#first I almost choked then I almost fell down the stairs and then I was almost hit by a car

[writerfae]

Destiny tried to kill me three times today but I dodged it every single time 🫡

[plathfiles]

Ok but what if Felix x fem!reader and Oliver is tryin to kill her first yk but fails like maybe Felix walks in and Oliver tries to lie n cover it up type of thing or that reader just ended up in a small coma? Am I ok to request this?

please i love this, honestly a sucker for angst so thank you for sending this to me 😵🫶🏻

i hope you enjoy xx

❧❧❧❧

pairing: felix catton x fem! reader

warnings: attempted murder, physical abuse, angst but with a happy ending, oliver is his own warning. lmk if i missed anything

masterlist

You had found out Oliver’s secret. He was lying to Felix and everyone about his family.

One day you and Oliver were sun bathing, waiting for Felix to return from a discussion with Farleigh. Oliver was wondering what was taking so long so he went over to where they were. He’d left his phone on his chair and it started to ring.

It was his mother. Curious, you answered the call. That was when you found out everything. The lie about his Father, his financial status, everything. You were in shock and also angry. How dare Oliver take advantage of Felix like that. How dare he take advantage of your friendship.

You planned to confront him and that’s exactly what you went to do. Walking back into the castle, you saw Oliver walking up the stairs.

“Hey Ollie!” You shouted. He turned around and looked at you with confusion. You tossed him his flip phone.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked, your protective side coming out.

“Y/n, you’re acting strange. I don’t know what you mean?” Oliver said, although on the inside he was nervous.

Oliver and you were both on the stair case, he was above you and you were closer to the ledge.

“I know you lied. I know everything! About your father and where you come from. You’re a fucking liar, Ollie,” you said, looking up at him defensively.

With him being on the stairs, he was taller than you. Oliver walked down a couple steps, to match your eyesight.

“How could you have possibly found out?” Oliver asked, his voice now lower and more intense. It wasn’t a denial and you took a step back.

“Your mother called. She wanted to send you a card for your birthday,” you snapped.

“You should be careful. You might trip,” Oliver said. He needed to get rid of you. Or else you would mess up his plans.

You stood your ground, “I’m going to tell Felix. In fact I’m going to tell everyone,” you said lowly, looking directly into Ollie’s eyes.

In an instant, Oliver’s hand went around your neck, choking you. “You are not going to tell a soul. Is that clear?” He asked, almost teasingly.

You panicked and tried to pull away from him, but when you did you fell down the bottom of the stairs. Everything went pitch black.

At that moment, Felix and Farleigh had walked into the room. Farleigh only saw you fall but Felix saw Oliver’s hand around your throat and then saw you collapse down the stairs.

Felix’s heart broke, seeing you unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh my god! did you push you her?” Farleigh yelled in shock.

Oliver looked at Farleigh and Felix. “It was an accident. She was going to attack me,” Oliver said, trying to play the victim.

Felix didn’t care though, he knew what he saw. And he wanted answers. But first you need to go a hospital.

“Y/n, baby please wake up,” Felix said, hovering over you on his knees. He lifted your head up and some of your body but you were out cold.

“Felix I—,” Oliver began to say, but Felix looked up at him in pure anger.

“Go. Now. Before I do something I’ll have to cover up,” Felix threatened. If looks could kill then Oliver would be a dead man.

Farleigh called Elsbeth and Sir James and the family immediately called the fastest doctor they could find.

That was the thing about being rich, you could get anything delivered to you at any time.

One of the guest rooms was turned into a hospital room. You still hadn’t woken up and Felix wouldn’t leave your side. The doctor said you weren’t in grave danger. But just in a small coma because of the impact of your head hitting the stone floor and the loss of oxygen from being choked.

Felix was angry at Oliver. Oliver had went to his room after Felix threatened him. Duncan had locked the door.

Felix would get his answers soon. But he knew he wouldn’t believe Oliver in the slightest. He had no right to put his hands on you.

Felix stayed by your side the entire night. You still hadn’t woken up and he was worried you never would. He took your hand and squeezed it comfortingly, he needed you to know that he was by your side.

Then, as if you’d felt Felix’s touch, you slowly opened your eyes.

“Felix,” you said, your voice soft and hoarse.

Felix’s heart leaped and he smiled when you awoke. “Y/n, darling. I’m here,” he said, softly.

“Felix,” you said, beginning to cry. You thought you were going to die. You didn’t know Oliver could do those horrible things.

“Shh it’s okay, lovely girl. I got you. You are safe,” Felix comforted. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you,” he insisted.

Your stomach filled with butterflies and a small wave of comfort washed over you.

“But Oliver—he, he’s not who you say he is,” You said, looking at Felix like you would need hours to convince him.

But Felix wanted him out of the house for just purely putting his hands on you. When hearing this though, Felix raised a brow.

“How do you mean?” He asked. And you explained. The call with his mother, the confused questions you asked when you heard that his father really wanted to see Oliver.

Felix’s face broke and grew in concern. He felt like an idiot. How could he have put his trust in such a person? How could he have let someone like him anywhere near you?

“I’m so sorry, Felix. I know you two are close,” you said, tears streaming delicately down your face.

Felix shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I should apologize to you. I’ll fix this. We’ll have Oliver out of the house by the end of the day,”

“And when we return to Oxford?” You asked, Felix wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumb.

“We won’t see him back at Oxford, I promise,” Felix replied. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here and I’ll protect you.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. As soon as you fell asleep, Felix called his father into the room. Felix never left your side but told his father that Oliver needed to be removed from the house and a restraining order needed to be placed on him.

Felix would never let anything like this happen again. Not to the people he loves—especially you.

[arminsumi]

HELLOOO THERE!! Can I request gojo dating reader because of a bet with suguru and falling for reader, reader doesn’t know and was hurt when they overheard they’re just a bet, angst to fluff pls 🫶🫶🫶

thank youuuu, hope your having a good day!!

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

A/N: u have no idea how much i LOVE this idea anon!!! 💗💗💗 i really hope i did it justice 😩

Wc ≈ 1.4k

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: Suguru betted that Gojo could make anyone fall in love with him, even someone who was his complete opposite — like you.

Warnings; angst-to-fluff, angst contents — {self-loathing (Gojo), crying, heartbreak}, a little bit suggestive at the end, kissing/making out

♪ michelle

It was nice while it lasted.

The handholding in public, the stolen cheek kisses, the pampering and spoiling, relishing in the jealous looks thrown your way when he fed you bites of his food in the cafeteria, bathing in Gojo Satoru's affection. A lot of people would have killed for your position, or even a glimpse into what it's like to date your college's biggest heart throb.

You two seemed to really like each other. It was like two mismatched puzzle pieces somehow fitting together — a fascinating connection was shared. No one would have put you and him together, not even Gojo.

The only reason he asked you out in the first place was...

"Suguru, that's such a nasty idea... I love your mind."

"Just don't actually fall in love with her. The whole idea of this bet is that you can prove any girl can fall in love with you, don't forget that."

Gojo had chuckled at this, it seemed so ridiculous.

Why would he actually fall in love with you? You weren't even his type. He never paid you a sparing glance, not at school, not at parties, not around town.

You weren't his type...

So why did his heart start panging excitedly a few months into your 'fake' relationship? Why did he swoon when you fell asleep laid on his chest in his dorm room? Why did he want to kiss you so badly every time he saw your face? Why did he jump like a cat whenever he got a text from you? Why did he kiss you like the world was ending?

And why did he cry when you found out the truth? He looked distraught when Suguru let the secret slip.

Why did Gojo Satoru, the strongest, beg on his knees for you to stay when you were about to walk away?

"Please! I'm so sorry! I know it was so wrong and fucked up — shit I regret it so much — I really like you! I swear to god, I swear on my life!"

You choked on your tears so badly that you could barely talk. "I can't believe you. This is such a fucking horrible th - thing to do to s - someone, Gojo."

He felt so hurt that you went back to calling him Gojo and not Satoru, like you used to when the two of you were just mild acquaintances.

"Don't go!" He almost yelled.

His arms wrapped around your midriff, he slid down like he was too weak to support himself — like his legs went limp. He slid down until he was clinging to your legs. He sobbed with such a genuine-looking crying face that you almost believed it. He wasn't play-crying like he does to get attention or persuade people, he was ugly-crying.

Gojo Satoru, the prettiest boy you ever knew, was an ugly-crier. A string of saliva glistened between his canines, his mouth hung open like a dramatic renaissance portrait of a distraught man. His eyes were pinched so tight that fat tears cascaded out the corners.

"Please don't go!"

⁕⁕⁕

Suguru found his best friend sat in the middle of the campus' main stairs. Desolate. One hand holding up his heavy head. Regretful. eyes closed.

"So it didn't go well?"

Satoru didn't raise his head, but he slowly opened his eyes and looked miserably at the floor. He watched a line of ants.

"It went as horribly wrong as you could imagine." he responded eventually.

Suguru came to sit next to him. "Are you really in love?" he asked him seriously.

"Of course I fucking am! — sorry..." Satoru snapped, then immediately mumbled an apology.

A long summer breeze went by.

"Try again." he suggested, "I'm sure she'll - "

"She fucking hates me."

There was a heavy silence after Satoru said that.

"If I were her, I'd hate me too." Satoru muttered.

Suguru went silent. He felt guilty, after all, he was the one that dared his best friend to do something as stupid as play with your heart.

Satoru watched the ants scurrying along. He felt as puny and weak as one right then. The realization of these feelings themselves are what urged him to abruptly stand up.

"I'm not giving up. I'm gonna explain to her that I really did fall in love — that I really do fucking like her so god damn much it's insane and stupid."

"That's the spirit — where are you going?" Suguru asked curiously as Satoru began heading over to the parking lot.

"I'm gonna go bring her flowers and... stuff..." he replied unsurely.

Will that really work? He wondered to himself.

"But it's gonna rain." Suguru said, "Heyyy, Satoru, listen don't just — ah, there he goes... idiot really fell in love when I warned him not to..." he muttered pitifully.

⁕⁕⁕

There was a knock at your apartment door.

You wrung it open to reveal a heartbroken Gojo Satoru, soaked-through with rain, standing in the downpour, panting while holding onto a bouquet of vividly red roses. You couldn't have witnessed a more dramatic scene in a movie.

His hair was completely flat with wetness. There were raindrops running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin.

On the walk to your apartment, Satoru had mentally written a speech for you.

It was definitely a well-rehearsed heartbroken boy's 'take me back' speech. Flawless and direct. Surely it would have sufficed.

But he didn't say even the first few words of his practiced speech when your door flew open.

All he did was break down crying and fall to his knees right in front of you, like some dramatic actor — except he wasn't acting, you could feel the realness of his regrets and miseries through each sob.

"Satoru..." you looked down at him pitifully. "Come inside, you're gonna get sick." you said tenderly.

For some reason, those very small words communicated more emotions than any form of 'I love you' ever could.

⁕⁕⁕

His pretty nose was slightly upturned. You noticed that when he first kissed you after your third date.

You noticed it again when you observed how red it had become from crying and sneezing.

Wrapping a blanket around him. Drying his hair. Fluffing it with your fingers. Making him some tea. Sitting him down on your bed. Putting on a movie. Letting him curl up into your arms — something he never did when you two were 'dating' because he was convinced he had to show off his dominance to win you over.

All of this together settled the air between you two. But it still didn't explain everything.

"Why'd you do something so dumb?" you asked him half-humorously.

He nibbled and chewed on his lip, eyes on the TV — not really, actually they were looking at your subtle reflection within it.

"I'm an asshole." he admitted.

"You don't say." you chuckled.

He felt bad, and uncurled his body and raised his face to look at you. Satoru never wore a serious expression in all the time you've known him, both as acquaintances and 'lovers' — except for now, which is how you know it's true.

"I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you. Suguru dared me because... well, because it seemed comical. We're opposites, no one would ever put us together right? But he and I thought that was a hilarious challenge. We wanted to see if I could catch you and make you fall in love with me, or something like that..."

He started mumbling his words and refused to look at you.

"Satoru."

"Yeah?"

He reared his head up at you.

"Did it mean something to you, the time we spent this summer?"

He didn't hesitate to respond, "It meant everything." he said.

"Well, then there we go." you said with a little smile.

"Am I being forgiven...?"

"Mhm."

He seemed taken aback and unsure. Was he really being forgiven? Were you reversing the script on him and pulling a trick on him now?

"Does this mean..." he mumbled quietly, "... that I'm allowed to kiss you right now?" he asked nervously, heart panging, eyes giving your lips a longing glance.

"You're such an idiot." you sighed, "Yeah of course it means you can kiss m — mmmf!"

You never managed the rest of your words out, they all got muffled on Satoru's lips. His hand came to cup your right cheek, fingers caressing your skin like you meant everything to him. He tilted his head into the kiss, broke apart for air, dove back in, kissed you feverishly fervently violently eagerly — with so much affection and thankfulness that you almost couldn't breathe due to being smothered.

"Sorry..." he panted after breaking the kiss, bottom lip glistening with saliva. "I'm sorry for breaking a heart as good as yours."

"Just don't do it again." you told him in a whisper.

The poor boy, two days without kissing was really too much for him. He went right back in and kissed you blue, until you gasped and subconsciously wrapped your legs around his slim waist and pulled him closer. His whole body felt hot and eager. You tasted so good, you looked so good, you loved him so good — he decided right there in the back of his mind that he'd marry you after graduation.

[bansurii]

Pen Pals

pair: sukuna x afab!reader

content: smut, stalking, threats, slight violence, dubious consent i think ?, profanity, choking, an impossible angle, sukuna is a serial killer but we never touch fully on that, reader is scared a lot, and idk what more is needed but just be careful proceeding MDNI thank you!

line dividers @cafekitsune

“So, what if your charming pen pal turns out to look like Quasimodo?”

“I have his picture! Besides, it’s not like we’ll ever actually meet. He’s serving life.”

Your friend gaped at you, her eyes widening in disbelief. 

The conversation had begun with your usual letter-writing ritual. What had once been a simple hobby had evolved into an infatuation with a man labeled as one of the world's most dangerous criminals. Despite his reputation, his letters had been nothing but kind, making your heart flutter with each new page. His picture revealed a ruggedly handsome man, his body adorned with tattoos that hinted at a dangerous past.

You had told your friend about him almost a year ago. Predictably, she responded with trepidation, urging you to choose a less notorious correspondent. 

“He’s still a person,” you’d argue. “Even the most hated need love too. And what harm could he do if he never knows where I live, let alone what I look like?”

However, his latest request had unsettled you both. He wanted a picture of you, something to remember you by during lonely times. Your friend was livid when you mentioned it.

“You cannot send him a picture! What if he has friends on the outside? I refuse to become a target because of your bad decisions!”

You laughed it off, continuing to write a diplomatic yet affectionate refusal. Your friend, exasperated, finally sighed in defeat.

“Well, enjoy writing to the serial killer. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s place for a while. If he gets out and comes after you, call the police first, then me.”

You reassured her with a laugh, promising to be cautious. She hugged you tightly before leaving. Neither of you noticed the grey car parked across the street, its presence having become so familiar it was easily ignored.

The following evening, a knock at your door startled you. Expecting your friend, you were puzzled to find no one there. Just a box. 

With a mix of excitement and dread, you approached the door. The box bore a note in handwriting you recognized instantly:

*Such a beautiful home. I thought you would enjoy a little gift from the other side…*

Your anxiety surged. You scanned the empty, unnaturally quiet street before retreating inside. The flickering streetlight across from your home seemed dimmer than usual, casting eerie shadows. A rustle in the bushes sent you scurrying back inside, locking the doors and setting the alarm with trembling hands.

The box sat ominously on your coffee table. Despite your curiosity, fear kept you from opening it. Instead, you holed up in your room, hoping sleep would come despite the dread gnawing at you.

In the dead of night, you jolted awake to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Someone was inside your home. 

Determined not to fall into the typical horror trope of investigating, you stayed put. But then you heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, ascending the carpeted stairs.

Panic gripped you. Clutching the bat you kept in your closet, you listened as the intruder approached. The door across the hall creaked open, and you steeled yourself for the worst. But then you recognized the sounds—muffled giggles and a familiar voice.

Relief washed over you. Your friend had returned, and apparently brought her boyfriend. You set the bat down, heart still racing, and fell back into bed, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion.

In the morning, you would face the box and the mysteries it held. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of your bed, hoping that sleep would bring a respite from the turmoil of the past few days.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your bedroom. Despite the terror of the previous night, you felt a strange sense of calm as you padded downstairs. The box still sat on the coffee table, its presence a reminder of the eerie note and the mystery it held.

Taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch and gingerly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of luxurious velvet, was an object that took your breath away. It was a stunningly crafted necklace, the centerpiece a large, gleaming sapphire surrounded by intricate filigree work in white gold. The piece was elegant, expensive, and utterly out of place for something sent from a prison.

You lifted it gently, the gem catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the room. For a moment, the sheer beauty of the necklace overshadowed your fear. How could something so exquisite come from a man behind bars?

Elated but wary, you turned the necklace over in your hands, inspecting every detail. It was flawless, and the craftsmanship was impeccable. This was no ordinary gift. 

Your mind raced. How did he manage to send something so extravagant? More importantly, how did he know your address? You felt a shiver run down your spine as you recalled your friend's words: *“What if he has friends on the outside?”*

The realization hit you hard. He must have outside help. Someone capable of acquiring such a piece and delivering it to your doorstep. Your elation was quickly replaced by a deep sense of unease. 

How long had he known where you lived? You thought back to the grey car that had been parked across the street. Was it connected? Had you been watched?

You set the necklace back in the box, hands trembling. The beauty of the gift now seemed tainted by the sinister implications. Your friend's warnings echoed in your mind: *“I am not going to die because of your bad decisions!”* You couldn’t ignore the danger any longer.

Reaching for your phone, you dialed your friend’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Hey, it’s me. You were right. We need to talk.”

Later that day, your friend arrived, her face a mix of concern and frustration. You showed her the necklace, and she gasped.

“This is... gorgeous. But it’s also terrifying. How did he send this?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “And I don’t know how he found my address.”

She paced the room, glancing nervously out the window. “We need to call the police. This is beyond creepy.”

You nodded, knowing she was right. The thrill of your pen pal had turned into something dangerous, something that required more than just caution. As you picked up the phone to dial the authorities, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, the sense of being watched. The beautiful necklace now felt like a heavy weight, a symbol of the peril you had unwittingly invited into your life.

As you waited for the police to arrive, you couldn’t help but wonder about the man who had written such kind letters. Was he truly as dangerous as they said, or was there more to the story? Either way, you knew you couldn’t continue the correspondence. The price of your curiosity had become too high, and your safety was worth far more than any thrill or beautiful gift.

A few weeks had passed, and your friend continued to stay with her boyfriend, feeling guilty for leaving you alone but too scared to return. She called you every day, ensuring you were unharmed and feeling as well as could be expected. The police had stationed an officer outside your house during those weeks, but with no further incidents, they eventually recalled the officer. They advised you to call if anything came up, assuring you they would do their best to keep you safe. You had downplayed the threat, omitting any mention of your pen pal. Had they known the full extent, they might have placed you under witness protection.

Unfortunately, the eerie calm was shattered today.

The grey car had returned, and this time, you could make out the driver. He bore a stark resemblance to the picture you had seen of your pen pal, the world’s most dangerous criminal, now sitting outside your home, watching and waiting. But for what? What did he plan to do once you were alone?

You couldn't call out from work again, needing to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Steeling yourself, you put on your best intimidating face and walked to your car, though you felt more like a deer caught in headlights. Ignoring the piercing, watchful eyes of the man was harder than you imagined, but you managed to get into your car and drive away.

You knew it was foolish to drive to work, thinking he might follow you, but if he knew your address, he likely knew where you worked. At least at work, you'd be surrounded by people and security personnel. If he tried anything—which you doubted he would in such a public setting—there would be help nearby.

The day dragged on, dread gnawing at you. Your focus was shattered, and your supervisor almost reprimanded you until they realized how shaken you were. They backed off, giving you space to regain your composure. HR knew something was seriously wrong but couldn’t disclose details to anyone else, offering you a temporary reprieve.

But this day was particularly harrowing, and you barely made it through. As the workday ended, you practically sprinted to your car, seeking the relative safety it offered while there were still people around.

Home was a different story.

You entered, not realizing the door had been unlocked until you were already in the living room. Shock, dread, and fear flooded you as you saw him there, seated on your sofa.

He was casually examining a picture of you with your friend, family, and your old pet. He looked content, as if he belonged there, as if he were truly at home.

Panic surged. You wondered what he could do to you in such close quarters. Thick walls muted sounds from neighboring homes; no one would hear you in time. You felt paralyzed, unsure of what to do if he made a move.

He shifted his position, dropping one leg and crossing the other, all the while holding your gaze. He took in your presence, the real you, not just the image he had studied. You were no longer a picture, but flesh and blood, standing before him.

“Nice to meet you, [Your Name].”

You had never told him your real name, only an alias. Somehow, he had discovered your true identity, just as he had found your address.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I couldn’t resist, especially after a month of silence from you. I noticed you called the police. I'm quite impressed that you managed to keep my presence in your life a secret.”

You trembled, tears starting to well in your eyes and trickle down your face.

“Ah, don’t cry. I’m not here to harm you. What I have in mind will be much more pleasurable. For both of us.”

His words chilled you to the core. The beauty of the necklace, the allure of his letters, all seemed like a distant dream compared to the present reality. You stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as he smiled at you, his intentions shrouded in menace and mystery.

“I-I…” 

The tears began to slow, your breath evening out as a semblance of calm started to return. He watched you closely, giving you a moment to dry your face and find the words that had eluded you. 

But silence persisted. Your thoughts were in disarray, still grappling with the reality of his sudden presence. He seemed to sense your inner turmoil, knowing you needed time to process the situation. As he approached, his imposing figure loomed over you, each step bringing him closer.

Realizing his intent, you instinctively retreated, but his long strides easily closed the distance. Your back met the cold, unyielding wall, trapping you. You wished you could tear it down, burrow into an indestructible sanctuary, and escape the nightmare your life had become. 

His proximity was overwhelming, a blend of menace and fascination, as you stood frozen, unable to tear your gaze from his. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, a storm of emotions threatening to consume you both.

He continued to close the distance, his presence suffocating yet electrifying. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he drew nearer, until he was mere inches away. He raised his arms, placing his hands on the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. The scent of him, a mix of cologne and something distinctly male, enveloped you.

"Is this what you like?" he asked, his voice a low, tantalizing murmur. His eyes bored into yours, searching for a reaction.

Your breath hitched, the proximity overwhelming your senses. The thrill of fear and an unexpected surge of excitement coursed through you, leaving you dizzy and unable to respond.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his breath, and the sheer force of his presence made it hard to think, let alone speak. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, your mind a chaotic mix of fear, confusion, and a strange, unwelcome attraction. His dominance was intoxicating, leaving you both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.

His hands remained on the wall, trapping you, as his eyes continued to hold yours captive. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unspoken tension. In that moment, you realized you were at his mercy, and the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

The intensity in his gaze didn't waver as he spoke again, his voice a silken whisper. "Why don't you show me around? I'd like to see more of your home."

Your heart pounded as you nodded, feeling compelled to comply. Slowly, he dropped his hands from the wall, giving you a semblance of freedom, though his presence still dominated the space. He gestured for you to lead the way.

With trembling steps, you walked towards the staircase, feeling his eyes on you, a constant reminder of the danger and allure he embodied. The transition from the living room to the upper floor was surreal, the normalcy of your home tainted by his dark presence. Each step up the stairs felt like a journey deeper into an inescapable labyrinth.

You reached the top of the stairs and paused, glancing back at him. His expression was unreadable, but a faint, almost predatory smile played at his lips. You hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to your bedroom.

"This is my room," you said softly, stepping inside.

He followed, his tall frame filling the doorway before he moved to the center of the room. He looked around, taking in every detail. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt exposed and vulnerable.

"Show me more," he instructed, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.

You led him to the adjoining bathroom, your hands trembling as you opened the door. The bathroom was small but neat, the shower glistening under the overhead light. He inspected it briefly, then turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"This will do nicely," he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more.

Your mind raced, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. "What do you want from me?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "For now, just your cooperation. Tonight is just the beginning. After the night's activities, I might need a place to clean up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. The ambiguity of "activities" left your mind reeling with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You found yourself nodding, unable to do anything else.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek. "Now, let's make the most of our evening together."

His touch was both reassuring and sinister, a stark reminder of the control he wielded over you. “Take this off…”

You were shocked, appalled even, at such a request from a man you barely knew, despite the intimacy of his letters, the truths he shared, his truth. 

You hesitated, glancing up at him with a mix of trepidation and a spark of rebellion. 

He smirked slightly, as if he had anticipated your resistance. His hand reached out, but you scurried backward, clutching onto what felt like the last vestiges of your dignity. 

He wasn’t taking no for an answer, not from someone who had shown him such genuine kindness, such unguarded affection for the first time in decades.

It dawned on you just how monumental a mistake that kindness had been.

As you stood there, frozen in your shock, he moved swiftly. In an instant, he had closed the distance between you, his strong hands seizing your blouse. The fabric bunched under his grip, the force of his hold sending a jolt through you.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. “You and I both know this was inevitable.”

His words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the palpable tension that seemed to throb between you. His touch, firm and unyielding, ignited a tumult of emotions within you—fear, defiance, and a disturbing undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name.

“You think you can just come into my life and—” your voice faltered, the defiance wavering under the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t think, I know,” he interrupted, his tone commanding and confident. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. “You invited me in with every letter, every secret you shared. This connection we have—it’s real. And now, it’s time to face it.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled you closer, the proximity making your heart race. The air between you crackled with an undeniable energy, a mix of danger and an inexplicable pull that left you both terrified and entranced.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice.

“No,” he replied, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the reality of your situation crashing over you. The walls of your sanctuary seemed to close in, the room shrinking as his presence dominated. You were caught in his web, and the more you struggled, the more entangled you became.

With a final, firm tug, he brought you even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s see how this night unfolds,” he murmured, a promise and a threat woven into his words.

In that moment, you realized there was no escape. You were his, for better or worse, and the night was just beginning.

His deft hands worked quickly, yet with a surprising gentleness, as he pulled at your blouse. He was careful, mindful of not tearing buttons or threads, his touch respectful in its slow haste to undress you. Each movement seemed deliberate, as if he were savoring the unveiling of your skin, as if he knew the value of each delicate inch.

Once your clothing lay discarded, you stood before him in just your bralette and panties, exposed yet somehow still veiled in mystery. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of a woman—a vision of beauty that left him breathless. He drank in every curve, every line, every delicate feature, his gaze lingering on each detail as if committing them to memory.

He had seen countless women in his lifetime, but none had captivated him quite like you. There was something about you, something ineffable and intoxicating, that drew him in, leaving him hungry for more.

In that moment, as you stood there before him, vulnerable yet unyielding, he realized just how much he craved you. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on obsession, that he would stop at nothing to possess you completely.

You knew that begging would likely be futile, so you chose silence instead, allowing your gaze to wander anywhere but at him and what he was doing. But he seemed to revel in being watched, his ego swelling as he unveiled each layer of your clothing.

His touch was insistent as his index finger and thumb grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to remain solely on him. You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly quelled by the intensity of his gaze.

With practiced ease, he removed your bra, followed by your panties. The air between you crackled with tension as he exposed you completely, and you couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

A low groan escaped him, barely audible but unmistakable. It was a sound of longing, of desire unleashed after years of confinement. You realized then just how long it had been since he had seen a living, breathing woman, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You stood there, naked and exposed, feeling his eyes on you like a physical touch. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as though he were seeing you for the first time, drinking in every curve and contour of your body.

You tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was difficult under his relentless gaze. You felt stripped bare, not just of your clothing but of your defenses, your vulnerabilities laid bare before him.

As he stepped closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, you knew that there was no turning back. The night stretched out before you, a vast unknown filled with equal parts fear and fascination. And as he reached out to pull you closer, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises lay in store.

Your cheek pressed into the cold, quartz floor of your bathroom, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You could feel the weight of him behind you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your rear pressing against his hips. His blazer, shirt, and pants had been discarded, leaving him in just his boxers. Despite the fabric that still separated your bodies, you felt everything from him—his warmth, his strength, his desire.

He had positioned you in a neat arch, your body stretched taut, every muscle straining against the confines of your own submission. His command was clear: remain still, hold that position until he was ready to take you further.

You obeyed, every fiber of your being thrumming with anticipation and fear. The cold floor beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him, and the sensation only heightened your awareness of every touch, every breath that brushed against your skin.

Time seemed to stand still as you waited, your body poised on the precipice of something unknown. You could hear the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, a counterpoint to the electric tension that hung heavy in the air.

And then, without warning, his hands were on you, tracing the contours of your body with a touch that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers were skilled, mapping every curve and dip with a precision that left you breathless.

You felt him shift behind you, his body moving with a fluid grace that belied the strength coiled beneath his skin. You were afraid of the movement, wanting to look behind you to see what exactly he was doing. And when you felt the tip of him nearing your heat, you redacted the beautiful arch he helped you to create for him and tried to squirm away.

Before you knew it, he had your hair twisted in his hand, pressing your head painfully further against the floor, his breath fanning over your ear. “Move again… and I will crack your skull over this floor and with this treasure I’ll summon something worse than death for you.”

And then, with a suddenness that stole your breath away, he entered you, filling you completely with a single, powerful thrust.

The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure and pain that threatened to consume you. You bit back a gasp, your body trembling with the effort to remain still as he took you further, deeper into the abyss of his desire. He was much too large to enjoy, your stretched muscles struggling to comprehend the intrusion.

And as he moved within you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of oblivion, you realized that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, caught in the grip of a passion that threatened to consume you both. And in that moment, as he claimed you as his own, you surrendered to the darkness that beckoned, knowing that there was no escape from the depths of his desire.

By the time he was finished, you had orgasmed nearly six times. The final was barely an orgasm, he had edged you and slapped your ass. Breathy laughs finding your ears and somehow you felt yourself able to share his laughter. Your cunt clenched against his twitching length, a feeling he relished in.

Just when you thought he was finished, he pushed your legs apart as far as they would go, nearly into a split, pressing himself further into you, impossibly deeper. Your eyes bulged, hips tightened and your cunt contracted against his deep-seated length once more, your cervix contracting and relaxing in slow bouts against his tip. He lifted your hips, allowing him a new arch, fresh angle, and an even deeper reach. 

You wanted to sob, to beg him to stop, but you also wanted to see what he would do in this position. 

He reached one hand in front, taking your neck into his possession and he pulled back just enough to keep you stationary and choke you slightly at the same time, the angle would do the rest. 

And slowly, he pulled back, allowing just the tip to remain before he thrusts intensely inside of you, pressing against the spot he knew would drive you insane. 

And you cursed him, screaming out all sorts of obscenities and lewd things as he continued to abuse the same spot. His girth squeezed in and out of you with much effort, the tightened feel of your cunt in this position was the one thing that kept him grounded, eyes drawn into a focus on your connected bodies. 

He had cum so many times and this position had him dangerously close to blowing his load again, but he held back just enough. He wanted to cum with you again.

Increasing his speed, he pushed and pulled inside your pussy, watching as it sucked him and pushed him out simultaneously. 

“S’kunaaaa… Fuuuccckkk! Pl-please!”

He knew what you were begging for, screaming out his name for. And he was so close to giving it to you. He had to give you what you wanted since you had been so obedient for him all night. He was nearing his end, bringing his free hand down to your clit and rubbing dangerous circles and odd shapes into it, nearly ritualistic in his methods and just he groaned his approval, you squirted. Full-body quakes erupting, your eyes rolling back into your head. Anyone watching the scene would have thought you were having a seizure. 

But Sukuna knew. And you knew.

It was simply nirvana.

[sanarsi]

stepfather!reed richards x reader who is also a student of his in the uni PRETTY PLEASE. ANDDDD THEY'RE LIKE DOWN BAD FOR EACH OTHER BUT CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABT IT TYPE OF TENSION AND THEY SNAP BY THE END, LIKE- "I'm sick of pretending I don't love you but I do" SKSKSKSK PLS

Physics in Practice

stepfather!professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

Summary: You accidentally discover that your stepfather has a shameful soft spot for you. Reed has to deal with everything you decide to serve him after that. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is in college, Reed is her professor, so idk, 20y), angst, sexual tension, arguing, friends to family to enemies to lovers trope, STEPFATHER!dom!Reed, pussy eating, unprotected PIV Wordcount: 5,6k An: That was a hot one. Thank you so much for the idea anon! I immediately woke up with the desire to write this. I hope you like it! Music I worked with: Falling to Pieces - Two Feet

Masterlist

For as long as you can remember, Professor Richards was your idol. You did everything to get into the department he headed. You did everything to become his best student.

You always came to extra classes. You always passed all the tests flawlessly. You were always the first to raise your hand to answer his questions.

Reed saw potential in you that no other student had. You were young and smart. You wanted to learn everything he could teach you. There was no better combination than a young mind full of enthusiasm.

That's why after your first year of college, Reed started giving you private lessons. Sometimes at his house, sometimes at yours. And as fate would have it, he and your mother decided to unite their lives through marriage.

Did it hurt? No. You were happy that your mother had found a decent and loving man. And you were even happier to have Reed every day.

You were a happy family. The perfect family.

Until one Saturday night.

You came back way too late from your friend's birthday party. Later than you promised. But all the lights in the house were off. You were relieved to find that your mother was probably asleep already so you would avoid the quarrel.

You slipped into the house as quietly as you could and winced at the click of the lock, which you turned as gently as you could. You took off your purse and coat, hanging everything on the hanger.

Why did everything suddenly make such loud noises?

You carefully took off your shoes placing them perfectly straight next to the men's shoes. How on earth did your stepfather have such big feet? You shook your head in surprise because you had never noticed it before.

You tiptoed through the hallway and up the stairs where you almost fell. Yeah, alcohol stopped being so great when you had to keep your balance.

You stopped at the top when you noticed a streak of light under the bathroom door. Your heart pumped adrenaline into your veins which made the alcohol lose its control over you.

You had to hide and wait. You didn't want your mother to come out of the bathroom just as you were sneaking into your room.

You took a step down the stairs when a muffled groan caught your attention. You glanced towards the door, recognizing that it wasn't your mother in the bathroom. Another groan made you involuntarily step closer to the door. You put your ear to it, frowning as a quiet gasp pierced the silence.

"Fuck yes, baby."

You opened your eyes wider hearing his growl and then you realized what was happening behind that door. You immediately decided to back away but before you could take a single step your heart froze.

“Y/n.”

Your name fell from his lips with a moan of pleasure. You stood staring into the darkness as your world collapsed in a split second. Blood roared in your ears as your legs led you to your room. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it with your full weight.

Finally you were able to catch your breath which almost made you choke. An unfamiliar feeling flooded your entire body as you began to realize what you had witnessed. You covered your mouth with your hand as a groan of terror escaped your throat. Tears of helplessness welled up in your eyes.

He was your stepfather. He was your family. He was your mother’s husband.

So why did your name fall from his lips in the middle of the night behind closed doors?

Why did your name fall from his lips when he came?

What happened that night changed everything. You weren't able to look at him the way you used to. Every time he came closer to you, you tried to pull away. You watched everything he did carefully. Even how he ate his fucking breakfast. You constantly watched his behavior, trying to notice something that could give him away. Anything.

Because maybe you were stupid from the very beginning and didn't see the signs he was giving you? Maybe all his glances hid a second meaning? Maybe all the times your hands touched weren't accidental?

But nothing changed.

It was the same as always.

Normal.

Perfect.

You never again witnessed anything that could indicate that your stepfather had deeper feelings for you.

And that's what made you start provoking him. It started innocently. You started hugging him more, touching him more. You sent him more innocent smiles and giggles. But it didn't work.

So you went further.

More make-up and more flirtatious glances. More sitting in front of books until late at night with him. More accidental thrusts of your hips in his direction. Still nothing.

Several months of hard work didn't work. It made you angry. So you took a different tactic.

First, he caught you smoking cigarettes after class. He didn't say anything to your mother but he forbade you from doing it ever again. Truly fatherly behavior.

Later you started partying more. You spent weekends with friends at the bar than with him explaining the next puzzles from your textbooks. That was the first reaction. Your first serious conversation about whether something was going on in your life. Pathetic.

Then, you started skipping studies. Getting worse test scores and skipping classes. It worried him enough that he started paying more attention to you than before.

You were his best student. You were his future. He wanted you to be even more successful than him in future. But it seemed that you stopped wanting the same.

The atmosphere at home was tense. But only between you two. Your mother still had no idea. She thought you were just growing up and Reed hadn't mentioned what was happening at college so she was really blind in this situation.

That was your problem. Or at least that's what he thought. Your relationship with your mother was still the same. Only something had gone wrong between you two. He didn't know what. He didn't even know when everything started to fall apart. When you stopped being his five-star girl.

Like every morning, you went down to the kitchen all ready to take your breakfast with you.

"Mornin," you said and gave your mother a quick kiss on the cheek, who was frying bacon in a pan. She smiled at you in response and put breakfast on a plate in front of Reed.

You grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter and bit into the red fruit. You leaned back against the counter, staring at the shopping list on the fridge.

Reed was sitting at the kitchen island reading a newspaper and drinking coffee when his gaze fell on you for a moment. He looked down at your body and hid behind the newspaper again.

"You should button your shirt higher," he said indifferently, catching your and your mother's attention. You looked down at your cleavage, just like the woman next to you.

"I like it that way," you replied just as indifferently. Reed closed the newspaper and put it on the counter, looking at you intensely.

The silent fight of glances was interrupted by your mother's voice. "Your dad is right." She smiled gently but you didn't even look at her for a moment.

"He's not my father," you said dryly looking deep into his eyes.

Silence fell over the kitchen. The heavy atmosphere between you was visible to the naked eye. Your mother was in such shock that she didn't even know what to say. But you didn't even give her a chance to, leaving the kitchen.

"We'll be late," you threw casually passing Reed. You started to get dressed making far too aggressive movements.

"I'll talk to her," Reed's muffled voice reached your ears and right after that a kiss on the lips.

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly at the fact that this man was showing feelings to your mother. You didn't know when it started. But you couldn't look at the way the woman's eyes sparkled at the sight of him. You couldn't stand the sight of them together.

For the first few minutes of the journey, there was a tense silence between you. His gaze fell on you every now and then but you were unmoved.

"Will you tell me what's been going on with you lately?" he asked finally breaking the silence. You rolled your eyes hearing the concern and nervousness in his voice.

"Nothing," you mumbled without even looking at him. He glanced at you, clenching his jaw tighter. He stopped the car at a red light and was silent for a moment.

"Is it about studies? Did I push you too hard?" He tried to guess but that only caused you to snort dryly.

"It's not about studies."

"So what?" he asked immediately. The car started moving.

You were silent. What were you supposed to answer him? Definitely not the truth. That's why your silence was prolonged.

Until you felt his hand on your thigh. You tensed under his warm touch and began to stare intensely at his hand.

"Baby girl, you know that-"

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupted him, making him immediately fall silent in shock. “And take your hand away,” you added dryly.

A nervous snort escaped his lips as he obediently withdrew his hand and clenched it far too tightly on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he nodded as if he himself needed to come to terms with what you had just said to him. “No nicknames or touching.”

You clenched your thighs, feeling a strange current flow between your thighs, and moved as far away from him on the seat as you could. This didn't go unnoticed by him.

He clenched his jaw tighter and his knuckles turned white. Reed didn't know how to approach the whole situation. Your dislike for him had appeared overnight and he honestly had no idea how he should talk to you.

He had never been a father so he decided to talk to you like an adult to an adult. You weren't a child and even less so his daughter.

"Listen," he began seriously, "you're right. I'm not your father." His words caught your attention but you didn't dare look at him. "You don't want me to be? Okay, I won't. But I'm your mother's husband. Like it or not, as long as you live with her, you live with me too. We'll run into each other, eat in the same room and use the same bathroom."

His last words made your pulse quicken and bile rise in your throat. You glanced at him but he was staring stubbornly at the road.

"We'll live together in the same house so we can maintain neutral relations with each other. No rude comments or disgusted looks," he glanced at you expressively and held his gaze on you a little longer than he intended. “If you don’t want to get along with me like we used to, then we can get along for your mother,” he suggested, slowing down the car as you pulled into the parking lot at the university.

“Did we really ever get along?” you muttered under your breath with a snort as he parked the car. Reed frowned, turning off the car.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but you had already gotten out of the car and slammed the door shutting him off. He leaned out of the car, shouting your name, but you ignored him. You didn't want to look at him any longer, much less talk to him.

For the first time in a long time, you spent a whole day at the university. You were in every class, which gave you a pleasant feeling of nostalgia. Despite the stormy morning, you finished in a good mood.

That's why you decided to even take Professor Richards class, not wanting to give him any more reasons to pick on you.

He didn't even notice you, when you sat down in the last row. He had already gotten used to not seeing your face during his classes. Watching and listening to him lecture, you felt a stab in your stomach.

You remembered the times when you had just met him. How he looked at you with pride when you showed him that you could learn anything. Why did he have to ruin it? Why did he have to plant a strange seed in you, that grew around your body like ivy?

Now, when you looked at him, you felt something strange. Your stomach clenched unpleasantly, making you want to throw up. You knew it was hatred. Or at least that's what you told yourself until his gaze met yours.

He got stuck in the middle of the lecture but quickly regained his composure. He continued to explain the notes on the board but this time he glanced in your direction every now and then.

This time you felt heat in your stomach.

Finally the lecture ended and the students started to leave the room. Some approached professor to ask the last questions, which he quickly answered so he could catch you.

The last students were leaving when your name rang out around the room. Some gathered at you with amusement seeing you roll your eyes. Everyone had noticed that your relationship with your stepfather had recently deteriorated.

The door to the room closed so only then you turn to him.

"What?" you asked casually frowning.

"I think we need to talk," he announced crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, I don't really-"

"Sit down," he ordered seriously nodding towards the nearest bench. You clenched your jaw tightly maintaining eye contact with him for as long as possible. But this time he won.

You sighed heavily and threw your bag on the ground then sat down on the bench. He didn't comment on your childish behavior and slowly walked towards you.

"We'll talk like adults now," he began seriously. You wanted to roll your eyes but you held back.

He stopped in front of you, looking at you intensely as if he was trying to find the answer to his questions in your eyes. But apart from dislike for himself, he found nothing. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hand.

"What happened?" he asked directly. You opened your mouth to answer but he interrupted you. "What went wrong between us?" He looked at you with a strange pain in his eyes. You fell silent. You couldn't answer his question.

"Nothing." A typical answer he'd heard from you a few hundred times. Nothing. Nothing was wrong. Everything was fucking fine.

"Nothing," he repeated, nodding.

He was silent for a moment but suddenly his face became serious.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

Your whole body tensed up hearing the tone he'd never used with you before. He was furious. He'd never been angry at you before. Well, he had been, but not like this.

"I asked you a question."

“No,” you denied obediently.

“So what’s the problem? What did I do wrong to make you treat me like your enemy?” he asked, spreading his hands helplessly. You swallowed the lump in your throat seeing him in such a state.

Helplessness.

“What did I do to make you not want to spend time with me? Don’t want me close?”

You clenched your thighs tighter feeling those strange waves of electricity again.

"Nothing."

"Don't fucking lie!" he shouted. You looked at him in shock feeling all your muscles tense painfully.

He shouted at you.

He was so broken that he shouted.

"Answer me why you don't want me anymore," he added more quietly.

You blinked a few times feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

"I…" you started in shock but quickly shook yourself off frowning. "What?"

Reed was breathing heavily trying to calm the emotions boiling inside him. And only when he saw your face, he realize, he had said a few too many words.

He fell silent trying to find a logical explanation for his words.

"I..."

"Is that why you said my name back then?" you asked mindlessly.

And then you both fell silent staring at each other.

Shock, surprise and then understanding flashed across your faces.

Your breathing quickened when you realized that you were right. You had been blind from the very beginning.

"How long have you known?" he asked in a low voice that sent cold shivers down your spine. His jaw clenched tightly as he finally got the answer to why you had changed so much lately.

You knew.

And you hated him for it.

“A few months,” you admitted honestly because you saw no reason to lie anymore. Everything was out. All the thoughts that had been swirling in your head for so long finally straightened out like a thread.

His gaze was heavy as he nodded in understanding. He took a few steps back, running his hand anxiously over his stubble. He snorted nervously, looking around the lecture hall.

You watched him closely as he began to pace until he was standing by his desk. He snorted again, shaking his head.

“Fuck!” he shouted, throwing all his things to the floor. You flinched at his sudden outburst. His shoulders rose quickly as he tried to calm down.

“Why-” your voice trembled, so you swallowed hard. “Why did you marry my mother?” you asked uncertainly. He glanced at you over his shoulder and remained silent. You really wanted this to turn out to be some unfunny joke.

But his gaze wasn’t fake.

His helpless snort wasn’t fake.

“Because you were too young for me,” he replied with contempt for himself.

He looked away from you, leaving you with your heart in your throat. Your breathing quickened so much that you felt like you were about to have a panic attack. You jumped off the bench on shaky legs that almost gave way under you. You grabbed your bag and practically ran out of his lecture hall. And he just watched as the door closed on you and sighed heavily.

That day your private hell began.

A whole month passed. There was a strange atmosphere in the house and even your mother felt it. But she didn't say anything.

You stopped arguing with her husband and became more than obedient again. But this time you were also silent, scared.

You ate Sunday dinners with a trembling hand and then you ended up in the toilet throwing up everything. You went to university with him but you sat in the back seat staring stubbornly at the view outside the window. You sat locked in your room from the moment you crossed the threshold of the house. You didn't even want to go to the toilet, just so you wouldn't fall on him.

You felt like you were in a cage with no way out. You spent almost every night thinking about everything that had happened. About who Reed Richards really was.

And you were disgusted by the conclusions you came to.

Because the only conclusion you took from it was his name, which you moaned every time you came.

And it wasn't as shocking as the way you started looking at him. You replayed in your mind all the moments when you were alone. The way he smiled at you. The way he praised you. The way he inhaled your scent when he cuddled up to you.

And suddenly you started looking at everything differently. Everything started to have a different meaning. Everything he did, started to have a romantic basis.

The way he looked at your lips just to kiss your mother.

The way he looked at you with delight just to compliment your mother.

The way he spent half the night with you and books just to go fuck your mother.

Your view of him changed dramatically. And only during his lectures, you allow yourself to look at him shamelessly. You didn't take your eyes off him for even a second. Your notebook was lying on the desk without a single sentence written on it. And he didn't miss your burning gaze.

The entire lecture he tried not to look in your direction but he couldn't help himself when all the students were focused on taking notes and only you were sitting with your head held high. Then and only then, he allowed himself to just stand there and look at you.

Thousands of unspoken words flew between you in that short moment. And Reed saw the way you looked at him changed. The sparks that flew between you couldn't hide.

So every day he woke up hoping that maybe he hadn't destroyed everything. That maybe you had decided to understand him.

Until finally one day everything went back to normal.

You started laughing in his company again. You started spending movie nights with them again. You were able to talk to him over dinner again. But only when your mother was around.

When you were alone, you were silent. You didn't even look in his direction. It made him realize that nothing had really changed. You had simply decided to act normal around your mother.

He respected that. He didn't try to force you to be able to even look at him again.

Not until you were back in that damned lecture hall.

Then everything ceased to exist. The world and problems outside of the university ceased to matter.

There were just you two.

A young and talented student and her professor.

But a few months in this mode were starting to take their toll on his psyche. He couldn't stop looking at you more and more often. He barely took his eyes off you during dinners. He deliberately dismantled the back seats in the car so you could sit next to him again. He even started to miss your rude teasing.

It all took its toll on him so much that when you stared at each other during lectures, his cock quivered in his pants.

Every time.

And every time he ended up in the bathroom, releasing tension.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had sex with your mother. Luckily, she was going through menopause, so she didn't even notice.

Your life turned into the worst possible game. And there were no winners in it. You both always ended up moaning each other’s name.

Until the day came when your mother went to visit her family for a few days. Leaving you two alone.

And that was the beginning of the end of everything.

All it took was for the door to slam shut behind her back.

“Can you explain to me what we're doing?" Reed asked immediately as you poured yourself a glass of juice. You looked up at him and snorted, rolling your eyes.

"I'm going to make dinner. And you? I don't know," you shrugged, which only frustrated him more. He was sick of this cat and mouse game you were playing.

"I'm fucking serious," he said, entering the kitchen with a confident step. You watched this, sensing an increasing threat.

"I like you like that the most," you mumbled and put the juice in the fridge. His hand tightened on your arm as you tried to leave. You looked at him, frowning. There was something about him that you hadn't seen before. He was hellishly determined and frustrated.

"I've had enough of all this bullshit."

"Then divorce my mother." You shrugged embracingly, to which he frowned, his gaze wandering into your eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asked seriously. "Do you want me to divorce her for you?"

There was silence. Your heart was beating so loudly that you both probably heard it.

"What? No," you denied and yanked your arm away from him.

"So what do you want? What do I do?" he asked desperately. You didn't know. You didn't know what you wanted from him. You got used to how everything looked between you two.

"I don't want anything from you."

"Don't lie to me."

You fell silent, staring at him. He was on the verge of a breakdown. These past few months had destroyed him more than he wanted to admit. Your closeness was starting to wear him down, and the lack of - killing him.

So in the end it turned out that he was the one who was in a losing position.

"Fuck, please, baby," he groaned, approaching you and placing his hands on your cheeks. You blinked a few times as he bent down to the height of your face.

He was walking on thin ice, and honestly, on the lack of it. He was drowning.

"What should I do? Tell me and I will," he said desperately. And in that moment you could use all of his weaknesses. If you wanted, you could do anything with him.

You could break him.

"I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of you not saying a word to me. I'm tired of not being able to touch you. I am sick of not being able to show you that I love you."

Your heart sank. You stared at him in shock. At the desire and regret with which his eyes stared into yours.

But you remained silent. You were unable to think straight, much less respond to his confession.

"Please, from the very beginning there was only you. I thought it would pass. I thought it was a temporary desire. That you're just a fantasy," he continued, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "But you're real. You're the realest thing in this whole world," he smiled helplessly and you still stood there in too much shock.

This wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"So tell me what you want. I'll divorce your mother. I'll take you away from here. Just say the word and I'll do it."

Your breath hitched as you finally decided to answer. But then the sound of the door opening echoed through the house.

Reed pulled away from you in a split second and you immediately reached for your juice, drinking half the glass in one go.

Your mother entered the kitchen with a wide smile.

"I forgot the cake," she said amused and reached into the oven for the tray with the chocolate cake. Without looking in your direction she headed for the exit again. "Bye, I love you!" she shouted before the door slammed shut behind her.

You put the glass down with a bang and began to breathe deeply as your mother pulled out of the driveway.

It took a second for your eyes to meet again. And even less for Reed to be by your side again, pressing his lips tightly to yours.

You moaned in shock when he pressed you against the counter with his body. His hands immediately tightened around your waist, sending shivers down your spine. His lips kissed yours hard and almost aggressively. But you kept up with him without a problem.

Because you were just as thirsty as he was.

Even though it was so fucking wrong.

Even though you cursed yourself for it in your mind every day for the past few months.

This was what you dreamed about at night. These were the lips that kissed your heated body. These were the hands that explored every inch of your skin.

That's why you submitted to him without protest. His moans of pleasure mixed with relief carried waves of electricity. You intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. You moaned when he pushed his hips towards you and his tongue immediately intertwined with yours.

Without waiting, he grabbed you for your thighs and pulled you up so you sat on the counter. He was immediately between your legs, tightening his fingers on your thighs. You sighed into his mouth when his hands slowly started to move up to your shorts. His fingers crept under the material and tightened on your hips. He moaned feeling your delicate skin.

"Let me and I'll do anything with you," he breathed into your mouth. He didn't have to repeat it twice.

"Yes," you nodded without hesitation, to which he moaned with pleasure.

That was enough for him to pull away from you and, not so gently, pull down your shorts along with your panties. You barely took a breath as he knelt down in front of you, pulling your hips closer to his face.

You looked down with parted lips when his gaze met yours and his tongue ran from your wet hole to your clit, on which he sucked. You moaned, tilting your head back and involuntarily spreading your legs wider.

He groaned with pleasure, licking your arousal and kissing your clit passionately until your legs began to tremble. You squealed, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, causing him to growl. He bit your sensitive spot gently in retaliation until your vision went dark.

"You're so fucking delicious."

You moaned in response only to come in his mouth a moment later. You began to pulse on his tongue as it continued to work, prolonging your orgasm and licking up everything that came out of you.

You were breathing heavily when he pulled away from you and wiped the moisture that was left on his stubble with his thumb. You looked at him not being able to think straight but you didn't have to, because he was already pressing his lips to yours. He tasted like you.

His kisses had taken up all your attention from what he was doing with his pants. It was only when you felt something soft and warm right at your entrance that you woke up. His moan died in your mouth when he slowly pressed the tip of his cock into you.

"You feel better than I dreamed," he whispered sliding deeper into your pussy.

A broken moan left your throat when he pushed his hips all the way in.

"So tight and warm," he purred with pleasure and kissed your neck. He tightened his fingers on your skin and slowly started moving his hips. He didn't even pull out of you halfway, not wanting to leave your insides.

Your moans echoed throughout the house. You wrapped your arms around his neck and supported yourself with your other hand on the counter behind your back. His cock entered slowly but firmly until the very end, taking away your ability to breathe.

"Tell me, baby, is this how you imagined it when you touched yourself at night?" he whispered into your neck and then left a mark of his teeth on it.

"No," you moaned which was met with his harder bite.

"And how?" he growled, tightening his fingers and thrusting harder into your pussy. You almost screamed, throwing your head back.

"I thought you'd be more gentle," you gasped and he just laughed into your neck and straightened up. He smiled, panting heavily when you locked eyes.

"Yeah, your mother said so too," he said and not giving you a chance to react, he sped up his hips.

Moan died in your throat as he thrust into you like madman, taking away the feeling in your legs. He watched with satisfaction as the overwhelming pleasure painted across your face. You felt your orgasm approaching with each thrust of his hips. His cock brushed perfectly against the spot that was hidden from your reach.

"Come on baby," he growled thrusting into you over and over again. "Give it to me," he began to pant heavily feeling like he had to hold back so he wouldn't come himself as you began to tighten around him. "Yes, yes, just like that," he praised you with a smile as you watched him helplessly until finally the orgasm took over your body. You moaned loudly clenching painfully on him and then his brakes gave out. He stopped, coming inside you, moaning every time another wave of cum flew out of his cock.

He rested his head on your shoulder, panting heavily as you continued to moan quietly from your slowly receding orgasm. His lips found their way to your neck, planting a series of wet, delicate kisses until he reached your lips. Your tongues immediately joined in a lazy kiss as you both continued to calm your pounding hearts. His hand found its way to your jaw and his thumb gently stroked your cheek.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly. You pressed your lips into a line and shook your head in denial.

"I can't hurt mom," you said in a whisper.

Reed sighed, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. He was silent for a moment, tangling his fingers in your hair.

"You'll finish your studies," he began, looking at you. "And then I'll take you out of here," he assured you seriously.

You looked into his eyes uncertainly.

"Have you ever been to Europe?" he asked with a smile on his face. You pressed your lips together tighter as his smile began to infect you and shook your head in denial. “So Europe,” he nodded and captured your lips in a deep kiss again.

[stellar-skyy]

NO TEARS LEFT — Platonic Arlecchino & reader.

i. SUMMARY: It was well-known that the Knave hated tears. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: STRICTLY PLATONIC, hurt/comfort, found family, house of the hearth!reader, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1k words. iv. A/N: Is this ooc? Who knows! I'm choosing to believe Arlecchino is a strict but loving parent, so that is what I went with here. Hoyoverse, don’t make her an irredeemable villain please and thank you.

Crying was a rarity within the House of the Hearth.

It was perhaps odd for a place that housed dozens of children—their ages stretching between those barely able to walk, to those on the cusp of adulthood—to not hear at least a few sobs every now and then. But more often than not, the House was still, existing in an almost suffocating peacefulness. There were sounds; a rare echo of laughter from somewhere three halls down, or the steady drone of siblings talking over the top of each other, but never tears.

Occasionally though, a low cry will sound somewhere within the halls, and all close by will freeze. They will turn to the child—it was always someone new, who hadn’t been accustomed to the ways of the House yet—and hush them, whispering fervently:

Father hates tears.

Lynette was the kindest in telling the poor souls. She would wipe the streaks of tears off their cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve, shushing them gently. “Keep your voice down. Father hates crying children.”

Some of the older children were a little harsher in their reaction, elbowing the newcomer until they shut their mouths with a click, and let the tears drip silently down their face.

Every member who had been there long enough to be scolded at least once by Father knew the rules, and knew to keep their emotions locked away inside until they were either alone or dead. They didn’t dare to think of what would happen to them, should they dare to show such weakness.

The hunched figure that sat at the top of the stairs with their legs pressed against their chest was no new arrival, and yet tears had begun to slowly drip across their cheeks.

A click reverberated across the walls, and their head snapped up at the sound. They craned their neck backwards, while the clicking continued: the telltale sound of the Knave’s heels clacking against tiles. Instantly they were on their feet, scrubbing furiously at their eyes. The sounds grew louder, their posture stiffened, and their hands withdrew from their face right as the Knave turned the corner.

“Father,” they crowed, praying to the Tsaritsa that their voice was level.

“My child.” She responded in turn. Her eyes swept across them for a moment, and their eyes flicked to the floor instinctively. She continued down the hall at her usual pace, and it looked like she was about to move past them and down the stairs. Inwardly, they breathed a sigh of relief. It was a close call, but they would be in the clear once she stepped past—

A clawed hand caught their chin, tilting it upwards. Father twisted it gently to the left, then the right, observing the redness of their eyes and faint shininess on their cheeks. “You have been crying. What is wrong?”

And with that, any semblance of composure shattered.

A sharp draw of breath was their only warning before their throat closed up, and more tears trickled down, like they had never stopped in the first place. Sniffles left their lips first, soon followed with gasps and cries that echoed through the foyer. Father’s face turned blank, and the tears only fell faster at her reaction.

“I’m sorry—” they choked out between hitching breaths. “I-I’m sorry, Father.”

Father hated tears. Father hated seeing crying children, she hated—

“Hush now,” Father hummed, letting go of their face. They shrank back against the wall, shielding their face with their hands, as if that would do anything to stop her from seeing just how pathetic they were.

“I’m so sorry,” they repeated hoarsely.

“No apologies, dear.”

She paused for a beat of silence, letting them try to pull themself together.

“Do you know why I dislike tears?” Father asked quietly.

“Because crying is a sign of emotion.” They murmured mechanically, repeating the words the older residents drilled into their skull the day they arrived. “And emotion is a sign of weakness.”

“That is partially true.” Father agreed, tapping her cheek rhythmically with her nail. “As a member of the Fatui, you will be faced with many adversaries. You cannot afford unnecessary emotion; not when it earns you a target on your back.”

She paused to swipe a stray tear from their chin with her nail, wiping it on a handkerchief and continuing.

“It is dangerous out there for you, and I have a duty to train my children to be able to withstand the treachery that they will no doubt encounter. I do not tell you emotions are a weakness because I am cruel. I tell you it is a weakness because it is. You must learn young to control them; lest it cost your life.”

“I-I understand, Father.” They said in a strangled tone.

“I’m not finished,” She chided softly, without any real irritation behind it. “While out there, concealing such emotion is a strength, there isn’t a necessity to do so certain times. When you are in a place of safety, such is the time to let it out.”

Father extended her arms out in a clear invitation. Their eyes widened in shock, but they didn’t hesitate to fall forward into her waiting arms, letting themself be drawn tightly against her chest. Their hands grabbed fistfuls of the back of her coat, while she traced circles across their shoulder blades in a soothing motion.

“You are safe, my child.” Father crooned, dipping her head low to kiss the top of their head. “While you are here, there is no one to harm you.”

No one…

With arms strong enough to hold the weight of the world circling their waist, and nails that were sharp enough to tear out a person’s throat drawing lines up and down their back to sooth them, they believed her easily. She held them there for what had to have only been a minute, letting them sob into the front of her coat, clinging to her until their cries evened out into nothing.

And in that quiet moment, all they could comprehend was the soft, steady feeling that they are loved.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[mosquito-queen]

“kate bishop, you do not smoke!”

but yelena did. she did and she would ask kate for a light, just to tease, but she didn’t know how stupidly kate wanted to touch her mouth. so kate bought a shitty plastic lighter that was nearly the same color as yelena’s eyes. and she stole yelena’s much sturdier, metal cased lighter that looked like someone had attempted to knife a design into it. and she waited.

she waited until yelena’s phone pinged and the widow grew agitated with whatever was on the screen. and she waited until yelena grabbed her vest and aggressively motioned for kate to follow down the stairs and out into the crowded street. she waited until yelena produced a cigarette and then patted down her vest pockets looking for something she couldn’t find - because it was in kate’s poor excuse for a cutlery drawer at her new apartment. (which she did now at least own two of everything, thank you!)

and then kate didn’t have to wait anymore. because yelena was scowling and desperately rummaging in her empty pockets and kate said, so very cooly: “do you need a light?”

kate held up her shitty gas station lighter and yelena looked just as surprised as when kate slapped her in the elevator nearly six months ago, “kate bishop, you do not smoke!”

which was a point of contention. because kate hated when yelena smoked, but one time she wanted to put her mouth where yelena’s had been because it was the closest she would ever get to what she really wanted. and she had taken a drag and nearly hacked up a lung while yelena berated her for even trying. while yelena said all the same reasons kate told her not to smoke. and then kate was laughing and coughing which made tears streak down her face. and yelena had told her at least she was cute when she wasn’t trying to be cool. and that was a small win.

but kate was trying to be cool right now. she was trying to keep her panicky, throbbing heart from busting out her chest. because, she was going to light yelena’s cigarette and a small part of her brain told her she was special for that, that this was only something yelena would let her do. “do you want it or not?”

and yelena put the cigarette between her lips with a roll of her eyes, her hand outreached to grab the lighter. but kate swatted it away, and flicked the stupid thing - once, twice, fuck was it going to light? embarrassment at her shortfall burned her face, and kate sheepishly looked at yelena. which was always a mistake. because yelena looked like an angel - well the kind that definitely got expelled from heaven. she had a godawful crooked smirk around the cigarette because yelena knew, she always knew kate’s spiraling shenanigans.

and yelena took mercy. as merciful as a fallen angel could be. her hands cupped around kate’s holding the lighter, brought it closer to her face. her eyelashes fluttered and kate almost whined. her last brain cell worked and a flame finally sputtered from the definitely uncool means of getting the proximity kate craved.

yelena lit the cigarette, slowly pulling away. after a dramatic inhale, she took it out of her mouth and said so disgustingly simple: “kate bishop, it is your turn to take me on an american date, yes?”

kate spluttered, “my turn?”

“we had drinks, i paid,” yelena’s nose crinkled, “i said -“

“you said it might not be so bad to be my hawkeye’s widow.”

“and then you choked on your liquor.”

“i thought you meant -“

yelena’s face fell and kate could of kicked herself. “oh, do you not want -“

“no! i mean yes! of course! yes,” kate’s heart was definitely exploded twice over, “i want to take you on a date.” did those words really come out of her mouth?

“good.” it sounded more like a threat, but yelena beamed at kate. she put the half-used cigarette out on the pavement and tugged kate’s sleeve in the direction of their mission, “first we take care of business, then you take me to coney island.”

kate had no choice but to trail after yelena, “coney island? i thought i got to pick this time.”

yelena let out a short bark of laughter.

several bruises and crude stitches later, they went to coney island.

[strawberryspence]

this is ridiculously late but belated happy birthday, mackie! (@stevethehairington) everything you do is golden and being able to call you a friend is an honor. here’s some cheesy fluff for my friend. ily. 💛

“Where’s this one from?” Featherlight warmth spreads through Steve’s core. Eddie’s finger touches his taut skin, a memory weaved in between blood and skin.

Steve presses against the touch, “That one is from when Billy Hargrove broke a plate in my head.”

Eddie’s mouth gapes open, blinking at him in disbelief, “What now?”

Steve laughs, pressing his head at the blade of Eddie’s shoulders. He basks at the heat, like a kid in a summer field, remnants of passion and magic still in the air.

“Have I never told you that story?” Steve says, muffled as he presses kisses into Eddie’s shoulders, skin and scars making up his person.

“No?!” Eddie yelps, pushing him away gently, his face slacked with confusion and concern, “Does this look like the reaction of someone who knew that Billy fucking Hargrove broke a plate on your head?”

Steve smiles, pressing his thumb against Eddie’s forehead and smoothing the furrow away, “Well, I told you that story, right? Our second time with the Upside Down. It was around that time, when Billy attacked Lucas and we got into a fight.”

“Oh.” Eddie sighs, “I really don’t want to speak ill of the dead. But— Billy.” Eddie makes a face of disgust and cringe, that makes Steve laugh.

“Let me do one.” Steve urges on, making Eddie smile and nod.

There is something so magical with the way Eddie maps out Steve. Some nights, they stay up way past making love to learn every bit of skin. Steve never understood why, no one really stayed long enough to learn the stories burrowed in his skin.

Eddie says— like a person from an actual fucking fairy tale— that Steve is a map, a map of constellations and stories, all formed from years of journey and life. If anything, Eddie says, he’s very happy that he’s the first one to do it, to discover it, to write stories about it. Steve isn’t the best explorer, but he does his best to do the same for Eddie.

Steve lets his finger dance on skin, weaving through stories he hasn’t learned yet. He wishes— hopes— that his touch is just as gentle and as warm as Eddie’s and that it brings him the same comfort his touch does for Steve.

Steve pauses on a scar too small under his jaw, barely visible now that it’s been swallowed whole by bursts of scars from where the bats gnawed at him.

“How about this one?”

Eddie smiles, brown eyes lighting up with recognition, “Oh. You found that one, huh?” Steve hums.

“Well, that one I got from dancing on stairs. I was holding a fire truck, and I slipped and fell down the stairs. My mom said I was very smart and I was trying to brace for my fall, but the fire truck got me instead.”

Steve caresses the scar, like it’s still healing and bleeding in his hands, like the same way he did some months ago, when he found Eddie bleeding to his— almost— death.

“Did you need stitches?” Steve whispers, scared that it might’ve hurt for a younger version of his Eddie.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing over his hair and leaving a kiss on his crown, kissing away the worries, “Nope. Just bled a lot, but it did stop. Left a scar though. Had so much worse since then.”

Steve nods, pursing his lips into a smile, as his hands explore against bursts of red painted on Eddie’s skin. It’s the biggest most prominent scar, the ones they’ve barely talked about since they started exploring.

“Well, that one, I am not ready to talk about yet,” Eddie says, his hands shaking as it makes contact with Steve’s scar, directly mirroring his scar, “But one thing is for sure, it’s pretty fucking metal that we have matching scars.”

Steve chokes out a laugh, batting his hands away, “One day, when you’re ready to talk about it, it’ll be a story of survival and bravery.”

Eddie doesn’t speak, but he does pull him closer, forehead against Steve’s. That’s okay, if Eddie doesn’t believe it right now. He will, someday. Because that’s what healing is, bleeding and healing and living to tell the story.

It’s okay, because Steve will be there, until stories wrinkle and fold. To explore every scar and bump and listen to his stories as Eddie writes stories about bright stars engraved on his skin.

For now, he finds another one.

Steve smiles and says, “How about this one?”

[keeksandgigz]

ugh maybe something angsty to fluffy with eddie , like nightmares or a silly argument turned too big leaving both in tears but then resolved

idk baby ugh i love ur writing tho !

aww stop i love u <3

this is literally my first ask ever im so excited!! hope u enjoy :)))

He knows better than to fall asleep.

The world lays still around him, the sound of lone crickets plays as his lullaby while he stares at his banged up ceiling.

Everytime he closes his eyes he feels like he's suffocating, still in the stuffy, dusty and slimy Upside Down, the blood at his throat almost choking him to death.

It's his first night alone back home. Him and Wayne had been cleared to go back earlier that September morning after spending a whole summer in a cramped infirmary on a small cot that made his feet stick out.

Noises of people snoring, talking, moving around. Even people crying and screaming in their sleep. You sleeping in the cot right next to him.

Your shoulders rising and falling. On nights where he couldn't sleep he'd count every breath you took, until his brain grew tired and fell victim to slumber.

But tonight there was just eerie quiet. No breaths to count except his own, shallow and irregular in his chest, as he tried not to focus too much on the way the skin of his naked chest stretched taut by the stitches given to him felt under his hand, casually resting there.

The faint white and red splotches of mangled skin felt funny under the touch of his hands. Even then, he tried to not touch them. He didn't like the way his body would retract from his own touch. Almost as if he was scared of himself.

He hadn't let you see them yet, everytime you hung out and reveled in each other's company never went further than a few risky kisses. Your hands traveling to the hem of his shirt being abruptly stopped by his fingers intertwined in yours, moving away from his waist.

It was silent, the way you understood his limits. He'd never let you know he wasn't comfortable, and you could not have possibly known what lied under the too- big shirt he'd taken from the donation box.

Tonight, though, he finds himself missing counting your breaths, imagining you back at home in the comfort of your bed. Are you awake too?

Sick and tired of thinking, closing his eyes only to see monsters behind his lids, the feeling of the crumpled, rough sheets under his back, he gets up. He slips a shirt on, along with a pair of pants and fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his jacket, perched carelessly on the chair.

He heads to the front porch. He closes the front door behind him, trying to keep quiet. Wayne's at work, but the habit of tiptoeing and whispering around after months of living in a communal space still stuck with him.

He sits on the stairs of his porch, letting the cigarette between his lips as he fights with the yellow lighter his dad had given him to start a spark.

"Fuck" he curses under his breath as the lighter proceeds to not produce a light. His breathing becomes uneven as his cheeks flush with anger. Frustrated, he tosses the lighter in the patch of grass in front of him. Useless fucking thing.

He doesn't even know why he still has it. The last time he'd seen his dad was over two years before. He'd never gone that long without a visit.

He's tempted to go in the kitchen and light up his cigarette with the stove, but Wayne didn't like him smoking inside. Instead he just sits there, unlit cigarette between his lips as he looks at a certain spot in the trailer park.

The same spot he'd almost died at.

He's so entranced by that one patch of dirt that he doesn't notice a car driving into the trailer park. His eyes diverting only when the headlights almost turn him blind.

It's you.

The car turns off and you come out of it, dressed in some cute pyjamas, a jacket that once belonged to Eddie covering you from the late September gale.

"Can't sleep either?" you say, staring at his dumbfounded face as you approach him on the wooden porch stairs.

"Too quiet. Missin' the old man who talked about cake in his sleep" he lets out a breathy laugh.

"My bed was too comfortable. My back is too fucked up from the cot, can't sleep on a soft mattress anymore. Missed having a bed next to yours, Munson" you nudge him, he just gives you a tight- lipped smile.

"Missed watching you breathe" he says, cautiously "Helped me sleep at night. I'd count every breath you took"

"Having any nightmares?" you ask, placing your head on his shoulder.

"Can't have nightmares if I'm awake. Everytime I close my eyes it's like I'm back in there, so I just.... don't sleep" he says, playing with the still unlit cigarette in his mouth.

The air is light between you two, an air of friendship, unweighted by your knowledge of what happened to him. You bring him relief, solace.

"Tell you what" you begin "you can light that cigarette with my car lighter, we split it, and then we go back inside and you can watch me breathe. So you can sleep" you blink up at him. He blinks at you back.

You offering to sleep with him in his bed wasn't something he'd have expected out of his life. Especially at this time of it.

All he does is nod as you take the cigarette from his lips and light it in your car, coming back with it already between your lips.

You're warm when you settle yourself next to him on the bed, under the rough blankets. The pillows smell like him. You inhale.

He doesn't know whether to hold you or leave you alone. He just opts to be a little closer to you as he lets you close your eyes. A weak "G'night, Munson" escapes you as you exhale and close your eyes.

He watches the silhouette of your shoulders rise and fall.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...

He falls asleep before he can get to fifty.

[thefallennightmare]

Arranged-five

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but lovingtowards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: Tags for this will be open, just shoot me a message or comment if you're interested!

Tags: @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @broadwaybabe18 @samsgirl93 @cherryflavoureds-blog @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @clqrosmgc @loumaaria-blog @queerqueenlynn

Arranged Masterlist

Bucky was at my back while Steve led the way up the front steps and they quickly ushered me inside, with no words spoken the entire drive back home. Something wasn’t right with this meeting they were almost late for, I couldn’t shake the weight in my stomach. 

“Steve, can you take her to her room and stay with her until I’m finished?” Bucky asked. 

“I’m not going to be held prisoner. You said it yourself, I can have free reign,” I reminded him. 

Steve simply placed a hand at the small of my back, trying to lead me upstairs, however my foot remained planted in the main entry way of the house. That was when Bucky’s other two bodyguards stepped in, ready to grasp my elbows to drag me upstairs. My yells of protests bounced off the walls. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I sneered. 

Bucky stepped between his men, anger flushing his cheeks. “Let’s get one thing straight, you don’t ever lay a finger on her, understand? She is to only be handled by Steve or I.” 

“Boss, all do respect, she’s been a pain since she’s first arrived,” Jake, one of his men said. 

The other man, Ryan, agreed with a nod. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, shocked. 

“Listen lady, I’d suggest you keep my mouth shut. You have no idea what you got yourself into,” Jake snapped. 

A shriek fell from my lips as I watched Bucky wrap his metal fingers around Jake's throat and pinned him against the back of the front door, feet dangling inches above the floor. 

“Bucky, stop.” I placed a hand on his other arm but it was as if Bucky couldn’t feel my touch. 

Jake was gasping, swallowing, for any ounce of air around him as Bucky tightened the grip on his throat. Jake scratched and clawed at the metal arm but failed, it not having any effect on Bucky. 

“I’d suggest you apologize to my future wife.” 

Nothing came out of Jake’s lips so Bucky squeezed harder. 

“Sorry,” Jake choked out. 

“Okay, let him go,” I said to Bucky. 

He still wouldn’t drop him so this time I did my best to step between the two of them. 

“God damnit, Bucky. Let. Him. Go.” 

Bucky’s gaze bounced from Jakes to mine and when he saw my worried one, he reluctantly dropped Jake to the floor; his gasps echoing down the halls. 

“You’re lucky I need you two assholes for this meeting otherwise you’d be gone,” Bucky threatened towards Ryan, who had been standing there, head down and avoiding the wrath of Bucky. 

“Y/N, let's get upstairs,” Steve suggested. 

“Well it’s about time you showed up. I’ve been waiting over an hour.” 

All eyes landed on the new man that entered the room. He was dressed in a suit that screamed expensive and he placed his glasses into his pocket, brown eyes resting on my face. The smile that crept to his lips didn’t sit well with me. 

“You must be the bride to be. I’m Tony Stark, an associate of your lover boy here. Will you be joining us?”

I stared at Tony’s extended hand and before I could even make the choice to shake it, Bucky had his hand on my hip and was leading me towards the stairs. 

“Not this time, Stark,” Bucky grumbled before motioning towards Steve. “She doesn’t have to stay in her room but make sure she stays away from my office.” 

“Ah, come on Barnes. She would be a real asset,” Tony spoke once again. 

Bucky’s metal fingers twitched with rage so I reached for them and linked our hands together. He immediately eased into my touch, eyes softening as I looked into his eyes. 

“I’ll be up in my room. Come find me when you’re finished?” I suggested. 

He quickly nodded before he composed himself, ushering all the men to follow him towards his office. 

There was a nice breeze that afternoon, fall in New York fast approaching, and I smiled while bringing the blanket closer to me. I had been sitting on the balcony of my bedroom, watching the fast night life of the city approaching. Even if Barnes Manor was secluded, we were high up on a hill that you could still see the constant movement of cars driving through the city. 

I had a book perched on my lap but after reading the same sentence a handful of times, I had closed it with a long sigh. My mind had been wrapped up in what was happening downstairs and if Bucky would be finishing up soon. It had been almost two hours since he disappeared into his office, Steve standing outside my bedroom door that whole time. I mentioned it a few times to him that he didn’t need to stay, he could do whatever he wanted. 

“I figured you could use the company.” 

The only positive thing about Bucky being in that meeting for so long was that I was able to do a bit of research on this mystery man. 

Tony Stark was a billionaire, one of the few in New York. He had lost his parents when he was in college but he never let that affect him. He created his own empire by investing in other smaller companies and building them high for success. 

A silent investor is what his Wikipedia page said. 

What confused me was that Bucky had money, lots of it. He didn’t need Stark or his money, so I had no idea what his part in Bucky’s company was. 

To be honest, I didn’t even know what Bucky was working on or into. All I knew was that he was some feared mob boss. 

But did I want to know that information? Could I live with what he does to the people that go against his orders? 

“Y/N?” 

I looked over my shoulder and gave a smile to Steve, who was leaning against the doorframe to the balcony. 

“Everything alright?” I asked. 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair and nodded. “Bucky sends his apologies. His meeting is running a bit longer than expected.” 

I shrugged. “It’s alright. I’ve got plenty of time.” 

He could hear the falter in my voice. “Did you want to talk? About anything?” 

I hesitated. “Is that a good idea? From what I hear, you and Bucky are best friends. I don’t want to say something that would upset you.” 

Steve shook his head with a chuckle. “It wouldn’t be anything I hadn’t heard before. Buck may come off as a hard ass but he really does care about the people closest to him. Plus, I’m here for you; safety wise and someone to vent too.” 

“Well, in that case,” I pointed to the seat next to me. “Have a seat.” 

“So, Bucky tells me you two are doing a courthouse wedding?” Steve asked while straightening out his dress shirt. 

I nodded. “When I think of a wedding, it's supposed to be this huge celebration where you prove your love for one another in front of your loved ones.” 

“I understand that,” Steve said. 

“I wish my parents did,” I sighed. “They’re upset because they arranged this whole thing to make sure the rest of my life I didn’t have to worry about anything.” 

“You didn’t get a say in this?” 

I shook my head while fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “Nope and I can’t go against my parents; it was the number one rule while growing up.” 

Steve looked at my fingers and his brow raised in confusion when he saw the bare finger on my left hand. 

“No ring yet?” He questioned. 

“Oh,” I looked at my hand. “I don’t think Bucky is going to give me one, to be honest.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Steve suggested with a smirk. 

Suddenly, I felt a large presence behind me and when I looked over my shoulder, the pace of my heart began to quicken. 

Bucky was leaning against the railing, a smirk playing at his lips. He must have been so quiet as he walked in because I didn’t hear a thing. 

“Hi,” I breathed. 

“Steve keeping you company?” He questioned. 

“Yeah. Is that alright?” 

I couldn’t tell if Bucky was upset with Steve and I being alone. 

He nodded. “Steve’s the only one I trust to leave you with.” 

“Meeting go alright?” Steve questioned while he rose to his feet. 

Bucky nodded. “Do you mind bringing the car around? I’ve got an errand to run.” 

Steve quietly excused himself, leaving Bucky and I alone. 

“What about Jake?” I asked. 

From what I could tell, he had been Bucky’s driver. 

Bucky’s eyes clouded over with darkness, only for a moment. “He won’t be working for me anymore.” 

With the curtness in his voice, I decided not to press on with the issue or with the splatter of blood on Bucky’s metal knuckles. 

“So,” I changed the subject. “I’m assuming you have other plans then?” 

He nodded. “I’ll only be gone an hour. Since Steve will be with me, can you promise that you won’t go anywhere?” 

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” I shrugged. 

Bucky let out a sad sigh while stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “I don’t want to make you feel like a prisoner, Y/N.” 

I disagreed with his worry. “You don’t. I’m still settling in so it’ll take me some time.” 

“Would that stop you from spending some alone time with me tonight?” Bucky noticed my hesitation. “I’ll cook you dinner, that’s it.” 

“Please?” A smile began pulling up in the corner of his lips. 

I gnawed on my lip at how cute he looked when he begged. “Sure. I’d like that.” 

Bucky nodded. “Dining room. Seven o'clock.” 

“Seven o'clock,” I repeated before watching him walk out of the room, not before throwing another smile to me over his shoulder.

[hazza-bear-care]

What Happened?

After a fight with her boyfriend, Y/N flees to the comfort of her dad's best friend Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Rogers)

Warnings: TW!!!!physical and mental abuse, swearing, death threats, "who did this to you" trope, fluff, age gap (reader is 22, Bucky is 43), pet names (sweets, sweetheart, honey)

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

"I can't believe you went through my phone! Why don't you ever respect my privacy?!" Jason yelled as he dragged Y/N across the living room floor by her hair. Y/N screamed as she attempted to pry his fingers from her blonde locks, but he persisted, pulling her up and shoving her into the wall beside them. Her impact caused a picture to fall off the wall, the frame scraping her face as it fell to the floor, the glass shattering instantly.

"I'm sorry! I promise it won't happen again!" Y/N begged, crouching to the floor as Jason stalked toward her menacingly, an evil look in his eyes as he advanced on her cowering form. Jason's fingers wrapped around her throat tightly, pushing her up against the wall and squeezing. Y/N clawed at his wrists, her fingernails drawing blood as he pressed harder into her throat, a punch meeting her eye in response to her struggle.

"If it happens again, I'll kill you and make it look like you did it yourself. Do you understand me?" Jason seethed, slamming Y/N into the wall after every other word. Y/N nodded frantically as black spots started to cloud her vision, the image of Jason's irate face blurring. Her answer seemed to satisfy him as he released his hold, watching Y/N stumble to the floor, gasping for breath. He kicked her in the ribs once more while she was hunched on the floor before retreating to the bathroom.

Y/N remained on the floor, a coughing, spluttering mess as she choked on the air filling her lungs. When her vision cleared enough, her attention turned toward the picture that had fallen and gingerly flipped it over. Ironically, it was a picture of them on their two year anniversary, taken at their favorite restaurant. It also happened to be the first time he ever laid a hand on her in a malicious way. Y/N stared at the picture for what seemed like an eternity before the sound of the shower starting snapped her out of the trance she was in. In a flash, Y/N was up on her feet, ripping the rest of the pictures off the wall, a flurry of glass and wood splintering around her. Regret sank deep in her bones as she looked at the mess on the floor. Surely, Jason would fly into a rage again, but she wasn't sure she'd survive another incident.

With that internal revelation made, Y/N ran out of the apartment she shared with Jason, stumbling down the stairs as she ran out of the building and down the street as fast as she could. Her heart and adrenaline were pumping fast and hard as she sprinted further away from her abusive boyfriend, tears blurring her vision as she ran. She passed people and dogs, dodging anyone and anything that ended up in her way. After running for 10 minutes straight, Y/N paused under the awning of a building to catch her breath, vision going spotty again as her head began to ache in time with her heartbeat pounding in her chest. Shaking it off, she turned to look at the building behind her, sobbing once more as she viewed the sign painted on the window she was leaning on: La Bella Italia, their favorite restaurant.

With an angered cry, Y/N took off down the street once again, ignoring the sound of thunder rumbling over her head. Lightning flashed and thunder followed once again before the sky opened up and rain fell from the heavens, soaking Y/N almost instantly the faster she ran.

Once she recognized where she was through the torrential rain and spotty vision, she ran for the house she had visited more times than she could count. She jogged to the door, collapsing against it as she fumbled to find the doorbell. Her finger made contact with it the button, following it by slapping her hand against the wood frantically.

"Bucky! It's Y/N, please open up!" Thunder boomed overhead again, causing Y/N to cry once more, this time due to the pounding in her head. She slapped the door twice more before it flew open, revealing Bucky in nothing but a towel. He had just come home from working out with her father, a shower relaxing his aching muscles. Bucky took in the sight of Y/N soaked and chilled to the bone by the rain, dried blood and her hair sticking to her face.

"Y/N? What happened? Are you okay? Come in!" Bucky didn't hesitate to pull Y/N inside the warm sanctuary of his house and closing the door once she was inside. Y/N collapsed into Bucky's arms once she was out of the storm, the tears once more flowing freely as she sobbed into his neck. Bucky patted Y/N's back, shushing her as she wailed for 20 minutes. Once she was done, he pulled her face away and examined the swelling bruise that had formed during her run. He noted the cut on her temple and cheek, the cuts on her legs from the shards of glass flying around her. His eyes finally met the bruise on her neck, the imprint of two thumbs resting prominently on her trachea.

Bucky's quizzical gaze turned to one of stone, rage burning deep into his stomach.

"Who did this to you?" Bucky growled, his voice firm and demanding. Y/N sheepishly looked anywhere but his face, refusing to make eye contact with the man in front of her. "Y/N. Who did this to you?" He repeated.

"Jason." She whimpered, her bottom lip trembling as more tears threatened to fall. Bucky groaned, pulling Y/N back into his welcoming embrace as he imagined every possible way he could hurt the coward who hurt Y/N. His Y/N.

"I'm gonna kill him." Bucky murmured, holding Y/N at arm's length to see her injuries once more. Y/N shrank under his scrutinizing gaze, bowing her head. "Stay here. I'll be right back, okay?" Bucky ordered, watching Y/N nod before he turned to get himself changed, grabbing an extra towel and some clothes for Y/N. When he returned, she had sat against the door, her eyes closed, but brows furrowed in distress. Bucky knelt beside her and tapped her shoulder, her eyes flying open in fear.

"Shh, sweetheart, it's just me. You're safe, I promise." Bucky cooed.

"I'm sorry. I got dizzy and needed to sit." Y/N explained. Bucky simply told her it was okay and helped her stand, catching her when she stumbled forward. He scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, apologizing when she flinched at the bright lights.

Bucky placed Y/N on the bathroom counter, once again surveying her bloodied face. With a sigh, he snatched a hand towel off of the ring beside his sink, dampening it with cold water. He pressed it gently against the wound on her temple, once again apologizing for causing her pain.

"I was serious, Y/N. About killing him. No man should ever lay his hands on a woman, let alone his woman." Bucky spoke, breaking the silence that had steadily grown between them as he gently rubbed the blood from her face.

"Don't." Y/N whispered, looking down at her hands in embarrassment.

Bucky groaned in frustration, trying not to get even more upset about the situation, while also trying to avoid a fight.

"Fine. But you should at least press charges and dump his sorry ass. He doesn't deserve you anyway, sweets. Now, I have to ask, why come here and not to your dad?" Bucky questioned softly, running the damp cloth down her cut legs next. He silently noted the fact that she was barefoot but ignored it as he waited for Y/N to answer him.

"He knows where Dad lives. It's going to be the first place he looks when he realizes I'm gone. I'm sorry for intruding I just.... I didn't know where else to go." Y/N cried, chin quivering once more.

"Hey, hey, don't start crying again. You're always welcome here, sweetheart. Running away from a boy or not." Bucky replied, cupping her face in his hands. Y/N managed to crack a smile, which quickly morphed into a wince as her head started throbbing again.

"I think I have a concussion. He.... slammed me into the wall a few times." Y/N admitted sheepishly, wincing once again at the bright lights around her.

"Okay, let's get you changed and we'll go to the hospital." Bucky finalized.

"No! Bucky please, I just want to stay with you!" Y/N cried, clutching Bucky's shirt in her fists.

"Honey, I know you're scared, but I can't diagnose a concussion here. You also need stitches. I will be with you the whole time, okay?" Bucky reasoned, holding Y/N close to him as she began to panic.

"Promise?" she whispered.

"I pinky promise, sweetheart." Bucky whispered back.

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

They returned from the emergency room at 12:30, exhaustion settling deep into Y/N's bones.

She had been stitched up, given antibiotics and pain medication for her concussion. Bucky had decided that staying at his house was the best way to keep her safe, both from Jason and her concussion. He ushered her inside and upstairs once more, the pain medication making her loopy and giggly.

"You're so pretty, Bucky. How are you still single?" Y/N asked through giggles as Bucky got her situated in his bed.

"You know, that is a great question, honey. One that I don't have an answer to." Bucky chuckled in response, tucking her legs under the blankets and settling her back into the pillows.

"Are you staying?" Y/N asked softly, grabbing Bucky's hand and interlocking their fingers together as he kneeled beside her, his metal fingers brushing through her hair.

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm staying. I'll protect you." Bucky's voice was soft and comforting as he continued to stroke her hair.

"Kiss me." Y/N muttered, eyes fluttering to Bucky's.

"I can't, Y/N." Bucky whispered back. He couldn't kiss his best friend's daughter. She was high on pain meds anyway; she didn't know what she was asking for and he knew she'd regret it in the morning.

"Please, Bucky. I need to know what it's like to be loved again." More tears fell for the countless time that night as the thought of Jason's actions as the last acts of love she'd ever receive. Y/N took her hand from Bucky's and rolled over, the tears falling silently down her cheeks and onto the pillowcase. Sobs wracked her body, causing Bucky to jump in bed beside her and pull her into his arms. Y/N tried to fight him, tried to push out of his grasp. If he didn't want to love her, then clearly she wasn't worth loving.

"Y/N, you don't want me to love you. I can't love you. Steve, your dad, would kill me. If I'm dead, how can I protect you from assholes like Jason?" Bucky asked, trying to make the moment lighter with a joke.

"I don't care, Bucky. I just want you." Caught off guard by her confession, Bucky's grip loosened, allowing Y/N to slip out of his arms and the bed, to retreat downstairs to the couch. She braced herself against the wall, willing herself to not get dizzy.

"Y/N, come back here!" Bucky called, chasing her down the stairs before she could fall and hurt herself more.

"Why should I?" Y/N bit back, pushing Bucky's hand off of her shoulder as she tried to retreat back to the door.

"Don't you dare open that door, Y/N. Where are you going to go? You can't go to your dad's, you can't go to your place, and you sure as hell can't go back out in that storm!" Bucky yelled, stepping next to where Y/N was standing, her hand gripping the doorknob tightly in an attempt to keep herself standing.

"He loves me. I just... made a mistake." Y/N said softly, another tear rolling down her cheek.

"No, Y/N, you didn't make a mistake. He doesn't love you. If he loved you, he wouldn't have ever laid a hand on you." Bucky argued, trying his hardest to keep his dream girl in his house and away from the abusive prick she thought loved her.

"Bucky," She started, turning her head to look at her savior, the man she trusted to keep her safe.

"I love you, sweetheart." Bucky blurted.

"What?" Y/N asked, eyes widened with the realization that her crush on her father's best friend wasn't one sided.

"I love you, Y/N. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me in my shitty hell of a life. You and your dad have gotten me through so many dark times, and I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about you; kissing you, making you laugh, loving you the way you deserve to be loved. It broke my heart when you started dating that jackass, even more when you moved in with him. And seeing you here, bloody and broken due to his hands, I'm trying my best to not kill him for hurting my girl."

"Your girl?" Y/N's head was swimming from Bucky's confession of love, as well as her concussion, and her knees were weak. She turned her back to the door and slid down to the floor again, trying to steady herself and her thoughts.

"Yes, honey. My girl. And I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. Is that okay?" Bucky knelt beside her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. For the first time since they've been home, Y/N looked at Bucky and was met with blue eyes filled to the brim with love and adoration. Everything he said was true, and she felt it in her bones that this is where she was supposed to be.

"I.... I don't know what to say, Bucky. I can't just leave Jason. He.... He said he'd kill me if I even tried. I dreamed of everything you just said, I've wanted you for a while."

"Oh, I know, honey. You didn't hide your feelings very well." Bucky chuckled and Y/N cracked a smile at his joke. He was right; when she had first met Bucky, Y/N did everything in her power to spend time with him. He helped her move into her dorm room, and then into her first real apartment. When she and Jason ended up together, Y/N contemplated how she was going to tell Bucky, but her father broke the ice on that discussion during his birthday barbecue, and Bucky's reaction wasn't hard to miss. Now after three years of a pointless relationship and abuse, she was finally hearing that the man of her dreams wanted her.

"Bucky, I'm serious. I love you too, so much, but Jason would.... he would kill me, then my dad, then you. He'd win." Y/N sniffled as she started crying again, groaning as she pressed her palms to her eyes, annoyed with herself for how much she had cried in the past few hours.

"Y/N, we will get through this. We'll handle Jason when the time comes, okay? We'll get you a lawyer, a court date, witnesses, but right now you need to get better. Can we get you back in bed? I know you're tired." As if on cue, Y/N yawned which caused Bucky to chuckle. With a nod, Bucky helped Y/N back to her feet and up to his room, helping her get adjusted so she could sleep soundly.

"Can we watch FRIENDS?" Y/N asked.

"Of course, sweetheart. Any episode in particular?" Bucky asked, remote at the ready to accommodate his girl.

"'The One Where No One's Ready.' Season three, I think." Bucky nodded, turning his attention to the TV and turning on Y/N's favorite show. He had seen a few episodes in passing after hearing Y/N talk about it, and he thought it was hilarious, so he didn't mind watching this until she fell asleep. Once the episode had started and she had convinced Bucky to clap along to the theme song with her, Y/N finally began to relax. Her body sunk deeper into Bucky's bed, his warmth and scent enveloping her and helping her feel safe. She dared to glance over at him, his eyes glued to one of the funniest sitcom episodes to ever exist (while making a note to show him the Stress Relief episodes of The Office) and she admired his sharp nose, chiseled jaw line with a hint of five o'clock shadow dabbled all over. His metal arm hummed softly as he adjusted, leaning back on his headboard with one arm over his head.

"You're staring, sweets. What's going through your pretty head?" Bucky asked, meeting her gaze before she could turn her attention back to Ross scrambling to get his friends out the door and whining about his dinosaur watch.

"That kiss I asked you about earlier. I can't stop thinking about how soft your lips would be." Her confidence had grown slightly, but she still blushed at the look on Bucky's face, a look of love.

"You know, I've been thinking the exact same thing, sweetheart. Come here." Bucky gently scooped Y/N into his arms so she was straddling him, and the eye contact between them was searing. Canned laughter echoed behind Y/N as the group of friends was still rushing out of the door, and Bucky took that as his cue. In a flash, his lips crashed against Y/N's and the two of them moaned simultaneously, reveling in the feeling of their dreams coming true. The simple peck soon deepened into a passionate kiss, a mixture of teeth, tongue, and saliva furthering the progression of their newfound love. When they separated to breath, Y/N broke out into a case of the giggles.

"What's so funny, sweetheart?" Bucky asked, a smile spreading on his own face as Y/N continued to laugh on his lap.

"Nothing, I just can't believe that just happened. Can we do it again?"

"Anything for you, honey." With that, they kissed again, over and over until they were so breathless Y/N didn't know what was causing her newest dizzy spell, her concussion or kissing Bucky until she couldn't.

A few minutes later, Y/N had fallen asleep wrapped in Bucky's arms feeling safer than she had in years. As Bucky stared at the girl in his bed, he was finally happy as he watched her breathing. He still hated how bruised she was, but that was something to take care of on a different day. For now, she was sleeping, safe, and loved.

Bucky vowed then and there to protect Y/N from now until she said not to. And he hoped that day would never come.

~~~~~~~~~

TWO WIPS DONE!!!! I hope you guys enjoyed it! comment, reblog, share, and leave some recommendations on what you want to see next. Love you!

[drefear]

Hopelessly Devoted To You…

Yandere Hizashi/Present Mic x Reader

TW: blood, fighting, death, anxiety, smut, p in v, rough sex, pain, slight choking, lying, angst

Guess mine is not the first heart broken

My eyes are not the first to cry

I'm not the first to know

There's just no getting over you

The pain in my legs was proof that the strain on my muscles was ripping them apart. I couldn’t hold myself up for much longer, let alone keep running. How did I not see this coming? Music hummed in the decaying building, his loud humming like the lullaby of my death. The blood in my eyes from the wound on my head made it very hard to see where I was going, but I was able to make out the halls and doors. Grabbing a doorknob, I struggled to force it open as the knob felt like it had been cemented shut. Where were the police? Where was Aizawa? Hawks? Anyone?

My lungs burned like they were filled with acid, every breath causing a severe stabbing pain in my chest. Shoving myself into the door, it finally burst open and I saw my fears coming true.

The red feathers on the ground were a lifeless and dull, no beautiful scarlet shine like I’d seen only a few hours ago. No, they were completely desolate of any shine. This was bad, this was really bad. Tiptoeing into the room, I quietly shut the door behind myself and made my way around the big desk in the center. The sight was unsavory, almost nauseating.

The stuttering breathing of my partner, Hawks, was just loud enough to overshadow the music echoing and my heartbeat. His eyes shot up at me, shakey and panicked as he gasped once again. I moved like lightning, pulling fabric from my hero costume to compress his wounds. He did this? Loud, quick footsteps made my hands freeze for a split second before I recognized the weight of those steps, continuing to push down on his wounds.

“Move, I’ll cauterize his wounds a bit with my fire, just go find him.” Dabi nudged me out of the way slightly as I sucked in air from his presence. “Just remember, once this is over, we’re still enemies.”

“Agreed.” My eyes glared at him as I tugged my visual blockers down over my eyes and dashed out of the room. The faint steps I heard were coming from above.

You know I'm just a fool who's willing

To sit around and wait for you

But, baby, can't you see

There's nothing else for me to do?

I'm hopelessly devoted to you

“Lime green and unseen. She is pristine!” His voice was quieter than usual, casting a spell of fear over my body.

This wasn’t the Hizashi we all knew and loved. This was a monster, a man possessed.

“Come out and play, little listener!” He called, the windows breaking from his quirk. I couldn’t help but cover my ears and duck down, then dashing to the nearest staircase. He wanted to find me, and so I’d play into his hand.

Finally getting to the top of the stairs, I saw him leaning against a doorframe, swirling a finger around something, bulky and strangely shaped. Stepping closer, I saw the light shine on him. His hair down and wild, sunglasses tucked into his hair, sleeves ripped off his arms and voice modulator covering his neck. He was unhinged.

But what caught my eye was the yellow goggles he was toying with. Covered in blood.

My sensei was in trouble.

But now there's nowhere to hide

Since you pushed my love aside

I'm out of my head

“Where is he?!” I screamed at him and his lips just smirked into an unsettling expression.

“Whatdya mean? Ya didn’t see ‘m when ya walked in?” His eyes looked at me through his lashes and a shiver went down my spine. I glanced from side to side but nothing. That’s when I saw it. A single drop of liquid fell from the ceiling. Looking up, I saw Aizawa tied in his own scarf with his eye blindfolded, bleeding from his arm and head.

“Let him down!”

“Now now, little listener. You aren’t in any position to be ordering me around. We both know your strengths and weaknesses, and none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.” His words rang in my ears as I thought back to the weeks leading up to this.

Hopelessly devoted to you

I’d gotten close with Hizashi, my old teacher and friend. I’d confided in him, trusted him, and he would comfort me when I needed it. Days turned to weeks and soon, we had become more than just friends. I knew about his feelings, I knew I had some too, but I wanted to be a hero and focus on my dreams. Comforting turned to something else one night and we went to a place we couldn’t go back from. It was wonderful, he was wonderful. Everything I’d ever wanted.

Hopelessly devoted to you

At least the good side of him was, but jealous was something I’d never seen from him and when I worked with Hawks, he seemed to get unexplainably irritable and angry. He would ignore me for hours after I’d get off of work, not answer my texts, and then show up at random hours of the day to visit me at work. Patrol was even worse, he was always “running into” us. I knew Hawks was in a serious relationship, but he couldn’t talk about it because of our job. We were hero’s, and his partner was not, so anyone knowing about his relationship could put their life in jeopardy.

Hizashi didn’t believe me, didn’t care what I said. So naturally, I broke things off. It hurt, it hurt so badly, as I was in love with him, but if he couldn’t trust me and communicate with me, what was I to do?

And now here I was, standing across from my ex lover, the man I thought I’d marry for a time of my life, about to fight him to the death.

Hopelessly devoted to you

“Hizashi, this isn’t you. This isn’t who I’m in love with, just give in and we can go home!” My eyes filled with tears and my hand reached out, hoping he’d take the short amount of steps in between us and hold it.

His eyes flashed to uncertainty for a second before hardening again and locking me out.

“You’re lying to me. You were always lying to me!” He screams and the power of his voice has me clamping my hands over my ears, blood dripping out a bit. I take a step forward, hand still reached out.

“I never lied. You’ve always been the only one for me. How could I love anyone else when I had you?” My voice is weak, stuttering as I feel my bottom lip quiver. The sadness I feel is uncontrollable and I’m doing everything I can to not fall into a crumbled mess on the ground. “Come back to me, Zashi… please.” I beg, and he steps to me.

“I’ll fix this if you promise to be mine. Right here, right now.”

“I’m already yours until the end of time.” I answer but he sneers, aggravated.

“That’s not what I mean.” He pulls off a glove and what he wants finally clicks.

“We- Shota is on the ceiling-“

“He can’t see anything, and he probably can’t hear.” The comfortable way he says this makes my skin crawl, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been craving him this whole time. “You want me to surrender? Prove I’m your man.”

My head is saying, "Fool, forget him."

My heart is saying, "Don't let go.

I gulp, the dryness in my throat making me sputter a cough and he reaches out to me from concern, his true self breaking through. “Okay…” I agree, “yes.” And his hands are on me, pulling at the costume, or what’s left of it. The torn pieces of my outfit were ripping wider, the seam of my green pants tearing all the way up to my stomach. His calloused hands trace my thighs and without hesitation, two of his fingers rub against my clit. It’s rough and hurried, but god it feels amazing. His mouth finds the spot behind my ear instantly and I reach out. The groan he lets out against my skin as I palm him through his jeans is intoxicating.

“Zashi… please!” I whimper, and he nods, biting me and inserting a finger in me at the same time. My world spins for a moment as the two sensations collide and I grind against his hand, his thumb taking the place of those two fingers on my sensitive button.

I make quick work of his buckle and try to tug down his pants, getting them to his thighs as his hard erection slaps up against his abdomen. Even in the darkness, I can see his jacobs latter and my insides are preening at the memory, of how I remember it feels.

His lips attack when he catches me staring and I use my own slick to coat my hand and pump him slowly, but he rips my hand away and picks me up by the waist. It all happens so fast, I can’t even see anything until my back hits a cold wall and his head is at my entrance, spreading me open and about to enter me raw. We’ve never done that, and I’m so anxious about it, but I need it just as bad as he does.

“Ready, baby?” He asks and I nod, gazing into those green eyes I know I never want to be without. He pushes in and we both let out a pleading sound, the piercings shuffling around my insides and making me arch my back in pleasure. After the first push, it’s a relentless fucking and I can just hold on as he takes me against the wall. As he’s facing the wall, I peer one eye open just in time to see a specific shadow drop from the ceiling silently and take off his blindfold. My cheeks heat up and I shake my head, hoping he gets the message and he does. He runs out, but Hizashi can’t hear him over his own grunts and my whines.

His hand grabs my throat and I orgasm immediately, feeling him near his end from the clench of my walls around him. A few more destructive thrusts and I feel him fill me, but warmth flowing into me as I twitch from the pure endorphins this is causing.

Our bodies slump together as he pulls himself out and watches our mixed juices drip down my thighs. I moan a bit from the feeling and pant from exhaustion, right before looking up at him and beginning to cry.

Hold on till the end.

And that's what I intend to do

I'm hopelessly devoted to you

“Baby, why are you-” He cups my cheek as I cut him off.

“Forgive me… Hizashi, forgive me and know that I will never love anyone more than I love you…” I keep my head nuzzled into his open hand as I bawl my eyes out, then feeling his hand ripped away from me and seeing him get handcuffed and pinned to the ground through my tears.

“You lied to me!” He yells at me, but Eraserhead had understood my silent plea from before and was able to get the police and backup, also erasing Hizashi’s quirk so he couldn’t yell anymore.

“I’m sorry!” I cry out as Aizawa grabs a blanket and covers my half naked body, costume ripped and torn from both the battle and my ability to give him a false sense of safety. “You would have killed…”

But now there's nowhere to hide

Since you pushed my love aside

I'm out of my head

“It was all because I love you!” He yells again and I turn my face away, still shaking from sobs. Aizawa pulls me into his chest for a hug and shields me from Hizashi’s constant screams and verbal attacks. My heart shatters in my ears and I’m left with the feeling of pure emptiness, much like the whole week of us being apart has felt like. Now, Hizashi will be sent to prison and I will be alone again. “All for you!”

But he won’t be able to harm anyone else.

Hopelessly devoted to you

About a week later, I’m still recovering and visiting Hawks in the hospital, as well as Bubble girl and Fatgum. We all went into that battle and only a few came out able to function, the rest were under 24/7 hospital care. Like Hawks.

“Kid, relax.” He said to me, “none of this was your fault. You didn’t know he was a yandere.”

“He… he isn’t.” I blurt out and I hear a cough from behind me, turning to see Aizawa.

“Actually, a few psychiatrists sent in the reports yesterday. He has been classified as a yandere, and they are keeping him under surveillance because of his uncontrollable emotions.” The black haired man spoke and my chest was once again empty.

“But you’re safe now, he’s locked up, and you have nothing to fear.”

Hopelessly devoted to you

That was almost ten years ago. I have a family, children, a loving husband, and I haven’t looked back. But sometimes, I feel like someone’s watching me, or calling my name. A few times, I feel someone grab my wrist or whisper in my ear in public, but when I turn, no one is there.

I knew I was just imagining things, as I turned out the lights in my kitchen and slid into bed. My husband barely moved as the bed shiftly, getting into my side and feeling him.

“Baby you’re so cold…” I mumbled and kiss the back of his neck.

He doesn’t answer.

But the voice coming from my doorway does.

Hopelessly devoted to you

“Hello again, Little Listener.”

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

You Daft Dimbo

Ron Weasley x Female!Gryffindor Reader

Warnings: Language, Ron having his seizure in Slughorn's office

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Hooray for my first Ron Weasley fic! :D I've been on a Harry Potter kick recently, rewatching all of the movies for like the 200th time (each) and I feel like there's not too many fics about Ron! Ron was one of the first characters I really fell in love with (Before Fred lolol I just want all of the Weasley's.) and I hope this did him justice! This is based during Half Blood Prince (Lavender Brown) times, for a time setting hehe! Hope you all enjoy!

~Mod Shoyo <3

After helping Gryffindor in their tremendous victory, the new keeper, Ron Weasley, became a hot commodity. The night of the game, everyone gathered in the Gryffindor common room to honor and celebrate how amazingly well he did at preventing Slytherin from scoring. Harry, Y/N, and Hermione were all watching as people fawned over Ron.

“It’s nice that Ron has the spotlight, isn’t it?” Y/N giggled, watching red and gold confetti fall over his fiery Weasley locks.

“Yeah, it’s nice when it isn’t me for once.” Harry replied with a smile. Y/N and Hermione both rolled their eyes and scoffed.

As Ron came down from the pedestal he was standing on, Lavender Brown grabbed his hand tightly in hers. Y/N watched with furrowed eyebrows as she gripped his face in her palms, smashing her lips onto his. Her eyes widened and she turned to Hermione, watching her expression shift as well. When Y/N turned back around, Ron’s arms were wrapped around Lavender’s waist, pulling her into his body even more.

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked out of the common room, Hermione following her immediately. As the two best friends made it into one of the empty stairwells, Y/N finally sucked in a large breath, sniffling as she exhaled shakily. Hermione rubbed her back comfortingly and sighed, sitting down with her on one of the steps.

“I-is Ron even close with Lavender?” Y/N choked out. “I’ve never seen them interact once until tonight.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I've only seen her look at Ron from afar. It's quite creepy, if you ask me.”

Y/N shook her head and looked down into her lap. Her lip was quivering whenever she wasn’t talking. As her teardrops hit the floor, another set of footsteps came down the stairs. Harry had followed Y/N and Hermione, his posture stiffening when he could hear Y/N crying. Hermione looked up at Harry and gave him a disapproving look.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into him,” Harry sighed. “Bloody twit, he doesn’t know how to deal with so many compliments at once.”

"Obviously," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

Y/N stayed quiet, looking out one of the barred windows and keeping her eyes on the moon. She sniffled and found herself getting lost in the night sky. It always looked so much prettier when she had a lot on her mind. It almost served as a comfort to her, because who knows what all is going on in that black sky? And here she was, just staring at a small fraction of whatever was really out there.

Two sets of footsteps echoed through the stairwell and Y/N turned at the sound of them. Low and behold, Ron and Lavender came bustling through, both of them out of breath as they stared at the three Gryffindors. Lavender bit her lip and took note of Y/N's bloodshot and puffy eyes. She shifted her gaze to Ron with a very sneaky smirk, giggling softly as she tugged on his arm.

“I think this room’s taken…”

Ron chuckled softly and finally followed her down the stairs, sparing Y/N one last glance before they set out to another set of stairs. Y/N let out a harsh scoff and stood up angrily, stomping back up the stairs into the common room. She’d much rather go to bed than have to deal with the look Ron gave her before Lavender dragged him away.

---------

Ron was starting to get unbearable.

Despite how much Y/N liked him, she couldn’t help but start to slowly despise him the more he hung out with Lavender. Apparently they were dating now, so now there really was no hope for Y/N. Tonight was something different, however.

Harry called Y/N into the boys dormitories with no context, her mind racing as she opened the door. When the room was revealed to her, Ron was slumped in a chair staring out of the large window that was in the back of the room. Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as she walked over to Harry, also managing to get a better look at Ron in the process.

“What’s up with him?” Y/N queried, watching Harry’s slender finger point towards the box of chocolates Ron was clutching to his chest.

On the top, Y/N saw a sticky note with some handwriting on it. It was so neat, she knew it was a girl’s. She squinted her eyes to read the print and made out what it had said. 

A gift from me to you, Harry.

-Romilda <3

Y/N turned to look at Harry with confusion, wondering why Ron was acting so weird if all he ate was chocolate.

The more she thought, the more she started to remember about Slughorn’s class and his lesson on amortentia potions. Y/N audibly groaned and turned to look at Harry.

“You can’t be serious,”

Harry raised his eyebrows and let out a sigh through his nostrils. “I wouldn’t have called you if I wasn’t, I’m afraid.”

Ron was babbling some nonsense, talking about how Romilda was the one for him. How she reminded him of the moon in the sky. Y/N nearly gagged at the sound of all of his heartfelt professions of love for Romilda. He really needed to stop eating everything that he sees, this amortentia spell being the prime example of it.

Once Harry and Y/N managed to lead Ron to Slughorn’s office, she grabbed the brass knocker in the middle of the door and slammed it three times. After a few moments, the door opened ever so slightly, only enough for Slughorn to peek his face through the crack in the door.

“Mr. Potter, Miss L/N, it’s past your curfews,”

Y/N held the door open. “Professor it’s an emergency, we think Ron ate some chocolate laced with amortentia!”

Slughorn opened the door all the way, ushering his three students inside before closing the door behind him. Slughorn walked over to his desk, opening a couple of drawers before pulling out a small chalice and a glass bottle.

“With how well you’ve been doing in my class, I’d figure you could whip up a cure in no time, Harry!” Professor Slughorn complimented.

Once Slughorn finished mixing his herbs and liquids together, he poured the finished product into the chalice he brought out. Y/N took a peek and saw that it was a crimson red liquid. It didn’t look thick and honestly, it reminded her of Kool-Aid. As Ron took the cup in his hands, he looked up at Y/N.

“What’s this?” He questioned, smelling what was inside the cup.

“It’s tonic, for your nerves,” Slughorn responded.

Ron smiled sheepishly and brought the chalice up to his lips, taking a large sip of the cure Slughorn made. After he swallowed, his smile slowly started to fade, his eyes sharpening as he looked around the room. His eyes met with Y/N's and he finally snapped out of his love-struck daze.

“What happened to me?” Ron asked, still staring around the room like he hadn’t known how he even got there. Honestly, it wasn’t a completely irrational thing for him to say right now.

Harry sniggered and looked down at his friend with a smirk. “Love potion.”

Y/N sighed and took a seat on the couch where Ron was sitting. “A really really strong one. It was meant for Harry too.”

Ron furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at Harry. “If it was meant for you then why did it affect me?”

Y/N let out a soft laugh along with Harry. “Romilda Vane laced some chocolates for Harry with amortentia. You, being hungry, Ron Weasley, took the chocolates off Harry’s bed and ate them!”

Ron sighed and rubbed his face with the palm of his hands. Slughorn chuckled and and bustled around his desk once more, pulling out a bottle similar to a wine bottle along with four glasses. He poured the contents of whatever was in the bottle into each cup, bringing them over to hand to each of them.

“Here you go, you three,” Slughorn began. “To life!” Y/N, Harry, and Slughorn all clinked their cups together.

Ron was standing in front of the fire, already taking a sip out of his cup. Before the rest of them could take a drink from their cup, Ron fell to the floor with a harsh thud. Y/N's eyes darted over to Ron’s convulsing body, the veins in his neck popping out of his skin as his mouth started to foam. Y/N lifted Ron’s head up, starting to panic. She looked up at Harry and Slughorn, asking them to help. While Slughorn stayed looking baffled at what was going on, Harry rushed over to Slughorn’s cabinet.

Once Harry got his hands on the bezoar that was in one of the drawers, he came rushing towards Y/N. He got onto his knees and opened the packaging, grabbing the bezoar and stuffing it into Ron’s mouth. He had Y/N help make sure that Ron swallowed it, the two of them waiting in anticipation, hoping that Ron would wake up.

Moments went by, but for Y/N it felt like years. Ron hadn’t been breathing for all but five seconds, and when she finally saw his chest rise again, she let out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding. Ron sat up, letting out a hearty cough and hunching over the carpet. Y/N and Harry felt their hearts finally start to relax again, panting as Ron turned to Harry.

“These girls are going to kill me…”

-----------

The next morning, Ron was on bed rest in Madame Pomfrey’s. Although the bezoar helped, it also made Ron very ill. Madame Pomfrey managed to help him go to sleep, reassuring Y/N and Harry that Ron would be fine once he woke up. Y/N hadn’t left Ron’s side since he had first got brought to the medical wing. She sat in her chair at his side, Hermione sitting on the other side, watching him sleep and making sure that nothing else alarming was going to happen to him.

As Dumbledore, Slughorn, McGonagall, Snape, and Harry all entered the room they let their eyes settle on the unconscious Weasley boy. He looked as pale as the white blanket that was covering his body, the fabric brought all the way up to his neck. He would’ve been hard to see had it not been for his bright red hair. 

“Very good work on using the bezoar, Harry.” Dumbledore announced. “Horrace, you should be very proud of your student.”

Slughorn let out a shaky chuckle and nodded his head. “Y-Yes, very very proud…”

McGonagall spoke up in a more rational tone. “Let’s face it, had Y/N and Harry not acted as quickly as they did, Mr. Weasley would be dead!”

As Dumbledore studied the contents of the bottle that Slughorn poured their drinks with last night, Lavender Brown came running in, immediately asking for her Won-Won.

Y/N rolled her eyes the second she heard her shrill voice.

“Where’s my Won-Won?” She panicked, scanning each bed she passed as she ran through the medical wing. “Has he been asking for me?”

Y/N turned and looked at Hermione, rolling her eyes and making Hermione chuckle. The two friends stared at each other with a mutual hate for the way that Lavender sounded, let alone the way she acted now that she was Ron’s girlfriend. Y/N stood up from her chair at Ron’s side and eyed Lavender down angrily.

“What’s she doing here?” Lavender spat, eyeing Y/N down with an ugly stare.

“My friend is in the medical wing and you’re asking why I’m here?” Y/N fired back just as angrily. “What the hell are you doing here?"

Lavender gasped slightly. “I happen to be his girlfriend.”

Hermione stood up now, turning to face Lavender with a look similar to Y/N's.

“Funny how you’re his girlfriend, but only came to the medical wing just now. Y/N's been here since he got admitted.”

Lavender was anything but Ron’s girlfriend. If being boyfriend and girlfriend just meant you only used each other for secret makeout sessions in unattended stairwells, then they were soulmates. But Y/N knew that Lavender was far from being Ron’s girlfriend. With the way that Y/N always dreamed of treating Ron, Lavender just didn’t compare. 

“Oh, don’t make me laugh! I suppose you want me to break up with him now that he’s suddenly all interesting?” Lavender whined.

Y/N gasped and let out dry scoff, pointing at the state that Ron was in.

“Are you stupid? Ron was poisoned you daft dimbo! He’s been my best friend way longer than you’ve known him, and he’s always been interesting to me.” Y/N spat.

Harry and Hermione smirked at Y/N's remark, not sure that they wanted to point out that she subtly mentioned her crush on Ron. The teasing would come another time, right now? They were just proud that she was sticking up for not just for herself, but for Ron too.

Ron began to shift in his bed, soft groans and murmurs falling from his lightly chapped lips. Lavender gasped and walked closer to the foot of Ron’s bed. She grabbed his leg in between her horribly painted nails, gripping it tightly.

“Ah… see? He senses my presence.” She stated matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry Won-Won, I’m here! I’m here.”

Ron’s lips parted slightly and small noises were leaving his mouth. Everyone leaned forward, curious of what he was trying to say. Lavender leaned even closer, practically throwing herself on top of his body to listen to him.

“Y-Y/N.” He whispered. Y/N could’ve sworn she was going insane. Had he really said her name?

Maybe she got hit with some amortentia and it was making her go crazy.

Ron spoke again, this time his voice was nice and clear for everyone to hear.

“Y-Y/N.”

Y/N's heart swelled with love as she realized he had in fact said her name the first time. Lavender stood up and looked at Y/N with a look that could kill. Tears welled up in her eyes and she angrily stomped her foot, turning on her heel and running out of the room crying. Dumbledore made a comment about the harsh sting of love, but Y/N didn’t know what he was talking about. The love she felt in her heart right now was something out of a movie. 

Y/N gripped Ron’s hand tightly, her heart swelling even more when she could feel him weakly squeeze her hand. Y/N couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she scooted her chair closer to Ron, lightly caressing his hand with her thumb.

“Aww, look at your little Won-Won.” Harry teased, trying to copy Lavender’s same tone of voice.

Y/N turned to look at Harry and bursted out laughing, playfully rolling her eyes. “Shut up, let me have this moment.”

Harry and Hermione burst into a fit of giggles, standing up and following the teachers out of the wing, leaving Y/N and Ron all by themselves. Y/N let out a small sigh and reached up to run her hands through Ron’s hair.

“When you wake up, I really hope that you see how much you mean to me, Weasley.”

Ron groaned as Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, Y/N giggling as she continued to lightly scratch his scalp with her fingernails.

Ron was so spoiled, but only when Y/N allowed it.

--------------

As soon as Ron woke up, he was greeted with Y/N right by his side. She smiled and gasped, throwing her arms around him as soon as he sat up in bed. He smiled softly and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her hair. She was freshly showered, Ron could smell her shampoo and conditioner still trapped in her hair. He stroked her back lovingly, trying to hide the sound of his heart pounding against his chest.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I was so worried about you.” Y/N admitted quietly, her lips right next to his ear and even then he could barely hear her.

Ron smirked and hugged her tighter. “I’m okay. Thanks to you and Harry, of course.”

Y/N smiled and rested her face in the crook of his neck, despite how long he stayed in bed, she could still smell that classic Weasley musk that she had fallen in love with. When her and Ron finally pulled away and Ron was free to leave, he grabbed her hand and intertwined it with his.

They walked down the quiet halls of Hogwarts together, the night sky shining brightly through all of the windows. They stopped in one of the corridors and stared at one of the windows together, Y/N finding the same comfort in the night sky that she found the night Lavender and Ron first kissed.

“You really never left my side?” Ron questioned. Y/N nodded her head. “I only left to go take a shower and come back…” She admitted.

Ron’s heart filled with adoration for his best friend, his blue eyes shifting over to look at her features. Her long eyelashes looked so gorgeous, but they were only accessories compared to the beauty of her eyes. He sighed softly and pulled Y/N towards him, forcing her to look at him now.

“I know I’ve been through a lot when it comes to girls,” Ron admits. “But you’re the only girl that I really have deep feelings for.”

Y/N gasped. This is the confession she had been waiting for, for three years she dreamed of this very moment.

She was finally getting it.

“I’m sorry I put you through all of this,” He licked his lips and met her eyes.

“But I’d really like to try with you, if you’ll let me.”

Y/N visibly relaxed. A small blush tinted her cheeks and her lips spread into a gorgeous smile.

“It’s about time, Weasley.”

Ron furrowed his eyebrows with a smirk before Y/N grabbed the sides of his face in her palms, smashing her lips onto his. Ron was easily taken aback by the action, but the second he snapped out of it, his hands fell to her hips and tightly gripped them, pulling her body into his. Their chests were pressed flush against one another, their heads bobbing from side to side as they kissed. Y/N felt like her heart was going to explode, she was finally kissing Ron Weasley.

It only took three years of patience and heartbreak.

Once they pulled away, Ron smirked, resting his forehead on her own and staring into her eyes. He chuckled, watching her catch her breath in small, erratic pants.

“I could get used to that,”

Y/N rolled her eyes and kissed him once more, running her fingers through his red hair.

“I’ve been waiting for this for three years, Weasley. I think we need to make up for the lost time.”

Ron chuckled and nodded his head in agreement, grabbing her hips tightly once more and pushing his hips into her own. 

“I’m ready when you are.”

[xpiredcheeto]

Nothing’s Gonna Harm You, Not While I'm Around

*I don’t own the gif*

~1000 words

Tommy Shelby x Sister! Reader

In which Tommy comforts you after you have to use your gun. This takes place in season two because that season makes me happy :)

You had been sleeping when you heard it, it was a slight tapping sound followed by a few clicks. You thought it was some creature so you tried to roll over and fall back asleep.

The noise came again, click click click. 

Then again, until you heard a loud bang. Startled, you sat up and looked around, the noise stopped until you heard a soft sliding noise. You looked to your window, it was sliding open. Someone was breaking in!

You quickly grabbed the handgun that was given to you by your brother Arthur, he always told you not to use it unless it was necessary. Now seemed like one of those times. You pointed the revolver at the window, and a man dressed in all black stared back at you.

"Don't come any closer, I'll shoot you I swear!" you tried to sound brave but you were almost certain that he called your bluff. Your shaking hands probably were the tell.

The man laughed, it was mean and rigid.

"You couldn't use that thing even if you tried," he could tell you were shaking "now make this easy and put down the gun."

You didn't waiver, hands raised as you continued to point the weapon at him.

"Sabini said I wasn't supposed to hurt you, but if you don't put the gun down I will."

He took a step forward.

You took one back.

Suddenly, he sprinted at you. Your gun fired before you could process it. You hit him center mass, striking his heart.

The gun shook violently in your hands as the man you shot fell to the ground. Tears surged from your eyes. You felt disgusted, it's not like the man didn't deserve his fate, he did. He had been an enemy of your brothers, one of Sabini's men. He attempted to kidnap you, most likely to get leverage against your brothers. It was self-defense, so you were in the clear, but it didn't feel that way. 

You felt like vomiting as you stared at the body lying on the floor of your room.

"(Y/N), what was that noise?" Tommy's voice punctured the deafening silence of the room, his voice stricken with worry.

You were frozen and unable to reply, gun still clamped in between your palms. You heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

 "(Y/N)?" It was Tommy again, your lack of reply frightening your brother. He was approaching your door. Your eyes were still flooded with tears.

You were so wrapped up in your head that you didn't hear the doorknob twist or the sound of the door slamming open. Tommy was the first to walk into the room and see the sight of your room.

 "What the fuck happened?" His voice was somewhat panicked at the picture before him. 

You turned to face the voice, gun still held tightly. Tears rained down your cheeks as you looked at your brother standing in the door frame, he was shocked. The only sound in the room was your quiet sobs. You dropped the gun as Tommy pulled you into his arms, letting you cry into his coat. "What happened, sweetheart?" His voice was soft in an attempt to soothe you.

"He...he was trying to hurt me," You choked out between sobs. "I didn't want to kill him, I swear!"

Tommy paused for a moment

"It's alright, I'm not blaming you." Tommy's rough voice answered the question in your mind. "Let's get you out of this room, alright? Let's talk about it downstairs."

 You followed as Tommy led you down the stairs and into the kitchen. He guided you over to a chair and urged you to sit. He knelt to look you in the eyes as he spoke to you. 

"It's alright, sweetheart. He can't hurt you now. You're safe. This won't happen again," he held your hands in his as he spoke. "Now, did you recognize that man?"

"I know he was one of Sabini's men," you stumbled through your words as you spoke "I...he, I swear I didn't mean to kill him!" The tears pricked at your eyes again.

He shushed you again, pure, unbridled rage tainted his features. You had a feeling that this was now the top priority in his mind. he pulled you into his arms, trying to comfort you. His grasp was firm but loving. Like he thought if he let go you would disappear. He had already lost so many people, he wouldn't lose you too.

"I swear to you, Y/N, I will kill the man that ordered this. No one will ever hurt you again."

You knew he meant it. The conviction in his voice was so strong that you were half concerned he might take up arms right then and there and kill every one of Sabini's men. The other half knew that he wouldn't leave you like this. He was smart and he wouldn't hurt Sabini without a solid plan formulated.

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

"Tommy?" your voice rang through the small room.

"Yes, love?"

"I can't sleep, Tommy. I don't want to be alone."

He let out a long sigh, his anger bubbling up again.

"Alright, c'mere love." his voice was rough having just woken up.

You walked over and climbed into bed with him. He was warm. His arms circled you, holding you protectively.

"I can't stop thinking about it," you whispered "The way he looked at me, I-I watched him die, Tommy." your voice waned at the end.

He let out another long sigh as you spoke, clearly distressed by your words. "I know, sweetheart. I know what it's like to have someone look at you as life drains from them. But you had no choice, it was you or him, and I'm so glad it was you that survived." he held you closer as he spoke. You let out a sigh of agreement as you wiped the tears from your eyes. "I promise, Y/N, I will never let this happen again."

Your tears slowed and your heart rate lowered as he spoke. His voice calmed you and his hold around you made you feel safe. The slow rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his heart underneath it put you to sleep. Who knew that Tommy would have such a soft spot for you?

[whumpshaped]

Beck is forced to work late by his boss and can't show up in time for Helle's feeding? -- @oliversrarebooks

what do u mean u dont just immediately walk out of the office at sundown so u can be in time for feeding ur vampire bf (gender neutral)

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, phobia exploitation (plus intrusive thoughts and all that, it's beck's germaphobia), choking, conditioning, manhandling, dehumanisation

"I really need to go," Beck tried again. "I need to get home for– for a thing. It's kind of important."

Christie waved him off. "It's just one more thing and then you can go. It'll only take a second."

"I can do it first thing tomorrow!"

"Yeah, you could, but I need it today. It's literally just a couple signatures. God, the printer is acting up... One second."

Beck glanced at the clock again, anxiously bouncing his leg. He was fiddling with his mask near constantly, waiting for the stupid printer to finally spit out that paper. It was ridiculous; they needed a new printer about yesterday... or two years ago. Christie kept insisting it was fine. It clearly wasn't fine now.

"Christie, please, I need to go."

"I thought you were over your fear of the dark," she shot back, and Beck tried to stay calm. His reason for fearing the dark was probably standing around his apartment complex by now, wondering where the hell he was and whether he'd run off. They were in fact probably thinking up new, innovative ways to indirectly punish him.

"I am. This isn't about– I just need to go, okay? I'm sorry. I'll come in early and sign it for you tomorrow." He left her office without another word, quickly grabbing his coat and bag.

"Hey!" Christie ran out after him. "You can't just walk out like that! Where do you think you are?"

"I'm sorry!" he repeated as he rushed towards the door. "It'll be signed and on your desk before you get here tomorrow! Have a good night!"

He sprinted down the stairs and towards the front door, pushing it open and continuing the dash to his car. He was almost there when someone grabbed him by the collar of his coat, dragging him back and into a darker, more secluded area on the other side of the building.

"Helle, please, I was going home! I was trying to get home! I was trying!" Beck could barely care about the fact that he dropped his bag on the middle of the sidewalk for any fortunate person to find, with his wallet and all of his papers in it. Fuck, Christie was going to see it, and she was going to see his car as well. Would she think he was a liar? "Please, not here, I just ran away from my boss– I told her it was important, she's gonna see the car, please–"

Helle slammed him against the wall. "You were late," they said simply, making quick work of the mask before Beck could've even protested. "So I came to pick you up. I was quite worried. 'Whatever could have happened to my darling Beck?' It was quite the nerve-racking experience."

"Please, give that back," he tried to snatch his mask from their hand, but the vampire held it up and away from him. "Please, please, I– I need that–"

"I need blood way more than you need this. And we are outside now, you can breathe in all this fresh air."

"Please!" he cried desperately, and Helle pinned him to the wall by the throat in response, cutting off his air altogether.

"Or not. There are other ways of ensuring one does not breathe in anything harmful," they cooed. "Why don't you take a moment and calm down, hm?"

His lungs were burning. He had already been out of breath from running, and at this point he was sure he was going to pass out. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears trickle down his face and onto Helle's hand that was still preventing him from drawing a breath.

And then they released him.

He fell to his knees immediately, coughing and sputtering. His throat ached terribly and his vision was still swimming, but at least he could breathe. His intrusive thoughts regarding the transmission of whatever deadly disease were momentarily overridden by his fear of immediate death, and he knew exactly what he was going to use his air for.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, triggering another coughing fit. "I'm s-sorry, I tried– I tried to get home, I'm sorry..."

"Get up, Beck."

"I j-just need a moment–"

"I do not have a moment."

He somehow pushed himself to his feet and leaned back against the wall, still breathing heavy. He resisted the urge to ask whether the vampire believed him, having gathered that they were not in the mood to listen to his blabbering.

"Do not be late again," they said, as if it was that simple.

"I–"

"Ah. Stop right there." They waited a moment, seemingly pleased with Beck closing his mouth and nervously biting the inside of his cheek instead. "I do not care for your excuses tonight. I will repeat this one last time: do not be late again."

Beck swallowed, the feeling of Helle's fingers closing around his throat still lingering. He knew what he was expected to say. It was just so hard when this entire situation had been out of his control, and he'd actually tried to be good. He had. And now Helle wasn't listening.

"Yes, Master," he said quietly, obediently tilting his head to the side.

"There you go. Good boy." They held up the simple cloth mask, and Beck's eyes followed the movement. He couldn't help shooting them a pleading look, suddenly all too aware of his exposed face. "You can have it back after I have had my fill. You need to learn to prioritise."

"Y-yes, Master," he repeated even more dejectedly.

~

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[ficbrish]

You have my Bloody Heart

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 12th - Banter, Joking, Fun]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, alcohol, food, hurt/comfort, light injury

Late in Act III, Astarion and Vistri sneak out for a date night.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

The others were asleep, filling the room at the Elfsong with silence and snoring. Astarion and Vistri, however, were wrapped around each other in their bed, wide awake.

“Let’s sneak off,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

His voice sent shivers from Vistri's ear to her neck, then traveled down her back, flipping her stomach like a coin. The sensation was familiar and terrifying, like she was preparing to cast some new higher-level spell. She held back her laughter, trying her best not to be too loud. The Elfsong provided real beds, but less privacy, and they’d already been yelled at too many times for disturbing everyone’s slumber.

Turning around to face him, softly, Vistri exclaimed, “Race you!”

As she sat up to get out of bed, Astarion pulled her back in. Bringing her into a close embrace, he traced her jawline with a delicate finger then slowly kissed the silver scales along her brow. Vistri sighed, and he answered it with a kiss. Long and gentle.

It left her dizzy, and devoid of all sense but him. Astarion took advantage of the opportunity to get a head start.

Forgetting the need to be quiet, Vistri laughingly shouted, “Bastard! ” and chased after him on shaking legs.

A sleepy Gale frustratedly groaned on the other side of the screen, “Mystra’s tits… ”

Withers silently and dispassionately watched his pawn and her distraction make their way towards the exit in a whispered, giggling rush. He wasn’t worried the world might fall, but noted it as a possibility.

Wyll and Shadowheart jumped at the slamming of the door, even from opposing sides of the room. Almost like it was choreographed, they suddenly sat up, reaching for the knives stashed under their pillows. Realizing it was nothing, just those damn elves again, they fell back asleep.

“I won!” Astarion bragged as they hurried down the tavern stairs.

Vistri leapt onto his back and lightly nibbled the point of his ear, “You cheated!”

“Ow!” he laughed.

“Oh, did that hurt?” she gave it an adoring peck, “Is that better?”

If she kept doing that, Astarion was going to have to sit down for a little while. He never knew touch could ignite so many feelings. Lust and a deep sense of safety never went together before. He never knew he could have both, until she came along.

“Much better,” he said with a bit of a sigh.

He walked through the rest of the tavern with Vistri on his back, but had to let her down once they stepped outside.

“Nooo!” she protested as he squatted to set her down, “I wanted to ride you!”

Astarion smirked, “I know you do, dear.”

“Not like that!” she chuckled freely.

“Sure, you don’t,” he teased, smiling brightly, “But I’d rather hold that lovely lavender hand of yours—Take a stroll by the water? Side by side?”

Wriggling his fingers invitingly, Vistri took hold of them in happy disbelief. Like it was the first time. His hands were a miracle she could twist her fingers around.

How could something so exciting be so calming at the same time?

Touching, hand-in-hand; everything was good in the world.

“Thank you,” he brought her fist up to his lips, kissing along her knuckles like a prayer. He adored the way she still blushed after all these tendays.

With quite a bit of city between the Elfsong and the docks, a habitual quickening lurched in Astarion’s stomach. Old thoughts warned him not to stray too far from sanctuary this late into the early morning hours, lest the sun come up. Knowing that wasn’t an issue for him anymore made it easy for him to shake off such worries and relax. Then he tensed up again, remembering the problem would return once they rid themselves of the tadpoles.

Unless… No.

Hope was the ultimate poison.

Vistri must have noticed his mind wandering, for she called out, “Hey, Astarion!”

He brought his attention back to her. Vistri was smiling so widely, obviously delighted. He noticed her pointing towards something off to the side somewhere.

…To a stack of hay.

A scoffing groan and rolling eyes vented his instant regret upon turning to look. They were almost entirely compatible, the only caveat being Astarion hated puns.

“I hate puns,” he’d complained in those early days of knowing each other.

Vistri couldn’t help herself, and shrugged through her response, “Guess you’re just not a punny guy.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake …”

They weren’t immediate friends.

In getting to know her, Astarion learned she poked him so he’d fight back. It wasn’t from a mocking impulse to cut him down by the tendon. Vistri wasn’t getting a rise out of him to punish him for his reaction. It was a plea for his attention. An invitation to assert his power, to take it from her. A plea for his affections.

Astarion pulled her closer, tight against his chest in an embrace that would have been threatening with anyone else. Her wrists he held firm behind her back, pushing her further into him, so very tightly. He took them into one hand to roughly grab her chin with the other, forcing her to look up into his eyes. The cool night air breezed passed them, but the heat between them didn’t dissipate, only grew.

His stare laid bare her soul, his tone both a knife and a feather, “My dear, I do believe that merits some pun-ishment.”

Vistri humorously cried out, shocked and delighted that he played along for once. Astarion stole a kiss from her open mouth. She whimpered as his lips wrapped around hers; his tongue reaching out. Taking hers.

Astarion sighed, losing himself in his own trap. Always, always that seemed to happen with her. Pulling away, he twirled Vistri around, releasing her with a cheeky smack to her bum.

Giggling like fools they reunited their hands.

A passing cat delayed them in their journey to the seafront. It was so fluffy, grey, and glorious, how could they not stop for a chat? Vistri cast Speak to Animals, and reached out to Astarion’s tadpole, letting him into her mind so she wouldn’t have to translate cat to elf.

The floof had a majestically deep voice; a rumbling, theatrical roar, “Good Evening. Would you happen to have any ham?”

Smirking at Astarion from the corner of her eye, Vistri gave the feline a little bow, “Forgive us, good fellow. While we’ve been known to ham it up, we have none upon us at the moment.”

“Blast! The gods are cruel tonight. To set such a heavy heart on the hunt for warm ham.”

“Deepest apologies,” she said hand to heart, “If I knew you were looking for ham, I would have lowered my voice and given it a bit of a warble before greeting you with something like, 'Mighty night stalker! We have been honored by your graceful presence! Is there any way poor souls such as us could hope to please thee? ’”

The cat slow-blinked in response, purring in delight at such a wonderful display of servitude. 

Astarion leaned in, whispering to Vistri, “Might I offer a bit of sausage?”

“Do you really have some? Or is that just a euphemism?”

“Oh, I really have it,” he answered suggestively, stroking her arm. It sent more of those shivers through her. Then plainly, he stated, “But I also do happen to have a bit of it in my pocket.”

“Oh, you’ve got more than a bit in your pocket, my dear,” she smirked heatedly. Then frowned, “But really! You can’t give sausage to a cat! It’s not good for them!”

“It’s not?” he asked bawdily, “Come now, I thought sausage was an excellent thing to give to a pussy.”

Vistri tried her best not to let her amusement show on her face, “Well, if I wanted to come now, that would be just the thing.”

Astarion pulled a bit of sausage from his pocket, “I wasn’t kidding.”

As she burst into laughter, he broke some pieces off the top of the link. Kneeling, he offered them to the cat.

“Do you like sausage?”

“Mm–I love sausage!” it purred, eating from Astarion’s palm.

The wet, hot breath and fuzzy nose of the creature felt so delicate. Trusting. As if he were someone gentle and worthy of it. Tadpoles still linked, Vistri could feel his heart flutter in her own chest. A sense of preciousness and renewal overcame her through him.

Sated after his nibbles, the cat parted ways. First allowing them to indulge in a few chin scratches. Astarion, already at cat level, was given permission initially. Then Vistri was invited in to even out the other side.

She laughed as they continued towards the docks, asking, “Why on Toril do you have sausage in your pocket?”

“I figured… In case you got hungry…”

That tickled Vistri so much it stole her breath away, snatching the sound from her laughter. When she caught it again, her voice was strained, pitchy, “You were gonna feed me sausage?! ”

Swept along by her current of laughter, Astarion’s features joyously softened.

“It was a set up for a bit,” he admitted, his expressions free, thus very silly.

Moonlight glittered across the water when they approached it. The image quieted and then stilled them. Hand in hand, they admired Shadowheart’s new goddess, and the sea raging calmly under her glow.

“I love you,” Vistri said without looking away from the distance.

Astarion turned to face her, and feeling his gaze like a blush on her cheeks, Vistri turned to face him too.

Squeezing her hand, pouring his heart into her eyes through his, he whispered, “I love you too.”

It was peaceful.

After a while, Vistri began swaying their hands in a childish arc; back and forth with more enthusiasm than rhythm.

Amused, he asked, “What’s on your mind over there?”

With the smile of a fey, she proposed, “Let’s go do something naughty.”

The something naughty Vistri had in mind was a game. She called it, “Let’s go find an abandoned house to break into.”

He smiled widely, reborn at her suggestion. A greed that lusted after defiance more than the forbidden rumbled through his chest. Delicious enough for him to sink his teeth into. Skirting rules together was a breaking of chains, a reclamation.

Strolling down the streets, arm in arm, they pretended to be house-hunting. Pointing out every derelict building they passed. Exchanging questions like some vapid patriar couple. 

“Do you like that one, dear?”

“Oh, no, dear! How dreadful!—What about that one over there?”

“Gods, no! Would you want to emerge every morning smelling like fish?”

Until they found the perfect one.

It didn’t reek of blood or the undead, and was barely noticeable. Like a dilapidated honeycomb in an otherwise thriving hive, it was crowded by the surrounding buildings. Something about it felt forgotten, swallowed up.

“After you, my heart,” Vistri said, inviting the expert to handle the lock.

Expert indeed, Astarion had the door open at what seemed like just a touch. He waited suavely by the door, weight balanced on one hip as he leaned into the open door frame, feet cheekily crossed.

Inviting her in with a wave, he said, “Now you, beloved.”

Astarion scooped her into his arms as she passed him to carry her across the threshold. She squealed, and they both laughed themselves breathless.

The room inside was dusty and spattered with decaying furnishings, but there were no corpses or squatters in sight. At least on this floor level. Its hearth looked like it had been neglected for generations. But there was a charm, like what rotted in the shadows was bright and warm in the light.

Vistri kissed his cheek, “It is perfect, my love!”

As Astarion set her down, she noticed he couldn’t help staring at her neck. His hunger was like an intoxicant, luring her to his mouth. Vistri ran her palm along his chest, just over his eager heart. Their blood rushed together as predator and prey. Ready to steal; to surrender. Astarion closed his eyes to lean into the sensations of her gentle strokes. From his sternum, they went lower, until she was gently brushing along his belly.

“Does it ache, my love?” she asked tenderly, heated.

“It aches,” he begged, his tone warbled with yearning.

Battling her own desire, Vistri savored his. Bringing her neck closer to his mouth was a temptation for both. Astarion retracted his upper lip, letting his fangs show, almost touching her skin. Vistri moaned, running her hands through his silver curls. Her pounding pulse was so near he could reach for it with his tongue.

Standing on the precipice of fulfillment, Astarion fought ravenous impulses. The longer he waited, blind with his bloodlust, the more he proved who was in control. It was a strangling effort, but worth it just to show Vistri she was someone worth protecting. Cherished. That he was the man, not the monster.

His whining groan broke over the crook of Vistri’s jaw in a hum. Its explicit nature pulled the longing thread at Vistri’s core. Astarion was trembling, desperate to give in to the curse inside.

A series of sharp, jagged gasps escaped him at her caress of his damp face. Vistri grinned, committing his twisted features to memory, “Did you forget to eat today, love?"

He licked his lips before answering, “Yes. May I?”

“May you what?”

“Eat you up.”

Vistri pressed her neck flush against his open mouth, pushing tender flesh into sharp teeth. Still waiting for verbal confirmation, Astarion refrained from biting down. He cried out, and it turned to a low, rolling growl.

“Good boy,” she purred, her words brushing his sculpted cheekbones.

A pause. An eternity.

“Now take,” she finally commanded.

His teeth sunk into her veins with such fury Vistri was stung with a shock of fear. Like vertigo, it blurred reality, dizzying perception. Instinctually, she whimpered.

Pulling away at her flinch, Astarion searched her expression and gently whispered, “Hey.”

Vistri saw so many things before her sight settled entirely on him. He smiled kindly into her shocked expression, grounding her mind as it reeled with past and present.

“Are you all right?”

His tender tone was a salve, ceasing her spiral. Bringing her back to the present. Finally perceiving his beloved face, she chuckled, relieved and grateful.

“I am now,” she answered, nuzzling into his neck.

Astarion’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight. He planted a series of pecks in her hair, and she felt seeds of worry in them.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, unwilling to budge even a little from his adoring embrace.

“Hold on, love. You’re bleeding quite a bit.”

Lightheaded now he mentioned it, she let Astarion fuss over her. He examined her neck, frowning. Then he tore off his shirt to wrap it around the weeping bite. Putting pressure against the wound, he looped the ends across her, and tied them together under her opposite arm.

“Is that too tight?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. It looks like a nasty cut. Perhaps I tore away too quickly.”

“I don’t know why I...”

He took her hand, “It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Vistri. Look at me.”

She saw her friend. Her lover. Her companion.

“Good. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Okay.”

Overwhelmed with a wave of affection, Vistri pressed her forehead into his. Astarion was a dream constantly coming true. She nestled the tip of her nose against his; he shut his eyes in contentment.

“I love you with all my heart,” is what he wanted to say, but he meant it too much. So instead, he teased her.

“Gods! You bleed like a geyser!”

Vistri’s laugh broke over his face. Astarion could taste her on his tongue.

“I do not!”

“Just look at us, dear,” he said, referencing the bloody mess between them that spilled down both their shoulders.

It came from her, and rubbed off on him. Vistri loved the way it painted his skin crimson-black. Her life was his, and here that fact was artfully displayed.

“Sit still a moment!” she demanded, overcome with a sudden idea.

Curiously obedient, he waited.

Vistri dipped a finger into the blood drying on his shoulder, coating its tip. She brought it to clean skin, painting something on Astarion’s chest.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled warmly.

“Hold on!”

She licked her fingers in an attempt to freshen her “paint” and resumed her tickling strokes. Astarion kept laughing and twitching, and she kept giggling and telling him to hold still. The moment, like a cosmic opposite to the night Cazador carved his poem, knocked out the past for the present and set a new future.

“Now take a peek,” she said proudly, wearing an expectant look.

Astarion looked down to see a crude drawing of a heart. It was surprising how deeply the gesture touched him. He was prepared to be pleased, not so affected it filled him with awe.

“You silly thing,” he said thankfully, presenting himself for a kiss that she happily accepted.

“Now for you to sit still.”

She nodded.

He also bathed the tip of one of his fingers in her blood. Then put it to her lips. Vistri felt the curve of a heart. One side of her lip then the other, converging down into a point near her chin.

“There,” he said, eyes bright.

“Is it–?”

“A heart,” he nodded, “To match mine.”

Gently, he took hold of her chin. Cradling it, caressing Vistri like treasure, Astarion leaned forward to lick the bloody symbol. Kiss after kiss, he washed it away. Reaching first with his tongue; sealing each touch with his lips.

Vistri was hypnotized, enthralled. She forgot to breathe until he stopped.

Astarion opened his eyes to hers. He didn’t even have to search for her reaction, the emotion was so clear in her eyes. Bearing witness to her exposed soul was narcotic. He longed to melt into everything he saw.

Speechless, they stared at each other. Tadpoles weren’t necessary for them to share each other’s thoughts. Astarion knew the exact tone in her mind’s eye as she expressed every adoration pouring out of her countenance. Vistri similarly could spot the ache in his gratitude, casting a dark cloud over his hard-fought peace.

Heart pounding, she broke their busy silence, “No use in all this good blood going to waste…”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“But–”

“Astarion,” she interrupted. He paused, waiting for her to continue. Nodding, she said, “Trust me.”

Without further hesitation, he pulled her close by the waist. Caressing her throat with sure, shaky fingers, he leaned closer to smell her neck. His previous attempt mocked the man and the monster both. He knew he was better than that. Determined to live up to his self-expectations, he unraveled his soiled shirt from around her to reveal her gift.

She laid herself out for him on a forgotten, fraying carpet. He crawled over her, just like that first time. But unlike then, he took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly as he leaned in to strike.

Just before reopening the wound, Astarion stopped himself, asking quietly by her ear, “Are you ready for me, love?”

“Yes,” she pleaded.

By the gentle scrape of a fang, her blood ran fresh. His tongue met its icy warmth, and he gasped at the taste of a favored meal.

Vistri cried out at the pain. Moaning, “More,” so he wouldn’t stop.

Growling, he licked up every dirty inch. She writhed under him as he lapped her up.

“More. I want more of you,” she muttered.

When he hit the line he wouldn’t dare cross, Astarion stopped. Not daring to steal a drop more than he already had, he kissed the ragged bite marks closed. At first, he felt guilty at her gasping and twitching, assuming it was due to pain. His guilt was absolved at a glimpse. For he saw right away she was overcome with a different kind of ache.

Drunk with the power of her blood and by the possession of her desire, Astarion longed to play her parts like a symphony.

“Oh, my dear,” he said warmly, “I think I remember mentioning punishment.”

“Pun-ishment,” she corrected, stubbornly provocative despite her dizzying need.

“And now you’ve reminded me why,” he smirked, running a hand along her thigh.

She sighed at his touch, and rolled her hips as an invitation.

He watched as she unbuttoned her tunic and trousers. Her knickers were plum-red in the dark of the room. Then he helped her out of them, and stripped off his bottoms. When he crawled over her again, they were skin to skin. 

“Are you ready for me?” he repeated, this time with his cock nestled against her begging sex.

Repeating herself like a season, she pleaded, “Yes.”

Her body welcomed his so enthusiastically, a rough thrust took just a simple suggestion of his hips.

Vistri’s shouts broke into fragments, consumed by the pleasure building between them, “…Star…”

Pretending displeasure, he chided, “Is my rut not worth my full name?”

“No. It is! It is…”

He needed more, and took it with a faster rhythm.

“Astarion!” she cried out, every vowel and syllable of his name clear as diamonds while she tightened and pulsed around him.

It would have been so easy to let go too, but he wasn’t done. He bit his lip with a roaring sigh, and didn’t slow the roll of his hips until he was sure her ecstasy had tapered. Watching her incoherently mutter sweet nothings brought a boasting smile to his face.

“What was that, dear?”

“Thank you,” she repeated louder.

So sure of himself, he flipped her onto her side and wrapped around her. His mind played through the moment he’d bust into her with such clarity that his skin sang with remembered sensations. He shook his head to clear it as he pushed himself between her thighs.

The way she rode every thrust at that angle made their faces screw up tight. They cried each other’s names, chanting them.

“Vistri… Gods, Vistri…”

“Ah–ah–Astarion… Astarion…”

They gave in to it together; their bodies seeming to shake off their souls. If this was death, there was nothing to fear.

The possession of ecstasy refused to let them go, coming in waves that bore new waves. Maybe they’d set a new record. Maybe just a second had passed.

Neither was willing to break their embrace.

Panting, Vistri tossed her head back and sighed stupidly, “Could fuck the whole Underdark and never find that.”

Astarion filled the derelict room with a full-bodied cackle. Senses returning, they were able to finally let go.

Most trespassers would have sensibly left after making so much noise, but they weren’t most. To be fair, they had intended to leave, but got swept up in the moment. What started as simple quipping while getting dressed, evolved into a full on game of playing house.

Pretending to be a married couple getting ready in the morning, they exchanged remarks about the new day.

With no idea that it actually was a new day. All the windows were shuttered tight, and their attention was so focused, they managed to miss the cracks of sunlight.

“Do remember to go to the bank today, dear. We don’t want to be late on rent.”

“Rent? Are we poor?” Astarion asked, breaking character.

“Rent doesn’t mean poor!”

Looking off to the side with a raised brow, he muttered, “Oh, yes it does.”

Vistri laughed and gave the tip of his nose a peck before chiding, “Play along!”

After getting dressed, they had “breakfast”. Vistri poked at the empty hearth and Astarion brought over “tea”.

“Your toast is ready,” Vistri said, wiping her hands on an invisible apron, “Please refrain from soaking it in jam again. Your doctor spoke to me personally this time.”

“Perish the thought! I’d rather an early grave than go a day without a handful of your homemade jam.”

Astarion motioned like he was serving them tea.

Vistri accepted her mimed cup with a, “Thank you, love.”

“Say, do we have anything other than toast?”

Meeting his eyes directly, she answered, “Yes, sausage.”

To them, it was the funniest joke in the universe. They collapsed laughing on weak knees, and wiped tears from their eyes.

Then they noticed the cracks of sunlight.

“Shit,” Vistri whispered, realizing no one knew where they were. No doubt the others would be searching, possibly worried.

She looked to Astarion, who’d come to the same conclusion. He shrugged, tossing them back into a shared fit of hilarity.

“Guess we should get back,” he laughingly suggested.

“Gods! They’ll be raging!”