#(paranoid backwards)

[lemondoddle]

Unbelievable

Password: DIONARAP

[agentlove]

“Sasha.” He murmurs into her mouth. “Yes.” She confirms. It’s me — I know — Me too — You’re welcome — like a cold reader. The kind of con he would have laughed out of the Institute. But his head’s worn down, his heart even moreso. He’s tired of thinking. —— John has one assistant he still trusts.

woe, spooky little john(not!)sasha thing i wrote be upon ye

[astralarias]

quick silly thing after working on commission art this evening!! actually having a fursona and having it stick after so many years is the best cause i can draw dumb shit like this with 'em.

[loveshacks]

ok when alex hirsch says they worked backwards with stan to fill in what about his childhood made him so lonely and needy, i have to also wonder what happened in fiddleford's childhood to make him the way he is

[ask-artsy-oncie]

Oh

Maybe I wouldn't angst as much over my gender as I do if I had a partner who validated mine...

[almayver]

Sometimes you mindlessly scroll through a ao3 tag and end up face to face with a world you didn't know existed

[lemonandpeach]

idk if anyone’s posted it but a usc alumni that i know sent me an email blast from the campus higher-up calling the encampment on campus as “illegal occupation” and that is the most cognitively dissonant shit ive ever laid eyes on in my entire life.

[machinemonstrosity]

INJURED RABBIT | mafioso x reader

WARNINGS - DESCRIPTION OF BLOOD AND WOUNDS , hurt/comfort , survivor x killer , this is strictly the forsaken version of mafioso , no established relationship but you can see where it's headed

a/n - where did all of you people come from on that first post. i'm terrified. hello to you too forsaken fandom.

You don't know how it happened.

You hardly even remember it happening. Everything played out so fast.

The deep gash in your midsection burns in overwhelming pain, your hand having gone numb from trying to press the open wound shut. Everything around you is a blur, vague silhouettes of gnarly trees and broken buildings melting into an unrecognizable haze. Drowned by your shaky sobs and the tightness of your throat, your voice only comes out as an anguished croak.

You can't scream for help, no matter how much you're trying.

Just a moment ago, you were huddled with a group of your teammates, following in your paranoid frenzy as they worked to repair a generator. When the snap of a nearby twig startled the small crowd, you had attempted to flee with them, scrambling onto your feet and breaking into a sprint.

Until you felt something sharp snagging your shirt, pulling you backwards and tearing your side open.

Shot with adrenaline, you ran until you were panting in exhaustion. Chest heaving with each breath, your legs eventually gave out, collapsing in a patch of dried grass. As the dull ache in your side intensified to a constant piercing sting, the realization finally sank in:

You're professionally lost. And losing blood. Fast.

By now, your teammates must've been dead or far away from wherever you had landed yourself in. Howling wind and indistinct rustling replace their hushed whispers and careful footsteps, although it's hardly audible through your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

At least, aside from the ones you're hearing right now —

Wait.

Footsteps?

Despite your consciousness hanging by a thread, you try to squint your eyes to gauge the incoming person. Black spots dance around your vision as a testament to your injury, a strained cough racking your weak body while you try to contort it.

Your heart drops to your stomach the moment you manage to view the well-dressed figure.

Of all the killers it could've been, why did it have to be Mafioso?

His reputation preceded him; a ruthless mobster who wouldn't hesitate to knock out teeth if he didn't get what he wanted. Accompanied by his loyal henchmen, every story you heard about him never ended well, brandishing a killcount rumored to be in the hundreds.

It'd be no shock if he was the one who incapacitated you, now returning to snuff out the pitiful bloodied heap he'd reduced you to.

You struggled to wriggle away as he paced closer, not caring if your fate had already been sealed at this point. Somehow, managing a final defiant wail, your eyes screwed shut, praying that you magically bled out on the spot before he drew his sword.

But, strangely enough, it never happened.

Instead, you're suddenly enveloped in warmth, the smell of lingering cigar smoke filling your nostrils.

“C'mere, sweetie. Ain't anyone seen how ya look right now?”

Lifted into his large arms, Mafioso grunts in disapproval at your sorry state.

… This wasn't how the stories went. You should've been a headless corpse by now.

Confused, you try to peel an eye open, only to get nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“Don't keep lookin’ at that nasty wound,” he murmurs, “jus’ stay awake for me.”

A part of you wanted to argue. To kick and scream with your nonexistent energy to let you go, to yell that you'd rather die alone than in the hands of the cruel mafia. Yet there was none of that in his demeanor. He was acting so soft, gently carrying your hurting form as if you were a piece of fragile porcelain. Nothing gave you the impression that he wanted to hurt you.

A point further proven by how gracefully you're being placed down on the nearest elevated flat surface.

You felt like you weighed a thousand pounds. Faintly catching the clip of a box being cracked open, two gloved fingers work on carefully lifting your torn shirt to expose your gash. You wince upon the bandage wrappings touching the tender flesh.

“I know it hurts, I know. But you're doin’ a real good job for me, bunny.”

Hand twitching involuntarily, Mafioso's free one intertwines with yours. The closer he gets to look at the injury he's patching up, the more his brows furrow.

“This ain't look like a cut one of my men woulda done. Didja get caught on a branch or somethin’?”

You hum. Truthfully, you didn't know, but it wouldn't have surprised you. Getting stupidly hurt sounded common, judging by how others tended to describe you.

“Well, ya gotta be more careful,” Mafioso chides, “next time you get hurt, ya go directly to me. Understand?”

At this point, you were too delirious to question why the man who was meant to be hunting you down was saying all of this. Maybe it was better if you didn't. Regardless, you confirm with another broken hum.

“Good bunny.”

To this day, no one believes your story.

You're shortly found in the same spot Mafioso had bandaged you by the last few survivors of his carnage. He was right about how you got injured, according to everyone who saw, having apparently ran off before anyone could catch you.

The general consensus was drawn to you hallucinating in your hysteria, but you know what you saw. And you know what he said.

This probably wasn't going to be your last encounter with the mobster.

[obsessedwithceleste]

In Touch, But Out of Reach

Lorenzo Berkshire x Ravenclaw! reader

Summary: When a secret admirer sends you a mysterious parcel at breakfast, you figure you shouldn’t let the pretty locket enclosed inside go to waste.

word count: 5.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Undoubtedly your favorite part of the day was each morning at breakfast when the owls of Hogwarts would flood into the Great Hall, swooping and gliding gracefully through the air delivering mail into the waiting hands of students. You’d always thought the birds were just lovely and whenever you received mail from home it was a nice way to start your day.

The small parcel that sat in front of you however was starkly unfamiliar. It didn’t have the indecipherable handwriting of your father, or the usual rose scented fragrance from your mother. Instead you’re met with thick, expensive feeling paper sealed with silver wax.

“You’re not going to open it are you?” Marietta asks, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the parcel. “What if it’s cursed? I hear Katie Bell still has horrible nightmares after what happened in fifth year.”

“Oh hush. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,” Cho interrupts, silencing her paranoid friend and gesturing for her to return to her seat.

“Well, if this delivery does kill me, at least there will be dozens of witnesses,” you try to joke as you continue to examine the mysterious package.

You couldn’t think of anyone who would have sent you something. It wasn’t your birthday, or near the holidays for that matter. And you really didn’t think anyone would go out of their way to jinx you in particular.

“The nargles don’t seem to mind it,” Luna says passively, glancing at the parcel as she takes a bite of toast.

You look at the younger witch beside you, weighing your options as your fingers glide over the smooth parchment.

“Well that settles it then. Must be safe if the nargels think so.”

You carefully break the seal, half expecting to be possessed or some such, but when nothing happens you give your shoulders a small shrug and continue peeling back the layers of meticulously folded paper.

You’re about to sit back and declare the whole thing to be some silly prank when a slip of paper finally emerges from the folds, followed closely by a distinct, silver shine.

Slowly you pull an intricately designed pendant strung along a dainty chain from the parcel, the silver metal cold against your palm. Delicate silver swirls cover the little heart, bending and twisting only to meet on one side to form a clasp. A locket. You try to open it but the hard metal remains firmly clamped shut. Odd.

You turn over the slip of paper that had come with the locket to find five small words printed there in swooping, slanted letters.

Soulmates always find each other.

“Oh no. Katie Bell was cursed by a necklace. You don't think it's another one do you?" Marietta asks, eyeing the piece of jewelry in your hands warily.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out, no? Besides, how often does lightening strike twice?"

Before anyone can protest further you clasp the necklace around your throat, breath catching as you wait for a moment, then two. Nothing.

"See? I told you guys it would be fi-"

"Um. y/n? Why is the necklace glowing? Necklaces aren't meant to glow are they?" Cho interrupts, eyes widening as she stares helplessly at you.

Marietta looks as if she's about to faint as you reach up to grasp the necklace. It emits a soft golden glow that only lasts another moment before it's gone as if it had never happened. You blink, trying to make sure your eyes aren't playing tricks on you before standing abruptly, your seat making a screeching sound as it's shoved backward.

"I'll be in the tower, I need to find out what the hell I have around my neck," you announce to your friends.

"You don't think they're going to die do you?" you hear Marietta whisper furiously as you turn to leave.

As you hurry out of the hall, a pair of familiar warm eyes follow you, a smug glint catching in the light as you disappear through the doors.

You groan, throwing your head back in despair as you come up with yet another dead end.

"Still nothing?" Cho asks, concern clearly laced in her voice as she looks at you with pity.

You just shake your head as you shove the book back onto its shelf. You'd practically run through every book in Ravenclaw tower at this point and you weren't sure what to do. There were books here that the main library could only dream of having, and yet nothing on the strange necklace that had found its way to you this morning.

"I might as well check the main library, right? Couldn't hurt. Maybe even sneak into the restricted section?" you sigh as your fingers once again close around the silver locket.

You didn't feel any different. No boils or ulcers. No voices in your head. And you were still breathing. So that was good.

"Want me to go with? I could help," Cho offers, making to close her book.

"It's okay, really. Don't want to drag you into this. Besides, if it comes down to it, I'll just beg Lorenzo to distract Madam Pince while I nick a book from the restricted section."

Cho gives you a knowing look, a smug smile forming on her lips.

"Then by all means, don't let me get in the way of you and lover boy," she teases.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks at her comment and you turn away, rolling your eyes.

"I'll be back later. And let Marietta know that I'm still alive and well. I'm pretty sure she's more worried about this whole thing than I am."

With that, you disappear down the winding stair case, making the treacherous journey down to the library. Lucky for you, the moving staircases don't quite have it out for you, only stranding you on an empty level once. By the time you finally push through the doors of the library, your mood is only slightly more agitable than when you left. Still though, you make a beeline for the section on cursed or otherwise lethal objects and begin to pile books into your arms.

You're about to retreat back into the maze of shelves with your prizes when an arm wraps smoothly around you, resting casually on your shoulder.

"You lost Berkshire? I didn't know you could read. What are you doing in the library of all places?" you tease quietly, glancing slyly up at the wizard beside you.

Lorenzo just scoffs, his smug smile never leaving his face.

"Please, you're beginning to sound like Draco, who by the way is why I find myself in this wretched place. It's not so bad when I find pretty little Ravenclaws between the shelves though."

Your heart flutters a bit at his words, but you find yourself rolling your eyes at the flirtatious boy who'd decided to keep you company.

Befriending Lorenzo Berkshire had never been on your top ten things to do at Hogwarts. Hell it hadn’t been on your list at all. Enzo was arrogant, and flirtatious, and honestly a bit of an arse at times, but he had grown on you over the past year or so. Slowly.

“Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere with me Enz. Now be helpful and hold on to these for me please?”

Without waiting for the boy’s answer you plop your stack of books into Lorenzo’s arms, fingers brushing ever so slightly as Enzo fumbles for just a moment, his arm tearing away from you before taking hold of the tower of tomes with ease.

"You going to tell me what all these are for, or are you just using me for my dashing good looks and rippling biceps?" Lorenzo asks as he follows you dutifully through the shelves.

You fear that if you roll your eyes at the boy behind you anymore, they'll get stuck in the back of your head. You sigh.

"If you must know, I got this locket here in the mail this morning," you tell him, fingers brushing against the silver locket once more as you show your friend.

You gesture for Lorenzo to set the books down on a nearby table before you continue.

"It started glowing right after I put it on and now Marietta is convinced I'm going to die a grim and painful death," you tell him, taking a seat at the table.

Lorenzo follows your lead, chuckling slightly.

"If the necklace were going to kill you I'm pretty sure it would have done it by now if it makes you feel better. I've seen a cursed necklace or two before at the manor and I can't think of a single one that would risk the victim taking the necklace off before it gets the job done. If it didn't go for the kill right away, it probably won't at all," he replies.

"Thanks for the insight Enz, you certainly know how to sweep someone off their feet. Do you normally start conversations by weighing the odds of your companion's survival?"

Lorenzo lets out a rather loud, unattractive snort, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth, but only succeeding in holding in an eruption of laughter and causing you to join him as you both look at each other, shocked that the great Lorenzo Berkshire had let his mask slip, if only for a second.

"Only when I'm trying particularly hard to impress someone," he replies finally regaining his composure and picking up a book from the top of the stack and cracking it open. "Now let's see what agonizingly gruesome deaths lay in store for you hmm?"

It feels like hours had gone by, and they probably had by the time you and Lorenzo were through the large mountain of books that you had compiled. And yet you were no where closer to finding your answer than when you had begun.

"I'm really sorry for wasting your night Enz," you sigh, snapping the last book shut and tossing it back into the pile.

"Not to worry love, better than listening to Draco bitch and moan about how Granger is besting him in potions, and charms, and everything really," he replies easily as he gathers some of the books to help put back.

As you wander through the shelves once more, slotting books back into their homes, you feel a light presence appear behind you yet again. You turn, expecting to see Lorenzo's loosened tie and rolled up sleeves, but instead you're met with black robes and a yellow tie.

"Oh! Hi Cedric," you greet, jolting a bit at the surprise as one of your hands shoot up to fiddle with the locket around your neck nervously.

You watch as Cedric's eyes follow your sharp movement, locking in on the necklace between your fingers. His brows furrow a bit as he gets a good look at the thing before his eyes widen ever so slightly.

"Um, Cedric?" you say again after a moment of silence.

Now it's Cedric's turn to jolt out of his stupor as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck abashedly.

"Right, sorry, um. I was just going to ask if you wanted to study for that charms exam together sometime, but I see you're already spoken for," he says before giving you a slight nod and retreating back into the book shelves.

You blink once, slowly, not entirely sure what just happened before turning to see Lorenzo hovering in the aisle behind you looking quite pleased with himself.

"That was weird right?" you ask as you both make your way back to your table to collect more books.

Lorenzo just shrugs, still sporting his smug grin.

"Not everyone can be as charming and charismatic as me, love, what can I say?" he replies.

"Good to see you still alive and breathing," Cho chirps as you take your seat beside her.

"Hahaha, I've managed to survive the week, I don't think I'm going to drop dead anytime soon, Cho," you reply, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

"I'd have to agree, and it is a pretty necklace. I wouldn't want it to go to waste either if I were you. Have you found anything out about where it might've come from?"

You shake your head no as you pull out your notes and lay them out in front of you.

"Not a thing. I've scoured every book, scroll, and tome on cursed objects that I could get my hands on and come up completely dry," you tell her.

"Well, maybe it's because you're looking in the wrong place. I mean, you're still alive and very much not cursed. It's probably time you adjust your perspective."

You cock your head to the side, considering your friend's words and quickly coming to the conclusion that she's right. How had you not thought of that? It was so obvious.

Before you can respond however, Professor Slughorn bursts through the doors juggling armfuls of various potion ingredients, finally letting them all tumble noisily across his desk.

"Alright then. Draught of Living Death. Who can tell me something about it?" he asks, turning towards the class as he waits expectantly.

Of course Hermione's hand shoots straight up into the air and Slughorn humors the girl.

"The Draught of Living Death is an extremely powerful sleeping draught that sends the drinker into a death like slumber."

"Yes! Very good, very good Miss Granger! Ten points Gryffindor!" Slughorn chortles gleefully as he begins scribbling instructions on the chalkboard. "Now of course you'll have your recipes in your text, but these are just some old tricks of the trade I've found over the years," he rambles, the chalk screeching as he writes. "And you'll be working in pairs today, pre-determined of course, and I expect you'll all be done by end of class."

With that, he releases you to find your partners which were now listed pristinely at the front of the classroom. Your eyes scan the list quickly to find your name next to one Draco Malfoy. You know what? You'd take it. He was one of the best in class after all.

You turn to the back of the classroom only to find the blonde haired Slytherin already looking at you. He gives you a small nod before gathering his things and making his way towards you. You both wordlessly agree to simply take the station behind you as Cho's partner joins her, sliding into the spot you'd previously occupied.

"I'll set up the station if you'd like to gather the ingredients," you offer, already placing your cauldron onto the table.

"Right. That works for me," Draco agrees readily before disappearing to riffle through the storehouse located in the back of the classroom.

By the time he returns, the cauldron is already bubbling and you have the recipe spread out in front of you with everything you'd need to complete the potion. The two of you get to work and it doesn't take long for you to see why Draco was probably one of the best brewers in your year. He worked quickly and efficiently, all while being perfectly precise.

"All right," Draco announces, "All's that's left to do for this bit is stir seven times anti clockwise. But add a clockwise stir in after every seventh counterclockwise stir."

He hands you the stirring rod before going back to focus on chopping valerian root.

"Are you sure?" you ask, eyes scanning your instructions, not seeing any mentions of stirring clockwise.

"Just do it. It'll be fine," Draco huffs.

You raise an eyebrow at the boy before giving a shrug of your shoulders and following his direction. What could go wrong? You lean over your work station to get a better look inside the cauldron, watching intently for any sign that the potion might be going south, but it looks perfect.

"Where did you get that?" Draco asks suddenly, startling you and almost causing you to tip over the cauldron.

Your head snaps over to your partner whose eyes are glued to the silver chain around your neck. The locket must have slipped out while you were stirring.

"My locket? I got it in the mail last week. Didn't say who from though," you reply carefully as Draco squints at the heart shaped pendant.

"Y/n's got a secret admirer," Cho teases from her station, never missing an opportunity to poke fun at you.

"Please. A secret admirer is simply a stalker with stationary. Be careful, y/n," Hermione interrupts as she passes by.

Draco glares at the bushy haired girl.

"No one was talking to you Granger. Mind your business. The locket isn't cursed, they're fine," he snaps.

You don't even have time to tell Draco to mind his manners as your brain locks in on his words.

"Wait. How do you know the locket isn't cursed? Do you know who sent it?" You ask, grabbing the boy's arm.

Draco scoffs.

"Of course I know who sent it," he replies, carefully extracting his arm from your grip. "But it's none of my business. You'll have to work it out with them."

"How am I supposed to work it out with 'them', if I don't know who 'them' is?"

Draco just shrugs his shoulders as he avoids eye contact, dropping a piece of valerian root into the cauldron. The liquid bubbles for a moment before finally settling into a perfect lilac shade.

Lorenzo would like to think that he was peacefully minding his business when Draco comes storming into their shared dormitory. Blaise, Pansy, and Theo who had all been studying together on the other side of the room all jump at the sound of the door slamming open.

"Berkshire, would you care to explain to me why, in Salazar's good name, y/n is walking around the castle with the Berkshire betrothal necklace around their bloody throat?"

This catches the other three's attention and Lorenzo suddenly feels four pairs of eyes on him.

"You asked them to marry you? Are you crazy? When did that even happen?" Blaise asks.

"More importantly, you asked them to marry you and they said yes? Are they crazy?" Theo scoffs.

Enzo just shrugs his shoulders, casually leaning back on his bed.

"I mean, I didn't exactly ask them so much as send them an anonymous owl with the necklace inside."

“Enzo! You can’t do that!” Draco groans, head falling back at his friend's antics. “There are rules. Traditions to uphold.”

“Clearly I can do that, because I did. And you’re really one to talk are you? At least I’m doing something, unlike you. It’s always Granger this, Granger that. All day, every day, but nothing to be done,” Lorenzo shoots back.

“Hey now, while Enz makes an excellent point, that’s not the point of all this,” Blaise sighs. “Look Enzo, you have to tell them. You can’t just have them walking about announcing to everyone that the two of you are engaged without them even knowing.”

"They put the necklace on and are walking around with it willingly. Besides it's already doing its job. Got Diggory to fuck right off the other day." Lorenzo reasons, not seeing what all this to do was about.

Were his actions morally ambiguous? Sure. But he'd found that the morally grey plans were always the ones that turned out the best.

"Lorenzo," Pansy's voice breaks out, eerily calm and level, "I will say this once, and one time only. They. Are not. Your property. Go tell them what you've done, you arrogant, pig-headed, prat."

Lorenzo just sighs, crossing his arms stubbornly as he looks back at his friends.

"You all are blowing things all out of proportion. I was going to tell them. Eventually."

"You're going to tell them now," Pansy snaps, looking as if she's only a moment away from smacking him upside the head.

"Alright, don't get so worked up about it. I was just buying some time-"

"Buying time?" Pansy interrupts, looking at the other boys as if to ask 'what is wrong with him?' before turning back to Enzo. "Of all the short sighted, irresponsible, stupid, boar headed- you know what? I'm owling your mother."

Pansy makes for the door, storming past a rather alarmed looking Draco as Blaise trails behind her in exasperation. Theo just stares at Lorenzo, an expression of 'now look what you've done' clearly written across his face as he shakes his head.

"Oh come on. You two don't really agree with her do you?" Lorenzo protests as the other two boys eye each other warily. "Alright, fine. I'll go talk to them," He says finally when the other boys remain silent. "None of you tossers ever see my vision," he mutters to himself as he slinks out of the dorm.

On the other side of the castle, high in Ravenclaw tower you were buried in your research on pureblood heirlooms. A few things had given it away, Cedric's hesitancy to even really speak to you after seeing the necklace, Cho's realization that the locket wasn't really cursed at all, and of course the nail in the coffin was Draco's immediate recognition of the pendant. But what made it so special?

You’d gone through pretty much every book you could get your hands on. You’d seen signet rings, brooches, medallions, the entirety of the Malfoy’s public jewel collection, and you were still stumped. Letting out a groan of frustration, you slump back in your chair letting your book snap shut. Every time you thought you were getting close to the answer, it just slipped away from you. You felt like you were losing your mind and the constant banging on your door was not helping. Wait.

Dragging yourself from the comfort of your bed, you open the door to find a very tired looking Cho Chang.

“I’ve been knocking on your door for like five minutes. The portraits were getting testy,” she yawns. “Anyway, the Grey Lady said your lover boy is waiting for you out in the corridor. I’d go get him before the eagle chats his ear off.”

“Enz? What’s he doing here?” You ask in confusion, rubbing sleep from your own eyes.

You had no idea how long you’d been holed up in your dormitory.

“Not a clue. Better go find out,” Cho replies before turning and shuffling back off to her own dorm.

Before your better judgment can talk some sense into you, you venture down the spiraling staircase, the heavy metal door at the bottom that secured Ravenclaw tower opening to reveal an ever familiar brunette Slytherin.

"Hey love, fancy seeing you here."

You raise an eyebrow at Lorenzo who's leaned up against one of the giant pillars lining the corridor.

"I live here," you reply, still wondering why on earth this boy was out here at this time of night.

Not that you were complaining of course.

"Course you do. Thought we could take a walk," Lorenzo replies easily, charming as ever as he extends his elbow out to you.

"Do you know what time it is?" you ask in exasperation, gesturing to the darkened halls around you.

Still though you take hold of his arm, allowing him to guide you through the shadows.

"I've always fancied myself a good midnight stroll," he tells you as he leads the both of you through a dark passage way that you swear hadn't been there a moment ago.

Pushing aside a thin veil of greenery, you emerge in what appears to be the center of a hedge garden. High walls of fern and leaves shielding you from prying eyes while the night sky stretches out over head. Lorenzo had clearly been here before if the blanket on the ground that he was currently making himself comfortable on was anything to go by. He pats the spot beside him, gesturing for you to sit.

"Hear you've gotten yourself a secret admirer," Enz says as you take a seat next to him, stretching out your legs as you lean back, gazing up at the night sky.

You just miss the way his eyes nervously lock in on the necklace that gleams around your neck.

"Hermione calls it my stalker with stationary," you hum in reply, not able to stop the giggle that escapes your lips.

Lorenzo just snorts, shaking his head in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he makes a face.

"Well that just takes all the romance out of it."

"Oh? You trying to say you're something of a romantic, Enz?" you ask, cocking a brow at the boy beside you.

Lorenzo was a flirt for sure. A seducer perhaps. But you'd never known your friend to quite have the sincerity to be considered a romantic.

"I'm saying I could be, for the right person."

Looking over at the boy, you find his eyes already boring into you, lighting a fire in your chest as his eyes search yours. You feel the heat slowly begin to creep up to your face and you pray to Rowena that he doesn't notice. Had he always been sitting this close? When had it gotten so warm out?

"How upset would you be, if I told you that the pendant around your neck happens to be the Berkshire betrothal necklace, and that you've been waltzing around the school letting every pureblood in sight know that we're betrothed?" he murmurs, his arm brushing up against you, fingers ghosting across yours.

It takes you a good long moment to fully grasp onto Enzo's words, the absurdity of the situation almost laughable. There simply was no way.

"Um, probably very upset," you hear yourself croak out, very much hoping Enzo was about to burst out laughing and telling you he was only kidding and this was all a prank that Draco had put him up to.

He doesn't.

"Well, this is rather unfortunate then, I suppose," he says instead, his nervous grin still charming as ever as you feel the blood that had previously rushed to your cheeks completely drain from your face.

"Lorenzo," you reply, gritting your teeth as you force a smile onto your face, "What on earth possibly possessed you to think that anonymously sending me your family's betrothal necklace was a good idea?"

It takes everything in you to remain calm as you think back to all the incredibly strange and awkward encounters you'd had in the past week. All the puzzle pieces were falling into place, and Enzo was here sitting next to you with a dopey smile on his face looking at you like you were his entire world. Good intentions, bad execution you tell yourself as you take a deep breath. Good intentions, terrible, horrible, really very bad execution.

"Well, I wasn't really. Thinking that is. I just figured, you're single. I'm single. There's clearly something between us. Act now, think later."

"And did you happen to think about how I'd react to finding all this out?" you ask, still not fully convinced any of this was real.

"That was part of the think later bit, love," he replies.

You had no idea how he was so nonchalant about the whole thing.

"So there was no plan then?" you ask. "Just make me look like a fool for a week?"

For the first time you see Enzo's smile falter. His brows furrow as he frowns at the ground.

"Course not," he mutters, reaching out to take one of your hands in his.

Against your better judgement, you let him. Watching with careful eyes as his thumb begins rubbing soothing circles into your palm.

"I was just waiting for the perfect moment to tell you," he murmurs, eyes focused intently on your hand which he had now interlocked with his own. "There didn't really seem to be one, and the necklace was doing its job, keeping people away. I just- I really like you. And I didn't know how to tell you."

You have to take a moment to let Enzo's words sink in. You'd never heard this kind of vulnerability from him before. Usually he was all confidence and arrogance, but right now, he was real.

"So. Soulmates, huh?" you ask, head tilting as you scoot over on the blanket, gingerly lowering your head to rest on Enzo's shoulder.

He looks down at you with surprise as if he'd half expected you to storm off back into the castle. You'd considered it for a moment, but you just press yourself closer, waiting for his arm to finally wrap itself around you.

"That's what you said in your note. With the necklace. You think we're soulmates then?"

You feel Enzo's whole body vibrate as he lets out a nervous laugh.

"I told you I was a romantic."

"Yeah, but you didn't warn me you were nauseatingly so," you tease.

Lorenzo just hums in response.

"Is now a bad time to tell you that the glowing when you put that necklace on was a binding charm that can only be broken by death?"

You immediately stiffen at his words, shooting up into an upright position as you claw at the locket around your neck.

"Lorenzo what the fuck?" you screech, only to be met with laughter as Enzo holds his sides, bending over not even trying to hold back his cackling.

After a moment of fumbling, you're able to unclasp the necklace and your jaw drops as you glare at the boy beside you, giving him a playful shove and causing him to fall over as he's still shaking with laughter.

"This is no way to charm someone," you say, trying to pout but unable to hide your smile at the boy's antics.

When Enzo finally pulls himself up from the ground, you find yourselves sitting almost face to face, your breath mingling in the cool night air. It's almost hypnotizing the way he's looking down at you, his carefree grin still gracing his lips.

"Are you ever going to kiss me, or do you plan on continuing to give me heart attac-"

Lorenzo's lips are on yours before you have the chance to finish your sentence, one hand gently cupping your face as the other grabs frantically at your waist, pulling you into him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as his lips move against yours, warm and inviting. It's slow at first, careful as if he's afraid you'll break beneath his touch.

So many times you'd caught yourself staring at Enzo's soft, pink lips, wondering what they'd feel like pressed against yours. Feeling bold, you snake your arms around Enzo's neck, tongue flicking every so slightly against his lower lip and causing the boy to moan into your mouth before pulling back slightly.

"Don't toy with me now, love," he whispers breathily, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

Reaching up, Enzo catches hold of your hand, still wrapped around him, pulling it down and gently prying back your fingers to reveal the locket that you had still been clutching onto. Wordlessly he takes the necklace, wrapping it back around your neck. You open your mouth to protest, but quickly shut it again when you see the way Enzo is eying you possessively, his nimble fingers easily closing clasp once more.

"Right back where it belongs," he murmurs before pulling you in once more.

He's hungry this time, his soft lips moving harshly against yours as if he's a man starved. You quickly find your fingers tangled in his hair as he pulls you impossibly closer. Every gasp that escapes your lips only seems to encourage him as he begins nipping lightly at your lower lip before trailing kisses down your jaw line, continuing down your neck. You were definitely going to need a concealment charm or two in the morning.

When you finally pull away, you once again find yourself out of breath as Enzo continues to pepper kisses across your nose and forehead.

"We should probably go back inside soon," you tell him as he presses another soft kiss on your lips, but Lorenzo just lets out another soft laugh.

Adjusting you in his lap so that your back is pressed against his chest, he wraps his arms tightly around you your head falling back to rest on his shoulder once more.

"If you think I'm letting go of you now, you're absolutely crazy."

[newobsessionweekly]

I won't remember you

Main masterlist | The rookie masterlist

Protective!Tim Bradford x girlfriend!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: After an attack leaves you bleeding out, Tim races to your side, terrified of losing you. In a desperate moment, you confess your fear of forgetting him after death. Tim swears nothing, not even death, will ever take you from him.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injury (stabbing, blood loss), panic, anxiety, fear of death ,near-death experience, heavy emotional distress, Protective!Tim in full force

Angst

Words: -

Fear lived in you now.

It wasn’t always this way. You used to be able to kiss Tim goodbye before a shift without feeling like you were sending him off to war. You used to be able to close your eyes at night without fearing you might never wake up. But lately, it had taken root inside you, growing deeper with every passing day.

It started as a whisper—soft, insidious thoughts creeping into your mind at odd hours. What if something happens to him today? What if you don’t wake up tomorrow? What if you forget him?

You told yourself it was just anxiety. That you were being paranoid.

Then, the panic attacks started.

Some nights, you’d wake up gasping for breath, your heart slamming against your ribs as if trying to claw its way out. Other nights, you didn’t sleep at all, too afraid that if you closed your eyes, you’d never open them again.

Tim noticed. Of course, he did.

He had always been good at reading you, knowing when something was wrong even before you did. At first, he didn’t push, just watched you carefully, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move. But when he caught you trembling after waking from another nightmare, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold your body together, he couldn’t stay silent.

"You’re not okay," he had said one night, his voice low, careful, as if afraid to spook you.

You had tried to lie.

"I’m fine."

"Don’t do that." He had stepped closer, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You had broken then, the dam inside you shattering all at once.

"I’m scared," you had admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "All the time, Tim. I can’t—I can’t shut it off."

His arms had been around you in an instant, his body solid and warm against yours. "What are you afraid of?"

You swallowed, gripping the front of his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. "Losing you."

Tim had tensed at that, his grip on you tightening. "That’s not going to happen."

"You don’t know that." Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You leave for work every day, and I—I feel like I can’t breathe until you come home."

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t pull away. He just held you, his lips brushing against your hair.

"I always come home," he murmured. "I will always come home to you."

"But what if you don’t?" Your fingers curled into his shirt, your breath shaky. "What if one day, something happens, and I lose you? What if I lose me? I don’t—I don’t want to die, Tim."

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears slipping down your cheeks.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said fiercely. "Neither of us are."

You had wanted to believe him.

But now, as you lay on the pavement, blood pooling beneath you, you realized—you should have believed him while you had the chance.

It had been a normal evening.

You had left the apartment to pick up dinner—Tim’s favorite, because you knew he had a long shift and would come home exhausted. The air was crisp, the streets familiar, and you had felt safe.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t hear the man coming.

One second, you were unlocking your car. The next, an arm wrenched you backward, slamming you against a brick wall.

A blade pressed into your side.

"Give me your bag," a low voice hissed in your ear.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. You nodded quickly, hands shaking as you slipped the bag from your shoulder, pressing it into his grip.

But he didn’t let go.

"This ain't enough," he snapped, his fingers digging into your arm. "You got a phone? Jewelry?"

You reached into your pocket, but he must have thought you were going for something else. Before you could speak, pain exploded through your side.

The knife slid in, hot and deep. You gasped, the world lurching as agony tore through you. For a second, you didn’t even understand what had happened. Then, warmth bloomed beneath your fingers.

You looked down.

Blood. So much blood.

The man cursed, shoving you backward before disappearing into the night.

You staggered, your body trembling violently as you pressed your hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Someone screamed. Someone called 911. But not you.

You should have called your boyfriend.

Tim had seen people die before.

He had seen officers go down, had pressed his hands against bullet wounds, had watched blood stain the pavement, had heard final breaths rasp from broken bodies.

But nothing—nothing—had ever prepared him for the moment he heard your name come through dispatch.

"Victim is y/n y/l/n. Possible GSW. Medics en route."

It was like the world snapped.

The air was sucked from his lungs, his heart stopped beating, and for a split second, everything froze.

Then—he ran. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He was in the car before anyone could stop him, the sirens screaming as he tore through the streets, his hands clenching the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. His mind was a chaos of images, panic clawing at his throat—

You on the ground.

You gasping for breath.

You—motionless.

His foot slammed on the gas. The drive was a blur. The city rushed past him in streaks of color, his own breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His heart was pounding against his ribs, so fast it hurt, so hard he thought it might break right out of his chest.

Please. Please. Please.

The second he saw you, his entire world collapsed. You were on the pavement, blood was everywhere. A dark crimson stain spread across your side, soaking into your clothes, pooling beneath you like an open wound in the earth itself.

Tim’s knees hit the ground before he even knew he had moved. His hands—steady on the field, in firefights, in life-or-death situations—shook as they pressed down over yours, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Y/n!" His voice cracked, his breath ragged. "Baby, I’m here."

You gasped, barely conscious, your eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his.

"Tim…"

The way you said his name—weak, broken, like you weren’t sure you’d ever get to say it again—ripped him apart.

"Hey, hey, baby, stay with me." His fingers curled over yours, pressing against the wound, desperate to stop the blood, to fix this, to save you. "You’re okay. Just hold on, sweetheart. Just—just stay with me."

You blinked up at him, your lips trembling.

"I didn’t call you," you whispered.

Tim’s jaw locked, his breath shuddering.

"Why the hell not?" His voice was sharp, raw, barely controlled beneath the sheer terror gripping him.

You swallowed, your fingers twitching against his. "Didn’t want you to… hear me like this."

A choked noise caught in his throat.

"Jesus, y/n" His hands tightened on you, pressing against the wound, his body instinctively shielding yours like he could keep you safe just by being there. "You always call me. Do you hear me? Always. I don’t give a damn what I’m doing—I will always come for you."

A soft sound left your lips—half a breath, half a whimper.

"Scared," you murmured.

Tim exhaled sharply, his chest aching at the fragility of your voice.

"I know, baby," he whispered. His fingers brushed against your face, streaking your cheek with your own blood. "I know."

You inhaled shakily, a weak tremor racking through your body.

"I don’t… I don’t want to die."

Tim clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. A burning sensation settled in his chest, threatening to consume him.

"You’re not going to die," he growled, his voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You’re not leaving me. Not now. Not ever."

You blinked sluggishly, your pupils unfocused.

"But if I do…"

Tim’s stomach dropped. His heart stopped dead.

"Don’t," he begged, voice hoarse. "Don’t say it."

Your hand—so cold, so weak—curled around his wrist.

"But if I do…" you whispered. "I won’t remember you."

Tim’s entire body locked. A shuddering breath left him, raw and wrecked.

Tears blurred your vision as you forced yourself to continue, despite the sharp ache in your chest. “They say—at weddings, they say ‘till death do us part’ because when you die, you forget. You forget the people you love. And I don’t want to forget you.”

Tim broke. The breath he sucked in was sharp, painful, like glass cutting down his throat.

"You’re not going to die," he choked out, his grip tightening on you like he could physically hold you here, keep you tethered to him.

Your lips trembled.

"But if I do… Will you find me?"

A tear slipped from Tim’s lashes, burning against his skin. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and unsteady.

"Always." His voice shook, barely above a whisper. "I will always find you, baby. No matter what. I swear to you."

Your lashes fluttered.

"’Til death do us part," you murmured.

Tim flinched. No. No, he hated that phrase.

He hated the finality of it. The implication that death was the end. That you could be taken from him and there would be nothing after.

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, smearing blood over your skin.

"Not even death," he whispered fiercely. "Not even death could take you from me."

You shivered beneath his touch, the cold creeping into your bones. Tim felt it and it terrified him.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please."

Your lips parted then your body went limp. His heart stopped.

"No—no, no, no—y/n!" His voice was a roar, pure desperation as he shook you, as he pressed his hands against the wound, as if he could force life back into you. "Stay with me!"

The paramedics were suddenly there, voices shouting, hands pulling him back, but Tim fought them.

"No!" He thrashed against their grip, his voice ragged, his hands bloody as they tried to push him away from you. "I’m not leaving her!"

"Y/n, stay with me, baby, please—"

They wrenched him back, and suddenly—he couldn’t touch you anymore. He couldn’t feel you.

"Her pulse is weak—get the stretcher, now!"

"She’s lost too much blood—"

Tim’s breath came in ragged, painful bursts, his hands shaking so violently he couldn’t control them.

He watched—helpless—as they lifted you, as the sirens screamed, as your head lolled to the side, your skin too pale, your breath too shallow.

Panic clawed at his throat.

He shoved past the medics, gripping your limp hand.

"You’re not leaving me," he whispered, his voice shattering.

They loaded you into the ambulance, and Tim didn’t let go.

He climbed in after you, his fingers clutching yours, his forehead pressing against your knuckles.

"I will always find you," he whispered, a silent prayer.

"Just—please—find your way back to me."

[daylighted]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤlazy mornings . . . charlie baker.

────────────────────────────────────────────

"shh," charlie whispers in your ear, each of the shallow thrusts between your pressed together legs enough to make the rickety bed shake against the wall. "gotta be quiet for me, alright?"

quiet was a word you weren't sure that anyone in the baker family knew the meaning of. outside of his closed and locked door, you could hear his siblings chasing each other down the halls, doors slamming and creaking open, voices coming and going.

charlie was used to it, you knew. impossible not to be. but that didn't make it any less nerve wracking to have the pressure of silence on your shoulders, lest one of his siblings catch wind that he was awake, and try to barge in.

his arm tightens around your chest, tugging you back into him, each shift of his hips grinding further into you. he was still tired, his movements lazy, but he always knew how to make you squirm.

your lips part in a shuddering breath, and his other hand atop your mouth loosens a little, his cheek nuzzling into the side of your neck. "sorry," he says, pressing little kisses on your skin, his morning voice rough against the smooth column of your throat.

you try to whisper back to him, but your words are caught there, right beneath his lips, and instead, all you can do is press your head backwards again, further into the warmth of his chest.

charlie shifts a little, moving you along with him, and the bed creaks a little too loudly, his cock stilling inside of you. listening, and waiting, for any sign that his family heard him starting to stir. your breath joins your words in your mouth, lodged behind every sound that wants to come out.

"i think it's okay," you whisper into his fingers, pressing a kiss to one of his fingertips in the process. one of your hands drops down to his thigh to urge him on, nails scraping lightly on the warm skin. "i think─"

"charlie?" mr. baker's voice is as loud as a gong in your ears, your words stuttering off into nothing at the sound of it. "you finally awake?"

charlie buries his face into your neck, letting out a sigh just for you. and to your horror, a smile, too, just for you, as he starts to push inside of you again. "go away, dad," he calls over your shoulder.

your heart is in your throat already, but it pounds at the rattle of the doorknob. thank god charlie locked it last night. thank god some things could stay secret in a house of fourteen.

"why is your door locked?" mr. baker asks, and he's still rattling the knob as if it'll loosen the bolts inside and magically open, and charlie is still slowly rocking his hips in your wet heat, and you think you might just die, really.

charlie's arm tightens around your stomach, pulling you against him all over again, this time in rhythm with each deeper push into you. his other hand clasps around your mouth again, like he can sense it, the way your lips start to shudder and the dam in your throat starts to break. "because i wanted t'actually try and sleep in, for once," he says finally, and maybe you're paranoid, but his voice sounds more gravelly than before, strained at the edges.

mr. baker can't meet you for the first time like this. with charlie buried inside of you, and you naked in his son's bed.

your nails dig into charlie's leg in warning. his palm curls around your waist in silent answer. still, he doesn't stop.

"you should know by now that sleeping in is not something that happens in this family," mr. baker laughs through the door, rapping his knuckles against it. "c'mon. up n' attem. breakfast's gonna get cold."

charlie groans again in your ear. another sound just for you. no words were being spoken but it was almost like a conversation, anyways. "m'coming, alright?"

"alright, kid," mr. baker says, and for a second, it's quiet again. there's just the sound of your muffled breaths into charlie's palm, and his soft noises pressed behind your ear. but things were never so easy in the baker house. "hey, isn't your girlfriend coming by this afternoon?"

charlie doesn't answer. heat coils in your lower stomach, snapping and biting in warning, your breaths coming out more frantic. again, you can feel charlie's smile quirk against your skin.

his thrusts slow, each one more deliberate as he stretches out your fluttering walls to fit him. "yeah," charlie finally answers, his arm firmly around your waist, holding you tight as you fall apart, the hand around your mouth loosening, "yeah, she's comin'."

you have enough sensibility to not make a sound as your body shakes with the force of your pleasure. you also have enough sensibility to elbow charlie in the ribs for what he says.

"good, good," mr. baker hums.

charlie pushes one more time inside of you, harder than the last, as his cock twitches, coating your walls with the thick white beads of his cum. he presses one more kiss into the crook of your shoulder before he goes lax behind you, tugging you back into his arms.

mr. baker's voice starts to fade, becoming more distant, but not far away enough for you not to hear his final utterance of, "henry says she's lovely."

────────────────────────────────────────────

this is very niche. so i am dedicating it to the two pookies i KNOWWWW will get it. @deansbeer & @titsout4jackles this one's 4 u.

[dottysdokis]

i'm not seeing any posts about it here yet, but they solved the silas birchtree riddle on reddit and there's some pretty juicy lore! first, entering "paranoid" backwards nets this conspiracy board:

then, from the black letters in the corners of some of the pages people pieced together the code "connect the dots", backwards again, gets a whopping 12 page chapter about the ciphertology cult! it's...something.

so in summary, bill puppeted a guy's corpse, became a cult leader, seemingly married over a hundred people, mass-possessed his followers, tried to get them to build his portal. his lone dissenter was a spinster who made anti-bill chick tracts and started a fire. a waco-style shootout ensued, killing silas' already-rotting corpse a second time in a disturbingly detailed manner. at some point he made some of his followers drink the kool-aid too.

entering the lady's name, emmaline butternubbins, into the computer finally gets you the reward for solving all the riddles: hd wallpapers of various graphics from the book of bill. but frankly this is more interesting and fucked up to me.

(alt text under cut, wip)

[Image 1: A cluttered conspiracy board centered on Bill Cipher. Red string and pins connect various newspaper clippings, photos, drawings and pamphlets.]

[Image 2: A history-book style chapter page. Header "LESSER KNOWN AMERICAN CULTS."

"Have you ever heard of Orchard Lake, Kansas? Chances are you haven't. It was erased from every map, book, and historical record, and the US Government's official position on it is "stop calling us or we'll send a drone to your house." (I learned this the hard way.) But if you drive to the exact latitude and longitude of you'll see bullet casings, faded billboards, and bow ties strewn across the desert sands.

That's because Orchard Lake had another name before it was wiped off the record: BillVille.

CHAPTER 3: BillVille

The First Cult In History That Was Right

FIG A: A tumbillweced

As a historian of esoteric religions, I thought I'd discovered the strangest sects America had yct to offer (see "Chapter 3: Kevin's Gate") but that all changed when I found the following items tucked away in an old trunk in an estate sale on the out- skirts of Bootstrap, Missouri."]

[lordprettyflackotara]

decode || ticci toby

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: face fucking, bear death?, reader is extremely oblivious/naive

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It had been ten days. Ten long agonizing days since you had seen him.

You had been wondering in the forest. Aimlessly of course, searching for some connection with nature you could never quite obtain. Civilization was a couple of miles away, sticks crunching beneath your boots. You had heard what sounded like footsteps behind you. Normally you weren’t a paranoid person, but the consistent sound made you constantly glance over your shoulder. This distraction led you to what seemed to be the end, a grizzly bear rising on two legs to glare down at you. Unknowingly you had stumbled upon it feasting, blood covering its snout and a deer carcass behind it. The corpse was long forgotten, its beady eyes centered on you.

All safety measures you had been taught went out of the window. Every bit of flight or fight completely vacant in your mind as you stared up in fear. The bear could practically smell the terror dripping off of you. You began to walk backwards, doubting your ability to outrun a bear. It was then you tripped, an overgrown tree root causing you to land on your ass. You gasped as the bear towered over you, a low growl sending shivers down your spine. You were sure that was the end, your heart pounding in your chest. That was before an axe went flying into the bears neck, the blood splattering across your face.

Your savior, an odd lanky man with goggles and face mask ran over to the bear, yanking the thrown axe out of its neck. You were surprised at how fast the animal fell over, its breath ragged and shallow. You blinked, the brunette man turning to you, his skin a grayish white you couldn’t quite make sense of. From the color of his skin you’d assume he was deathly ill, yet he seemed more in shape than you. His appearance was frightening and unsettling. He should’ve scared you, especially after just slaughtering a full grown grizzly bear. Yet his presence put you at ease. He stepped over the fallen animal, standing over you. He extended his hand, his palms covered in soiled bandages. Hesitantly you accepted it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You tried to see his eyes, the reflective bright orange goggles staring down at you. He was far taller than you, your head forced to tilt upwards to look at him. “Thank you,” You say softly. The forest seemed to fall silent, the only sound audible the bear slowly bleeding out.

“Go home.”

His voice was jagged and rough, causing your eyebrows to raise. You wiped yourself off, the pine needles that had attached themselves to your jeans falling to the forest floor. “Can I at least know your name?” You asked. The brunette seemed hesitant, before slinging his axe over his shoulder.

“Toby.”

After that he glanced over his shoulder, as if he heard something you couldn’t. “Go home kid,” He huffed, jumping over the bears corpse and running in the opposite direction. You listened to his request, turning around and heading straight back the way you came.

Ten days. It had been ten days since Toby had saved you, your mysterious savior haunting your dreams. You had dreams of him saving you repeatedly. Those dreams were short lived, followed by nightmares that caused you to wake up screaming. In some he would attack you with the axe, in others he would feed you to the bear. You feared and craved him all at the same time. This lead to you making irrational decisions. You called out of work regularly, spending all of your time in the forest. You felt like you were going insane. After you had washed the blood off of your face, you had no evidence he ever truly existed. Were you going crazy? You couldn’t be. Your determination to prove your sanity led to you back in the forest once more.

You were searching for him. Searching for evidence he ever existed. Originally you had searched for the bears corpse, only to find it gone. You swore you could’ve recalled the exact spot, even finding the exact overgrown root of the tree that caused you to trip. Yet there was no corpse. No sign of anything at all. You found yourself in the same spot again, searching the pine needles that covered the forest floor. There had to be something. A bear that size surely couldn’t evaporate into thin air over ten days. You’d still be able to find its skeleton or dried blood. The circle of life was fast, but not fast enough to make a creature that large disappear. You kneeled down to the ground, pushing a pile of the pine needles aside. You frowned in disappointment when you found nothing but dirt. It was then a chill ran down your spine, the eerie feeling of being watched causing your body to tense. Hesitantly you stood up, looking around.

“Hello?”

Your voice seemed to echo through out the endless trees, the wind causing leafs to fall from the highest branches. It was only then Toby revealed himself, dressed in the same dirt covered attire he wore when you last saw him. “W-why do you keep c-coming back here?” Toby questioned. His tone was harsh, causing you to flinch. You felt overjoyed at the sight of him, his presence alone proving to you he was real. But his tone was chilling, his words dripping with a deeper meaning then you realized. “I keep having dreams about you. I don’t understand it, but you’ve left a mark on me somehow,” You admitted. Your words hardly meant sense to you, yet they seemed to register for Toby. He rounded the tree he was standing behind, approaching you. “Y-you should’ve just forgotten a-about me,” He said coldly. You were stunned, noting he now had two axes, both tucked onto holsters. “How could I? It’s not everyday a guy slaughters a bear for you,” You argued. Toby seemed frustrated, his shoulders tensing.

“I’m not your everyday j-jo. I c-can’t wine and d-dine you. I’m not like every o-o-other pussy you’ve ever let fuck you,” He spat. You glared at him. Your dreams meant something, you knew they did. They had to. “My dreams mean something don’t they? That’s why you’re trying to scare me off!” You said accusingly. Toby approached you, towering over you. His pace was aggressive, causing you to step backwards against a large tree. You felt the bark scrape at your jacket, swallowing at Toby caged you against the wood. “You d-don’t know what y-you’re getting into k-kid,” Toby snarled. You shook your head. “You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. I don’t care. There’s something drawing me to you. I can’t ignore it,” You confessed. You bit your lower lip, causing Toby to tilt his head to the side. You could tell he was thinking, his mind racing as he stared down at you.

“How s-strange. I can’t tell if your i-i-infatuation is caused by boss n-not,” He mused. He lifted his hand, gently brushing the side of your face. His hands were dirty, yet his finger tips grazed your skin as if you were made of glass. You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, Toby suddenly leaning away. “I-I’ll come back for you,” He decided. He turned away, causing you to follow behind him. You grabbed his arm, Toby stopping dead in his tracks. “Where will we meet? Here?” You asked. Toby looked over his shoulder at you. You wished you could see his facial expression, his words seemingly cold and calculated. “No. Never c-come back h-h-here. I’ll find you,” He ordered. He shrugged your grip off of him, beginning to stalk away. “Oh and while you’re at it kid, i-it’s in your best interest to f-find a way to repay me,” Toby said flatly, before disappearing once again.

Your simple conversation played on repeat in your head. Looping round and round. Who was his boss? How could his ‘boss’ cause the dreams? The nightmares? The infatuation? You stared up blankly at the ceiling at night, your inability to sleep resulting in your job threatening to fire you from calling out so much. Everything seemed to be crumbling around you and you didn’t understand why. It was a night like the rest of them, your eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling. You had managed to count every spec, your eyes becoming crossed. You had stared for so long you swore you were beginning to see shapes and patterns. Maybe you were hallucinating. Maybe you were going insane. Could surviving a grizzly bear attack drive you mad? Or maybe you didn’t survive at all. Maybe you were dead and this was some weird purgatory. Maybe Toby didn’t exist at all and your mind made him up to avoid processing the extreme trauma. Maybe-

Your thoughts were disrupted by a knock on your window, the sound causing you to jump. Scrambling to throw off the covers you jumped out of bed, rubbing your eyes before yanking your curtains open. Toby gave you a simple wave, his axe slung over his shoulder. You opened the window, watching him climb inside. “I have a front door you know,” You said. You watched him shut the window, yanking the curtains shut. “D-draws too m-much attention. B-besides, this won’t take long,” Toby said. He dropped his axe down on the floor, shoving his goggles on top of his head. His chocolate eyes met yours, staring down at you. “I need you t-to know you don’t want this, I-I need you to be afraid of me,” He growled. You didn’t understand, slowly taking a step backwards. “Why?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Toby followed you slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. “I-i’m not the good guy. All of these b-b-bullshit fantasies you’ve cooked up-p are wrong,” He spat. You felt your face turn red, your eyes widening. How did he know-

“I’m n-not your savior. In e-every other scenario, i’m the bear,” He growled. There was something about his voice, his eyes, the way he stood over you. You hated how attracted to him you were in this moment. “I don’t believe you. You won’t hurt me,” You whispered. In a swift motion his fingers were wrapped around your throat, your back colliding with the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your hands flying to his wrist. He glared down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

Toby didn’t have it in himself to kill you. He was in deep enough shit with The Operator already, just by saving you. Proxies were designed to be ghost. They operated entirely by invisibility. They were never there. They never left any trances of their presence or work. Toby had a small solo mission, one that didn’t require Masky or Hoodie monitoring him. His mistake was traveling through the forest on foot, just trying to make it back to the mansion as swiftly as possible. He had noticed you way before the grizzly bear. You were quite pretty. Plump lips, soft eyes, gorgeous skin. Toby couldn’t help but allow himself a rare pleasure just for a brief moment. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been around a girl that wasn’t a designated target. In all fairness, Toby hadn’t seen the grizzly either. He was too focused on you and your beauty, his survival skills temporarily subsided. When you ran into the bear he didn’t have time to think, only to act. He felt an odd urge to protect you. Whether or not The Operator would forgive him for acting on this urge was a different story.

Toby was permitted to see you one final time, to finish the job. Masky and Hoodie had removed the bear corpse and any signs of Toby’s presence. Proxies weren’t allowed to leave evidence or witnesses. The Operator would’ve been mildly satisfied with allowing you to believe you were going insane. The supernatural being stayed lurking in your thoughts, sprinkling fear through out your persistent dreams. He turned them into night terrors. Toby felt guilty, knowing that your sanity would eventually turn into mush. He monitored you closely, watching you return to the forest. He feared The Operator’s influence was only encouraging you to continue your investigation. Toby knew he had to put a stop to it. For your future would become far more tarnished if you continued to anger The Operator. So he took it upon himself to attempt to fix the situation. What he hadn’t accounted for was your faith. You had raw uncensored faith in him. Toby couldn’t quite understand why. He needed to scare you away. Your interest in him needed to fade away from your memory.

Yet it didn’t, your eyes widened as you stared up at him in awe. Your lips were parted, your heart pounding as he squeezed your neck. He shoved his knee in between your legs, a small gasp escaping your lips. He blinked, confused at the erotic sound. “I-is this how you w-wanted to repay me?” Toby asked. The idea made his head spin. The idea that something as pure and innocent as you would want him. Your face was turning a darker shade of red, your tongue tied. He loosened his grip on your throat, watching as you gulped large amounts of oxygen. “P-please,” You sputtered, gulping. Toby’s pupils blew with lust, his hand falling from your throat. All of this time he wanted to scare you, yet you were willing to let him fuck you? “You’re not scared of me?” Toby asked hesitantly, You nodded, refusing to break eye contact. “Good k-keep that in mind,” He ordered. He shoved his face mask aside, quickly pressing his lips against yours. He ignored the burning embarrassment that radiated off of him as he kissed you. His eyes were screwed shut, while yours were wide open.

He knew you were staring at the gash that sat on his cheek. The sight alone was scarring, nevertheless unforgettable. You could see his teeth, the skin around the wound healed and scared over. You wanted to ask questions, but his eager hands grabbing your forearms distracted you. The man before you looked deathly ill and had somehow survived losing a major part of his face. His kisses were hot and heavy, desperate to regain your focus on him and only him. Not his imperfections he kept hidden from the outside world. He couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed anyone, the mint from your tongue dancing across his tastebuds. As he inhaled through his nose deeply he recognized how good you smelled. When’s the last time he had ever smelled anything besides dirt and blood? Toby pulled away, his cheeks a light tint of pink as he stared down at you. You looked so cute and flustered. The man before you was enchanting, a supernatural creature you knew you couldn’t understand. All of that mystery only made you want him more. You sank to your knees slowly, keeping eye contact with the man before you.

Toby wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Doing this, allowing this with you was wrong.

It didn’t matter how much Toby wanted this to happen. It was wrong. The Operator would skin him alive if he knew the devious acts he was committing. He was supposed to be killing you, not watch you unzip his pants with those stupid big eyes of yours. But Toby couldn’t help but feel selfish. He had never felt so possessive before, so desperate to keep something all to himself. But with you, he absolutely did. He did everything for everyone else. For The Operator. For Masky and Hoodie. He hardly ever did anything for himself. As a proxy you’re meant to be a vessel, a working part in a moving machine. You’re apart of a unit, not an individual with wants or desires. Yet without thinking twice he broke away from that mold, by saving you from the bear. The brunette decided that he deserved one thing and that one thing was you.

You shoved his boxers and pants to the floor, his hard cock presenting itself in front of you. The sight of salivating, your lips wrapping around his tip. Toby’s hand found its way to your hair, tangling itself in your roots. “F-fuck just like that,” He groaned, subtly pulling you towards him. You whimpered as you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, the man in front of you borderline shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Meanwhile you were a mess, your thighs attempting to rub together to create some friction while you sucked his cock. You felt your nipples harden under your shirt, your eyes struggling to stay open. His large hand on the back of your head guided you to go faster, his tip scraping the back of your throat. “My f-fucking fuck!” Toby groaned. You were so perfect. So pretty and usable. And better yet? You were all his. His hips began to snap faster into your mouth, his cock now face fucking you. You gagged on his shaft, his girth far larger than you had anticipated for.

You gripped at his thighs, saliva trailing down the sides of your mouth as he abused your throat. “Such a good fleshlight,” Toby moaned. You felt tears begin to flood your waterline, your jaw forced to go slack. Toby’s thrust were relentless, the brunette obsessed with chasing his high. “A-awe you look so adorable drooling on my c-cock,” Toby cooed mockingly, relishing in the sight of the fresh tears dripping down your cheeks. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his fingers yanking at the roots of your hair. You moaned around his shaft, the vibrations enough to send him over the edge. He thrust inside of your throat one final time, his seed spilling down your throat. Satisfied, he watched as you struggled to swallow his load. You gagged as he pulled out of your mouth, watching you gulp down oxygen as you wiped the saliva from the sides of your mouth. Toby knelt down in front of you, cupping your cheek with his large hand. He wiped away one of your tears with his thumb, leaning in to kiss you. Just as his lips were about to graze yours, the overwhelming sound of static flooded his head.

He cursed as he leaned away, his hands gripping his head. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked. Toby shook his head. “Boss is calling, gotta go,” He said dryly. He began to redress himself, rising to his feet. You awkwardly joined him, wetness dampening your panties between your thighs. “What about me?” You asked softly. Toby hadn’t considered your needs, his eyes widening as he turned back to look at you. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess. Your lips were red and plump from his abuse, your thighs rubbing together as you stood in front of him. Toby unsurely tucked some stray hairs behind your ear, pulling his mask over his nose. “Dont wait up for me, but i’ll be back,” He said. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, tangoing with the devil that was beckoning him. He felt a brief moment of sympathy, noting the sadness in your eyes. He shoved his goggles over his eyes, throwing himself into the night. You watched him go, leaving you to decode everything that just happened.

[ghstyles]

Protocol | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 4K

Summary: You’ve been ignoring Harry’s safety protocols. This comes back to bite you in the ass

Requested

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The sun beats down on the university parking lot, the asphalt radiating heat in visible waves as students hurry between their vehicles and the air-conditioned buildings. It's late afternoon on a Friday, and the lot is beginning to empty as weekend plans take precedence over academics.

You emerge from the English Literature building, hair piled in a messy bun atop your head, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You’re dressed for the summer heat in high-waisted shorts and a light blouse, your bag heavy with books slung over one shoulder. Your phone chimes as you approach your car—a modest but reliable model that Harry had insisted on having his mechanic thoroughly inspect when he first got you the car.

Checking the notification, you see a text from Harry: Heading home?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you type back a quick Just leaving campus now. Should be home in 20.

Home. The word still feels strange sometimes. This idea that Harry's penthouse has become as much your space as your own small student apartment. Over the past year, the transition had been so gradual you hardly noticed until suddenly most of your belongings had migrated to his place, and you also found yourself spending five or six nights a week there.

Another text arrives as you reach your car: Check everything?

You roll your eyes, though there's no one around to see your exasperation. A year into your relationship, and Harry's security protocols have become a familiar routing. Sometimes comforting, sometimes frustrating, but always non-negotiable.

You send back a thumbs-up emoji, knowing it will irritate him. Harry prefers explicit confirmation, not ambiguous symbols. Sure enough, three dots appear immediately, indicating he's typing what you assume will be a slightly annoyed response.

Before he can send it, you sigh and begin the routine you’ve grudgingly incorporated into your daily life. First, you verify that your location sharing is active, which is easy enough, and you understand the logic behind it, given the enemies Harry has accumulated over the years. Next, you do a quick walk around the car, checking that it appears undisturbed.

The third rule is the one you’re most inconsistent about: checking beneath the vehicle for explosive devices. It had seemed absurdly paranoid when Harry first insisted on it, like something from a spy film rather than a precaution needed in real life. Most days, you give the undercarriage a cursory glance at best, sometimes skipping it entirely when you’re running late or the weather is bad.

Today, though, as you stand in the sweltering heat with sweat beginning to bead along your hairline, you decide to humor him properly. Maybe it's the way his text seemed more insistent than usual, or maybe it's just that the anniversary of your first meeting is approaching, making you more indulgent of his protective instincts.

"Fine, Harry," you mutter to yourself, crouching down to peer beneath the car with exaggerated thoroughness. "Let's check for the imaginary bomb that's definitely not—"

The words die in your throat as your eyes land on something that absolutely should not be there. A small device attached to the underside of the chassis, a red light blinking steadily in the shadows.

For a moment, you simply stare, your brain refusing to process what you see. Then panic surges through your system, heart rate spiking as you scramble backward, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between yourself and the car.

With shaking hands, you pull out your phone, hitting Harry's contact without conscious thought. He answers on the first ring.

"Angel?" His voice is alert, no trace of the casual tone from your texts just minutes ago.

"Harry," you gasp, your voice higher than normal, words tumbling out in a rush. "There's—under my car—there's a device with a blinking light. I swear to God, Harry, it looks like a bomb. I'm not joking. It's really there!"

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then, to your complete disbelief, Harry chuckles. It's a low, dark sound that makes you freeze in confusion.

"Well, well," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "You finally decided to take me seriously, did you?"

"What?" you blink, confusion momentarily overriding your fear. "Harry, I'm not kidding around. There is literally a device attached to my car right now!"

"I know," he replies, sounding infuriatingly calm. "I put it there."

The words take a moment to register, and when they do, you feel a surge of emotions: relief, quickly followed by disbelief, and then indignation.

"You...what?" you splutter, straightening up from your crouched position. "You put a fake bomb under my car? What the actual fuck, Harry?"

"Yeah, and by the way," he continues, ignoring your outburst, "it's been there for two weeks, angel. Took you long enough to fucking notice."

You stand in the middle of the parking lot, mouth open in shock, as the implications sink in. Two weeks. The device has been attached to your car for two weeks, and you’ve been driving around completely oblivious, skipping the safety check Harry had insisted was non-negotiable.

"You..." you start, then stop, not even sure where to begin with your indignation. "You could have given me a heart attack! I thought I was about to be blown up!"

"Better scared than dead," Harry replies, his tone shifting to something harder, more serious. "If it had been real, your pretty little eyes would be scattered across the parking lot right now."

The graphic image makes your stomach turn, but before you can respond, he continues:

"Not that I actually rely on you to check properly. I'm not a fucking idiot."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, still trying to process the fact that your boyfriend—the dangerous, powerful man you’ve been sharing a bed with for the past year—planted a fake explosive on your vehicle as some kind of test.

"It means," Harry says, his voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "that while you've been prancing around campus thinking safety protocols are optional, I've had Zayn checking your car daily. You think I'd leave your security up to someone who considers looking under a vehicle for two seconds 'good enough'?"

The revelation that one of Harry's most trusted men has been secretly monitoring your car every day should probably disturb you more than it does. Instead, you find yourself torn between lingering anger at the deception and a reluctant appreciation for the thoroughness of Harry's protection.

"So what was the point of this little exercise?" you demand, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Just to prove I'm not taking your rules seriously enough?"

"The point," Harry says, and you can picture him perfectly. He’s most likely lounging in his office chair, one hand holding the phone while the other fiddles with something on his desk, his expression that maddening combination of arrogant and concerned that you’ve come to recognize as his default when it comes to your safety, "was to make you understand that these precautions aren't arbitrary. They're the difference between you walking through the door to me tonight and me identifying your body at the morgue."

The bluntness of his statement hits you like a physical blow, making you shiver despite the heat.

"That's not fair," you protest, though with less conviction than before. "You can't just put fake bombs on people's cars to teach them lessons."

"I didn't put it on 'people's' cars," Harry corrects you. "I put it on yours. Because unlike most people, you're connected to me, which makes you a target."

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has that dangerous softness that never fails to make your pulse quicken. The tone he uses when he's deadly serious about something.

"I have enemies, angel. Men who would hurt you without hesitation to get to me. The rules aren't suggestions. They're what keep you breathing."

You sigh, your initial anger fading as the reality of his words sinks in. It's easy to forget sometimes, in the comfort of your domestic routine, just how dangerous Harry's world really is. Yes, you’ve seen glimpses of it, the meetings that end with bruised knuckles and terse phone calls, the nights he comes home with blood on his shirt that isn't his own, the way his men snap to attention when he enters a room. But most of the time, you’re sheltered from the worst of it, protected by Harry's influence and reputation.

"Okay," you finally concede. "I get it. I'll be more careful. But don't ever do something like this again without warning me, or I swear to God, Harry—"

"You'll what?" he interrupts, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. That dangerous curve of his lips that still makes your stomach flip after a year together. "Punish me?"

The suggestion sends an inappropriate heat through your body despite your lingering irritation.

"I'll think of something," you promise, trying to keep your voice stern even as a reluctant smile tugs at your own lips. "So, what now? Do I just...leave this fake bomb on my car?"

"Zayn's on his way to remove it," Harry informs you. "He should be there in about five minutes. And then you're coming straight home."

It's not a request, but you don't bother arguing. The adrenaline from your initial panic is wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and, if you're honest, a little shaken by how easily you could have been in real danger without ever knowing it.

"Fine," you agree. "I'll see you soon."

"Oh, and angel?" Harry adds before you can hang up. "When you get here, we're going to have a very thorough discussion about the importance of following security protocols. Preferably with you on your knees."

The crude implication sends another inappropriate wave of heat through your body, and you find yourself biting your lip to suppress a smile despite everything.

"You're impossible," you tell him, but there's no real heat in the accusation.

"I'm effective," he corrects you. "And now you'll check under your car properly, won't you?"

"Yes," you admit grudgingly. "I will."

"Good girl," Harry says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "See you soon."

As you end the call, you spot a black SUV pulling into the parking lot. It's Zayn arriving to remove the fake device from your car. You shake your head, still not entirely sure whether to be furious with Harry for his extreme methods or grateful for the protection he provides, even when you’re too stubborn to accept its necessity.

One thing is certain, though, you'll be checking under your car properly from now on, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Because while Harry's methods may be extreme, his concern is genuine. And in his dangerous world, sometimes the difference between life and death really is as simple as taking an extra thirty seconds to be thorough.

As Zayn approaches with a nod of greeting, his dark eyes sweep the area with professional vigilance, and you make a mental note to start paying more attention to all of Harry's security rules. Not just because you finally understand their importance, but because the alternative is living with whatever creative "lesson" he might dream up next. And while this one ended with nothing more than a scare and a bruised ego, you have a feeling Harry’s patience for repeated carelessness is far more limited than he lets on.

"He made his point, then?" Zayn asks as he crouches to remove the device, his tone dry, like he already knows exactly what this little exercise was about.

"Oh, he made it," you reply, watching as he efficiently detaches the fake bomb from beneath your car. "Loudly and clearly."

Zayn’s lips quirk in what might be the closest thing to a smile you’ve ever seen from him. "He worries," he says simply, like that explains and justifies everything: the lie, the scare, the constant surveillance.

And the thing is, as you wait for him to finish so you can head back to the penthouse where Harry is waiting, you realize it does explain it. Because in Harry’s world, worry doesn’t show up as gentle reminders or heart-to-hearts. It shows up in through precautions, in backup plans for backup plans, in men like Zayn checking your car every day without your knowledge.

It’s love, expressed in the only language Harry truly understands: protection, control, and the absolute refusal to lose what he considers his. It’s not conventional, and it’s certainly not always easy to live with, but as you slide into your now-cleared car and drive toward the man who planted a fake bomb just to teach you a lesson, you find yourself smiling despite it all.

Because while normal boyfriends show they care with flowers and chocolate, Harry Styles does it with security protocols and staged explosions. And somehow, in the twisted logic of your relationship, that makes perfect sense.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's a little past midnight, the kind of autumn night where the air carries a crisp bite that hints at the coming winter. Your student apartment sits nestled in a row of similar buildings, most windows dark as their occupants sleep or study in the quiet hours.

Inside your modest second-floor apartment, you move around in the soft glow of a reading lamp, preparing for bed. Your hair is damp from a recent shower, hanging in loose waves down your back as you pad barefoot across the worn wooden floors. You’re dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt stolen from Harry's drawer. It’s a habit you've developed early in the relationship, claiming his shirts were more comfortable than any pajamas you owned.

The space feels emptier without Harry's commanding presence, though he'd only left a few hours ago, called away by a business matter he refused to elaborate on. At this point in your relationship, you know better than to ask for details. Some aspects of Harry's work remain firmly separated from your life, a boundary you’ve learned to respect even as other lines between you have blurred beyond recognition.

Checking your phone, you see a text from him sent twenty minutes ago: Done for the night. Everything locked up there?

You roll your eyes affectionately at the familiar question. 

Doors locked, alarm set, you type back, deliberately omitting any mention of the windows, particularly the one in your bedroom that you habitually leave unlocked despite Harry's repeated warnings. It's a small act of rebellion, one you justify with the logic that you live on the second floor, and no one is scaling the building to break in through your window.

Besides, you like the fresh air that circulates when you crack it open at night, especially now in the cooler months. Harry's paranoia about security is understandable given his lifestyle, but sometimes it feels excessive in the context of your ordinary student existence.

Your phone chimes with his response: Good. Get some sleep, angel. Early morning tomorrow.

You smile at the message, hearing it in his deep voice with that hint of command that never quite leaves his tone, even in the most mundane exchanges. Tomorrow you’re meant to drive out to meet Louis, one of Harry's associates who's opening a legitimate restaurant as a front for something you have deliberately not asked about.

Night x, you send back, then set your phone on the charger and move to the bathroom to finish your skincare routine.

Ten minutes later, you're sliding between the covers of your bed, the window cracked open just enough to let in a gentle breeze that stirs the curtains. The sound of occasional cars passing on the street below creates a soothing white noise as you reach for your book, intending to read a few pages before sleep.

Two chapters in, your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the day's activities catching up with you. Setting the book aside, you switch off the lamp and snuggle deeper into the covers, your breathing gradually slowing as you drift toward sleep.

You're in that hazy space between wakefulness and dreams when a subtle sound registers. A soft scraping from the direction of your window. Your eyes flutter open, squinting into the darkness as your sleep-fogged brain tries to identify the noise.

Probably just the wind, you think drowsily, about to close your eyes again when another sound comes, more distinct this time, the unmistakable creak of the window frame being pulled wider. Suddenly fully alert, Your heart leaps into your throat as adrenaline floods your system.

There's someone at your window.

Frozen in fear, you watch as a dark silhouette appears against the night sky, a large figure maneuvering with surprising grace through the opening. Your mind races wildly. The baseball bat you keep by your door is too far away and your phone is charging on the nightstand, out of immediate reach.

The intruder slips inside with practiced ease, landing on the floor with barely a sound. Tall and broad-shouldered, the figure straightens to its full height, casting a long shadow across your bedroom floor in the faint light filtering in from the street lamps outside.

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in, and you scramble to reach for your phone, a scream building in your throat only to have it die there as the intruder speaks in a low, familiar voice that sends a different kind of shiver down your spine.

"Doors locked, alarm set," Harry quotes your text back to you, his tone deceptively casual as he stands in the middle of your bedroom, having just climbed in through the very window you'd insisted was secure enough left unlocked. "But you forgot to mention the fucking windows, didn't you, angel?"

Relief courses through you, quickly followed by indignation as you fumble to switch on the bedside lamp. Light floods the room, revealing Harry in all his intimidating glory. He is dressed entirely in black, his hair slightly windswept, a dangerous glint in his eyes that suggests he's not at all pleased despite the calm delivery of his words.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" you gasp, heart still hammering in your chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry doesn't immediately respond. Instead, he moves methodically around the room, checking the locks on your other windows and drawing the curtains closed before returning to stand at the foot of your bed. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

"Teaching you a lesson," he finally says, voice low and controlled in a way that raises goosebumps along your arms. "One you seem determined not to learn through conventional methods."

 You sit up straighter against your headboard, pulling the covers up as if they might offer some protection against the intensity of his stare.

"By breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night?" you demand, your initial fear giving way to anger. "That's completely insane, Harry! You could have just talked to me about the window again if it bothers you so much."

"Talk to you?" Harry repeats, a bitter laugh escaping him as he plants his hands on the foot of your bed, leaning forward. "We've had this conversation six times in the past month alone. Clearly, talking isn't effective."

He straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixes you with a hard stare.

"So tell me, angel. What would you have done if I'd been someone else? Someone who'd been watching you, learning your habits, waiting for the perfect opportunity?"

The question lands like a slap, forcing you to confront the reality of your vulnerability. You'd been so confident in your assessment that no one could or would climb up to your second-floor window, yet Harry had managed it with disturbing ease.

"That's different," you argue, though with less conviction than before. "You're...athletic. And you knew the window would be unlocked."

"You think my enemies are recruiting out-of-shape amateurs?" Harry counters, his voice taking on an edge of frustration. "The men who would come for you because of me are professionals. They'd make what I just did look like child's play."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of agitation that betrays how deeply this concerns him.

"And yes, I knew your window would be unlocked because you're fucking predictable, angel. You say the same thing every time. 'It's fine, Harry, I'm on the second floor', as if height is some magical deterrent to someone determined enough."

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the cooler night air still clinging to his clothes. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped to that dangerous softness that never fails to make your stomach tighten.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you because you were too stubborn to take basic precautions?" he asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the gentle gesture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "The men I've hurt for far less significant offenses than harming you?"

The question doesn't require an answer. They both know what Harry is capable of when provoked. The violence that simmers beneath his controlled exterior, usually kept carefully leashed but devastating when unleashed.

"I'm sorry," you finally say, the genuine concern beneath his anger finally penetrating your defenses. "I didn't think it was that serious."

"That's the problem," Harry replies, his fingers trailing down to your neck, resting lightly over your pulse point. "You don't think about these things because you've never had to. I have."

His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip in a caress that makes your breath catch despite the tension still lingering between them.

"I don't expect you to live in fear," he continues, his tone softening slightly. "But I do expect you to take reasonable precautions that might keep you alive if the worst happens."

You lean into his touch, the last of your indignation fading as you acknowledge the legitimate concern behind his extreme methods.

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll keep the windows locked from now on." A small smile tugs at your lips despite everything. "Though I have to say, your teaching methods are rather dramatic."

Harry's expression remains serious, though something in his eyes shifts at your attempt at lightness.

"Would you rather I'd send someone else to prove my point?" he asks, and there's no humor in the question. "One of my men could have climbed through just as easily."

The suggestion sends a chill through you, the image of a stranger entering your bedroom while you slept is far more terrifying than finding Harry there, even when he was angry.

"God, no," you answer honestly, shuddering at the thought.

"Then consider yourself lucky it was me," Harry says, his hand moving from your face to your throat, fingers wrapping loosely around it, not threatening, but a reminder of your vulnerability. "Next time, I might not be so merciful with my teaching methods."

There's a promise in those words that makes you swallow hard, uncertain whether the flutter in your stomach is fear or anticipation or some complex mixture of both. This is the duality of loving Harry Styles. The protection and the danger are so intricately intertwined that sometimes you can't distinguish between them.

"There won't be a next time," you assure him, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "Message received, loud and clear."

Harry studies you for a long moment, as if assessing the sincerity of your words. Whatever he sees in your expression must satisfy him, because some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

"Good," he says simply, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of your neck. Then a different kind of darkness enters his eyes as his gaze drops to take in your sleep attire. Specifically, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, revealing more than it conceals. "Now that we've settled that issue, we need to address another matter."

"What's that?" you ask, your voice catching slightly as you recognize the shift in his demeanor. 

"The fact that you're wearing my clothes without permission," Harry says, his voice dropping to a lower register that never fails to send heat pooling low in your belly. "That's my favorite shirt."

The accusation is clearly a pretense, given how many of his shirts have migrated to your wardrobe over the months, but you decide to play along, grateful for the change in mood.

"Oh?" you reply innocently, shifting so that the shirt slips further off your shoulder. "I didn't realize. Should I take it off?"

Harry's eyes darken further, his hand tightening slightly around your throat.

"I think you should," he agrees, his voice a low growl that makes your shiver for entirely different reasons than fear. "Slowly."

As you reach for the hem of the borrowed shirt, the earlier tension of the night transforms into a different kind of intensity  that's become as familiar as breathing in your relationship. By morning, the lesson about window locks will have been reinforced in ways far more pleasurable than Harry's initial break-in, but no less effective in ensuring you remember.

And remember you will, because if there's one thing you have learned in your time with Harry Styles, it's that his protective instincts are not to be dismissed. Especially not if you want to avoid discovering what other creative "teaching methods" he might devise to keep you safe in his dangerous world.

When you wake the next morning to find every window in your apartment not just locked but reinforced with additional security measures installed while you slept, you don't protest. Instead, you simply send Harry a text: Message received. Windows locked. Lesson learned.

His response comes seconds later: Good girl. Let's keep it that way.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

a/n: I mean…Harry's got a point. Safety protocols are not a joke but he was a bit extra hahah. Hope ya'll enjoyed

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009 @caynonmoondreams @mellamolayla @maddiesalvatore1839

[witchesverse]

ur droolin' for a squeaky

pairing: vampire!wanda x human!femreader

summary: you've been distracting wanda's mind for weeks. she needs to deal with you before you ruin everything for her.

content: noncon, blood drinking, pain, clit rubbing, running from wanda, face slapping, on the verge of tears, begging, stalking.

a/n: shoutout to my awesome gf helping me write this (writers block sucks)

masterlist

When Natasha suggested Wanda acquire a human pet, she laughed in her face. It was the most bizarre thought. A powerful, high-ranking vampire does not need an idiotic, useless blood bag.

That was until you. Everything about you reeled her in, making her obsessed. She would zone out in important meetings or events because her mind was filled with violent and pornographic images of you.

"Wanda." Another high-ranking vampire, Carol Danvers, snapped at her. "What is going on? You have been distracted for the past few weeks."

Natasha sneered. "She's obsessed with a little human."

Wanda scoffed; a lie smoothly following. "Humans are below me. I would not become obsessed with such a weak creature."

"I don't care what your problem is, but you need to work it out," Carol sternly said. "I will not have you ruining this for us. Do you understand?"

Wanda nodded. She wasn't going to let a pathetic human ruin this.

-

Your heart was pounding and your legs ached with each step. You were exhausted but couldn't stop running; she would catch you. The trees had gotten thicker causing the sunlight to barely shine through, making it difficult to see.

So, naturally, you had to fall over a rock.

"Shit." You scrawled to your knees, ignoring the throbbing pain of your newly exposed skin and blood trickling down your knee.

There was no point in running anymore. She was already here within the time it had taken you to stand. You squinted, trying to find her in the shadows of the tree.

You couldn't find her.

Some people would think that was a good thing, but you knew it wasn't. You felt her hungry eyes raking over your body. Over the past few days, it had become a game for her. She would have you on a paranoid edge, pushing your fear to the limit, then pounce.

"I know you're watching me." You wanted to sound brave, but you didn't.

Silence.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?" You screamed, hoping that your rage would pull her out of the shadows.

Silence.

"Please," Your voice wavered with emotion. "Stop doing this."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as she emerged from the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and her bright red eyes complimented her pasty white skin.

She glanced at your bleeding knee and licked at her fangs. She smiled as you stumbled backwards, trying to create space between each other.

She was quick to fill that space. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her and placing her other hand on your hip to keep you close.

"Are you scared, little one?"

"Does being a monster damage your brain cells?" You snapped, irritated by her stupid question.

Her hand collided with your cheek; her strong and painful slap made your skin go hot and sting. You tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip tight on your hip.

"Are you scared, little one?" She sternly asked again.

"Yes," You answered honestly.

You were fucking terrified. For many days and nights, she followed and hurt you. You tried going to the police, begging for their help, but who in their right mind would believe that a blood-sucking monster was following you? Her saliva would slowly heal a wound so you didn't even have the bite marks to prove it.

She grinned. She pushed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply and moaning at the scent of your blood. Her fangs lightly brushed against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" You sniffled, trying to contain your tears.

"You." She replied. "You're mine and I want you."

You shook your head. "You don't own me."

She laughed. "Oh, I think I do."

A sharp pain that was like an uncontrollable fire spread across your neck and chest as she dug her fangs into you. You squirmed in her hold, trying to break away from her but her inhumane grip kept you close.

"No, no."

The pain was unbearable until her venom was pumped into your system. You sighed in relief, slumping in her hold. Vampire venom can be used for many things, sex being one of them. The venom makes a human incredibly sensitive and horny, basically turning your brain to mush.

She pinned you against a tree. One hand held onto your waist whilst the other slipped into your panties and rubbed small circles on your clit.

Your blood filled her mouth and dripped down the sides, staining her shirt. She groaned, her grip tightening on your hips and fingers moving faster.

"Please." You whimpered.

Her laughter was muffled. "You don't even know what you're begging for."

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. The venom made everything feel more intense and powerful, even the slightest touch made you squirm.

"Stop." You weakly pushed against her.

She snarled and dug her fangs further into you. She would only stop when she was finished, not when you were.

"Please...” you beg, giving up on physically fighting back. “I can’t-”

The wicked pairing of blood loss from Wanda’s fangs in your neck with your blinding climax washing over you rendered you limp, and you felt your weight drop as your knees buckled beneath you.

Your thighs clamped around Wanda’s fingers, still steadily rubbing circles on your swollen clit, and your stomach began spasming. The little strength you had left was put towards an involuntary whine, your voice full of air as you arched away from her touch. A wince falls from her bloodied lips into the curve of your ear at your blunt fingernails digging red crescents into her pallor skin.

Just as quickly as it came, though, the pleasure melted from your body, and you were reminded of your achy limbs, exhausted from weaving your body through the woods. The edges of your vision began to fade to black, and your mouth went dry.

"Sleep well, little one."

[woodland-gremlin]

Meeting the Kids

Today was the day that Dick’s boyfriend, Danny, would be introducing him to his three kids. He has heard so much about the gremlin trio that he could recite how Danny adopted them and what they are like forwards and backwards in his sleep at this point. And as he fidgeted outside of his boyfriend’s apartment in Fawcett that was exactly what he did.

Ellie is Danny’s biological daughter that was officially put under his guardianship when he was emancipated at 17, but unofficially he has been watching over her for much longer. She is the oldest of the three, being 11. Exploring and causing untold amounts of chaos, usually with her two younger brothers, is her bread and butter in life. Will not hesitate to turn that controlled chaos onto you if you hurt her family, if the stories of what she does to her sperm donor is an indication. Tales of all the places he has traveled when he was in the circus and stress he has caused Bruce at galas are his best bet to not getting pelted with glitter the moment he walks in the door.

Billy is the most recent addition to the family after living on the streets for the last few years. He is the middle child at 10 years old. Being forced into foster care, which is a death sentence according to Jason, and living on the streets, which is apparently better than foster care (again according to Jason), has made him vary of adults. The only reason he trusted Danny enough to be adopted, was through a long campaign of food, a safe place to sleep that he could leave at any time, the other kids, and a few private emotional moments. From the stories he is a sweet kid whose swearing could make a sailor blush. He brought some of Alfred’s homemade food and stories of Jason for him.

Damian was taken in 6 years ago when Danny was 19. His birth family was in a cult, raising him as its heir before trying to sacrifice him to some higher being, when Danny found him. Even with the ruff start he is very in touch with his home country’s culture, Danny even getting in touch with people from his culture to teach the whole family so they can better understand and respect it. He is the youngest of the trio at 9 and loves animals. He has also seemingly inherited Danny’s adoption tendencies when it comes to said animals. He is also the most likely to challenge him to a duel for Danny’s honor, he does it to every potential partner of Danny's, much less one actually dating him. Mentions of Batcow while accepting said duel should help Damian at least tolerate him.

All three of them are the stars of Danny’s life. Dick has heard all about the bullshit Danny gets for being a father of three, two which are in the double digits, at 25 and how protective the Nightingale family is of each other. And that isn’t even counting his older sister, who he has met over the phone, and all the others claimed extended family. How often Danny has broken up with his partners over the kids or said kids driving out those partners if they didn’t think that they were good enough for their dad. So, no Jason, he wasn’t being paranoid, considering that they ran the last one out in tears, covered in neon, biodegradable glitter and paint, he was being practical!

What Dick did not know was that as he was panicking and making plans the gremlin trio was making their own plans. Plans of his demise.