#e attempts to words on paper

[rrrrinmaru]

calculated risk (but boy am i bad at math) (sylus x mc) (nsfw) pt 2

wc: 4.8k rating: E warnings: NSFW content, dirty talk, handjobs, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, thigh fucking (intercrural), orgasm denial, penis in vagina sex (just the tip), dom!sylus sub!mc, male-centric pleasure because mc is being denied brief: you lose a bet to sylus and you have to do whatever he wants for 24 hours // recommended to read part 1 here for context // part 3 finale here

Being unable to refuse Sylus for twenty-four hours is not one of your smarter decisions.

To be fair, you didn’t decide much of anything. You lost a bet—rigged, you would argue, if he would care to listen—and he chose his reward. 

You would put up more of a fight if he weren’t so intent on ruining you.

“Sylus,” you gasp, the sound weak and shaky. It’s more an exhale than a word at this point. Your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves and your knees are going to give out if he keeps trying to mouth wetly at your clit—

He kisses your pert clit, laughing at the way it makes you clench around nothing. “What an excellent view,” he murmurs, lips brushing teasingly along your cunt, the tip of his tongue darting out to slide along the slick wetness dripping down your thighs. You cry out, legs shaking as you rock forward on your toes. You’re not sure if you want to move away from his mouth or sit back down on his face to chase that clever tongue. “Hips up, sweetie.”

“I hate you,” you whine weakly. Your entire body is trembling from the effort of holding yourself up, thighs tensed as you try to prop yourself up higher. Your forearms are braced against the desk in his study, palms wet with sweat as you try to sweep away any stray papers. Sylus probably doesn’t care, but you don’t want to hear the smugness in his voice when he holds up a piece of paper with ink streaks all over the surface and accuses you of messing with his work. 

You tried to hold yourself up at first, propped up on your elbows enough to look back and see a head of silver hair. Fingers on your bare ass, skirt hiked up to your waist and pooling on the table—you could see the way his fingers dug into your skin, kneading the plush fat of your ass as he spread you the way he liked. Wide open and dripping, cunt hole twitching sporadically the longer you went without any stimulation.

If he wasn’t touching you, then he was looking at you. 

Then he put his mouth on your pussy, that hungry tongue digging into your cunt as if he truly wanted to eat you alive. The sucking sounds from your cunt were obscene and they made you drop your head to the silver surface of the table in an attempt to cool your flaming cheeks with the chilled metal. 

It didn’t work. Not when Sylus groaned after a while, fingers flexing against your ass to push you up higher so he can get a better angle to work at your pussy.

“Just let me cum,” you try pleading with him. Sylus hums, the vibrations going straight to your throbbing pussy and making the ache worse. 

“I don’t think you get to call the shots here.” There’s a thread of amusement in his voice—it’s a thread you want to grip between your fingers and snap. “Twenty-four hours, right?”

You’re not above setting your pride aside if it means you can cum. You’d be the first to fling it out the window when he’s got you on a high wire like this, so close to tripping over the edge you swear you can taste it. 

“Please, Sylus,” you moan, breath hitching when he latches back onto your clit midway through your words. You want to say something else, like I’m begging you, please just let me cum, I’m so fucking close, but he gives your swelling clit a particularly hard suck and your entire mind goes blank. It’s just straight pleasure, a fire rushing up your spine and making your eyes roll back on instinct. 

Your knees involuntarily go limp. You can’t hold yourself up, not when your upper body is balanced uselessly against the desk and your legs aren’t listening to you. In the split second where your toes slip against the floor, you’ve resigned yourself to tumbling to the ground and getting a bruise on your hip in the process.

But Sylus laughs, pulling back just enough to press an open-mouthed kiss to the hungry hole of your pussy, and slips his hands down to cup your ass. He pushes you up, forcing you to slide up on the desk—your hands flail weakly, scrabbling for some sort of purchase and finding none. You must hit something because there’s a brief snap of pain against your knuckles, and you think something tumbles to the ground. 

You don’t know what it is, though, because Sylus is suddenly hunched over your back, his chest pressed up tightly against you with both hands coming around to the front of your thighs to pull your legs further apart. 

“You’re so cute when you’re like this,” he pants into your ear. His voice is a low, rolling sound that goes straight to your clit. You try to close your legs to put some pressure on your pussy, and that makes him chuckle. He forces your thighs apart with ease. You’re not putting up much of a fight, not with how weak your muscles are and how the only thing you can focus on is that you’re this close to cumming.

“Please,” you beg, words escaping you. There isn’t anything else to say—your mind is a blur, clit and pussy twitching from the heat of Sylus’ hands just centimeters away. You want those hands on you, in you. You want him to bully your clit between his fingers, pinching and rolling your swollen clit while fucking two other fingers into you. Three fingers into you. Fuck, you’re wet enough that you think he could make four fit, just slide them in without any preamble and make you cry out from the stretch. 

Even the thought of it is enough to make you shiver. You moan, eyelashes fluttering as you weakly attempt to rock back into his hips. The line of his cock is hard against your skin, the metal zipper pressing into your ass. 

“Look at how desperate you are,” Sylus whispers. You can feel the shadow of his smile against the shell of your ear—his upturned lips rub against your heated skin, his breath burning a brand into the space where your ear meets your jaw. “Like a needy kitten in heat for a thick cock to fuck her stupid. Your clit is swollen, dollface.”

As if to prove a point, he presses against the underside of your clit with his thumb. It’s sensitive there, and he’s brought you to the edge and left you wanting so many times that this small movement is enough to make you jolt, a cry escaping your lips before you can even think to force it back. Your hips shudder, rutting against his thumb without any real thought or purpose, and he lets out an amused huff. 

“So twitchy. Is this pink pussy all for me?”

His other hand slips down, fingertips tracing the seam of your pussy. You’re so drenched you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy—the sticky sound when he dips one finger into your cunt and pulls it out, so quickly that you barely manage to clench around it for the slightest hint of pressure before it’s gone again. 

“Again, again—Sylus!”

A warm tongue runs along your neck. “Patience, sweetie. One finger isn’t enough for you?”

You are going to burst, and you swear you’ll take him with you. “More, please, I’m so fucking close—”

Two fingers fuck into you. They’re crooked at the knuckle, slamming up against the sensitive spot inside of you and you shriek, legs shaking so hard that Sylus has to lift you up again to press you against the table. 

“Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly, vision blurry. “I’m—fuck, Sylus, nnngh—close, I’m—”

Your cunt tightens, clit twitching on Sylus’ thumb, and the heat enveloping you abruptly disappears. Your cunt is empty again, clinging onto nothing, and your clit is left with nothing to rub against, and there is nothing holding you up and you’re sliding off the desk. 

Strong arms come around your waist, scooping you up and onto a familiar lap. Sylus must have pulled his chair over, but you’re not concerned about that. You’re not concerned at all about the finer logistics of how he got you onto his lap. 

You’re concerned about how your pussy isn’t filled, how your thighs are still spasming from the brute force of an orgasm ripped away from your grasp like that.

You had it in your fingers. You were this close to cumming. One more slam of his fingers into your cunt and you would have tipped over and it would have been so good. 

“You can take it,” Sylus tells you, eyes gleaming. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You stare at him. Is there a knife in the vicinity? Hell, a gun?

“Look at that expression. Are you upset?” He asks with a gleeful, knowing look in his eyes. “It’s just one orgasm, sweetie. Be patient.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out for a while. “Twenty-four hours?” You ask eventually, voice hoarse from crying out just seconds before, when you thought you were en route for cumming your mind out. 

Sylus shrugs, eyes closing briefly as he rolls his shoulders in that lazy manner of his. “You’ll cum soon enough.” His crimson gaze lands on you. Half-lidded and smug, like he’s pleased at how distraught you are from being denied an orgasm twice over. “If you can’t wait, I could tell you about how I plan to have you for the rest of my time. A little preview, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want a preview. I want this—” you reach down, fingers wrapping challengingly around Sylus’ stiff cock through the fabric of his pants. His breath catches, eyebrows rising as he looks down, admiring the way your fingers look against his outline of his cock, then he drags his gaze back up to you. 

His fingers thrum lightly against the sensitive skin at your waist. “And what will you do with it once you have it, dollface?”

You squeeze it, mollified by how it makes him tilt his head back and inhale sharply. It’s unfair how sexy he is, how good pleasure looks on him. He looks hedonistic like this, with his eyes closed as he lets the pleasure roll throughout his body, stemming from the hard cock beneath your fingers. You can feel the heat of it spilling through the fabric, and you’re tempted to pull his zipper down and sneak his cock out to sit on it. 

“Fuck myself on it,” you admit frankly. Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you dig your thumb into the head of his cock, hard enough for him to let out a pleased grunt. 

“Nngh, naughty girl. That wasn’t very nice of you,” he pants, opening one eye to look at you. But he doesn’t do anything to stop you. All he does is sit there, head lolling back far enough to expose his Adam’s Apple and the dip of his clavicle. As if waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You have half a mind to hop off his lap and leave him to settle it by himself. He deserves it, you think petulantly. If you can’t cum, then he shouldn’t get to soak in the syrupy pleasure of cumming either.

But you think about the heft of his cock. The way it feels in your palm, thick and heavy. The pearls of precum beading at the tip, the visceral proof of how aroused he can get at your touch. The way he flinches when you pull at his cock too tightly—the instinctive flinch, and then the gradual relaxation as he revels in the sensation. 

“Oh? Are you going to make it up to me?” He murmurs, feigned surprise in his voice as you pull the zipper down. He lifts his hips up helpfully, just enough for you to fish his cock out. 

You don’t bother replying to him. Instead, you steady his cock and suck on the insides of your mouth for a while. 

Then, you open your mouth, tongue out and resting on your lower lip as a trail of saliva drips from your mouth and onto Sylus’ cock. 

You see the way his cock jerks, precum spilling furiously from the tip. And when your saliva pools on Sylus cock, dripping into the slit and mixing with his precum—

“Fuck,” Sylus curses lowly. “Fuck, sweetie, you—”

You look up. Sylus’ pupils are blown wide open, dilated beyond belief as he stares at your mouth. His cock twitches, throbbing beneath your fingers and you slowly start to stroke, the slide made smooth by your saliva and his precum. You rub the pad of your thumb at his slit, playing with the sensitive head of his cock until he jerks, hips snapping up as he growls and tightens his grip on your waist. 

“You’re going to give a man ideas,” he groans, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. His gaze is hazy with arousal, and he looks at you with the confidence of a man who knows that you know he’s about to cum. His lips are crooked up in a taunting smile. 

You lick your lips. He looks good enough to eat. You had this cock in your mouth just hours ago, bruising the back of your throat, but you feel like sucking it again. You feel like running your tongue over the thick length of this cock. 

“I should edge you too.”

Sylus tilts his head. “You could,” he says agreeably. “Until I ordered you to make me cum. With your mouth. Your tits. Your fingers.”

His eyes drag down along the line of your body, pausing meaningfully at each location he mentions. “Your thighs,” he continues, looking straight at the sticky and damp patch between your thighs, tracking all the way up to your pussy. 

You shiver, clit pulsing at the thought of him rutting between your thighs. 

“Oh? You liked that, didn’t you?” He smirks, a pleased air settling on his shoulders as he looks you over. “Put your fingers to work, sweetie. I know you know how to use them.”

Some part of you really wants to resist on principle. But the horny part of you prevails, and you watch with satisfaction as you pull Sylus to the brink in a handful of minutes—he groans, a deep and hoarse sound as his muscles roll with the effort of keeping still so you’re balanced on his lap. His cock throbs heavily in your hand, betraying how he’s barely hanging on to his self-control, and you watch with bated breath as sticky cum spurts out in your palm.

You cup his swollen cockhead, catching the streaks of white cum on your fingers so it doesn’t stain his sweater. He makes a delicious sound when you rub the head of his cock against your palm while he’s still cumming—the overstimulation makes him twitch, fingers clenching at your waist over and over again as if to ground himself with the touch of your skin. 

“You made a mess,” you note idly, stroking him through the aftershocks. “Are you going to clean up after yourself?”

Sylus huffs, still breathing heavily with every pass of your hand, hips rutting up instinctively. “Decide where you want me to lick it off,” he grunts, free hand pulling your dress all the way up to your collar to expose your breasts. He licks his lips, giving you a pointed look as he blatantly stares at your tits, and you can feel the way your nipples harden under his gaze. 

“Go on,” he murmurs, breath catching when you rub at the underside of his cockhead. “Tits or cunt, sweetie? I’m feeling generous enough to let you choose.”

You want his mouth on your cunt again, but if he brings you to the brink one more time before ruining the orgasm, you might actually kill him. In these trying circumstances, having him lick the remnants of his cum off your breasts might be a better idea. 

Having come to a decision, you take your hands off his cock. Your palms are sticky with his cum, long strands of cum stretching between your fingers, and you reach up to cup your tits. 

Sylus watches intently, eyes glued to the way you pinch your nipples between your fingers. The way you spread his cum all over your tits, leaving white streaks on your skin as you go. His lips are slightly parted, tongue darting out occasionally to swipe across his lower lip as he watches, as if he can’t wait to put his mouth on you. 

His mouth on your chest, you think deliriously. Teeth worrying at your nipples, sucking at your skin until he leaves a ring of bruises across your skin. Tongue flicking those pretty buds until you’re begging for more, for fingers in your cunt—or his tongue flat, letting you rub your tits all over his mouth. 

You can’t decide which is better. So you press your arms together, pushing your cum covered tits up, and offer them to Sylus. 

“Clean them up,” you murmur, and Sylus chuckles.

“How demanding. Even when you have no power to order me around.” His tongue swipes against your left nipple, a fleeting sensation that sends sparks down your spine. “Lucky for you, I am feeling rather hungry.”

==

The torture continues. He corners you on the couch when you’re trying to watch something to get your mind off the hot arousal pooling in your gut for the past few hours. He puts you on his lap, back pressed up to your chest, feet up and planted on either side of his thighs on the sofa. Your hands under your knees just to hold yourself open for his taking as he plays idly with your cunt while watching the show you put on.

He keeps up a loose commentary about the show, laughing lightly when the male lead appears shirtless in the shower. “Is this what you watch in your free time?” Sylus asks, three fingers deep in your pussy while rubbing insistently at your clit. “Naked men in the shower?”

“Mmmph!” You moan, eyes rolling back at the electricity sparking in your veins. His fingers are thick and clever, pushing up against the bundle of nerves inside your pussy with such damning precision that your entire body is shaking from the effort of not cumming. And it’s like Sylus knows that, with how he shifts you easily in his lap, pulling you tighter against him and fucking rougher into you with his fingers. 

Like he’s trying to push you all the way to the brink. Like he takes pleasure in the way you deny yourself just to be obedient to him. 

“You’re missing the good parts,” Sylus continues, murmuring quietly in your ear. His voice isn’t loud, but your entire world seems to have shrunk to focus solely on him. His fingers, his heat, the puff of his breath against your ear. You’re looking straight ahead, eyes half-lidded, but you’re not seeing much of anything on the screen.

“Sylus,” you whine, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers. “Please, please, it’s been hours—”

He bites the shell of your ear, hard enough to sting, then runs his tongue wetly over the mark. “Patience,” he coaxes, even as his fingers pull at your clit hard enough to make you cry out, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. 

You’ve kind of had it with patience, but when Sylus lets go of you, third orgasm ruined, you take a deep breath and hold yourself back from strangling him. You do need his cock hard and alive to fuck yourself stupid on, when he’s stopped being so unhelpful. 

You go to bed early, nerves tense and temper high. If you punch the pillows around a bit before settling down and yanking the covers up to your chin, that’s between you and the bed. And Mephisto, who is likely reporting everything back to Sylus the moment you fall asleep. 

It takes ages, and a lot of tossing and turning in bed, but you must have fallen asleep at some point because you wake up to your legs in the air, held together by one hand wrapped around both ankles, and an unbearable heat between your thighs, pushing insistently against your clit.

You gasp, still dizzy from sleep and distracted by the wet slide of something against your pussy, hot and demanding. It drags along your slit, bumping the underside of your swollen pearl on every upstroke. It’s a slow, tenacious fire that builds in your gut, stoking the dying embers and coaxing the flames to roar up your spine once again. 

“Awake?” The voice is low, closer to a growl than anything else. “Go back to sleep, sweetie. All I need are your thighs and this sweet little cunt.”

His hips roll against yours, driving his cock further along your pussy. He fucks your thighs slowly, so fucking patient as he chases his orgasm—patience that you don’t have. You would try to coax him to fuck you harder if you weren’t still half-awake, vision bleary as you weakly clutch at the bedsheets. 

You’re not even sure what’s happening. All you know is that your pussy is aching, throbbing so badly for something, anything to be stuffed inside. His cock saws between your thighs, the slide made smooth by the copious amount of slick you’re dripping, and you moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit. 

“More,” you gasp, the word rattling in your throat. “Sylus, please—”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep.”

You shake your head as best you can. Your back arches, trying to roll your hips up into his to get a better angle. To put more pressure on your clit. You’ve been denied for so long that you’re tiptoeing on the jagged knife’s edge—you just need a bit more, a little more of something, and you know you’ll cum.

But Sylus keeps up this devastatingly slow pace, like he’s taking his time, like he’s savoring the experience of you writhing beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering shut. There’s a moment where your voice breaks in two, and you think you might cry if he denies you again. It’s a steady build up, a long trek up a mountain with a payoff you can see, just barely out of reach. 

“Not yet,” Sylus replies softly. There is another hand on your hip, thumb rubbing gently over the skin there. It’s almost a reassurance, an attempt to cool the flames licking over your body, but then he moves your legs over one shoulder so his other hand can join your legs, squeezing your thighs together to create a tighter crevice for him to fuck into. “You can take it, sweetie.”

You’re not sure you can. The back of your thighs are pressed up against Sylus’ chest, the jut of his broad shoulder leaning into your calves. He holds you in place like you’re nothing more than a sex toy he’s using in the middle of the night to try and rub one off. He rocks his cock against your pussy, the full length of it scraping past your slit and peeking through your thighs at the end.

Your clit feels battered and bruised and far too sensitive for the consistent grinding of his cock. When he pulls back, far enough that the head of his cock is positioned right at the mouth of your pussy, you can hear the way you start to whine. 

You can feel it. The briefest touch of pressure, his cockhead nudging at your cunt, teasing your hungry pussy. Like he’s going to sink in and fill you up so full you can feel it in your throat, if you just ask nicely.

But he won’t. He teases your cunt just enough to make you shake, then he continues the slide to make the head of his cock kiss your clit. 

“You’re so mean,” you cry out, voice trembling as your pussy mouths hungrily at the touch of his cockhead. “Please, Sylus, I’m begging, please, please—”

Sylus grunts. His grip on your thighs gets tight, and you imagine you can see the veins in his forearm bulge. You imagine the way he’s frowning, brows taut as he grits his teeth and stares down at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

Restraint looks so ugly on him, you want to say, but the pressure against your pussy grows and your mouth drops open. It feels like some higher power is perched above the two of you, drawing the air from your lungs out, wisp by wisp, as your cunt opens up for the head of Sylus’ cock. 

“You don’t know how fucking good you look like this,” Sylus forces out, gripping you hard enough that it aches, that you know you’ll wake up with handprints on your outer thighs tomorrow. “Good enough to eat, sweetie. Just look at you.”

You open your eyes, hazily looking up. Sylus’ eye is glowing, glinting crimson through the dark, and there’s a ravenous look in his gaze. He looks down at you, searching your body, watching the bounce of your tits every time he fucks into you, the fat head of his cock slipping in just barely.

It’s not enough. There’s a gaping hole inside your pussy, so deep inside you that only Sylus’ full length can reach it to pummel it into submission. Even as you clench around the tip, your cunt mouthing hungrily at Sylus’ cockhead, it’s not enough.

“Just the tip,” Sylus groans, voice tight as he grinds the head of his cock into your pussy. “That’s all you’ll get for tonight.”

You arch your hips up, trying to force him to slip further into you. “More, I want more—”

He laughs breathlessly, hips stuttering when you tighten desperately around his cock. “Soon,” he promises, carefully fucking into you. Sylus keeps his word, feeding you just the tip and nothing else.

“You feel divine,” he murmurs, breathing heavily. The rhythm of his hips falter, a telltale sign that he’s losing control. He’s close, you think deliriously, and flex your pussy around his cock to pull him along at a faster rate. 

“Inside,” you moan, fingers blindly tracing down your body to find his hands, gripping his wrists. “Inside, inside, inside me,” you chant desperately.

“Want me to paint your pussy white?” Sylus coos, hips speeding up. The head of his cock pops in and out of your pussy, bullying its way past your throbbing hole to open you up just enough before he pulls back. It’s a horrible tease, and sometimes he moves too fast, too eager to sink his cockhead into the wet heat of your cunt and he misses. 

It makes him curse, eyes skimming down your body to fixate on your thighs. He watches you with the hungry intensity of a predator on a hunt—the shaking in your thighs, the way his slick cockhead peeks out from between your thighs, the way your chest squeezes tightly every time he grinds flatly along the swollen bump of your clit—

He slides back in your cunt, fucks in harshly, deeper than before, deep enough to make it feel like your breath’s been punched out of you.

Sylus’ cock throbs, pulses hotly inside you, and you can feel the spurts of cum against the walls of your cunt. 

The pooling heat of cum inside you is almost enough to make you tip over the edge. But your clit throbs insistently, demanding attention that Sylus refuses to give you. Your pussy clenches and unclenches tightly around Sylus’ cock, coaxing his orgasm out as he groans from the sensation. 

He holds himself tightly above you, refusing to fuck deeper or pull out. Sylus pants, the sound of his heavy breathing filling up the space around you as you try to catch your breath yourself, fingers still holding on to Sylus’ wrists. 

When he finally collects himself, his cock giving one last jerk inside your pussy, he leans down. Sylus’ face is right above yours, in painful clarity despite how dark the room is, and you look up at him with your heart thudding in your chest.

His gaze searches your face for a moment, then he smiles. 

“Good girl,” Sylus croons, and one of his hands leave your thighs. “Be obedient for a little bit more, and you’ll be rewarded at the end.”

“Twenty-four hours is way too lo—” your voice cracks, going high at the sudden touch of a thumb, wet with slickness, on your stiff clit. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, crimson gaze fixated on you. “Easy does it, sweetie. I’ll give you what you want.”

He brings you to the brink again, and again, and again, until you drift off to sleep from how worn out your body is.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

[amongemeraldclouds]

bewitched

Three moments you fell for your sworn enemy and that time Mattheo’s feelings for you finally caught up to him.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader

Warning: fluff, no use of y/n, short scene ft. anxiety (includes comfort)

✿ Masterlist | 1.4k words

Mattheo Riddle felt he was going to d!e. He strode into the Slytherin Common Room spotting Theo reading a book while Enzo was napping on the couch across from him. Mattheo grabbed Theo and shook his shoulders.

“I’m about to d!e!” Mattheo declared, rousing a dazed Enzo with crumpled hair and bleary eyes. Theo’s book fell on his lap. He narrowed his eyes and wondered what sort of trouble Mattheo was about to rope him into this time.

“What happened?” Theo asked.

“I feel lightheaded. My chest feels heavy and my stomach keeps doing flips,” Mattheo tried to explain.

“Sounds like indigestion. Did you forget to rehydrate again after getting drunk? How many times—”

“No, it’s her,” he accused, pointing at you as you huddled with your friends in the opposite corner of the room. You were laughing and chatting away, oblivious to the plight of the curly haired boy. “She did something to me,” he clutched at his heart with his free hand.

Theo just raised an eyebrow and so Mattheo continued, “it started with that spin the bottle game when I kissed her. It’s like something in me awakened.”

“What? Your dick?” Theo deadpanned.

Mattheo slapped Theo’s shoulder then reconsidered. “Well yes, but since then, I can’t stop thinking about her. Even when I’m asleep, I see her in my dreams. I keep looking for her in class and I want to be around her all the time.”

Enzo just sighed at his friends’ foolishness, “have you ever considered you’re in love?”

Mattheo and Theo turned to Enzo and paused for a second, letting the words sink in. When it finally did, they both burst out laughing.

“Good one, mate!” Theo called out. At the same time Mattheo shook his head. “That can’t be, even if I did fall in love, it certainly would not be with my enemy.”

Enzo threw one of the extra pillows at them. “You idiots have no idea what love is even if it hit you on the face.” He huffed and turned around, eager to resume his nap.

“You’re no help,” Mattheo waved off both his friends as he noticed your group stood up and was starting to disperse in different directions.

He called after you as he jogged. “You,” he accused, when he reached you,“what spell did you cast on me?”

You narrowed your eyes. Sure, you and Mattheo had been clashing heads since your first year together when the spitball he shot in your direction went straight through your open mouth as you laughed with your friends, choking you.

You had, of course, not taken lightly this murder attempt even as your friend slapped your back hard enough to dislodge the paper. Instead of apologizing, he had the gall to joke about how if it’s your time to pass away then who was he to stop nature from taking its course. 

Having grown up with older brothers, you knew very well that you had to fight back to avoid being walked all over. So war was declared against the curly haired boy with brown eyes and the rest was history: the constant bickering, name calling, one upping each others’ mischief. 

“Don’t try to deny it,” Mattheo continued. “That kiss. You did something to me. My chest and stomach have not felt the same,” he gestured to himself, trying to describe the strange sensation.

“Are you sure you’re not just constipated?” You asked, scrunching your nose in disgust.

A bright smile slowly crept its way across your face as realization set in. Mattheo mistook it for an evil grin. In reality, it was because you realized you were not alone. You too had felt your heart racing and butterflies fluttering in your stomach when you kissed.

You had no idea what ghost of insanity possessed you to have these feelings for your enemy, but there it was. Perhaps it had to do with three separate incidents when you felt something for him.

One peace treaty

The first incident was the time you banded together. When faced with a greater, common enemy, it was only natural to call a temporary truce to take down your Defense Against The Dark Arts professor who thrived on power trips and making students cry. With your other classmates, you concocted together a scheme so diabolical that got your professor fired from school. When you savoured your victory, you realized you worked well together with Mattheo. Even more so, you actually had fun together. You were seriously considering making the truce permanent when water balloons exploded on you the next morning, washing away any trace of goodwill the teamwork had brought on.

Two strangers stuck

You turned it over your head. The second incident happened when Mattheo got the two of you got stuck in the broom closet. He only ever meant to surprise you when you walked by so he hid in the closet. Instead, things happened quickly. When he opened the closet door, you jumped in to tell him off at the same time his wand fired the spell he had prepared as the door shut, jamming the lock. You tried the doors and called out, but classes had already begun. No one would be around for a while. What worried you was when you noticed you had struggled alone. Mattheo, for his part, hugged his legs close to his chest and whispered reassurances to himself. You had never seen him more vulnerable. You noticed his shoulders shaking as he recounted, no doubt, a traumatic memory from his childhood. Sighing, you rolled your eyes and slid in behind him, wrapping both arms around him. His shoulders initially tensed until you joined his whispers of reassurance, telling him “it’s going to be okay” and “you’re safe here”. He relaxed into you and your bodies melted together. You had never seen him like this before and you wanted to protect him as if your arms could shield him from his bad memories. Until then, Mattheo didn’t know you could be sweet and kind. It was odd getting to see a new side to each other after all these years. You didn’t know how long you held him until you heard the door being opened by one of Mattheo’s friends and you quickly sprung apart. “Please don’t tell anyone,” Mattheo whispered as the door finally swung open. “About what?” You simply shrugged and walked away.

Three spoonfuls of cocoa

The third incident happened one late evening when you woke from a nightmare and couldn’t sleep again so you snuck off into the kitchen for a mug of hot cocoa. Mattheo followed you, a night owl himself, wondering what you were up to. When he realized you were simply making a drink, he strolled in and invited himself. He asked what was keeping you up. Your mind foggy with sleep and a nightmare, you found yourself sharing your struggles with potions class. You kept mixing up ingredients no matter how hard you studied and it followed you straight to your nightmares where potion vials were taunting you. In response, Mattheo managed to make you laugh with his easy charm. He liked the sound of your laugh and wanted to hear more. The longer you spent together, the lighter and livelier you felt. It was sweeter than the three spoonfuls of cocoa you made for the two of you.  You hesitated going back to your dorm, but the sun was starting to rise. “About this…” you began after you had put away the mugs. “Just a dream,” Mattheo winked as he placed his hand in his pockets and walked off.

Present

“Of course I’m not constipated!” Mattheo glared, cheeks turning pink in anger and embarrassment. 

You softened at his troubled expression. “For the record, I did not do anything. But when you figure it out, come talk to me,” you said and walked away. Of course you loved him. For you, the kiss confirmed everything. But Mattheo needed to figure it out on his own, and despite his thickheadedness, you just knew he would.

After watching you leave, Mattheo retreated to his friends. The feelings still burned into him and having found no other alternative, he reconsidered an idea.

Rousing Enzo again and then pushing him off the couch when he ignored Mattheo, he sat on the floor beside him.

“What in Salazar’s name?” Enzo rubbed the back of his head that hit the floor, soothing the ache and yawned. It sure was an effective way to wake someone.

“Okay,” Mattheo sighed, “don’t laugh at me—” he began.

He glared at Theo who had raised his eyebrow. Mattheo just snarled and Theo snorted, returning to his book.

Placing his attention back to Enzo, he continued with a grimace, “this love thing, tell me all about it.”

✿ Masterlist | 1.4k words

A/N: Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo being a chaotic trio is my absolute fave.

[decaying-church]

Kinktober Day 4: Hate Sex + Patrick Bateman

Patrick Bateman x male!reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 5 | Ao3

(a/n: shout out to the people that sent request for today yall came in clutch. )

Summary: Working for Patrick Bateman was hell. A hell that seemed to improve after he tried to kill you

Warning: rough sex, these bitches hate each other, reader has a thing for bloody men, Patrick tries to kill reader, then they fuck, fucking on desk, slight voyeurism, unprotected sex, unsafe sex, fucked over a desk, reader gets his dick sucked, reader being a bad Dom (cuz they hate eachother), not beta reader, not even a little bit, errors that will be fixed tomorrow cuz I'm sleepy.

Words: 1968

It wasn’t hard to hate Patrick Bateman, he was an entitled asshole to the misfortune of both you and him, you were his new secretary.

Well “new” as in most recent, as his last one had good missing, while you didn't like the idea of becoming the secretary of a rich man whose secretaries consistently went missing, you didn't really have a choice, rent was due and they offered to pay you on a biweekly basis, which you really needed, so you joined the team.

But god, Patrick was the most insufferable prick you’ve ever met. So demanding and so fucking needy and impatient and selfish and cruel and inappropriate with every word he spoke to you.

You hated him, and he hated you.

He resented you because he wasn’t attracted to you, you weren’t the pretty, female secretary he was used to. You could tell he liked having that power over women from the way he treated other people secretaries, kind and flirtatious before some kind of switch seemed to flip in his mind mid interaction and he was suddenly he was his true self, a needy, perverted asshole.

You never got the nice side, from day one he’s always been your asshole boss, you do half of his work and barely even get a thank you, it’s truly and honestly ridiculous.

You made sure to tell him how much you hated him every chance you got, your contract made it so you had to be employed under Patrick for at least 5 months before you could quit or be fired. So instead of wallowing in your hate, you let it flow freely. Letting it fill every interaction you had with him. Public, private, it didn’t matter, your disrespect was constant.

You didn’t think today was going to be any different, the morning was perfectly ordinary, making copies, sighing Patrick’s papers, getting on his nerves, he was quieter today, less likely to retort your remarks than he usually was. You’d been working for him for four and a half months now, you figured he was getting ready to fire you.

But as the night drew closer and you were getting ready to clock out, when he asked you to stay late, not told, asked.

He must have hit rock bottom, finally.

You stayed, even as the rest of the office went dark. Your desk had its own lamp so you didn’t mind the main lights being shut off. What you did mind was Patrick repeatedly calling your intercom without saying anything, then hanging up. It was annoying, and after the fifth time, you decided to go yell at him about it.

He wasn’t at his desk when you walked in, without a lick of hesitation in your body, you turned around to head out the door, only to find Patrick standing in front of it, pulling white gloves onto his hands, an unreadable expression on his. Before you could open your mouth to question him, his hands were around your throat, squeezing hard.

It was a short lived attempt on your life, as you pulled your foot back and kicked him in the knee as hard as you could. He dragged you down with him as he fell, with you landing on top of him you had the upper hand, punching him square in the face, again and again until your knuckles and his nose and mouth bled. The moment you felt his hands weaken around your throat you jerked back, simultaneously yanking his hands from around your neck, pinning them on either side of his head.

With no real plan on where to go from here, and Patrick having not expected himself to fail, the two of you sat there making intense eye contact for well over a minute.

You didn’t know what to do, Patrick had tried to kill you, failed, and is now pinned helplessly beneath you, looking just as confused as you did.

Oddly enough, Patrick was…experiencing a few new things at this moment. Deflation was one he was familiar with, but complete and utter submission was new for him.

He tried to kill you, but he couldn’t, and you were still alive, holding him down, staring at him with so much pure emotion on your face that he nearly felt overwhelmed by it. He didn’t even try to fight back, instead breaking eye contact to stare at your body above him. It was easy to say he was an admirer of yours, but you are too disrespectful, too mean, and entirely too unflattered by him for him to make a move.

Here you were, though, above him, he was powerless beneath you, anything could happen, he pressed his thighs together, anything could happen.

You were having similar problems. You loved a man covered in blood, particularly his own blood. And that is exactly what Patrick was, looking so pathetic beneath you, staring at you, and your body, wantonly. And you let him.

“What the fuck?” you said, with no real conviction in your voice.

He breathed out hard but said nothing. Just staring down at himself for a long moment, then back up at you. You followed where his gaze had been, your eyes meeting the obvious bulge in his perfectly fit slacks.

You breathed out a short laugh.

“You get off on trying to kill people, Batemen?”

He shook his head at your allegations.

“So it's just me?”

He breathed in hard, avoiding your eyes.

“You like it when I hold you down Bateman, ‘cause that's what it seems like..”

“I'm sorry-” he gasped out, but you interrupted him.

“No, you're not, you're not sorry for trying to kill me, you're horny and want me to fuck you.”

A moment passed

“-please?” his gasp of a word was ever so slightly painful, that, and the blood still free flowing from his nose, made you jump into action. Dragging both hands above his head, then keeping them pinned with just one of yours, using your now free hand to undo your belt, Patrick watched intently as you unfastened the buckle and pulled the belt off in one hard tug.

He watched as you made a makeshift pair of handcuffs, using your teeth as an extra hand while your other was occupied.

“Turn over.” he didn't move.

Letting his hands go for a second you forcefully put the man on his stomach, slamming him on the ground a bit harder than you would anyone else. You regathered his hands and pushed them into the cuffs, pulling to tighten them until the skin around them began to bruise.

Letting his hands rest on his lower back you leaned in close to his ear.

“If you want me to do this you're going to have to listen, understand?”

He nodded rapidly.

“Good.”

You stood up, appreciating the sight of the man lying on the floor between your legs for a moment before picking him up and dragging him over to his desk, you nearly slammed him down over it, he didn't say anything about it, actually, based on the moan he let out and the way he was already spreading his legs and was wiggling his hips in anticipation, you figured he liked it.

You didn't prep him, he'll you didn't even warn him, his pants were off and pooling around his ankles so quickly that he’d barely had time to process it, then, after taking a short moment to appreciate how beautiful and pristine Patrick's ass was, pressing your finger against his hole to see how tight it was, never actually penetrating him though, only stopping when you were satisfied with the answer, very, and his reaction. watching his thighs twitch in response. Then fully and with an utter lack of any hesitation, you pulled your pants and underwear down just below your hip, taking your already hard cock in your hand and giving it a few hard pumps before pressing it against Patrick's hole. He froze up, but his knees still shook, nervous and excited and impatient all at the same time. Then, without saying a word or giving a sign, you pressed in fully, starting at a pace that burned him from the inside out, and you were right, he was very tight, almost hard to push into, but you made it work.

You nearly zoned out his squeals, screams, and moans as you fucked him, unable to move, his insides stretched wider than they'd ever been- he's never done this before and the pain of it was unignorable. He tried to focus on you, your cock, making him feel so good and so bad at the exact same time.

The desk beneath him creaked with every rapid thrust, his stomach pressed uncomfortably against his own nameplate, and with his arms tied, and you being his near ruthlessly fucker for the night he didn't dare ask you.

It wasn't hard to get lost in Patrick, he was beautiful, he felt amazing around your cock, and his voice was more than perfect as he screamed and moaned your name into the empty building.

Then, an idea popped into your mind, the building wasn't completely empty, security was roaming around, checking the doors, the cameras. Looking around the room you spotted it, the blinking red light a clear sign that someone was watching. Grabbing Bateman by the hair you hoisted him up, ignoring his pained yell in favor of showing him the camera.

“Look at that, who's on camera duty tonight, Bateman?”

He blabbered and whined before saying he didn't know. You let go of his hair, and he fell back down to the desk with a bang, gasping out in pain, which soon merged with the pleasured moans that fell from his mouth constantly.

“You think they want a turn? Huh? Maybe they want to fuck you over the desk too, or maybe on the floor. I'd let them use you, I'd let them pass your ass around all night long.”

“No-” he gasped, “just you, just you please-”

He hurried his face in the sheets of paper covering his desk, embarrassed. He's never belonged to anybody, and he surely doesn't belong to you, but the more you fucked him and the fuzzier his mind got, the more he considered, then accepted It.

His back arched hard, his chest still pressed against the desk as he tried to keep his footing, his legs shakey and sore from you kicking him and everything that came after.

“Y/n~im so close, so fucking close, mhh Ah- Ah, ah-”

And he was, his body tensed hard, cum dripping down his cock before shooting out the tip, making a mess of his desk and the floor.

“Fuck, Bateman-” you gasped, just as close as he was a second ago, “you're fucking pathetic.”

You made the splint second session to pull out, much to Patricks, who was actively experiencing sexual overstimulation for the first time and was completely unprepared, relief.

That was until you dragged him off the desk and onto the floor, making him kneel in front of you. Grabbing his jaw and forcing it open, shoving your cock into his unexpected mouth, but that was fine, you used his mouth just as roughly as you'd used his hole.

You didn't last long after that, between Patrick's warm mouth and tongue being used like your personal toy, and his complete and utter submission to you, it was all just too beautiful.

With a final hard thrust into his mouth, your cum shot down his throat, making him choke and gag, and eventually swallow.

Then, staring down at him, you stuffed yourself back into your pants, forcing Patrick to the round, took your belt, and left. Leaving behind a confused, exhausted, and fucking satisfied Patrick Bateman.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Six - Splendid

♡♡♡

"Eloise Bridgerton."

Benedict calls his sister when he finds her smoking on the swing set in their garden. He sounded stern, as if scolding her.

Eloise groans softly as she turns on the swing. "Go on, then." She lifts the cigarette to her lips. "Chastise me."

"Spare one for me?" He asks.

Eloise is surprised by his question. He comes and sits on the other swing beside her. She holds a cigarette out to him, and he takes it, putting it between his lips and lighting it.

"Suppose I desire something different." Eloise says.

"How do you mean?"

"Just different. I watch Daphne prepare for these balls with all of those dresses and the many suitors, and I am exhausted. Suppose I want a different life, Benedict. That I truly believe I am quite capable of something more, even when I'm not allowed to have anything else."

"Then I would say... that you're not the only one." He looks at her. They smile at each other.

♡♡♡

With the next edition of Whistledown comes fascinating gossip. You find yourself, for once, clutching the paper with the need to read more.

It has become apparent that Lord Berbrooke has a child out of wedlock, and not only that, with a maid he had sent away before the child was even born. He pays nothing for the child, it seems.

Your mother had been gossiping about with the other ladies she had over for afternoon tea. In turn, their maids had gone off to gossip further.

Word spread like wildfire.

The next day, Lord Berbrooke had left town suddenly.

You made it a point to go visit Daphne. You were taken up to the drawing room where she awaited you, a smile on her face as you came in.

"It's nice of you to visit."

You take a seat with her. "I wanted to see how you were."

"I have expected you come see my brother," she admits.

"Benedict? As much as he has become my friend, I felt the need to come see you. Are you alright?"

"I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders." She smiles softly. "I am glad he is gone."

"As am I. Wretched man, he was."

You both giggle softly.

"So, the duke? He is still on your favour?" You ask.

Daphne goes silent for a moment, and then her face twitches. A realisation. The realisation she must still pretend.

"Ah, yes." She smiles.

You smile in return and take her hand. "You make a most handsome couple."

"Thank you." Her voice wavers.

You do not bring up Hastings or Berbrooke again as you have tea with Daphne. The conversation becomes pleasant. Daphne finds herself talking to you about anything that comes to mind. Not once has any of her siblings sat down and listened to her like this.

It felt nice. Really nice.

An hour passes, and you find the teapot has been emptied twice in that time. There are no more biscuits to share either. You rise from the soft sofa and gather you purse.

"Thank you for letting me visit."

"Oh, nonsense. You are always welcome." Daphne smiles.

"I shall visit again then."

Daphne looks pleased by your words.

"Benedict will be so disappointed you came by and didn't stop to see him."

You chuckle. "Let him suffer. It may humble him."

Daphne chuckles and sees you out.

♡♡♡

The next ball is as dazzling as the others. You swear with each one, Daphne gets more and more beautiful. She enters with the Duke. Of course, everyone sees.

You entered with your mother, no one paying you any mind what so ever. Not that you minded any more. You had come to terms that no one would visit you.

As Simon and Daphne dance, you decide to take a walk. You have no idea what it is they discuss when alone together.

You keep your eyes peeled for any familiar faces. Yet, no one else is present in this current room.

Meanwhile, Daphne parts from Simon and is approached by another gentleman. Her wish to find a husband and have a family may very well come true.

As you enter the next room, you find Anthony in there talking with some others. His gaze lands on you, and he excuses himself from the current conversation. He approaches you.

You smile and bow your head. "Lord Bridgerton."

"Anthony, please. You call my brothers by their name."

You smile. "Anthony."

"Benedict isn't here, I'm afraid. He has elected to sit this one out. May I have the honour?" He holds out his hand.

You take a moment to take in his request. Anthony was head of his family. A viscount. Dancing with him would surely bring you attention.

You place your hand in his. "You may."

Anthony takes you back into the other room and leads you to the dance floor. He holds you as a gentleman should while dancing with a lady. You both move with the music.

Anthony look very firm as he dances with you.

"I must say, this is an honour."

"Is it?" He asks.

"I never see you dance."

"No. I suppose not. I am not beyond dancing with friends." He says kindly.

"Then I am even more so honoured to be considered such."

You both continue dancing until the music ends. You curtsy, he bows. Anthony takes your hand and leads you back to the side of the room. With swift ease, he marks his name down on your dance card.

"I shall see to it you are never left without a dance partner, my lady," he says with a bow.

You smile.

As Anthony returns to the party, you find yourself now being looked at by others. There are gentlemen looking your way.

Could it be true that Daphne is not the only one who can shine?

Soon, you are dancing again, and a few more names are scribbled across your dance card.

You think, perhaps, Daphne Bridgerton is your good luck charm.

It makes you giddy.

Safe to say, your night was splendid indeed.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy -

[latenightdaydreams]

More konig zombie apocalypse au pls🥹

Of course!

ZombieApocalypseAU!König x Reader Part 2 (fem)

Part 1

Part 2 picks up directly after part 1!

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, oral, throw up, p in v, non-con

1.3k word count

🧟

.

.

You keep your eyes on him, feeling caged in by a wild animal and scared to make any sudden movements. There is no avoiding the way his erection strains against the fabric of pants while he rubs it. Once you’re done urinating, you reach out for the toilet paper in the stall; pulling a few squares for yourself. His eyes linger on your hands, watching you clean yourself.

The uncomfortable tension hangs in the air, König could care less. All he wants to do is reach forward and wipe the pretty pussy clean for you. He would drop on his knees and use his tongue to lap up every single drop from you. Instead, he just watches, holding back his more unusual desires for now.

“You have a beautiful body.” He speaks casually.

You stand and pull your underwear and pants up as you keep his gaze, almost worried that if you look away, he will lunge at you. He remains in the way, blocking you into the stall. His eyes roam over your body as his hand lingers on his cock.

“Move.” You speak up, but König can still hear the fear in your voice.

“Why?”

“You’re in my way.”

“Am I?”

König looks your body over once more before stepping aside and letting you leave the stall. He walks on your heels as you leave the bathroom, not wanting you to try and lock him out of your little room in the closet. While you’re a small woman, you seem to have done well for yourself. A perfect mate for a man like König.

You use your key to open the door of your small room, only opening it slightly. König puts his hand on the door and opens it more to fit his size. He nudges you into the room. Alone, it’s the perfect space. With König, it truly feels suffocating in here. The door closes behind the two of you, locking as soon as it latches.

“This is cozy.” König looks at all of your food storage while his arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against his body. “You’ve done well for yourself, Schatz.”

“I have.” You attempt to break free from his grasp, but he doesn’t budge.

“Together, imagine how great we can be.” His hands roam up to your breasts.

“I’m better off alone.”

“Are you?”

“Remember, I saved you.” You snap.

This angers König. His hand quickly wraps around your neck, applying enough pressure to be uncomfortable. Your hands try to pry his off but you can’t. He leans down and speaks in a low dangerous tone. “Watch how you fucking speak to me, Schatz.” His other hand lingers on your breast and squeezes hard.

König lets go of you and pushes you forward, throwing you off balance. He walks forward, grabbing your hair and kicking your feet out from underneath you. You hit your makeshift bed hard, making you lose your breath. König stands over your body as he begins to undress himself, pulling at his belt and tossing it down on the ground as his eyes gloss over your body.

“Undress.” He demands.

You don’t move, frozen with fear. His boot kicks your legs lightly as he repeats his orders once more. With shaky hands you reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, followed by your sports bra. You completely undress, feeling bashful as you are forced to show yourself to him. König stands over your body looking down at you, his cock heavy and hangs with a slight curve.

“Kneel.”

Not wanting to make this worse for yourself, you kneel and look up at him. He steps closer looks down at you, waiting. Yet, you just stay frozen in place. His fingers intertwine with your hair and tilt your head back.

“You’ve had sex, ja?”

“Y- yes.”

“Then you know what to do.”

König lets go of your hair and keeps his cold gaze locked on you. You grab him in one hand, the strong musk of his unwashed body hits you as you move closer. The feeling of his eyes on you adding a level of hesitation. Your mouth opens resting the tip of his cock on your lips as your eyes rise up to meet him.

He grabs the back of your head again, forcing your head down on him. Your hands move to his thighs, trying to push back as he shoves half of his length down your throat. A loud gagging sound echoes in the small space as you strain, trying to pull back.

“Come on, you can take more.” König growls under his breath as he pushes your head further down his length. You can’t, you throw up, the disgusting taste consuming your taste buds. He lets go of you as you spit on the ground, watching and laughing as you struggle. “Lie down.”

You look behind you before slowly resting your body back. A rush of adrenaline crashes over you, fight or flight kicking in but you find yourself fawning instead. There are no humans around you can trust and any loud noise would just attract zombies. You’re trapped and he knows it.

König lowers himself onto your bed, parting your legs eagerly gazing at the precious pink that reveals itself as your folds open up to him. A low growl rumbles deep inside of his chest as excitement consumes him. It’s been so long since he’s seen or smelled the sweet scent of a cunt.

His eyes meet yours, wide with fear and anxiety. He leans close to you, close enough to smell your breath with every hard breath you take. You look so beautiful even when you’re scared. One hand comes up and caresses your face in such a tender way that it surprises you.

“Don’t ever fucking disrespect me again. You’re mind. Understand, Schatz?”

You nod, his tone is ice cold making your stomach drop. He lingers there, just looking at you. When you’re about to open your mouth to apologize, you stop feeling a stinging tear as he thrust his hips forward. He slams the full length of his thick cock inside of your small cunt. A primal cry leaves you instead as your hands move to his arms, your fingernails digging into his pale skin.

“You feel so fucking good, Schatz.”

König moves one hand to cover your mouth, muffling the sound of your pained cries as you struggle to take him. “Shhh.” He whispers to you as his hips thrust into you at a steady pace, slowly quickening as he loses himself in the euphoric feeling of your gummy tight walls squeezing around him. His pleasure comes before your comfort. He owns you now and you need to learn your place. Having a wife that back talks and demands of him isn’t desirable. In this new world he can have you any way he pleases, who will stop him

After König cums inside of you, he leaves you laying there with his seed leaking out of you. He stands and walks over to your food pile. From the makeshift bed you look over at him while he grabs a tin of fish and opens it. In your mind, you try to decide that trying to kill him would be too risky or worth it if you should just accept this new life.

Technically, you guess it could be worse. The stories you’ve heard from others about what men have done to them still lingers with you. Having König here might even be good. Two people means double the loot and more safety.

König turns and looks down at you. His eyes wander over your body once more as he eats a piece of fish. He sits down next to you and holds food out for you. You slowly raise your hand to grab it when he jerks the food away.

“Open.”

You’ve learned to not argue with him, so you open your mouth and let him feed you. He watches you with an intense gaze as you eat. Oil drips down your lips as you chew causing König to lean in and lick the oil before kissing you softly.

“You’re my wife now. If anyone asks, you’re mine. And if you try to run, I’ll chain you to me. Understand?”

“I- I understand.”

“Gut, mein kleiner Schatz.”

[literaryavenger]

Love Is A Battlefield

Summary: Bucky gets hurt during a mission and you can't help but blame yourself.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language cause why not. Mentions of Bucky's past. Injuries. Overprotective reader. Description of violence. Fluff. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: This was inspired by this post and a dream I had lol. I couldn't help but start writing and this is what came out. Enjoy.

Masterlist

"Who the fuck do you think you’re calling a bitch, you ass?" you sneer at the guy to your left right before kicking him in the stomach and then bringing his head down on your knee when he doubles over, effectively knocking him out.

"Language!" you hear in you earpiece and roll your eyes.

"Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Rogers." you tell him while making your way through the corridor, taking Hydra agents down as you go.

"Can’t you do this without cursing so much?!" he sounds more exasperated at you than at the agents he’s supposed to keep distracted outside.

"Can’t you stop bitching in my ear? I’m a little busy here!" all he answers with is a groan and you know you won this round.

You hear Sam crackling before he says "1-0 to Y/N." which makes you laugh.

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Anytime, baby." you roll your eyes at his nickname, the small distraction allowing an agent to get too close to you and you feel a sharp pain in your forearm and almost drop your gun.

"Shit!" you hiss at the pain and zero in on the idiot that cut you.

You can hear the concerned voices in your ear, but don’t allow yourself to get distracted again as you take care of the last few agents on your side of the building.

"Y/N, are you okay? What’s happening? Can someone get to her?" you hear Bucky’s voice for the first time since the mission started and you can’t help the warm feeling it brings, the concern in his voice making you answer almost immediately.

"Just give me a minute!" you say as you battle the last guy standing.

Once you’ve successfully knocked him out, you take a second to breathe before addressing the voices still coming to your ear while you make your way through the maze of corridors in this Hydra base.

"I’m okay guys, but apparently all these people have some sort of collective knife kink." you say and you can hear Steve’s annoyed groan and the rest of the team’s laughter as you check out your cut. Not too deep, you think to yourself.

You think you hear a relieved sigh between the laughter, but almost instantly forget about it as you finally come to the door you’ve been looking for.

"Clint, status?" you ask him since he’s on the roof, being the eyes on the whole operation.

"Everyone’s thoroughly distracted out here." he answers.

"Good. James, Sam, are you done with the explosives?" you can hear Sam grunting as you enter the room, locating the computer you need and turning it on.

"Just a second!" Sam says, you hear a couple of punches landing and then "Done. This place is ready to blow as soon as you have the files."

"And hurry, we can’t hold them off forever." Steve adds.

"Inserting the USB now, I need at least 5 minutes for the download to finish. Friday, remember to copy Hill at Shield HQ and to save the files in the Avengers private server." you tell the AI as you make your way through the office, grabbing files that seem important as the digital ones download.

"Really? Why the private server?" Steve asks between punches.

"Because, Captain Dumbass, these files could contain sensitive information about one of our own. We have to be careful with them." you say while still looking through the cabinets of papers.

"Do you have to be so mean to me?" he almost whines.

"Hey, it’s your best friend that I’m looking out for." you say almost laughing.

"Yeah, I’m sure it’s me you’re doing this for." You can basically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice but before you can answer, Natasha cuts in.

"Are you two done bickering?" she says annoyed.

"Oh no, please, let them keep going, this is so entertaining." Tony comments, but you get distracted from the conversation when you find a black box in one of the desk drawers that was previously locked, you open it and can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Bucky’s dog tags.

"Guys… do we have to blow up this base?" you ask, quieter than you’d like, leaving everyone else confused. Between all of the “what”s you hear Steve say your name.

"You know the drill, we download the digital files, save as much of the paper ones as we can and then blow the building up. This one’s no different." he tells you, but you can’t help but disagree.

"I think it is…" you can hear them asking you to explain, so you do, trying to find the right way to say this "I think… I think this is the first base they took James to." you say, still talking quietly but loud enough for them to hear.

The comms go silent, everyone processing what you just say, only the sound of battling going on, but you’re only worried about one person.

"James?"

Nothing.

"James, are you okay?" you can’t help but worry, his silence snapping you out of the trance you were in, you close the box you were still staring at and put it safely in your pocket, your hand going to your ear instinctively.

"Bucky?!" He still doesn’t answer.

You hear a bip behind you and Friday lets you know the download is complete, you take the drive and make your way out, your worry only increasing with every step.

"Does anyone have eyes on Barnes?" you ask the rest of the team.

"Oh no." Clint says, and you stop immediately, your heart beating out of your chest.

"What?! You can’t just say ‘oh no’ and not elaborate, Barton!" your mind is going into overdrive, not knowing what to expect.

"I have eyes on him, but you’re not gonna like it."

"What do you mean, Clint?! just say it!" this time Steve is the one to snap at him.

"He’s getting surrounded, it looks like he’s passed out." you swear you can actually feel your heart stopping.

"Can anybody get to him?" you say desperately.

"He’s got maybe 2 minutes before he’s surrounded, everybody’s too far or too busy." yeah, Clint’s really not giving you any good news today.

"Can’t you help him out?!" you almost yell at him.

"Not without hurting him, there are just too many!" he sounds more worried with every word and you know it’s bad. "Technically you’re the closest." He informs you and you frown.

"What do you mean, technically?" You look out the window of the corridor you found yourself in, looking towards the roof and find Clint already looking down at you while he speaks without stopping his aid of the others with his arrows.

"The second window to your left. He’s right under it." you go to said window and try to open it, but it’s closed shut.

"These windows are bulletproof, Clint can you break it somehow?"

"I can, but you could get hu-"

"Just do it!" you yell, cutting him off.

You can see him aim an arrow to the window, it hits its target and you can hear Clint counting down from 3 before it shatters.

You take no time to be careful of the glass as you take a little disk from your belt and press the button while pointing it at the ground.

A rope shoots out of it and anchors to the floor and, while attaching the other end to the back of your suit, you make a mental note to thank Tony for always updating your tactical suits with new useful gadgets.

You leap out the window, landing with your feet on the wall, basically running down on it as you take out your guns and start shooting down at the now dumbfounded agents.

Before they can even figure out where the shooting is coming from, you're on the ground next to Bucky, cutting the rope with a knife, then stabbing the agent closest to you.

You’re punching, kicking and shooting, trying your best not to get too far away from Bucky, basically shielding him with your body.

You hear a faint ‘holy shit’ from Clint and the other’s voices come through but you can’t follow the conversation, your whole focus on keeping Bucky safe.

You stray a little too far away from him as you do the take down move Natasha taught you on one of the agents, your legs around his neck as you bring him down to the ground.

When you turn around you see one guy getting dangerously close to Bucky’s unconscious body and you feel a sudden burst of possessiveness throughout your own body.

"He’s mine." you basically growl, taking a knife from the body of the guy you just took down and throwing it.

It lodges perfectly in his throat and he goes down right away, blood pouring out of him. You have no time to be disgusted as you keep taking down agents and, one after the other, they all drop.

The second the last one touches the ground, you're kneeling down next to Bucky.

"Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don't be dead..." you keep repeating, looking for the button on his tactical suit that monitors his health. Again, thanks Tony. You find it and press it "Friday, vitals."

"Heartbeat detected." the AI says and you immediately let out a breath of relief, not even knowing when you started holding your breath. "Head injury detected, possible concussion. Various cuts throughout his body. No other injuries detected."

It could be worse.

You give yourself a second to breathe while looking at Bucky, then talk into your comm, not taking your eyes off of him.

"Ok, guys, uhm... Bucky’s ass may be cute but it’s heavy. I’m gonna need a hand here." you hear some snickers and then Clint’s voice. "Cap and Sam are on their way."

You’re still looking at Bucky, almost worried that the second you take your eyes off of him his heartbeat is gonna stop, when you hear footsteps behind you and, almost automatically, you grab a knife next to your foot and throw it.

You hear it before you see it, the metal of the knife hitting Cap’s shield before he lowers it and, his face shocked and glad for his fast reflexes, he says "Relax, it’s just us."

"Sorry, I’m a little jumpy."

"Gee, wonder why." Sam says sarcastically as you turn back to Bucky.

"Just take James to the jet, Sam."

"Why do I have to carry his ass?" he whines like a child.

"Because you can fly, birdbrain, you’ll get there before we make it to the front gate." you’re almost irritated at this point, but when you turn to the duo and Sam gives you an unimpressed look, you sigh and try to calm down.

"Sorry, just… take him to safety. Please." Your voice is soft now, Bucky’s well-being the only thing on your mind. Sam picks up on your concern and gets serious, moving towards Bucky to pick him up.

"I’ll take him to the jet. See you guys there." and with that, he takes off.

You watch him go for a second before you feel a hand on your shoulder, turning around to see Steve’s equally concerned face.

"Relax, you heard Friday, he’s gonna be fine. Even if he does have a concussion the serum will heal him in an instant." you know he's right, thanks to the serum his bones heal overnight, a concussion is nothing.

But still, you can’t help the worry you feel.

"I’ll relax when he’s awake and I can see he’s fine." he’s about to say something back when you hear Tony’s voice in your ear.

"If you two are done making out about it, we really should be getting out of here." you roll your eyes and smile a little at the pink color Steve’s cheeks were turning while you start making your way to the front courtyard of the base where Natasha and Tony are still holding off the remaining Hydra agents that just seemed to keep coming.

The second he sees you both giving them a hand, Tony takes off towards the roof. "Incoming, Robin Hood, get ready for take off."

This is your cue to get to the jet, Steve, Natasha and you making your way to the front gate while still fighting, the remaining agents scrambling away the second the explosions inside the building start.

You all get to the jet and, after making sure everyone’s inside, Steve turns to Clint. "Take us home, Barton." he merely nods and makes his way to the pilot's seat, immediately taking off.

You make a beeline to where Bucky’s lying on a gurney, still unconscious.

"How is he?" you ask Bruce without taking your eyes away from the super soldier’s face.

"He’s okay, his cuts are already starting to heal themselves, so should be his head injury. He should wake up maybe within the hour, two tops." you nod and make your way to the chair beside his bed, taking his right hand in both of yours. 

You don’t know why you do that, now that you think about it you’ve probably not even touched Bucky in general more than a handful of times.

You’re not the closest of friends, you work well together in the field and get along outside of it, you hang out in group settings such as game and movie nights, team trainings and the team-building outings Tony forces everybody to go on, but that’s about it.

The lack of one on one interactions, though, didn’t help you escape your growing crush for the long-haired super soldier. You just can’t help the warm feeling you get every time he’s even in the same room, let alone when he looks at you.

You can hide it when you’re in mission mode, always being professional, but the second it happens in a normal setting like the living room or the kitchen or the gym you turn into a flustered schoolgirl, stumbling over your words and blushing every time you have his attention.

You’ve convinced yourself he doesn’t notice, if he has he hasn’t said anything, but for your own piece of mind you pretend he just doesn’t.

Sometimes it seems like he does it on purpose, though. He’d get close enough that you can smell his cologne and basically feel his body heat.

Sometimes his hands hover on your waist while he passes by you, never actually touching you but just close enough to make you almost pass out at the feeling.

And you can swear you can see a smirk on his face, but it always disappears so fast it’s just easier to convince yourself you’re imagining it.

He would have the most innocent face while asking you if something’s wrong, and all you can answer with is a small ‘I’m fine’ before basically running away, never once seeing the smug look on his face at the flustered state only he manages to put you in.

You’re brought out of your head by Steve’s hand on your shoulder, again, as he says "he’s gonna be fine."

"It’s my fault…" you say quietly, ignoring his attempt at comforting you.

"It’s not y-" you interrupt him before he can even finish.

"Yes, it is. I distracted him." You say firmly before your voice softens. "They were so close to getting him, Steve..."

You can’t take your eyes off of Bucky, almost willing him to wake up, so you could apologize. "Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if they got to him? What they could’ve done to him…" you trail off, not wanting to voice all the possibilities out loud.

Of course you know Steve knows. He worries more than you for Bucky, his best friend, basically his brother, the only family he has left from his past life.

But Steve is having none of it.

"You wanna play the blame game? He wasn’t even supposed to be on this mission, but I couldn’t stop him. He knew what it entailed, he knew it was a base full of hydra agents, but he didn’t back down because it was the right thing to do. He wants to do good and help us take down Hydra for good, he knows the risks but it was his choice. You can’t take that on you." Logically you know he's annoyingly right, again, but looking at Bucky laying motionless you can’t help the guilt that creeps up on you. 

"Friday," you say quietly, ignoring Steve’s confused look "play the footage of Bucky before he passed out coupled with the audio from our comms."

The hologram on the table in the middle of the jet lights up and Bucky’s figure can be seen fighting, then you can hear your own voice telling your theory to the group and Bucky halts for a second, he almost gets punched but avoids it at the last second, hitting the guy with his metal arm.

Steve turns to you with a smug look, knowing he was right, but you raise your hand before he can say anything and keep watching.

You see Bucky fighting and hear yourself calling his name and you can see his eyes rolling when you call him James. He’s asked you countless times to call him Bucky, but you always refuse, not sure why.

All you know it’s that it kind of annoys him but in a different way than when Sam or Peter annoy him, you can tell he’s not actually upset, it’s kind of your own little thing with him seeing as he doesn’t allow anyone else call him by his first name.

You can see Bucky still fighting and ignoring you, but when he hears you call him “Bucky” for the first time he stops, right as an agent is throwing a punch.

You see Bucky get hit in the jaw, stumble and fall, his head hitting the wall behind him pretty hard. He doesn’t get up, but you see the last agent standing get taken out by an arrow, Clint you assume.

You can hear your alarmed conversation with Clint as more agents slowly creep up on Bucky, probably being cautious, worried he could wake up any second, then there’s the sound of bullets flying and agents getting hit.

Suddenly you’re there.

You take your eyes off the screen, about to tell Steve that even he can’t deny now that it was your fault, but the whole team's attention was on the footage of you mercilessly taking out man after man, even Clint’s there watching after putting the jet on autopilot.

The look on your face frightening to the point where you almost don’t recognize yourself.

You don’t want to relive the moment, so you shift your attention back on Bucky, your hands still holding onto his.

You can hear Clint’s “holy shit” and then your “he’ mine” and you feel yourself heat up at the possessiveness in your voice.

The video gets paused and you can hear Tony asking "what the fuck was that?" his voice clearly amused, and you know what he’s asking you.

Before you can answer though, you feel Bucky’s hand squeeze yours softly, your eyes snaps down to it and then to his face while getting up from your chair.

He’s mumbling something that sounds very similar to your name but his eyes are still closed.

"James?" he slowly opens his eyes and they instantly find yours, a smile forming on his face that you can’t but mirror.

"How do you feel, Buck?" Steve asks him from beside you.

"Like I got hit really hard in the head." he groans while he tries to sit up, his hand still holding onto yours while you help him.

"Take it easy," Bruce tells him while stopping next to him on his other side "you probably don’t have a concussion, but I’d put some ice on your head to help with the headache."

"I’ll get it." you let go of Bucky, and walk to the mini freezer to get the ice pack.

Bucky takes a moment to look around him, his eyes landing on the screen where you’re frozen mid-fight.

"Friday, unpause the video." he says, curiosity taking over.

He watches you fight, protecting him with your life and he swears he’s never been more in awe in his life. He sees you get on your knees next to him and hears your whispers, praying for him to be okay, over and over.

He sees the relief in your face when Friday tells you he’s alive and he hears you call his ass “cute” as you ask the others for help, making him smile again.

"Friday, stop the footage." you say, ice in your hands but maintaining a safe distance from Bucky, embarrassed that he saw how worried you were for him.

You stand there in silence for a second while Bucky turns to look at you, the smirk on his face definitely real. You blush, cursing your body for how it reacts to his gaze, while Steve clears his throat.

"Why don’t we give you guys a minute..." he ushers everyone to the front of the jet, almost having to wrestle Tony to take him away from what he called 'his new favorite show'.

Bucky extends his right hand for you to take and you do as you get closer, your left hand going to carefully place the ice on the back of his head.

He hisses a little at the contact and you wince, giving him an apologetic smile, but his eyes never leave yours and his hand squeezes yours, letting you know he’s okay.

"I’m sorry." That's all you can say and, whatever you were expecting him to answer, it was definitely not what he says next.

"You should be." you bite your lip to stop it from trembling, your emotions getting the best of you and your guilt only growing, but he keeps going, "You distracted me. You’ve never said my name before, and it was the sweetest sound to ever come out of your mouth. Shame on you for keeping it from me for so long, doll."

He brings you closer to him, taking your hand in his left, his right going around your waist as he rests his chin on your stomach while looking up at you, your left hand still holding the ice to the back of his head.

You giggle at the puppy look he’s giving you, trying to resist the urge of leaning down and kissing him.

"Smooth, Barnes." he laughs with you, before growing more serious.

"You looked really worried." you feel your emotions bubbling up again.

"I was…" you say, your voice small "I’m sorry you got hurt because of me" you're basically whispering, afraid that if you raise your voice any louder the tears you’d been trying so hard to hold off will start falling.

"It’s not your fault, doll." before you can protest, he keeps going "and I’m fine. We’re all fine. I just took a little nap."

You roll your eyes at his attempt at a joke but can’t hide the smile starting to form on your face while he gives you a grin of his own.

You're so lost in his eyes that you almost forget about the reason all of this happened.

You let go of his hand and he gives you a confused look with a slight pout on his lips that just makes you smile more.

"Bucky," you start, taking the little box out of your pocket, but he interrupts you with an exaggerated gasp.

"Are you asking me to marry you, doll? Because, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but maybe we should go on a date first." you can't help but laugh as you gave him a little shove, careful not to hurt him more.

"I’m not asking you to marry me, you jackass." you get more serious as you look at the box in your hand.

You don’t even realize you're biting your lip until Bucky reaches up and tugs it out. You look back at him and feel weirdly nervous, not knowing how he'll react.

"I found this at the base, and I’m pretty sure it belongs to you" you laugh a little out of nerves as he lets go of you to take the box and opens it.

He lets out a real gasp this time, fishing out the tags and holding them in his flesh hand, his face unreadable.

He looks back up at you and for a second your brain goes to the worst case scenario in which there's a lot of blood and screaming, but that image is quickly forgotten as Bucky gives you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

He places his hands behind your thighs and effortlessly moves you to straddle him, his movements so fast that you drop the ice pack out of surprise, but you don’t have time to do much as Bucky starts peppering kisses all over your face.

Your surprise turns into giggles and he slowly stops his assault, the smile never living his face, the look on his eyes that of pure adoration. "Thank you, doll… You don’t know what this means to me."

You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but you think Bucky’s starting to lean up and you think he’s about to kiss you when you hear a whistle followed by a slapping sound and an “ow”.

You both turn towards the sound to find the whole team looking at you two, Steve has a smirk on his face, Tony’s next to him, rubbing the back of his head and the rest of them are snickering.

"Seriously?!" your irritation does nothing to hide your blush, Bucky’s own embarrassment clear as he hides his face in your chest. 

"What? Capsicle said a minute, we gave you a minute!" Tony said, earning another slap on the back of his head from Steve.

"Just go away!" you say laughing and they all go back to the front of the jet but you can hear their little laughs while they whisper, making you roll your eyes before looking down at Bucky who’s already looking up at you.

"Can you do me a favor, doll?" he asks you and you nod.

"Anything."

"I’d hate to lose these. Hold on to them for me?" he says, holding up his dog tags.

"Are you sure?" you ask uncertainly as he puts them around your neck.

"I’m more than sure." he says while looking at them on your chest and then looking back into your eyes, his smile impossibly big and you’re sure yours looks the same.

He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you closer and you wrap one arm around his neck, your other hand going to play with the tags around your neck. You’re looking down at them when Bucky speaks again.

"So," He starts, his smile becoming a teasing smirk. "you think my ass is cute, huh?"

You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while he laughs at your reaction.

You can hear the others laughing too and can’t help the laugh that comes out of you, more sure now than ever that everything is gonna be okay.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hi! I’m not sure if this has been requested before but I’ve been working nonstop lately. I’m completely worn out and desperate for a day off. So, I was wondering how you think tangerine would react to this sort of situation with his gf/wife/partner- being very overworked, exhausted, tense, stressed, anxious? In need of some comfort, fluff, love and reassurance. -🤍

Thank you so much, I love you!!

hii!! im pretty sure it has, but that’s no problem. make sure to take care of yourself angel, really sorry you’re so tired, hopefully this can be of some comfort. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 I love you and hope you’re doing as well as you can be xx

ignore kimura’s hand 😭 the pic is just really hot

TAKE A BREAK.

tangerine x fem!reader — fluff & comfort

word count. 637

Tangerine had noticed a change within you recently. Though it wasn't hard, anyone could.

He could see it in your eyes, the exuberant shine almost fading with every one of your early starts and late finishes. And those tired, half-smiles you'd give him when he questions it only prove his point more.

He knew you were under a lot of stress lately, everything in your life catching up with you, and all he wanted was to help you. Even if it was carrying your weight on his shoulders for a few minutes - anything just to give you a moment of ease.  

It had gone past midnight, but you were nowhere close to finishing the massive assigned workload. The dining table filled with stacks of your papers, the surface repurposed as an office desk once again. By now, the words on the page were far from legible, the lines blurring and swirling together as you pushed through the last section.

"I don't get it," you mutter to yourself, dropping your head into your hands. 

"What don't you get?" Tangerine asks, appearing in the doorway as if he were a genie.

"I don't know," you mumble, rubbing your face in your palms. "All of it... it doesn't make sense— none of it does. And I've been reading it over and over and," you cut yourself off with a sigh, looking over the array of papers in front of you. 

"Come on, now," he hushes, moving across the room to stand in front of you. "You're knackered. You need good sleep," he adds, placing his hands on either side of your head, making you face him. 

"I can't. I have so much to do," you faintly exhale - the sound weary and worn down. 

His thumbs glide under your eyes, the pads running over the dark circles and tired skin - the act as if he were trying to soothe you. "I'll help you out in the morning, alright? But not now. You need'a sleep."

"I can't," you softly shake your head, his hands moving with the faint movement. "I can't sleep knowing how much work I have."

He sighs, his head cocking to the side to maintain the eye contact you were so desperate to get out of. "When you hurt, I hurt. And you're hurting a lot right now, aren't'ya?"

The lack of response from you, silently answers his question. 

"That's what I thought," he says, leaning over to press a kiss into your hairline. "I'll lock up. You go get ready for bed, yeah?" he laces his hands into yours, helping you from the seat. "I'll follow up in a minute."

You do as asked and get ready for bed, continuing the rest of your routine from a couple hours before - brushing your teeth and peeing, changing back into pyjamas. You get into your side of the bed, the comfort almost immediately soothing the aches in your body.

As promised, Tangerine follows closely behind, entering the bedroom with a glass of water in one hand and a pack of paracetamol in the other. He makes his way around the bed to your side, setting the glass and painkillers on your nightstand.

He gets in bed from his side, slipping under the covers, his arms instinctively reaching for you under them. He pulls you towards him, holding you tight. 

"Can you give me food poisoning tomorrow?" you attempt a joke, burying your face into his chest. 

"I'd rather throw myself down the stairs and break my legs and then sit in A&E all night so you could get the day off," he whispers, stroking over the back of your head.

"Might try that myself."

He presses a kiss into your cheek, tucking your face back into the comfort of his chest. "Enough now, get some sleep."

[dduane]

Hope this isn't an ask you get all the time, but how do you track your progress when you're doing editing?

Everyone talks about word goals, and that seems fine for a first draft, but doesn't make sense to me when it comes to revisions. Do you have any kind of system for setting daily goals for your revisions?

Actually, I don't think anyone's ever asked me about this. :) So no sweat.

Briefly: I think you're wise in not attempting wordcounting in this phase of dealing with an MS—or trying to push yourself into a structure so rigid. ...There's this, too: there's a whole lot too much emphasis out there at the moment on trying to force yourself into other people's writing and editing paradigms—so many of them riddled with bar graphs and "demonstrable" daily progress. You need to find what works for you. More words dealt with in a day, sure, that's encouraging in its way. But are they the right words?

Today’s Writer Take that will probably strike some as Hot (and ask me if I care): Some kinds of writing progress are just neither graphically nor numerically quantifiable. And damned to the least TripAdvisorally-acceptable regions of [insert your preferred underworld here] be those who’ve tried to sell people the idea that they are.

(sigh)

Now, for what it's worth: here's how I do it. Which may be useful to other people, or not so much so. And that's fine, because I'm not editing their novels. :)

(Adding a break here. Under the cut: advice + advice = advice, and some images of text I shouldn't be letting y'all see just yet... but WTF.)

Revision for me is a fairly relaxed business—unless my editor has told me WE NEED THIS ON TUESDAY, which thank sweet Thoth on his e-bike is very rare.

It also helps that I like revising. (When I was a kid, I liked liver, too. And spinach. Just call me Miss Outlier and let's move on.) I really enjoy the feeling of the work’s rough edges being filed down and the sparse places being filled out.

And also: second draft/first revision draft is nowhere near as tense for me as first draft. Because, thank God, at least there's a book.

First draft is where I sweat blood and otherwise suffer. While I can see the story just fine in my head, it's not really real for me until the first draft, whole in narrative and action, is complete on paper/in the machine. And till it's achieved at least that level of reality, I can't relax.

But by the time I hit my second/revision draft, I can be confident that any really serious problems in the novel have already been solved—because I'm an outliner. In the outline stage, potential thematic or structural troubles will routinely have revealed themselves way long ago: before drafting even got started, as I first wired the story's bones together. The successfully-executed first draft acts as proof-of-concept for that structural wiring. By the time that draft’s done, it’s immediately apparent whether the skeleton can successfully stand up by itself. And gods is that a relief when it does! You’re tempted to jump around yelling “It's aliiiiiive!" as the lightning strikes around you.*

However, if after submitting that draft my editor's found something structurally or thematically troublesome in it that I've completely missed until this point, my first order of business becomes to fix whatever their notes involve and submit the fixes. Nothing further happens until the editor sees what I've done about those problems, and until I get agreement that whatever intervention I've enacted has now sorted the problems out.

After that, everything happens in bed.

(...casually noting that for a line to use somewhere else...) :)

But seriously: I do my best revision and editing before getting up in the morning.

Some of this is because, for me, the mind's nice and quiet and (theoretically) at least moderately well rested, right after sleep. I might take the briefest glance at my email first to make sure nothing urgent needs attention... but once that’s done, I refuse to let myself go any further down that hole. That early-morning calm is a mental state I'm glad to exploit, and one I jealously guard. On days when I'm forced to do without the working lie-in**, I use a different approach: when there's a pause, sit down and do nothing—no reading, no video, no music, no phone, nothing—for half an hour: then start editing. Routinely, the quiet I need will once more have fallen.

The in-bed-editing approach also works for me because (since I'm working in Scrivener) it's absolutely no big deal to finish a day's editing on a file by exporting a version of the file containing the day's edits to ebook format, and into my Dropbox. From there, in the morning, without ever getting out from under the covers, I can pull that .epub file into my tablet and read it as an ebook, making corrections and notes there.

This is what it looks like (on a page without too many corrections) if the app you're using is "Books" in an iPad. The second image is what you get when you touch on the marginal yellow square of the note to examine it.

Then, when I'm finished looking over the previous day's/evening's writing and adding notes to it, I go downstairs, get some caffeine in me, and make the changes in the main Scrivener file. (If I was running the project in question on the iPad version of Scrivener, I'd just make the change right there. But who knows when I'd actually get up, then? Better to do it this way.) :)

In the normal flow of things I'll attempt to deal with a chapter or two a day in this mode. (Always bearing in mind that my chapters in early drafts typically run long—often 10K or so—and I'm likely enough to rebreak them later.) This first level of revision is the easy one: catching typos and bad or clumsy phrasings, reworking character interactions that need smoothing out; adding better descriptive passages (with particular emphasis on staying in the visual, audio and tactile senses), etc., etc.

So again: no way I'd ever bother worrying about word counts, with these. What seems to count for more is giving yourself time to recognize, gradually, at a reader's pace, what's working in the prose and what isn't. Rush—or try to force the pace to a given number of words per day—and you run the risk of missing something vital. To me, at the tracking level, it seems sufficient to note which chapters have been dealt with, and which are still hanging fire. (I can change the chapters' color labels in Scrivener to make this status visible at a glance, if I need to.)

When everything's dealt with on this pass—which if I'm lucky will take no more than a couple/few weeks—I try to take a couple weeks off before dealing with the MS again. Sometimes that's possible: sometimes not. The longer you can leave the book alone to let your perceptions of it rest and reset themselves, the better. Distance—mental or temporal—seems to lend clarity.

In any case, for me, next comes another pass, tougher to describe. Casually, I refer to it as the "Missed Opportunities/Complications" pass. This is a thing that one of the very best writers I know, John M. Ford, used to do. One of his editors (I think it was) came across him working on an MS one time, and asked him what he was doing. "Complications," Mike muttered. "Removing them?" said his editor. Mike shook his head. "Adding them," he said.

In this pass you look for in-novel connections you've previously missed making. Some dramatic moments have their impact significantly increased if you've found a way to connect them, even casually, with previous events, situations, character thoughts, or dialogue. (The cheap and easy mnemonic for this kind of thing: "Say a thing twice, and it echoes. Say it three times, and it resonates.")

Equally, events (and people) may turn out to require more complex backstory than you've given them in your first draft; so this is where you take care of that. And of course there are almost certainly character and emotional interactions that can use attention; fewer words, more depth, more complexity. What things do these people, in this situation, need to say to one another that they haven't? And also, what drama got scamped or passed up on because you were just too damn tired in the last draft? —Because you too, poor baby, are human; and that state can, entirely logically, make you want not to deal with any more damn drama just now. Even though drama is the lifeblood of your narrative, usually, and tying a tourniquet around it really doesn't help. You are the conduit of power into your narrative, and your varying ability to conduct it is always an issue… so you need to keep an eye open for places where the flow may have temporarily failed.

This pass, ideally, might take no more than another few weeks or a month. And again, I'm not sure any attempt at wordcount tracking would do this work any good. Because, again... are they the right words? And to make the narrative more effective, you may wind up removing as many words as you added in previous passes.

Finally, with all things taken together, I usually reach a point where (by myself, anyway) I can't think of anything to do that'll make this book any better. That's where there then comes—and again, impossible to assign a word count to it—a time when you know you're as Done As You Can Be. If you've been doing this long enough, you may even hear a strange kind of sigh in the back of your head, as the book gives up and lets go...

...into the next stage of production. But even then you keep an eye on it… because in my experience it’s rare that any book's ever that easily just finished. Even in page proofs, something may happen to surprise you.

Anyway, that's when I throw the book the hell out of the house—because no matter how much I've loved it previously, by that time I'm usually seriously tired of it—and wait to see whether the editor feels it needs one more draft. (Disclosure: this has never happened. There might be a few notes that need to be handled. But another full draft? Never yet.)

Anyway: hope this is of help to you.

But the heart of it all? Find your own way, and screw the bar graphs.

*That line, too, is an indicator of trouble to come. "It's?" Not "he's"? Tsk tsk.

**Usually sort of 7-9 AM. Sometimes way earlier, depending on the time of year. Dawn comes real early in the summertime in Ireland…

[qqueenofhades]

Having seen what's currently happening in Venezuela, I feel so terrible for everyone to tried to vote Maduro out, and I worry about the US election. Will Trump and the GOP be able to do the same thing??

I agree that what's happening in Venezuela is bad and scary, but it's also not unexpected (unfortunately), and it doesn't correlate to the US election. It is very much a cautionary tale for us, but in the case of what could happen, not what has happened yet (and which we could and MUST still avoid). Here's why I think that.

First, Maduro is the heir of 25+ years of dictatorship (first the Chavez regime and then his), and that political machine has had a full generation to fix/control everything in Venezuela just as they want it. They've collapsed the economy, driven mass emigration/purges/brain drains, installed corrupt systems and destroyed civil society, staffed the government with cronies who will only ever do what Maduro personally says -- etc. In other words, exactly what Trump and the Republicans aspire to do here in America, but with 25 years' head start, so all those fixes are well entrenched. Outside observers were also warning well ahead of the Venezuelan vote that even an overwhelming majority for the opposition candidate might not be enough, because Maduro and co. can just fix the result however they want with imaginary fantasy numbers. (See Putin's "win" in the Russian presidential "election.") Because dictators all draw from the same playbook regardless of their professed ideological temperament, they always use the same tools.

Next, voting in Venezuela is all-electronic, which is obviously the easiest kind of voting to jigger, and which means that whatever the people actually select has little to no relevance to what gets published, recorded, or proclaimed. Now, despite the Republicans' constant screaming about ELECTION FRAUD, the 2020 elections in America were widely hailed as the safest, most accurate, and fraud-free in the nation's history. (For that matter, multiple investigations afterward have re-confirmed this, and the tiny handful of cases of election fraud that were found were committed by, you guessed it, Republicans.) This did not happen because of the Orange Fuhrer and co., who were busy trying to commit election fraud on their own behalves, but because America, however flawed, is still a participatory liberal democracy and citizens have the right to engage and to do so in a meaningful fashion. We had the entire investigation about how Russia meddled with the election in 2016, and changes were made. Cybersecurity experts were brought in; redundancies and failsafes were introduced; etc., and even the Russian campaign focused on psychological influence rather than actually, physically changing already-cast votes, because that is very, very hard to do in America. We are not an all e-voting nation; there are paper trails, hard-copy ballots, hand recounts, poll observers, election lawyers, and multiple other safeguards that exist. The Republicans have been attacking them as hard as they can, but they're still there.

Thirdly, the Evil Orange tried to fix the elections when he was the sitting president (don't forget the infamous "find me 11,780 votes" phone call to the Georgia Secretary of State that got him slapped with felony charges), but he couldn't do it even then. He also tried a coup as the sitting president, with full discretion as to whether, for example, the National Guard should be deployed to the Capitol on January 6, and that didn't succeed. As such, when he's a disgraced jobless felon who is not the commander-in-chief of the American military and holds no official or political role, he's definitely not getting it done now. There were reforms made to the Electoral Count Act to prevent another January 6, Biden and not Trump would be the president at any other attempted attack on the counting of electoral votes, and I can guarantee Biden would not sit around for three hours watching Fox News and cheering the rioters on if such a thing happened again. Trump has been threatening violence again because that's the only move in his playbook, and he wants to intimidate people into voting for him out of fear that he'll attack them if they don't give him what he wants, like any other psychopathic bully. But that does not mean he actually has the tools to successfully carry it off, and honestly, motherfucker? Try it one more fucking time. I double fucking dog dare you. Biden has 6 months left in his term and total immunity, according to your own SCOTUS. So.

Basically, Venezuela has already been a banana republic for 20+ years, the dictator has had a full generation to destroy it/remake it/turn it into his personal fiefdom, he allows elections only because he already knows they won't change anything or actually remove him from power, and that is precisely what Trump wants to do in the US -- but, and this is crucial, has not done yet. Which is why it is so, so important to Orange-Proof America and get rid of him once and for fucking all on November 5th. We can do it. So yes.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 12

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3669

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, Dean and Benny being themselves.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

Your birthday was getting closer, but you weren’t really thinking much about it. It wasn’t like you could go anywhere or even be around family. The nightmares came on some nights as well, and they were always the same. On the mornings after those, you’d find Dean snuggled up to you. He never made anything weird, nor did he push to be close to you. Your mind was always swimming with questions, and there was no way of getting any answers.

There was an odd thing you’d found one day, wandering around the game room. In almost all of the rooms, at least upstairs, your parents had hidden things for you to find. So, you’d gone exploring in an all different sort of way. You checked the shelves, the walls, the doorframes, and even along the baseboards but hadn’t found anything.

Then, you looked over at the pool table, tilting your head in mild curiosity. You and Dean had played several games of pool over the last couple of weeks and you’d gotten much better at not focusing on him as much when trying to actually win. One of the places you’d never looked was under it.

Getting down on all fours, you crawled under the pool table, checking along the legs before looking up at the base of it. You tilted your head a bit, and your face contorted with curiosity as you noticed what looked like a hidden compartment that had been built into the base of it.

What the…

You reached up and unclipped the tiny clasp that was holding it closed, and several pieces of paper slipped forward. Thinking they’d fall, you quickly moved to catch them, nearly falling backward yourself. With a mild grumble, you reached up and pulled the papers from their hiding place and crawled out from under the pool table.

Leaning against it, you looked through them. They looked like a family tree or some sort of genealogy chart. It seemed to go back several generations, but what you found the most interesting was that near the pairs of names was an S. It was like that with almost every pair of names on the charts. The last piece of paper was another letter from your parents, and it brought tears to your eyes.

Dear Y/N, This is our family tree. We’re hoping that it will help you. Our family has been keeping track of its lineage for a long time. You’re special, Y/N. Empaths are born to our line every other generation as long as we are with our soulmate.  Sometimes, there is no gap, and an empath is born in the next generation. Each empath born will have an E next to their name on this chart. It’s not an initial. These are not the originals but copies of them. There’s a law firm in California that has the originals. The man who can help you is Fergus McCloud. He prefers to go by Crowley, though. All he’s waiting for is for you to contact him. He knows everything, but without you, he can’t make a move against the Vaught family. We’ll be with you in spirit, dearest daughter. Love, Your Parents

You were sitting on the floor at this point, tears again slipping down your cheeks when Dean found you. He quickly went to your side, kneeling on the floor as he pulled you close to him. You let the papers slip to the floor so you could bury your face in his chest and sob. He picked up the letter and read it while he held you, though.

He didn’t push you to talk about anything for the rest of the night, but you did notice how he had disappeared just before he did dinner. You weren't sure what to even talk about or how to form your thoughts into coherent sentences. Dean at least made sure you ate, though, and then held you close during a movie that night, which helped relax you.

It was a week from your birthday when your phone rang. While Dean was in the monitor room, you were sitting on the couch, reading one of the books you’d found in the game room. It was Sam, and that puzzled you.

“Hey, Sam. What’s up?” you asked, setting your book down on the end table.

“I have good news and bad news,” he replied, and you almost thought he sounded worried.

“Okay. I guess good news first,” you told him, a little curious now.

“Good news, your case wasn’t just thrown out of court The bad news, you have to be present because they want you to testify,” he explained.

Your heart began beating quickly while your chest tightened with anxiety. It was bad. Dean was sitting on the coffee table in front of you only a few seconds later.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching your expression when he noticed the phone in your hand. “It’s Sam…” was all you could manage to get out.

Dean didn’t hesitate, taking the phone from you and walking into the kitchen. You couldn’t hear the conversation, though. Your mind was racing, and you swore you might be having a panic attack at the thought of leaving the bunker. 

Damnit. I’m more level-headed than this! Think,

As you sat there, you forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths and let them out just as slowly. You knew you had to calm yourself down so you could think straight. As you slowly felt your body relax, you realized that you no longer had your phone. You glanced up and looked into the kitchen. Dean was pacing, still talking with his brother.

He’ll get the details, you mentally reassured yourself. It wasn’t like you understood how court proceedings worked or any of the legal jargon most of them used. Dean’s frustrated tone pulled your attention again, so you headed into the kitchen to find out what was going on.

“She can’t, Sam. No amount of protection is going to keep her safe. There has to be another way,” Dean stated, clearly frustrated but also worried.

You leaned against the opening to the kitchen, just watching him.

“Damnit! Fine. I’ll work out how to get her there,” he grumbled before hanging up and looking over at you. “You’re not gonna like this.”

—--------

Here it was, three hours later, and he was right: you didn’t like it. He’d set up transportation for the two of you. Then, you’d gone and packed up a bag of things you’d need for your court appearance. Your nerves were on edge the entire time. The sun felt nice, but it took time to adjust to it again, having been in the bunker for as long as you had been.

Benny had opted to go with the two of you, knowing Dean wouldn’t make the drive on his own, and also knew that he’d never let you drive his car. He’d also been let in on everything that was going on. The two talked, but your mind was far too full of thoughts to pay attention to anything they were talking about.

Your mind raced as Dean drove down the freeway, one black SUV behind him and one in front of him. Due to the complications of the paperwork, they were your escorts. Dean hadn’t spoken about much, and you hadn’t asked. He had at least explained that he was driving straight through to the location in California where the two of you were going to be staying. During the drive, you admired how the outside world looked. It felt like a lifetime ago, the last time you’d looked at anything in the outside world. You would have had the window down, but it was mid-January, and the air was chilly due to winter. Your soulmate’s name still hadn’t shown up completely, and so far, it still looked like rubbish, and it still stung.

You eventually climbed in the back at one of the pit stops for gas so you could sleep while Benny took over driving and Dean sat in the passenger seat. Part of you didn’t want to sleep; you didn’t want to dream. The two up front were silent until you fell asleep.

—----------

When you woke up, the sun was already bright, and Dean was driving again. You yawned and stretched before sitting up to look around. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, another yawn overtook you, and you heard Dean chuckle quietly in the front seat.

“Where are we?” you mumbled, half asleep, glancing out the window again.

“Almost to the safe house. We should be there in another ten minutes,” he explained, focusing on the road. “How’d you sleep?”

“No nightmares, and the back seat is far more comfortable than I thought it’d be,” you answered, noticing Benny was awake but quiet. 

It didn’t look like you were in the city anymore, at least not the dense part of it. Dean had briefly described how things would work and that you wouldn’t be staying in a hotel. From what you understood, your case was very complicated. Luckily, though, you were only required to be in court to testify, and hopefully, it would only be once. 

Dean pulled the Impala into the garage of a small house nestled in a small neighborhood. One SUV parked on the street, while the other parked in the driveway. You didn’t want to get out of the car, even after Benny and Dean had. Your anxiety felt like it was through the roof, and the thoughts of worry hadn’t stopped.

You didn’t even notice that Dean had opened your door until he spoke, “Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you. It’ll be alright,” he tried to reassure you.

With a shaky breath, you looked up at him, “I know. Doesn’t seem to stop me from worrying,” you replied, barely managing a small smile.

You stepped out of the car, and Dean closed the door behind you. He and Benny shared some silent conversation before Benny headed inside the house with you following. The four FBI agents were already inside, as were two others you hadn’t met yet. They were setting up laptops and monitoring equipment in the living room.

“There’s only two rooms, so two of you will have to share,” one of the male agents told you and Benny, but you were only partially paying attention.

Dean soon showed up with his and your bags, but you were already heading toward the rooms, wanting to see where you figured you’d be spending most of your time. He silently followed you as you went down the hallway, peeking inside the open doors as you went. There wasn’t much to them: a bathroom, linen closet, and hall closet, and the two rooms were identical. 

You chose the one closest to the living room because it somehow made you feel a little safer, even though all the windows did have wrought iron bars on them. Deep down, you were terrified that someone would come and find you and Dean and that your nightmare would end up becoming reality. Dean closed the bedroom door behind you, causing you to jump.

He sighed, setting the bags on the bed before he wrapped you up in his arms, doing his best to comfort you. “I know this is hard, but I’ll be here, every step of the way,” he soothed you, gently stroking your hair with one hand.

“I’m just scared,” you whispered, then hissed as your mark burned again.

Dean only let go of you to retrieve the cream from his bag, returning to your side and leading you to the bed. You sat down, still feeling in a daze as he sat next to you. His fingers were gentle as they moved your shirt just enough so he could apply the cream, but he froze.

“What?” you asked, looking at him a little puzzled.

“Nothing, sorry,” he quickly mumbled. He then applied the cream to your mark and fixed your shirt.

You hated when he did that, but with the mental state you were in, you didn’t have the brainpower to argue with him. You also mentally told yourself you’d just look at it later on in the bathroom, even knowing you’d probably forget. Dean unpacked not only his bag but also yours as you sat there, lost in your worried thoughts.

“Sitting there worrying about what-ifs isn’t going to make them go away. It’s just going to stress you out more,” he told you from in front of the closet, hanging up his suit.

“I know. I just…,” you sighed, looking at your hands in your lap, “...I can’t seem to make it stop, the thoughts.”

“Well, we’ve got internet again. We could always watch something that’s newer than what was back at your place,” he suggested, hanging a black dress next to his suit that you didn’t even notice.

“But, the agents,” you attempted to argue, looking up at him.

“So, we’ll bring the TV in here,” he replied, turning around with a soft smile.

“What about Benny?” you asked.

“If you don’t mind the company, he probably wouldn’t mind joining us,” he answered, sitting down next to you.

You looked from him to the floor, thinking again, letting a silence fall between the two of you for a bit. “Why did Benny stop being short with me after you started working at the garage?” you asked quietly, as it had been plaguing your mind for months.

He sighed, “I told him the truth, as much as I could, at least. He’d honestly like to get to know you if you were willing,” he answered, watching you.

That caused you to look up at him, wishing you knew the entire story but knew Dean would only share so much with you. “It might be nice to have more than just one friend,” you replied with a small, quiet chuckle.

Dean smirked playfully, “What if I don’t want to share you with other people?” he asked teasingly.

You giggled, turning his smirk into a smile, “What? Want to keep me all to yourself or something?” you teased back, just as playfully, appreciating how he’d lightened the mood. It always helped you get out of your head.

“Nope. Gonna keep you all to myself,” he teased, making you giggle, but a knock on your door pulled your gaze.

“Come in, Benny,” Dean said, making you look back at him, a little puzzled.

“The, uh, agents want to see the two of you,” he told you, and you felt your heart rate increase again.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Dean told you softly, taking your hand in his.

With a deep breath, you let him lead you out to the living room. Being around so many strangers was nerve-wracking, even if they were there to protect you and Dean. The entire living room looked like some sort of command center. You even noticed security footage on one of the laptops, which was quickly turned so you couldn’t see it anymore.

I should have guessed they’d have the entire place under surveillance.

“On the morning of your hearing, we’ll be leaving very early. You and Mr. Winchester will be in one vehicle with three agents. Not only is the house under surveillance, but we have agents stationed in key locations. You’ll make it to your hearing,” the male agent told you, and you almost felt bad for not remembering their names.

“Can you just call me Dean? Every time you say, Mr. Winchester, all I can think of is my father,” Dean groaned, making you stifle a giggle.

“Sorry, Mr. Winchester, protocol,” the same agent answered.

Watching Dean groan like an unhappy child did make you giggle, and you also heard Benny stifling his laughter. “Fine,” he sighed, “Benny, help me move the TV to Y/N’s room.”

The agents just watched the two of them move the TV out of the living room, with neither Dean nor Benny giving them any explanation. You cleared off the top of the short dresser, and the guys set it up on top of it. While they were doing that, you glanced over at the bed. It was a full, so you knew the two of you would be able to sleep mostly comfortably. Plus, it wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t shared a bed before. This, though, somehow felt different.

“You’re in your head again,” you heard Dean state from behind you.

You turned around, attempting to look as though you hadn’t been in your head. “No. I was just trying to figure out what side of the bed I was going to sleep on,” you attempted to explain. It was kinda true. It had been a thought.

“Pretty sure that’s not all that’s running around in that pretty little head of yours,” Dean chuckled before turning to Benny. “Wanna watch something with us?” 

“Sur’ brotha’,” he replied, his accent thick. Benny grabbed a chair from the kitchen while you and Dean got as comfortable as possible on the bed against the headboard. It wasn’t as comfortable as your bed or couch, but snuggling up with Dean helped you not think about it too much. 

Benny did chuckle when he came back into your room, though, “You two are kinda cute.”

Dean shot him a look before he went back to flipping through the channels, stopping on Scooby Doo. Benny and Dean shared a silent conversation, which you weren’t privy to, with how you were cuddled up to Dean, plus your attention was on the show.

You didn’t want to think about Wednesday, so you focused on the cartoon, Dean’s heartbeat, and his breathing. You had completely forgotten about earlier when your mark had burned. Dean would rub your shoulder occasionally, and when he wasn’t doing that, he’d rub small circles with his thumb. That night, the agents ordered pizza, enough for everyone at least. It was after that and after you’d changed into some pajamas that things felt awkward for you. Not only did you feel like someone was watching you, but you were staring at the bed you and Dean were supposed to deliberately share. 

He’d never climbed in bed with you when you had gone to bed back at your home. You only woke up with him there, holding you on nights you had had nightmares. Right now, your mind was wandering between nervousness and anxiety over the whole thing. You sighed and looked toward the window, then screamed when you saw a shadow there. Before anyone could make it into your room, the shadow was gone.

It was a cacophony of thudding feet all the way to your room as the agents burst in, guns drawn as two of them moved in front of you, pulling you back, out of the room. The other two were checking your closet, under your bed, and looking out the window. Dean pulled you into his arms in the hallway as Benny stood at his side.

“What happened?” one of the male agents asked you.

“There was someone outside my window,” you answered quietly, still quite shaken.

The agent went to the living room while Dean tried to calm you. The other agents who were in your room came out, giving the all-clear before Dean led you back inside. Your nerves were on edge, and you didn’t want to let go of Dean. You were almost holding onto him so he’d help keep your head above the sea of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“Benny, grab the whiskey you brought,” Dean told him, not letting you go.

You heard Benny leave and then come back fairly quickly. “I was savin’ that,” he grumbled slightly.

“I know, but she needs something,” Dean pleaded more with his eyes than his tone, as that was soft but gruff.

Dean helped you sit down on the edge of the bed before he finally let go of you. He popped the top and handed you the bottle, just as you looked up at him, hoping you didn’t look as terrified as you felt.

“I feel bad-” you began, but Dean cut you off.

“You need something to calm your nerves and get some sleep,” he insisted, holding the bottle out for you.

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh left your lips, but you did take the bottle, downing a little over a shot. You hissed as it burned down your throat. Benny shifted the chair that had been in your room so that it was just outside your door, leaving the two of you alone by closing the door behind him. Both you and Dean knew that the agents weren’t going to tell you anything, so neither of you went to ask.

After two more shots, you handed the bottle back to Dean, “Thanks,” you mumbled, the worry slowly dissipating.

He gently rubbed your back as you focused on your breathing. When he did finally move away, you quickly looked at him, feeling that anxiety come back.

“It’s alright. I’m just gonna get ready for bed,” he again spoke softly, attempting to reassure you.

Out of respect, you forced yourself to look away from him and more at your hands. You’d never been this terrified in your life, and it was more for Dean’s life than your own, which you still hadn’t told him. He finally pulled back the blankets of the bed, letting you get comfortable first before sliding in behind you, then pulling you close so he could hold you in his arms.

It was different than when you’d wake up to him being there. A sense of peace, safety, and comfort felt as though it washed over and through your entire body. It felt like it soothed something deep inside, almost into your soul.

“Get some sleep, Sweetheart,” he whispered softly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You too, Dean,” you sighed happily as your eyes began to close. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 13

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[rainee-da]

Hello how's your day!! I wanna request fluff for the Walkis (the six critters) if that's okay... Thank you very much!!!!

URGRHRH I JUST RLLY LIKE YOUR WRITINGS HUEGSGSJAJKAK

🍀 Lay Down in Their Lap [2]

CHARACTER ❥ Lévis Rosequartz 🧲 / Charles Contini 📞 / Galuf Gargaron 👅 / Kenny Clark 🧊 / Malcolm Curtis 🪲 / Lovie Rosequartz ⚡

W A R N I N G ⚠️ R-15 for suggestive themes on some / BIG SPOILER for anime watchers!!!! / might be too OOC for you.

L É V I S R O S E Q U A R T Z 🧲

Scarlet red creeped from his neck up to his face. He stares at you with a bewildered look, unable to comprehend your 'ridiculous' request.

"H-huh?! Y-you want t-to... s-sleep... my l-lap... are you insane?! Stop acting like an idiot!" he shrieked as he scooted back to the edge of the bench.

He tried. He swears to the mightiest God or Goddess up there that he tried his absolute best to stay firm. He tried to kept a stern posture while you're looking at him like a kicked puppy.

After all, laying on people's lap in broad daylight on school ground is too lovey-dovey! too scandalous!

What would everyone think?! What would his FATHER think?!

But his resolution dwindling as rapidly as it could when you asked him again. This time fully utilizing those puppy-eyes to its maximum capacity.

"F-Fine! Just do whatever you want!" he snapped with an angry tone as he finally scooted closer and slumped his back against the bench, grabbing his abandoned book and flipping it to random page.

His mind is gearing at a rapid pace as he tried to calm his nerves, his damaged eyes now started to feel itchy. That's fine though, just act as if you didn't care and all would be fine, right?

The rumble in his mind shatters when he finally felt that soft pressure against thighs. He, embarrassingly, lets out a high-pitched low screech and he almost bang his nape to the bench.

"I-Idiot! Stop moving around so much!" he barked weakly as he squirmed in his seat, while you simply nuzzle onto his thighs. Uncaring of his outward misery.

He swears to God you'll make him die from heart attack one of these days…

He gulped, face scarlet red and teeth gritting as he stares down at your peaceful expression. His brain fixated onto your facial features, silently making it his new fixation.

His hand moves to move the strand that is in the way of your face. And his index finger accidentally brush against your lips...

Why is it moist? Can he try it-

Your face will ended up being littered with a bunch of tiny shred of paper. Because the man above you is apparently too nervous and ending up grinding down on his book with his teeth.

C H A R L E S C O N T I N I 📞

"Y-yes? Sure, sure... of course, Mama... W-what? My voice? O-oh, I'm just cold... It's winter a-after all.. Yes, yes, of course I'm using the b-blank...kkket.... you gave me... Really, I'm fine!"

The one and only Charles Contini is, in fact, not fine. His face is currently match that of a boiling hot kettle.

His body trembles, hand almost dropping his phone as he attempts (but failed) to gave you his meanest death-glare.

But you didn't care. You just swing your head on his thigh mischievously then get your head back inside his shirt, doing whatever you want.

His other hand desperately yanked the fabric of your clothes, teeth gritting and in the break of speaking to his mother on the phone he mouthed to you a word 'please', his lips is now visibly trembling.

You, somehow had managed to make him hate talking to his mother right at this moment.

"Y-yeah yeah... Mama, I reallly think I gotta-Hhhah... Y-yeah really, I'm fine... I swear I'm fine! N-now Igottagobyeeee-" click, finally the torture is over.

He exhales loudly as he plopped his body on the bed. He rolled his body to the side, forcefully ripping you out of his lap. He mumbles, "You're unbelieveable," as he rubbed his face with his palm.

You though, didn't care. You simply take a peek to his face with a smug look on your face, clearly satisfied. Fueling his irritation more.

Out of nowhere though, the tables has turned. He startling you by moving so fast and now you're pinned down on the bed, with him on top of you.

He smirked at you, tilting his head to the side. He looks so menacing... and hot.

"Mama said that I shouldn't play rough with others... but," he purrs quietly as his hand roamed to your sides, and his other hands pick up the strand of your hair and brings it to his mouth, giving it a peck.

His head leans closer, breath brushing againts the skin of your neck and he let out a low chuckle. Your reaction is simply too adorable.

"... I think a punishment is due, don't you think?"

Don't be weird lol he just tickled your sides lmaoooo of course I'm not insinuating anything hahahahhahaa-

G A L U F G A R G A R O N 👅

"I-is this okay? Are you comfortable?" he stutters nervously, both of his hand hovers awkwardly over your relaxes figure on his lap, not knowing where to put it.

On your hair? What if he accidentally yank it? On your stomach? What if he pushed on it too hard? On your chest? Uh-

He snapped out of his turmoil when you mentioned that his shaking hand is currently sweating a river, and it's dripping down on you.

"Huh?! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to please don't hate me-" please guide this poor lad. He never done this with anyone ever before. He's seriously gonna combust into acid mess!

His jitter and stutter earning him a few sore spot in his tongue due to him accidentally biting into it when trying to talk or move. It's a wonder that he managed to NOT bite it off.

His breath hitches when you grabbed his hand gently and guide it to rest flat on your hair, telling him to try playing with it as a start. THIS IS THE START?!

He swears if he accidentally hurt you he'll yank his limb off.

As the time passed by though, he started to calmed down as his mind focused on each strand of your hair. A faint blush tinted his cheek and by the time you realized it, he's in the middle of braiding your hair into a tiny parts. All the time checking your facial expression for any sign of discomfort.

His eyes rounded into what seemed like a doe-eye and his face relaxed, the corner of his mouth is quirked upwards into a small smile. He seems happy... until-

"WHAT'CHA LOOKING AT?!" He suddenly barked with eyes glaring to the side. Panicked, your head follows his direction and you saw his gang standing over there with face full of variation of expression.

Before you managed to speak your mind, your boyfriend's voice boomed across the place as he barked the word "SCRAM", making those group of teens scramble away into obscurity, almost stumbling onto each other.

"They're so noisy, I swear to God..." he mumble quietly, his eyes trailing back to meet your surprised expression. He avert his eyes shyly and he's back to his previous mode, stumbling over his word.

"I-I'm sorry, you must be surprised right?" he stated meekly as his hand silently encouraging you to lay back on his lap. "It's just my friends, they're being noisy as per usual. I hope I didn't scare you..."

Honestly, the duality of this man is mind-boggling.

K E N N Y C L A R K 🧊

"Calm down, no one's gonna now," he said nonchalantly, patting your hair without looking at you as his hand flipped through the pages of his module.

The both of you are in the library right now, and as it should be; nobody should be flirting in the library. Getting caught holding hands in itself will earn the culprit an one-day ban from accessing the library.

But did your boyfriend care? Of course not.

Because if he cares you wouldn't be in this situation right now; head pressed down onto his lap with one hand while he busying himself, studying for finals.

He reasoned that your love is his 'battery', therefore you should be 'charging him'. Whatever that means.

Sometimes he'll look down on his lap to check on you. He'll pinch on your cheek to make you look at him and he'll blow you a kiss. With a face devoid of any emotions.

Though his face seems stoic, he's actually secretly gushing inside his mind. He swears that that your misery flustered face is so adorable! That blushing cheek, wavering eyes... it brings warm to his chest.

All of that gushy-mushy inside his mind, while you're nervously checking around the room. Afraid to find the librarian striding in without any time for you to react.

The both of you have been banned from the library for far too many times. And finals week is not the ideal time for that to happen.

Noticing your distress, he closed his eyes and sighed softly. His hand relaxed and he stopped putting pressure onto your head. Giving you a chance to finally scrambled out of his lap and act normal!

But that's too boring for him.

That's why now he wrapped his hand around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Effectively making you lean on his shoulder.

But that's not enough for him, no! so he uses his hand to tilted your head upwards, making you face him while he leans closer to rubbed the tip of his nose to yours. Enjoying the reaction he earned from you.

"Rest assured, my angel," he mumbled quietly, intentionally breathing through his mouth so it would brush onto your lips. "After all, our love is always stealthy, it will flies under the radar." yikes

You might be hallucinating but you swear that you saw a glimpes of his lips quirked upwards slightly as he leans closer slowly, tilting his head, almost touching your lips...

"MR. CLARK WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY LIBRARY?!"

On a positive note, if you get a bad grades for final, you're free to blame him now! Yay!

M A L C O L M C U R T I S 🪲

"Are you bored, my dear?" his voice is calm and soothing as he push the strand of hair that is in your face to the side, his other hand is brushing through the back of your hair gently.

He look to the side and stares at his fishing equipment that he put up by the edge of the river. It's been an hour and no fish has taken the bait yet.

He's not surprised though. Fishing is a long, waiting game after all. Especially if one decides to not use a lure. For him though, that's what makes it even more satisfying if he managed to catch one.

You lay on the grass with your head on his lap. Moaning and groaning about 'stupid fish not knowing what a fine cuisine is'. A low chuckles escapes his mouth, muffled by the tube in his mouth.

"Well, it's indeed taking longer than usual for fish to take my bait. I'm experimenting with the new bug after all," and that made you pouted. Something that he adores the most.

He's always hesitant to bring you with him fishing, knowing that you'll not be entertained. But for some reasons you always insisting on coming along, and every time his lap always ended up as your pillow.

Not that he minded though. You seemed relaxed and content as you nuzzle onto his thigh. And that's all he wanted, for you to be comfortable around him.

Not many people can bear to look at his... face. People often stated that 'it's the face that can only be loved by his mother'.

Not you though... you seems to think that his face is ethereal, as if he's one of Michelangelo's masterpiece. He never knew why you seems to think that way... but it warms his heart.

You suddenly shrieked, almost making him jump to defensive position and activate his magic. He frantically look to the side and his eyes widened when his fishing rod had finally started to twitch.

He moves away as you woke up from his lap and quickly keep a hold to the fishing rod, slowly reeling it in and strategically stopped to not startle anything that is currently taking his bait.

Meanwhile his heart thump against his chest, hearing you yelling encouragements to him as if you're a cheerleader.

And... voila! It's a baby catfish.

He stares at the wiggling little fish at the end of of his rod with a deadpanned expression, while you currently laughing your ass off.

He looks towards your direction, and he was stunned in silence as he stares at your amused face. It was simply... beautiful.

He knew his hobby is boring for you. But if it can make you laugh like this... he hopes you'll never get bored coming along with him.

He feels serene, at peace, all because of you.

L O V I E R O S E Q U A R T Z ⚡

"Oh, Hi... sorry, but Lévis is not here" he greets you with a soft voice as you come to his room, closing the book he's been reading and giving you his full attention as you walked to his bed.

His eyes widened in surprised when you, as usual, told him that you're here to hang out with him. A faint blushes painted his cheek as he let out a sweet laugh, "Oh, of course! please, come sit by me. I was starting to get bored myself."

He never gets used to you visiting him for some reasons. Even after a year of him being sick and losing his magic, he never did.

After being bedridden, it's rare for him to met people other than Lévis. His father never even consider him exist anymore, deeming him to be a defective product.

Maybe the last time he met his father was more than half a year ago? when he dragged him to this room?

All of that didn't surprised him though, he was just happy that his brother didn't meet the same fate as him. He believes all of this happen as a karma for never tried to stand up for his brother.

For you to stick around and visiting him every other weekend though, just to hang out with him and nothing else, is never failed to surprised him. I mean, why? he was weak now, everybody leaves, why won't you?

He giggles as he scoots a bit to give you space. As per usual, you'll get on his bed and put your head on his lap. Hugging his thin thigh in a koala grip as if it's your lifeline.

The pressure was a bit too tight, but it was fully welcomed. The extra warmth from your body is radiating and creeping to his heart, warming the negative thoughts away.

"How was school? anything interesting?" he questioned while brushing his hand to your hair, and his sweet smile never fades as he listens to your story. His eyes radiating with adoration as he stares down at you.

For him, your story was always interesting. Even if all you gonna talk in your entire visit is only about the shitty new cafeteria menu you had on school, it was all very interesting for him.

If you mentioned about his smile towards you, he'll giggle and cup your cheeks before giving your lips a small peck, "It's because I love you so much. You're so cute!"

Any reactions you gave him after that will earned you more peck for him. Don't scoot away from his lap though, he'll be sad! and he'll use his entire energy if he should to drag you back to his lap.

In his weakened state, all whom stay by his side other than Lévis is only you. For him, you're the breathe of fresh air in this cramped, lavish space.

Your existence stuck in his mind, and it's what keeps him going through the day as he dealt with the illness in his body.

As he pressed his forehead on top of yours, he mutters a soft 'thank you' before sighing, enjoying your presence by his side.

He'll trade everything in the world, for you to stay by his side... forever.

By the way, Lévis is currently outside of his room the entire time, holding a tray of food, wondering if he should go in and become a cockblock or not.

I'm currently as good as a constipated bull right now And THANK YOUUUUU SM BOO I'M HAPPY THAT YOU LIKE MY WRITING! 😭😭😭 UEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Since you didn't specify what type of scenario you would want me to write, I used this prompt to write for them. If this is not what you mean, feel free to send another request!!!

I put Lovie in as a curve ball because I'm curious on how I myself would interpret a character that only appeared in the few panels. But unexpectedly Malcolm ended up being the hardest one. I paused writing for a day just because of him lol.

Anyway, thank you @doughnuts-eater for your request! Sorry it takes too long for me to write! I hope you and everyone else will enjoy this one too! 🍀

[flowerprincesscherryblossom]

bully me - chapter two

pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader word count: 2978 warnings: angst, smut, explicit language, bully kook, daddy dom kook, bathroom sex, dub-con, degradation kink, choking, breathplay, spanking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, dirty talk, dacryphilia series masterlist A/N: Hope you like it and that you have a wonderful day wherever you are💜

After your little adventure in the bathroom where Jungkook had fucked you hard, much to your surprise. In all the years you've known him, and by consequence suffered at his hands, you'd never imagined that being fucked against the bathroom stall wall would ever be on that list.

"Because now that I had a taste of you, I'm not letting go," he pinned you between the wall and his chest. "And besides," he got closer to your ear. "I have some interesting things that I know will make you so wet for me, and I can't wait to try them."

Your breath was caught in your throat at his words, feeling the familiar pang between your legs, a feeling that would have to be pushed to the back of your mind as both of you heard the bell ring seconds after.

Jungkook let go of you and pulled his phone out of his pants, paying you no mind.

Cautiously you stepped away and moved to the mirror, fixing your appearance as best you could, so you wouldn't look like you'd just had sex in the bathroom, before leaving for your class, leaving your bully behind.

As you took your seat, you pulled your skirt down a little bit, on the off-chance that some of Jungkook's cum would come out of you and you didn't want to stain the chair.

Your bully arrived five minutes into the class, ignoring all eyes on him as he took his seat, you crossed your legs, remembering the threat he had given you.

The class resumed as normal, or at least you tried, as you keep squirming in your seat due to the cum that you attempted to keep from leaking from inside of you.

Unfortunately, all that shimming had the opposite effect.

As inconspicuously as you could, you pulled a tissue paper out of your bag to clean up the mess that was starting to form in between your legs, scrunching the piece of paper and putting it back in your bag to throw it out after class.

A couple of seconds later you felt something hit you in the head, a scrunched-up paper ball from the looks of it.

You looked over your shoulder to see who the perpetrator was, even though you already had a pretty good guess on that, and found Jungkook staring at you, an arched eyebrow and an intimidating look in his eyes, in contrast, there was a smirk playing on his lips while signaling with his index finger for you to pick up the paper.

You did as told, thank God the paper was next to you, and as carefully as you could, in order to avoid getting caught by the teacher, you unfolded the paper and read Jungkook's message. "I saw that bitch. I told you to keep it in and not let my cum spill. You're such a bad girl for daddy. Just wait until I get my hands on you."

You gulped down at the words and cross your legs again, the message both terrifying and arousing you. You folded the paper and put it in your bag, avoiding taking so much as a glance in your bully's direction.

Class passed like a blur, despite your best attempts to pay attention, your mind was more focused on Jungkook and whatever he had in store for you, not to mention that you could feel his eyes on you through the class's entirety, making your concentration that much harder.

When the sound of the bell was heard every student packed their belongings and left the classroom, wanting to enjoy the recess before their next class.

All except for you and Jungkook, whose looming presence behind you made you fumble and take longer to gather your things.

A couple of seconds later you heard him sigh before he pushed you away, packing your bag and slinging it over the same shoulder his was before taking a hold of your wrist and dragging you with him.

You didn't know where he was taking you but the entire time, your eyes wouldn't leave the floor, not wanting to look at anyone, you knew that they looked at you with pity.

You didn't try to fight the strong grip he had on you, it would be pointless and he was sure to win.

You had long since accepted that, when it came to Jungkook, nobody would help you.

Last year he had bashed your head against a locker more forcefully than intended, if the way he had looked at you after was anything to go by, and even as you lay on the ground bleeding from your head, no students dared to intervene.

You almost bumped into his back when he stopped abruptly, you raised your head to see why he had stopped - the boys' bathroom.

Jungkook opened the door so harshly that it hit the wall, whoever had been in the bathroom had left at the sight of him, moving so fast you couldn't tell how many they were.

The bathroom wasn't any different than the girls' one - five stalls, five mirrors, five sinks. If not for the sign at the door, nobody would know they had walked into the wrong bathroom.

"Go to the middle one, hands on the sink and facing the mirror," your bully said in a commanding tone, letting go of you and dropping both bags by the door.

You did as you were told, sticking out your bum to him. After what had happened an hour ago and his message, you didn't need to be Einstein to know what was about to happen.

From the mirror image you could see him double-checking each stall, all the while, the thoughts in your head kept getting louder and louder.

Why were you doing this again? Was it even right to enjoy what he did to you? Jungkook made you wet but he also terrified you. When he had burst open the door and caught you playing with yourself, you were scared of what his next move would be, but that feeling had quickly been replaced by pleasure and desire, something he had delivered, and it been more amazing than anything you could've ever hoped for. Was it okay to enjoy such a thing from someone that had given you so much pain?

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you felt a hand tightly gripping one of your ass cheeks, making you let out a whimper. "Such a simple order," he spoke softly while squeezing your cheek before slapping it so hard you wouldn't be surprised if there was a handprint of him there. "And you're too stupid to even follow that."

Your bully kept spanking you, alternating between left and right cheek, each one stronger than the previous one. Your hands turning white from how strong you were gripping the sink, your bottom lip bleeding from how hard you were biting it to keep quiet, and your wetness running down your thighs, all while keeping your eyes on the mirror.

After the thirtieth slap Jungkook finally stopped and step away from you, creating a small distance between the panting messes the both of you were.

"Good girl," he pushed his hair back. "But we're not done yet," his hand pulled something out of his back pocket, and then he stepped closer to you. His chest against your back, pushing you to graze your chest against the sink, letting you feel his hard-clothed cock against your wet cunt, his lips next to your ear, his hand moving towards your face to show you what he had pulled out. "Remember this?"

Of course you did, they were yours to begin with. "Y-yes daddy," you kept your eyes on the mirror, locking eye contact with him. "They're m-my panties."

He chuckled, his deep tone going straight to your center. You didn't understand how someone who looked like an angel could be such a devil.

"So you do have a brain," his free ran down your body until it reached your sopping center, rubbing the wetness around your slit before thrusting two fingers into you, doing it as slowly as he possibly could, making you moan at the intrusion. "Do you know what I want you to do with them?"

He stopped his thrusts, the smirk on his lips growing wider. You thought back to what had happened between the both of you earlier, and that's when you knew what he meant, and you knew your bully had seen the realization in your eyes.

"Yes daddy," you opened your mouth and immediately he stuffed them inside.

"Smart girl," he backed away from you, inserted a third finger into you, and started trusting them again, doing it at a fast pace.

With your moans being muffled you were free to let them out without triggering Jungkook's anger.

You threw your head back, losing yourself in the pleasure, only for a sudden sting on your beet-red ass to pull you out of the moment, making you let out a scream before that same hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing it forcefully and forcing you to stare back at the mirror.

"Eyes on the mirror slut," he whispered in your ear, his eyes focused on your figure. You did as you were told, doing your best to keep your eyes open.

"Like a bitch in heat," your bully bit your ear. "Are you close cunt? Do you want to come all over daddy's fingers?"

You nodded rapidly, feeling like you were on the tip of your toes by the edge of a cliff. But before you could fall, he pulled his fingers out of your sopping center.

At your whine, and the stinging of tears in your eyes, Jungkook laughed at you. "Such a needy slut," he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out and tying it tightly around your neck, leaving one finger width between it and the belt. "So focused on yourself, you forgot all about daddy."

He pulled the belt roughly, forcing your head to bend backward and cutting off your breath, tears streamed freely down your face, heart beating rapidly against your ribcage.

And yet, you wanted nothing more than for Jungkook to stick his large cock inside of you and make you his bitch.

He licked the teardrop that rolled down on the left side of your face, all the way until the tip of his tongue almost touched your eyeball, laughing at you afterward.

He pulled at the belt once again and whispered in your ear in his dark deep voice, his cheshire grin growing wider. "You're gonna be a good slut for daddy, aren't you?"

You nodded, starting to feel lightheaded at the lack of oxygen. At your confirmation, Jungkook let go of the tight pull he had on the belt, the sudden rush of air that filled your lungs causing your head to spin, so much so that you had to lower your head in hopes that it would help the dizziness pass.

Your bully pulled his length out of his pants, rubbing it against your dripping cunt and covering it in your juices, before slamming into you with such force that you had to steady yourself so you wouldn't hit the mirror.

"Eyes on the mirror whore," he commanded, dragging his cock completely out of you and pulling at the belt, bending you the way he wanted. He rammed into you again, his hips snapping you and causing yours to continuously hit against the sink due to his rough and fast pace. "F-fuck, how are you still so tight?"

Despite starting to get spots on your vision due to the lack of oxygen, you did your best to do what he wanted, the strong hold he had on the belt helping in fulfilling his order.

The sounds of lewd squelching, combined with Jungkook's breathy pants and your muffled moans, bounced off the walls and went straight into your pussy, feeling yourself reaching closer to your high with each thrust of his unrelenting pace.

With a stronger pull of the belt, he pulled you from your position, practically gluing your back to his chest.

As your walls clenched around his length, the hand that had previously been strangling you let go of the belt and moved towards your neck in a tight hold, angling your head so that you would be facing him, while his other hand moved towards your center, starting to rub figures on your clit.

With his teeth, Jungkook pulled your panties out and spit them to the sink. "You like taking daddy's fat cock slut?" the tip of his length continuously hit your cervix as he kept pounding into your cunt with rough and fast thrusts.

"Y- ah f-fuck, y-yes daddy, I love it," although with a hoarse voice, you said what he wanted to hear, for your attention was somewhere else. His face was so close to yours, both tips of your noses bumping into each other as each of you felt the other's breath. And for a second, you wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You were quick to dismiss the thought, you doubted he wanted that and your body was far preoccupied with something else. "D-Daddy, I-I'm close."

"Oh yeah?" he squeezed your throat, his pace faltering as he felt himself reaching his high. "Then cum. Cum all over daddy's cock. Be my obedient little whore." He started jackhammering into you. It was hard and wild, a quick and bruising pace as he worked on bringing you both to the finishing line, no doubt adding more marks to the ones he had already given you.

With a bite to your ear, you released all over him, drenching him in your juices, some of it reaching his pants due to your close proximity, his name falling from your lips loudly despite your sore throat.

As your walls trapped him inside and his thrusts became sloppier, his pace remained just as brutal, feeling himself close to his end.

"D-Daddy," you whined, having difficulty speaking. "D-Daddy, p-please cum i-inside."

At your words, Jungkook's eyes became darker and a wide grin appeared on his lips. "Yeah? You wanna be my little cum dumpster?" he was so close but choose to hold off for a bit, wanting to hear your words. "Answer me bitch, what are you to me?"

"I'm daddy's little cumslut," you answered without any hesitation, your eyes locked on his as you said it.

With a couple more hard thrusts your bully did as you wanted, releasing and painting your walls, making you let out a soft moan at the feeling.

As you both worked on catching your breaths, you leaned against the sink while Jungkook slowly pulled out of you and pulled his belt from your neck, pulling his pants up and fixing his appearance, looking like nothing had ever happened.

He took your panties from the sink and then crouched down behind you, fingering his cum back inside you and tapping your leg twice so you'd let him put on your underwear.

"Let's see if this time you're able to keep it inside," he stood up and walked towards your bags, pulling out a water bottle and your phone from yours before slinging both over his shoulder and making his way back to you.

"Unlock your phone," he said tossing it to you, which made you fumble a little so the piece of technology wouldn't fall to the ground and break. You did as told and in a flash, he replaced the phone with the bottle. "Drink."

You kept your eyes on him as you brought the bottle to your lips, and while having trouble swallowing the liquid, it did feel refreshing.

You glanced at the mirror beside you, bringing your hand to caress the mark around your neck, how the hell were you going to hide this?

You were pulled away from your thoughts at the sound of a ringtone, catching your bully pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping to the left to stop the noise.

"What're you doing?" your voice cracked, the pain in your throat seeming to increase with each word spoken while your hoarse tone made you cringe.

"Getting your number," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That way I don't have to throw fucking paper balls." 

"Why?"

"Jesus, you're really dumb aren't you?" he gave you a smirk. "Did daddy fuck you stupid baby? Is that it?"

To say you felt a little shock that the one you put you through so much pain suddenly called you baby would be an understatement.

Your eyes drifted to your feet, not knowing how to react. But Jungkook was having none of that, harshly gripping your chin and forcing you to stare at him.

"Since you lack a brain, I'll remind you," he caressed your bruised bottom lip with his thumb. "An hour ago I said I was going to take you to my house," he forced his finger inside of your mouth, and, despite the pain, you eagerly sucked on it as if your life depended on it. "Now that I have your number, I can tell you when and where to meet me after school without me going out of my way to find you," suddenly he pulled his thumb and walked towards the door. "Pay attention to it, you don't wanna know what I'll do to you if you miss anything from me."

With that, he left you all alone in the boys' bathroom, feeling slightly dumbstruck at everything that had happened.

However, you were quick to recover, fixing your appearance as best you could in a short amount of time, not wanting anyone to find you, before speeding out of the bathroom and to your next class.

[slayfics]

Why him?

Muichiro x Reader short series

Mitsuri invites Muichiro to eat with you so you can get to know him better.

Part 2

"I know!" Mitsuri exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'll invite Tokito to eat with us! That way you can get to know him better and spend time with him! I'm the best big sister ever!" Mitsuri sang in her own praise.

"N-n-no no no! I really d-don't want to do that. I w-w-would rather just keep my distance." You pleaded.

"Oh don't worry I'll be there too so there's no reason to be nervous ok?" Mitsuri said bringing out a paper and pen. "I'll write to him now about meeting us for breakfast before we all head out our separate ways!" Mitsuri swiftly wrote a letter then handed it to her crow. You desperately tried to get the letter out of her hand but you were no match for your older sister's strength.

"Get some sleep and don't worry. It's just food ok? We will have fun tomorrow morning!" Mitsuri said, putting her hand on your back to comfort you.

The next morning you dreadfully came out to the common room where you saw Mitsuri and Tokito sitting. You debated on turning around and running back to your room but just then Mitsuri had caught sight of you.

"Goooooood morrrningggg little sister!" She said with the biggest grin you had seen her have since the last time Iguro came over.

"Good m-morning..." You said grumpily sitting down.

Muichiro did not say a word but ate silently.

"Soooooooo how is everyone feeling today?" Mitsuri said, trying to make conversation.

"Fine..." You said.

"Healthy." Muichiro said looking as uninterested as ever. "Did you want to eat together for a reason?" He asked.

"Oh, I just thought it would be fun since we are both Hashira and here at the same time you know? Plus you know my sister is here too."

"Ok." Mucihro said, and turned back to his food. You shot Mitsuri a glance that was supposed to convey how bad of an idea this was and how awful it was going.

"Sooooooo you ran into my sister the other day?" Mitsuri said attempting a conversation again.

"No, she ran into me. You should train her better." He said.

"M-m-mitsuri! I told you this was a m-mistake! H-he is a-aw-awful!" You shouted letting your embarrassment about yesterday's events get the better of you. Muichiro looked between the two sisters in curiosity then went back to his food, deciding he wasn't interested.

"I've finished my meal and have some business to attend to. Goodbye." He said getting up to leave.

"WAIT!" Mitsuri yelled. "OH! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I ASKED YOU HERE BECAUSE MY LITTLE SISTER HAS A CRUSH ON YOU!"

You felt all the blood drain from your face. How could she say that to him?? You didn't know what to do. You felt such an overwhelming amount of emotions. Embarrassment, anger, sadness. It was all too much for you to take and you felt like you might explode. You ran out of the room and hurried back to your designated room, closing the door just in time before tears began to fall.

Why was Muichiro so mean? Why him? Why did you have a crush on such a dreadful person? How could Mitsuri out your feelings like that? You put your face in your hands and continued to weep. When you heard a faint knock on your door.

"G-g-go away Mitsuri. I can't b-be-believe you." You spoke with venom in your voice.

"I'm not Mitsuri and I'm coming in." You heard Muichrio respond and your door opened. Why would he come here? To insult you further perhaps. It's not like he ever had anything nice to say.

"You're crying" He said as he sat down next to you.

"Great o-observation." You replied.

"Are you crying because of what Miss Kanroji said?"

"J-j-just forget what she said, it's not true. I think you're a-awful, cruel, and m-mean." You spat.

"I am?" He asked and seemed to daze off.

"Yes! You insult e-everyone even when they are trying to h-help you and you don't seem to care for a-anything."

Muichiro came back from his daze and looked down at his hands... "Hmm... I think I used to know someone just like that..."

"You must have looked in a m-mi-irror recently." You retorted. Muichiro took no notice of your harsh words.

"Hmm... It's too bad you actually despise me... I was quite flattered to hear you had a crush on me."

You froze... he was flattered?? You couldn't wrap your mind around what he was saying. He was so indifferent to everything could he actually be flattered you had a crush on him?

"I n-never said I despise you..." You softened.

"I am too busy as a Hashira to date or even explore those types of human interactions, but you can write me letters if you wish. I will respond as promptly as I can." He said watching you intently now.

Joining the demon slayer corps so young Muichiro never had interactions with someone that liked him, and he never had chances to explore those types of feelings of his own either. As indifferent as he was on the outside, something sparked a deep memory in him of feeling warm, feelings that must have been from a long time ago. He wondered if this meant something.

"O-ok... I'll write you letters Tokito." You said taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.

Just then Mitsuri burst into the room.

"OH! I'm so dumb I let a boy in my sister's room alone! Tokito you have to get out right now!" She said red in the face.

"W-W-WHAT DID YOU THINK W-WE WERE DOING??" You said mortified. Muichiro stood up and went to exit the room.

"I'll be looking forward to your letter." He said then vanished.

I’m accustomed to writing the reader as Muichiro’s Tsuguko so this was a bit of a challenge for me. However, I hope you all enjoyed this little series! I did my best~

[swee7dream]

Hiii, I was just wondering if I could request hc's for what cg names you think NCT would use? Thanks!

I love your blog btw, it's a huge comfort when I'm regressed or want to regress and can't :)

cg!dreamies' favorite nicknames ! cg!nct dream x f!reader

genre fluff, agere content warnings feminine nicknames, one mention of blood dni if you sexualize age regression author's note thank you so much for the request and kind words, nonnie ! leaving huge kiss on ur forehead. 127 + wayv soon ( now that i'm out of school ! cheer ! )

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

mack ! the result of his tiny struggling with the letter r - 10/10. very cute no notes from him

also, consider: minnie

was a bit feminine for his liking at first but didn’t say anything

over time it’s a name he’s grown attached to and is lowkey overcome with cuteness aggression when you call him that

“what rhymes with heart?” mark breaks the comfortable silence in his room, notebook next to his seat on the bed as you draw with your belly to the floor, feet swinging up in the air. “um… part? bart? lart?” you think. “heart… fart. hehe.” “…part.” he repeats in a mumble, scribbling the idea down. “fart!” “i’m not using the word fart in this song, baby.” “minnie so boring!”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

jun! specifically jun(e) bug.

likes having matching names with his tiny so he calls you lovebug! junebug and lovebug.

you also call each other just bug, for obvious reasons.

that would be his only “title” so to speak

uncomfortable with any of the traditional ones and cringes at the other ones because he is nothing if not the number one HAY TER

“bug has gotta go to the restroom, okay?” “okay!” you reply, hopping off your seat and walking down the hallway, not even noticing renjun matching your pace at your side. when you two bump into each other at the door frame, you just blink at each other. “wait, which bug gotta go bathroom?”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

nono :3

liked it until you began to say it nonstop as an excuse to tell him no to things like changing into your pajamas or drinking water

so used to jaemin that when you started calling him puppy he didn’t even blink

you don’t even call him that often, just when you’re in that in-between of a play pretend and not

never calls himself that though.

“puppy, help.” you pout. jeno drops his head to the side, hands still balled up to his chest, immersed in his role of doggy at the vet. “got’a cut.” you hold up your pointer finger, blood beginning to gather and spill out of a slit in your fingertip. “paper cut, gumdrop?” “yeah…” “let me see, sweet girl.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

channie

titles were an attempt. he really tried it lol

but you just couldn’t! he’s not a daddy or a mommy or a sibby ! he’s just your channie

you also tried hyuckie but when you skipped your ‘h’s it sounded like you were saying yuckie and as funny as it is to you, it always was met with haechan’s :l

you still call him that, but only when he’s being annoying and not paying attention to you!!! something about needing to sleep or something

whatever. as if

“channie!” your shout wakes hyuck in a split second, the balance he found falling asleep in his desk chair lost. his feet hit the floor with a thump as he turns to meet your eyes. “what’s wrong?” he breathes out. “lunchtime! made sammies!” you grin, acting as if you hadn't almost given him a heart attack.

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

any! he honestly doesn’t care, he finds all of them adorable

nana and jaemie are a given, i feel

he’s so nana shaped! :D

he likes other names more, though.

even if you don’t call him it yourself, if you are comfortable with it he will refer to himself as daddy. ‘daddy this, daddy that’ 25/8

you considered using your washi tape to shut him up once but didn’t want to waste it

his hands have a mind of their own to pinch your cheeks to death when you’re really little and you can’t help but let a ‘mama’ slip.

it’s like a reward /ref

“meow…” still waking up from a nap, you point at luke grooming himself. “meow?” jaemin’s eyes raise from the potatoes he’s peeling at the kitchen sink to see you laying on the couch, cheek pressed into the cushion. “meow, mama.” you repeat, wiggling your fingers to encourage luke to come closer. a lazy smile appears on your face when he does. “lukey’s a meow...”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

daddy.

point blank. no other options

when you’re Little the ink on his birth certificate magically erases ‘chenle’ and writes in its place ‘daddy’

if you call him chenle he will turn around (a full 360 degrees) and then just ask: “who’s that? is somebody else here? that’s so crazy what”

he’s goofy like that

refers to himself by his title more than you do. which is saying a lot considering he likes you saying it so much he basically makes you say it every time you ask for something

chenle drops his head down do your lips brush against his ear when he heard you mumble something he couldn’t understand. “talk to me, dollface.” “sleepy…” there’s a pause in between the two syllables as you rub your cheek on his sleeve like one of jaemin’s cats. “wanna home.” “you wanna go home?” “yeah.” “okay bye.” he sing-songs, gently lifting your head off him. “no…” you sigh. “daddy, can we go home please?” “of course, princess, let me go get our coats.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

jiji/didi + sungie + bubby

where did bubby come from? jisung doesn’t know. honestly, you don’t know either. you just said it one day and it stuck.

at the very beginning of figuring out how your regression would work with jisung added to the mix, you looked up a list of cg names and just went down the list, giggling at his very physical reactions to each one

best reaction? daddy. he literally looked like a cartoon character getting hit by a giant piano

you had to take a break. bro dissociated for a solid minute

“didi okay?” you pouted, waving a hand in front of his face. his eyes were out of focus and you haven’t seen him even blink for the past few seconds. “didi, wake up!” you whine, pulling at his fingers to no avail, leaving you to stand before him with your arms crossed until you stomp away. “gonna watch pj masks by m’self!” your decision snaps jisung awake, chasing after you immediately. “no, wait! don’t start it without me!”

author's note off-topic but yves (re)debuted recently ! highly suggest for everyone to give her ep a listen :D

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part 1

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2033 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Author has daddy issues and not the sexy kind, listening to masturbation.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish? Anyway, I didn't have loving parents and I am projecting here.

Being in the military had it’s perks, you were free from your parents, you had worked hard enough, long enough to be rewarded with your own little quarters, and it wasn’t much, but it was yours, enough to retreat after a long day, a hard mission, it was yours.

The downsides? The walls were paper thin, you could hear your neighbour shitting after taco night, but eventually you got used to it. You were just really lucky the neighbour of your right side was Simon. The two of you had been working together for a while now, and it was safe to say that you had become friends.

On the other side of the wall was indeed Simon. Simon who had promised himself to never get attached again. He had escaped his childhood home, and he wanted to keep himself from getting hurt again.

That was until you came along, you with your soft smile, with your sparkling eyes, your beautiful hair. And if you were just beautiful, he could’ve fucked you and ghosted you afterwards, but no, no you were not only pretty, you were kind, thoughtful, smart and sure as hell feisty.

Feisty enough to bite back when needed, to stand up for yourself or others, but sweet enough to remember his favourite sweets, or his birthday, and he could feel himself falling for you.

He realised it at breakfast, he had been wanting to see you, to talk to you, and you weren’t there, and for the first time, it felt as if something, someone was missing. A small piece of his soul being ripped away from him and he had to pretend all day that it didn’t bother him, while his mind was flooding with his worries. He didn’t recall there being any missions, and surely you would’ve told him if you were to be on leave? Or worse, leave the army?

He could feel the tension leave his shoulders when he finally saw you again, a scowl on your face when you left the toilets. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t heard your alarm go off this morning, and the fact that you were the only cleaning toilets told him that you had overslept. With a silent chuckle he promised himself that he would wake you up every morning, to safe you from such horror.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to confess, he just simply didn’t know how to. Every time he wanted to, every time he wanted those words to leave his lips, you just had to look up at him with those sweet, sweet eyes and he couldn’t. His voice would leave him, and his courage was nowhere to be seen, so he just kept quiet, tried to keep you close by telling you stupid jokes, army humour as he called it.

To make matters worse, the walls were thin, too thin, he could hear you stir in your sleep, he could hear you on those lonely nights where your hand wandered underneath your blanket, and he would promise himself to not listen to it, to give you that privacy, but after the third time he couldn’t. He just had to listen to make sure that you weren’t calling out his name, because if you did, he would’ve come to the rescue.

But you didn’t, not once did his name leave your pretty lips, just soft moans and whiny whimpers. It was enough for him, enough to make his own fist twitch in a desperate need for you, his hips bucking up in an attempt to keep his bed from creaking too much, he couldn’t have you hear him listen to you.

And tonight would be no different, Simon had made himself comfortable in his bed, waiting for your little ritual to start, his eyebrow raising when he didn’t hear those sounds he was so familiar with. Instead your voice was a hushed whisper and he couldn’t make out what you were saying. It frustrated him, who were you talking to, and why?

His blood ran cold when he could hear the loud laughter of a man, he kicked off his blanket, putting on his grey sweatpants before he left his room. Fist knocking on your door while he tried to calm himself.

You weren’t his, and he had no right to be so possessive over you, but what were you thinking? Seeking out the solace of another man while he was right there?

He would, of course, pretend that it would be about safety, did you know how dangerous it was to bring a random stranger into the base? Did you even think about it.

He knocked again, more urgent. “Open the door.”

You opened the door, an apologetic smile on your face. Your eyes fixate on Simon and he can feel the anger fading away. You looked so sweet, so innocent.

You on the other hand, had no clue what he was thinking, you had been on a skype call with your family, and in all your joy you had forgotten to keep track of your volume level.

"Was I too loud?" You asked. "I'm sorry."

His look is stern, his fingers clenched into an almost white-knuckled grip. Yet there's something else lurking on the verge of those eyes, the beginnings of something...painful, an emptiness from the core of his identity.

"Don't apologize," he replies softly. His voice, too, is low and breathy. But there's a calmness there, the lack of which would've set you on edge. "Just...let me in."

"Yeah sure, sure." You said as a response to his request. You stepped to the side, to let him in. "I'm on a Skype call with my family. My dad laughs really hard. So you might have heard him"

 An idea pops up in your head, you knew a thing or two about his backstory, about his childhood. And it always made you really sad that he never experienced the true love a family could give.

"Want to say hi?"

"Mhm," is his only initial response, but as he steps inside your room, he's greeted by your smile, your soft, almost angelic eyes. Those, for a moment, have him mesmerized. He almost forgets what he's doing here. Then he remembers, when you offer him a chance to meet the people who bring you joy.

"Sure." He steps deeper inside your room, but he doesn't leave the door open, closing it behind him, so the two of you are tucked away in your own little world Your eyes light up. "Oh they're going to be delighted to meet you." You had told your parents about him plenty of times, maybe it was the little crush you had, maybe it was just because you were a nice person, who would know?

You grab his hand, dragging him along to your bed, urging him to sit down, before you placed your laptop on your lap, making sure the both of you are on screen.

"Mom, dad, this is Simon!"

He's never had a family like this of his own, and he's both nervous and curious about how they'll react. His expression, then, is one of curiosity. He's seated beside you, his hands clenched against his thighs, the only thing resembling a weapon, an automatic coping mechanism to keep him safe, just as you set the laptop up. His eyes are locked on the screen, the image of your parents on the other side.

You’re a mix of your parents, that much he can tell, and it is fun to see little pieces of them in you. Your father is a more social person, he smiles wide at Simon. Your mother is more reserved, but the smile of your father caused your mother to smile too.

"Good to meet you boy!"

For a moment, he doesn't respond. His eyes are glued to the screen, but they travel back and forth between your parents. The sight of them smiling genuinely, of them together...it fills him with an ache in his chest. And before he knows it, he's fighting back a few tears. God damn it, now is not the time to get all emotional.

He smiles. "It's nice to meet you too," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look at him as your gaze softens, it is the first time you have seen him so vulnerable, so you give him a little pat on his knee, a little encouragement.

"So." Your father continues. "You've been keeping my girl safe?"

He looks down at your hand for a few seconds, at your gentle touch. That, more than anything, is what makes him crack. He reaches out to grasp your hand, squeezing it a little harder than would be expected.

"I have," he replies in a strained voice, as if fighting with himself. "But, if you don't mind me saying so, she keeps me safe."

The comment gets rewarded with a laughter from your father.

"Ah yes. Our girl has always been a feisty one." You know the shimmer in your father’s eyes way too well and you groan. You have heard this story way too many times before.

"One time, when she was a little toddler, in kindergarten, one of the other kids, a boy, tried to kiss her, and she beat him with a plastic bucket."

The ghost of a small smile appears on Simon's face, although it's quickly replaced by another pang of that ache in his chest. The image...it's almost like seeing you as a kid again, although he never had the chance.

"How many stitches did the boy need?" He teases.

Your father chuckles, and you roll your eyes. You can tell he'll be bringing this up again in a few years, if not sooner.

"None." You grumbled. "But I did bust his lip before they pulled me off."

Your mother chuckled too. "She was such a cute little girl, but such a temperament."

After that your mother gets up, and gets out of your view for a second.

You lean towards Simon a little closer. "If she shows you my baby pictures, I'll lose it." You whispered softly, making sure your parents couldn’t hear.

And sure enough your mother returns, with a large picture book, holding it up for the camera.

It shows a picture of you, no older than four, hair in two pigtails and a big smile on your face, holding a blue bucket. "Can you imagine?"

Your parents aren't the only ones laughing at this memory, as Simon is chuckling softly at the sight of a younger version of you. His eyes are fixed on the picture, the two pigtails, how pure and innocent...

...until you remind him that he's sharing this moment with your family, and not the one he was born into. So he pushes it aside for a moment, and focuses on you. "It's a nice picture," he says softly.

You feel a little bad, knowing his upbringing wasn't the best one, and you give his a little squeeze, an apology and reassuring gesture in one.

Your mother is unaware of his internal struggle, as she holds up a new page. Five year old you in a pink tutu. "She refused to wear anything else for six days." Her mother and father laugh.

Your eyes are gentle, as you squeeze his hand back. And that, it softens the blow of what's happening. Your parents, the memories they share with you, it's something he has never experienced. But sharing it with you, that makes it real enough.

His expression softens as he see the new page. The pink tutu, that smile...He’s almost jealous again.

"She looks so beautiful," He whisper. And his voice, it's filled with that same longing for love.

The gaze of your father softens, a proud smile on his face. "She is."

"I know she can take care of herself but.." her father gets cuts off by the sound of the doorbell. "Excuse me for a second." He said, as he got up.

Your mother closes the picture album. "You know Simon, next time you two are allowed on leave you should come with her."

[sugatrapp]

「 S l e e p 」

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

Pairings: Severus Snape x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: What he thought was a nightmare turned out to be something else entirely.

Warnings: NSFW / Sexual themes ~ Somnophilia (sexual arousal towards a sleeping/unconscious person) ~ Masturbation ~ Non-specified gender or genitalia of reader

AO3

Masterlist

Ko-Fi

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

It irked him to no end to admit, but he worried for you.

Your living arrangements weren’t orthodox to say the least. Two professors who were mere strangers months ago living together was something he never would’ve imagined. Seeking out answers from Dumbledore when first finding said stranger unpacking and rearranging his things only infuriated him more. The old git had that glint in his eyes that never failed to make him question why he hadn’t found employment elsewhere. He was always thinking—plotting—up ways to make his job more difficult.

If he was forced to play one of the old man’s games, then it would be on his terms.

Whatever you chose to do with the spare bedroom was your business decorations wise. Any other areas were off limits. You didn’t touch his things and he wouldn’t bother yours. He liked peace and quiet when he got back from teaching so no unreasonable noises.

You were disappointed at the stifling strictness but agreed to his rules. It didn’t stop you from trying to be at least cordial with him. You made him breakfast in the mornings, greeted him when he got back from work, and even did some of his chores such as washing dishes if he was particularly busy with grading.

His external demeanor didn’t change, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the gestures. He reciprocated little by little—buying the snacks he noticed you bought frequently, picking up items you needed from the store, even grading your papers when he’d finished with his own. He wouldn’t say he was thrilled at the lack of privacy, but he came to tolerate your presence.

However this lack of privacy would become apparent when at an odd hour of the night, he heard you mumbling and groaning in your sleep. This had been happening for the past week. Each time, it sounded like you were having a nightmare, something all too familiar that kept him awake most nights. That feeling of waking up in a cold sweat with only yourself to reorient your tormented thoughts was a sharp one to swallow. Even if he felt for you in this regard, the mere thought of invading your space didn’t sit well with him.

He was set on ignoring you to attempt to find his own sleep, but a particularly woeful groan halted him in his tracks. Surely you wouldn’t mind him waking you from such an awful occurrence. After all, YOU had disturbed him first.

Ever so slowly he twisted the handle and eased the door open, peeking inside. His eyes widened and he placed a hand over his mouth to contain his gasp. You were lying on your stomach in the middle of the bed, asleep. While that was nothing to write home about, the fact that a pillow was nestled between your thighs being actively gyrated on was something else entirely.

The feeling of intruding intensified, but he couldn’t force himself to look away. You were mumbling something. He didn’t know what made him inch further into the room—morbid curiosity, the fabric of his pants straining, or even a little perversion—but he heard your next word loud and clear.

“Sevy…”

When you first gave him that nickname, he didn’t know how to react. He barely responded to it. But now, hearing you utter it in your sleep while acting out what was no doubt a dirty fantasy, it became all the more confusing and arousing. Him? Of all the people you could have, you fancied him?

“Sevyyyy…”

Before he could fully register what was happening, his hand descended beneath the waistband of his pants and briefs, wrapping around his now fully erect length. He fought the groans crawling up his throat as he began to stroke himself to the pace of your hips.

You ground harder into the pillow, whimpering his name and pleading for him to go faster. He did, closing his eyes and leaning against the doorframe. The rational part of his brain was screaming at him, letting him know just how many boundaries he was crossing, how much of a creep he was being but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not while he was imagining that it was your hand instead of his fisting his angry red cock. An all too familiar feeling brewed inside him, ramping up the faster his hand stroked, the more he thought about you in between his legs, on top of him.

He groaned beneath a closed fist as he came over his trembling hand. There was no time to react as you jolted awake with a loud moan, thighs clamped against the pillow. You sat up rubbing your eyes, mumbling something along the lines of ‘not again’ before you went to get out of bed only to be halted in your tracks at his statuesque form at your door. A long moment of tense, embarrassed silence fell over you both.

Finally, you found the words.

“So…you heard…”

He nodded.

“And you’re seeing…”

You nodded.

Another awkward moment.

“W-Well I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

His brows reached for his hairline as you stripped off your top and ruined bottoms, naked before him.

“I have to see if you’re as good as in my dreams.”

Once his composure was regained, a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he began to unbutton his shirt beneath your watchful eye.

“Spread your legs.”