? Married.” You ask, more curious than anything. You’re sure it’s just rambling. 

Remus lets you click him in before he says, matter-of-factly, “Well, I already know I’m spending the rest of my life with her. I don’t need a ring on her finger to prove that.” 

You still with your hands across his middle, chancing a look back at his pretty face. He looks too serious like despite being drunk, he’s had these thoughts before. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is tiny, a little too shocked to speak any louder.

“Yeah,” he sighs, closing his eyes with a thump of his head on his seat. 

You peck his cheek, a quick, wet noise before pulling away. Beaming like a schoolgirl. 

You close his door before you hear him murmur, “Y/N? That you?” 

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x female reader #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #marauder #marauders #the marauders #marauder x reader #harry potter

[hacked-by-jake]

𝗗𝗪 𝗕𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 "𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗲"

Characters: Jake, Richy, Dan, Thomas, Phil, Alan

Warnings: None, I guess. Phil got slightly suggestive but it's Phil so. Oh, and no beta read.

A/n: Hey, look what this is. A little, silly, headcanon thingy. What can I say? No idea how I came up with it. But I was bored. Don't expect too much. It's small and it's silly, as I said. Hope you like it anyway. 💚

𝗝𝗔𝗞𝗘

Oh boy, he would freeze on the spot and be unable to move.

He would stare at the table as if he could set it on fire with his eyes. Although he has clearly heard the nickname, his mind needs a few more moments until it has seeped through every cell of his body and the real meaning breaks over him.

You could swear the man is starting to shake with tension.

He is completely shocked that you give someone like him a pet name and indirectly express your feelings for him.

On the inside he explodes with joy and in his imagination a tear rolls over his cheek which he holds back in reality with everything he has.

Either way, he would be absolutely powerless against the crooked grin which is slowly creeping over his lips, so he does nothing but let it happen.

He has clenched his hands into fists and his cheeks turn slightly red in embarrassment but he has to hear it again.

"Can you repeat it?" he would whisper with broken voice.

You would of course repeat it and it would burn into his memory and he is one hundred percent sure that this is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard.

If possible his love for you would increases even further and if you would ask him right now to commit a murder for you then he would only ask which weapon you want him to use.

If he were to stand, his knees would probably give in and he would collapse.

He’s completely at your mercy.

𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗬

Pah, the hyperactive rubber ball would lose all composure.

He would look at you with the widest grin and you would be worried that his cheeks would tear open as much as he smiles at you.

He would wrap his arms around you to pull you happily in for a hug. Probably the hug is a little too tight.

He would kiss your forehead and then rattle down all the pet names he can think of to test what would be the best name for you and how it feels to pronounce it.

He would continue without interruption throughout the entire day.

𝗗𝗔𝗡

Pff, Dan is a macho.

That man would immediately start grinning like the greatest charmer and would tease you with it.

"Well, see, see, babe it is now, huh? Took long enough. But I’ve known for a very long time that you call me that every night in your dreams, I mean, how could you not"

He would smirk sinfully before placing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to kiss you.

Then he would whisper "I love you too, babe" against your lips.

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗦

What should happen? The guy’s a puppy through and through.

He would look at you like he was your pet and you just showed him his favorite little toy and he would be waiting for you to finally throw it so he can bring it back to you happily.

You can swear that you see his eyes getting a little wetter but he would say "I have something in my eye" to distract but you know of course that it’s just an excuse and would have to grin about it.

He would kiss you gently and tell you how much he loves you, of course not without also using a pet name for you.

In his head, however, he already plans that you both move into an apartment together, how you get married and have children and lead the happiest life until the end of your life.

𝗔𝗟𝗔𝗡

First of all, he would warn you and ask you how many times he has told you not to use his police radio at home to "call" him. He has a private phone with which you can make calls very well.

But then he would have to concentrate completely on not grinning broadly and would tell you that in his lunch break would come home so that you can continue talking there.

The rest of the shift he’d be a little grinning idiot no matter what case he’s working on.

After he came home, he would wink at you and confess how much he enjoyed you calling him that and telling you to always call him that.

Of course, you will do it with utmost pleasure. Of course, you'll be using the police radio.

𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗟

He would smile cheekily and answer you. But of course not without using the same pet name at the end of his sentence and emphasizing it extra strongly.

He would stop cleaning the bar to come around the counter grab you by your hips.

Of course he would kiss you and then whisper in your ear.

"Babe? That’s fucking hot, I think I can go home earlier tonight, the others can do the rest on their own. We should go home urgently."

It's obvious that he would wink at you.

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood headcanon #duskwood x reader #duskwood x mc #duskwood jake x reader #{hbj(dw)/writes;fanfiction} #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood richy x mc #duskwood dan x mc #duskwood thomas x mc #duskwood alan x mc #duskwood phil x mc #duskwood jake #everbyte studio #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #everbyte duskwood #duskwood mc #everbyte game #duskwood dan #duskwood richy #duskwood phil #duskwood thomas #duskwood alan

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Innata Malevolentia - Part One

Summary: there is something unsettling about Ettore that she can't quite put her finger on, and perhaps something deeper and more sinister about her check-ups with Dibs | Word Count: 3.2k ~ | warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

warnings: mentions of past non-con crimes (but vague), masturbation (f), intimate examinations, Ettore being creepy

Why do they put windows in here?

That's the constant thought that rattles around her brain, demanding an answer, but unable to find one.

She stands, by herself, arms crossed and neck craned to look up at the skylight. A box of light and cosmic colour, carved into the pitch black darkness, bathing her face in a cool, extraterrestrial glow.

It doesn't feel warm, like the sun would.

In fact it's freezing, like being dunked under a cold shower. Like that feeling when you're just about to fall from an extreme height, but your feet stay planted, arms stretched out for balance, but your weight wants to pull you down without the real force to do it.

Heart going fast, breath burning in your lungs and blood pumping around your body at such speed, it makes you feel weightless.

That's how looking at the stars and the endless abyss of the universe makes her feel.

Uneasy.

Getting closer but also further away at the same time.

If she looks at it too long she feels a bit sick, like the loops on a rollercoaster, her stomach feeling airborne for a moment.

The air conditioning nips at her arms, every little hair standing right on end. They don't even have the decency in this hellish place to pretend it's a warm, safe place to be.

How safe is she, surrounded by the most dangerous criminals, all free to roam the ship at their leisure?

Criminals including her.

There are a few people she knows she should be afraid of, and a few who are largely harmless until pushed that little bit too far, but they all have their tells.

Only Dibs has access to their records.

Only she knows what they've all done to deserve being here.

That smug-faced, cocky witch, knows everything, and says nothing about it, but carries herself as if she is any better herself. Her chin tilted up, putting on her professional facade that everyone seems to have seen through already.

The look, as if she was judging them.

But she was sick of being judged. Many had already judged her before, and doomed her to a lifetime of imprisonment because of it.

They're all monsters here.

Convicted to die on this ship, years away from Earth, from all she knows.

Not like it assisted her in any way, being on Earth. Her life had been riddled with constant failures at different points in her life, some her fault, some not.

But that's life, she muses constantly, to try and apply some reason to her existence.

Here, there's a level of freedom. No chains or bars on her cells at least. No guards to shout in her face or threaten with batons.

And yet, that feeling of being confined to a room is eclipsed by the feeling of being confined by nothingness.

She often wondered, what were her family doing right now? The little family she had left.

What was anyone back on Earth doing right now?

Had much changed?

She knew she only thought of these things because of how uneventful the ship always was. A routine set in stone, like commandments.

Wake up. Eat. Exercise. Eat. Whatever duty they were assigned. Eat. Shower. Sleep.

A monotonous, tiresome regime.

Designed to make life here as dull and boring as possible.

She's not stupid. She knows some of the crimes worthy of a death sentence.

Murder. Rape. In some cases, fraud. Which, in the same breath, seemed so tame, it could hardly be compared.

But she guessed most of them were here for murder.

It was too dangerous to think they were here for anything else. She didn't want the idea anywhere near her.

People like Monte, Tchemy, Mink. She could see those kind of people just snapping. Doing something they would later regret for the rest of their lives, and are currently paying the punishment for.

Boyse, Dibs and Nansen seemed different.

If they did murder, it would have been planned in a moment of madness.

But these were all just guesses.

One she couldn't guess for the life of her, was him.

Ettore.

An all-round weird guy. There was no other word she could think of to describe him.

Perhaps, unsettling?

In such small proximity, she sees him mostly everyday. And everytime she does, a chill prickles at her skin as she feels his eyes on her.. When she dares to look back at him, to see if he will look away, embarrassed at being caught, the pit in her stomach gets heavier when she sees he doesn't.

His blue eyes unapologetically stuck on hers, before wanding in a waving pattern all over her body, pausing at the places she might expect a man to.

His gaze would linger, but he never would.

He was like a whisper. Gone before you could even hear him approach.

In a way, that's what scared her the most. That she might be walking anywhere, in the supposed 'safety' of the artificial day or the darkness of the evening, and he might be following.

Silently.

And watching alongside it.

For what? She wasn't sure.

Was he trying to map out her movements, trying to find a set routine in her everyday life? To find ways of getting her alone to do god knows what?

Based on what she assumed about him, she made sure she was never truly by herself. Never vulnerable.

He looked like the kind to prey on vulnerability.

And therefore, women.

As he perceived them weaker, smaller, less able than him.

Not able to fight him off. Even if they tried.

Out of all the women, Mink was the easiest to talk to. To cling to.

She wasn’t even really sure how they filled their time. For what could they even talk about? Nobody wanted to talk about their crimes, or their life back on Earth. A life where everything seemed easier. Where one day they’d be told that today was their last day, and justice would be coming for them the next.

Death seemed a mercy compared to this.

Mid-spoonful of an undoubtedly terrible meal in the mess hall, Mink winces, one hand at her lower stomach.

“Period?” she asks.

Mink scoffs, shoving whatever beige looking meaty substance into her mouth, trying to act as if the pain didn’t bother her. But she just shakes her head, “I wish. Dibs’ latest checkup wasn’t the nicest”

Everything seemed to circle back to that old hag, who had shouldered control over the ship like some kind of cosmic dictator after the official captain, Chandra, died. Though she is no better than any of them, she certainly pretends to be, assuming herself to be the next kind of authority, when really, if everyone was smart enough to band together, each of them could easily do away with her.

But she was the only doctor.

And that was precious.

But why Dibs feels the need to inspect each of the women so intimately, on such a regular basis, makes a chill rattle through her body. The idea that Dibs has some kind of idea, some agenda, but isn’t telling them, is as terrifying as the endless darkness to some degree.

“What did she want this time?” she asks, pushing the inedible sludge around her plate. Though hungry, she feels little desire to actually eat anything.

Mink shrugs, “The usual I suspect. Just ‘checking on our normal bodily functions’” she replies as if quoting from the woman herself, scoffing like she doesn’t believe a word of that nonsense.

“I think she’s doing something fucking weird to us” Mink muses.

Curiosity nips at her ears as she raises her head to her fellow inmate, “Like what?”

Mink scans her periphery, checking if any of the other inmates are listening, too preoccupied with their own meals to care.

“I felt her put something inside me”

A chill settles at the back of her neck, where all her baby hairs stand on end.

Mink continues, “Boyse got a good look at what was going on. Says she thinks Dibs is trying to get us pregnant, for her psycho experiments”

Her eyes scan the table, as if trying to find answers where there are none, “She can’t do that, surely-”

“Oh yeah and who’s gonna stick up for us?” Mink interrupts, her face flat, expression cold. What she says is so unapologetically laced with the truth, but does little to take the prodding sting of panic from her.

“The people on Earth?” Mink scoffs, shoving yet another mouthful of food past her lips, “we are literally the worst of the worst. We waived the right to defense a long time ago”

Again. It’s true.

But it still does nothing to quell her nerves.

“All we have is ourselves” she adds, “and sometimes I don’t know if we can even trust that”

Having had enough, Mink leaves, carrying her tray back.

A kind of aching dread settles in the back of her mind.

For what reason would Dibs want any of them to get pregnant?

This was no place for a child, and certainly not equipped to deal with childbirth. And on top of that, who the fuck does Dibs think she is?

If she’s trying to get the women pregnant, surely, she must be getting the sperm from somewhere.

Monte was very vocal and proud of the fact he would never even touch another woman. For some inexplicable reason.

Maybe Dibs was forcing the men to do it. As she was the women and the examinations.

When her eyes scan the room, she sees him in her periphery first, his eyes like when you shine a torch in the darkness and see those two blinking amber orbs, staring right back at you. Unmoving. Like they are watching you in still and silence, as you are doing the same to them.

Even though she looks away as soon as they lock eyes, taken completely off guard that he had been staring in her direction to begin with, she still feels the way her skin prickles, feeling as if lots of gentle needles are prodding at the surface of her flesh, but not pressing hard enough to puncture.

It is like trying to hide, knowing there is nowhere to hide. Like wanting to disappear, in a place where there is only this harsh, blue light.

As she stares at her plate, the handle of her fork slovenly sliding into the beige mush, making her want to gag, she still feels it. The intensity of his gaze.

Nothing about it is warm.

He doesn’t even break as he spoons more food into his mouth, as if on auto-pilot, and completely infatuated. Like when you watch a movie and feel like you can’t blink, otherwise you’ll miss something.

It’s as if darkness seeps out of him, like a disease or a virus, flooding every inch of clear air he invades, swallowing the oxygen in the room. She often wonders about him, curiously.

How such a person, a mere man, can have that kind of effect.

Her watch beeps. Dibs wants her again.

But at least it's an excuse to leave.

And yet, she feels the intensity of his stare burning the back of her head as she does.

"Deep breath for me"

As if taking a deep breath will take away the sting of shoving that metal speculum inside her, lube or not.

She winces slightly at the discomfort, her hands forming fists where they're laying on her stomach. Staring up at the ceiling, she tries to loosen the muscles that are so tense and tight, she imagines it's not doing her any favours.

"Oh stop. It isn't that bad" Dibs says. She talks to her as if she's speaking to a child, presenting with a scraped knee, complaining that they're afraid the leg might fall off.

It only makes her want to punch her square in the face.

"What's the point of this again?" She asks, annoyance colouring her tone.

Dibs sighs, clamping the instrument open inside her, stretching her in a new place that feels like a dull ache.

"I am checking your reproductive health"

She could almost laugh at the vague response.

"So what? We can be your guinea pigs for your fertility experiments?" She adds, scoffing as she feels a swab poke at her cervix.

Dibs doesn't even have the decency to really deny it.

"I am devoted to reproduction" she explains, "the human body is an extraordinary thing. It can withstand an incredible amount of stress"

Ah, so that's why.

She wants to see if a baby can survive in these conditions.

She can't help but think that's just a bit sick.

"You are scum. All of you. This may give you some purpose in life, if you let it"

She laughs through her nose at that.

"And what does that make you?" She says, "playing god with dangerous criminals, being no better yourself"

"I did not say I was better" Dibs argues, still between her legs, with a light illuminating her work.

"And yet you feel like it's completely justified to try and get us pregnant against our will" she replies, shaking her head slightly, "you're no better than us. You're worse"

"Keep saying it and it does not change anything" Dibs sits up, reaching over to grab a clear tub. She doesn't see exactly what it is, but has an idea when she feels another instrument at her most intimate areas, pushing something inside.

Mink wasn't lying.

She was trying to artificially inseminate them. With the other prisoner's sperm.

It almost made her gag a little.

"You are a fine specimen" Dibs says, pulling the instruments she'd used out to sterilise later, "there is no reason why you cannot become pregnant in my view"

She can't help but laugh, "my body obeys me. Won't happen"

But Dibs just laughs back.

"We will see about that" she muses, "get dressed"

There's only one saving grace from being here. Away from him.

The Box.

As terrible as it sounded, it was her haven in this horrendous place.

Nobody was more shocked when Dibs announced it.

"You are not permitted to fraternise with the other prisoners. You may use the on-site masturbatory aid, The Box, should you feel the desire"

It seemed a strange thing to her, to include such a thing on a ship. For people who barely deserved to live, they deserved to at least have the privacy to get themselves off?

It was very weird.

But she didn't complain. Beats touching yourself in a cell you share with two other people.

She was only grateful she didn't have the bunk bed.

The Box could generally have a few people waiting to use it. And whenever she saw a queue for it, she grimaced and turned away, like she never intended to use it in the first place.

She knew other people had their way in it, but for some reason seeing them lined up outside waiting to have a fiddle, made her recoil back into herself.

It was almost sad that people had to wait for the supposed enjoyable experience. And having to watch them wait their turn.

Tonight though, she simply entered The Box as Boyse came out, not sparing a glance at each other when they crossed.

Not because they didn't get on. But because it offered some sense of privacy, to not acknowledge what they were here for.

Without embarrassment.

Everyone had urges after all.

It had been so long since she'd been with anyone. A long time before they even left Earth, as they certainly didn't let them fraternise with anyone within their earthly prison. Male or female alike.

At the beginning, it took her a while to get into the groove of using the Box. But now it had become second nature.

Once the door was shut, she did her business, bringing herself to peak on her fingers. Not being able to find it within herself to use the phallus on the table. It was just too weird.

Luckily for her, time passed slowly at least when she pleasured herself. Pressing her lips together to prevent any sounds from coming out. Apart from the whiny, hurried breaths that spilled from her with her orgasm, rolling in waves numbly through her limbs.

Feeling her heartbeat through her bud and a pulsing in her blood, she pulls her sweatpants back over her hips, sighing and smoothing her hair down. Pressing the button to exit, there's a lull in her horrendous situation. A brief, fleeting moment where it's just her, her feet shuffling in front of one another, her body heavy with pleasure, but light at the same time.

That is until the creaking of metal, of footsteps making their way down the ladder, bounces off the walls.

The hallway suddenly seems so much narrower, darker, with his presence.

She doesn't quite realise when he's sat down or stood far away, but now, almost right before her, she's struck by his sheer size. How tall and broad he seems in comparison. It sends a nervous chill over her bare arms, the skin beneath the short sleeves rippling up with goosebumps.

She swallows as they briefly make eye contact.

In the time she's known of him, he emotes very little. But here, seeing the faint flush on her face from the efforts of her time in the Box, one side of his lips curl up almost unnoticeably. His arms swing barely as he walks past her, his arm brushing against her shoulder, like he intended to do it.

Just the faintest touch, seems to give him something.

But it only makes her feel ill.

She dare not imagine what he could be thinking. Plotting.

She hears him murmur something deeply, a breathy laugh accompanying it.

Pivoting on her foot, her eyes find him down the hallway, where she just was, at the entrance to the Box.

"What?"

Half in, half out, his face turns over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his features as he steps backwards into the chamber.

With his messy blonde hair, once overgrown and cut himself, striking blue eyes, he would be attractive. If she didn't know him.

"Fucking cocktease" he muses, "playing hard to get, are we?"

The blood that rushed to her face before, suddenly drains.

His voice is like the purr of a cat. Calculated. A whisper, but not at the same time.

It frightens her. In a way only a man can frighten a woman with his words.

She's about to open her mouth to retort when he says.

"It's alright, I like a little struggle"

When he disappears behind the door, her blood has a chill to it.

She thinks of returning to her cell. Thinks about the fact that, since Boyse lashed out on Dibs and tried to conjure up a makeshift douche one evening, the women had been reduced to being tied down by their wrists as they slept.

The men don't.

She knows sleep won't come to her that night.

That she'll be sat awake, her wrists tied at her sides, hoping and praying that Ettore isn't fucked up enough to pay her a visit in this vulnerable state.

Perhaps, by staying awake, he won't.

She watches the doorway, hearing the faint click of skin walking on the linoleum floor in slow, careful movements. Her heart goes fast, blood pumped with pure adrenaline.

She sees his form, lit by blue, lithe, broad and littered with wiry muscle. His eyes, glimmering at her, seeing she's awake. His lips as they quirk up at the sides, like he's amused by what he sees.

Even as he carries on, walking out of view, she knows…

…that it's only a matter of time, until he has the courage to not just watch her.

And that here, she cannot escape him.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301  | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires  | @risefallrise  | @theoneeyedprince  | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya  | @urmomsgirlfriend1  | @valeskafics  | @watercolorskyy

Ettore Taglist: @bellaisasleep | @iamavailablesstuff | @the-common-cowgirl  | @theroyaldixon | @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

#ettore high life #ettore imagine #ettore smut #ettore x reader #ettore #ettore x oc #ettore x y/n #ettore x you #high life fanfiction #ettore fan fic #ettore fanfic #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfiction #ettore fic #ewan mitchell characters #ewan mitchell #high life 2018 #high life movie

[katnissmellarkkk]

as per @rosegardeninwinter’s request that “someone (@katnissmellarkkk) needs to make a bookcomb of all the times Peeta feeds Katniss or orchestrates food being given to her or gives her direction on when to eat because reasons” 🤗

-

The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn’t even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him.

-

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

-

“No, it’s good. You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

I don’t really seem to have much choice. Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

-

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta’s voice stops me. “We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn’t even starving then.”

“You’re right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!” I say regretfully. But I don’t. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls — they even sent us silverware and plates — savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. “I want more.”

“Me too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving,” Peeta says.

-

“It’s just . . . if we didn’t win . . . I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Peeta. “But this means we’re one step closer to District Twelve.” He nudges a plate of food into my hands. “Eat. It’s still warm.”

I take a bite of the stew to show I don’t really care, but it’s like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow.

-

When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He’s holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. “Don’t be mad,” he says. “I had to eat again. Here’s your half.”

-

Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch’s knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It’s not until he’s handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. “Would you like a piece?”

-

He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. “Lovely. Your mother made these?”

“Peeta.” And for the first time, I find I can’t hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie.

“Peeta. How is the love of your life?” he asks.

“Good,” I say.

-

“I want to taste everything in the room,” I tell Peeta.

I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation. Since he doesn’t know that President Snow thinks I have failed, he can only assume that I think we have succeeded. Perhaps even that I have some genuine happiness at our engagement. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we’re on camera. “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says.

“Okay, no more than one bite of each dish,” I say.

-

Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from the nuts, Peeta collects bunches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field. He methodically peels off the shells, piling the meats on a leaf. I stand guard, fidgety and hot and raw with the emotions of the day.

[…]

Mags has also plaited several bowls that Peeta has filled with roasted nuts.

-

“Can we eat [the 🐀]?” Peeta asks.

“I don’t know for sure. But his meat doesn’t look that different from a squirrel’s. He ought to be cooked. . . .” […]

Peeta has another idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat, skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There’s a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause, then quickly stop, remembering where we are.

-

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.”

I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. “Thanks.” I pop open the top. “It even has dried plums.” I bend the lid and use it as a makeshift spoon, scooping a bit into my mouth. Now this place tastes like the arena, too.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

#everlark #thg #hunger games #peeta mellark #Katniss everdeen #bookcomb ♥️🔎 #I’ll do the reverse soon 🔜

[badkitty3000]

Physical Fitness

Five has been distant lately, but you discover all he needs is a good workout to get his mind back on you again

Words: 2800

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, masturbation

☂️Requests open!☂️

Link to my Number Five Fanfiction Master List

Five doesn’t always give you his utmost attention when he gets home. Some days he’s bursting through the door, pissed off about one thing or another, already in mid-sentence while he rants about the lack of brain cells in whoever was annoying him that day. So, you listen quietly, with an amused expression that you try and hide from him until he calms down enough for you to speak. Usually, all it takes is a soft kiss, a scratch down his back with your nails, and maybe even a stiff drink and he’s back to being putty in your hands.

You don’t care if he stomps around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and rattling the glasses inside. Or if he’s so worked up, he can’t sit still and he paces back and forth in the living room while muttering various curse words under his breath. You don’t mind because his anger is never aimed at you, and you are also the only one who can dare to try and calm him down without fear of bodily harm.

No, those things don’t bother you. What does bother you is when he outright ignores you. Those times when he hurries through the door, waves a hasty hello without even glancing up, and shuts himself away in his office. When you try and go to him, knocking hesitantly on the door and cracking it open, he’ll look up momentarily from whatever he’s doing, give you a brief smile, and he’s back at it again. On those days, you’ve learned to just let him be. But it still doesn’t make you any less irritated.

He knows it pisses you off. So, later, when you’ve gone to bed before him and you’re feigning sleep, he’ll slip in behind you and pull you close. He’ll whisper how much he loves you and place kisses along your shoulder and neck until you can’t take it anymore and you’re pushing back against him, having forgotten what you were mad about in the first place.

Those days used to be few and far between, but lately, it’s become a habit. Every day these past two weeks, it’s been one quick peck on the cheek or brief hug, before he’s back at his “research” and ignoring you behind closed doors. You’ve tried talking to him, and he says he’ll make an effort but so far you haven’t seen anything change. You know you have a solid relationship and he would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, but you’re not sure why he’s acting like this. Probably just because he’s an oblivious man wrapped up in his own world, but still, it’s making you worry.

When you are stressed, you usually throw yourself into some kind of physical activity. For a while it was kickboxing, and then it was tennis. Lately, it’s been yoga. It seems to work well for relaxing your mind while also getting a bit of a workout. Tonight you think about going to the studio that you usually frequent, but decide you’re too lazy and you’ll just do your own routine at home.

Five is still not home, but you aren’t going to wait for him. Not like it would matter anyway. You change into your sports bra and black leggings, pull your hair back in a ponytail, and fill up your water bottle. Once you are set up in the living room, with the lights dimmed and relaxing music playing, you begin with a few stretches and then move into some more advanced poses.

Your workout is an hour long and about 30 minutes in you have a nice sheen of sweat covering your body and you’re feeling good. The next half is more about cooling down and resetting your mind. As you are getting into position for the next pose, you hear Five open and close the door to the house, and his footsteps walking towards the room you’re in. You don’t stop what you’re doing. Your time is valuable too, and if he can’t be bothered to stop what he’s doing lately, then why should you?

You sense Five walk into the room just as you are bending over in downward facing dog, your hands on the floor in front of you and your ass in the air. You can’t see his face, but when you look through your legs, you can see that he has stopped in the doorway. Then you watch as his polished black dress shoes cross over one another and he leans into the door frame. When you stand up and look over your shoulder you see him casually watching you with a wolfish grin.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” he says, gesturing with his hand for you to continue. His shirt sleeves are uncuffed and rolled up his forearms as he crosses his arms over his chest in an air of superiority.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Is this what I have to do to get your attention these days? Bend over in tight pants?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

You huff, turning away from him. “Well, I’m going to finish my workout, so either sit there quietly or go back to your office.”

“Alright, I will,” you hear him say as you get back to your routine.

Assuming he was talking about the latter of your two suggestions, you’re caught off guard when you see him cross over and sit down in one of the armchairs facing you.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs with a smirk. “Sitting here quietly.”

Not really wanting to indulge him in whatever he’s up to, you turn away again with a loud sigh and move into another pose. There’s a few more minutes of balancing with your butt on display in Five’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything. Then you move onto the ground on your stomach, pushing the top half of your body up with your arms and looking towards the ceiling.

“So, what’s that one called?”

You sigh again. “Cobra. I thought you were supposed to be quiet.”

When you turn around again, your mouth opens in a partial gape as you watch Five in his chair. He is sitting with his legs splayed and his hand on the very prominent bulge in his crotch, eyeing you up like a hungry predator.

“I got your cobra right here, honey,” he says with a smile, and you can see he’s trying not to laugh at his stupid innuendo.

You try to hold in your own giggle but you can’t and you shake your head. “You’re disgusting.”

With another smart-ass grin, he pulls his tie off, discarding it on the floor. “No. Whipping out my dick and jerking off while watching you would be disgusting.”

Before you can make a comment, he starts doing exactly that; unbuckling his belt and unzipping the fly to his pants. He pushes them down far enough to expose his fully hard cock and he gives it a long stroke with his hand, all while keeping his eyes on you.

You should be disgusted. Or annoyed, at the very least. But, fuck, he looks hot sitting there with his sleeves rolled up and his hair flopping onto his forehead; thick cock in his hand. Your breath speeds up just a little and you swallow the pool of saliva that has collected in your mouth.

You clear your throat and flip your ponytail over your shoulder with a sly grin. “Well…you do what you want, I guess. I’m going to finish this workout.”

As you turn away, you decide you’re going to give him as good of a show as you can come up with. You get down on the ground in child’s pose, making sure to spread your knees out wide and push your ass back towards your heels while you splay your arms out in front of you in supplication. You can’t see him, but the thought of what he is doing while watching you is getting you wet and creating a damp spot in the crotch of your pants.

You are slow and deliberate with your movements, and you are back on your hands and knees, only this time you turn to face him. His breathing is louder as he shamelessly works his fist over his cock, running his thumb over the head and jerking his hips up. You can hear the wet slapping noises as his fingers spread the continuous flow of pre-cum over his shaft and he picks up the pace. One side of his mouth turns up as you look at him but he doesn’t slow his movements.

“Fuck, baby, keep going,” he breathes out.

With a breathy laugh you get back to it, pushing your ass up and arching your neck back in a cow pose. It gives him a nice view of your tits in your skimpy sports bra and you hear him let out a quiet grunt while he vigorously pleasures himself. When you flip around and push your hips towards the sky, legs spread wide in a bridge pose, you hear him moan softly.

Turning back over and staying on your hands and knees, you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes and start to crawl slowly towards him. His breath hitches in his throat when you stop between his legs, wetting your plump pink lips with your tongue and gazing up through a fan of dark lashes. Five lets out a long groan when you reach up and place your hand around his, guiding him as he slowly pumps his cock up and down.

“Do you want to fuck me, Daddy?” you ask as sweetly and innocently as possible.

Five lets out a growl through gritted teeth as he thrusts his hips up into the tight fist around his dick.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, I want to fuck you.”

You lean forward and run the flat of your tongue up the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, keeping your eyes on him until he closes his and leans his head back with a whine.

When you pull back, taking your hand with you, he looks back down at you with a deep crease between his dark brows as you start tracing one finger over the top of his thigh and sticking out your bottom lip.

“Five, I want nothing more than to feel your big, thick cock inside of me right now, but here’s the thing. Unless you get that gorgeous, brilliant head out of your ass and start making an effort to acknowledge me around here, I’m afraid that cobra of yours is going to get mighty lonely. Understand?”

Five lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

You pout some more and then back away, shaking your head. “Sorry, baby. I’m very serious.”

Before you let him respond, your back is turned to him again and you’re bending over in an upside-down V shape while running a hand slowly over one ass cheek and down the back of your thigh.

“Fuck…” you hear him moan under his breath and you know you’ve got him. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sounding just a tad on the pitiful side. “I will make an effort to pay attention to you more.”

You look at him through your legs again, watching him pout with his dick in his hand, and you smile. “No more slinking into your office the minute you get home and ignoring me?”

“No, I promise. No more.”

You love that he’s practically begging you now, desperate and panting as you tease him with your tight, round ass in front of his face. You press back a little more to accentuate it.

“Alright then, as long as you promise. Now, what was it that you wanted to do to me?”

In a literal flash, Five is behind you, pants falling to the ground and his hands on your hips, tugging you backward. You shriek as he slams his pelvis into your backside, his solid cock pushing between your clothed legs. He yanks you back up to standing with a hand wrapped around your ponytail, his breath hot on your neck as his low and deadly voice buzzes over your skin.

“On your hands and knees. Daddy’s going to fuck you now.”

With a pathetic moan that is partly due to the fact that you can’t help yourself when it comes to his demands, you drop to the floor on your hands and knees. He’s behind you again, tugging at the waistband of your pants and pulling them down your thighs. When you feel his fingers slip in between your legs, your body instinctively reacts by pressing backward onto his hand.

“Five…” you whine, your head hanging down as he pushes his fingers inside you. “Please…”

“What’s wrong sweetheart? I thought you wanted more attention from me.”

You thrust your hips back and forth, fucking his fingers while you moan and gasp like some kind of feral creature. When he pulls his hand away, you feel his wet fingers on your back as he pushes your torso towards the ground. He’s teasing you with his cock, rubbing his leaking head against your clit and through your folds until you can’t stand it anymore.

“Five!” you cry, your face pushed against the floor.

“Let me hear you, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me! Please!”

Five doesn’t hesitate for a second, slipping inside of you, pushing all of the way in until his hips are flush with your ass. He grips your waist tightly, holding you there while you squirm against him.

“Fuuuck…” he groans. “You know exactly how Daddy likes it.”

After a strong slap to your ass, Five starts fucking you hard and deep, driving into you with enough force that your body is propelled forward and you know you’re going to have rug burn on your arms and knees. But it doesn’t matter, because everything he is doing is exactly right. Each time he pounds into you, and you feel his thick cock filling you up, you cry out from how good it feels. Your pussy is soaking wet and throbbing with each thrust and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

He's breathing loud and hard behind you, a loud grunt accompanying each snap of his hips, hands firmly clutching your body; holding you steady while he pumps inside of you.

“Oh shit, you’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he rasps.

With one expert move of his hand around the front of you, his fingers finding your clit and pressing into it hard, you yell out.

“Oh, god, Five! Yesss….oh fffuckk…I…I…oh shh…”

Your orgasm hits you hard and your fingers claw into the carpet beneath you, your knuckles white, and your body spasming uncontrollably against his. You continue moaning his name while he pounds into you a few more times before swearing loudly and exploding inside of you. You both stay like that, the muscles in your bodies tight and locked into position as your cries and whines soften and then subside. Soon, there is nothing but the ragged sound of your heavy breathing, and you feel him start to soften and pull out.

You both collapse onto the floor on your backs, chests heaving and shiny with sweat. When you look over at Five, you smile and then start laughing breathily.

“What’s so funny?” he smirks, turning his head to the side to look at you while he reaches down to pull up his pants.

You begin to pull up your own as you grin back at him. “You. If I had known all I needed to do to get your attention was stick my ass in your face, I would have done that weeks ago.”

Five chuckles and moves over next to you, propping his head up with one hand. He pushes a damp piece of hair off your face. “It definitely doesn’t hurt for you to do that, and I will always pay attention when that luscious ass is in my face. But I should have listened to you before. I’m sorry if you’ve felt ignored.”

“I just like spending time with you. I don’t mind you going off and doing whatever it is you do in there, but maybe sometimes include me too? You don’t have to shut me out of everything.”

He nods. “You’re right. And like I said, I promise I will stop from here on out.”

He leans down and kisses you while you run a hand through his soft hair. “I’m not sure why or how I love you as much as I do,” you sigh.

“Me either. But, god, am I glad you do.”

#number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five smut #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x you #number five x you #five x reader #reader insert #five hargreeves smut #smut #fanfiction #the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #number five #number five fanfic #tua fanfic #umbrella academy #requests open #one shot

[danielcain]

Ripe

In retrospect, I should have gotten fitted in-person for a pair of rubber boots. Ordering shoes online is always a crapshoot. The ones I had on were too big, they just collected water like a rain barrel and waterlogged my socks.

The texture was horrible. A disgusting sensation.

The foyer’s carpet squelched with every step I took. It didn’t help that I was carrying 120 pounds of dead woman.

“This always happens during the honeymoon phase,” said my friend Dan.

“You won’t want to leave the house. You’ll want to be with her all the time. The modern age enables this. Work from home, order from home, live from home, die from home…” He began to rant about how modernity. He always goes there, and I always tune him out. He married a female cop from the sheriff’s department. She came off gay when I met her. Funny.

I‘ve tried to explain my marital problems to Dan before. I had to leave out a few key details. I told him my wife was depressed, in bed all day, not contributing financially. He said wives “tend to do that” and that I make enough money, anyway. Not quite the issue.

The trouble was harder to explain; I’ve only been married to Liana for six months, and she’s killed and replanted herself seven times.

I trudged up the staircase in the loose boots. The way I carried her, the soil from her body fell before us, laying a trail like rose petals.

Creaking wood drummed up anxiety in my chest. I am not a large man. I usually make but a negligible amount of noise when I move throughout the house. That’s something she commented on when we first moved in. The word she used was unobtrusive. She liked this about me. She said we had that in common. In a lot of ways, we really were alike.

Unlike me, her cells interlocked with tightly-woven cellulose walls. She had organelles not found in over 99% of human beings: chloroplasts. When I first met her, her skin had a milky green hue. The first time I touched her, I balked. She was not hot to the touch like others. Not cold, but not hot. Her breasts, thighs, cheeks… remarkably, they had the tautness of an unripe vegetable.

I laid her down in the bathtub. The plumbing was sensitive, not terrible, but sensitive. An old house. Wood and cobblestone on the outside. Folksy, I’m told through clenched smiles of guests trying to be complimentary. Yeah, right. It looks better suited to house a coven of child-stealing hags. I tried to fix it up, stay on trend. Liana convinced me not to hire contractors. She convinced me to buy, too. “I’ve always wanted a house in the woods…”

Now I know why.

The replanting process is nothing short of a natural miracle. I will be the first to admit, it attracted me to her further. Liana could change herself at will. All it took was a little patience, two days of waiting, a 6 foot deep ditch in the backyard, some sleeping pills and vodka. I didn’t understand the science of it at first. What exactly she needed to do to push out the roots and reform her mass. When I finally found out, I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know she had to physically die each time.

She was always shy about the details, embarrassed, like it was some sort of bowel syndrome. I did not press her for details, but as her husband, I should’ve researched the condition. I did eventually. But not before telling her she would look good blonde. Telling her she would look even hotter upping her bra size by a letter or two…

She started to wake up.

First, the rattle. A great exhalation and inhalation. It always took me by surprise. Her facial muscles were always the second thing reanimate. Her nose twitched. Her eyes opened. They looked so dry. Matte. “Liana. This is getting dangerous.”

A couple seconds’ delay. Then, she smiled mawkishly. During this stage of regrowth, her skin is taut and verdant like the day I met her. (I once called her belle pepper as a pet name. She either didn’t get the pun, maybe.) With every hour, she begins to flush to her desired shade. She switches it up from time to time, never too dark or too white for most to notice, but I do. She carries Pantone swatches in her wallet.

She moved her lips, but couldn’t speak yet. I said nothing further. I picked up the detachable showerhead. The gentlest setting. I rinsed her body, avoiding the tender roots that twitched and protruded from the tips of her fingers and toes. I read somewhere that touching them at this stage feels like a pressing on a pinched nerve.

“I know why thish bophers you shoo much,” she gurgled, throat half-asleep. Her mouth was filled with soil and rainwater. It seeped from her firm, bloated lips.

I turned away. Washing her feet. She continued, most of the earth and excess sap that gagged her having dribbled onto her nightie.

“You like me like thish.”

I averted my eyes. I continued to bathe her, and stared at the peel-and-stick mauve tile accent above the tub. I had put it there the previous month to cover a stubborn decomposition stain.

“I like you all the time, Liana.” It felt like someone was slowly lacing my throat shut from the inside.

I didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling.

“Buh you like… thish.”

#necronomicon #part 2 cooking up

[dabislittlemouse]

First one of these I need triggers for so! CONGRATS B TW: Unhealthy/Co-dependent Relationship Dynamics, Stockholm Syndrome, Dub/Noncon, Branding, Self-Branding 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

The phrase echoed in your head as your eyes narrowed at the blue flames of the gas stove. It springs to life with the dull clicking of the ignition, the sound drumming in the back of your mind like a fucked up siren’s call. It looks just like Dabi’s fire. Flickering and dancing on the stovetop like it would on the palm of his hand. After everything he did to you, the very sight of it should make your stomach turn. But it doesn’t. Instead, you feel a sick sense of anticipation coursing through your veins. 

The man had ruined you. You were fucking broken and it was all Dabi’s fault. 

You pulled back the sleeve of your shirt and winced at the healed burn marks that polluted your otherwise smooth skin. He liked hurting you. Branding you. It was his way of making sure no other man would ever think you were attractive. Insurance — ‘in case you ever get the guts to run from me’ — he had said.

But you did run. And you did get away. 

It took months and months of planning and gathering the courage to do so. One night, you just bailed. Dabi didn’t even bother keeping the doors to your lovely cell locked — he was that confident you would never leave him. After all, he’d painstakingly broken you in. Turned you from a defiant, mouthy brat into his precious little slut. You worshipped the ground he walked on because that is what he demanded of you. His personal cumrag to use and abuse however he saw fit. Even if you wanted to escape, you didn’t have the balls to defy him. He hurt you too good — fucked you too good. The feel of his cock was permanently ingrained into your body, each and every one of your holes molded to his shape. It had taken a lot of fucking to get you so pliant and willing. But at the end of the day, you craved him like the desperate whore you were. Like the whore he made you to be. You couldn’t survive a day without getting stuffed full of his cum, begging Dabi to fill you up until you were bursting at the seams. 

At least, that’s what he believed. Until he found your room empty one morning. Part of him felt confident you would come crawling back, begging him on your knees to take you back but — you never did. 

As for you, you thought you were finally free, like a fucking idiot.

The kitchen drawer rattled as you yanked it open. Reliving the memories of being with Dabi was making your hands shake — blood pumping furiously through your veins with fear and arousal in equal measures. You rooted through your cutlery and grabbed a dull butter knife, hovering the blade over the gas-fueled flame.

The truth was, you had wanted to crawl back to Dabi. Fuck — you almost did. Several times. You couldn’t get off without pain anymore. It sucked. Every time you tried to move on and make something of yourself, those fucking azure eyes would pop into your head, Dabi’s voice echoing in your head…

“You’re mine, little mouse,” he cooed — every bit as arrogant and smug as you remembered him being. “You ran away from home but you’re still thinking about my juicy fucking cock splitting you right open, aren’t ya?” 

You snarled at the intrusion and focussed back on the butter knife in your hands. The blade was heating up nicely, a faint orange glow emerging on the dull tip. You planted a foot on the kitchen counter and ran a finger along your thigh. The touch reminded you of Dabi — on the rare occasion he would be gentle with you. 

“That’s a good girl, right there…you’ve been so good for me.” Those simple words could get your heart racing. Despite it all, you wanted Dabi so badly. It was pathetic. If he could see you now, he would be laughing his ass off at how needy you were being.

You weren’t free at all. 

“That’s right, I’m always gonna be with you, baby. Burned into your memory, your body…your heart…” 

You held your breath and pressed the white-hot blade into your inner thigh. A deep, desperate moan slipped from your lips and your eyes fluttered at the contact. It felt just like him. Your skin sizzled and burned as you held the glowing butterknife against it, pressing harder and deeper to make sure the mark would last. If this is what it took to get your fix and keep your dignity — you’d do it. 

Dabi could never know you craved him this much.

Holy fuck-

Everybody SHUT UP, SHADE HAS WRITTEN DARK CONTENT AND I HAVE THE HONOR TO BE THE FIRST ONE TO GET IT ‼️

I'm so weak for this omfg??? Dabi fucking his S/O up and breaking them to the point they start craving the pain and pleasure- I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

As fucked up and sick as it is, I love the thought of Dabi ruining me and making me his, to the point I hate him so much but at the same time I crave him, the emotional mess he'd turn me into, I just want it all, I want him to hurt me and break me and make me cry from the pain and pleasure mixed together, I want him to play with my heart and my mind and shatter everything in me, only for him to build me back and shape me however he wants

“That’s right, I’m always gonna be with you, baby. Burned into your memory, your body…your heart…” 

THIS LINE TOOK MY BREATH AND SANITY AWAY- Shade what have you done to me, I can't be normal after this oh no but when was I ever normal

#B's inbox🦋 #Shade 🌌 #i fucking loved this so much #thank you for the good food #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #dabi smut #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #dark fic #dark fanfiction #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #tw: noncon

[gracesmusings4adults]

I promise.

Xavier x Reader

Reader: Wednesday’s twin, the twins can share powers because they are connected, and Y/N can control electricity.

“I tried being your friend,” he scoffs. “Look where that got me.”

“This isn't about us, Xavier.”

He lunged forward, chains rattling, he points at me. “No, it’s about you!”

His eyes flicker over to Wednesday. “Every time you both get involved, people get hurt.” He makes eye contact with me. “You’re toxic. All you ever do is make things worse.”

Wednesday takes a step toward the cell, an effort to put some distance between us.

I put my head down and close my eyes. Wednesday watches as I wipe all of my emotions away. She steps away from the cage.

I open up the page revealing the picture of Wednesday and I on the battle field with the pilgrim.

“Tyler warned me that something bad was coming. And I think—“ “No!” Xavier raises his voice. “You’ve already shown me that. I don’t care.”

Y/N gulps. Wednesday feels a wave of grief wash over her. This is her fault. She was the one who pushed her sister to indulge in a friendship with Tyler. She is the one who tried to shove off her sisters need for love and affection onto someone else. She is the one who turned her against Xavier and sent her to the lions den.

“Do you want to stop this? Then leave. Both of you, go far away and never come back.” Wednesday can feel her sisters heart shattering. “Do you understand? That can’t happen if neither of you aren’t here. That’s how you save everyone, okay. So, go.”

“LEAVE!” His chains rattle and for the first time Wednesday sees her sister jump. Tears in her eyes, she closes the paper, and leaves.

Xavier watches her go and then turns to Wednesday. “You too, Add—“ Wednesday steps forward and grabs his shirt. “Never, talk to my sister like that again. You want someone to blame? Someone to hate? You hate me.” Wednesday shoved him back.

Xavier scoffs as she walks away. “She never doubted you. Even when she saw your paintings. She always believed that you weren’t the Hyde.” Wednesday doesn’t look back, but she waits a moment and when all she is met with is silence she leaves.

His body goes limp and he falls to his knees. “Up you go!” Galpin says, keys shaking in his hand. “Time for the transfer.”

Xavier’s eyes seek out any sign of the Addams but he is quickly shoved into the back of the sheriff's police car.

Closing his eyes he remembers all the times that Y/N had shown him kindness. She put on a hard exterior like her sister, but he knew better. He remembered their whispered stories from the first time they met. They were just kids, but even then Y/N knew that she was different, even from her own family of misfits. When they arrived at Nevermore, Xavier knew that she was just as in love with him as he is her. But the Addams twins had perfected their united front. In many ways, Y/N had trained herself to disappear. She now appeared to be a copy of Wednesday.

And she fooled him. She made him believe that she did not care for him. That he was simply a means to an end and then it turned out he was the end—for a while atleast.

“What are we doing?” Xavier asks when the car stops. Sheriff Galpin talks on the phone for a minute and then pulls out his personal phone and looks at his son’s location. “You tracking your little monster?” Xavier scoffs. Tyler was another mistake he made. Xavier should have seen him for what he truly was. He should have warned Y/N. Instead, he allowed her to push him away and befriend a monster.

“You shut it.” Galpin shuts off the car and gets out.

“Hey, wait. Wait! Hey! What about me? What…” Xavier slams his hands onto the wire mesh. “Oh, you asshole!” Xavier kicks the seat and screams in frustration. There is no way to get the chain off and even if he gets out of the car, he is at risk of tripping and hanging himself with the restraints that tie his hands and feet to his neck.

Closing his eyes, the scene from the jail cell play like a movie. He could see the hatred in her eyes that she thought she was hiding. At the time he was telling himself that it was directed at him. But he knew as soon as Wednesday stepped inbetween them that it was a self hatred that was clawing inside her.

Xavier screams once more.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Y/N whispers. She pushes up on her elbow, being careful not to disturb the corpse too much. Xavier nods, but then remembers that his new friend can not see him because they are in a closed casket. “I’m not like the rest of my family.” She sighs. “Sure I am weird and love dancing with seriel killers, but I am diffrent.” Xavier leans over the dead body.

“One summer my parents hired this man-killer nanny and she sent us away to summer camp so she could marry and kill my uncle…” Xavier hangs onto every word. “I have never told a soul, but I loved it. Sure the company was horrendous, but I loved camp. I also love the color pink.” Y/N laughs. She goes through a lists more things that she likes.

“Dont get me wrong, I love my sister. I have killed for my sister—and we have this weird twin thing where we can see the same vision or memories as each other, but I am diffrent.” Xavier stills as her breath washes over him. “I am me.” “I see you.” Xavier says. “You promise?” “I promise,” Xavier grasps her hand and sparks appear. “Hey, Xavier, what if no one finds us?”

Thump, thump. “Yes!” Xavier yells as Thing slides down the back window. “Yes! Yes! Yes, Thing!”

After Thing releases him, Xavier thanks him and takes off running to the school. No one tries to stop him as he grabs the bow and arrows from the archery range and rushes to the courtyard. “Stay away from her!” He shouts. Arrow aimed at the pilgrims heart. He takes in the sight. The courtyard is burning and in the middle stand the Addam’s twins and the pilgrim. “No!” Y/N shouts as he releases the arrow. Wednesday looks at her sister and then jumps infront of Xavier. Both twins fall to the ground.

“We’re fine!” Wednesday shouts, her hands reaching for Y/N. A large black and purple brusie forms on Y/N’s chest where the arrow is impaled in her sister. “Oh my—“ Xavier looks at them both with wide eyes. “Go!” Y/N shouts. “Get them out of here.”

Xavier hesitates and locks eyes with Y/N. “I see you.”

“You promise?” She looks at him with wide eyes. “Yes, I promise. That is the only reason I am going right now.” Xavier squeezes her hand a bolt of electricity shoots up his arm. “Now!” Wednesday shouts. Xavier runs towards the other students. He turns around and watches Y/N pull the arrow out of Wednesday. Both of them stand. Wednesday grabs the sword and Y/N’s hands spark with electricity.

At the gate, Xavier stands with the school as they wait. “Where’s Y/N and Wednesday?” Enid asks, her body shaking. Xavier looks around at his friends and then Enid is pushing through the crowd. Before his thoughts can catch up his feet are running towards Y/N.

Enid falls into their arms. Without thought, Wednesdays pulls away from Enid, her hand entwined with her sisters seperates them as well. Xavier’s eyes rake over Y/N. Her black school uniform is ripped and underneath it is a pink shirt. After a second, both of the twins throw their arms around Enid and bury their heads in her neck.

Looking up, Y/N’s eyes connect with Xavier’s. She pulls away from her sister and Enid. Wednesday hesitantly lets go of her hand. “Xavier—” Y/N goes to explain. Xavier steps forward. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes gloss over at his words. “I am sorry too. I should have told you that I see you too.”

She reaches out towards him. Her hands stop just before tey touch his face. He leans forward. The buzz of electricity dances along his skin. “I see you, Xavier Thorpe.”

Xavier pulls her into a hug.

Xavier leans on the railing and smiles at Y/N. His cheeks flush a pretty pink when she smiles back and tugs her sisters hand, leading them up the stairs.

“Addams,” Xavier shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Wednesday raises an eyebrow at him. “Hurt her and she will kill you herself.”

Xavier smirks. “Then I’ll raise you from the dead and kill you again,” Wednesday smiles. Xavier’s smirk wavers as he looks into her dead eyes. “Message recieved.”

Y/N steps toward Xavier and their hands intertwine. Wednesday mutters something about the car. “Hey, Wednesday.” Xavier turns his head to look at her. “Thank you.” “Now it’s your turn. But this time, don’t save me. Save my sister.” Wednesday disappears down the stairs.

“Come visit me?” Y/N whispers. Their noses touching. His hands grip her waist. Her new pink sweater a beautiful contrast to her black hair. Xavier tilts his head. There lips centimeters apart. “I promise.”

Y/n smiles and leans back. “Good, because i got something for you if you do…” She smiles and then twirls out of his arms. “Got to go.” “Me too,” He reaches for her one last time. Their hands meet and then she pulls away.

Thinking about doing a series of Oneshots. Y’all interested? Smut to come of course.

Requests are open

Phone calls with Xavier.

#xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader smut #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe #wednesday #wednesday!reader #the addams family #addams!reader #tyler galpin x reader #gracesmusings

[thornsnvultures]

Already There

Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x plus size!fem!reader

cw: slight angst, 950 words

a/n: a short follow up to my fic Ooey Gooey after Bucky leaves with Sam. I've had this 2/3rds written for like 5 or 6 months now 🙃 finished up the rest of it for @the-slumberparty 's week two prompt: Write a drabble/one shot as a continuation to one of your previous works. Based on the song "I'm Already There" by Lonestar. divider by @/firefly-graphics

Bucky can't sleep. Anxiety seeping through his bones. His body isn't used to being on the road for this long anymore.

Sitting at the edge of the too soft, too small bed in just his boxers. Even though the room is cool he's covered in sweat from a night of tossing and turning.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair and thinks of you. How your warm smile can wipe away all his worries. It's why he starts every day with you at the general store. And why he feels your absence so strongly now.

He wants to see you.

It's been days but it feels like years. His phone is a brick, built for making emergency calls out in the middle of nowhere, not video calls like Sam's fancy new iPhone. It still has an antenna for fuck's sake. Until you, Bucky didn't have a reason for a real cell phone. He knows Sam wouldn't mind Bucky using his but Bucky's not waking him up so he can tease him about giving his sort of girlfriend a call at one am.

So Bucky sits there, contemplating. He scratches his stubbled jaw, worrying at his lower lip. Would you even pick up this late at night? You said you'd answer no matter what, but this is different from his usual 9am calls when you're already up and most likely at work.

"Fuck."

Sam stirs behind him on the other bed but doesn't wake. Bucky throws on a pair of sweats and heads for the door to the balcony, grabbing the brick on his way out.

The cool night air wraps around Bucky his sweat slick skin feeling tight as he closes the sliding glass door. There's not much of a view, just the parking lot of this old motel and the fog dense trees beyond.

But the moon, she's nearly full and so, so bright.

Bucky takes a deep breath and dials your number, pushing away thoughts of whether or not he deserves to hear your voice right now. It doesn't matter, he can be selfish for a moment.

The phone rings twice and in those short seconds Bucky's heart rate skyrockets almost painfully until, finally, you answer.

"Bucky?"

The breathy way you whisper his name makes his stomach tighten. It's a moment too long before he responds.

"Hey."

"Everything okay?"

Bucky can hear your sheets rustling, the switch to your lamp clicking on as you presumably sit up in bed.

"Yeah...yeah I'm sorry for waking you. Just couldn't sleep."

He hesitates, the frayed drawstring hanging from his sweats unraveling even more as Bucky plays with it while he takes a deep, shaking breath.

"I -- uh, I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh."

You sound surprised. Bucky hesitates.

"I'm sorry, it's late I'll let you get back to sleep."

"No! No, it's okay. I'm glad you called."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, Bucky," your giggle makes Bucky smile, feel that warmth spread through his chest again like it did the last time he saw you. Filling him to burst with that one sound.

"God I miss you, sugar. Sam's keeping me up all night with his snoring."

"Oh, no. Is it that bad?," you gasp in mock horror.

Bucky smirks as one of Sam's snores rattles through the glass door behind him.

"The worst, sugar. He could wake the dead."

"Should'a sent you off with ear plugs, huh?"

"Mm, you'll have to remind me next time."

Bucky pauses at the prospect of a "next time", of leaving you again when he's just got started loving you like he's wanted to for what feels like forever.

"I miss you, sugar."

"I miss you too, Buck," he can hear your sweet smile. It makes his heart ache.

Bucky's throat feels tight. He didn't know how much he needed to see your beautiful face every day until he left.

"Is it silly to feel this way? Like I can't breathe without you here."

"It's not silly," you sniffle on the other end of the line and Bucky almost regrets saying anything.

"I can't wait to feel you again. Take you in my arms and not let you go."

You laugh into the receiver and Bucky can't stop from smiling.

"Sam will have to pry me off you with a crowbar to get you off me and back to the Mill."

"He's welcome to try," Bucky practically snarls.

"I love you, Bucky."

He swallows the lump in his throat, taken aback by your sudden admission.

"I know you're having a hard time, but I'm right there with you, sleeping under the same moonlight and wishing you were right here with me. It's not silly. You're not asking for too much. And I miss you way more than you miss me."

Bucky scoffs at your teasing and wipes at his eyes. "No way, sugar.

"Prove it to me when you get back, then. Show me how much you missed me when you see me again and we'll decide then."

"I love you, sugar."

"I know. Make it back home safe so I can have you all to myself."

Bucky adjusts his sleep pants, imagining all the ways he can have you just how he wants to.

"Get some sleep, Buck. I need to know you'll be safe out there on the road."

"I will. I promise."

"Good. Good night, handsome.

"Goodnight, sugar."

Bucky hangs up, giving the antenna a satisfying click shut. He takes one last look at the moon before heading back inside and crawling under the covers. For the first time since before his accident, Bucky falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. And he dreams of you, bathed in moonlight.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagines #lumberjack!bucky barnes #bucky barnes drabble #navy and roo sleepover #my fics

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i'm outta my head over you Pt. 7

prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | AO3 | playlist

this is the last chap of my steddie week fic!! i have a little blurb i may do for tomorrow's open ended prompt, but for now, here's the last @steddie-week prompt: misunderstandings

Robin stops him as they’re herding the gremlins into their respective vehicles. You’d think that after nearly five hours of spending the four barely adults’ money would be enough time at the arcade. But no. They’re all fighting them on leaving. As if they all won’t be asleep by the time they get home.

“Once you get it done, you may want to get up early.”

“Uh..what?”

“Steve always goes for a run at like ass o’clock in the morning.” she’s speaking low and fast to try and not draw attention to them, but their normal level of volume with one another is normally 100 times louder than this, so she’s really doing the exact opposite. “If you get up early enough, you can leave it for him while he’s gone.”

“Okayokay, I got it! Now stop making this weird.”

She looks around to find Steve already staring at the two of them questioningly.

“Oh shit… OKAY, YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR DATE EDDIE.” she practically yells.

“What the hell, Robin? I don’t have a date!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’ll be great!” she’s walking away already, shrugging like even she doesn’t know why the fuck she said that. “Call me when you’re home!”

Eddie smacks his palm against his forehead and turns to his van, not even daring to look at Steve again.

He finally does dare once he’s in his van and has started moving, giving Steve a ‘nothing wrong or weird here’ wave as he pulls away.

The expression on Steve’s face is indiscernible. Somewhere stuck between totally blank, and the most devastated look he’s ever seen.

Damnit, Robin.

He only ended up with Max in his van on the way back, so when they get back, he helps her inside, and resigns himself to staying up all night to finish the tape.

He pulls in next to Wayne’s truck at the same time his uncle is coming out the front door, a dufflebag in hand. 

“You off to work early old man?” and he asks as he gets out of his van, it’s only about 9 PM now and his uncle doesn’t usually go in until near midnight. 

“Yep, gettin’ some dinner with the fellas before we head in. Gotta leave shift early to go visit yer aunt.”

Ah. “That time of year is it?”

“Yep, I’ll see ya tomorrow evenin’, son. Don’t be getting into any trouble, y’hear?”

Eddie just shrugs. “You know me.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Wayne says with a crinkly smirk.

He gives his uncle a short hug, and Wayne kisses the top of his head with another ‘be safe’.

Then, because he’s agonizing about it, Eddie spends the next couple hours cleaning the trailer instead of picking the last two songs that will go on his side (listening to said tape while he does).

He’s still got some ideas from before, but only a couple good ones..and not all of them will fit in the time he’s estimated is left on the B side.

It isn’t until he gets to Be My Baby on his second listen through that he knows which one he’s going to add next.

After he’s got that one figured out and recorded, there definitely isn’t enough room left for the rest of the picks, so he adds the one he thinks says the most about how he feels about Steve, the one that says everything he needs to say.

-----

“Robin did say ‘ass o’clock’,” Eddie says to himself, glancing at the clock in his dashboard.

5:13. Yeah, that sounds right.

Eddie lets out a huge cracking yawn. Okay, he’s definitely gonna crash once he gets back to the trailer. He was so wired after finally finishing the tape, he couldn’t sleep even though he wanted to.

He makes it to Steve's street and parks up the road a bit (not wanting the rattle of his van to alert Steve to his presence if he hadn’t left yet), and walks the last leg. The tape in his pocket feels like it weighs a million pounds.

When he finally rounds the bushes at the front edge of Steve’s yard, Eddie feels every cell in his body seize up at once.

Nancy’s car is in the driveway.

What the–

Suddenly, the front door opens. He dives back behind the bushes, peeking through the leaves. You know, like a sane person?

Why the fuck is Nancy leaving Steve's house so early

Why is Steve only wearing those tiny fuckin’ shorts?

Oh no..

Oh shit.

There’s only one fucking reason

This is all wrong! Nancy knows he has feelings for Steve, was that not what that was at the arcade?

She’s with Robin, she didn’t refute it.

Oh fuck, he’s gonna have to tell Robin.

Eddie debates making himself known, let himself barrel over whatever awkwardness may arise, but he’s still got his heart in his pocket, addressed to Steve.. What’s he supposed to do with that then?

“Oh hey Steve, didn’t see you there! Just came by to drop off your very personal property that your best friend stole for me to defile! Nancy? Oh hey, you’re here! What’s up with tha–”

He’s startled out of his thoughts when the door of Nancy's station wagon shuts, the engine turning over. 

She pulls out, thankfully heading away from where he’s hidden.

Eddie watches until she’s out of sight, then jumps again when he hears Steve’s front door close.

Steve does a few hops in place from foot to foot on his front stoop (still shirtless), and starts off on his run the same way Nancy had gone. Had he been able to see shirtless, sweaty Steve whenever he wanted?? He just goes for runs like this every day? Why had no one told him??

‘Oh fuckin’ hell, shut up, shutup!!’ He yells at himself.

Now what?

Eddie sits in the grass in Steve Harrington’s front yard and stares at the back of his mailbox.

Does he still leave the tape? Of course he should, it is Steve’s tape afterall.

But what about the songs? Steve’s not gonna want his bullshit now…

He could go back to his van and re-write the note then come back and leave it. No, he wouldn’t have time now, Steve’s athletic, yeah, but Eddie’s been frozen in his front yard for a while now. He’d be back soon.

Fuck it. 

He’ll drop the tape on the front step, go back home and pack up his shit. Yeah. Good a time as any to get the fuck outta here.

Confessing your feelings to one of your closest friends who very obviously just got back together with his ex not even ten hours after you’d seen him and were very obviously flirting with each other?

Yeah. Not ideal.

Does he have the funds to get the fuck outta here? No. But he’s got enough for gas and he’s got a van. He’ll just load his mattress into the back and be gone before the rest of the town fully wakes up.

Good plan, Eddie’s brain. Thank you, rest of Eddie.

-------

Steve slows to a jog once he can see his house, cooling down from his run on the last little bit of his road, and stopping in his driveway to do some stretches back to the door.

He’s sinking down into his last lunge when he sees the little square of…something…sitting on the front step.

“The hell?”

He stoops down and picks it up, turns it over. There’s a piece of lined paper rubber banded around it.

Peeling off the band, Steve steps inside and unfolds the letter, leaning back on the now closed front door to read

“...oh no…” Steve looks down at the case in his hand. Now he sees why the rubberband was necessary, there’s another folded wad of papers shoved into the cassette’s case, now popped open without the band holding it together.

His heart, previously calmed down from his run, now beat wildly in his chest as he unfurls the short stack of paper.

He reads the first line, ‘8. I Was Made For Lovin’ You...’

“Holy shit.”

Steve books it up the stairs, he’s gotta get showered, he’s gotta get changed, he’s got one more song to add to the tape.

-------

Eddie’s just finished packing up his clothes when his alarm clock radio goes off, the 7am alarm still set for when he has to get up for school.

“...still don’t believe it, he was just leaving OH there must be some misunderstanding! There must be some kind of mistake…” blasts through the tinny speakers.

Nopenopenope, not dealing with that right now.

He slaps the clock around until it finally shuts off its maniacal teasing, and goes back to packing (and blinking away some wayward tears).

He’s just dropped the second bag of clothes and his sweetheart in her case by the front door and is contemplating if his mattress would actually fit in the back of his van, when there’s a knock on the door.

Eddie’s gut freezes mid-flip.

Oh no. Please n–

“Eddie, are you there? It’s Steve. Can I come in?”

‘Don’t move. Don’t make a single sound. Maybe he’ll think you’re not home and just leave.’

“C’mon man, I know you’re in there. You’re van’s out here.”

“Shit.”

Eddie trudges his way to the front door and opens it.

Even with floppy, just-washed, hair and an inside-out polo, Steve’s still the most beautiful person in existence.

“What do you want, Steve?” Wow. Even he’s surprised at how morose he sounds.

“I uh, I got your tape..my tape? I got your note. I added one more song and I thought, maybe, I could–” Steve looks down. “Are you..” his voice pitches high so he clears it. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Mhm.” Eddie can’t look him in the eye. He stares at the porch.

“Where are you–”

“Just going, ‘kay Steve? No need to worry about me being around anymore.” Eddie practically spits, still not looking up at his friend.

“Eddie, what are you–” he cuts himself off, his voice going soft. “Did you not mean what you said?”

That makes Eddie look up at him. Steve’s gaze is now cast downwards, staring blankly at Eddie’s packed bags.

“...I meant every word. Every song, Steve. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” he’s truly mad now, who does he think he is, trying to act all glum like he wasn’t the one betraying his best friend.

“B-betraying my best–Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

Damn! He said that out loud.

“Just go away, Steve. I won’t tell Robin, but you definitely should.” Eddie moves to close the front door and turns back towards his room. He doesn’t hear it close, but he hears the creak of the floor when Steve follows him in.

Of. Course.

“Tell Robin what, Eddie? I already told her how I felt about you, that’s why she stole you the tape in the first plac–”

“Not that! You–” Eddie clenches his fists at his sides and spins back to face Steve. “That you hooked up with her girlfriend last night.” Steve’s face pales and Eddie continues on. “Yeah. I came by to drop off your tape; Robin thought I could leave it there when you left for your run. But lo and behold, what do I see when I come by? Nancy Wheeler’s car in your driveway at ass o’clock in the morning.

“Now, I may be a third time senior, but even I know what the fuck that means. Especially when, not long after I’ve gotten there, the Lady Wheeler herself waltzes out the door with Tiny Shorts McGee following her like a lost puppy.” he gestures at Steve, who’s still frozen in place by the door.

“So yeah, you can just burn those notes for all I care, I don’t even know why I still left it. Whatever. I’m leaving today anyway so you don’t need to worry about me pining hopelessly after you, ‘kay?”

Eddie’s chest is heaving, his eyes are burning with unshed tears, and Steve…starts laughing.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” There are tears spilling freely out of his eyes now. “You’re really good y’know, had everyone fooled. Even me! King Steve is alive and well, everyone!” Eddie spreads his hands wide and yells to no one.” I can’t believe you got me to fall for your good guy schtick. Get the fuck outta my house, Harrington.” Eddie points to the door, stalking forward.

“Eddie! Eddie, wait, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.” Steve puts his hands out and Eddie stops, crossing his arms and glaring. “Eddie, please, Nancy was only dropping something off for me.”

“Yeah righ–”

“She was! She came by that early because she’s driving to an interview this morning at a paper in Indy. She knew I’d be up for my run anyway, so she stopped to give me the revisions she made to my–you know what, hold on. I’m calling Robin.”

“Steve, I told you to get the fuck out of my house, not go further into it.”

Steve ignores him and goes to the phone, giving Eddie as wide of a berth as he can while he passes. He picks it up and dials.

“I’m not fucking kidding, Harrington, get the fuck out of here–” Eddie’s anger is multiplied tenfold when Steve holds out a finger to shush him.

“Hi Mr. Buckley, this is Steve. I’m sorry to call so early, but can I please speak to Robin? There was a last minute change to our schedule…thank you.’

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from his customer service expression, to an admittedly frightening pissed off smile when Robin apparently gets on the line.

“Hey Robin! I found my Eddie tape! It’s the funniest thing, I came back from my run and it was sitting on my doorstep.”

Eddie can hear the muffled sound of Robin’s voice coming through the earpiece.

“I know, isn’t that crazy?” Damn, Steve’s passive aggressive voice is…something else. “He must’ve dropped it off while I was gone..why wouldn’t he give it to me in person?”

Steve waves at Eddie to come closer, and when he stubbornly doesn’t, Steve rolls his eyes and comes to him, stretching the cord across the kitchen as he does.

“Hmmm...maybe.. Or maybe something scared him off?” He takes in an over-dramatic sarcastic gasp. “Or maybe, my best friend and soulmate who stole the tape for him, told him to come by at the exact worst time! When she knew a certain ex of mine and current girlfriend of hers was stopping by before leaving to Indy and it scared him off!”

Steve tilts the handset out from his ear so Eddie can hear..there’s complete silence on the other end.

“That would suck, don't you think? Seeing your crush’s ex leaving their house early in the morning when you’re coming over to confess to them?” He continues.

“Oh. My. God. Steve!! I am so so sorry I–”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Eddie.”

Steve grabs up Eddie’s hand and wraps it around the handset, forcing him to take it, then stomps off into the living room.

Eddie puts the phone to his ear and walks back to the receiver, Robin rambling in his ear the whole way. 

“--ddie, I’m so so sorry! I totally forgot Nancy was dropping off Steve’s paper this morning before she went to her interview! Please please don’t be mad at me, actually, scratch that. Be super mad at me, but definitely not at Steve, okay? I should have remembered, I should have told you, I should hav–”

It’s effective, he feels the anger draining out of him. “Robin, Robin! It’s okay, you’re okay.” Eddie glances over at Steve, who’s pacing up and down the short length of the trailer’s living room. “But now I have a very pissed off Harrington in my house right now…you got any survival tips for me?” he mumbles lowly.

“...Oh! I know, just go over there and kiss hi–her–stupid!” Eddie snorts through his nose, her parents must still be nearby.

“Got it, I’ll try that. Thanks Birdie…for everything.”

She sighs in relief. “You’re welcome, Doofus.”

Eddie slowly hangs up the phone, and turns to where Steve is. Now stationary, he’s got one hand on his hip, and the other is rifling through his hair nervously.

‘Yep. Buckley’s right.’

Eddie takes a deep breath and crosses to Steve in three short strides, grabs his face in both his hands, and kisses him deeply.

Steve responds immediately; he wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist, his large palm centered squarely on his lower back, and one around his arm, lacing his fingers into Eddie’s curls and cupping the back of his head.

Steve pulls their bodies flush and cants his hips into Eddie’s, tugs a breathy moan from Eddie’s throat when the hand in his curls tightens.

Eddie’s nose is pressed uncomfortably into the space between Steve’s nose and cheekbone with how close they’ve smushed themselves together, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to care. 

He’s kissing Steve Harrington. 

There’s a strong thigh slotted between his, and Steve Harrington is kissing him back. 

Eddie moves one hand down to clutch at Steve’s shirt, and pushes the other back, grabbing onto those short hairs on the back of Steve’s neck.

They finally come up for air after one too many teeth clashes, their foreheads coming together.

“Hi.” they breathe out at the same time, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“We’re kinda idiots, huh?” Steve says, looking cross-eyed between Eddie’s eyes. The hazel of his eyes sparkling with the movement.

Eddie chuckles. “Dingus and Doofus, remember?” he points to each of them in turn, only lifting his pointer finger out of the grip on Steve’s shirt to do so.

“Can I play you the last song now?”

and then they low dance in eddie's living room

Yay!! that's it, thanks for following along with this one!!! here's the last tags :o) @hellomynameismoo, @messrs-weasley, @manda-panda-monium

Here's some notes since it's the last part:

this is the most I’ve ever written in such a short time, I literally wrote each of these chapters the day before their day to be posted….most of it while at work lmao

Steve used a Sony C60 tape. i.e. there’s 60-ish minutes of space on it. before At Last, the songs on the tape totaled 55 min 55 seconds, a perfect amount left for Etta James (ending up at 58 min 54 seconds in total according to my spoofy playlist).

I know that the Eddie half of songs weren’t really…’Eddie music’, but in my head, Eddie likes music for being music. All music is good (like he said to Max in part 5). Plus, he wanted to put songs on the tape that he knew Steve would like/want to listen to.

steve asked nancy to make revisions on his nursing school application essay (he found he quite liked the process of taking care of eddie and wants to go to school for it!)

anyone else just recently realize that Take Me Home Tonight had an allusion to Be My Baby?? anyway, love that, wanted to make that a thing here :o)

and lastly, a couple of little things i LOVED about this fic that i didn’t see anyone else / only a couple people point out:

Steve singing the rubber duckie song to Eddie in part 5

Eddie literally giving Gareth the shirt off his back in part 2 when Tommy threw his pop on him (in my head, this is the same red buffalo check flannel that Gareth ends up cutting the sleeves off of and wears in S4).

that's all!! thanks for reading, friends :o)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #st #st fic #steddie week #steddie week 2023 #steve harrington x eddie munson #mixtape #songfic #(kinda) #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #wayne munson #the party #stranger things #idiots in love #noelle writes