#close to him and lashes out in anger and in worry and in fear and in desperation because hes lost so much already and hes a strong man but

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Ten-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Throat Fucking, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Humiliation, Begging, Gagging, Oral (f & m rec), Spanking/Belting, Sexual Punishment, Sexual Aggression, CNC, DubCon.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Dread gripped your insides, twisting like a coiled snake ready to strike. The weight of the impending confrontation pressed upon you, a leaden heaviness settling deep in your stomach. Last night had been sleepless, the weight of Mattheo's threat lingering in your mind like a haunting spectre. It wasn't necessarily fear that gnawed at your insides, but a potent blend of anxiety and worry.

The mere thought of Mattheo retaliating against last nights events, potentially drawing his brother Tom into an even deeper tangled web of suspicion, sent shivers down your spine. You knew Tom was already suspicious, already clearly had some sort of inclination about what was going on between you and his brother, and fear sunk its talons into your neck just thinking about what could happen if Mattheo lashed out at him again after last night. The timing would just be all too convenient to happen twice in a row like that.

In the hushed confines of the empty classroom, as you awaited Mattheo's attendance for Wednesday's tutoring session, every second seemed to stretch into eternity. The air hung heavy with anticipation, your breaths shallow and hurried--every creak of the floor beneath your restless pacing echoed like an ominous drumbeat. Your heart thudded in your chest, its frantic rhythm reverberating in your throat, each pulse a reminder of the impending confrontation. Fingers, usually steady, now trembled with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, tangible proof of the mounting tension in your chest.

But then, before you could even process it, the door creaked open, the sound slicing through the heavy silence in the room like a warning. You turned, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Mattheo's disheveled figure framed by the dim light filtering in from the corridor. His white dress shirt was stained with patches of blood, his appearance marred by the evidence of a recent altercation. His eyes, normally sharp and piercing, were now ablaze with a fierce intensity, burning with emotions that he kept tightly concealed.

As he stepped inside, the atmosphere seemed to shift, the air growing thick and suffocating. Each movement he made was deliberate, calculated, as if he was conducting an unspoken symphony of power and control. With a fluid motion, he started to loosen his tie, his hands moving with a grace that contrasted sharply with the aggressive energy radiating from him. The room seemed to shrink in his presence, the walls closing in as if acknowledging his dominance.

You stood frozen, your gaze locked onto his, unable to tear yourself away despite the unsettling mixture of emotions that gripped you. Mattheo's gaze bored into yours, his eyes holding a storm of emotions--anger, frustration, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite pinpoint. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily between you, the silence ringing in your ears like a deafening roar, suffocating the space and leaving you feeling like you were standing on the edge of a precipice.

With each step he took toward you, the energy in the room grew more electric, his presence overwhelming. The intensity of his stare made it hard to breathe, as if he could see right through you, peeling away layers until your soul lay bare before him. It was a confrontation without words, a battle fought in the silent language of unspoken emotions, and you stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to break free from the magnetic pull of his furious gaze.

Your voice quaked. "Mattheo-"

"No," he said, cutting you off, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "No talking, Raven, not tonight."

You felt a lump forming in your throat, a mixture of frustration and confusion bubbling within you. You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the words that begged to spill out, but his resolute demeanor silenced any protests before they could escape your lips. As Mattheo came to a halt directly in front of you, his bloodied emerald Slytherin tie sitting loosely around his neck now--he wasted zero time before he seized your hips with a motion as swift as a striking snake, his grip so strong it felt like your bones might shatter within his grasp.

Every muscle in your body coiled like a tightly wound spring, bracing for whatever the fuck he'd do next, but nothing could prepare you for the feeling that would erupt through you as he leaned in--inhaling a sharp breath, his exhale hot against the sensitive skin of your neck. The sharp scent of alcohol wafted from him, swirling around you, adding to the already charged atmosphere.

His head dipped, finding the hollow of your shoulder, his dark, curly hair grazing your skin like a whispering caress. A shiver traced the length of your spine as his proximity engulfed you, leaving you both exhilarated and trapped in the potent grip of his presence. You swallowed, trying to steady your trembling fingers that hung limply at your sides.

"You're drunk..." you managed to utter, your voice barely audible in the charged air around you. It was fucking Wednesday. "What happened to exercising your demons, Mattheo..."

"Oh, I am," Mattheo murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a heated caress. "I got them running around the castle right now, doing laps...."

Despite his effort to suppress his fury with cunning sarcasm, the energy radiating from him was palpable, a stormy intensity that crackled in the air around you. His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could feel the weight of his words settle on your skin.

"I...you..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. His proximity was overwhelming, his strange demeanour leaving you entirely at a loss for words--yet there was one thought that seemingly wouldn't leave your mind. "Matt...please tell me this blood isn't from Tom..."

"I said no fucking talking, Raven..." Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin, a painful pinch that threatened to draw a cry from your lips. A sharp gasp escaped you as he swiftly maneuvered his hand around your back, his fingers asserting a firm, possessive hold on your ass. "That mouth only has one fucking purpose tonight...it's been far too long since I've had those pretty lips around my cock..."

Mattheo's presence was a blazing inferno, searing heat that enveloped you entirely, making your skin prickle with anticipation. He maneuvered you both with an unyielding force, guiding you until the edge of the desk met your ass, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. Both of his hands, firm and possessive, found their place on your backside, pulling you snugly against his muscular frame. A sense of foreboding settling deep within your lungs, a weighty anticipation that gripped your every breath.

Despite the palpable tension, you couldn't resist the compulsion to probe further, pushing his boundaries even as the atmosphere crackled with escalating intensity.

"Mattheo, please..." your voice brushed against his cheek like a gentle breeze, your fingers winding into his hair, pulling on the tousled strands in an urgent plea to lock eyes, your heart racing with anxiety. "Please just give me an answer...Tom was skeptical-"

With a sudden, unsettling intensity, Mattheo's demeanor transformed--whatever restraint he was previously maintaining had now completely vanished as he swiftly pivoted you around, his hands unrelenting as he pressed your hips forcefully against the desk. The cool wood bit into your skin as he loomed behind you, his body molding to yours with possessive insistence. One hand coiled around your throat, pulling you back against his chest, while the other traveled up the front of your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Say his fucking name again and I will not hesitate to bend you over this desk and fuck you until the only name you remember is mine..." he pulled you impossibly close, his breath a sultry growl against your ear. "You'll be so fucking full of me, Raven...you'll be so fucking full of my cum you'll feel fucking empty without it...you'll fucking crave my cock...you'll be begging for me to get inside you..."

His free hand explored your body, its fingers skillfully finding every contour, moving purposefully to your tits, caressing and squeezing once he'd reached them. He pulled you tighter, hugging you flush to his front, his insistent erection pressing tight against your ass. A delightful buzz tingled on your skin from his grip around your throat, rendering you utterly helpless, and all that escaped your lips was a soft, pathetic whimper, surrendering to his control.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" He murmured, the alcohol on his tongue swarming your ear. "You're all I can fucking think about."

The words brought a wave of heat crashing over your body.

"Matt-" you said, fighting against his hand, his name hiccuped between your gasp for air when he increased his grip. “-thèo..."

"You fucking haunt me," he said, jerking his hips into your ass, his painfully hard length jamming into your backside. You whimpered as the force of his pelvis drove you harder against the desk. "I've made myself cum to the mere thought of fucking you so many times, Raven...fuck, if you were any other slut I would have fucked you stupid by now..."

His voice was dark and deadly, so quiet that you were almost certain you weren't hearing him correctly, the pounding of your heart drowning out the edges of his syllables, his hand working to untuck your blouse from your skirt before slipping underneath it--igniting goosebumps on your flesh as he went.

"Oh..." the word was a moan as it left your lips, his fingers brushing over your stiffening nipple. "Shit-"

The fingers at your throat increased their pressure, choking your words. "I told you I have a clamouring fucking desire to ruin you...and believe me, I do...but it's not enough to just ruin you, Raven...It's like I need to fucking own you, possess you...there can't be anyone else..."

In defiance of your good judgment, you clenched, a shiver of longing fluttering over you. Mattheo's large palm squeezed your other tit now, kneading it in his hand until he could feel the peak of your nipple. His thumb brushed over it, and you held back a whine, wriggling against him.

"Mattheo-" his name left your lips like a breathless sin, as though it was the only word your pathetic, lust-filled mind knew how to say.

"You know I could be with any girl I fucking want, Raven...any single fucking one..." he murmured, circling the hardening point with the pad of his finger, sparks of pleasure lingering in its path. "I seen your little friend looking at me the other day...what's her head like, hm?"

Ignoring the squirming in between your thighs, you rolled your eyes, a flutter of uncontrollable irritation flowing through you. "Go to hell-"

He answered your snark with another harsh jab of his bulge. "Yeah, you don't like that, do you..." the hand on your throat slid up to pinch your jaw open, two fingers shoving past your teeth and depressing your tongue. You caught a gag when he reached toward the back of your throat. "You wouldn't like it if there was another girl kissing me good night, would you? Another girl sucking me off...swallowing my cum..."

You tried to call him an asshole, but all that came out was, "Ah-houh."

"Mhm, I know..." he snickered, pressing further into your body, hunched over you like you were his next meal. "You're going to fix that situation with my brother, or else I will...you have one fucking week..."

Your heart hammered, your pulse flying, your body trembling against him. His teeth nipped your ear, your head spinning with the onslaught of his power.

"Because this..." this hand on your breast made a path toward the band of your skirt, and you shuddered, bucking away from his touch when he skimmed the sensitive skin of your belly.

"...little cunt..." his hand slipped under the seam of your panties, long, thick fingers easily reaching the warmth of your slit, resting on the outer folds, and you whimpered, wiggling your hips as you sought out his touch.

"...is mine..." one finger parted your lips, slicking itself on your wetness, dragging and catching over your swollen, stiff clit and pulling a low moan from your throat.

You were gelatin in his arms. All you could do was bob your head against his grip, tongue writhing to speak.

"Yeah, that's fucking right..." he said, tracing tiny circles around your clit while his length pressed against your ass. "This tight little pussy wants to cum for me, doesn't it?" You groaned--louder than you wanted--when he sped his pace on your nub, and he squeezed your jaw, voice a deep growl against your ear. "Then you better prove you deserve it."

He relinquished his hold on you, his fingers slowly sliding away from you body as he took a deliberate step back. This subtle retreat granted you just enough space to pivot back towards him. In the dim light, his eyes appeared as profound as the obsidian night, their intensity softened by an unexpected vulnerability. It was a facet of him you had never glimpsed, hidden beneath the layers of his usual overbearing arrogance.

A hushed tension hung in the air as his gaze descended to trace the contours of your lips, a magnetic pull drawing him toward you. His own lips, parted with anticipation, met yours in a tender yet fervent kiss--a languid grace encompassing the way he explored your mouth, a delicate dance that left you breathless. The lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue only heightened the intoxicating sensation, sending your senses reeling as he skillfully slipped past your teeth, all before pulling away again.

"Get on your knees for me, pretty girl..." he murmured, his hand finding your hair and directing your head down, a huff of exasperation leaving his nose as you did what he said without question. "There we go...so good for me..."

As you knelt before him, your heart thundered in your chest, its beats so forceful you feared it might shatter your sternum. Perplexed, you couldn't pinpoint the source of your unease. It wasn't the first time you'd assumed such a position for Mattheo Riddle, yet an unfamiliar tension hung in the air tonight. His unpredictable demeanor had your entire body on edge, amplifying your nervousness to an unprecedented level.

"We're going to do things a little different tonight..." he purred, his hand in your hair pulling away to stroke your cheek with two rough fingers as he peered down at you, dark eyes burning wounds into your skin. "Unbutton your shirt for me."

Your heart skipped, your senses reeling, but with trembling fingers, you immediately did as he said, as though you were being controlled by a remote in his hands. Mattheo hummed in approval as you got down to the last few buttons, his eyes never once leaving yours, the muscles in his jaw clenching and his throat bobbing as he swallowed. When you were done, you met his eyes again, the intensity making your thighs clench in need, and a smirk teased his lips as he reached for the tie sitting loose around his neck; holding it between his battered fist.

When he spoke again, you almost fainted. "Take off my belt, princess..."

A visceral tension gripped you, twisting your stomach into a knot so tight it felt like your insides might unravel. Your hands trembled like fragile autumn leaves in the wind as you reached for the metal latch on his sturdy leather belt. With cautious fingers, you tugged, undoing the buckle carefully and pulling on it until it slithered free from around his waist. Gripping it tightly in both hands, you met his gaze once more, your eyes locking, accompanied by enough force to shatter glass.

Mattheo delicately lifted the tie, guiding it towards your mouth with a gentle touch, your lips parting in a silent understanding. He skillfully threaded it between them, the smooth fabric caressing your skin. With practiced hands, he wrapped it around the back of your head, the silk cool against your skin. With a deft motion, he fashioned it into a comfortable knot, ensuring it held securely, before he bent down and gripped your arm, pulling you back up to your feet.

"Bad girls get punished, Raven..." he murmured, his lips grazing your jawline, one hand on your hip, the other reaching for the leather seated in your hands. "Take your punishment like the good girl I know you are, and I'll reward you..."

As the leather slipped from your hands, Mattheo pulled back, something flickering behind his eyes that made your stomach leap up into your throat. He met your gaze, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or fear, before he urged you to spin around.

"Bend over the desk," he husked, running his hand up your back, the gentle touch igniting flames on your flesh as he urged you down against the desk, the cool chill of the wood igniting a shudder through your entire body. "Down on your elbows...there we go..."

Mattheo groaned, low in his chest, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. Drool was already threatening to spill from the sides of your lips, the taste of blood lingering in your mouth as the bloodied tie sat tightly between your teeth--your breath hitching in your lungs as you felt two large hands run down the sides of your body, tracing your curves with determination as he positioned himself behind you, pressing his bulge against your ass until his hands met your hips and he pulled away; finding the hem of your skirt and slowly flipping it up to expose your backside, wasting absolutely zero time at all before his hands found the plump flesh, squeezing and groping like his life depended on it.

"Fucking hell, Raven..." he groaned, his voice tight and hoarse with need. "You look so fucking good bent over...I wish I could keep you here, just like this..."

You moaned involuntarily, a tornado of emotions swirling inside your brain. You felt as though you were in sensory overload, so many firsts happening at once.

"Spread those thighs," a calloused palm dipped between your legs, urging them further apart, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms, your entire body trembling as the heat of Mattheo's power turned suffocating. "Good fucking girl..."

Your breath hitched, feeling his thumb grazing dangerously close to your cunt, resisting the urge to buck toward his hand--desperate for connection. The heat between your thighs was insatiable at this point, and the teasing was driving you insane. Snapping you from your thoughts, there was a jingling of a buckle, followed by a loud, sickening crack--and you shrieked, heart thumping in your throat, squirming with force to attempt to get away from what was to follow.

"Ah, ah," Mattheo huffed, pressing a palm down on your lower back, holding you firm against the desk. You felt the smooth leather being dragged across your flesh, the sensations making your entire body flinch.

"I'm going to bruise this beautiful ass, and you're going to thank me for it, because that's what bad, filthy girls deserve..." he paused, as though waiting for your protest, and when it never came, he shifted his body, looming over you. "Do you understand me, princess?"

Do you understand? Do you fucking understand? No, any sort of understanding eluded you entirely. In truth, the unfolding scenario baffled you--you didn't know how the fuck you'd gone from being his tutor, someone who could barely tolerate his daily presence, to this precarious moment--bent over the fucking desk, about to be belted by him for an issue involving his own brother. You didn't understand any of this, and yet, not one single part of you wanted to stop it.

In response, you nodded, and Mattheo hummed, seemingly satisfied.

A heavy silence settled around you, in wake of his voice. Every sinew in your body tensed with anticipation, your eyelids squeezed shut in grim expectancy. The air hung heavy, pregnant with the impending storm, while inside you, tension wound tighter than ever, prickling your skin like sharp thorns digging into flesh. Then, like a sudden lightning strike, a searing bolt of pain cracked across your backside, tearing a scream from your lips. Despite the muffling effect of the tie clenched between your teeth, the sound reverberated through the room, shattering the silence.

Mattheo, his grip firm, yanked your hair, pulling you forcefully against his chest--his lips brushing against your ear.

"Do that again and I'll give you something to really fucking scream about, Raven..." he snarled, his fingers pinching your scalp. "Shut up and bite the tie. To five."

In a swift, unyielding motion, he thrust you back onto the desk, his hand firmly grasping your head, forcing your cheek against the chilling surface of the wood. You squirmed beneath his unrelenting hold, your eyelids clenched shut as you awaited the searing sting, but Mattheo didn’t make you wait for very long before the smooth leather of his belt cracked against your skin, leaving behind a trail of fiery agony that surged through your limbs.

Instinctively, your teeth sank into his tie, muffling the primal scream that threatened to escape your lips. An electric jolt of pain rippled through you, yet amidst the torment, a strange sense of resilience emerged. Inhaling sharply, you found the strength to steel yourself, your body absorbing the pain while your spirit endured the storm.

"Mm." Mattheo hummed, running his rough palm over the red, sweltering skin, squeezing a cheek in one of his big hands, soothing the welts. "I gotta say, I fucking love watching you squirm, princess..."

Your face reddened, a pang of an unknown emotion in your chest, eagerly squeezing your eyes shut as he pulled his hand off your flesh, the lack of movement and audible sounds in the room driving your nerves into a panicked frenzy. And then, before you could process it, you felt it again--the pain forcing a choked cry to leave your throat.

"Such a shame I have to ruin this perfect ass--" crack.

Your cunt twinged at his words, fire flashing your flesh, and he he struck you again, swift and merciless, leaving no room for a response--only a ragged, involuntary squeal escaping your throat in response to the searing pain.

"Such a shame I have to remind you of your place--" crack.

You whimpered, your body trembling with a mixture of pain and bewildering emotions. A twisted cocktail of sensations engulfed your mind, leaving you conflicted. You cursed your own body, disturbed by the inexplicable response, your senses entangled in a blend of desire and humiliation. Your core pulsed with an insatiable need, aching for attention, craving release despite the twisted circumstances.

Confusion swirled in your veins, leaving your head spinning. How could you find arousal in something so humiliating? The paradox gnawed at your thoughts, yet an undeniable part of you craved the intensity, leaving you inexplicably craving more.

Above all else, this was degrading. Yet, you were fucking throbbing for it.

"...remind you who you fucking belong to--" crack.

With the final, brutal crack of the belt, the metal buckle seared into your skin, imprinting its icy mark. The sharp, biting sensation wrenched a primal groan from your throat, your body convulsing in response. Drool spilled from your lips, tears welling in your eyes--and the room reverberated with the metallic clatter as Mattheo discarded the belt, his hand moving swiftly to find the inflamed skin, fingers grazing the wounded area with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness.

His thumb traced the path where you were certain blood had been drawn, a deliberate gesture that seemed to collect the evidence upon his skin. In a sudden, commanding movement, he pulled you away from the desk, forcing you to face him. Within the depths of his gaze, you glimpsed a twisted satisfaction entwined with something infinitely darker. His grin took on a sinister edge as he sucked his thumb into his mouth, the taste of your blood lingering on his lips. It was a macabre ritual, sending shivers down your spine, as if he had claimed a piece of you in a way that transcended the physical realm.

With a deliberate slowness, he withdrew his thumb from his mouth, his unyielding eyes locked onto yours, a challenge simmering beneath the surface. His fingers traced the path of the tie between your teeth, pulling it down methodically until it hung around your neck. Gently, he wiped the drool from the corners of your lips, his touch meticulous and strangely intimate. His eyes scrutinized your face with a depth of focus that both unsettled and intrigued you. There was an enigmatic intensity in his gaze, a complexity that left you partially terrified and yet undeniably aroused.

In that moment, you found yourself entangled in a labyrinth of emotions, your mind racing to comprehend the enigma of the boy standing before you.

His voice was a hoarse whisper. "What do you say, Raven..."

You swallowed, throat more arid than the desert, heart still pounding like a base drum. "Thank you, Mattheo..."

Mattheo's hands found their way to your face, his touch firm yet strangely gentle as his fingers slid sensually through your hair. Without a word, he crushed his lips against yours, a hungry and urgent kiss that left you breathless. His mouth dominated yours, his tongue probing with a rough insistence, exploring every corner of your mouth, caressing your own tongue in a dance of desire.

A low, needy moan escaped your lips, muffled by the intensity of the kiss, while your fingers clenched his shirt, desperately seeking an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations. With a commanding strength, he urged you backward, his grip on your hips unwavering as he effortlessly lifted you onto the desk. A soft whimper slipped from your throat as the supple flesh of your backside met the unyielding surface of the wood.

He moved down your neck, his plush lips leaving a hot trail of kisses down your chin, jaw, licking and sucking at the every inch of skin he could, creating planes of goosebumps across your flesh. His tongue drew a line across your collarbone, and he fell to your breasts, tugging down your bra and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling it. You moaned, meeting his gaze, and he rolled his tongue around the hardened bud, sending shivers through you, straight to your clit.

Exasperated, he pulled away--dark eyes scanning your heaving, lust-possessed form.

"You're beautiful," he breathed.

You were speechless, beginning to tremble, and Mattheo Riddle dropped to his knees between your legs, urging your thighs further apart on the desk, long fingers clutching your hips. Your cunt clenched in anticipation, but your teeth were clacking from anxiety, and he met your eyes.

"Relax," he said.

You made an attempt to nod, but your chin quivered despite your resolve. It wasn't an issue of trust, nor were you overtly frightened. Yet, the sheer intimacy of his presence, hovering intimately close to your most vulnerable parts, left your nerves frayed and your composure on the edge of unraveling.

"Raven." Mattheo glared at you, gouging the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Relax. You're safe with me..."

"I-I know..." you whimpered.

You shut your eyes tightly and drew in a slow breath through your nose, holding it in an attempt to steady the quivering in your body. You waited, holding onto the breath, until the tremors subsided before finally exhaling, releasing the tension that had gripped you.

"Good girl," he said. "Now look at me."

You opened your eyes, and his gaze locked with yours as his warm mouth started to suck at the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, extracting a mewl from you. He smirked against you, moving closer to your center, and you bit your lip, walls contracting again with desire. As he drew closer, the curls of his messy hair tickled your skin, and then he shifted a hand, urging your panties to the side before he skipped his tongue across your outer folds, making your hips buck toward him.

"Filthy thing," he said, and pressed his full, soft lips to your pussy, dragging his flat tongue along the slit.

“F-fuck," electricity shot through you, wriggling within his grasp, your fingers clenched tightly, entwining in the disheveled tangle of his hair.

Riddle muffled a laugh with your flesh, lavishing your cunt with deep, slow kisses, tongue sliding inside of your folds, lapping the juices at your core, teasing your outer lips with languid licks. He moved away from your center, his mouth back to crawling along your thighs, and you complained with a grumble. In response, he took the tip of his tongue and flicked your clit.

"Shit..." you moaned, rocking your hips toward him. You stared at him with shining, pleading eyes. "Matty...please, please..."

"There's my girl..." he purred, "I love when you beg for me, Raven...you've been so fucking good for me..."

Before you could response, he growled and sucked your clit into his mouth, and you cried out, body jerking, but he held you fast, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub. A moan left you as you gyrated your hips, warmth spreading out across you, fingertips and toes buzzing with bliss. Mattheo played his tongue against your swollen clit, your walls throbbing as your pleasure continued to build.

"Oh, fuck," you said, head hanging to the side. "Oh, Gods...Matty..."

The vibrations of his moan reverberated through your pussy, and he sucked harder, his unyielding stare never wavered, his golden-brown eyes digging into the depths of your soul. Each breath came faster, a delicious surge of pleasure coursing through your veins, building an exquisite tension that carried you higher and higher, inching you closer to the precipice of bliss. Mattheo buried his face into your cunt, lips tight on your clit, tongue batting the bundle of nerves.

Incessant moans escaped your chest with every ragged breath, jaw hanging open, gripping his hair like you could pull it from his scalp. "I...holy fuck...Mattheo..."

"That's it," he purred, the praise in his tone sparking heat in your lungs. "Cum for me, baby..."

A tidal wave of euphoria crashed over you, the walls of your senses pulsating, your body wracked with the convulsions of a long-delayed orgasm. Your vision blurred into white nothingness as you threw your head back, a crescendo of unintelligible curses escaping your lips in a primal symphony. Mattheo held onto your spasming legs, his ministrations expertly guiding you to the pinnacle of your pleasure, drawing out every last exquisite tremor, tip of his tongue sliding up your slit to your mound as you finally returned to reality. Your chest swelled as you caught your breath, refocusing on Mattheo's glistening face.

Your head rolled, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Matt-"

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your centre. "We aren't done yet, princess...keep being good for me..."

Entirely speechless, you nodded, unable to peel your eyes from his as he pulled you off the desk, dropping his hands from you as he moved to the buttons on his trousers, swiftly undoing them before pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers--his thick, throbbing cock springing free, tip glistening with precum, his head falling back in relief as he wrapped his fist around its girth, stroking slowly as you instinctively gathered yourself in front of his feet.

Something was swirling inside you, something primal, something hungry--and your hands found his thighs, slowly trailing up, peering up at him with a wide-eyed gaze; your voice alien to your own fucking ears.

"Please, Matty..." you purred. "Please let me suck your cock...please let me swallow-"

"Fucking hell..." Mattheo seized your hair, his actions driven by a raw and primal intensity as he directed his cock toward your lips. "Show me what that filthy mouth does, baby..."

You parted your lips, and Mattheo's grip on your hair tightened, pushing himself into you. Without thinking, you groaned on his length, legs writhing with arousal as he inched himself along your squirming tongue. Mattheo was biting his lip, watching your own lips stretch around his dick, watching you stare up at him with large, obedient eyes. He throbbed in your mouth, and you swallowed, the pool of your spit mixing with pearls of salty pre-cum.

Mattheo grunted, pulling out and thrusting back in, and in and out again, lips parting while you whimpered and choked on the size of his cock.

"Poor thing," he sneered. "Am I too big for your dirty little mouth?"

Nodding, you attempted to groan your agreement, but found yourself muffled by a deep thrust into your throat. You retched, trying to get off of his length, but another hand seized the back of your head, holding you there, tears and drool sliding to your jaw while he rocked into you. Every noise from your chest was a stifled whimper, gagging with every deep thrust, but he was ruthless, fingers burrowed into your face, cock fucking hard into your throat, and when you squeezed shut your lids, he growled.

"Look at me, Raven." he ordered. "Look at me when I'm throat fucking you. Know whose cum you're about to taste.

You complied, locking eyes with him through a haze, your throat raw and tender, lips and tongue going numb with his brutal thrusting.

"Good girl," he moaned, "so good...fuck..."

Riddle shifted, craning your head back, plunging deeper into your neck, seething in pleasure when you whined on his cock. His breath was coming fast, his dick pulsing urgently in your mouth, and then he was cursing, hissing your name, hips jerking in sloppy thrusts. He pulled out, fisting his length.

"Open."

You did, and he growled, shooting hot ropes of white onto your mouth and eyes, hips still rolling while he fucked his hand through the end of his climax. As he caught his breath, he looked down at you, your jaw jacked open, his bitter cum collecting on your tongue and sticking one of your lids shut.

"Go on," he huffed. "Swallow it."

Groaning, you swallowed, eye twitching as it opened despite the pull of his release on your lashes. Gasping for air, your head hung low as Mattheo released your hair. His eyes never wavered, attentively watching your every move as you gradually pulled yourself up from the floor. Meanwhile, his hands deftly moved to adjust his pants, restoring a semblance of decency.

Your own hands trembled as you fumbled to button up your shirt, a sense of vulnerability lingering in the air. Mattheo closed the distance between you, his tall figure casting a shadow over you in the charged silence. With a slow, deliberate movement, he used his finger to sweep away any traces of his release from your face, his eyes smoldering with intensity and a smirk playing on his lips as he directed his finger toward your parted lips.

Without hesitation, you welcomed it between your teeth, your mouth enveloping it with a mix of compliance and desire. Holding his gaze, you sucked gently, the unspoken tension crackling between you. He watched, his lips parting slightly, as you willingly took his finger into your mouth, the connection lingering until he slowly withdrew it, the intensity of the moment hanging between you like a charged current.

"Shit..." he murmured, glimpsing your lips.

"Shit." You repeated, glimpsing his.

The charged silence hung heavily in the air, enveloping both of you as you stood there, locked in a wordless exchange. Countless unspoken words seemed to swirl between you, filling the space with their weight, yet neither of you dared to vocalize them, opting for the sanctuary of silence. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo finally exhaled, the sound carrying the weight of the unspoken. With a resigned gesture, he moved towards his chair and sank into it, the weariness evident in his posture.

You followed suit, collecting yourself, and Riddle finally broke the silence.

“This isn’t his blood.” He said, and relief almost immediately flooded you. "One week, Raven."

————————

Find chapter eleven->

[mswritergirl02]

38 Missed calls and Tequila

In which Harry and y/n fight causing her to storm out

-> Reader advisory: mentions of alcohol and explicit language, proceed with caution.

A/N : Taking requests (:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N paced back and forth in the living room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I can’t believe you, Harry! You always do this, you never listen to me!”

Harry’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what about you, huh? Do you think you’re always right? You’re so damn stubborn!”

“Well, maybe if you cared about my opinion for once—”

“Care about your opinion? I bend over backwards for you, Y/N! But it’s never enough, is it? You always find something else to complain about!”

“Oh, so now this is all my fault, is it? Typical!”

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. “For fucks sake I never said that!

Y/N’s voice trembled with anger and hurt as she launched her accusation.

“You know what, Harry? I bet you’re cheating on me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re always so secretive about your phone, always disappearing at odd hours!”

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious, Y/N? I’ve told you a million times, that I’m not cheating on you! You’re just making things up because you can’t stand losing a fucking argument!”

Y/N’s voice rose at his accusation. “Oh, please! Don’t act like you’re innocent in all of this! I see the way you look at other girls, Harry! You can’t fool me!”

Harry’s patience snapped, his frustration evident in his tone. “I can’t believe you’re bringing this up again! You’re always jumping to conclusions, always looking for a bloody reason to doubt me! Maybe it’s your own insecurities that are driving us apart!”

Y/N’s anger faltered, replaced by a pang of hurt. “I’m not insecure, Harry! I just want to know that I can trust you!”

“Well, maybe if you gave me a chance to prove it instead of constantly accusing me of things I didn’t do!”

“I’ve been nothing but loyal to your crazy ass for four fucking years,” Harry declared, his voice tinged with frustration and hurt.

The tension in the room was thick, each word a painful reminder of the growing rift between them. Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of their words, knowing deep down that her accusations were absurd, Harry loved her. Still she was unable to stop herself from lashing out in a desperate attempt to regain control of the argument.

Y/N's lips curled into a sneer as she spat out, "Go fuck yourself, Harry!"

With that, she snatched her keys off the coffee table and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Harry stared at the closed door, his chest tight with frustration. "You're fucking crazy," he yelled, knowing she couldn't hear him and was long gone. He cursed out loud and sank onto the couch, running his hand over his face.

“A bloody fucking carpet," he muttered to himself, the absurdity of their argument hitting him like a ton of bricks. They had been fighting over a bloody carpet, of all things. It was ridiculous, and yet somehow it had escalated to Y/N storming out in anger.

They hadn't been in the best place lately. Y/N was constantly stressed out at the office, working long hours, barely having time for herself, let alone for him. And Harry, always buried in his work, was rarely home to see her, too caught up in his next album to notice the distance growing between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12am

38 outgoing calls

Harry’s nerves were on edge. He had called Y/N 38 times since she stormed out, each call going straight to voicemail. It wasn’t like her to stay out this late, and the thought of not knowing where she was made his stomach churn with anxiety.

Pacing back and forth in their empty apartment, Harry’s mind raced with worry. He had grown accustomed to Y/N’s silent treatments during their arguments, but this was different. This silence felt suffocating.

12:30 am

“Answer your phone, Y/N,” Harry muttered under his breath, frustration and fear mingling in his voice. He reached for his phone once again, fingers trembling as he clicked on her contact for the 39th time. But this time, instead of the familiar voicemail greeting, a stranger’s voice answered Y/N’s phone.

As Harry heard the unfamiliar male voice answer Y/N’s phone, his heart raced with a surge of protectiveness. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his tone sharp with urgency. “Why the hell do you have Y/N’s phone? Where is she?”

Before Harry could ask any more questions or receive a response, the phone call ended abruptly.

12:45am

It was around 12:45am when It clicked in Harry’s mind, Y/N had insisted they shared their locations when they first started dating. Harry quickly opened the app on his phone and zoomed in on her location.

Maggies Bar & Grill.

Confusion washed over him when he saw that Y/N was at a bar. Drinking was something she rarely did, especially alone at this hour. Harry’s heart raced with worry, imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys, and got behind the wheel. He knew he had to reach Y/N as fast as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N found herself in fits of laughter, seated on a bar stool behind the counter of Maggies. With tears of joy rolling down her cheeks, she swiftly grabbed her phone back from the male bartender’s grasp. Giggling, she teasingly whispered, “Don’t tell Harry,” and playfully pressed a finger to her lips.

Earlier, Y/N had confided in the sympathetic bartender about her rocky relationship with Harry. Each heartfelt confession she made was chased down with another shot of tequila, the weight of the world was momentarily lifted by the warmth of the alcohol. What she didn't know was that the bartender discreetly slipped her keys into his pocket when her attention wandered, silently determined to prevent her from making any rash decisions in her inebriated state.

“Y/N, I’m cutting you off,” the bartender said for what felt like the tenth time that night, his tone gentle yet firm. “All you’re getting is water from now on.”

Y/N pouted, shoving the glass of water away. “But I’m having fun!” she protested, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol. “I can handle a few more drinks, I promise.”

The bartender shook his head, a hint of concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t risk serving you any more alcohol. It’s for your own safety.” With that, he gently pushed the glass of water back towards her, silently urging her to hydrate and sober up.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Y/N slurred, her tone growing more aggressive as she leaned in towards the bartender, her eyes narrowed.

The bartender stood his ground, not going back on his decision. “I’m not serving you any more drinks tonight,” he stated once again.

Y/N’s frustration bubbled over, and she clenched her fists slamming them on the counter. “You can’t cut me off!” she snapped.

Just as Y/N opened her mouth to make a scene once more , Harry entered the bar, his eyes immediately locking onto her. With purpose in his stride, he made his way over to where she sat, his gaze briefly flickering to the bartender.

Harry’s expression was a mix of relief and concern as he approached. “Is everything okay here?” he asked.

The bartender met Harry’s gaze, his expression serious. “Harry I'm assuming? Yeah, everything’s fine now,” he replied, gesturing towards Y/N. “I had to cut her off a while ago. She’s had enough for tonight.” Recognizing Harry by Y/n's lock screen on her phone and his contact name.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But then who called me from her phone?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for answers.

The bartender hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Y/N’s keys. “It was me,” he admitted, handing them over to Harry. “I knew she shouldn’t be driving in her condition.”

Relief flooded Harry’s features as he accepted the keys. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, grateful for the bartender’s quick thinking.

Y/N’s drunken aggression flared as Harry turned towards her. “What are you doing here?” she slurred, her tone sharp with irritation.

“I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Of course she's drinking tequila the one thing that brings out her temper even more

Harry cut her off with a stern glare, “Your breath reeks of fucking tequila and you’re in no condition to drive,”.

Y/N turned towards the bartender, “You're a fucking snitch” she accused him loudly causing heads to turn in their direction. Harry’s annoyance grew as he watched her escalate the situation.

“Y/N, you’re causing a fucking scene,” Harry muttered, frustrated to which she scoffed, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.

She held out her hand. “Give them back. I’m driving myself home, I don’t want to look at you.”

Harry’s heart sank at her words, but he knew he couldn’t let her make such a reckless decision. “I can’t do that, Y/N,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. Let me take you home.”

Y/N shook her head stubbornly, her anger fueling her determination. “No!” she insisted, her voice rising.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Just give me my keys!”

He was over her drunk antics.

Stepping uncomfortably close to her, he took the time to observe the way her hair fell over her ear. With a firm yet gentle touch, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering for a moment before trailing down her cheek.

Leaning in, Harry's voice dropped to a low and dangerous tone. “Y/N you better listen to me.”

“Drop the fucking attitude,” he snapped his breath sending a shiver down her spine as it brushed against her skin.

Now fully gaining her attention Harry continued speaking. “You're gonna lower your voice and follow me to the car like the good girl I know you are."

Y/n began to feel as if her legs were putty with each word she processed.

“Don't make me embarrass you here love,” he said while running his finger over her bottom lip.

“Because I can and I will.”

Harry's words hung in the air, commanding and unwavering leaving no room for argument.

Masterlist

Lights Out

[berberriescorner]

“Haunted Hearts”

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Simon “Ghost” Riley returns home, haunted by his past missions, creating a rift with his wife. She confronts him, demanding honesty and connection.

Word Count: 1,000+.

A/N: I don’t own these images. Just created the mood board my loves🩵.

Inspired By🩵:

songs listed can be found below:

✨Apple Music✨

✨Spotify✨

The house was eerily quiet, save for the muffled sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden floor. Simon “Ghost” Riley trudged through the dimly lit hallway, his shoulders hunched under the weight of an invisible burden. You were sitting in the living room and noticed the tension radiating from him as soon as he entered. It had been like this since he returned from his last mission—every day a battlefield of its own.

"Simon, we need to talk," you said, voice steady but laced with worry.

He halted, his back to you. "Not now."

"No, we need to talk now. You've been shutting me out since you got back. It's like you're not even here."

Simon turned slowly, his eyes hard and unyielding behind the mask of his stoic expression. "Maybe I don’t want to be here," he snapped.

You flinched at his harsh words but stood your ground. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"Don't tell me what I mean," he growled, stepping closer, fists clenching at his sides.. "You have no idea what’s going on in my head.."

"Then tell me! Let me in, Simon. I'm your wife, not some random stranger."

The living room was dimly lit, the flicker of candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was almost suffocating.

He laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that echoed through the room. "What? Do you think you can fix me? I don’t need fixin’ lass. Jus’ leave it alright?”

Your head reared back as his words struck you. Mouth agape, you were at a loss for words. Simon saw the pain in your eyes. He sighed, shaking his head, and whispered, “Shit, love. I’m sorry. It’s just–this isn't working."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to remain calm. "No. You don't get to run away. Not this time. This will not end like your last marriage. No disrespect to your previous wife, but you're not scaring me off that easily. I know you have demons. I know how hard it is to do the work you've done and still do. I know you’re just lashing out of fear. You can be a ghost in the field. The strongest, baddest motherfucker out there. That's in the field. You do not get to be a ghost in this marriage. If you don't want to open up to me, fine, but you have got to give me something, Simon. I won't walk away from you. So don't run away from me. Please, I love you. I need you," you choked on a sob, fighting back tears that threatened to spill.

Simon’s façade cracked, and his eyes flashed. First with anger and pain that quickly morphed into sadness and fear. "You don't understand. I can’t… I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be the man you need. The husband you deserve."

You took a step closer, voice softening. "I don’t need you to be perfect, Simon. I need you to be here with me. Be the man you've always been. Flaws and all, baby. Talk to me. Let me share your burden."

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You know that's not my style, love. I'm not a man of many words. My past—I can't go back there. Life before you. That shit is dark both family and career-related, lovie. I don't want to rehash it. Relive it. It’s just the way I am, sweetheart. You deserve better than this. Better than me."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm. "I deserve the man I married. The man who loves me, even when he’s hurting. I deserve you, Simon. And I’m staying."

Simon closed his eyes, the weight of your words sinking in. The two of you stood in silence, the tension palpable. Then, he slowly turned back to you, his expression weary but vulnerable.

"I don’t know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever you feel works for you. That's what we’ll do. Pushing me out of your life is not an option.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time."

Simon’s resolve crumbled, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice low and strained. "I’m so sorry."

You held him tighter, feeling the tension in his body. "It's okay, Simon. We’ll get through this. I love you."

He nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of his gratitude and love. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope. Together, you could face whatever demons haunted him. Together, you could heal.

In the following days, Simon made a conscious effort to be more present. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but small gestures showed his commitment: a touch on your shoulder, a moment of eye contact, an occasional shared laugh.

One evening, as you both sat quietly in the living room, Simon spoke softly, “I’ve started seeing someone. To talk. About everything.”

You looked at him, surprised but relieved. “That’s good, Simon. Really good.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “It’s not easy, but I want to try. For us.”

You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

There were still difficult days, but the atmosphere between you gradually lightened. You found comfort in small routines: sharing meals, walking together, sitting in companionable silence. Each day, Simon opened up a little more, and you felt the connection between you slowly strengthen.

One night, as you lay in bed, Simon turned to you, his voice a murmur in the dark. “Thank you for sticking with me.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to brush your fingers through his hair. “We’re in this together, Simon. Always.”

With that understanding, you both settled into a more peaceful sleep, knowing that the journey ahead would be challenging but manageable, as long as you faced it side by side.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated lovelies💚.

Tagging some love bugs💚:

@astoldbychae @darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @starrynite7114

@amorestevens @percosim @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe

@thabiddie23 @sunshine-flower @ravennaortiz @bxdbxtxh15

@dc418writes @itgurls-world @phoenixhalliwell @drewsmusee

@magicwriterinspo @m150-50up @readernimsblog

@chosoloveletters @ghostslittlegf @virgomess @msdrpreist

@foulmouthedandfanfic

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hiii!

I found your stories a few hours ago and they are perfect, I don't think I ever went through someone's account so fast hahah

If it's fine with you, could you do a sequel to the yandere bully story? Maybe what would happen if reader ended up too scared of his bullying and decided to change school, or had to move away due to personal reasons! What would be yandere's reaction?

Of course, it's just a request, so feel free to not do it if you don't feel like doing it!

Loving your stories, keep it up, I'm rooting for you! ❤

Yandere!Bully x Fem!Reader part 2

CW: Bullying, breaking and entering

Simon's mind went blank. It was as if the organ didn't want to process what he had just learned, so it decided to power off instead.

"Yeah, apparently she started homeschooling." The sharp nosed boy tried his best to bite back his smile. A year younger than Simon, Nicky looked up to him, aspiring to be just as (much of a bully) cool as he was. So when he overheard the office ladies sympathetically discussing Simon's favorite victim, he made sure to gather as much information as he could in order to try and impress Simon; gain his favor.

The squirrelly brunette had prepared mentally for a number of different reactions Simon could have had to the news: anger, disappointment, mild amusement.. but when he turned his eyes away from his milk box it confused him to see Simon's stare empty.

Thinking that Simon didn't care Nicky doubled down. "My sources say she was too scared to name her bullies, and that she just wanted it to end without a confrontation."

'She left because of me??' Simon squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to shut out the kid yapping beside him. When (Reader) didn't come to school Simon was, of course, worried. He thought that she might have gotten sick, or worse. The worry over not being able to see her beautiful face was eating him up, and he admittedly began lashing out at other people, really making him into the bully (Reader) thought he was. But now he was hearing that she had left the school because of him??

"It's a good thing she didn't snitch, huh?" The prideful child said in a haughty way, pleased with himself (even though Simon didn't know, or care, why).

"Why are you telling me this?" 'Can't you see how fucked up you got me right now??'

"Huh?" Startled and suddenly nervous, Nicky wrung the bottom of his hoodie in an attempt to calm his stutter. "B- I just, I thought, because you- you seemed to hate her, ya know? So I thought- I just thought you'd be interested to know.."

"Great. Now I know." Simon's voice was hard and sharp. He wanted to cry, but he sounded like he was on the verge of attacking the younger kid. "What am I supposed to do with that information?"

Heart in his throat and lip trembling, Nicky handed over his phone with the camera open. "I took a picture of her address.."

Knock knock knock!

(Reader) happily rolled off the couch and made her way to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and she had already finished all of her classwork, so the student had been relaxing while scrolling through her phone. She had only been homeschooled for a week, but was already back to her old self again. (Reader) was so stress free that she wasn't as paranoid about an unexpected visitor as she probably should have been.

She opened the front door without peaking to see who it was, and she didn't have time to process that it was Simon until he had already shoved himself inside and closed the door behind him. All of the fear and anxiety that (Reader) had finally worked through snapped back like a rubber band, physically hurting her chest.

"What- Get out!" Her shaky voice commanded.

"Shut up." Simon had planned on being comforting and sweet, rehearsing the entire trip on how to apologize and finally woo (Reader) correctly. To mend all the damage his foul personality had accidentally done. But then he was there, in her hallway, and she looked so scared of him.. "What were you thinking? Not coming to school. I thought you might've killed yourself." His attempt to show how worried he was for her only sounded like a threat as it left his lips.

(Reader) thought about her phone she left on the couch, and wondered if she could get to it before he could grab her. "Please leave me alone.." If only she could inch backwards as subtly as possible..

"Why? I came here to make sure you were okay." Simon grabbed her wrist and squeezed tightly enough for her to bite the inside of her cheek. "Come back to school."

"..No."

His grip tightened.

"I- I can't!" (Reader) struggled to break free as the tears began to pool up. "Do you know how difficult it was to get into homeschooling?? More than half way through the year?? I didn't drop out!! I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to!" Her pleas made sense, but Simon was already too heartbroken to hear them.

"Then I guess I'm going to be your new study buddy." His smile was supposed to be kind, suave. He wanted to look caring and dashing. But to (Reader) his half lidded eyes and tight smile looked like a malevolent smirk.

"What?"

"What? You thought you could run away from me? It's not like your family has enough money to just up and move whenever they want." Simon glanced around at the furniture visible from the entrance to double check that they, in fact, were not rich enough to move whenever. "And now I know where you live."

(Reader) parted her lips to talk back, but Simon quickly closed the gap between them, pulling her into his chest and kissing her painfully. He had imagined their first kiss many many times, and it was never like this. But it didn't matter if it was rushed and he pulled her in too hard and he slammed his lips against her's too forcefully. The young man wanted to beg her to never leave his side again, but instead as he turned around to leave he only left her with another warning.

"Don't even think about calling the cops. I'll be back to check up on you again later.. and if you try to run again, I'll fucking find you."

[thenightcallsme]

Do I Make you Nervous? | Simon "Ghost" Riley

little re-upload from my AO3 :)

Synopsis: When Task Force 141 is betrayed by Philip Graves, they're forced to separate. Y\N fights her way through the foreign Las Almas with a broken radio and no sense of direction. Yet, somehow, she finds herself in the same church her lieutenant, Simon "Ghost" Riley, seeks sanctuary in. As they attempt to brave the storm sweeping through the streets, the infamously unreadable Ghost challenges their professional relationship.

Pairing: Ghost x F!141reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, use of Y/N, hint of angst but resolved in the end, vague mentions of blood/wounds

Word count: 5,874

• • • • •

It was all a set-up. A lie.

Disappointment and anger triumphs any sadness over Grave's betrayal. At first, he came across as over-confident in that stereotypical male way. Over time I had warmed up to him. But Shepherd? The man who has given me the most freedom I’ve had in a long time? I admit that my use as a weapon to him has put a strain on our companionship, but to station me with my own cousin only to lash out unprovoked? He’s crossed a line that he can never come back from. The small liking I had for the man vanished as soon as shit hit the fan. Everything seems to replay in my mind. Alejandro insulted and detained, Johnny shot at, Ghost cornered...

There were too many of them to fight off. I couldn't trust myself to hold my own with my mind worrying over Johnny, Alejandro and Ghost while also plotting Shepherd's death. So, though it pained me, I ran. Ghost and Johnny did the same. 

My radio was damaged in the incident. A stray bullet flew my way, and with a stroke of luck, grazed the radio instead of my ribs. The close call was enough warning to run, which is what I do now. The lack of communication only worsens the worry.

Shadows crawl in the streets of Las Almas like rats in a sewer. From door to door they go, yelling at innocent civilians in the late hours of dusk. From the conversations I've heard, they're looking for two foreign men and their female friend. They don't quite explain why we're being hunted, but the truth wouldn't change much. Every so often, a shot fires, echoing through the streets like a warning bell. A call of sorrow and fear.

With the Shadows forcing their way into civilian homes and raising their weapons against anyone who could harbour us, houses and shops aren't safe. The towering cathedral spires peeking above tin roofs and stacked houses catch my attention instead. Nobody would be inside at this time of night. For now, it's the best I can do. Also to my luck, the church isn't too far away. I take my time and keep to the shadows on my way. With a quick survey of my surroundings, I know I've bet the Shadows to this part of the city. That won't last long. The revelation has me jumping the gate within seconds of making it.

Inside the church is pitch black. Towering windows that tell biblical tales line the walls, casting light in intervals across the empty foyer. Rows of seats begin to emerge as my eyes adjust. Further back is an intricate, circular skylight tens of feet above the marble floor. Illuminating the altar below is a waterfall of silvery light. The giant cross, gold statues, and wooden altar glow like I'm looking through a blurred lens. The view is both eerie and magical...and not meant to be marvelled at in a time like this. My focus should be maintaining high ground. I begin to turn in search of a staircase when something shifts in the darkness.

A figure materialises, tall and built; easily a male physically capable of snapping my neck. My next best option is the gun strapped to my hip to parry the one in his hand. I go to reach for mine—

“Y/N?”

I freeze in surprise, but my mind eases slightly.

“Lieutenant? How—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” He looks down at me with searching eyes. “You in one piece?”

“Yes. You—?” At that moment, my own eyes skim his body, only to halt at a worrying sight. On the left side of his waist, just above the waistband of his pants, is a blooming, dark red stain on his shirt. He’s been shot. “Jesus, Ghost. How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse—”

He stops himself at the distant shouting. The surrounding streets haven’t been quiet since I’ve been in the church, but this time it grows closer. Angrier. Ghost doesn’t waste time ushering me along in search of a stairwell. The one we find leads to the second floor, then a third. Eventually, we discover the central bell tower. The room is dank and cold and decently big. Suspended in the middle is a gigantic bell. Even in the dark, I can see how weathered the metal is. The worn wooden floors creak as we cross it. On each wall are arched openings that allow entry to the cold night air and terrified screams. A small cluster of discarded furniture draped in white sheets huddles in a corner. From here, we have a perfect view of the sprawling city and winding streets. To those down there, we’re invisible.

Simon leans back against a wall and grunts, his hands brushing over the bullet wound. He pulls back his hands to inspect the fresh blood. However bad it is, it’s still bleeding.

“Show me,” I say. My voice comes out more demanding than I intend.

He gives me a brief exasperated look but doesn’t push back.

Ghost sits against the wall with his shoulders slumped just enough to reach my level. His jacket is unzipped, his black shirt rolled up halfway. Those tired, piercing eyes and muscular arms are the most I've ever seen of him. It feels like a reward when the weather is unforgiving enough to chase away his usual long-sleeve or jacket. His arms are tanned and muscled, with a tattoo sleeve working from the wrist of his left arm up to his elbow. I’ve begun to accept that it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing him. But now I stare down at his bare abdomen.

The waistband of his black cargo pants sits low on his hips, offering a distracting view of a pronounced V-line and abs. In the moonlight, I can make out the reminders of war that mark his skin; a few silvery scars, some clean-cut, some gnarled and twisted; an old bullet wound healed closer to his ribs. The fresh one with the most of my attention is buried in a more acceptable spot. It nestles into the far right side of his waist, thankfully nowhere near any vital organs. However, it’s still a bullet wound and it still bleeds. That’s enough to worry me.

“Do you reckon it’s bad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m dying.”

“But we aren’t in the position to get proper help. Maybe sit down for a bit.” Surprisingly, he does so without question. I get to my feet, draw a small knife from my thigh holster, and rip a strip of fabric from the white sheets. When I drop back down beside him, I take a deep breath. “Here"

He takes it with a mumbled thank you and wraps the fabric around his waist.

“You heard from John?” I ask.

Simon winces as he adjusts the torn sheet. “I radioed him multiple times. Never got an answer.”

“Are you surprised by all this?”

Simon leans back against the wall. “I tend to be less surprised by betrayal. But I had some respect for Shepherd.”

I sigh, shuffling around him so that I can do the same. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Survive,” he says. “Shepherd wants you alive. Graves will see to that. He can’t kill Alejandro, either. But Johnny and I…” He shakes his head. “Graves won’t sleep until there’s a bullet in our heads and Shepherd won’t care enough to stop it.”

There’s a moment of silence as I fold my arms and look away thoughtfully. How are we supposed to do this? The blanket of night and the ensuing storm may offer some cover, but getting out of the city will be a mission. I can’t bring myself to leave without John, either. My heart hurts when I think about him. He could be anywhere, alone and outnumbered while I sit uselessly in a bell tower.

“What do we do about Johnny?” My voice is quiet. Fearful. “My radio was damaged so I couldn’t reach out to him. Maybe his is the same. But not knowing… He’s the only family I have left. My only real friend.”

“Don’t worry about Johnny. He’s one of the most resourceful and strong-willed Sergeants I’ve dealt with in a while. Have faith in him.” He looks at me then, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say he’s your only friend.”

“I do quite like his girlfriend…” I murmur.

“And Alejandro? Ronaldo?”

I purse my lips as his question draws thought. I’ve been considering Alejandro and Ronaldo as allies. Companions. But I’ve grown quite fond of them. Considering them as friends would set me up for heartache if anything were to happen. So I haven’t… At least openly. Despite my attempts to create some distance in our relationships, my subconscious has decided for me. Those two are my friends. It explains the immense distress I’m battling over Alejandro’s capture.

“I guess so.”

“Me?”

Silence ensues from both of us.

His question stuns me; I was prepared for him to stop at Alejandro and Ronaldo. There’s nobody else in Las Almas or back at home that I pay attention to. Besides Ghost, at least. I could answer him in a second. I almost do.

Ghost is infamous for his detachment. He’s quiet, short-tempered, dangerous and mysterious. I’ve heard the comments that he suits his code name. Spiritual beings do not communicate through speech but through action. Ghost is the physical embodiment of the epiphany. Anybody able to coax a few sentences from him outside missions is admirable. Outside of that, his physical emotions require deep analysis and theory to understand. The mask only makes things more difficult. I’ve never seen him show palpable kindness through his aura or words to anyone, never heard him allow the use of his name, never heard him offer others insight into the raging whirlwind of his mind.

And yet he lets those things slide around me.

He lets me speak his name when no one is listening. He offers me comfort when I need it most — if not through limited words, through soft gazes and a hand on my shoulder. I’m usually able to get him talking. Sometimes I receive short answers, sometimes I receive enough to help me understand more of that whirlwind mind. He even occasionally shows pieces of himself that take away from the guessing game I usually play.

I shut people out because the last people I let in betrayed me.

I never consider answering personal questions, but you tend to have a lot of them. And every time you ask…I almost answer

I guess you and I are more alike than I thought.

All of it has me wanting more. More of his mind, his words, the soft gazes I’ve noticed are reserved for me. What I already have is nothing compared to every naked truth he could be telling me. However, what I’ve managed to coax from him seems to be more than he’s told anyone in a long time. At first, I marked it down as me being the only female on the team or Ghost considered me fragile. But I've proved myself, and nothing about being a 'fragile female' (which I very well am not) does not automatically give me all these passes. I now realise it is much more than that.

Never once has he called me his friend. I already have. Now it’s his turn.

“I don’t mind you, Simon, but friendship can’t be one-sided,” I say. While it’s a simple statement, a silent question hides between each word. Are you my friend?

“If it was as one-sided as you think, you wouldn’t be calling me Simon.”

My heart skips a beat. There. It’s an answer to my unspoken words, but it’s not plain as day. As usual, Simon tells me something that is anything but straightforward. There’s room for interpretation in his answer—something that is beginning to tire me. It’s almost as if the honest answer is criminal and he’s trying to cover up his tracks. Almost as if not speaking that honest answer can allow him to deny it.

I don't bother concealing my annoyance. “That’s not what I want to hear and you know it.”

“Fuck sakes, Y\N, I said it,” he says. His voice comes out both argumentative and exasperated.

“No, you didn't. All I ever get out of you is stuff that works around the truth. Stuff I have to think about to understand.” I'm crossing a line, I know. I just can't help it. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is final. I don’t care.

“Does the truth scare you?”

His eyes squint, becoming barely visible against the black paint, the mask, and the low light. I can clearly picture a scowl jumping across the many faces I’ve imagined. While I want to flinch away, I don’t. Not for a second do my eyes lower, and not for a second do I grow offensive. I remain calm and collected, which I think annoys him more.

“You want the truth?” he growls. The accent of Manchester seems to thicken. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want to admit I think of you as a friend ‘cause I bloody well want to ignore it. For years, it’s only been me and I planned it to be for the rest of my life. Then all of a sudden you and your annoying cousin appear and jeopardise everything. The only person with an inkling of anything was Shepherd and I was fine with that. But now you’re catching up to him. You’ve so effortlessly undone everything I’ve worked hard to maintain.” The growl in his voice dies down the longer he speaks. In the last sentence, his voice is quiet, defeated, but a little begrudging. “And I knowingly let you.”

“If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me,” I say with a voice equally as quiet. “If I knew you didn’t want me to know so badly, I would have respected that.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I think about telling you everything. I may get pissy at you over your questions, but…” A sigh. The truth is shameful to him. “I look forward to them.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” I laugh a little. “It’s really annoying how intriguing you are. Not just your past and your face… When I’m not trying to guess what you look like, I’m refraining from asking you stupid questions. Shit like if you’re a cat or dog person.”

“Dog person,” he replies. Any hint of anger or annoyance has disappeared. “Cats have too much attitude.”

I squint. “You just don’t appreciate them.”

“You strike me as a cat person.” He pauses in thought. “You just remind me of a cat, really.”

I raise my brows, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me I have an attitude?”

“Maybe. But there’s more to it.”

I cock my head in question.

“Cats are friendly. Independent.” His eyes shift and I wonder if there's a smirk beneath the mask. “Curious.”

“Was that another dig at my questions?”

“Yes. Now shut up and listen.”

Before he continues, I find myself turning my body so I can fully look at him, my shoulder against the concrete walls and my legs folded beneath me.

“There’s that look in their eyes that they know your worst thoughts. Your secrets. They’re also graceful. Got that high-class elegance about them. But they can be unpredictable, striking out when you least expect. Once they sink their claws into you…” His eyes search my face. “You can’t get rid of them.”

I look up at him in wonder, my mouth slightly agape as I try to find a suitable response. Nothing I could say would express the way his words sink in. I’ve always coined Simon to be the observant type, keeping to himself and remaining silent. But I never expected him to relay his finds. His usual short, sharp answers contrast the compliment greatly.

“I think…” A small smile curves my lips upwards. “…That was the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never. Now I have a question.”

“The floor is yours.”

“Do you have, like, Queen Elizabeth tattooed on your face? The British flag?” I grin. “Something mask-worthy, you know?”

“Why does it have to be something British?”

“Because there’s no way you’re the only Brit I know that isn’t somewhat stereotypical.”

Simon huffs a laugh. “No stereotypical tattoos. Sorry to disappoint.”

“A big scar, then?”

He tilts his head. “No scars that make me want to wear it.”

I raise my brows. “So you do have a scar?”

“Only one big one.”

“Good to know.” I nod my head with thoughtful eyes. “I’ll add that to a mental note.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The skull sown to his balaclava only offers the view of his painted eyes and nothing. Not even his eyebrows. I guess he’s raising them in question.

“How often do you think about this?”

I let out a long breath. “You have no idea. I change what I think you look like every day.”

“What do you think I look like.”

I go quiet in thought for a moment. As I said, the image changes… Only more frequently than I want to admit. Sometimes the change is small. Sometimes the change is big. I know I’m not the only one stumped by this, either. John and I joked over it once. He said things eluding to him being unattractive. A crooked nose, a huge scar, broken teeth. Every time he made a guess I would laugh, but never did the ideas seep into my mind. Nothing in an unattractive sense, anyway. Despite the possibility, I can never picture him as ugly.

“It varies, but…” I take one last second to collect my thoughts. “Without that skull piece, you have dark eyebrows. I imagine your hair is brown. And you’re eyes…it’s hard to tell with the paint, but they’re more deep-set and heavy-lidded. The balaclava is tight enough to make me think you have a straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw…” I shake my head. “Beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I can tell he thinks deeply about each characteristic. I sit patiently and almost wait for confirmation, but I know better than that. If he’s not going to show his face, he’s not going to—

“My hair is brown.”

I’m about to backtrack on my previous thought when he reaches towards the space between my neck and shoulder. In the frenzy that has been the last hour, my hair has come undone. The braid was unsavable, making me pull out the band and attempt a ponytail…only for it to snap in two. My hair now falls in dishevelled waves. A small part of my hair falls over my shoulder. Simon gingerly reaches for it, curling it between his finger and examining it in the low light. …Can he hear how fast my heart is beating?

“Not like yours. A few shades lighter, maybe. And that scar…”

Even more gingerly, Simon pulls one of my hands from its folded position, and I pray my expression doesn’t betray me. Rough, calloused hands press against the back of mine. The size difference is almost comical. He guides it to his masked face, working his fingers working around mine to spread them out. He drags my hand over his right cheekbone, across the hollow of his cheek, and towards his jaw. My mind is hyper-fixated on the shape of his face.

“Right along there.”

His eyes continue to search my face. There’s nothing but curiosity in the blue-grey of his irises. Curious at what, I can’t tell. Everything about this has my mind raging. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand against the black balaclava, the way he towers over me even when sitting down... The thoughts that surface are shameful. He’s your lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect. The remembrance of his position has little help.

If anything, it strengthens the fantasies.

His hold shifts on top of my hand, the pad of his thumb swiping across my skin to stop on the inner side of my wrist and press down. He may not have been able to hear my heartbeat…but now he can feel it at the worst possible moment.

“You’re heart is beating fast.” He inclines his head. “Do I make you nervous, Y\N?”

God, is my breathing even? I can’t tell.

“You just caught me off guard, is all.”

Simon hums thoughtfully as his hand breaks away from mine and reaches forward. His fingers connect with my collarbone before finding my neck, exploring upwards in search of a pulse point. A shiver of excitement and nervousness runs beneath my skin like a ripple. His other hand slides over my knee and up my thigh. If my heart was racing before, this is a life-or-death sprint.

Slow are his movements. Calculated. He knows exactly where my heartbeat reverberates in my neck. Instead, he drags the moment out, coaxing out his desired reaction. But there’s something else in the slowness: a window for me to flinch away and draw the physical line neither of us has ever drawn. We’ve brushed shoulders and hands. We’ve sat with our bodies aligned in cramped cars. He’s held my hair back in a bathroom as I threw up after a panicked episode (something I would like to forget if he wasn't so surprisingly understanding). He's placed a hand on my shoulder for many different reasons. All are excusable moments. The ones that surpass professional boundaries can be marked as friendly. However, the intimacy of this moment is new. Scary. Exciting.

“Did you know your bottom lip twitches before you lie?” Simon asks. I find myself at eye level with him. When did he get so close? “I don’t like lies. Try again.”

“Sometimes…” I breathe.

“Sometimes, what?”

Bastard. “Sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I frown. “I don’t know.”

He’s definitely leaning closer now. Not just with his head, but with his whole upper body. Out of the nerves Simon is so adamant on understanding, I retreat, only making it a few inches before my back hits the other wall. Simon half hovers over me, the hand that was on my thigh now bracing himself on the floor. There are only a few inches between our chests. Even less between our faces. Not once does he lose his connection with my pulse.

“Another lie.”

“I don’t know how to word it. That's not a lie.”

Simon drops his head so that his covered mouth hovers beside my ear.

“Good girl.”

Never has praise sounded so seductive. It takes every inch of concentration to reign in my self-control. I might have ripped off his mask then and there…

Only, I think he’s beating me to it.

From where his head hovers, I can’t see his masked face. The wide, strong shape of his shoulder obscures most of my vision. He retracts his hand from my neck to reach somewhere I can’t see. The sound of moving cloth widens my eyes and upsets the rhythm of my breathing, the uneven rise and fall of my chest barely brushing his.

Maybe he’s adjusting it, I convince myself. He has only ever offered you little pieces at a time. What he’s offering me now is more than he ever has at once. While my body screams for more, my mind knows I can’t expect too much from him. Whatever he’s doing now is more than enough.

“You’re breathing funny.”

The feeling of breath skims the shell of my ear and down my neck like a warm, ghostly waterfall. It takes me a second to notice a difference in his voice. It’s low, it’s rough, it’s teasing. All are easily noticeable and nothing new. What is new is the enhanced clarity. An added sharpness lingers in his accented words. The slight muffle is nowhere to be found.

I was wrong. He’s lifted his mask.

“Because you’re taking off your mask." My answer comes out in a weak whisper.

He doesn’t speak about the mask, instead repositioning his hand to my neck to find my pulse.

“If you can’t tell me,” he murmurs, returning to the previous topic, “your heartbeat can.”

A warm feeling presses into my neck. A gasp slips past my lips as my heartbeat continues to quicken and stumble beneath his thumb. Against my skin…I think Simon is smiling.

Nothing about this seems real. Simon plants slow kisses on my neck with his bare lips. They’re a little rough, yet soothing. Whether they’re full or thin, I can’t tell, but the lack of obvious signs paints an image of something in between. His nose brushes the base of my jaw. Just above the pointed tip is where the balaclava begins. I can feel the hard edges of the sewn-on skull pressing into my left temple. Light stubble covers his jaw.

As his mouth works slowly against my neck, my jaw, and my collarbone, my hand slides up and over his chest. I slowly feel his bare neck. Beneath my fingers, his Adam's apple bobs. Further I explore, feeling the planes of his skin. The stubble scratches against my curious hand. Raised skin runs in a line over the right side of his face; the scar. It’s thin and generally clean-cut. He pulls back slightly as I feel his face. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest as my thumb traces over his lips. I was right, they are something between full and thin. His lower lip feels slightly fuller with a deep hollow beneath that curves into his chin.

When I find it in me to speak, my voice is breathy.

“Kiss me.” He seems to still at that. When his reply isn’t instant, I continue. “You don’t have to… But I won’t look. I swear it.”

Silently, he reaches for my hand. He holds his over mine for a moment as he did with the mask moments earlier. Then he gently pries it away. Cloth shifts in my air as he fixes the mask and pulls back. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect the decision. Simon looks down at me with lust-blown pupils. Mine must be the same.

He takes a second to examine me. My heavy-lidded eyes, my slightly parted lips, the way I slump beneath him, the glistening wet spots left on my neck. He whips it away before he speaks.

“Can I trust you?”

We both know the answer to that, so instead of saying the obvious, I one-up him.

“Do you want to trust me?”

Silence passes for a heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I want to trust you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. …Undress you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Then he moves.

My thoughts go quiet as Simon’s hands reach upward. When his fingers brush the base of his mask, I reach out and still his hands. The action takes both of us by surprise. For months I’ve been thinking about this moment. Just now I’ve admitted how much what he looks like takes up my mind. Now I find myself stopping him, but not because I’ve changed my mind. I worry that this will be something he’ll regret.

“Simon,” I say. “You don’t owe it to me to show your face.”

“But I do.” He inclines his head. “Now keep your pretty eyes up.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls it off in one swift motion. I take in everything I’m seeing in amazement, wonder, and bewilderment.

He’s handsome. He’s really handsome.

The ruggedness and confidence he carries seem to be etched into the planes of his face. A light stubble shadows his angular, defined jaw. Just as I had imagined, the bridge of his nose is straight and strong. His high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and smudged black paint create deep shadows. His mouth is wide. The shape of them is a physical manifestation of what I had imagined. With an average fullness, his upper lip is slightly smaller with a soft cupid’s bow. Tracing the angles of his right cheekbone is that straight, silver scar. His hair isn’t as short as most other military men’s. It’s a little messy from the mask and, true to his words, a few shades lighter than mine. I can tell that, the longer it gets, the more it curls.

I stay silent as I take him in, eyes wide. Somehow I find the courage to slowly reach out. His blue-grey eyes dart to my hesitant fingers. When he doesn’t deny me, I close the space, this time feeling him without needing to imagine his image. I apply a little pressure as I brush his skin, feeling the warmth of his cheeks, the scar tissue on his cheekbone, and the stubble on his jaw. His eyes train on me. This is one of the few times I cannot understand what I see in them.

Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I stare back at Simon. Not Ghost, Simon.

“I was starting to think you weren’t real,” I say jokingly.

He laughs softly. One side of his mouth quirks up into a skewed smirk. My heart flutters at the sight of it. When he speaks, it’s with that teasing tone that always had me imagining a smirk. Matching his expressions to his tones is a strange thing to see, but I love it.

“Is this real enough for you?” he asks.

I hum in agreement. “You’re a lot better looking than I imagined.”

He raises a brow in mock offence. “Do I radiate unattractiveness? I’m offended.”

“I never said I imagined you ugly.”

I draw my hands back, taking another good look at him. My amazed smile remains. So does the awe in my eyes. Now that I know how good-looking he is, it’s going to be hard to get him out of my head. At least I can’t scold myself over falling for a faceless man anymore.

“I guess if I die tonight… I can go a little happier.”

The way he tilts his head and looks up through lowered brows sends my mind into a frenzy. I’m used to the action with his mask on, usually with the sewn-on skull. Now, with every part of his face laid bare for me, the feeling it stirs comes tenfold. He gives me a fake accusing look. Beneath the teasing air he gives off, that desire remains.

“A little?” he murmurs. His face grows closer, giving me a better view of the hollows and curves and marks of war.

“A little not enough?”

His eyes dip to my lips. “Not by a longshot.”

Then Simon kisses me.

Eyes fluttering closed, I sink into the feeling of his lips against mine. Gently. Hesitantly. Does he expect me to pull away? How could he think such a thing when I almost seemed desperate when I asked him? My hands slide over his chest, slowly linking behind his neck as the kiss deepens.

For a moment, everything fades away. The gunfire, the screams, the impending death we may face any moment... All of it reduces to a meaningless blur. Suddenly all that exists is me, Simon, and the secret embrace we share. In our kiss is a million unspoken words; a tidal wave of passion laced with a bittersweet sadness. The talk of ‘dying happy’ is no exaggeration. We very well may die, and seeing his face and feeling his touch eases the painful thought. Maybe this way I can find him in the afterlife - seek out his mysterious eyes and lopsided smirk and spend an eternity together. Or perhaps there is no afterlife, and this is my last stroke of luck.

Satisfied with the knowledge of what he does to me, Simon lowers his hand from my neck. The pressure reapplies near my belt. His fingers timidly skim the bottom of my tanktop, pulling the tucked part from my waistband. My own fingers weave through his brown hair as his hand slides further beneath. My kiss falters when he finds one of my breasts. His hand comfortably rests over it, his palm slowly kneading at the flesh. A low groan builds at the back of my throat.

After a moment, we pull away, chests rising and falling as we take deep breaths. His forehead rests against mine and suddenly I'm wishing we could do this over again. Except I picture less sadness to tinge every word and action. I picture the safety of home, the warmth of a bed, a carefree air that allows us to just enjoy the other's company. Reality comes back in a painful rush.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

His hand retreats from my breast at my words. Instead, he takes a hold of my waist, giving me a comforting squeeze.

“You are not going to die. Not today. Not when there’s so much more I want from you.” He adds the last part with a teasing, suggestive smirk.

He looks down at my lips again—

“Ghost, how do you copy?”

We both freeze at the sound of a voice, so caught up in the moment that the radio is forgotten. Both the unspeakable things and sorrowful thoughts flooding my mind suddenly vanish at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s an equally received look on Simon’s face as he reaches for the small radio.

“I read you loud and clear, Sergeant,” he says. “What’s your location?”

“I…don’t know,” John replies solemnly. “Streets are crawling with Shadows. Where are you?”

“You see church spires above the houses?”

There’s a second of silence. Then…

“I see them.”

“Good. Head straight there and come inside. No Shadows here yet. They’ll be busy going door to door.”

“Affirmative. I’m on my way. Have you got any word from Y/N?”

Simon looks at me, silently giving me the floor to speak. “I’m right here, Johnny.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank fuck. You in one piece?”

“I’m all here. You?”

“Got a shot to the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

For the next while, Simon and I sit huddled side by side, guiding Johnny through the radio. I generally leave the talking to Simon. Listening to him speak and sinking into his warmth is good enough. Every so often, he'll say something that takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a dad joke, either really good or incredibly bad. Sometimes it's something that alludes to Simon not minding Johnny. He never outright admits it, but saying 'I like you alive' to Johnny's 'so you do like me' speaks for itself. I smile at that. I have sunk my claws into him, and he's not going to be able to get rid of me till the day I die.

[flowercitti]

Hi, I read your one Astarion story "wanted to kiss your skin and your everything." First I would like to say it was so good it kinda made me wanna cry it was so sweet it's definitely one of my favorites I've read. :) But I saw at the bottom you said about a request so I was wondering if you would be willing to write a fic about Astarion and Asexual Tav/Reader. I honestly don't have any other specifics, but I haven't seen a lot of Ace content with BG3 which I understand but I would really love to see more. Please don't feel pressured or anything, thank you in the least. Have a great day or night :)

Wahh thank u sm I’m so glad you enjoyed that fic! 🤍☺️ and thank you sm for sending a request, I really love this idea! 🫶 here’s a little Drabble 🫶.

Fluff/Gender Neutral Reader/Ace Reader

🌸

You can’t say you’re surprised when Astarion propositions you. He’s open and flirtatious and he seems to now exactly what he’s doing, as well as being so wholly aware of the affect he has on people. He may not be able to see himself, but he’s learned well enough from the reactions his pretty face garners.

You agree with that assessment, he is rather beautiful, but when it comes to sex—

“What?” Astarion seems nearly speechless, his silver tongue gone heavy in his mouth as he blinks, coming damn close to outright stuttering, “I—I mean, surely you—I’ve seen how you look at me!” He huffs, looking frustrated and confused and completely thrown off.

It’s almost endearing, to see him grow so flustered, his suave persona melting through his shock. You can’t help but smile, “I’m just not really interested in sex. That’s all.” You shrug, and Astarion looks at you as if that tadpole in your head has finally started to transform you.

“You’re still very pretty and utterly charming, don’t worry.” You inform him, and Astarion chuckles, if only out of disbelief.

“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.” He sniffs delicately, looking away from you, his full lips pursed in a slight pout.

You watch him shift from foot to foot nervously, ruby eyes regarding you warily, brows pinched as he seems to wager whether you’re lying to him or not.

“You don’t want me, then?” He says carefully, a faux sort of lightness infused in his tone. You see through it immediately. His eyes always give him away, glittering in the moonlight and fanned by dark lashes.

“I didn’t say that.” You manage a step closer, chewing on the inside of your lip, “It’s just the sex I don’t want. Everything else—I’m interested.”

“What else could you possibly want from me, then?” He seems to blurt, his mouth twisting out of confusion rather than anger, his gaze flickering away anxiously.

Something in your chest pangs, a painful churn behind your ribs. He looks like he believes it, like he thinks you’re teasing him or leading him on. You frown softly, holding your hand out between the two of you, leaving it open for him to take should he choose.

“I could show you, if you’d like.”

He stares at your hand like it’s a live trap, like it’s fit to spring its spikes into him the moment he reaches out. There’s a strange flicker of emotion that shifts across his face—relief, consideration, fear. His mouth parts, a quiet breath pressing past his lips as he considers you, seeming not to notice the long seconds that pass by. But he keeps his eyes steadily on you as he slowly slips his fingers over yours. His skin is unnaturally cool, perfectly smooth and untouched by calluses. You can nearly see him shudder from the simple contact, his face twitching in surprise, crimson eyes like pools of shining blood.

“I don’t see the point of this, surely there’s more I could do for you—”

You shush him, delighting in the scandalized look he rewards you with, “No. I like this more.” And you think he does to, more than he lets on, more than the sex he had been tempting you with.

His eyes are strangely glassy even as he huffs, looking down at your joined hands.

“You have better not be playing me.” He mutters, but he sounds nearly breathless as you thumb gently over his wrist. Your other hand comes up to hold his between both of yours, as if you could press heat into his lifeless flesh.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, then.” You say playfully, but your fingers are delicate as they trace the bones of his knuckles, finding the lines of his veins. You’re closer now than you were before, Astarion’s eyes just slightly widened as they regard you. His fingers shift in your hold, his thumb pressing experimentally into your palm.

He looks as if he’s never done this before, surprise and awe dancing over his face despite how hard he attempts to hide it.

“I suppose that I will.” He rasps, his head tilting to the side in wonder, and you meet him with small smile.

🌸

Astarion-flavored Requests are still open 🫶🤍 thank u sm for reading.

[factual-fantasy]

27 asks/walls of text where I ramble about FNAF <XDD

@ninaandthegames

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 😭😭💗💗

@taizarack

Actually I have 2 swap AUs. A true swap and a partial swap. In the partial swap, only Chica and Freddy switch places with Foxy and Bonnie respectively. The rest of the characters and world are slightly altered because of this change, but otherwise the story continues as normal. With Gregory coming to the Pizzaplex and the overall back story of the AU remaining the same.

Meanwhile in the true swap, which I haven't drawn yet.. everyone is paired with someone and swaps places with them. Freddy and Bonnie swap, Chica and Foxy swap, Roxy and Monty swap, even DJ and DA swap. And most importantly, Gregory and Vanessa swap. Which means that everyone's role and design are completely swapped.

And this means that Gregory is the adult sus security guard, and Vanessa is the scared little child living in the basement.. 👀👀

@jackal-lantern

I'm glad you like my Octonauts and submas stuff! :DD I was actually just thinking about Ingo and Emmet funnily enough XD I've been considering finally committing and playing Legends: Arceus, so that I can learn more about that world and Ingo. Also so that I could come back with more knowledge about the twins and make a proper AU :00

@ash-attxck

Thank you for asking first! And as long as it isn't directly taking my idea, then yeah that sounds fine to me! :}}

That would be cool yeah! :0

@toaster-os

To be completely honest, the multiple arms thing is mostly just a running joke <XD

But also magically growing a 3rd arm when ever I need it is very convenient XDD

@voids-call

That's a good question, hmm.. Well, I guess I'll go in order.

Gregory's fears cant really be revealed for lore reasons, but Freddy's can. Freddy has a lot of fear surrounding Gregory. He fears for Gregory's safety, his health.. but most of all, he's afraid of the others finding about about Gregory. If the others found out about him, surly they'd call security, right? If that happens Gregory would be taken away by Vanessa. Which would destroy Freddy..

Now Chica, Roxy, Monty, Foxy and Bonnie don't.. really have a #1 biggest fear that I can point out exactly.. or at least I cant think of any atm..

But DJMM? He doesn't have a biggest fear per se, but he is worried sick about the Daycare attendant. He hasn't seen him in months by this point. And no one has really told him anything straight. He has no idea why he's been gone for so long and if he's okay or not.. :(

And DA's biggest fear is definitely being caught in the dark. He knows very well that something is wrong with him and that he doesn't act like himself when in his moon mode. So he is terrified of the dark and does everything in his power to avoid it..

@andysalleyway

I do know of monster high actually! :00 I think its pretty neat, I've seen a lot of dolls being customized by Dollightful on YouTube. I highly recommend her! (Totally not a Dollightful advertisement XDDD)

(Post in question)

Thank you so much! :DD I'm a bit late to respond to this ask <XD But I'm all better now. My cold is gone and my leg healed up nicely :}}

And the cones name is Cody! :D

@burningmusicfunnygiant (Post in question)

Monty and Roxy do look different in this AU, although they still run the Golf course and Raceway respectively.

As for the bots meeting their other selves.. I image swap Monty would be rather surprised by his counter parts severe temper. OG Monty is so crushed by grief and shame that he's just constantly angry and lashing out. Also because of his shame he has closed himself off all these years which has only made his anger worse..

In the swap AU, Foxy was there for Monty. They became best friends and really helped each other through the grief and pain. Foxy helped Monty with his anger and in present day he's a really mellow person. Just sore with grief but not angry.

Meeting the others as well, OG Bonnie would be surprised by how.. mean his swapped form is.

Swapped Bonnie comes off as a real jerk. If you try to talk to him he'll either just stand there with a vacant stare and refuse to look at or talk to you. Or he'll be short and rude with you and just overall have a vibe that says "I don't want to talk to you, leave me alone". After every performance he just sneaks off to his room and stays there all night. If anyone tries to talk to him about coming out of his room more often or engaging with the group, he just snaps back. Telling them to leave him alone. His and Foxy's friendship has greatly suffered in this AU..

OG Bonnie would be floored by this version of himself. Bonnie would never speak to his friends like that. He would never brush them off if they were standing outside his door in tears. Begging to just talk to him. He couldn't believe the way his other self was acting..

But the thing is, Swapped Bonnie is just under an extreme amount of stress and pressure. He is an Animatronic that was designed only for smaller groups and a more quiet environment. He is a naturally slow animatronic and has a really relaxed personality. The only times he would be put on stage in front of a big crowd is every few weeks or so when the band would do a big performance together. Then right after it was back to the slow and relaxed bowling ally..

But after Freddy's accident, he was put on stage in Freddy's place. Bonnie is now on stage every day. Huge crowds, lights, noise, constantly on the move, go go go, noise noise noise- Bonnie come do this- Bonnie take this picture- Bonnie sing these 3 songs- Bonnie move that- Bonnie come over here- Bonnie sing happy birthday- Bonnie its time for another performance- Like-- it never ends!!

So whenever Bonnie has the time, he just completely shuts down. If he has a 5 minute break to just stand here? He's going to stand completely still and not do or say anything. If he gets to go to his room, he's going to turn off the lights and sit in complete silence for as long as he can. Any time anyone tries to talk to him he just pushes them away. The last thing he wants to do in his free time is more talking, more processing, more movement. He just wants to be where its dark and quiet..

Swap Bonnie is being pushed to his absolute processing limit, every. single. day. If you were constantly being overwhelmed and pushed beyond your limit every single day, for years? Well you'd probably be a grump and just wants some peace and quiet too..

I could go on with the others, but these paragraphs are already super long- <XD Maybe in another ask if anyone is interested!

@random-entity-363

In the OG au and the Partial swap AU, Sun and Moon are the same person. There are no separate animatronics or separate personalities. The "bug" just only really seems to effect DA when he's in his moon costume. And in the Partial swap, no it doesn't effect his Sunny side..

Although in the true swap? It might actually switch and effect his sunny side instead.. 👀👀

Foxy! :}}

@pinkbomb08

I have fully recovered from my cold, thank you! :} And you got it right! Foxy is Gregory's favorite character and he takes Freddy's role in protecting him :}}

@mr-damian-s-power

:DD Thank you so much!! I would like to come back sometime and do a deeper dive into the Wario bros. I had so many ideas for them that I never got around to.. <:/

@k-art8901

Bibi is a boy! :}

Aw, comparing yourself to people you perceive as better isn't going to help you feel better.. <:( Just keep trudging on with your own work and you'll improve over time. I believe in you! :}}

@joeyjambo122

Oh yeah, I've seen Bluey alllll over the place XD It seems like a really wholesome show! I've seen a lot of clips and art of it, although I haven't really gotten into it or watched it myself. My go to pre-school type show is Octonauts <XD

Maybe someday! :}}

:DD Thank you so much! Maybe I'll come back around to it sometime! :}}

@ur0neand0nly

0___o; Well uhh... so here's the thing about Paani. No offence to anyone who likes him, but personally? I reeeeeaaaaalllly don't like Paani. :x

The first episode just gave me a really sour taste in my mouth. And I just haven't been able to like him since 😅

I have intentions to add him to my Octonauts stuff in the future. But what I plan to do is re-write/make an AU about above and beyond which involves uh.. removing everything I don't like about it.. Including Paani. :x

I mean he'll still in it!-- But my AU will completely rewrite his character and remove all the things that people criticize him for. He will basically be Paani 2.0, and will be a completely different character... I feel bad for wiping his personality clean off my AU, but maaaaan I just cant like Paani, sorry! 😭😭

@hexyz09

I might not be understanding the question here, so my apologies-

My Gregory and canon Gregory are very different characters for a few reasons. For one, I completely rewrote the events of the game so they did not experience the same things while at the Pizzaplex.

I also made up a backstory for my Gregory that justifies him being more shy and skittish then canon Gregory seems to be.

I also didn't like how evil/gremlin-ly Gregory is in canon/fanon. So I thought screw it, I don't like canon/fanon Gregory being a lil turd, so I'm just going to make my own Gregory that acts the way I want him to <XD

@flowers-on-my-eyes

XD Aw, that's a nice idea. But poor Bonnie might be embarrassed to have a hook put on his stubby arm. It might just make him look tacky and draw more attention to it. Poor Foxy might have to keep his hook for now :x

You know, Bonnie likely did have a few custom bowling balls made just for him. But who knows where they are now.. Rockstar row? Somewhere in the bowling ally? In a box in the basement somewhere? They may never know.. :(

@euanpc

Aww!! That's so cute! Wet floor cone buddy for the win!!! 💗💗

Thank you! 😎😎😎

[jam-showtoonz]

Another AU? (Jack’o Moon!/Hallow!!)

⚠️TW⚠️- Abuse, Guilt Tripping, (there are possibly others- be warned!!)

(Not finished btw- but I wanted to show it before I forgot to-)

This au is kinda dark-

Info on AU/ Story(?):-

In this au Ruin never showed up and the Bloodmoon Twins are never remade- (this also means Solars dimension doesn’t collapse and he doesn’t die)

The StitchWraith and Creator are still around-

The Creator is after Lunar because of them having Star Power. Moon decides to ask Solar to make a bodyguard for Lunar- aka Jack- to keep them and others safe. Half way through Jacks creation Earth goes missing and a virus starts going around- the effects unknown at the time.

Upon Earths disappearance- Moon starts getting more violent and rude, Lunar starts being irrational and violent- often lashing out at anyone even close to him (this includes Castor and Pollux) and Sun goes completely mute and begins distancing himself from others (he still works normally around the kids- he just doesn’t talk). Solar acts relatively the same as normal- a bit more anxious due to Moon and Lunars sudden personality shift- he always tried to reassure them that Earth is- hopefully- fine and that they’ll find her.

Monty also starts acting irrational and even goes after StitchWraith believing they took Earth. This quickly proves to not be the case and turns out StitchWraith is also looking for their sister-

Puppet and Foxy end up watching over and trying to help Monty as best they can. Worried they may go the same way as Moon and Lunar if they don’t.

Once Jack was finished Moon immediately sent them to Lunar before Jack could even meet their creator. As a result Jack has no idea who Solar is other than Moons friend. Things quickly go south from there- Lunar lashes out at Jack for every mistake they make and even blames them for Earths disappearance at times. These lash outs often get physical and led to Jack getting damaged.

Moon also takes his anger out on Jack- especially if Jack messes up- the main ‘punishments’ being- powered off (without consent/suddenly), taking out or breaking Jacks eyes/eye, breaking off limbs, and hitting with a wrench or hammer- Lunar uses similar punishments, along with throwing Jack against walls, shocking, and locking him in dark closets. Jack has a fear of small and dark places because of this.

Castor and Pollux both try and talk to Lunar about what he’s doing but it ends up leading to a fight- Castor and Pollux leave after it very angry and Lunar blames Jack for it happening. Jack truly believes it’s his fault.

Moon and Lunars actions do not go unnoticed- Solar, Puppet, Foxy and Sun all acknowledge what they are doing and try to keep Jack away from them, with great struggle. Moon doesn’t let Solar anywhere near Jack because ‘Jack isn’t important- there are better things to worry about.’

Lunar and Moon also try to keep Puppet and Foxy away- they only succeed to do so with Foxy because they were still helping Monty- Puppet on they other hand often manages to get to Jack (if for a short period of time) and does their best to fix and take care of him.

Sun has the most success with getting Jack away from them as Moon and Lunar will leave Jack with him if he ‘asks’. He often lets Puppet take them after so Jack can get out of the PizzaPlex and explore (on the times Puppet doesn’t take them he and Jack play video games together) Moon and Lunar think Puppet is taking Jack from Sun when this happens-

With how often Jack gets damaged (broken) Moon resorts to fixing them with duck tape so ‘they aren’t wasting time fixing him’, Lunar also does this- to the point Jack believes duck tape is how you fix every injury. The duck tape does work- it’s mostly used to keep Jacks arms and/or legs from falling off. If they keep falling off despite the duck tape then that’s when Moon properly fixes the issue- whilst complaining to Jack how he’s wasting his time and that they are selfish for doing so- Jack feels extremely guilty when they get repaired.

Solar ends up leaving at some point- he wanted to take Jack and Sun with him because Moon and Lunar were getting worse, and despite their attempts to help them nothing is working. Unfortunately he can’t even get close to Jack which leaves only Sun-

Sun refused however because he wanted to try and protect Jack the best he could, as well as try and fix his brothers, he did promise that once he could get Jack out and away from his brothers he will find Solar.

About 3 weeks after Solar leaves an Eclipse appears outside Suns door from no where- Sun in a panic grabs Eclipse and pulls him inside his room before Moon or Lunar can see him- which confuses Eclipse beyond belief. After Sun rather quickly signs to Moon that nothing was wrong and that he was just startled by Moons sudden appearance Sun attempts to ‘explain’ what was going on to Eclipse- which doesn’t work well because Eclipse doesn’t know sign language.

Sun ends up calling Puppet who shows up immediately upon hearing Eclipse is back. Puppet explains everything to Eclipse who gets more confused when he hears what Lunar and Moon have been doing, so much so he literally doesn’t even believe it. Puppet ends up taking Eclipse back with him so Moon and Lunar don’t find him.

Eclipse- originally planning to screw with Sun and Moon upon his return (which he doesn’t even know how he’s alive)- decides that he’d rather just leave because clearly someone did his job for him, Puppet doesn’t allow him to though, so Eclipse gets stuck with Puppet, Foxy and Monty (who is doing better at this point).

Puppet- who now has a plan on how to get Jack out- makes a deal with Eclipse. They will let Eclipse leave so long as they take and look after Jack. Eclipse declines the deal- not wanting to look after some kid- until he meets Jack.

It was complete random chance as Puppet had ended up bringing Jack to Foxy’s house because of just how badly Jack had been broken. Eclipse had been told to watch the kid because Puppet needed to grab some stuff and Foxy and Monty were out.

Jack, sat holding a plushie Puppet had given them to distract them, smiled like they weren’t missing a leg and their eye wasn’t broken and had oil leaking from it. Eclipse couldn’t help but stared at Jack- questioning what had happened and who could do something like this- his question was quickly answered the minute he asked Jack-

Who continued to smile whilst stating- ‘Moon was mad because I knocked over some board game boxes! I did not mean to!’

Puppet arrived back during this explanation and quickly got to work fixing what they could. Which was mostly just the leg. They’d have to got to parts & service to fix the faceplate and eye- which would be impossible due to Moon.

Eventually Puppet had to send Jack back- they turned to Eclipse afterwards. Eclipse immediately raised their hand to Puppet and simply said ‘deal’.

Puppet promptly got to work on their plan.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I've been thinking a lot about the one-dimensional kinda fandom interpretations of Dazai and Chuuya in particular - the overemphasis on Dazai's weird brand of mischief/manipulation and Chuuya's anger and tendency to lash out and how it's not like these traits are... wrong, per se - these are their surface level/immediately notable characteristics - it's just that it misses the nuance as to why these traits likely exist.

What these interpretations don't fully capture is their very similar cores deep down - two people plagued by feelings of alienation, human inadequacy and repeated loss. Despite starting from these very similar places, they both dealt with the issue in near opposite ways. Dazai numbed himself to pain (remember: he hates pain! I cannot emphasize this enough!) and rarely gets close to anyone for fear he will lose them - his loss led to apathy, a withdrawal from humanity, a fear that he will always be empty inside - his ability: No Longer Human. Chuuya, on the other hand, refuses to numb himself and instead feels every single emotion in full and values his bonds with others over anything. He wants to belong and makes efforts to be perceived as a part of his group. Underlying this, however, is a kind of tired grief paired with resilience - remember that his ability is Upon the Tainted Sorrow. Not anger, or rage.

Sorrow is what results from this kind of heavy identity crisis and loss - for both of them. Think of Odasaku's read on Dazai as someone who looked close to tears when "acting" in front of the sniper poised to shoot him, describing him to Gide as a too-smart child left in the dark, or the way Stormbringer constantly reminds us that Chuuya is 16 and the desperation he feels in the scene where he holds his own dying clone, unable to help him.

Both characters carry a melancholy, resulting from their respective issues with their own humanity - I know I'm not the first one to comment on how their abilities could just as easily be referring to each other as well as themselves. This reads as very intentional to me - much like Atsushi's story begins as a clear parallel to the short story Rashoumon and Akutagawa sometimes being referred to in more beast-like terms than man, it makes sense that Dazai and Chuuya would reference each other in a similar vein.

And if that was the end of it, then we would expect that deep sorrow to shine through in both characters, but it rarely does except in pivotal moments. That's because the both of them have had to constantly deal with external threats - they believe they cannot afford to show vulnerability.

So, what you get instead is Dazai taking a kind of twisted ownership over his inhumanity and using it to make people afraid of him and to control everything so that he is never blindsided and hurt again, in the process, further alienating himself and making his issues worse. He inflicts fear so he doesn't have to be afraid. He can relax and be as silly as he wants - so long as everything around him is completely according to his predictions. There's a bonus to his foolish demeanour as well: hardly anyone can read him well enough to get close.

Then you get Chuuya, who feels so strongly and so much that it has no choice but to boil over, and due to never being able to or feeling comfortable with being anything but "the strongest", he hides moments when he is touched, or worried, or grieving, with anger and violence and defensiveness. As such, he is always seen as more weapon than person, a cut above the rest, forever standing out to others no matter how much he tries to integrate. The closest he came to true belonging was wrenched away from him before he could have a chance to know what that would actually feel like with the death of the Flags.

These surface traits are defense mechanisms. And the amusing thing to me is that likely means these two would love if that's all most people ever saw of them. (Of course, they clearly do want to be seen and accepted, but defense mechanisms become automatic over time because they often feel much safer. Likely another reason they clash so much - they see each other, and it is deeply uncomfortable for them both.)

So, you have Dazai defending himself with his two-faced nature, making jokes and/or manipulating everyone in the vicinity, and Chuuya defending himself with intimidation and anger, never letting any vulnerability show through because anger is easier but at the core of all of this is that loss and that grief and the sorrow and fear that pervades from it.

[eileenslibrary]

Thorns, Rot, Tangles, And Roots

A/N: I had a hard time understanding your ask, but I Wrote what I thought it meant, Please pardon me if I was wrong!

Warnings: Jealousy, Crying, Break Downs, Comfort From Crying, Arguments Described Vaguely.

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Gif Is Not Mine

You walk into your and your husband's room to grab something and see him lying down his hair splayed upon the silk pillow his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling gently, you smile and walk up to him to place a kiss upon his temple, his eyebrow twitches slightly and he stirs but stays asleep, you chuckle softly before walking over to grab the papers you need, you and Thranduil have grown distant over the few weeks, he became more snappy than usual making you shrink into yourself from his aggression. You loved him dearly but you missed the old him, his heart grew more thorns keeping you from the rot he is desperately trying to kill. You knew being with him would be hard at times, but your resolve was slowly breaking away no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop the harmful vines from his struggling heart. 

You were in a meeting between you, and a few nobles from Rivendell, you call for refreshments during the meeting, Thranduil watches the young male servant and how he stumbles over his words when he hands you your glass of water and the red blush upon his cheeks his eyes trailing over your bare collar bone dipping down, and Thranduil can feel the rot begin to grow once again. The king cages his burning heart in a puzzle of vines covered in sharp points, his tongue as sharp as a sword, and his chest tightens at your ignorance, so he locks himself from you. It’s quite childish he could talk to you and it would be fixed, the thorns that were stabbing you both would be cut, the rot would be cleared, and the leaves upon his heart would grow again. But he got so used to caging himself from others that he ended up hurting everyone else in the process. his heart is growing the thorny branches around it until it pops and the rot held inside is dripping out into his body while he watches the scene unfold. He starts to grow infected internally before it seeps through his pores engulfing him in a rage he can barely hold back, he stands from his chair and heads to the door catching your attention when you see the heavy doors fall closed and the echoes of the door slamming still sweeps across the room. “Excuse me, please enjoy the refreshments” you politely exclaim worry behind your expression. You rush out of the room ready to remove the rot in his heart.

 Thranduil sits upon the bed his crown sitting upon the vanity, and with it goes the poised, and respectable king, and the angry, confused, and broken man sits upon the bed, the rot grows until he feels it clash with the vines poisoning them until they shriveled and the shell of his heart becomes nothing more than dust. His hands tangle into his locks desperately trying to keep the anger at bay his head pounds as he feels the tangly branches of the tree slowly disintegrate.

The rot takes over as you run to him trying to desperately save him from the poison, but the tangles of confusion, anger, and heartbreak drive it to kill his heart faster, you try to work faster, but the rot lashes upon you harming you as you desperately try to get away, your heart made of daisies begins to sicken, the rot seeps from your eyes as you quickly turn and run, your features begin to decay into one of hurt as you leave the room, as you desperately try to encase your heart in the pot it once was placed in, the tall pot encases you into its clay confines effectively saving the small roots you cared for safe from the illness, but you grow sickly with conflicted thoughts of sadness, and fear, your leaves begin to droop and the petals slowly fall into the soil. You tangle into a large nest of pain. You allow the tears to fall slipping down your face, as rot begins to take over your heart, pulling you further into decay. 

As you weep over your fallen petals holding them to your chest desperately trying to keep them from ripping, Thranduil realizes what he’s done, he quickly leaves your bedroom, as Thranduil’s heart decays further as he desperately tries to find you, his long hair tangled from his hands as he looks for you, a few passersby’s watch the crazed king search for his queen. His once-perfect face slips into one of the scars from burns and decomposition, showing him in his truest colors, as he turns the corner he finds you on the ground your long robes held to your chest as you weep, the crumbling petals falling from your heart as you desperately try to save them, you feel someones scared but caring hands hold yours in theirs taking the petals into their hold, you recognize the hands to be your lover, you let your roots spread out to find theirs, as they accept your embrace feeding you with their nutrients, as blue lilacs slowly flower from the branches of the tree reaching out, he watches as the blue petals of your daisies grow back with his warm embrace, the vines untangle, and the thorns dull once again. You look up at your husband as he whispers apologies into your ear and intertwines his fingers with yours, you watch as the last of the decay fades from his heart, he holds you tightly reassuring you he’d never let your petals die again, as well as you promising to keep the thorns at bay.

@jujjuikijjyu

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - part sifteen.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 4292| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: unprotected sex! Praise, riding, facesitting, communication.

A/N: I'm in a bit of a writers slump, but I'll try to update sooner!

“No!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”

Simon doesn’t know how to explain that he is telling you no, he doesn’t know how he is supposed to tell you that your last mission scared him to the point that he never, ever wants it to experience again. How is he supposed to tell you that he thinks that being a soldier seems to be too dangerous?

He can’t tell you that, you’ll think he is an idiot, a controlling asshole trying to decide what you can and cannot do.

So he grits his teeth, clenching his fists, as he tries to calm down. He needs to make sure that his fear doesn’t tip over in anger, but that is so damn difficult when he doesn’t get the chance to think.

“Lovie.” He managed to bring out the endearing word through gritted teeth. “Give me a second, yeah?”

And just like that, the tension in your shoulders seem to dissolve. Sure, you’re still pissed off at his words, at how he thinks he can boss you around, but at least he is trying, and that is a lot more than some other men can say.

“Fine.” With a grumble, you sit down on the couch, arms crossed in front of your chest. Just because you appreciate his efforts, doesn’t mean that you’re not annoyed at him. “Ready when you are.”

His fear doesn’t fade, not right away anyway, he stares at the back of your head, trying to make up if you’re pissed at him, or not.

He sighs, once, twice, maybe even for the third time, and a little dramatic too. Finally he bites the bullet. You do deserve a partner he can communicate, and the heavens know that Simon is trying.

He sits down next to you, seeing how you try to keep your frown at him, but he notices the little tugs on the corner of your lips too.

“I’m trying.” Simon starts. “Really am, but this is difficult for me, okay? So, if I need to take a break, give me one.”

That is fair, and honestly, if you weren’t so annoyed with him, you would have applauded it, so instead you just nod at him.

“Okay. So.” How do you start this again? “I.. I am worried, okay?”

Simon wants to reach out to you, but he is a little hesitant to do so, worried that you will reject him, and that is a blow he doesn’t think he could handle right now. “When communication was lost with your squad, it made a fear erupt in me, that I have never felt before, and the idea of feeling it again..”

Damn.

That is, hands down, the best communication you’ve ever had with him, he communicates his feelings, his needs, his fears, what more could you ask for? Sure, you don’t like it when he tries to control things, but now you know where he is coming from.

And Simon is just proud, proud that he was able to say this while his throat felt as if it was closing up. He is proud that he managed to speak about his fears, without lashing out, without shutting you out.

“What would help?”

Your question startled him a little. “What?”

“What would help you feel less anxious?”

Well, he would be damned. Was this how it was supposed to feel whenever someone met your needs? When someone really tried to understand you? Shit, that felt amazing.

“I.. I am going to be on that mission too, and I want you to stay close to me, so I can keep my eye on you.”

That would be a good solution, he could keep an eye on you, maybe you could even learn a thing or two from him, and that would be it.

“Okay. Yes. That would work.”

Simon lets out a sigh of relief, for a second he was worried you’d try to argue with him, but the fact that you didn’t, that you even tried to think in solutions with him, that was nothing short of being amazing, and he had to thank the heavens, on his knees for you.

“But,” and he hates what he has to say next. “we really should keep us a secret a little longer. I don’t want other to think I’m giving you a special treatment.”

“But you are giving me a special treatment!” Not that you disagreed with keeping your relationship on the low, you just weren’t going to be a man’s peace.

“I know.” Simon groaned out his answer. “But that is beside the point!”

He can read your body language, he knows that you’re no longer annoyed with him, so he is getting a little braver. He pulls you close to him, pressing a kiss on your hair. “You’re a pain in my ass sometimes.”

“So are you.” You counter with a laugh, as you rest your head on his shoulder. “But you’re right, we should just.. keep us on the low, to keep them from being suspicious.”

Funny, how Simon could recall you saying those words, but here you were, nudging him with your right knee. He had been surprised when he had noticed that you sat down next to him in the meeting, tucked away in the back.  

Keeping their relationship under wraps makes it particularly challenging for him to hide his feelings. However, you find a thrill in the subtle signals Simon shoots your direction. Eventually, he reaches his limit. With a firm grip on your knee beneath the table, he leans in and murmurs, "Stop it."

Well, it wasn't your fault, was it? You were just really, really in love with him, and the fact that you two were a couple, but no one knew? That just made you feel all giddy on the inside.

You lean towards him, an innocent smile on your face.  "I'm sorry." You whispered.

"Cut it out." Simon whispered back, trying to keep himself under control despite the fire building inside him. He could feel the tension in the air as his grip on your knee tightened, his thumb brushing against your skin.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from reaching under the table and pulling you onto his lap so he could whisper all the sweet nothings he wanted to say to you.

Your knee finally stops nudging against his, but you can't stop stealing little glances at him. Your fingertips trail over the back of his hand, and it is getting hard to focus on the briefing. Your mind wanders to every sweet interaction you’ve have had and your heart runs over with love.

Simon is acutely aware of your gaze as you continued to steal glances at him during the briefing. It's not a secret that you love him and he feels a shiver run up his spine as your fingertips trail down his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in your wake.

While he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, this isn't the place for it. So he leans forward once again, whispering, "If you don't focus, I will drag you to an empty room and you will never forget me."

You have to suppress a giggle at his words. It felt so, so, so good to be in love, especially with someone as wonderful as him.

"We don't want that now, would we?" You teased him, but you decided to behave a little bit. Not wanting to get the both of you in trouble, after all, you had promised to keep this a secret

Simon's lips twitch into a suppressed smile, as he can't help but be affected by your sassiness. Instead of responding with more words, he leans down and captures your lips in a brief, yet deep kiss.

He leans back just before your colleagues noticed the kiss. "No, we don't want that now" Simon whispered with a smirk, "I have plans for you later."

You are stunned when he kissed you and the first thing you do is to look around, to see if anyone noticed, but all their eyes are on the captain. Your fingers go to your lips and your fingertips try to mimic the sensation.

"Stop that!" You whispered while your cheeks got a rosy hue.

Simon can't help but chuckle at your flushed cheeks. You look just as adorable as the first time he saw you, your lips the same rosebud pink—just as kissable. But he needs to control himself. He can't keep kissing you here.

"No, I think I'll keep doing this," Simon replies in a hushed whisper, "it gets even better when I kiss other places. Like your neck and..." His fingers brush across your neck in the spot that he had in mind.

He knows what he is doing, the cheeky fucker.

You can't suppress the smile on your face, no matter how hard you tried.

"You're a horrible tease" It is hard to stay focussed, it is hard to keep quiet. But you had promised to keep your relation on the low, but fuck, does he make it difficult.

"Am not..." Simon teases you, his voice low and sensually as he whispers, "But I can show you how much of a tease I can be. I bet it will be a better feeling than the kisses I just gave you."

Simon continues to brush his fingers across your neck, his nails grazing the skin gently enough to make chills run down your skin. He's enjoying your flushed face, he likes that he has this type of control over you. He likes that he can punish you for your teasing.

His touch leave a wake of goosebumps on your skin, the touch is addicting.

"Stop it." You muttered through gritted teeth. "You're going to get us caught!"

Your hand goes to reach for his, trying to pry it off your skin

“I'm trying to give you a little preview of what I'm going to do to you later." Simon continues to tease you, as he lets his nails trail down the back of your neck in slow, sensual strokes.

"I'll be sure to go over every inch of you later tonight. Your neck..." Simon whispers, his lips close to your skin.

He can't stop himself from enjoying your reaction, from how his words are making you squirm in your seat.

You knows you should stop him, you know that you should tell him to continue later, you know that what you’re doing is a danger to your job, but his teasing words, his teasing touch. They cloud your judgement as the hormones take over.

"Where else?" You murmured softly, making sure your teammates wouldn't hear the two of you.

"Tell me where you want to kiss me."

Simon can't help but grin, amused by the fact that he can make you feel this way. He enjoys seeing you so flushed, your cheeks bright pink, your lips begging for a kiss. He wants to give you everything you want.

"Oh, I have plenty of places to kiss you," Simon replies softly. He places his free hand on your thigh and moves it up the side of your leg, letting his fingers trail down your skin.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and all you can hear is your own heartbeat in your ears. You take a shaky, deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You don’t want to attract the attention of your teammates, but his touch makes you feel as if you are on fire.

Simon relishes the fact that you are panting and visibly shaking from his touch. He's doing exactly what he wanted—drive you crazy and make you want him. His hand continues to stroke your thigh, his fingers caressing the fabric all the way up towards your hip. He leans down, closer to your ear, and whispers, "If you don't stop being all fidgety right now, I'll bring you to an empty room and make sure you'll never be the same again."

He enjoys toying with you, you just know it. God, you hated that the fabric of your pants keep him from actually touching you.

There is only so much you can take, and it is become more and more difficult to stay and to keep quiet.

A sign escapes you, when the meeting is wrapped up, just in time.

Simon sits back in seat, as he watches the meeting reach its conclusion. His body trembles with the pent up frustrations he has from not being able to freely touch his girl. His knee bouncing, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Simon knows that if the meeting were to carry on for even a moment longer, he would drag you to an empty room. He wants to make you feel the way you make him feel, driving him crazy with desire.

You don't want to raise any suspicion, but fuck he is making it hard. You clear your throat, and you finally get up from your seat. Your fingertips brushing against his shoulders as you walk past him.

Simon watches you walk past him, amused by the way she sways your hips in your tight uniform. The way you moves your body, confidently yet sensually, drives him crazy. He also can't deny the feeling of jealousy that sweeps over him, knowing that other men are surely noticing your beauty.

As he watches you walk off, he thinks of the moment he can finally get you to himself. The things he will do to you, the places he will touch you. He can already feel the heat building inside him.

You wanted it to become a little routine. You would get up first, touch him, just enough to light that fire inside of him.

You would disappear into your room, leave the door unlocked and he would follow you, sometimes after a minute, sometimes after ten minutes. You couldn't wait any longer, so when he opened the door to your room, he was greeted with the sight of his naked girl, waiting for him on the bed.

The moment Simon opens the door to your room and sees your waiting for him on the bed, his breath caught in his throat.

You look like a goddess, more beautiful than he had ever seen you—naked and waiting for his touch. Your skin glistens in the light, your hair draped over her neck and shoulders. And you wait for him, your eyes filled with anticipation.

Simon cannot resist you, every time he sees you like this, he's pulled to you, his every desire focused on you.

With every step he takes, he loses a piece of clothing, until he stands naked in front of the bed, hard and proud.

He crawls into bed with you. Their bodies touching, legs intertwining while your lips met.

"You've been an awful tease." You whispered in between kisses.

"You like it when I tease you, though." Simon replies confidently as your bodies lay intertwined. His body against yours is like a puzzle, you fit so perfectly together, two pieces coming together to make something more.

He leans in to kiss you, taking in the taste of your lips, the warmth of your skin. His fingers wrap around your neck, caress your throat as he begins to explore your body, leaving a trail of kisses and touch on everything he can reach.

Hands grope the soft flesh of your body, massaging, kneading the soft skin. You moaned when he began to kiss your body, his lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, breasts, nipples, eventually your stomach.

"I want to try a new position." You murmured.

"I'm up for anything, love." Simon replies. He was already in the mood to experiment, seeing the way you were responding to his touch made him giddy with excitement.

"So tell me, what position are we trying?" Simon asks, his fingers moving along your stomach, inching towards your thighs.

Your hips buck forward when he teased the soft skin there, and you have to bite your lip to hold back a moan.

"Reverse cowgirl." You answered his question. "I would like to try reverse cowgirl."

"That can be arranged." Simon replies confidently, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips. He loves that you are taking your own desires and making them known.

Simon moves away so that he's no longer on top of you, his body pressed beside yours. He rolls you and sits you on his hips, supporting himself by leaning on his elbows. Once you’re settled down, he grips your hips and pulls you towards him.

Even when you wanted to be in charge, he took control.

And you fucking loved it. You let yourself sink down on him, letting your warmth embrace him. Your head tilting back when his cock begins to fill you up.

"How's the view?" You giggled softly

"It's perfect." Simon replies, his breathing steady. He makes sure to take in every detail, the flush of your cheeks, the way you move yourself to fit him perfectly.

He pulls you closer, guiding your movements. His thumbs trail down your sides as he grips your hips, letting his fingers slide along your skin. The sight of you is almost addictive, as if he can never get enough of you.

It is a bit unusual, a new position. You are used to seeing his face, to see what you do to him, and with reverse cowgirl you can't.

It’s not that it is bad, it is just.. not as exiting for you, as it is for him. Simon is taking in the full view, your plump ass, the way you take his cock so well. His hands rest on your hips, but he lets you pick the pace.

After a few minutes, your hips stop moving.

You look over your shoulder to see his face, and Simon looks like he is in heaven.

"I.. Can I sit on your face?" You asked, your voice a soft murmur, as if you were afraid to ask it.

Simon's lips curve into a mischievous smile, his eyes gleaming with desire. The thought of you straddling his face sends an jolt of shock through him.

"Oh, that'd be perfect." Simon replies confidently, his breathing speeding up as he imagines the feeling of your body straddling his face.

You let him slip out of you, before you moved yourself upward, your hips straddling his face.

Your dripping wet pussy is hovering above him, and you feel a little nervous. "Two taps if you need some air." You murmured.

You then slowly, lower your pussy down to his face.

Simon's fingers curl into a fist, his body trembling as he watches you move into position. The sight of you hovering above him, looking down on him, is a powerful one. He can't help but let out a low growl at the thought of what you’re going to do.

When your pussy hovers above him, he grips the bedsheets, his breathing becoming faster. He stares up at the beautiful sight before him, his gaze following every inch of your body as you lower yourself towards him. His hands wrap around your thighs to help hold you.

Such an impatient boy.

He grips your thighs and pulls you down to his face. The moment his tongue touches you, you’re done for.

Your head tilts back, and a loud moan escaped your lips. You let your hands roam his chest, caressing the soft skin.

Simon's body trembles at the feeling of your hand on his chest, your touch sending shivers up his spine. It's like a jolt of pleasure when your soft, tender fingers caress his skin. As your hands move down, he continues to massage your thighs, his hands squeezing your skin tight as he pulls you down to his face. He can hear you moan, although the sound is faint, feeling your body tremble as he pushes his tongue into you. He wants to taste it all.

His tongue feels different, but shit does it feel good. "That's it." You moaned softly, your hips slowly riding his face.

Your hands massage his chest, his abs, his body. And it feels amazing. "I love you."

Simon's breath catches in his throat, hearing you admit your love for him sent a wave of warmth through his body. It was almost enough to make him want to stop what he was doing, but he enjoyed pleasing you too much.

His tongue begins to tease and dance, moving from your clit, right back to your wet folds, his fingers continuing to massage your thighs. He moves his hands further up your thighs, sliding them up to your hips.

The stubble on his chin, the way he lets you use his face, God, it is the whole combination that drives her crazy. Her hips begin to move frantic, high pitched moans leaving you as you grip his thigh to hold on to something while you cum on his tongue.

Your thighs tremble and after a second or three you got off his face, panting softly.

When you finally reached your orgasm, he was surprised with how loud your moans became. He was so focused on your body movements, that he had forgot about his own enjoyment.

As you got off his face, Simon's body began to tremble, his body begging for release. But he didn't want to end things here, no, he wanted more.

You straddled him against but before you did anything else, you kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Fuck." You groaned. "Fuck that was amazing." You smiled at him. "You deserve the world."

Simon's eyes widen when you tasted yourself on his tongue. That.. that was the hottest thing you could’ve done.

You rolls your hips against his, enjoying his reaction. Rubbing your pussy against his rock hard dick.

"Let me make you feel good."

Simon's body trembles from your movements, as you continue to roll your hips against him. He lets out a sigh as you sink down on him, her warm pussy feeling amazing.

"Oh God..." Simon's breathing becomes faster and faster as he can already feel the release coming. "Don't stop..."

You giggled softly as you heard his words. It seems like eating you out turned him on so much he wouldn't last long. Your hips began to move faster, seeing his face twist in pleasure.

"You've been so good to me." You moaned. "So, so, so good."

"Oh God, don't stop...please." Simon replies, his voice trembling with excitement. It felt like a huge relief to not be in control, as he could just lay and enjoy your movements.

He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he pulls you even closer to him. You have been so good to him, even when he didn't deserve it.

His hands on your hips help you sink down on him even deeper, your pussy engulfing him fully.

You enjoyed seeing him like this, enjoying you so intense. All you wanted was for him to get that same pleasure you had gotten.

There was something so erotic about the visuals of you on top of him like that. He would love to see this view more often.

But right now, his body is beginning to tremble from anticipation, as a huge wave of pleasure comes rushing towards him.

"Oh God..." he whispers as he grips harder onto your hips.

The room begins to fill with the sound of skin against skin as you lean forward to kiss him, his hips bucking upwards to meet her in a desperate movement. You enjoyed being on top more than you had thought and this seemed like the perfect way to end the day.

"Cum for me." You whispered against his lips.

Simon's breath catches in his throat when you lean forward, bodies pressed so closely together.

"Please." his voice trembles as he leans his head up, wanting to kiss you so deep. "Make me."

Your lips capture his again, the kiss is deep, passionate, almost desperate.

"Beg me for it." You answered in a whisper.

Your hips slow down a little bit, wanting to edge him a little bit, not just giving in.

Simon's body trembles, as your words cause his breath to catch in his throat. He is not used to begging anyone for anything, but right now, it is like he is asking for your life.

He looks up at you and lets out a shaky breath, "Please..." his voice comes out hoarse, "Please let me.. please let me feel it."

You know he usually doesn't beg for anything, maybe that is why you like it so much.

"Good boy." You murmured. "Looking so pretty for me while you beg."

Your hips begin to pick up the pace again, and your own head tilts back, your lips slightly parted as you cried out his name, your second orgasm washing over you.

Simon's eyes widen when you call him a "good boy" and the sound of you calling out his name is enough to send him over the edge. He lets out a low, guttural cry as his own release washes over him, his hips bucking up to fill you up as good as he can. After a few moments, he leans up to kiss you.

“Fuuuuck." You feel exhausted when you finally catches your breath, you want to get off him, but your legs feel as if they are about to give out. "Fuck, Simon. I love you."

The words send Simon's heart fluttering, he's never heard such words before. It felt right, like his heart was finally whole again.

"I love you too."

[ya-zz]

Regret and Forgiveness

Ramattra x child!Reader

Word count: 5042

Words decided to word right for me for a change... and the fact that over 5k of them worded right for me is surprising. Perhaps when I have made another full fic like this I will make a seperate master post for them because this is part of the child series with Ramattra I want to complete at some point in the future.. Whenever I can find the time to write and relax from work... We shall see... Also yes, you have a pet slicer because who doesn't want a pet slicer ♥

He has you cornered, oh how silly you were to be running from the leader of Null Sector. Your small body trembles as you step back, only pushing yourself further into that corner. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He is right there.

Ramattra glares down at you, optics picking up your heightened heart rate and a small, extremely small, part of him feels guilty for the fear he is putting in you. You are just a kid, afterall. “Trust me, you do not need to do much to piss me off. Just a couple of stubborn retorts, a dash of disobedience and a generous serving of reckless behaviour and voila! You have got the perfect recipe to send my systems into a fit of rage.” 

“You say that like I do it on purpose! You’re just easily angered!” You yell as you step back, watching as the omnic closes the distance you have made. “You don’t trust me at all!”

You glance down to your slicer unit, its body rumbling as if it was growling towards Ramattra. At least you have my back, you think to yourself amidst the situation. 

“Do you really think me being angry is just some flaw of mine and not a direct response to your stubbornness and recklessness?” His wires burn, his chassis heats up as anger, no, rage burns hot inside of him. “And you want to talk about trust? You say I do not trust you, but when you go running off like this, without telling anyone… how do you expect me to trust you? You are acting reckless and immature, not like a child, but like a spoiled brat!”

There was a slight hesitation in your voice as you speak, your mind reeling with memories of your parents and their shouting. “I am not spoiled and you know that!”

Ramattra notices the way you hesitate, the quick flash of pain in your eyes before your anger towards him returns. He lowers his voice slightly, not wanting to shout any longer. “I know you are not spoiled, little one. That is not what I meant.” 

“You said it so you clearly meant it.” There was a sharp edge to your voice and Ramattra doesn’t miss it. 

“I said you are acting like a spoiled brat, not that you are one. There is a difference.” He snaps back, his patience wearing thin. 

“I am acting like a kid who wants to have fun and not be watched everywhere I go! I let you put this tracking device on me as a safety precaution and I can’t even walk down the hallway without you panicking!?” You raise your arm, the tracking device dangling from your wrist. 

“It is justifiable concern. You are a child wandering Null Sector, of course I am going to be worried about you if you leave my sight! You go running off after a tantrum and you expect me to not worry about you?” 

The wall connects to your back, finally stopping you from going anywhere else. “What else am I supposed to do!? You don’t listen to me and you never let me explain my side before you’re off with some stupid counter argument that makes no sense!” 

Ramattra stops just before you. 

The slicer unit stands between you and him; a futile attempt in protecting you.

There is nowhere to run now.

“Stupid counter argument? Really? You think my reasons and concerns are stupid? My attempts to keep you safe, to prevent you from getting into trouble, they are just “stupid counter arguments” to you?” There was no doubt about it, he was pissed. “And as for listening to you, I listen to you plenty and give you opportunities to explain yourself. But when you throw a tantrum and lash out, how am I supposed to listen? How am I supposed to understand your side when you refuse to communicate like a mature child?”

Biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, you notice the way his fists are clenched, the metal joints grinding from the sheer pressure. Glaring up at him, you’re about to speak before you realise too late that his hand has risen. 

The slap connects, the sound ringing in the hallway and in your ear. It burns, your eyes stinging just as much as your cheek from the oncoming tears. Shock and pain course through your body, your head tilted to the side from the impact. No words, not even a sound comes from your mouth as you stand there trying to process what had just happened. 

Ramattra stands there, his body and systems frozen. He let his anger get the better of him and the last time he did that to someone as innocent as you, he nearly killed them. Guilt overpowers his own shock as he takes a step back. “I… I am sorry… I did not…” 

Tears finally fall down your cheek, the saltiness of them making your cheek sting that little bit more. Bringing your hand up, you try to soothe the pain he had just caused. 

“Little one… I– I did not mean to…” He reaches out, wanting to comfort you but your sudden flinch, your body jerking away from him, makes him quickly retract his hand. “I am sorry… I am so sorry… I– I do not know what came over me…” 

The omnic takes another step back, wanting to give you distance. His systems go back through the entire situation. Could I have prevented this? The weight of his actions sink in, regret making his words shake. “I cannot… I cannot believe I have done this… to you…” 

You stay silent, not knowing what to say. It’s taking everything in your body right now to not break out sobbing, the sting in your cheek making it that much more difficult. A lump forms in your throat as you look up at your guardian. 

“Please… Say something… Anything…” It’s breaking his mechanical heart, just the sight of you, the fear and the pain he has caused you. The redness of your cheek, a reminder of the physical pain he has inflicted. 

No words come out as they catch in your throat. Taking what little strength you have left, you walk up to Ramattra and then walk past him, keeping as much distance as possible. Your pet follows behind, its little feet tapping against the cold floor.

You do not want to be near him. 

He notices the tension in both your body and the air. Guilt threatens to consumes him. He wants to reach out to you, to soothe your pain, to hold you close and make it better but he knows that he has no right to do anything of the sort. Not right now. 

“Please…” 

Hearing his plea, you stop and turn to face him. “I… I’ll be in your quarters, but, just… leave me alone.” Your voice was quiet, almost a whisper. You hear the soft tapping of your slicer unit hopping past you and you follow behind it.

Ramattra watches as you turn a corner and disappear from his sight. He doesn’t even bother checking the tracking device, his systems are trying to fight off the heating situation before anything else. Part of him wants to chase after you, to apologise for his actions and his words but he doesn’t move.

“[y/n]...” 

He’s left alone in the hallway, regret and guilt building up inside of him. He has hurt the one person he had sworn to never lay a hand on. Then, the realisation hits him; he has become the very thing he vowed to protect you from - someone who uses violence to solve problems and assert authority. He let his own principles and values slip away in a single, careless moment. 

Meanwhile, you had made your way back to his room, the door sliding open with a hiss and illuminating the dark space inside. On the floor, the broken glass and this mornings breakfast lay there. Part of you doesn’t want to pick it up, but you knew it would only cause more issues. Being as careful as you can, you pick up the broken glass, the shards clinking together in your hand as you drop them into the trash. The toast was hard, stale, hitting the bottom of the can with a loud thunk. 

The slicer unit watches you intently, a series of sad sounding chirps and beeps emanating from it. 

“I know…” You speak softly before climbing onto the bed. Wrapping yourself in a multitude of blankets, you move yourself as close to the wall as possible, leaving just enough space for your pet slicer to come and intrude. It nudges your arms, moving under them like a puppy would when it wants attention. The metal of its body is cold against your skin, a soft vibration coming from the unit as it snuggles up close to you, wanting to soothe the pain in both your cheek and chest as you sob against it. 

Ramattra had been wandering the hallways of the base trying to come up with an apology, a reasoning, something, to make you forgive him, but he knows that he cannot change your minds that quickly. As stubborn as you are, it was a good trait to have when it comes to this. You won’t be so easily swayed and manipulated should someone get their hands on you.

His fists clench at his sides as he keeps walking before he finally finds his way back to his quarters, fingers hovering just over the keypad. He hesitates. Ramattra stands outside of his room, hearing the muffled sobs. He had been standing there for what seemed like an eternity - when in reality, it had been five minutes by the time he came back to his senses. 

The door opens once more, the light from the hallway illuminating your body curled up on the bed. You’re not facing him, nor do you want to voluntarily. Ramattra notices the slicer unit lift its head up, a loud rumble escaping it to indicate it’s growling. I failed to do what you are doing now…

The larger omnic stands there, the door closing behind him. Your body shakes under the blankets and as he takes a step closer towards the bed, the slicer unit growls louder. 

“Don’t. It’s not worth it.” You mumble, hand appearing from under the blankets to pull the unit back down, it’s body protesting before letting you pull it close. 

There was an audible click in Ramattra’s vocaliser as he fights his own emotions. His voice is pained as he speaks quietly. “Little one… please, let me talk to you.” 

“If you are going to yell, I will leave.” You warn, not wanting to take anymore of his hostility. 

Ramattra takes a step closer only to watch as you shuffle further to the wall, clearly not wanting to be near him. “No, I will not yell. I just want to talk. I do not want to hurt you again.” 

You can hear the clear remorse in his voice but you still don’t want to look at him. “Why should I trust you when you don’t trust me?” 

Ramattra pauses. The weight of his own hypocrisy hitting him like a tonne of bricks. “You are right. I do not have the right to ask you to trust me after what I have done. My actions were wrong and I know that…” The omnic hesitates before continuing. “I want you to know that I am sorry. I am truly sorry for what I did. I do not expect you to forgive me, but I do want you to know that I never meant to harm you… I lost control and let my emotions get the better of me…” 

You hum in response after listening to his apology. The warmth of the blankets makes a small bead of sweat drip down your face but you’re too stubborn to come out. Your pet slicer growls quietly as you hold it tightly. Seems like neither of you want to listen to him much longer. 

Ramattra wants to leave but can’t bring himself to do so. Ignoring the slicer unit’s growl, he approaches the bed once more. “Please, little one… just hear me out. I will not force you to talk, but I need to say something that has been eating away at me…” 

The silence was unnerving before Ramattra speaks once again. 

“I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness… I know that I broke your trust, and that I caused you pain… I do not even deserve to be standing here right now, but I have to say this. Please… let me apologise, genuinely and from the bottom of my soul. And after I am finished, if you want me to leave, I will go and will not disturb you again.” 

After a short pause, you come out of the blankets and sit up, pressing your back against the wall. The slicer unit, albeit heavy, sits on your lap shaking in anger. It takes more than the usual amount of courage to look up at Ramattra. 

“Fine…” Was all you could say.

A small bruise was beginning to form under your eye, resting just on the bone of your cheek and the guilt overwhelms the larger omnic. His voice shakes, a weakness he had never once shown to anyone but his own brother countless years ago. “Little one… I am truly and sincerely sorry. I should never have laid a hand on you. I should never have hurt you. I know that I broke your trust, and that I shattered the sense of safety you had with me. I know that I hurt you both physically and emotionally.” 

You can sense the guilt in his voice once more as you listen to his apology. You grab the closest blanket, bundling it up in your hands, watching as the slicer unit shakes himself free from being hidden under it. You needed some form of comfort and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be from Ramattra. 

Ramattra can see the slightest hint of understanding, possibly forgiveness in your eyes but he doesn’t dare hope for much more. “I know that the words “I am sorry” alone will never be enough to erase the damage I have done. I know that words are not enough to heal the pain I have caused you, both inside and out… I know that I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, and that I have no right to hope for it… but please, please know that I am truly, deeply sorry. I know that I will never forgive myself for my actions, and I promise you that I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you…”

Silence fills the room once more. Uncomfortable, unmoving. 

Looking away anxiously, you have no idea what to respond with. 

“I’m sorry…” You finally muster out. 

“No, no… Do not be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for, little one. This is not your fault, it is mine. All of it.” Ramattra is taken aback by your apology but he takes another step closer when he notices that you won’t look at him. “Please, look at me…” 

You hesitate, hearing the slicer unit rumbling quietly at the larger omnics request, but you look up at him, his faceplate still expressionless as always.

Ramattra can see the pain etched on your face, the small bruise a reminder of the slap he brought down on you nearly an hour prior. He aches to reach out, to comfort you himself but he can predict the outcome of that ordeal.

“Can I sit down?” When you nod, he tilts his head in a silent thanks before sitting down on the edge of the bed, a generous space between you and him and he was careful to not move too quickly and startle you. The silence hangs heavy in the air as he processes his next string of words.

“Forgive me for asking… but-” He hesitates, already preparing himself for the answer as he looks at you. “Do you hate me?”

The awkwardness was plastered on your face. How do you answer him? After what he’d done, you have every right to hate him but it was one slip up. One bad action. He has been taking care of you for the last year now and everything has been fine. Sure, you had your arguments, but this… this reminded you of home. 

“Please, just be honest with me.” Ramattra speaks quietly. The silence that hangs in the air is almost unbearable, each second ticking by like an eternity. He watches as you look away, looking back down at the blanket that is in your hands. The slicer unit hums against your thigh, metal ridges digging into your skin but you pay it no mind. 

“I don’t hate you… It’s just… I don’t know… I’m hurt…” You speak with a voice that’s nearly a whisper. You don’t want to look at your guardian, let alone talk with him but you know that if you walk or run away like last time, it will ignite another fire. 

Ramattra feels a flood of hope and relief course through him despite the pain evident in your voice. You do not hate me? After what I have done to you? 

“I feel like I have destroyed everything between us. I have broken your trust.” Ramattra calmly analyses your demeanour as he notices the way you cling to the blanket. You need comfort and he wants to provide what you need, but he knows all too well that he has no right to do so. 

He takes a shaky breath, not that he needs to, but to cool his systems. “I do not know how to make this right.” He finally admits after a short pause. He wants to salvage what is left of his relationship with you, he doesn’t want to be like your parents. He genuinely cares for you, wants you to be a part of his life despite his hatred for humankind.

“I just need time… and space.” Your hand comes up to pat the slicer units head, wanting to soothe its anger and your anxiety. 

Ramattra wants to protest, he wants to actually beg for your forgiveness. He doesn’t want to give you space, he wants to be there for you, but your words ring loud in his systems. 

Time and space.

How long? How much space?

“I understand.” He finally speaks up. “Just… Promise me one thing, little one.” 

“What is it?” You keep your head bowed, focussing on your motions against the slicer units head.

“Promise me that if you need anything, no matter what it is, to come to me, okay?” 

Just the request alone makes your body shudder and your hand freeze. After what he’s done, he has the audacity to ask such a thing? 

“I will.” You lie. Whatever it takes to get him to leave. You want to be alone. You want to be away from him. 

The larger omnic breathes a sigh of relief, his systems calming down. He wants to say more, to keep apologising until his vocaliser hums static. “Thank you.” 

He takes one last look at you, your body tense as you stay seated with your back against the wall. Your guard is up and rightfully so. Ramattra stands from the bed, walking back towards the door to give you that much needed space you desire. He can’t bear to look at your frightened form so he speaks to the door. “Please, take care of yourself.” 

You don’t look at him, though, just out of the corner of your eye, you can see that his back is turned, beige fabric wafting gently from his movements. “I’ll be here.” 

“I will be nearby if you need me.” With hesitancy, Ramattra leaves the room, the door separating the two of you once more. He takes a moment to compose himself, the regret, the guilt swelling inside of him as he tries to calm down but no amount of meditation will make it evaporate. Just as he’s about to walk away, he hears you break out sobbing. He tenses before shaking his head. 

He can’t go back in. 

He has to leave. 

His footsteps echo throughout the halls as he makes his way around the base. There was no destination in mind, it was just him wandering until he either found his way back to his quarters or until he wore the metal of his feet away. 

Meanwhile, you pull the blanket around your body, snuggling it up close to your bruised cheek. The soft fibres of the blanket provide a sense of comfort to you, something you wish that Ramattra could give. 

Your hand tightens around the fabric before you remove it from your face. The anger swirls in your mind once more but you can’t entirely blame him for his actions. You roused him, you pissed him off. If you didn’t run and instead spoke to him, you wouldn’t have been struck…

But, on the other hand, if he had just listened to you in the first place, if he would’ve just understood that you didn’t want to disturb his charging time just for some toast and didn’t start yelling at you for your “careless behaviour”, then maybe you wouldn’t have run. 

Groaning out, you fall back against the bed, your pet slicer coming up and curling beside you, emanating warmth against the side of your body. 

Ramattra had made his way towards the control room after several laps of the base, the hum of electronics being the only noise in the room. He’s slouched in the chair, optics staring up at the muted monitors. The reality hits him hard, fingers tapping away at the table before swiftly throwing everything off of the control panel, letting it crash on the floor. 

His systems involuntarily go through the scene; the way your head snapped to the side as his hand connected to your cheek. The heat and redness that instantly swelled, the tears that pricked your eyes. Your shock. Fear. 

It scared him more than he’d like to admit. From your first encounter, being so friendly and unnerved by his presence, holding his hand and examining him to this… timid and frightened child. 

He growls, slamming his fist against the control panel. Your stubbornness is just as bad as his, you have a sharp tongue, quick to respond when provoked… and now… You hesitate. You step back, you go as far back as you can possibly get. 

“I messed up. This is all my fault.” Ramattra fights his own thoughts, fights against his systems to rid the nightmare that plagues his optics. His hands fiddle with the holopad, pads of his fingers beginning to type, beginning to work. He wants to forget.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours and Ramattra had finalised three separate plans and a backup plan for each. Whilst focussing on the tedious part of counting numbers for his army, he doesn’t hear the beeping of the tracking device. 

You’re on the move. 

As you’re walking through the maze of hallways, the little slicer unit trots alongside you much like a puppy with it’s owner. You’re still clutching the blanket in your hands as you pass several Null Sector units but none of them pay you any mind. You’re a visitor, you’re not a threat. 

Ramattra had changed their programming, granted it took longer than he had anticipated, but seeing you able to interact with them as a curious kid should do, it warmed his circuits. You were careful and gentle, small hands tracing their ridges and curvatures. You treated them like they were omnics, not war machines. You treated them as if they were friends, not enemies. 

Perhaps, that was when Ramattra found himself yearning to keep you close by.

As he’s inputting the last set of numbers into the database, there was a quiet and timid sounding knock on the door causing Ramattra to snap out of his work daze. He fell silent, wondering if he was just hearing things, but when the knock sounds again, he perks up, sitting straighter in his chair. 

He waits for a moment longer before speaking up and then returning back to his plans. “Come in.” Ramattra hears the door hiss open before it shuts again, but there was no talking. The quick succession of tip-tapping makes him turn around, watching as your slicer unit makes a beeline for the sofa on the far side of the room, instantly jumping up and resting on it, humming quietly. 

Familiarity.

Ramattra turns his attention to you, your slow movement forwards making him feel uncertain about the upcoming conversation. You’re here for a reason, either you’re going to change your mind and now hate him, or you forgive him. Ramattra leans towards the hatred. 

The blanket drags behind you, picking up small particles of debris as you keep walking towards the control panel where Ramattra was still seated. 

A pang of guilt rises within the larger omnic upon seeing the bruise that has formed on your cheek. The reminder of his actions will haunt him until it fades and then some days or even weeks after the fact. He could always wipe the nightmare from his systems, never to be remembered again, but should it be brought up in another argument, should it be mentioned, he would have no idea what you were talking about. 

Rustling breaks him out of his thoughts. He doesn’t realise how close you had gotten as you stand in front of him. 

Innocent eyes catch his optics behind the faceplate. Uncertainty. Hesitation. 

Just get on with it. Tell me you hate me. I will let you go.

What he didn’t anticipate was your outstretched arms towards him. Words had caught in your throat, all sounds had caught in your throat, blocked by the lump that had settled there the moment you had knocked on the door. 

Ramattra hesitates, his systems freezing momentarily as he attempts to process your request. Without thinking a second longer, he slides out of the chair, knees hitting the cold floor beneath him as he pulls you to his chest. Large arms wrap around your small body as he holds you close.

The hum of his inner workings vibrate against your cheek and he’s warmer than usual. You can hear a faint thumping, perhaps coolant pumping through his chassis, though it sounds more like a heartbeat. The thought alone makes you smile. 

“Rama…” Your voice was muffled against the blanket, his arm and his chest. He pulls back slightly, letting you shift within his arms. 

“Yes, little one?” He looks down at you, his hands releasing their tight grip on your body. 

There was a moment of silence, a hesitation before you speak. “I forgive you.” 

Ramattra’s hands twitch against you, systems repeating your words inside of his head. “You forgive me?” I did not expect you to forgive me so soon, if at all… 

He watches as you nod before he’s pulling you back against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back in a soothing motion. It was a moment short lived as you pull back completely and Ramattra silently sighs for he already misses your embrace. 

“I… I’m sorry for running off. And yelling. It’s my fault that you lost your temper.” Your small hands grip the blanket tightly as you apologise, but Ramattra wasn’t having it. 

“No, do not apologise. This was not your fault. I lost my temper. It is my responsibility to have control over my emotions and I let my own anger get the better of me.” He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled… I’m sorry.” You look away, eyes focusing on the holopad that’s on the floor.

Ramattra tilts his head to the side before shaking it. His hand moves from your shoulder to your chin, turning your head and forcing you to look at him. “You have nothing to apologise for. I am the one who lost control and I hurt you. This is not your fault, little one.” 

He can sense that you want to argue back but you bite your tongue. It would only drag the situation on longer and neither of you have either the strength nor the patience to start another argument. 

“Are you okay? That bruise looks bad.” His moves his hand from your chin to cup your cheek, thumb gently brushing over the small pained area. 

“It hurts to smile sometimes.” You admit, glancing off to the side. It still pains Ramattra that he did this to you, guilt still simmering inside of his circuits. “You are always so concerned about me.” 

Ramattra chuckles lightly, hand falling to his side as he looks at you. “Of course I am concerned about you. It is my responsibility to take care of you and I do care about you. I do not wish to see you hurt, by anybody's hand, might I add.” He pauses, head tilting once again. “I care about you a lot, [y/n].” 

The admission makes your heart beat a tad bit faster and Ramattra’s systems pick up on it instantly. 

“Come here.” He opens his arms, an invitation for you which there was no hesitation in taking. You wrap your arms around his back, hands holding onto the silver metal braces as his arms comfortably wrap around your frame. “I just need to know that you are safe. Your safety is my utmost priority.” 

“And I just want you to trust me.” You say softly. 

Ramattra moves a hand to the back of your head, rubbing up and down to soothe the remaining anxiety inside of you. 

“You and your oversized kitchen knife of a pet make that extremely difficult.” Ramattra retorts, his chest vibrating as he chuckles. 

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his remark about your pet slicer unit. “You love us.” 

“That I do, little menace. That I do.”

[yanderegrizzsworld]

Dream Anon here again, might as well put another request for TADC in

How about Romantic if possible Pomni vs Jax Rivalry with a reader who is basically angry all the time and tends to lash out at other people due to being stuck.

Imagine: Romantic Yandere Pomni & Jax with an angry reader (Rivalry)

TW/CW: Implied Bullying/stalking

Both parties worry for you, though both showcase it in eminently different ways. Don't get them wrong, Anger is a perfectly normal emotion to feel, especially when you're suddenly trapped in a Digital World with no possible way out! But perhaps don't yell or nearly start an argument with Zooble, for your wellbeing, of course!

Between the two performers, Pomni is clearly more open about her nervosity towards your ire. Her most luculent style is through her words— of which are very few— which range from asking on your day to softly recommending to take a breather & perhaps see whatever angered you in a different perspective. She swears it's for you well-being, she promises!

It doesn't take a genius to know that Jax isn't one to entertain the thought of displaying his sentiments to anyone. His complacent attitude with everyone's situation of being trapped may be one of the ways he pisses you off, a fact he's unfortunately aware of & utilizes constantly in your presence.

From calling your outbursts entirely cute to claiming he found an exit only for him to reveal last second that he lied before sprinting off, close to nothing is off the tables when Jax wishes to see a reaction from you, something that fills Pomni with utter alarm & always ends with her pulling you away to either of your rooms.

Pomni views Jax as a enabler towards your rage. Someone who, if not caught in time, both influences your emotions so much & enkindles the blaze in you to such an extent. The jester fears that if she isn't there, your blood might begin to boil under you skin, that your throat might tighten, that you'll grit your teeth so hard they'll hurt, that you might do something you might regret. She can't have that! She can't!

Where Pomni sees Jax as a bad influence towards you, he regards the jester as too ardent, especially around him— Or Caine— but mostly him. The rabbit disregards any demur as them needing to learn how to have fun & any coming from you is swiftly cooed at— Whether mockingly or not is your choice.

Though don't for a second think he doesn't care, he does!.. In his own way, but he cares! While he's all for you fracturing anything or everything you see— Especially the others stuff— he isn't exactly a fan of being accused of whatever your mind chose to be pissed off about at the moment. Jax would lead your ire elsewhere the moment he suspects he's going to be the target, why not break Gangle's comedy mask to let out some steam? Or go & blame Kinger for that headache of yours? If nothing, Jax drags you to join his antics to "brighten" you mood.

Pomni has, more often than not, approached Caine towards Jax's possible influence on you & your issue in the hopes of getting the purple critter to perhaps leave you be for a while. When Jax hears of this, he acts offended as if accused of murder, more so if she seems to think he doesn't care for us & views us as toys for him to play with. He'd deny every & any words coming from the Jester's mouth, calling her a desperate &/or clingy freak that needs to learn to back off & to mind her business.

[akutasoda]

Hi there! Can I please request separately Nikolai, Fyodor and Sigma x reader (preferably male but gn is fine too!) with the ability to disarm them with ease (and with no fear). Like, the character could be mad or worried about something and our tall boi reader can literally pick them up to shut them up. meanwhile, the characters can't talk. They're in disbelief and shock about the sheer audacity (and reader being strong as hell despite his lack of visible muscle). After a few seconds, reader will ask something along the lines of, 'Cool, are you okay now?' and when the character nods, he just puts them down and gestures for them to continue talking. This is a weird request, I know, I got inspiration from all those aggressive cats who suddenly stop being aggressive and just become confused once picked up XD.

unusual calming down

synopsis - how are they when their lover takes a different approach to calming them down

includes - fyodor, nikolai, sigma

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack/angst, wc - 793

a/n: Hi! i wrote gn as i only write gender neutral and female

fyodor dostoevsky ★↷

↪you knew full well that your lover was a powerful man, physically maybe not but he was dangerous to say the least.

↪he was also rather unpredictable. but if there was anything you could say for sure about him was that he would never hurt you. maybe unintentionally or if he deemed you useless but you never dwelled on those thoughts to much.

↪so you had no hints of hesitation when you would force him to take care of himself. that wasn't something he was great at doing.

↪fyodor would often spend hours upon hours sat at the very same chair staring at the same screens. very rarely however, he would get extremely annoyed and you would be on the recieving end of that anger sometimes.

↪sometimes thing's wouldn't go to plan or he got mad at his 'insignificant' subordinates and his mood would sour. so when you decided to go talk to him about taking a break for a while, unknowing of his attitude, he couldn't help but lash out at you.

↪and reasonably, you didn't take that. two problems could be solved in the same action - you didn't hesitate to immediately close the gap between you and him before picking him up.

↪you had little fear of his ability, he wouldn't use it on you and he was too confused at the moment to do so. for the first time in ages, fyodor was too stunned to speak. how dare you just pick him up like this.

↪and even when you sat him back down, he was in shock. but in his disbelief he became more preferable to talk to and more willing to finally take a break and rest with you - probably because he knew you would just pick him up again of he disagreed.

↪he hated the fact that you could do that too him. but if it was anyone else they'd be dead on the spot.

nikolai gogol ★↷

↪you knew your lover was always one for jokes and such - it'd be weird not to know. but if you really stopped to think about it, you'd never seen him truly angry or even worked up about something.

↪sure you'd seem him get annoyed and could tell when he wasn't doing great as he would always become less eccentric and his face would visibly drop - but you'd never seen him mad.

↪so when he showed up abruptly in front of you in your residence you actually couldn't assume something was up. it was only when he slumped onto your couch that you realised something had happened.

↪ you'd asked him about what he'd been up to and before you knew it, nikolai was spewing out every little detail of his day and getting rather mad.

↪of course, you hadn't seen him this mad before so you had no clue what to do. and so in an abrupt train of thought as he seemed to get more agitated, you picked him up.

↪so abruptly that iy caus nikolai to drop any thought that threatened to spill put of his mouth next. all he could was stare in disbelief at you.

↪but even after he calmed and you put him down, you could tell from taht mischievous glint in his eyes that thos wouldn't be the only time.

sigma ★↷

↪your lover was, for the most part, very calm and often collected. he never really showed anything else to anyone but you.

↪and it would only be natural that he trusted you the most, trusted you to the point to where you could witness the stress taking over his calm composure.

↪it wasn't a surprise that he could become so stressed, he ran an entire casino afterall. for the most part, you always tried your best to help him calm down and express his worries properly.

↪but it seemed today was more stressful than usual. sigma was pacing around his office spewing out any thought or concern he had and he was visibly getting more and more stressed.

↪while you were listening, you would be a fool to be think that your normal methods of helping him would work. and so you came up with a new idea.

↪he only looked at you confused as you walked up to him. but he quickly became rather shocked when you abruptly picked him up like he was nothing.

↪that shock and disbelief soon melted into embarrassment which rendered him utterly speechless. so even after a short while when you asked if he calmed down, all he could do was nod.

↪and he looked slightly confused when you simply asked him to continue but calmer. he thinks he'd die of you ever did that to him again.

[ch4osworld]

THE PASSENGER

Chapter 6

Words: 1995 @adaizel @cherry-4200

Cw: homicide

Sorry for publishing late, it's just that recebtly i have a really busy schedule. Anyway i hope you will like this!

You walked into the crowded street of hell, sinners, bumping into eachother. There was really no perception of personal space these days, oh how you wanted to go back to the good old time where people actually respected you. You travelled and travelled without any destination in mind. It has been a lot of time since you last went out  and who knows when the next time will happen. Maybe you could go to some other ring? No, you wouldn't have time to come back home.

You kept walking in the distance, some glances crept at you, but it wasn't nothing to be worried about, you were used to it. You stopped in a corner, to just relax for a bit, it's not that someone would have noticed you anyway. It's easy to disappear in here, to camouflage. People in here tend to stay for themselves, not caring about what happens around them, because when you stay out of other's affair it's better, it's safer. Someone could kill, kidnapp, drug, make love, and every other sort of thing here, surrounded by other demons, and no one would budge. You didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing exactly, it could be helpful at times, you used this to your advantage sometimes, but you can't help but wonder if something happened to you, would anyone help you? No, no they wouldn't. Sinners are selfish, a life more or a life less doesn't make any difference to them, and to think they were once human, they were just like you. How could people turn into such monstrosities, what did free will do to them? What did they do with free will? Nontheless you came to hate your own species, you had no pity for such people. But, even though, you still rather to be human, to be associated with those things. Being something other than that feels...wrong. You don't want wings, horns, or some weird powers. You just want to be you, but that is impossible in a place like this, it would certainly bring you to death, or pheraps, something far worse.

You decided to head near the hazbin hotel, you didn't plan to visit, in this moment you only needed to be alone, you only headed in its vicinity. You kept moving around, shielded from the ignorance of demons, protected by your invisibility. You thought you were safe, that no one would ever try to harm you, but this is hell after all, no one is safe. You were a fool to even dare to think otherwhise, someone was watching you, stalking you from the distance. You didn't know who it was, but you felt their eyes looking at you. You walked faster, your hand protecting your bag and holding it close to you just in case. It would be easier for you to pull out your weapon, the beautiful knife Lucifer gifted you, you never abandon it.

You start to hear footsteps behind you, getting faster and faster, closer and closer. You reached a dead end, no one in sight, it was only you and the mysterious individual. You reached for your weapon, stopping suddenly as you felt something cold and sharp on your neck.

It was a knife.

A man's voice demanded to you "Listen here sweet cheeks, just do what I tell you and you'll be fine. Give me everything you've got in that purse." Panic surged in your veins, adrenaline coursing through your body as you started shaking, searching desperately for a way out. Seeing that you weren't obliging, the man pushed the knife harder against your throat "Haven't you heard me? I give you 3 seconds, to give me everything"  A feeling of dread overwhelmed you, as he started counting.

3

2

1

In that moment, something controlled you, maybe it was the surviving instict, the fear, the anger, but you did something you would have never dreamt of doing. In a swift moment, you took out the angelic knife and lashed out at him with a scream. The weapon penetrated him in the aorta, scarlet blood soon started gushing out at a rapid peace.

You were truly horrified, as you watched, the body of your aggressor. The blood loss was massive, he would have died in a few minutes or seconds.

Tears streamed down your face, as you realized what you had just done. You killed someone, you're a murderer. No, this cannot be, you're a good person, you're not like all these demons, all these sinners.

You ran and ran, until your legs wore out and you collapsed on yourself. In that moment, you realized, watching a cut on your hand you caused to yourself while you were escaping...

your blood turned red.

No no no no no, this can't be, what happened to you, why is it like...that. Your holyness, that little sparkle of it that was still in you and that you tried so hard to maintain, it was gone, forever. There is nothing you could do now, you must accept your sins, accept that you aren't what you used to be anymore. It's getting dark, you better go home. You really didn't want to, you just wanted to scream and hide from the world forever, but Lucifer was good at finding you. It was best for you to go back, so you wore the happiest smile you could make, and headed back to the castle. He must never know about this, he shall not worry about you, you can't do this to him.

—

The root of all evil still stayed there, in the secureness of the dark, a sudden feeling latched onto her. Ecstasy, she was absolutely ecstatic, she finally lost her holyness, she could feel it. She saw what she did, she doesn't have eyes all around hell for nothing. Oh but she was yet to be done with her, she couldn't just let her go after this, could she? A deal peraphs. There were so many things she could make her do, that she could strip from her. She must stay calm, everything always turns out right, her plans always work. Just a little bit of patience, and she could finally have what she wanted.

—

You finally arrived home, the giant castle loomed upon you as you got ready to enter. Lucifer would have been there, waiting for you, you mustn't leave out any negative emotions. You let a finale sigh and you entered. In front of you there was nonother than the king of hell, a preoccupied expression on his face "Where were you! It's late who knows what could have happened to you!" He said worried "It's ok don't worry. I just went out a bit it's been a long time since the last one" he sighed. He knew there was something wrong with you, but he'd rather change the subject right now, maybe you were just tired. "If you say so". An embarassing silence engulfed you whole  as you just stared at eachother, no words spoken, untill "Do you want to dance?" He asked, realizing just after what he had said "I-if you want, i am not forcing you" you replied, smiling "I'd love to, but it's been a while since i last danced, so i might not be that good" "it's fine. Let's see what we can put..." He ruminated with himself, searching for a good song "You like this one don't you? Rose of flesh as blood by plastique noir. It's not really my style but it's...enjoyable" "Are you sure you want that? We can put one that you like instead you know?" You told him, nervousness expanding inside you "No, I am sure I want this one" he declared, starting the song and gradually getting closer to you, one of his hand on your waist, the other holding your hand gently.

Baby, you're a millions of things

Wishes, obscene dreams, I don't know yet

Maybe it explains all these millions of miles

Between us laid on the same bed

You slowly start to move, your feet moving in sync, or almost, as you accidentally tripped and stepped on one of his "Sorry" you apologized while looking down "It's fine, don't worry" he reassured, a gentle smile on his face.

"Why so much alcohol

Speed, sleeping pills?" I ask myself

I could make easier your escape, but I am afraid too

I must confess

"We should spend more time like this. I am sorry I didn't pay as much attention to you when I was with Lilith" he apologized, looking in your eyes, clearly sorry "It's ok. I mean we are here alone, we can make up for the lost time now" you assured, holding his cheek with your hand. He melted in your touch, as your steps started to get a little bit faster.

Your trails have been so uncertain

Iron curtain, those sheets that divide us

Not even a Russian missile would break such solid silence

Your thoughts went back to what happened. You can't stop thinking about it, you would be breaking down by now if he wasn't here...

I hate every single day after I look to my side

And you are not there

Night has just fallen, and you are lost again

I don't know anywhere

....you reflected if you should tell him what happened. No, it's better for him to not know, you will deal with this yourself.

I read your name in the night lights

Ambulances and police cars

A strobe that flashes forever

I read your name in the night lights

In the basement of a nightclub

In a strobe that flashes forever

The song was starting to get faster, and so where your steps. Eyes staring into eachother, expressing every feelings you couldn't say out loud, every thought, every emotion.

Baby, you're a millions of things

Wishes, obscene dreams, I don't know yet

Maybe it explains all the miles that I walked down into the sewer

There I could rest

"Why so much contempt?

Why so few talking?" I asked myself

But I can wait for the morning

When your bleeding petals will water the whole neon garden

Your eyes travelled to his lips. You couldn't help but think how they would feel against yours. Where they soft? Warm? Oh but you were sure it would feel good, it would be the best sensation you have ever felt. Better not look at them for too long, you don't want him to notice.

You are rose of flesh and blood

You're temptation for the pure

You're redemption for the clod

Except he already noticed, and he couldn't help but to think the same. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to lean a little, just to get a closer look at the lips he desperately wanted. And who knows, maybe you would notice his advance, lean into him and then, finally, kiss. But if that wasn't the case, he already had an excuse for the gesture. And so, he slowly leaned into you, just ever so slightly, as the song finished. You couldn't help but to involuntarily lean a little too. Maybe you would have kissed, maybe one of you would have retreated at the last moment, but you'll never know, because Lucifer's phone started to ring.

He he walked away from you, to see who had distrubed that delicate moment. You already missed his touch, and he missed yours too. He picked up the phone, only for his daughter's voice to come. He was ecstatic, he always was when Charlie called, you loved seeing him like this.

His face soon turned from an overly joyous one to one of anger and anguish, what could have possibly happened to turn his mood around like that? He told her something you couldn't quite catch, before he hung up the call. He slowly turned to you, the same face as before, before he announced

"The extermination will be early this year"

What...