#i’ll do it MYSELF if i have to goddammit

[1roentgen]

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[comfreyhollywings]

pac reading - need self-love tips? c'mere.

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             L O A D I N G . . .

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pile 1. 

protect yourself. 

i don’t think you quite know how valuable your energy is

like.. guys. i feel like we need to have a lesson solely on the beauty of pouring into your own cup, and to force yall to see how others are inspired by that.

and when you’re in that state where you can just flow; to protect yourself, you naturally shine so bright.

just now— a black wisp of smoke just hovered right in front of my eyes before dissipating. there’s a lot more smoke coming out of my candle purging out this smoke as we speak. 

that’s naturally a sign for me that.. if you love yourself; if you want to invest more into yourself, purge the things that are unnecessarily sucking your energy away.

aka energy vampires (doesn’t have to be this figure, could be an energy in your life)

like.. i think… when you properly pour into yourself, you tend to have a lot to give. while this is naturally a good thing to have such a generous heart, you can’t give forever. you can’t give from a place of depletion 

especially if others only know how to take, take, take. 

there’s something a former mentor said to me in this regard.

“the issue is that giving relentlessly can solicit the very sort of people who have no second thoughts about taking, and never giving. and it's not even always malicious. it's just their dysfunction meets another dysfunction.” 

take it from me, someone who’s currently still learning this lesson right now. 

i will be so real with y’all

 i’m currently going through a period where i’ve distanced myself from my partner of (seven-ish) months after learning that i was the one putting in more effort in emotional labor than my partner. 

and it’s not even that my partner had malicious intentions about it 

it was just that 

he hadn’t developed the emotional maturity let alone apply it to his life. and it’s shit that he had to figure out. 

because of this, i felt as if i had to partly take on the burden. not that it was a conscious thing, but it was moreso subconscious where i was driven by kindness to pour into him

as that’s what any decent human being would do, right?

but the taking. it kept taking, taking, and taking. the reciprocity wasn’t really… there much anymore. 

codependent tendencies? yes. and it’s shit he individually has to figure out. 

the same energy applies to your situation. i’m not sure if these are things you also are sorting out right now, but please know this: 

you can act from a place of kindness. absolutely. depending on your situation, you don’t have to cut them off. (if you’re in an abusive dynamic, that’s another story. you CANNOT fix them. you CANNOT change them, period. please get out asap as much as you can. i’ll provide resources. ) 

you’ll naturally feel like an asshole when you set up boundaries, when you distance yourself, etc etc. 

but the thing is that you will need that. to drive yourself to the brink of exhaustion for the sake of others leaves you with little energy for yourself.

like… you fight for others, but who will fight for you? you know? especially when you don’t even recognize the situation you’re in?

prioritize yourself more. examine your needs closely. get out of situations that you know is going to drain you. 

maybe it’ll feel like shit initially. like, of course these are bad habits you need to address.

but i promise you, it’s worth it. please keep going. 

pile 2. 

be gentle with yourself.

two things you must foster: your autonomy and your sense of abundance.

in simple terms: you’re worth being a fucking person standing on your own, you stubborn little fucking gem.  

you’re not like. this idealized concept that people make out of you.

you’re not a goddamn concept.

you’re a person. a living, breathing person with needs and wants and dreams 

goddammit you deserve to be loved.

please treat yourself with a lot more kindness and autonomy than you have ever done with the people you love.

gods know you deserve it 

like christ 

this is my pile who probably has self-esteem issues, huh (i say that as if i don’t have weird shit going on with my self-esteem but whatever) 

work, work, work. it’s always work with others. it’s always prioritizing their needs before your own.

it’s the tight ball you feel in your chest that gets lodged up inside your throat. it’s the hard swallow as you bite your tongue back. it’s the coughing when you’re in the middle of a sentence before someone takes over without any regard for you. 

and it’s not like you’re unable to redirect the spotlight over to you. you absolutely can. 

however. like

god forbid you make mistakes right? like, god forbid that you don’t run your mind through a fucking cheese grater if you’re not like a radar.

god forbid you’re not constantly detecting what preconceived faults you have of yourself. 

because if you don’t, are you even worthy of love at all? 

here’s a secret: you don’t need to work to earn love. your self-worth isn't dictated by how much you pump out to the world.

yes, it requires work to keep love alive, but there’s a vast difference between that and EARNING love. 

you are worthy. you are seen. you are accepted for the way that you are.

all of you.

your flaws, your tics, your anger, your hurt, and your sorrow. 

and likewise, your love, your passions, your healing, and your joy. 

you are worth being gentle to yourself. you are worth the grace you extend out for others. you are worth taking up space. 

take off the mask. take off the notion of “perfection”. take off the need to people please. take off the need for constant validation outside of yourself.

sit with yourself. journal. purge. and forgive yourself for the things you’ve been unfair to you about. all of these judgments and old standards that don’t serve you anymore, that you punish yourself for. 

you’re enough. stop it. 

c’mere pile 2, let me hug you.

you are worthy of it all, my loves.

pile 3. 

listen to yourself. give yourself the space to let your voice be heard. 

you have such a wonderful, unique, and creative voice that you restrain others from hearing. 

it roots back to pile 2’s perceived ‘imperfections’ that they try to adhere to

thus, resulting in them being harsh on themselves. 

so let me tell you this: you are lovely. 

and your voice deserves to be heard. 

additionally, your voice is not just deserving 

it’s needed for a time like this. you have a message specifically encoded to you that you’ll have to ground and manifest into the world through your creative works, and it’s time for you to see that.

it’s time for you to honor the creativity bestowed upon you because that is your voice that’ll touch people’s hearts. 

that’s the voice that you need to hear from yourself the most. 

let things flow, let things come, let them be like water. let your creations permeate and adapt to objects, places, and people. 

let it breathe, let it live rather than killing it prematurely. 

as i’m writing, i’m hearing this song: frequency by jhene aiko. 

a lot of that song talks about blessings and freedom. freeing cities, freeing their seed (the next generation), giving freedom and mercy. it talks about anointing, pouring that oil so that the generations before and after can become kings and queens. 

this is a very universal and empathetic song that got channelled out.

so i feel like in many forms no matter the genre, whether it’s through a medium like writing, game dev, videos, podcast, art, and so on 

all of your works have these themes in common: freedom, blessings, and generations. 

what i want to warn you about though in pursuing your art forms

don’t let ego get the best of you. 

now i’m not necessarily talking about arrogance (though that very well might be the case but that normally lies within a much deeper issue of having your self-esteem bloat as a way to overcompensate for your idea of self-worth) 

i’m talking about letting your insecurities of looking ‘stupid’ get the best of you because you risk ‘cringing’ at your works. 

but the thing with art is that you’re going to have to be stupidly earnest because that is your entire essence. 

and if you think about it, a lot of cringe is just

sincere? and earnest?

just get it out there. don’t compare yourself to anybody. your journey is your own, so there’s no need to be anyone or anything

be you 

that’s all that matters. 

trust me, the you authentically reading this is more powerful than any heroes/idols that you’ve ever grown up putting on a pedestal. 

kill your heroes, put down that pedestal. 

you’re just as worthy of creating; your heroes are no better than you. 

[pedropascallme]

Hi love . I have an idea for pedro ×reader

They had a big fight and they don't talk . When they go to sleep , pedro hugs the reader in bed and apologize . ( loving and romantic)

AN: I hope this is to your liking!!

You didn’t even remember what you were fighting about, but you knew that you were right, and he was wrong. 

It was the middle of January, bitterly cold and dry outside. You had started arguing with Pedro as soon as you had woken up, admittedly in a bad mood for no reason and just looking for something to be mad at. He had left the sliding glass door in the main room of the house slightly open—just by an inch, if even—and a chill had crept throughout the house. The chill had made you feel wilted and grumpy, padding through the house slamming doors and cabinets while Pedro seemed completely ignorant of his misstep. It had been just that; a misstep, a complete accident on his part as he had rushed to crawl into bed with you after a late-night cigarette in the backyard. But it was the perfect opportunity to vent all the built-up anger in your system.

You hadn’t really meant to lash out at him, but you were frustrated and melancholy, and what else could you do in your moment of randomly induced irritation? He had asked what was wrong and you snapped back at him to “go away,” to “leave me alone, goddammit.” You seethed and moped for the rest of the day, huddling in the comfort of your bed while Pedro, not wanting to push and respecting the boundary you had set in your frenzied moment of outrage, found things to do around the house in order to stay out of your way.

When night had fallen and you had realized you had spent the whole day isolated in the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend, you felt a pang of guilt, followed by one of hunger. You tried to make your way out of your room and into the kitchen, but the regret of having been so randomly cruel to Pedro earlier in the day grew, and all you could do was sit on the floor and continue wallowing in self-pity. 

The door opened slowly, and the creak of the wood reminded you that the hinges needed to be fixed. Pedro strode in holding a bag of takeout and set it down on the floor beside you before sitting to face you on the bedroom floor. You were both quiet as he placed a hand on your knee.

“Querida,” he whispered, “what’s wrong?”

You looked at him through the tears that swelled in your eye, trying to put words to feelings. “I’m sorry. For, for yelling at you this morning.”

“Baby…”

“And for walling myself in all day and not telling you why I was mad and not apologizing sooner and—” He cut off your rambling by sliding himself closer to you and dropping a kiss on your head. He had himself hunched over you, knees on the hard wood and you knew he would feel it in the morning.

“Apology accepted.”

“But you don’t even know why I was mad.” You sniffed and wrapped your arms around his.

“So tell me.”

“You left the door open. The sliding door, it was open this morning, and it was cold. And I woke up angry and that made me madder.” You leaned your weight into him, and he lifted you up and onto the bed, letting you fully curl into him.

“I’m sorry I left the door open,” he put his palm over your cheek, “I’m sorry, baby, I am.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I am. I promise I’ll make sure it’s closed next time. I’ll lock it, even.” He wrapped himself around you, and you felt genuinely warm for the first time all day.

“I promise I’ll talk to you next time I get pissed off for no reason.” You mumbled into him.

“Look at us, problem solvers!” He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations through your cheek where it was lying on his chest. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. 

“I got you dinner.” He sat up and reached for the bag of takeout, gently dropping it on the bed.

“You didn’t have to.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I could’ve made myself something.”

“Too late.” He tore the bag open and took everything out, handing you a fork and a container. You propped yourself up on the pillows at the head of the bed and Pedro followed suit, reaching an arm over your shoulders and letting you lean on it. You moved in closer to him, relishing in the proximity. 

“How was your day?” You asked between mouthfuls.

“Well, my girlfriend yelled at me—” He laughed and you nuzzled your face into his neck. 

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & the Devil P.3 (Final) 🌑 | Harry Potter Imagine

Takes place during DH1 & 2

Part 1 & 2 Here | HP masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: major character death, violence, physical assault (Lucius gets his ass beat) profanity, major angst, illusions to sex, NSFW, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s, but follows the movies. Reader is written with having psychopathic/sociopathic traits | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 11.7k

Requested yes/no

Premise: The Second Wizarding War reaches heightened tension as Harry Potter and his friends find themselves on a scavenger hunt for Voldemorts Horcruxes. For Y/n Black, after escaping the Burrow following the Battle of the Seven Potters, she wonders just how far she'll go to ensure she's free from the Dark Lord's bounds if Harry Potter prevails. Unfortunately, with war comes sacrifice, and Y/n must suffer the consequences. Even if means she doesn't get to see a new world without darkness.

Note: I have finally finished this HP miniseries and feel so good about it. But then it reminds me how many series I have yet to finish + requests and I think 'I need to get it together'. I still have my MIB fic I'm working on AND I have an idea for Cooper Howard from Fallout. Anyways....I'm alive and I hope you enjoy this last part after a much-anticipated wait. I gave it all the angst.

————-------

“Where the hell have you been?” were the first words shouted at Y/n upon her return home. Snape sprung from his chair, mirroring her disheveled look. He appeared to have gone through hell and back. “You were supposed to return hours ago.” 

“I got a little caught up,” she groaned, waving a hand as she beelined for the kitchen. Obviously not in the mood for the argument about to occur. Snape followed after her.

“I figured,” he stood in the doorway, watching her reach into the medicine cabinet and rustle through until she found the bottle of aspirin. “I searched every corner of London--thinking you fell from the sky and was laid in a ditch somewhere---only to find out from Yaxley of all people, you’d been on the back of Bill Weasley’s Thestral.” He didn’t say anything else, but the tone of his voice indicated Snape knew where Y/n had been.

Yeah she wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

Throwing back the asprin, Y/n chased it with wine and let out a sigh, “If you already know ... .why bother--.”

“Because I want to know how you could be so stupid--!” Snape clenched his fists, face turning red by the amount of anger he was itching to release. “To get yourself taken by the Order!”

Y/n, matching his emotion from having to deal with the events of the night, slammed the glass down so hard it shattered. Not caring it cut her hand and blood was now leaking. “I’m sorry, Snape. Next time a Thestral slams into me mid-air, I’ll let myself fall from the fucking sky. Save you from having to deal with my recklessness any longer. Since it’s causing you so much stress--goddammit--.” she hissed, the pain in her hand settling in. Muttering a spell, the wound closed and Y/n rinsed the blood off in the sink. “How the hell was I to expect the Delacour girl to do what she did?”

“Where did they take you?” Snape demanded, moving to stand beside her. At a closer look, he spotted the bruises and abrasions. His question changed, voice softening, “Are you alright?”

“Splendid,” she spat, drying her hands without looking at him. “Better than I’ve ever been.” She flinched when the man gently took a hold of her wrist, turning to him in surprise. 

“I mean it, Y/n. You’re covered in bruises and it's obvious you’re in pain.” The anger returns on Snape’s face. “Did they torture you?” Y/n scoffs, finding his assumption amusing. 

“Torture me? You humor me, dear husband,” her playfulness was back. Snape muttered something along the lines of ‘Merlin’s beard’ though she saw his eyebrows relax. He still held her wrist, and Y/n noticed the bruises starting to disappear. Snape was performing non-verbal healing spells on her.

Over the course of their marriage the two had moments of affection. Mostly to keep up the act in front of others, but every now and then there’d be private ones. Such as the current scenario. Snape making their tea in the morning. Y/n buying his potion ingredients when his stock is low. Sitting on opposite sides of the couch while reading. Having dinner together, even if it's in silence. 

And, on rare occasions, the two experienced their shared needs with each other. 

Again, neither would call it love. Romantic attraction was nonexistent to Y/n and she knew she’d never be able to love. Snape understood this, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. Unable to see himself loving again after Lily. 

Once he was done, and the bruises were gone, Snape let go of Y/n’s hand, “Tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell,” she mumbles, leaning against him slightly. “When I woke up, after being stunned and a rather harsh landing, I was tied to a chair and asked to answer some questions.” Snape tensed, but Y/n continued, “Bet you can expect what their negotiations were if I cooperated.”

“Azkaban. Albeit a lesser sentence.” She huffed, cranking her neck with a nod.

“Yeah I wasn’t thrilled with that,” tilting her chin up so it rested on his chest, Y/n smirked wickedly, “they tried to use Veritaserum on me.”

“Oh,” he raised a brow, fighting his own smirk. “And how’d that go?” Her response was a shrug.

“I may have caused some trouble.”

The man chuckled, not surprised by the answer. “I’d expect nothing less.” Stepping to the side, Snape poured them each a glass of wine. “And how did you escape?” Handing Y/n hers, the two clicked glasses before bringing the rim to their lips. Y/n answered once the bitter taste passed through her throat.

“I stirred up a storm. Genuinely.” Y/n mentally patted herself on the back, impressed she managed to pull it off. “A tad shaky if I must admit, but It had them off their feet.” They finished the wine, Snape taking the glasses to put in the sink. Y/n stretched her arms, turning on her heel to exit the kitchen. “Well if you don’t mind, I’m going to treat myself to a bath. Tonight has left me quite spent,” reaching the doorway, she stops and turns to Snape, mouth curling up and eyes turning a shade he knows all too well. Heat coursed through his body as he watched her tease the stings of her corset, painting his cheeks with a light blush. 

“Care to join me?” 

In the following months after the Battle of the Seven Potters, Y/n’s time was once again spent in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Spell books and potions kept her busy while Snape was at Hogwarts for the term, a place Y/n avoided like the plague, as the newly instated headmaster. Anytime the school was mentioned she wanted to throw up. The memories of her short time there were a painful reminder of the life forced upon her. Knowing she’d never come to him when he needed to meet urgently, Snape either traveled by Floo or crossed school grounds to apparate. Letters were sent consistently.

Y/n could’ve remained at Snape’s home where they had resided during the summer. But that meant being completely alone. And while she may hate her family and enjoy isolation in the attic, the mere presence of people in the mansion provides comfort. It kept the voices in her head from being too loud. 

Tensions were high at the manor. With Lucius back and Bellatrix unable to shut up, Y/n’s peace and quiet was constantly disturbed. Draco had been kept home, and if Y/n were being honest the sound of his cries at night both annoyed and pitied her. Then when he wasn’t staying hidden in the shadows, Voldermort turned up to wreak havoc. 

The news of Potter infiltrating the Ministry spread like wildfire. Dolores Umbridge had been stunned mid-trial for a muggle-born witch, the necklace belonging to Salazar Slytherin ripped from her neck. Voldermart was furious. Fightenly so. He sent every Death Eater not in his close circle to find and capture the boy. Groups of Snatchers ordered to bring Harry to the Manor. 

‘Can I ever get a break?’ The thought crossed her mind a dozen times a day.

Then on the first day of May 1998, Y/n’s mere linger of peace was disrupted by commotion downstairs. With a huff, she discarded her book, pocketed her wand and descended the many stairs until she reached the living space. As she entered the scene she was stunned beyond belief at the sight of Harry--whose face was disfigured--Ron, and Hermione. They were fighting against the Snatchers holding them, though they froze when they met her eyes. 

“What is this?” Y/n approached the group, where Bellatrix was screaming about finding Draco. Narcissa and Lucius stood to the side, the former addressing her first. “These men believe they have Harry Potter,” Narcissa flinched when Bellatrix screamed again, “but we’re not exactly sure.”

‘Are you that daft?’ Y/n wanted to say. Anyone with eyes and a decent memory would know it was Harry Potter. Even with the spell to make him unrecognizable, he was with a Weasley and the Granger girl! That should’ve been their confirmation. Narcissa met them all in Diagon Alley after Lucius’ arrest, so either she was just too stupid or was stalling to prolong the inevitable outcome. 

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, tension rising in veins. Snape was going to tear into her if something happened to Potter. And while she could care less about his friends, Ron was a relative and Hermione was one hell of a young witch. The kind that garnered respect from seasoned magical beings. They needed to get out of the manor alive.

“Well, make sure your boy doesn’t get us all killed,” Y/n scoffed when Draco arrived. Pale in the face with sweat beading at his forehead. Wanting nothing more than to apparate away from the chaos. 

Bellatrix pushed Harry down to his knees, gripping his hair in her hand to pull his face up. The boy groaned, Bellatrix addressing Draco, “Well?” He gulped, blinking rapidly as he looked between Harry and his aunt.

“I can’t be sure.”

“Draco,” Lucius grasped his neck with a stern hold. He too was filled with anxiety. “Look closely. Listen if we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord,” behind him, one of the Snatchers raised his brows, moving closer to the duo. “Everything will be forgiven. As it was, understand?” Draco nodded, and their moment was interrupted by the snatcher.

“Now we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy.”

“You dare to talk to me like that in my own house!” Draco flinched at his father’s shout while Narcissa jutted in. 

“Lucius,” her hand latched onto his arm, pulling him away from their son. Lucius relented, allowing her to guide him back a few paces, still visibly annoyed by the snatcher. Bellatrix gestured for Draco, “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” He let her take his hand, drawing him down to his knees so he was level with Harry. 

Y/n’s heart pounded against her chest. Gritting her teeth to the point they might crack. Casting a glance to the teens, Y/n saw their pleading eyes. Begging for escape and to not hurt them. Y/n turned away, focusing on her sister and nephew. 

“Now if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

“Shouldn't you know, Y/n?” Lucius suddenly accused, making the room go quiet. The woman in question snapped her head in his direction, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“What makes you say that?” 

“You were taken to the Burrow that night. You said it yourself to the Dark Lord, the Order questioned you.” He gestured to the teenagers, “weren’t they there?”

“Might I remind you I was rendered unconscious by a thestral and stunned several times, Lucius,” her tone was hard. “Forgive me if my memory is hazy.” Offering a shrug, Y/n continued to deflect, “I was busy formulating an escape plan rather than taking attendance of those present.” Lucius didn’t accept the answer. His expression made it well known. 

“Typical,” he spat, “Even when given the opportunity to locate Harry Potter and those associated with him, you fail to rise to the occasion.” Y/n saw red.

“Do not speak to me about rising to the occasion, Lucius, when you have brought failure to the Dark Lord on more accounts than I can count.” She saw the way he faltered and smirked, “Who was it that took the coward's way out by saying he was under the imperius curse instead of acting on his own free will?” As she inched closer Lucius stiffened and stepped back. Narcissa reached for her husband while glaring at Y/n, who paid her no mind. “Who relished in their new found freedom instead of searching for their Master they were oh so devoted to?”

Behind her, Bellatrix had a devilish smile, enjoying the way Lucius shrunk under her sister’s gaze. 

“Are you not the one who failed to bring him the prophecy?” Y/n mocked, tapping a finger to her chin, “oh yes, in fact you caused the damn thing to shatter. And got yourself caught by the aurors in the process. Bravo, Lucius. Well fucking done.” Her words echoed with a round of applause. “You are pathetic.” 

“Do not talk to him like that,” Narcissa got in her face, though it did nothing to intimidate the younger witch. “He has done more for the Dark Lord than you could ever know.” The scoff Y/n let out irritated Narcissa. 

“If you’re talking about giving up his wand I hate to tell you, Cissy, but that was more like taking candy from a baby,” Rolling her eyes she added, “And opening your home to him, please. The Dark Lord took claim to your home because he sees your husband for who he is…” Y/n leaned in making her sister step back. “Weak.” Y/n hadn’t even noticed Lucius in front of her before it was too late. His hand came up to strike her across the cheek, leaving an angry red mark behind as the force of the slap caused her head to turn. 

Hermoine gasped, a look of horror matching that of Narcissa. Ron, Draco and Harry were wide-eyed, meanwhile the snatchers just appeared awkward. 

They all waited for Y/n to react. She was breathing heavily, but otherwise silent. Then, with a deep inhale, she slowly turned back to Lucius. Any color in her eyes was gone. Completely black and soulless. 

Just like she didn’t have time to react, the same was bestowed on Lucius. Y/n’s arm wound back as far as it could go before launching, causing a sickening *crack* as her fist made an impact with his jaw. The force was so great it sent him to the floor. Narcissa screamed, Draco stumbling away as his father fell beside him and Harry. 

Lucius groaned, the taste of metallic filling his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin. He felt pressure on his chest, glancing up wide-eyed to see Y/n had straddled his chest and began punching him. Narcissa screamed for her to stop while Bellatrix laughed in the background. Y/n’s rings cut into Lucius’ skin, painting her knuckles red. As he brought his arms up to protect himself, Y/n focused her assault on his ribs. 

It was obvious by the absolute crazed expression she bore, Y/n had years of pent up fury releasing with each attack. She looked murderous. Craving blood. Craving pain. It was all she knew. Thanks to her dear sister and brother-in-law. Thanks to her family. 

After two minutes which felt like a lifetime, Y/n was tackled off Lucius by Narcissa. Immediately the older witch tended to her husband, while Y/n picked herself off the floor, cranked her neck and dusted off the dirt on her dress. 

Her sudden calmness is an eerie sight to the teenagers in the room. Both Ron and Hermoine glanced at each other in horror by what they witnessed. Harry remained frozen, wondering just how the hell they were going to get out of the manor. Before the Malfoy’s and Blacks snap again and end with them killing each other. 

“Are you out of your mind!?” Narcissa shouted, removing her wand to begin issuing healing spells. The man looked like he just got out of a bar fight. On top of the cuts from her rings, noticeable bruises and obviously broken nose. His tattered breathing indicated she likely broke a rib. Blood spilled from his mouth, but thankfully for him it didn’t appear that he lost any teeth. 

“He’ll live,” was her response, sounding disappointed by the fact. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to drown myself in fire whiskey while you all figure out if this is Harry Potter or an imposter before we die due to your incompetence.” 

Narcissa shuddered, anger seeping off her as she sent daggers to the back of Y/n’s head. “How dare you?”

“How dare I?” She spins around, challenging Narcissa to say more. “He raised his hand to me and I’m in the wrong? He had it coming.” 

“You called him weak! He went to prison while you fled the Ministry and left him to fend for himself. After all we’ve provided you--allowing you into our home, sit at our table, dine with us….” Narcissa lists off, “You once were a pleasant person to be around and respectful. To be so ungrateful for what we’ve done for you is an insult to---.” Now that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n lost it. 

“You had me sent to fucking Azkaban!!” Her voice echoed off the walls, ordering everyone into silence. The outburst sent a chill amongst all in the room. The Malfoys were rather petrified. Especially Draco who was still kneeling behind his parents. For Narcissa, her eyes glazed as she took in her once sweet and innocent baby sister. The woman who stood in her place lacked any empathy, much like their eldest sister. Only Y/n’s rage was a direct result from those who failed her. Plus the circumstances she endured.

Harry realized this during their encounter at the Burrow. Thinking back to what Sirius had told him that time in Grimmauld Place. Y/n wasn’t always the demented Death Eater she became. Her confessions at the Burrow depict a case of a woman who’d betray Voldemort in an instant if it meant she could escape. 

“Half of my life wasted--because you and your husband chose to sell me out to the Aurors instead of protecting me!” Hatred was the only word to describe the venom in her tone and eyes. “I was fifteen, Narcissa, fifteen.” Water filled Y/n’s eyes that she refused to release. “You let them drag me to that house,” she referred to the night the Death Eaters gave her the mark. The same night they tortured the Longbottoms. “I confided in you. I told you what they forced me to do. I had no choice in the matter, Cissy.” She spit out the once endearing nickname. Like it was acid in her mouth.

Pointing her wand up slightly, Y/n gained satisfaction at the fear. Nearly whispering, she grinded her teeth, “when I came to you--after it was done--terrified out of my mind, I trusted you to keep. Me. Safe.” Each word had her stepping closer to her sister, “that my sister would have my back. Not rat me out the moment the Ministry came knocking at her door so that she, her pathetic husband, and her spineless, spoiled brat of a son--.” Narcissa gripped her wand. Angered by the insults of her loved ones, despite them being slightly true. Y/n dismissed her emotion, “--can live happily ever after. Peacefully, as though they never supported the Dark Lord when behind closed doors…,” she hissed, no longer caring they had an audience, “They are the most cowardice hypocrites in the history of the world.”

The more she drew closer, the tighter the grip Narcissa had on her wand. Ready for any sudden attack. Lucius glared at his sister-in-law with hatred. Meanwhile Draco looked like he wanted to vomit. He barely remembered his aunt before she went to prison. And their interactions since her release were brief. Now the image of her before him sent an awful pit in his stomach. 

Y/n had no plans of cursing anyone, but she’d be damn sure to put the fear of God himself in her relatives for all the pain and anger they’ve caused her entire life. “So no. I will not offer sympathies to your family, Narcissa. Nor shall I feel grateful for your sacrifices. Dear Lucius only got a lick of what I experienced in Azkaban. And Draco got his arse saved by Snape in getting out of killing Dumbledore. Meanwile I had to spend fourteen years in a cell--cast away in the middle of the fucking ocean--for something I had no control over.” Y/n dropped her stance, tone becoming bored as she finished her rant off with, “You can all die for all I care.” 

Desperate to leave Y/n started in the direction but was stopped by Bellatrix. Saying they were not finished and must get back to the issue at hand. Narcissa continued tending to Lucius, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“You’re not sure it’s Potter, so don’t call him,” Y/n said as if it were obvious. Praying she did not give away any suspicion of the truth. “What else is there to say?” 

“What else?” Bellatrix threw out her hands, “There is a blood-traitor and mudblood with him!” She received a roll of the eyes.

“Not every ginger haired wizard is a Weasley, sister.” 

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco changed the subject, Y/n mentally thanking him with a smirk to her brother-in-law in victory.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed, addressing the snatchers. Meanwhile Y/n watches the stare off between Harry and Draco. The silent conversation happening between them. And when Harry’s eyes flicker to her, Y/n knows he’s questioning her all the same. ‘Why are you not saying anything? You know it’s me.’

“He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest I reckon.”

“Or ran into a stinging jinx,” she counters with a whisper. Her wand raises in the direction of the other captors. “Was it you two?” Bellatrix moves hastily, “Give me her wand. We’ll see what her last spell was.” Narcissa gently places a hand on her son, nudging him to stand and move away from Harry. Y/n stays quiet, keeping a firm gaze on the boys and turns away when Harry gives her a pleading look. 

Bellatrix gives a mocking laugh at Hermoine’s reaction, “I got you.” Suddenly her laugh is cut short with a gasp. Eyes locking on the shiny weapon in the hands of a snatcher. “What’s that?”

The sword of Gryffindor.

Hearing her gasp, Y/n leans to the side to get a better view, only to freeze. Blood drained from her face upon seeing the sword. Which was supposed to be locked away in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Dread consumed Y/n, followed by confusion and anger. How the fuck did they get the sword? If Voldermort discovered Bellatrix failed to keep it contained he’d have all their heads on a silver platter.

And by the nervous whisper of her sister, Y/n knew Bellatrix felt the same. “Where’d you get that from?” 

“It was in her bag when we searched her,” the snatcher replies calmly, “reckon it’s mine now.” 

Bellatrix moves so quickly everyone is unable to react. Stunning the man, the sword flies into her grip as she spins and incapacitates the snatchers. Y/n follows in suit, petrifying the snatcher closest to her. Shocking the group as they move away from the chaos. 

“Are you mad!!” A whip shoots from Y/n’s wand to wrap around his neck, choking the leader while Bellatrix occupies herself with strangling Greyback. Both witches have crazed expressions, scaring the kids and even their sister. 

Y/n pulled the wip down with force, bringing the snatcher to knees where he then fell to the harsh ground. She kept her grip, moving to Bellatrix while dragging the man along. He grunted and groaned until she finally released the hold, but not before bringing it up and igniting a hard smack to his face. 

“Get out!” Bellatrix ordered, the snatchers struggling to rise to their feet and catch their breath. Keeping her wand raised, Y/n watched her sister grip Ron by his jacket, “Cissy, put the boys in the cellar!” Narcissa grabbed Harry, then Ron when Bellatrix pushed him toward her. “I want to have a conversation with this one,” Hermoine felt like she was going to vomit. “Girl to girl!” 

Wormtail met Narcissa at the top of the stairs. Dragging the boys down as they attempted to fight him off. They were pulled out of sight and thrown into the cellar, Ron shouting after Wormtail as he scurried off. 

Y/n watched Bellatrix inflict torture on Hermoine for only a few minutes before dissociating. The screams from the girl brought back painful memories. Memories of the Longbottoms. Their lost gazes with each curse. Flinching, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut. Picturing Alice and Frank Longbottom withering on the floor. It made her want to jump from the window. Or light herself on fire. 

Her mind was racing. Brain pleading to do the right thing. Opening her eyes she saw Narcissa, Lucius and Draco huddled in front of the fireplace. God she wished Snape was there. He’d know what to do.

And deep down, Y/n knew too.    

When Bellatrix ordered Wormtail to bring Griphook from the cellar, Y/n took the chance to follow him. The decision was made right there. Fuck the outcome and if it cost her her life by the end of the day. Maybe she could manipulate it in her favor. 

Creeping down the stairs, Y/n heard Ron demand for Hermoine to be let go, the woman turning down the corner to see Wormtail’s wand raised at the boy. 

“Get back!” Ron stepped back but his glare never strayed. Y/n had reached the bottom of the stairs right as Griphook approached Wormtail. The traitorous Griffyndor narrowed his eyes at the witch. “You’re not supposed to be down here,” his tone held suspicion.

“And who are you to tell me I’m not, rat?” The name cut him deep judging by his reaction. Y/n kept her chin high, “I merely want to inspect our guests again. After all, we want to be sure this boy is Harry Potter. Correct?” Wormtail was nervous under her stern gaze, but he didn’t believe her for a second.

“I must confirm with--argh!” Peter was thrown back into the bars as Y/n’s hand closed down on his neck, constricting his airway. The action caused those in the cellar to jump by the sudden action. Squeezing, Y/n leaned closer to whisper in his ear. 

“You will go upstairs with the Goblin like you were ordered to and say nothing. Do not cross me, rat, I will know if you do.” He grunted as Y/n shook him, adding, “I’m sure my husband would be more than pleased to deal with you if you chose to speak freely rather than follow your orders and stay quiet. Understood?” At his rapid nod, Y/n let go of the man, a coughing sput releasing from Peter before he pushed Griphook to start going up the stairs. 

Once they were gone, Y/n turned her attention to the teens, leaning against the side of the wall with a bored expression. “You’re a long way from home, Harry Potter.”

The boy in question clenched his jaw, “You knew it was me this whole time.” The statement resulted in a scoff. 

“Of course I did. Which is hilarious considering I am probably the only person up there who’s had the least interaction with you, yet for some peculiar reason…,” her tone was mocking, “no one else is confident in their speculation. Well except Draco,” she shrugs, causing Harry’s eyes to widen slightly. “Why he’s remaining quiet is likely for the same reasons I am. But who am I to throw him under the bus to my sister?” 

“Seems a bit odd you’re not,” he commented as he approached the gate. Moving so they were directly in front of each other. Only the bars separating them. They were so close Harry noticed the puffiness of her cheek where Lucius struck her. Plus the tiny specks of blood on her neck that must’ve splattered when she beat the man. It made him shudder, “Why is that?”

“Call it a promise I made to a friend.” 

“A friend?” he countered with a scoff, “I find that hard to believe.” A chuckle left her lips, bouncing against the walls. “Like anyone from the Order would align themself with you without telling the rest.” Now that humored the witch. The fact he went right to believing it was someone from the Order she was in contact with was hilarious considering the little deductible that took place months prior. 

“You’d be surprised with how secretive the Order can be. Even the man who established it in the first place kept many things,” that got his attention, tensing with his hands clenched into fists. “Dumbledore,” the whisper of his name sent a wave of emotion through Harry. Anger, sadness. He hated the way Y/n said it in a mocking tone. “Yeah, I really don’t care whether you believe me or not. But the idea of you dying today is something I cannot let happen.”

Harry became confused, brow raising. What the fuck was she playing at? First she plays dumb to her family by not identifying him. Then she does nothing when they drag the boys to the cellar, where several of Harry’s supporters are being held captive. She sits back while Bellatrix harms Hermoine. Now she’s insinuating she wants to help them escape?

She has to be fucking with them.

“What game are you playing?” His question surprises Y/n.

“Game?” 

Anger replaced the confusion by her lack of remorse. But then again he was foolish to believe a death eater like herself was capable of such. “This! I don’t understand what side you’re on. It’s obvious you’re not completely loyal to him--you’re actions today prove that.” Y/n mentally cursed herself for being obvious. If Harry caught on to her, much like Snape did, then how long before Voldemort and those closest to him did. “You say and do things that make me think you know more than you’re letting on,” her expression faltered, Harry clocking it with a mental victory. “You saved Bill for reasons not even you can explain. You hate your family. Which is your only redeeming quality--.”

“Ouch.” 

He ignored her comment. “What do you gain from this? Why are you not screaming for Vold--.” Y/n launched herself at the bars, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket to hold him against the gate. Ron moved to help, but was frozen upon Y/n raising her wand at him.

“Don’t say his name!” She whisper-screamed, face painted with fury and fear. Harry snapped his jaw shut, watching the woman frantically look around as though in search of something. Or someone.

“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” she finally said once deeming it was safe. Yet her heated expression stayed locked on Harry. “Surely you should know by now saying his name will attract unwanted attention.” Muttering curses under her breath, Harry heard her call him, “stupid boy.” 

Struggling against her grip, Harry was amazed by Y/n’s strength despite it having been displayed twice now in the form of beating her brother-in-law and assaulting Wormtail. She proved herself at the burrow to be a powerful witch in the sense of magic. But Lord he would not want to go toe-to-toe with her in a fight. 

“Let me be clear, Potter,” her grip tightened, Harry grunting as his head pressed against the bar. “I personally don’t care about the outcome of this war. Whether you vanquish him or he kills you once and for all, what matters to me is my freedom in the end. Either in the form of walking away from this world in one piece, or entering the pits of hell waiting for me.” She paused, staring so deep into his eyes the boy shuddered, “Ideally, it would be best suited for me if you came out on top, Potter. That way the mark on my arm no longer makes me feel like a dog on its leash. Tracking my every move--giving him power over me. I want it gone.” 

Harry hadn’t thought of it that way. But now with her confirmation of his speculations, Harry was confident in Y/n’s disloyalty to Voldermort. Which now made him question her marriage to Snape. 

“You doubting my role among his ranks proves to me you’re actually a smart boy. Like Snape, you’ve caught on quick to my ulterior motives.” The confession made his eyes widen. Fully convinced their union held a deeper message than simply two Death Eaters finding love in the midst of a war. 

But what did that make of Snape? The question plagued Harry’s thoughts. 

“You’re right to accuse me, Potter, and you’d act the same if in my shoes. I’ve suffered enough,” her voice fell to a whisper. “Tortured, beaten, locked away in a cold, dark, cell for half my life…..I’ve watched family members die, I’ve watched them lose themselves to madness--while trying so hard to prevent my own descent,” she leans closer, “Which I obviously failed to do. There’s nothing left for me to give anymore.” 

Her grip on his collar loosens, allowing Harry to lean slightly away from the bars to get some space. However her hold still stays, “I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not asking for sympathy. Hate me all you want when this is over. I know if you come out on top I’ll be locked away forever, but somehow, and I’m not exactly sure why, a piece of whatever soul I have left is saying you need to get out of this mansion.” Finally she released Harry, the boy stumbling back by the slight push she gave. 

Y/n cleared her throat, chin held high. “So, are you going to shut up and listen to what I have to say? Or are you going to be a little boy and get you and your friends killed tonight with your impulsiveness?”

Harry said nothing. Maintaining the intense eye-contact that would’ve sent any other person running for the hills. Her cold, dark eyes were far opposite of the warm, loving ones her cousin Sirius possessed. His aura drew people in. Hers made them repulsed. 

Everything in Harry screamed for him to reject her proposal. To somehow figure a plan out on his own or act on survival instinct.

But it wasn’t just his life at risk. His friends were in danger, as were the innocent people captured like Ollivander and Griphook. He needed to be smart.

A simple nod had the ginger beside him flabbergasted. 

“Are you mad!” Ron chokes, appalled by the idea of working with the Death Eater. He looked at Harry like he had two heads. “You want to trust this psychopath?!” Y/n wanted to laugh at the insult, but instead settled for a smirk, frightening the boy even more.

He wasn’t wrong if one were to get technical. Y/n portrayed both psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies. Any professional would clock in an instant. Much like a psychopath, Y/n’s charming, lacks a sense of remorse and love, and uses relationships for her gain. Then on the other hand she’s impulsive, unpredictable, explosive when provoked and will resort to physical violence. Look at what she did to Lucius, Wormtail, and now Harry. She, however, does appear to have an attachment to Snape--often aligned with sociopaths. But again, though Y/n may care for him to a degree, she is still using him to further her goal. 

Harry gave Ron a frustrated look, “You got any ideas?” They all knew the answer and the silence indicated as such. Sighing in defeat, Ron glared at Y/n, who only returned it with a smirk.

“That settles it,” her cheeky expression focused on Harry. A non-verbal deal sealing itself right there. “Shall we begin?”

Everything that happened once the boys emerged from the staircase was a blur.

After summoning Dobby, the former Malfoy house elf who Y/n at one point enjoyed the company of prior to Azkaban, Y/n took her place in the foyer once more with the rest of her family. She’d laid out carefully to the boys and elf what to do once she left them. Dobby first transported the other prisoners to a location Ron suggested. Then Y/n incapacitated Wormtail on his way down to the cellar as she passed by him, dragging the traitor out of sight. 

When she returned upstairs she noticed the skeptical expression Narcissa directed at her. Y/n didn’t let it get to her, instead focusing on the task. Hermione laid on the ground, barely moving. With Bellatrix occupied with interrogating Griphook, Y/n went to check on the girl. Immediately Hermione made a sound and flinched away, but Y/n grasped her arm firmly causing her to still.

“If you want to leave this manor alive and in one piece with your friends, you ought to stay quiet,” Y/n whispered in her ear, followed by the utterance of a healing incantation. Hermione obeyed, however she was stiff like a stature against Y/n’s touch. 

Most of the spells were non-verbal as to not draw attention to them. And while Draco and Narcissa were well aware of what Y/n was doing, one death glare from the witch had them turning away. Bruises started to disappear. Cuts slowly healed. Y/n could not do much for the mental torture Hermoine endured, but she at least could sooth the physical injuries. Frowning at the sight of ‘mudblood’ carved into the teens arm, she issued most of the spells at patching the skin there, leaving only a faint trace of the words. Hermione visibly relaxed, even squeezing Y/n’s hand in a silent thank you. 

The older witch could only imagine the thoughts racing through her head. Wondering what the hell Y/n was doing and if she were serious about getting them out. After all, she did nothing to stop Bellatrix and instead disappeared when the torture began. Yet here she was. Offering a flicker of hope by healing her wounds with claims of helping them escape. 

Once satisfied with her work, Y/n stood up and backed away from Hermione until she was pressed against the wall. 

Then all hell broke loose when Bellatrix implied killing the witch. Harry and Ron were to wait for Y/n’s signal but given the circumstances they said, ‘To hell with it,’ and ran up with wands shooting off spells left and right. Disarming Bellatrix and initiating a two-vs-two duel with Draco and Narcissa. Y/n couldn’t even bask in the joy she felt watching Lucius get blasted away with a dramatic “ah!”, she had to act fast. 

Taking the discarded knife, Y/n dragged a shrieking Hermione to her feet. Pulling the teens back to her chest, Y/n placed the knife level with her neck with a hiss, “follow my lead.” Hermione froze, tears leaking down her cheeks. Y/n walked her to the middle of the foyer, until they were beneath the chandelier, “Stop!!” The fighting ceased.

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix ordered, but the boys were too focused on Y/n and Hermione to listen. Angry and betrayed at jumping to conclusions, Y/n quickly penetrated their minds, “Tread carefully boys,” Their faces consorted into shock, the woman shushing them with her gaze before they could react aloud. “Let’s not fuck this up more.”

Bellatrix shouted again, “I said drop’em!” obeying, their wands hit the floor with a *clank*. “Pick them up, Draco, now!” The blonde boy hurried to retrieve the wands, Bellatrix gliding up to where Y/n stood. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.” Leaning into Hermione’s space, the witch whispered in a taunting tone. “It’s Harry Potter. He’s all bright and shiny and new again.” As she spoke, Harry’s face returned to normal. The effect of the stinging jinx wearing off. 

“Just in time for the Dark Lord.” Y/n loosened her grip on Hermione, air catching in her throat as she sent Harry a panicked look. Bellatrix however, appeared pleased, “call him.” Heads turned to Draco. Save for Y/n, who caught movement in the distance. Locking eyes with the figure, her head gestured up to the chandelier. Sending a mental message of what to do. They were gone in the blink of an eye, Y/n peering at her nephew like everyone else. 

Draco was visibly nervous and scared, shuddering under his father’s scrutiny. Unable to perform the task even when told a second time by his aunt. Lucius pushed past him, glaring at Harry as he pulled his sleeves up to reveal the Dark Mark. The ink became darker when his hand raised over it. 

Suddenly, the eerie sound of creaking interrupted the intense silence. Eyes drawing up to find Dobby perched on the chandelier, his hands occupied with unscrewing the latch keeping the mighty object attached to the ceiling. Despite instructing the elf, Y/n couldn’t help but utter, “oh dear.” 

The latch released, Bellatrix shrieking as Y/n shoved Hermione away before bringing her arms up at the last second. The last image she saw before the world became black was Ron catching the girl. Noise drowned out until eventually, all became silent. 

When she woke God knows how long later, Y/n was in a daze. Her head pounded, body ached. Vision disoriented and any sound was muffled. A gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to reality, her senses coming together to form a clear picture of her surroundings. When it finally did, Y/n found Snape seated in a chair beside her. The man dressed in his usual black clothes minus the dramatic robes. Dark circles beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t had a pleasant night’s rest in ages. 

“What the hell,” her voice croaked due to the dryness in her throat. Coughing, she sat up and was immediately met with a glass of water thrusted in her face. Taking it Y/n downed half the glass, a couple droplets spilling down her chin. “Thank you,” she wiped them away, adjusting her position on the unfamiliar bed. Snape placed the glass back on the nightstand, helping Y/n move so she was upright with her legs hanging off the side of the bed. 

Glancing down, she realized she was still in the same dress from the manor. “How long was I out?” Part of her feared the answer. 

“About six hours. It’s just past midnight.”

“Mmp,” she stretched her neck, brushing hair from her face. It was the morning of May 2nd. Scanning the room, Y/n squinted, catching the lit fireplace and stained glass windows first. Followed by the striking detail of the walls covered in moving portraits on the opposite side of the room leading to an office space. Some of whom were glaring at her. 

It hit her then where she was. 

Hogwarts.

“How’d you know?” Pushing off the bed, Y/n made a beeline to the table displaying a vast collection of alcohol. Reaching for the fire whiskey, she poured herself a glass and downed it in one go. 

“Your sister,” he responded, not moving from his seat, hands clasped together, “Narcissa was rather adamant I come to retrieve you after the little spectacle that took place tonight.” Y/n let out a chuckle lacking any humor, pouring herself another whiskey. 

“I’m surprised she’d do such a thing. Considering I humiliated her and her family in front of people. Would’ve thought she’d finish me off while I was down.” Snape narrowed his eyes, disapproving of her statement. Y/n only returned the look, twirling her glass, “It’s what I would’ve done. You should’ve seen the number I did on Lucius.”

“The fool put his hands on you,” Snape’s voice had an edge to it, anger seeping through. Shocking the witch by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Had I been there he would’ve lost them.”Oh… Now that had a spark filling Y/n’s stomach. Almost like arousal.

She brushed it off with, “I’d be a little offended if you didn’t, husband.” Her teasing made him roll his eyes, “Besides the masterpiece I created on that swine, the words I had for my dear sister were not pleasant and frankly would’ve had her laying into me if she had the balls to. Had the roles been reversed, I don’t think I could have let her live.” Y/n scoffed at herself, sipping her drink instead of gulping it, “Quite the hypocrite aren’t I?”

Snape stayed silent, only responding with an expression that read, “You said it, not me.” Y/n shrugged, not finding his indirect opinion offensive. Instead she opted to ask the question plaguing her since she woke up, “What have you heard recently?” Snape inhaled sharply. 

“He’s angry. Very angry.” Y/n stiffened, setting her now empty glass back on the table. He continued, “I did not stick around for what he had in store for you sisters and brother-in-law, my only concern was getting you here after Narcissa called. But….there’s been a shift. We all can feel it.”

Y/n tightened her jaw, processing the news with a nod. “Any word on the boy's whereabouts.” Snape raised his brows, face conforming to one she knew all too well. Snape read her like a book. 

“You mean if they escaped safely?” The accusation did not come as a surprise. “You’ll be pleased to know they did.” Snape noted her sigh of relief, but did not comment. By now the married couple easily picked up on cues and communicated without saying anything. He didn’t need her to tell him her role in helping Harry Potter escape the Manor. He already knew. “Where did they go--I have no clue,” Pausing to shrug, he added, “Likely the home of someone they trust. But it won’t be long before….”

“I know,” Y/n interrupted with a whisper. Squeezing her eyes shut as she leaned against the table. “We’re in the endgame now.” 

The creaking of the chair filled her ears, followed by footsteps. Opening her eyes when she felt Snape gently place his hand on hers. Stroking her bruised knuckles with his thumb. 

“We’ll get through this,” He told her confidently. “I promise if it’s the last thing I do, you’ll get your freedom when this is all over.” 

Breath catching in her throat, moved by his words, Y/n raised her free hand to caress Snape’s jaw. Offering a small, but sad smile--surprising both of them by connecting their lips briefly in a short, sweet kiss, as her eyes glossed over, “as will you.” 

Almost 24 hours later

Running. She was running. Faster than ever, the words of Lucius echoing in her mind, overtaking the screams of the raging battle behind her. “He’s with the Dark Lord,” was the answer to her demand for Snape's whereabouts. Dread consumed her. Drowning the witch as though she had been pulled out to sea. 

Voldermort pausing the battle only to summon Snape had to be anything but good. Lucius confirmed her suspicion by how scared he looked just telling her. Like he expected her to kill him right there for finding Snape and bringing him to the Dark Lord. Instead Y/n shoved him away and broke into a sprint. Heading straight for the docks. 

“Harry--!” Hermoine’s warning was overshadowed by the fast approaching footsteps. The teens gripped their wands, ready for an attack only to freeze at the sight of Y/n running through the doorway. She met Ron and Hermonie’s eyes first, only to draw them to the side, where she was met with a grieving sight. The teens swear they saw her knees buckle, a sound of anguish leaving her throat.

“No-no-no!” Y/n pushes past the teens, kneeling down in a hast and practically shoving Harry to the side. Y/n cups Severus’s face in her hands, eyes filling with tears as blood paints them. “No-no, Severus! Severus!” She frantically looked him over, horrified by his state. His throat was cut, the woman placing a hand over the gaping wound, and bite marks cut into his clothing. 

“Oh God. Sev, you can’t--you can’t leave me,” her chest tightened, tone dropping to barely a whisper. “Not like this. Not like this.” They were supposed to survive the war. Together. They’d made it this far, after so many obstacles and death around them. Y/n and Snape had to live. 

Otherwise what was the point in going on in life. 

The trio were at a loss for words. Stunned by the scene in front of them. Of course they knew the two were married, but it had been revealed at Malfoy Manor it was simply a matter of convenience. Not believing love played any role in the marriage. However, witnessing Y/n in complete despair over Snape made them think the opposite.

They watched in silence. Harry’s attention on Y/n. Her body shaking, face distraught and unsure of where to begin. Snape was losing consciousness, and it was obvious he was running out of time. Clutching onto Y/n’s forearms, the man's eyes softened in a way Harry had never seen. “I’m here,” Y/n caressed his cheek with the hand not holding his neck together. Comforting him. Like she knew he wasn’t going to make it and wanted to make sure he left the world knowing at least one person cared about him. 

Well, she was the only person.

Snape’s eyes turned glossy, flickering between Y/n and Harry. It broke whatever was left of Y/n’s heart seeing him cry. Full of pain and minutes from death.

Something in his tears made her stiffen, and by Snape’s reaction Y/n knew exactly what it was. “Take them,” he pleaded to Harry, the boy confused and looking to the Death Eater for answers. Snape whimpered again, “Take them, please.”

“His tears,” Y/n turned to Harry wide-eyed, a shaky hand reaching out, “get me something--quickly!” He relays the order to Hermoine, who presents a small vial from her bag. Passing it to Harry, he extends it to Y/n, who snatches the vial and opens the top with her teeth. Her rapid movements slow as she gently presses the container to Snape’s cheek. Teardrops falling down until the vial is filled to the brim. They glow against the glass.

“Take them to the pevensie,” Snape’s voice was hoarse, Y/n handing the vial to Harry with care. Pocketing it, Harry glanced up when Snape whispered, “look at me.” Against her palm, Y/n felt his pulse begin to slow. Beats growing apart by the second. 

A knot formed in her throat. Clenching onto his hand like her life depended on it.

Harry stared into the eyes of the man he hated most in the world. Realizing the words were meant for him. More tears ran down Snape’s cheeks, “you have your mother’s eyes.” And with one last squeeze to his wife’s hand, catching her gaze, Severus Snape took his last breath. Head falling limp against the glass, sending Y/n into despair. 

Whatever remnants of her heart broke into a million pieces. Grieving the loss of her only friend and companion. 

Her sobs echoed, the teens watching with solemn faces as the woman brought the now deceased Snape into her arms. One hand on his head to lay it against her chest, resting her chin on his own, the other wrapped arm around his shoulders. Cradling him without any care of the blood coating her skin and clothes. 

None of that mattered to her. 

Her only focus was the man in her arms. 

The sight of Y/n gently rocking Snape was too emotional for the teens. Hermione wiping away moisture from her cheeks, sniffing as she leaned into Ron, whose eyes also shined. They had no words to describe how they felt watching a Death Eater like Y/n--who’d they witnessed her violent nature first hand--in hysterics over Snape. Who’s marriage to him was something they questioned. Believing it to be a ruse. 

However, witnessing the tragic display, they began to think otherwise. 

“We may have not loved each other like we wanted to,” Y/n’s whimpered, opening her eyes to meet Harry’s. The heartbreak shined through, “But he was my peace.” More tears rolled down her cheeks, arms tightening around Snape’s shoulders, resting her cheek on his hair. Another sob left her, “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Another five minutes passed. Hiccups replacing the witch’s outpour of cries. When it slowed and came to a halt, Y/n didn’t bother wiping away the residue. Letting the tears mix into the sweat and blood. 

Her head that had been previously turned away from Harry to hide into Snape’s hair maneuvered so it was facing him. Never letting go of the man. “You should go,” the roughness of her voice matched her state. Red eyes that the whites were barely noticeable, puffiness in her cheeks. “There’s not much time before he runs out of patience,” he referring to Voldemort. Harry tensed, and Y/n gestured to the vial in his hands, “I don’t know all of what he wanted to show you, but if it’s what I think it is….” Harry heard her gulp, “then you’ll understand the things he--and even I--had to do.”

‘Had to do?’ Harry wondered, his expression giving away what he was thinking by the way Y/n shook her head. Unwilling to give him the answers right there. Whatever it was, Harry was anxious at finding out. Remembering the events of the last year in an attempt to identify clues. 

A truly difficult task considering all the shit that happened since the previous May. 

“Please,” her croak brought him out of his thoughts. Harry looked up from the floor to see Y/n on the edge of another breakdown. But she held it together, holding Harry to a firm gaze. The next words leaving her mouth giving only a mere indication of what the Boy who Lived had in store for him when he tapped into Snape’s memories. 

“Don’t let it be for nothing.” 

19 Years Later….

Gray clouds covered the sky like a blanket in west Cornwall. So thick, not even a glimmer of the sun’s ray peaked through. Cool winds breezing, making leaves fly in the air. From above gentle rain fell, hitting the umbrella Narcissa held as she crossed into Blackmere cemetery. The gate creaked behind her, causing a black crow that had been perched on the brick to fly away. 

Draco stayed in the car, allowing his mother privacy after she denied his request to join her. The woman was adamant about going alone, “I’ll only be a moment, darling. Keep the car warm for us.”

Umbrella in one hand and a single white rose in the other, Narcissa followed the pavement trail to her destination. Passing the many tombstones of her relatives, including her young cousin, Regulus. Her movement slowed to read the words engraved on the stone, ‘Born 23 April 1961 he was taken from us at seventeen. Beloved son, and friend: we who loved you will watch for you in the night sky; for surely you will race across the heavens faster than any star’. 

Offering a silent prayer in respect, Narcissa continued down the path. Passing her parents, aunts, uncles, more cousins. Her head tipped a brief second when she strolled by Bellatrix’s. Finally she reached the plot she came for, knot forming in the back of her throat as her eyes landed on the tombstone.

A monolith of black marble stood about two feet and drove into the ground surrounded by a plethora of white Camellias. The only bit of color that stood out was the small bouquets of peonies, carnations, and lilies leaning against the stone. A tell tale sign her sister Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione had already stopped by that morning. 

The flowers from Andromeda were expected. But, even after nearly 20 years, Narcissa still found herself surprised by the gesture from the other two. It had been a few years after the war when the woman caught the two in the cemetery and demanded to know why they were there that Narcissa discovered why. 

“She saved my son,” Mrs. Weasley brushed away a tear that escaped, “And my daughter. Had it not been for her my Bill would’ve died that night. In the Astronomy tower. She could’ve easily left him there…but she didn’t. And Ginny,...” Molly couldn’t get the rest of the words out, becoming emotional, “For that, I’ll forever be grateful.” 

Hermione felt the heat rush to her cheeks, stuttering slightly, “There were many times she had the opportunity to sell us out--to give up Harry. At the burrow, the manor,” the girl flinched, the memories too painful to recall, “even during the battle. She chose not to. And while I know it was mostly for her own personal gain, I can’t help but feel indebted to her. Her actions saved my friends and I. For that alone, I will pay my respects.” 

Stepping forward, Narcissa placed the white rose on top of the monolith. Fingers trailing along the smooth surface before moving back to draw her eyes down. Lingering her gaze on the black & white photo next to the writing.

Carved into the marble, the engraving was simple yet elegant, ‘Y/n M/n Black: Born 10 June 1967 -- Died 2 May 1998, Finally Free.’ 

Narcissa held back the tears as she bowed her head, having cried enough over the last 19 years since Y/n died. She always thought back to those last two days. The manor. The battle. The speckle of hope at rekindling their relationship Narcissa felt when the two connected in the woods……

Narcissa let out of a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when Y/n emerged from the treeline. Falling into step with the rest of the Death Eaters as they marched towards the castle. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, the light competing with the fires still burning within Hogwats. 

“Where have you been?” Narcissa whispered when she felt Y/n beside her, careful not to draw any attention to them. Glancing ahead she spotted Bellatrix skipping alongside Voldemort. “We’ve been looking everywhere--.” She cut herself off when she finally turned to her sister, horror filling her eyes by the amount of dried blood she saw. Her hand instantly came up to grip Y/n’s arm, “My God, what happened to you.” Her eyes searched for the source of injury, “Are you still bleeding--?”

“It’s not mine,” Y/n breathed, body aching from exhaustion. Voice dry and hoarse, in desperate need of water. Relieved, Narcissa loosened her grip, however the worry in her heightened upon seeing Y/n’s eyes glossen. Something she hadn’t seen in 17 years. “Severus…..” 

The witch gasped, peering at Lucius to see if he was listening, only to find him staring ahead. Narcissa gulped, moving her hand from Y/n’s wrist to her shoulder, “Is he…” The shake of Y/n’s head, followed by her sharp inhale was enough of an answer. Narcissa’s heart plummeted to her stomach. 

“Is Draco….”

“He’s in the castle,” Narcissa lowered her arm back to her side. An overwhelming amount of guilt surfaced at the fact her son was alive and well, but Snape--the man who protected him and her sister’s husband--was dead. 

“And you're certain because….” Y/n’s blank tone trailed, side eyeing her sister with a matching expression. Narcissa paled, but remained strong, not meeting her stare.

“I just do,” hands clasped in front of her stomach, holding them tightly.  “And I will find him if it’s the last thing I do.” Y/n studied her, observing for any cues that would confirm the doubt she had of her sister. Once satisfied, she turned away, although the nagging feeling something was off remained. But she was too tired to question it. 

It was then she noticed Hagrid tied up, trailing behind them carrying something in his arms. She’d always had a soft spot for the gentle half-giant. Remembering how he’d always be the first to greet students at the beginning of the term. Always a kind face, bringing an ounce of joy to the girl when all else around her was darkness. Seeing him bound was like a dagger to Y/n’s chest. Then bile rose to her throat when her eyes focused on the figure he held. 

“Is that who I think it is?”

Narcissa turned to see what Y/n was looking at, stiffening immediately and snapping her head forward. “Yes.” 

Y/n wanted to scream. Scream until her voice disappeared. Her jaw hurt by how hard she was clenching it shut to prevent herself from lashing out. Grinding her teeth to the point she feared they’d crack. Y/n wanted to curse at the world. 

It had all been for nothing…..

Feeling the fury radiate off her sister, Narcissa made the impulsive decision to say the truth before Y/n attempted to kill Voldermort herself. Having pieced together the younger witches animosity and disloyalty to the Dark Lord ages ago. With her husband gone and assuming the boy who’d be the saving grace dead, Y/n was a ticking time bomb. 

Leaning close, practically shoving herself onto her sister, Narcissa made it look like she had stumbled and Y/n caught her to the Death Eaters. Face hidden by her hair, Narcissa’s voice barely kissed against Y/n’s ear, “He’s alive.” 

A cold chill ran amongst the witch, Narcissa felt it. Indicating her sister heard her loud and clear. This was then met with Y/n taking Narcissa’s hand. When their eyes locked, Narcissa saw what Y/n was trying to convey, to which the woman nodded. An exhale released from both, Y/n removing her grip and the two stayed silent for the remainder of the journey. 

When they reached the courtyard and Voldemort began his speech, Narcissa felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning to find Y/n watching her closely, face full of sorrow and dejection, even regret. 

“I wish things had been different,” she said softly, startling Narcissa. Then she offered a small shrug accompanying a sad smile, “maybe then we could’ve been friends.” Friends. Not sisters. 

A lump formed in Narcissa’s throat, water lining her eyes, “I would’ve liked that.” A moment passed between them. Both wanting to say everything, yet unable to put it into words. Narcissa broke the silence with the small phrase that summed up the last 17 years. 

“I’m sorry.” For everything, she wanted to add but felt it wasn’t welcomed. She only hoped her sister got the message. 

Y/n’s face never changed, relaxing her shoulders with her deep exhale, telling Narcissa she did. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Narcissa sighed as the memory came to an end, tilting her head up at the sky. It still pained her after all these years. Wondering where it all went wrong. One moment Y/n was beside her, listening to Voldermort demand loyalty from the other side. The next she’s lost in the chaos following the reveal Harry was alive. Narcissa had initially believed Y/n apparated off the grounds like many other followers had done, the Malfoy matriarch taking her son and marching away from the castle with Lucius following behind. She truly believed Y/n had beat them to the manor, only to find it empty. Then when her sister failed to arrive home that night, Narcissa brushed it off as Y/n laying low. Her worst fear being Y/n had been arrested. Dragged back to Azkaban for all eternity. 

Narcissa prayed it was the first theory. Refusing to believe her sister had become a prisoner again. 

But her hopes were crushed upon the arrival of Professor McGonagall and a member of the newly reformed Ministry of Magic two days later. Only it wasn’t to deliver the news Y/n was in Azkaban. No.

It was a death notification. Two at that.

While Bellatrix’s death was straightforward the details of Y/n’s were still unclear decades later. From what McGonagall informed her, Y/n had been caught in an explosion during the final stages of the battle in the Great Hall. She and Ginny Weasley in a 2v1 duel with Rabastan Lestrange, when suddenly a Death Eater caught them off guard by casting bombarda maxima, resulting in Y/n to push the girl away. Witnesses reported seeing Y/n thrown off her feet by the force of the spell and through the stained glass window behind her. Her screams echoing as she fell and the debris followed her down. 

 They never found her body. Based on the location, it was presumed Y/n died on impact when she hit the lake from the height of the fall. Sinking to the bottom. Whatever was left of her was likely torn by the creatures inhabiting the waters. 

The images of Y/n’s suspected death haunted Narcissa’s nightmares for months. Lucius woke up to her cries every night. Offering comfort as best as he could considering affection was not a common occurrence for the couple. And while he had the same distaste for his sister-in-law as she did him--still holding a grudge for when she beat him to a pulp--at the end of the day his wife lost her sister. Both of them in one night. She and Andromeda were now the last immediate family members of the noble and ancient House of Black. 

Everyone else was dead. 

Sighing, Narcissa began to speak. Pretending the casket in the ground contained her sister’s body and not empty. “Scorpius starts at Hogwarts this fall. Draco is at his wits end. Understandable really,” she hummed with a small frown, “with all that’s happening with Astoria, I reckon it won’t be a pleasant year.” Thinking of her grandson, Narcissa’s heart breaks a little. “But I hope Scorpius manages to find some solace at school. He’s already packing his trunk even though there’s still two months until he leaves,” she laughs softly, “Last week he found your spell books…..”

Drawing her gaze down, she finds Y/n’s picture. Looking absolutely beautiful in her white dress and simple veil, taken the day of her wedding to Snape. The image enchanted, capturing the moment she gave a genuine smile to the camera. A rare sight. The way she laid against the chair’s armrest with the window light coming through made the photo look like it was straight from the 1950s. Not to mention how timeless Y/n appeared. It was one of the very few pictures Narcissa was able to find of her sister. And it was her favorite amongst the bunch. 

“He’d snuck into the attic one morning. Lucius about had a fit, and Draco didn’t know what to do,” Narcissa closed the umbrella, the rain had stopped. “They’re in a safe space, need not to worry. But seeing as Scorpius is ambitious like the rest of us--no doubt he’ll be in Slytherin,” her tone had a hint of playfulness, “I find they’ll be in his possession soon enough. We promised, well I promised, that he can have them once he’s in his fourth year, if he maintains good grades.” 

Another sigh leaves her, shivering at the sudden breeze. “You know, part of me believes I’ll never find closure when it comes to us, Y/n. Or with your death,” her chest tightens, “Not having your body makes it hard to really move on. Plus, there are times where I swear I see you at the treeline of the Manor. Or strolling the streets of London,” her eyes flicker to the dirt, “Makes me have the slightest hope….that maybe, you’re still out there…..” A shiver ran down Narcissa’s spin as the words left her mouth. It was the first time she’d said them aloud. And after holding the sneaky suspicion of her sister being alive to herself for 19 years, she felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. 

“That maybe you survived the fall and conjured up an extravagant escape. I often picture you made a life in America--or are currently traveling the world. You always said you would when you were a child. A foolish thought I know,” her chuckle was dry, laughing at herself for even considering the idea. “It would do me right to believe like everyone else. But if by some chance I’m right,” her bottom lip quivered, gathering the courage to say the words she desperately wanted to say. “I understand why. At first I was enraged--feeling betrayed that you’d go that far. But after many years of reflecting…I can’t bring myself to be angry if you did fake your death.”

Another pause, “After all, what you wanted most in the world was your freedom.” Leaves crunched beneath her boots as she shifted her stance, “Free from this world. Free from us. Free from everything. I cannot blame you for wanting peace. I’d be a hypocrite to view otherwise.” Especially since she was able to avoid prison time with the rest of Voldemort’s followers because of what she did. 

Narcissa looked at Y/n’s picture once more. Watching the moving image repeat to commit her dazzling smile to memory. Wanting to remember her as the once beautiful kind soul she’d been before Azkaban, instead of a walking Devil historians painted her to be. A narrative Narcissa found herself battling lawsuits to erase. Even with Harry Potter revealing details of Y/n’s role in protecting him during the war, people still focused on the horrible things. 

That’s how she was remembered. A crushed, darkened soul. 

As Narcissa stared at the headstone one last time, she was completely unaware that a few feet away, perched on the monolith of their parents, was a black crow watching her intently. Listening to her every word.

And what the witch didn’t know, what she failed to realize after all these years, was that this crow had been coming to the cemetery every year. On the same day. Sitting in the same spot. Watching her place a single white rose on the grave, which the crow would carry away once Narcissa departed. 

Flying through the skies without a care in the world, now that she was free.

“I hope wherever you are, Y/n, you’ve found peace.” 

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Am alive, been fandom-ing silently lately! Haven’t been on Tumblr because the community has just been perpetually exhausting to peer in on and I just want to enjoy Uncle Daddy goddammit

I’ve been crocheting lil GoT/HoTD characters lately! That’s what I’ve been doing with my time lol. No updates on latest chapter yet, but I have been writing a sort of AU one-shot of Daemon’s hallucinations featuring Babey/niece!Reader that I’ll probs post soon. I want to include some REEEEEAL fuckery there, not sure how terrible I want to make it. There’s definitely violence and gore, but not sure how to make it as psychologically fucky as him shtupping his mummy.

(Got some ideas re: he bangs Babey in his hallucination and it turns into noncon/ he starts IDK choking her out and the scene turns into her bleeding out everywhere like she’s just given birth and it went wrong and the scene is supposed to sorta call in some latent guilt about knocking her up all the time a la “you killed me, Daemon”. OR a variation of this where it starts a little seksy (fully clothed) but then there’s a struggle and Babey gets up and starts bleeding, but then she shrinks into her younger self and she’s bleeding out and she asks him if she’s going to die and he tries to tell her she won’t but she tells him “I will, though. I’m too young.” And he protests only for her to say in a creepy blend of child and adult Babey: “I was always too young, kepus. You just refused to see it” etc.)

Anyway, I have seen all the inbox messages! I shall get to them when I can. Will take Tumblring slow so as not to piss myself off again, lol.

Hope y’all are well!

[freedomfireflies]

iFall For Harry

Part Two to this request!

Summary: Turns out, the stranger in your phone is kind of funny...

...and kind of sexy, too.

Oh, my god. 

Harry, did you hear the news?

It takes exactly three and a half minutes for those familiar little bubbles to pop up.

Well hello to you, too. 

No, what happened?

You struggle to contain a rather giddy grin as you begin to type, A cheese factory exploded in France!

Wait, really? Shit, what happened?

I don’t know. But all that was left was…de brie.

Exactly sixty seconds pass before he begins to type.

Fuck.

I think I just snorted. 

That was…goddammit that was good.

You don’t even know what he looks like, but you chuckle at the idea of him laughing so hard he can’t help but snort.

Thank you, thank you. 

Took me two weeks to come up with that.

I’m impressed. 

Little offended, too.

Oh? Your heart sinks.

Yeah. 

Kept me on the edge of my seat for two fucking weeks wondering if I’d hear from you again.

Shit. 

You smirk to yourself as you flop down onto your sofa and think through a response.

Hey, it takes two to tango, pal. You could have texted me, too.

The bubbles make your heart pound.

Alright, that’s fair. 

In my defense, I didn’t have any more cheese puns.

Oh, is that all this is, then? 

You just use me for dad jokes?

Psh, nooooooo…

Then, another text.

Although, the jokes do make my days…cheddar.

 You laugh a little louder, suddenly very aware of the flush in your face over some stranger in your phone. 

No, wait. How do I erase a text?

I hated that. 

Seriously, how do I make it go away? 

My failure is staring me in the face, and I hate it.

You giggle under your breath.

Easy, Grandpa. 

Relax, just press down until the options pop up.

The conversation goes quiet for a brief moment before you watch his previous text vanish from the screen with a dramatic, poof!

Then, he begins typing again.

Hold on… 

Did you just call me Grandpa?

…psh, noooooooo

Oh, so that’s how it is?

That’s how it is.

Wow, and we had such a nice thing going, too.

To be fair, you never told me your age, and you don’t even know how to delete a text. 

What am I supposed to think?

First of all: rude. 

Respect your elders.

Second of all: this deleting shit is NEW, okay, and I just updated my phone, like…a week ago, so I never learned. 

Uh-huh. 

No, yeah, whatever you say, Grandps.

He responds with the emoji that’s rolling its eyes.

You smirk.

For your information, I’m 29.

Okay, which is a cool, hip, fun, and very fresh age.

Yes, I believe that’s the slogan for the retirement home, too. 

“We’re cool, we’re slick, and we might break a hip.”

There’s a longer pause between your text and his response. You hope it’s because he’s laughing. It’s not your best work, but you think it’s funny.

And then, you get the notification.

Dammit, that place sounds so much cooler than the retirement home I’m in now. 

Send me the address? I’ll wheel myself over.

You got it, Old Man. Will you need any help crossing the street?

How thoughtful of you. Yeah, that’d be great, and then you can finally earn your Girl Scout badge.

Oh, my God. How did you know it was the last one I needed?

Cause I’m old. And therefore wise.

Oh, right, right. No, that checks out.

Yeah. 

You lean back, forcing your eyes away from your phone to finally get a moment of reprieve from the excessive smiling. Why is this so fun?

I guess 29 isn’t so bad. Just…three years older than me.

Ah, another piece to the Cheese Girl puzzle. 

You’re 26.

Indeed.

26 was fun. 

I liked 26.

Yeah, it’s not too bad so far.

Just wait until your bones start to creak whenever you get out of bed.

I’ll keep a can of oil on my nightstand.

You grimace to yourself. Your worst joke to date, and you just hope you haven’t blown it.

Probably smart. 

My preferred method is lube, but…

Whatever works.

Your eyes widen.

Oh?

Yeah.

 My bones might creak but at least I can still fuck.

Well…shit.

You readjust your position on the sofa, desperately working to find a cool and relaxed and equally mysterious reply.

…so, no pressure.

Just be careful with all that lube. 

Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.

Hope you’ve got Life Alert on speed dial.

Oh, I absolutely do. They love me over there.

You smirk to yourself, fighting yet another laugh. 

Yeah? Thank God.

Boy, I bet you’re a real stud with the ladies, huh?

Damn fucking right. 

This grandpa has moves.

I bet. Yeah, women love a man that squeaks when he thrusts.

They do, actually. I happen to squeak quite sensually.

Is that right?

It is.

Damn.

Might need to hear that for myself someday.

It was bold. Perhaps a little daring, and you don’t give yourself a chance to overthink it before turning your phone off and tossing it onto the other side of the sofa.

You give it five minutes before checking to see if he’s replied.

Thankfully, you have two notifications, delivered 3 minutes ago.

Yeah?

So what’s stopping you?

What is stopping you?

Probably a number of things, but instead of pointing out that he’s a complete stranger and could very well be a catfish (or even worse…that he might not even find you attractive) you decide to go with another joke.

All these Girl Scout cookies I gotta sell :/

Shit.

Yeah.

What if I bought a hundred boxes?

Then you’d have to hand deliver them to my door, right?

Your eyes roll playfully as you sigh.

That IS the Girl Scout policy, yes.

We pride ourselves on good service.

Fantastic, then I’ll take 100 boxes in the flavor of you.

Your lashes flutter as you reread the text, over, and over, and over. But before you can spiral…he’s sending another.

…shit, that was meant to be smooth.

Get it, cause…like, you know, get a taste of YOU. Like…if you were a cookie. 

Cause…I wanna taste you…

Explaining it makes it worse, doesn’t it?

 It should make it worse, but for some reason…he’s funny? And charming? And making your thighs squeeze together—

I think that can be arranged, yeah.

I’ll package them up nice and pretty, just for you.

Equally as cheesy, but apparently…cheese is where you both shine.

You hope he’s at least somewhat amused, and when he finally responds, your stomach flips.

This conversation is bad for my health.

Yeah?

Why’s that?

Because I’m in a meeting and I’m about to have a heart attack.

…why are you about to have a heart attack?

Oh, right. I forgot that happens at your old age.

Ha.

Funny.

Good thing you have Life Alert on speed dial.

Yeah, I don’t think Life Alert is gonna be able to help.

No? Why not?

Cause only one thing can save me now.

Cookies.

Your cookies.

To be exact.

See? Cheesy.

Wow, I was almost turned on and then…

Nope, there it goes.

Oh, is that what we’re doing? We’re trying to turn each other on?

Well, why didn’t you SAY so?

Hold on, I’ve got a few good ones.

Oh god.

Alright, here we go.

So…

What are you wearing?

…really? That’s all you’ve got?

Work with me please.

My gosh.

Clothes.

I have clothes on.

Yeah?

That’s a shame.

Two minutes go by without him adding anything else, and you can’t help but laugh when you realize that’s all he’s got.

Wowwwwww…

No, that was so good. I’m…holy shit, you just took my breath away. I’m so turned on right now.

I mean, my panties just FLEW across the room!

You’re THAT good!

Okay, very funny. 

I wasn’t done.

No, really. You gotta warn a girl before you just completely rock her world like that.

Honestly, I feel a little faint.

Where did you learn such a masterful technique? Really, you should teach a class on sexting, cause that was just…phew.

Listen, I was just trying to take it easy on you.

You know, ease you into my seduction before I gave it to you good and hard.

The last bit of his sentence has you stumbling over a gasp, but you simply clear your throat and work to find a response.

You have two options:

Either you tease him a bit more…

…or you ramp up the tension.

Well, by all means, Harry…

Give it to me good.

And hard.

He doesn’t respond for quite some time to this. And while you’d like to tell yourself that it’s because he’s just so turned on by your response…

…it’s more likely that you definitely fucked up and he wants nothing more to do with you.

But then…your phone dings.

Is that what you want then, hm?

Want it rough?

Shit, shit, shit.

Yeah.

If you think you can keep up.

Trust me, sweetheart, that won’t be a problem.

If you want it rough, I’m more than happy to oblige.

Is that why you texted me today?

Needed my help?

Truth be told, you don’t know why you texted him today, but you certainly aren’t upset with how things are going.

Me? Needing YOUR help?

Cute, but I think my fingers and I can manage just fine.

His response comes so fast, your head spins:

…fuck.

You smile.

Shit, okay now this conversation is REALLY bad for my health.

I might keel over right here in this meeting.

My death is on your hands, Cheese Girl.

Worth it.

You watch the bubbles float onto your screen for a good thirty seconds before they disappear.

Then, they appear again…just to dissipate before you can get your hopes up.

Finally—finally…a text.

Okay, listen, you don’t know me.

And I don’t know you.

I get that.

I’m a stranger, you’re a stranger.

But…

And hear me out…

What would you say to a phone call?

Your pulse stutters as you stare at his proposition, but he’s already sending his next text before you can decide if you’re really that stupid or not.

I know that’s asking a lot, but…

If you promise that you aren’t a 90-year-old man, and I promise I’m not some kid playing video games in his mom’s basement…

We could at least…have a real conversation.

And make sure that we really are who we say we are, you know?

And I could be assured that I didn’t just get a fucking boner in the middle of a busy boardroom cause of some perverted, internet creep that makes cheese jokes.

You hesitate.

Despite yourself, you are intrigued by the idea.

Worst-case scenario if he is some loser…you can just hang up and block his number.

And if he’s not…and he’s half as hot as you’re starting to hope he is…

You swallow.

Thickly.

I am not some perverted, internet creep that makes cheese jokes.

I’m just a regular creep that makes cheese jokes.

Promise.

And…yeah. 

I would be okay with a phone call.

As long as you do in fact promise I won’t regret it and that it won’t result in nightmares that haunt me for the rest of my life.

Ah, well…

Can’t say much for the regret…

But I do promise that I will try very hard not to give you nightmares.

God, are you really doing this?

Are you really doing this?

Alright, then…

Oh, so you’re doing it. You’re really that dumb. You really just let a complete stranger convince you to call him, even though he could be a serial killer, or a psycho, or—

Your phone rings.

You see his name pop up in large print as the cellphone just about flies out of your hand.

Scrambling to keep it steady, you lurch forward and collect a deep breath.

You can do this.

You can do this.

You’ll give him thirty seconds. And if he seems creepy…you’ll hang up, and you’ll move on.

And you’ll never get random boys in bars numbers again.

You press your thumb into the button on your screen and slide it to the right.

Here goes nothing.

“…hello?”

~ iFall for Harry pt. 3 (the third part to this!)

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ More Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tag List:

@tinyhrry @supersanelyromantic @lomlhstyles

[someonesrealityshifting]

I was about to go to sleep but I just need a minute because the last thing on my fyp was a video of my streamer dr s/o just doing a normal cosplay- except here the issue. He’s cosplayed Loki. And Remus. And Jack Frost. And hiccup. And fucking spiderman. So he’s my face claim for a lot of people in a lot of realities because goddammit I can’t look at him without giggling and kicking my feet like a fucking child and he’s so pretty. He’s so beautiful. He’s the most handsomest creature put on this planet or any other, for that matter. If he walked up to me tomorrow and said, “marry me. Never look at another man again.” I’d gojo the fuck out myself. Blindfold any time I leave the house, baby. I would bark. I don’t bark, okay? He’s literally the only person I would bark for in any reality. Not even a goth mommy or the sukuna bot I spent an hour arguing with the other day. But this man? Literally anything he wants. I would go bankrupt for this man. Dig my own grave, bury myself without eating the dirt. Don’t need my soul, you can have it. Oh, your heart went bad? Here, have mine. Yeah, it’s fine, I’m sure I don’t need it. Must have been all that gold in yours that made it stop working properly. And his smile?!? Holy fuck his smile. It’s crooked. I say this by way of explanation. His smile is crooked, and his canines are just the tiniest bit sharper than they ought to be. I would do anything for this man with no hesitation. Every time I see a video of him, esp the ones with his partner, I just get so so so happy, because one day, one day soon, I’m going to be the one in those videos. In another reality, sure. But I’ll be conscious. Any time I’m feeling down about shifting or unmotivated, I just look at him. I cannot wait to hug this man. I cannot wait to hold him and kiss him and tell him I love him. I’m gonna wake up in his arms one day. I’m going to live a thousand lives with him.

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: nsfw/18+; afab!reader; hisoka is his own content warning™. a little self-ship coded, shh. wc: 800

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You hold your hand to your chest, waiting for your heart to burst through your ribcage like a wild bird, the keys that were held loosely in your other hand dropping to the floor and landing with a sharp clatter. It seems you have an uninvited guest this evening—Hisoka sits perched in the center of your sofa, shirtless, legs crossed and a wry smile stretching across his face.

“Why dear, you’re home late,” he croons, golden eyes gleaming as he drapes his arms over the back of the couch and cocks his head at you.

“I got held up on my way out of the office,” you scowl, closing the front door behind you and slowly inhaling, exhaling even slower, trying to calm your racing pulse. “I didn’t know I had company to attend to tonight.”

“Well, I would’ve called but…” Hisoka trails off and shrugs his shoulders, uncrossing his legs and planting his feet on the ground. He behaves like a feral cat, coming and going as he pleases, entering your home of his own accord no matter how well you seal the doors and windows and how many times you change the locks, disappearing for days and weeks at a time, then showing up out of the blue demanding attention and affection. And, without fail, you fall for it every time.

A familiar scent catches your attention as you toss your coat onto a nearby chair. “What’s that smell?”

“There wasn’t anything in your fridge that looked appealing so I ordered curry.” He sounds almost bored by your question, as if the answer should have been obvious, and gestures lazily in the direction of kitchen. “It’s probably getting cold by now though.”

“Goddammit,” you mutter under your breath, pulling out your phone to check your bank balance as you saunter towards him.

“Don’t be so distrustful, dear, I paid for it myself,” Hisoka snips, raising an eyebrow, reaching forward to snatch your phone from your still-shaking hands. “You actually think I need to steal your money?”

“You already break into my house constantly, can you blame me for assuming?”

“Do you really think so little of me, pretty?” he coos, grabbing your wrists and tugging you towards him until you stumble against his knees, catching yourself on his broad shoulders. His long fingers sink into the plush of your hips and he pulls you forward easily until you land in his lap, straddling his muscular thighs; you can already feel the swell of his arousal pressing against your warmth.

“Stop fucking breaking into my fucking house, Hisoka.” Your arms find their usual spot draped around his neck as you settle against him, your fingers playing with the fine hairs at the back of his neck, and you swear you can feel him throb as you curse him out. “Fuck’s sake, I’ll just give you a key.”

“Aw, come now, where would be the fun in that?” he condescends, nuzzling your cheek as his warm palms caress the curve of your ass, sharp nails digging into your jeans, another clothing item dangerously close to ruin by his wandering hands. His lips crash suddenly against yours, his kisses bruising and cruel, the tip of his tongue probing your mouth hungrily while his hands pull you down even more firmly against the bulge in his pants.

“At least—at least text me when you’re coming o-over,” you stammer, a rush of blood pooling at the apex of your thighs as he rocks up into you. It’s sick how easily he wrings the annoyance and the anger out of you, leaving you twisted up and heated and needy, ready to soak up all that he has to give you.

“What, and ruin the surprise? Besides, you look so cute when you’re startled.” Hisoka grabs your wrist and gasps lewdly as he presses his lips to it, moaning against your skin while his tongue makes patterns over your pulse point. “Oh, my pretty little prey animal, your heart’s beating so fast for me.”

He sinks his teeth into the meat of your palm and you’re flooded with a rush of arousal. If only you’d worn that skirt to work that you’d briefly considered and discarded that morning, you could already have him inside you, hastily sliding your panties to one side to accommodate him. Instead, you have the illusion of struggle, a fabric barrier keeping you from showing your hand too quickly.

“D-don’t you want to eat dinner?” you ask through a sigh, a final shot fired in a losing battle.

Hisoka snickers cruelly and deftly maneuvers you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. He gazes down at you and grins, something wild and untamed glimmering in his gilded eyes. “The food’s already cold, little bunny—it can wait a little longer.”

[artiststarme]

Goddamn Wheelers!

Hopper was bothering him. That wasn’t necessarily unusual, Hop had been particularly hard to shake since he decided to adopt Steve into his little family. But this was a whole ’nother level of insanity. He’d been wiggling his eyebrows at him and making obscene hand gestures at him all morning and Steve was just trying to eat his breakfast in peace. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Steve blurted out. The entire table stilled at his eruption and looked between him and Hopper. Hop just sipped at his cup of coffee, cool as a cucumber. 

“Who me? I’m just wondering why you didn’t introduce us to the girl you’re seeing.” Hopper told him, his expression remaining relaxed and cool. 

Joyce, El, and Will turned surprised eyes towards him. Their interests were piqued. Meanwhile, Jonathan looked like he wished he could be literally anywhere else. 

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched. He was not seeing a girl and he had no idea why Hopper thought he was. 

“I’m not. Why do you think I am?” Hopper’s eyebrows raised. 

“Yes you are! I saw you two in your car last night. Why didn’t you bring her in?” He asked. 

Steve just shook his head. “Why are you so interested in meeting who I’m dating? I’m an adult, I can handle myself!”

“Why are you so embarrassed about telling me you and Nancy are back together?” Hopper yelled at him. Jonathan grimaced and tried to escape but Joyce grabbed hold of his arm to keep him there. 

“Nancy and I aren’t back together!” Steve shouted in response. 

“I know you are, I saw you guys making out in the driveway. Who else has hair that curly?” The air stilled as Steve’s face flushed in horror. Oh god, Hopper saw him making out with Eddie Munson. Oh no. 

He was in too deep now to backtrack so he took a deep breath and looked Hopper in the eye. “... Eddie. I’m dating Eddie Munson, not Nancy Wheeler. Is that okay?”

Hopper’s face broke out in a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“Because he’s a guy and I’m a guy. We’re in a queer relationship. Are you okay with that?” Steve was speaking quietly, cautiously. He couldn’t wrap his head around Hopper’s reaction. 

Hopper huffed out a laugh. “Of course I am. Honestly kid, you could be screwing Bigfoot himself and I would accept it as long as it meant my kids weren't dating a Wheeler.”

Steve saw Joyce and Jonathan look at each other quickly and El shyly glanced at Will. The kid was gripping his fork with a death grip and his face was pale. 

“Um, Hop?” He muttered. 

“Yeah kid?” Hopper still had a wide smile on his face, he looked like he just won the lottery. 

“I uh, I have some bad news,” Will stammered. He glanced at Joyce who nodded at him in support. 

“There’s literally nothing you could say in this moment to bring me down. I’m thrilled!” Hopper laughed. He looked over at Steve who shot him a small smile. Oh boy, if what he thought was coming was coming, Hopper wouldn’t have that smile on his face for long. 

“I’m gay…”

“Will, thank you for telling me that and I will always accept you,” Hop told him.

“... and I’m dating Mike Wheeler.”

All joy fell from Hopper’s face and left behind was the most devastated expression Steve had ever seen. In fact, Steve couldn’t tell if it was a glare of the light or a tear in his eye. As quickly as it appeared, the sadness was replaced with inordinate rage.

“No! Absolutely not! Goddammit, Will! You’re better than this, what does he have on you? Some sort of leverage or blackmail or Upside Down voodoo? I’ll take that kid out.”

"He's been my best friend for my entire life and I really like him!" Will defended.

"Jesus Christ, why are you kids so attracted to that family? All of you now. That's just-that's ridiculous! I guarantee that violates some kind of bro code!" Hop ranted, waving his arms around heatedly.

Perhaps Eddie was rubbing off on Steve in more ways than one because he decided to cause some problems for his own amusement. "Jon is thinking about getting back together with Nancy."

He wasn't but seeing the outrage on Hopper's face was worth it. He opened his mouth to rant at a scared looking Jonathan but Joyce cut him off.

“Alright kids, time for you to go! Have fun today, be safe, listen to Steve!” Joyce ushered them away from the table and out the door. 

Steve, Will, El, and Jonathan practically bolted from the house. They could still hear Hopper screaming about “no good Wheelers” and “that fucking toothpick” and all sorts of other insults as they climbed into the Beemer. 

“Uh Steve?” Jonathan asked him.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, looking over at him. 

“Are these the seats you were making out with Eddie on?” Steve looked back out the windshield and tried to hide his blush. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

He drove all the way to the Wheeler house for DnD with groans of disgust and fake gagging filling his ears.

Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @anzelsilver @jestyzesty @gregre369 @mysticcrownshipper @disasterlia @lillys-weird-world @messrs-weasley @gay-stranger-things @pnk-lemonades @coolestjoy30 @strangerthingfanfic

[krasytoonz]

Speech Examples!

King Wally

“What’s a Peasant like YOU doing here! Goodness, you STINK!”

“No, I don’t like this. I don’t like this one either. You are supposed to READ my MIND! Can’t you already figure out what I like and don’t like?”

“I was a bit rude. I know that. But I will not apologize for it. Because I am King.”

“AHHH!! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?! GUARDS! SOMEONE! SAVE ME!!! THIS FOUL LOOKING THING IS TRYING TO KILL ME!!”

Jester Barnaby

“What do you call Tea that doesn’t have (T)ea?… Just Ea.”

“Hey, don’t go about and hang your head down like that! You did great, buddy. What matters is the effort you put in!”

“I know a place where we can go and relax. Maybe daydream or take a nap! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I actually got some tricks up my sleeves!… Well, I don’t got any sleeves. But you get it!”

Castle’s Greatest Knight

“Do you think that maybe he might like me back?”

“Being a Knight doesn’t mean you have to just ‘be’. You’ve got to act and look like one too!”

“Stand STRAIGHT! What are you even worthy of if you can’t even do one simple thing!!”

“I may be merciful, but do not take me for a Fool. So do not treat me like one.”

The Advisor

“That is so funny, because the last time I remember you was… Never. I don’t think you are even good enough to be in the storage of my memories.”

“You see, because ‘pie’ is a consumable good, but ‘pi’ is a maths symbolism that equals to 3.14, it is the reason why you are DUMB. Those are NOT THE SAME THINGS.”

“This is NOT how ECONOMY WORKS, Your Majesty. The people are starving and YOU KNOW THAT!”

“For the love of God I will literally burn you ALIVE if you say one more thing out of that stupid mouth of yours!”

Castle’s Maid

“GAWK!! THE voices.. The noises.. Oh, they’re SPEAKING to me again!”

“No, no no, it isn’t the Castle this time, I know it! Please, believe me! There are things wrong with this Kingdom — HORRIBLY WRONG!”

“It’s a CURSE!! I knew that because I went to this Fortune-Teller and she told me that THIS WILL HAPPEN! GAWK!!”

“Breathe in.. Breathe out.. No, this wouldn’t work! This is silly! Let’s get out of here and run away elsewhere while we still can!”

The Anarchist

“Boasting will do you no good. I don’t like ‘mysteries’ or ‘surprises’ either. Show it to me and I’ll believe you.”

“Somebody who only talks big, but not ‘walk the talk’, is not to be respected. I hope you understand what that means.”

“WHAT IN THE- Julie! SALLY! STOP POKING THAT THING! IT’S GOING TO CRUMBLE DOWN!! GODDAMMIT YOU TWO!”

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to walk alone in the Alleyway?! Are you out of your mind?!! Stick beside me, I know a shortcut.”

Julie Joyful (in Disguise Name: King-Queen-Royal Julien the III)

“Wow, that was.. SUPER DUPER AWESOMESAUCESNESS!! CAN WE DO IT AGAIN?!”

“AAHHHH!! I AM SO SO SO EXCITED! Let’s go and look for more Mushrooms. Did you KNOW that Sally can cook really good Mushroom soup?”

“Uhhh… Uhhhhheeeerrrrmmmm… I forgot. I’m sorry, but, I’ll try my best to remember. I promise! PINKIE PROMISE!”

“If you want a hug, just know that I am always here. Don’t you waste your tears, my Friend!”

Bounty Hunter Sally

“So we got Buggy and Pinkie on the team. You in or you out?”

“HA! No one can EVER come between ME and Pinkie! You can try all you want but you CAN’T ever separate the two of us!”

“Determination is my greatest Skill! Test me if you like but I WON’T back down from a good ramble! Bring it on! Wahhahaa!!”

“These monsters aren’t actually monsters, but they are just sensitive to Fire and Light and all that stuff. Best you put it away.”

Royal Courtier Sunny

“Yes, very very informative…! Uh, so, when is the festival again?”

“Oooh! That looks DASHING on you! Totally cute and fashionable! Wear it!”

“Morals are very important! You see, without them, people will become violent!”

“Do not fear! I will sacrifice myself if needed! You can rely on me!”

Castle (speaks in onomatopoeia)

“CREEK! THUMP! CRRRRAAAACKKK!” (Fuck u and ur dad and ur mom and ur siblings)

“Thump. Thump. THUMP.” (Thump thump thump.)

“Creek!” (Flowers! I love flowers!)

[katatonicimpression]

🥃 please 👀

Sambucky Prompt Game

Thank you for the ask!

Captain America and the Winter Soldier walk into a bar. 

The bar is a front for an arms dealer. 

Some people got shot.

Once they’ve called in the cavalry (i.e. Sharon) and all the arrests have been made, it’s just Sam and Bucky, standing around in this dingy bar. Broken glass covered patches of the floor, chairs lay overturned and the pool table was splintered and torn, having been used as an impromptu shield. But hey, no one had died, and the decor wasn’t that bad.

Sam was sitting at the bar, facing the room and leaning back on his elbows.

“You ready to go?” He asked Bucky, when he emerged from the bathroom.

He shrugged.

“I don’t mind. You wanna stay for a drink?”

Sam wasn’t tired, and this stuff behind the bar was just sitting unused. It would probably end up “confiscated” by some cop eventually. Might as well take their cut.

“Yeah, sure.”

Bucky placed one hand on the bar and vaulted over it, and Sam turned to face him, and snorted a little at the display of effort.

“Hey,” Bucky flirted. “What’s a nice kid like you doing in a place like this?”

“You know I was just asking myself that?”

Bucky smirked, grabbing a cloth from behind the counter and tossing it over his shoulder. He leaned over the bar slightly.

“So, what will it be?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Urm…” Bucky dropped the suave act and looked behind him. “We got scotch and we got bourbon.”

Sam laughed. “Maybe I should have been the bartender. I make a mean manhattan.”

“Yeah, well the whiskey is the only thing here that I trust the look of.”

“Suit yourself.” Sam found himself smiling. “Bourbon then, on the rocks.”

“Coming right up.”

Sam watched Bucky rummage through the glasses before finding some that seemed decent, then look around for the ice. He stared at him absently, lost in the strangeness of the moment. Because when was the last time they’d had a moment like this? When was the last time they just did stuff?

“Cheers.”

Honestly? It tasted alright. Sam had definitely had worse. For his part, Bucky had downed his own glass of the stuff and was already pouring himself another. Sam wondered how much it would take to actually get the man drunk. He was about to ask if he’d ever tried but Bucky spoke first.

“We should go out for drinks.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?” Sam said.

“No, let me take you out.” Bucky placed one hand on the counter and leaned over. “Let me show you a good time, sweetheart.”

“It’s “sweetheart” now, is it?” Sam asked, smiling but deflecting, pretending this wasn’t doing a thing for him.

“It can be.”

Sam took another sip of his drink. 

“We’re a little past the first date stage, aren’t we?” He said, teasing, but it was true. They’d been practically living in each other’s pants since that whole business with Karli and Zemo. Sleeping in the same bed most nights. Doing things Sam would usually wait until at least a second date before. Well, maybe after the first if the guy was built like Bucky, who was he kidding.

“I may have gotten a little ahead of myself,” Bucky said, clearly thinking the same thing. “But look at you, can you blame me?”

Once again Sam pretended that this wasn’t charming.

“So, what do you say? A night on the town? You can dress up real pretty and I’ll show you off.”

“Do I get flowers?”

“If you want, Sweetheart.”

There it was again. Goddammit.

“Sure. Sure, let’s do it.”

[steddio]

steddie vegas au part 3

part 1; part 2

–

“YOU WHAT?” Robin shrieks, nearly smacking Steve in the shoulder with her water bottle as she whips around to face him. They’re about halfway through their morning hike, struggling uphill, and he’s impressed that she even has the energy for such an outburst. Steve is sweating like a pig and trying not to look like he’s gasping for breath.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t know who he was! And he looked kind of lost, and you know I have a tendency to adopt strays! He had these big, sad puppy eyes…”

“Eddie freaking Munson is not a stray, Steve! He’s a bona fide rockstar. Like, double platinum, Grammy-winning, cover of Rolling Stone rockstar. And you didn’t recognize him?!” Her voice is rising into a nearly inhuman register and Steve reaches out to try and calm her. 

“Why would I recognize him, Robs? I never know who anyone famous is, and I like it that way. And, he seemed to kind of enjoy me not knowing. Like, his whole attitude changed once we walked past his billboard.”

Robin is gaping at him and Steve uses the opportunity to grab the water bottle out of her hand and take a swig. It’s a testament to her astonishment that she doesn’t even yell at him for it. He wipes his mouth with the neck of his t-shirt, and starts walking up the hill. He kind of regrets telling her about last night. After all, he had promised to keep Eddie’s secret. But telling Robin doesn’t really feel like telling another person. Just like having an internal conversation with the louder half of his brain. 

“Besides,” he calls out over his shoulder, “it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just another hotel guest. I’ll probably barely see him.”

Robin jogs to catch up and grabs the bottle back with a huff. “Steve. You escorted Eddie Munson to an AA meeting. That’s like, intimate.”

Steve shakes his head, “No, Rob, it wasn’t like that. I’m sure he just wants to forget about it. He probably flirts with everyone.” 

“He was flirting with you?!” Robin is back to screeching. 

“Well yeah, I think so,” he shrugs. “It was hard to tell, but he called me nicknames and complimented my arms.” Robin looks about ready to combust, and he tries to change the subject. “Did you see the photos of Max and Lucas from last night? I can’t believe how much she’s grown up.” 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do! We’re not done here!” But Robin’s eyes are soft, and she nudges his shoulder, “did you go all papa bear on Lucas?”

Steve laughs. “No, if anything I was trying to encourage Max to go for it. She called me in hysterics freaking out about whether Lucas liked her. As if that boy hasn’t been in love with her for half a decade.”

They spend the rest of the hike going over every detail he knows of his daughter’s romantic life. Robin is equally invested despite having never met Max, and he loves her for it. Even if he can’t be there every day, being a dad is the most important thing in his life. And he can’t help it, he likes to indulge in a little gossip and teenage love lives are nothing if not dramatic. 

As they say goodbye in the parking lot, Robin sternly meets his gaze. “Don’t let me down, dingus. If Eddie Munson is flirting with you, you better flirt back, or I swear to god I’ll come down there and do it myself.”

“And lose your gold star status?” he teases, and then dodges her halfhearted punch to his arm. 

“Alright, alright, Robs. If he talks to me, and I really don’t think he will after last night so that’s a big if, I’ll pull out the Harrington charm.” Robin gags a little at that and waves him away. He gets into his car, eager for a shower and maybe even a little bit eager to go to work. 

–

When he gets into work at 2 pm, the concierge desk is a shitshow. Some beauty influencer retreat is happening in the hotel, and the person on the morning shift is completely incompetent (they’re new, Steve tries to be generous, everyone is new at some point, but goddammit he’s pretty sure Max could do the job better than this Tammy person), and so Steve spends most of the afternoon canceling and rescheduling incorrectly made spa appointments while reassuring a seemingly endless parade of 19-year-old blonde girls that yes, absolutely, they will be able to accommodate the new time, and he’s so sorry for the misunderstanding. As if that’s not enough, they all seem to be trying to one-up each other for the title of Most Ridiculous Flirt, and if Steve hears “he’s such a daddy” stage-whispered across the lobby one more time, he’s going to pull out baby pictures of Max and start waving them around. 

Of course it’s in the midst of this chaos that Eddie happens to show up, leaning over the counter, finger hovering over the bell.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve whispers to him with a glare that quickly dissolves into a grin. Eddie reaches out and boops his nose instead, and Steve can’t help but laugh as he swats him away. 

The spell is broken by the loud pop of gum and a whispered “holy shit, is that-?” The girls swarm to their shiny new toy, asking for autographs and selfies. Steve bemusedly watches as Eddie handles it all with grace, posing for pictures and signing t-shirts. 

He extricates himself with a slight bow and an “excuse me, darlings” that nearly causes several teenagers to go into cardiac arrest, and comes back to Steve’s counter. 

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve replies. “What can I help you with today?”

“The question, Steve-o, is what I can help you with.” Eddie looks mischievous and before Steve can clarify what he means, Eddie is asking when his break is.

Steve replies without thinking. “It was supposed to be at 5.”

“Well, sugar, it’s 5:30 so I think you’re overdue. Can I buy you a coffee?” 

Eddie is definitely flirting, Steve is certain of it. He momentarily debates whether he should refuse, but he already broke any semblance of a boundary last night, and today Eddie looks, well, delicious. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun and he’s wearing a cardigan thrown over a tight black sleeveless undershirt and joggers and… studded crocs, Steve realizes. Eddie must catch him staring because he raises one eyebrow and gestures behind him, towards the food court. Steve puts his trusty “Be right back” sign on the desk and ponders flipping the bird at the group of teenagers still staring open-mouthed at them, but decides that he can afford to take the moral high ground.

They weave their way past slot machines and several bars before getting in line at Starbucks. “I know this is basic,” Eddie whispers, his breath hot on Steve’s cheek. “But nothing hypes me up on performance days more than their cold brew. It’s better than cocaine.” 

He pulls away with a wink, and Steve isn’t sure he should be laughing at that joke coming from someone who attends daily AA meetings, but he can’t help letting out a giggle. And it’s worth it for the brief look of joyful surprise on Eddie’s face. 

They order their coffee and take a seat. Eddie is attracting a few stares, Steve notices, but Vegas is a live and let live kind of place and so people mostly leave them alone. Their knees touch under the small table, and Steve finds himself mirroring Eddie, leaning in close to talk. 

Eddie asks Steve about his job, about living in Vegas, about who he was talking to on the phone yesterday. He listens patiently while Steve regales him with stories about Mad Max. Tells Steve about touring, about songwriting, about Chrissy, his childhood best friend-turned-manager. 

Steve finds himself smiling more than he has in months. Eddie is magnetic, equal parts charismatic and attentive. Steve hasn’t had a date (is he allowed to call this a date?) go this well in years and twinges with regret when he glances at his watch and realizes that they’ve been talking for way longer than his allotted break time and he needs to get back. 

Eddie escorts him to the lobby, and once again leans over the counter, chin on one hand. Steve meets his eyes and blushes at the intensity there.

“Thank you,” he tells Eddie. “I had… a lot of fun.” 

“The pleasure was mine, sugar,” Eddie replies softly. Steve tries to think of anything other than the heat that curls low in his belly at the pet name. Eddie starts to walk away, but Steve calls him back. 

“Eddie!” 

Eddie turns, something earnest and eager in his face. 

“Good luck tonight. Or, er, break a leg.” Steve blushes fully at that, feeling awkward under Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie nods, smiles, and then treats Steve to yet another view of his ass, and Steve is on fire, jittery from what he tells himself is the caffeine.

–

Eddie’s pre-show routine has been pretty much the same for a decade. He chugs a giant coffee—today’s had been extra delicious with its side of hunk—throws on eyeliner, and puts on whatever outfit he imagines would horrify his homophobic high school principal the most. Today it’s low rise leather pants with lacing on each hip and an unbuttoned black cowboy shirt. He hairsprays the shit out of his hair, back-combs it a little to get that sex-mussed look, and voila, he’s done. 

From there he normally goes and bugs all the other guys. As the frontman, Eddie gets his own dressing room, which can come in handy for post-show escapades but normally leaves him a little lonely. So he wanders down the green room hallway until he finds the rest of the band. Jeff and Gareth greet him with a fist bump, and he nods politely to their new bassist Ray, who’s drawing on terrifyingly huge eyeliner wings. 

They shoot the shit for a while, Gareth telling them about a cute girl who was totally hitting on him at the bar and who was definitely not a hooker. Eddie and Jeff are understandably skeptical, but Gareth doubles down until their increasingly agitated debate is settled by Ray, who calmly states that the girl was indeed a hooker because she saw her counting cash in the bathroom.

When the opener goes on, Chrissy swoops in and they run through their set list one last time before huddling up together in a tight circle. This little ritual has been their good luck charm since their first ever set in their hometown dive bar. 

Eddie starts them off: “Come! This is the hour we draw swords together!” 

Gareth continues: “For glory!”

Jeff adds: “For death!”

“For the babes,” Ray adds, getting a chuckle out of them all.

And Eddie finishes, solemnly, “For Frodo.” They press their foreheads together and jump back with a holler before running down the hallway and into the wings. As they step out onstage and the familiar adrenaline rush fills Eddie’s veins, he can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, like someone who should be in the audience isn’t there.

–

For the next few weeks, Eddie makes a point of stopping by the concierge desk every day. Sometimes he brings Steve coffee or takes him out during his breaks. Sometimes he just stands there and flirts over the counter, making more and more of a fool of himself just to see Steve blush. He learns that Steve has Mondays and Thursdays off. That he hates cinnamon gum. That he’s an expert at being just bitchy enough to shut people down but not so bitchy that people realize what he’s doing. Eddie gets a secret thrill of satisfaction when he watches Steve very firmly decline outrageous requests and people who think that full service means more than it does. 

He finds himself looking forward to their daily conversations, unexpectedly captivated by how ordinary Steve’s life is. Because Steve loves to complain. But his complaints are about someone taking forever in line at the grocery store, or the Audi driver who cut him off in traffic, or how he can’t stand the stay-at-home moms who clog up the trailhead parking lots. All these benign moments that Eddie never gets to experience, instead worrying about ticket sales and tour dates and, in his darker moments, whether anyone actually wants to be close to him or if they just want to be close to the spotlight.

Eddie feels like they’re on the cusp of something, waiting to be pushed off the edge. This routine of flirting is fun, and it’s safe, and Eddie’s enjoying it. Steve is hot, and he treats Eddie like a real person, and their banter is sexy but harmless. They could be suspended in this mutual attraction without consequence until the end of Eddie’s residency and that would be that. But the little demon on Eddie’s shoulder that always wants, needs, begs for more tells him to take the plunge, consequences be damned. 

He’s mulling this over during breakfast one morning, sipping coffee across from Chrissy. 

“What’s on your mind, Didi?” she asks quietly, always observant. 

He sighs dramatically and throws one hand over his forehead. “I pine, Chrissy! I yearn!”

She chuckles. “Steve? Again? Why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“I have been!” Eddie insists. “I’ve bought him, like, a hundred coffees.” At her exasperated look, he gets more serious. “Can I, Chrissy? I don’t–. I can’t afford to crash and burn again. What if I ask him out for real and the worst happens? What if it’s Adrian all over again?” 

He tries to avoid her eyes, not wanting to see the pity there, but when he finally looks up she’s hiding a grin behind her hand.

“Chrissy!” he admonishes. “It’s not funny!” 

“Alright, alright,” she concedes, still smiling. “It’s not funny, but Eddie, hon, you have to put yourself out there sometime if you want something real. And from everything you’ve told me about Steve, I think he’s a good bet.”

Eddie takes a moment to ponder this. Unlike most of the people he’s courted, Steve is markedly unfazed by the whole famous rockstar thing. He’s been meticulously checking his Instagram follow requests every day and hasn’t seen one from Steve so he’s pretty sure the guy’s not on social media. Plus he has that dorky dad vibe going for him, and Eddie is a sucker for a DILF. 

“But what do I do next, Chris? I’ve already been flirting my little ass off, and sure he flirts back but it’s not like he’s made any moves to get more serious. Where do I go from here?”

“Leave that to me,” she tells him, and reaches for her phone. A minute later he gets a text notification.

“Chrissy, doll, why are you sending me backstage passes to my own show?” She just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Oh. Oh. You think he’d really go?”

“Eddie. Think about it. How many people throw their underwear on stage during your performances? He’ll go crazy.” She comes to stand behind him and throws her arm around his neck. “Plus, I think it’s time he sees you at work instead of the other way around.” 

–

Steve is in the midst of his Wednesday evening routine of making weekend dinner reservations at every upscale restaurant in Vegas, held under the hotel’s name at first so they can offer them to guests who call at the last minute. He’s just hanging up with Koi when he makes eye contact with Eddie across the lobby. Steve leans onto the counter and watches Eddie’s approach, lets his gaze trace the man from head (curly hair loose and slightly damp from a shower) to toe (the studded crocs, again), and everything in between (slim waist tapering into slinky hips, white t-shirt that clings deliciously, low slung plaid trousers). He knows Eddie can see him staring, and his cheeks heat slightly, but he looks anyway. 

This tension between them has only escalated since that first night. He can’t get Eddie out of his head, he wants him so badly, and even more dangerous, he honest-to-god likes spending time with him. He’s funny, and insightful, and he seems to genuinely care when Steve tells him about Max, and not in that fake way of so many of his dates who were clearly just trying to get in his pants and had no interest in a family man.

Part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and ask Eddie out to dinner. But who is he to ask a world famous rockstar out. He’s nobody. Just a divorced guy ostracized from his hometown working in the service industry. 

He’s torn out of this morose line of thought by the familiar greeting of, “Hey sugar,” this time followed by “I got something for you.”

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, and is surprised to see uncertainty there. But Eddie is smiling as he extends his arm, phone in hand. “Here, put your number in.”

Steve does. Wants to make a joke about Eddie finally asking for his digits after the tenth date but stops himself when he sees Eddie’s telltale signs of nerves (rocking on the balls of his feet, chewing his hair). He hands the phone back and waits while Eddie does something with it.

“Okay, sugar, there you go.” 

Steve checks his phone, clicks on a text from an unknown number. “What–. Eddie, what are these?”

“VIP tickets to my show tomorrow.” Steve meets Eddie’s expectant gaze with wide eyes. “Will you come?”

Steve takes in a breath. As if he would ever, ever turn this down with the way Eddie is looking at him as if he’s just placed his heart in Steve’s hands. 

“Yes. Yes, of course I’ll come! I’ll bring Rob.” Steve sees Eddie’s face fall, looking every bit a wounded puppy, and Steve hurries to correct himself. “Robin. I’ll bring Robin. My lesbian best friend. She’s kind of my platonic soulmate. Crazy, but you’ll like her.” 

Eddie’s face brightens at the word “lesbian” and Steve feels his cheeks warm, pleased that Eddie is pleased that he’s not bringing a man. 

Eddie “oohs” dramatically. “A lesbian? I’ll have to introduce her to Chrissy. Christ knows that girl needs to get laid.” Suddenly he leans in close, right in Steve’s space, mouth close to his ear. Steve can feel goosebumps where Eddie’s breath hits his neck, and he blushes even deeper.

“Those tickets include backstage passes. I expect to see you there after the show, big boy.” With that, he smacks a wet kiss on Steve’s cheek, turns, and walks away. 

Steve is left standing there, red-faced, awestruck, slightly horny, and full of anticipation.

--

continue to part 4.

read on ao3.

--

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[quintessencewrites]

Nobody Gets Me

Riri Williams x fwb!reader

How am I supposed to tell ya?

I don't wanna see you with anyone but me

Nobody gets me like you

Warnings: 18+! smut, implied smut, nudity, explicit language, slightly toxic!Riri, fluff eventually

Word Count: 2.7k+

Tags: @yvxmpire @zestgodtj @k3nn3dyxo @mlmilani @letitias-favv @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @g4yforu @remwritess @widowmakker @becauseimswagman1 @iloveours @dayjlovesromance @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed

A/N: Super special, super heartfelt shoutout to @k3nn3dyxo for thinking up this concept <3 I just put it to words. Inspired by the song Nobody Gets Me by SZA from her SOS Album. I've had this song on repeat, so of course I had to do my own take on it.

“Alright, y/n, I’ll see you?”

I’d barely finished wiping the cum off my inner thigh before she stood to grab her pants and slide them back up the legs that were shaking for me just moments ago. 

“Do you have to go? Like right now?”

A sigh rolled off her lips, “Y/n, baby, we talked about this.”

I ignored the stinging statement. “We can watch a movie. Cuddle? Aftercare? Give me something.”

Her gaze darted to the watch on her wrist before continuing to search the room for her brassiere. “Nah, I got a date in twenty minutes, y/n. I still gotta go wash your scent off me so Serenity don’t trip.”

Nude bra in hand, she pulls the straps onto her toned arms and attempts to clasp the garment. 

“That one’s mine, Ri.”

She looks down at the bra, too large for her B-cups, and shrugs, stripping from it. “Whatever, I’m going back to my dorm anyway. I’ll just grab another.”

My back rests against the headboard as I watch her continue to dress, tears threatening to spill from my ducts. My pride won’t let them run over; she won’t see me cry over her. 

This had been our arrangement for months. And we had talked about it. Multiple times, actually, and talking turned to screaming and doors slamming and texts going unanswered for days until she showed up at my doorstep and fucked me into accepting her apology. 

“We work too well as friends,” she had told me, three fingers deep and speaking through my moans. “We don’t wanna jeopardize that by putting a label on it, right baby?” She could’ve gotten me to agree to anything at that moment, as she coaxed the orgasm out of my sore pussy. 

So we agreed to be friends who fucked. The agreement was more Riri’s than my own, but that’s what it was. She dated multiple people on the side and too often ended those dates by coming to my dorm to get what they hadn’t given her, before leaving to repeat the cycle. 

My little black book was empty. I couldn’t bring myself to see anyone else. Nobody made me feel the way Riri did. She sent butterflies swarming in my stomach. We would work as a couple and I know we would, but she wasn’t willing to give us a chance. 

Fully dressed, nix a bra, Ri stepped back over to my bed to plant a kiss on my forehead. I refused to look at her, eyes stone-clad on the television mounted on the adjacent wall.

 “Hey,” she whispered so gently it tugged at my heartstrings. Her hand gripped my chin and dragged my gaze back to her too-pretty features. “Don’t be like that. I’ll text you after, okay?”

She didn’t even give me time to answer, placing a gentle peck on my lips and walking out of the door. 

My figure was frozen in that spot for several minutes, not wanting what just happened to really be over. 

I turned over in my sheets, feeling the wetness soaked down to the mattress. “Goddammit, Riri.” 

As I strip the bed, the memory of my clean linen awaiting me in the dryer a few doors down came to play. That’s how I’d run into Riri in the first place. A disgruntled groan left my lips at the realization that I’d have to leave my room to retrieve my laundry, assuming someone hadn’t stolen it after all these hours. 

The oversized Reptar slippers from the Rugrats collection squeaked with each step I took. The laundry room was plunged into darkness when I arrived and the flicking of the light switch disrupted my entire world.

Ignorance truly was bliss. 

Riri.

Serenity; seated atop a washing machine, back turned towards me. 

Ri, fingers furiously making contact with Serenity’s cunt, catching my eyes when I’d turned on the light. 

The two of us holding the record for the world’s quickest staring contest, my gape full of shock and heartbreak, her’s indistinguishable. 

I break away first, rushing out and leaving Riri to her vices.

Back in my room, underneath my Riri-scented covers is where I spent the night. The tears finally made a promise out of their threat and poured down my face. The convictions hit me hard through the hours of darkness.

I wasn’t stupid; our deal was clear. We weren’t in a relationship and Riri was allowed to sex with whomever she wanted, as was I. Though in the back of my head, I knew I wasn’t her only, I’d sure as hell hoped. 

Sleep overcame me at some point and during it, my hopes washed away. 

By the time I awoke, the sun was high in the sky, warming my skin through the open blinds. 

What time was it?

Well past noon, my phone displayed. My first and second classes of the day were but a faint memory now. 

The LED screen also presented a number of missed texts and calls from Riri herself. 

‘Y/n, open the door, baby.’

‘You weren’t supposed to see that.’

‘You ignoring me?’

‘So you skipping classes now?

‘I’m not playing these games with you.’

The last call from her was only 18 minutes ago. My fingers were itching to press her name, listen to the line trill, and hear her apologies. 

An incoming call placed those plans on hold. 

“Amari, hey!”

“Y/n. wassup? You good?”

The girl’s voice had a calming effect, the baritone doing something to me. 

She spoke again, “You never miss class. Everything straight?”

Nah, nothing was straight. “Ye-yeah, um, I just had a nightmare. I overslept. ”

Flashbacks of Serenity moaning Riri’s name drowned my thoughts.

Honestly, had it not been for my false hopes and holding out for Riri, Amari would've been able to call me hers. She never hid her attraction for me, regardless of how many times it went unrequited. We shared a major and her beautiful presence made itself known in every class I had this semester. 

“Oh, ight. I was just missing my signature y/n smile this morning.”

Her words managed to pull that smile from me. “You’ll see it, next class. Does that makeup for it?”

“Nah, y/n it doesn't. I already started my day off wrong. I can't wait that long.” I can hear her pearly white grin through the receiver. “How bout I stop by?” Amari continues. “I got the notes you missed and I’ll bring food. Consider it a late-lunch date?”

Date…if Riri could, then so would I. “A date it is. I’ll see you in 20?”

The Devil Wears Prada played in the background, drowned out by Amari’s laughter. The handsome chuckle that came from her lips warmed my stomach. “Wait, wait, wait. How the hell did you end up on your ass again?”

My smile mirrored hers. “I told you already, dude. I was a dancer; I was trying to do a high kick in a long-ass skirt and the skirt swept my other foot from under me. Down I went.”

“How long ago was this?”

Silence filled the room. My attention returned to the lo mein in front of me, sliding off the chopsticks held poorly in my hands. 

“Y/n, baby girl, when was this?”

The pet name didn’t go unnoticed, but my shame overshadowed my giddiness. Shaking my head slowly, I whispered my response, “Last week…”

Amari was doubled over, captivated by her giggles. “You’re so eccentric.”

“Girl,” I started, laughter spilling from my own tongue. “Just because you call me weird with a pretty word, don’t mean you didn’t just call me weird.”

“A pretty word for a pretty girl, nah?”

Whew, if the blush rose any faster, I would’ve fainted. “Am I the pretty girl?” I teased, curious about her comeback. 

“Other than me, you the only other girl in here, and I know I’m pretty fine. I tell myself that every day.”

“You cocky bitch,” my stomach is cramping and tears are streaming, the chuckles engulfing me. 

“Anyways, I don’t get to tell you that every day. Tell you that I think you’re a pretty girl,” she states with a lick of her lips, spreading the warmth in my stomach. Amari leans forward, eyes locked on mine. My body mimics her actions until we’re both just inches away. 

“I’d kind of like to kiss a pretty girl right now if that’s okay?”

The words are lodged in my throat, and at that moment, Riri doesn’t even cross my mind. Amari is here, she’s with me right now, and she wants me. “Yes,” I breathe out. “Yes, it’s okay.”

No hesitation is present in Amari’s features when she leans further to press her lips against mine, and I oblige. 

Her mouth is so soft, I sink in, throwing a hand onto the bed to catch myself. Though distracted by the kiss herself, Amari grabs hold of my hips and pulls me to straddle her lap. My legs fit perfectly around her and I settle into my new place.

Our tongues swim together, fighting one another until Amari takes dominance and I follow her lead.

Moans escape me and she swallows them up. Our notes and Chinese food are long forgotten; we’re only craving each other. Her touch is everywhere, struggling with a place to satisfy. Without separating our lips, I take her hands and place them on my hips. As if on instinct, her thumbs hook into my waistband and start to drag them down, nails dragging on my skin as well. 

The air surrounding us is thick and hot, as are my thoughts. Amari peels my shirt from my body, releasing my braless nipples to perk up at the feeling of her on me.

A pounding on my door tears us apart, chests heaving hard, lungs working overtime to catch the breath we’d lost over each other.

I don’t pull my eyes away from Amari and she keeps hers locked in on me. “Do you need to get that?”

I shake my head so quickly, the room spins. “No,” I respond, licking my lips, begging them to not go dry. 

Thankfully, the gorgeous girl doesn’t need me to repeat myself. Her head dips, finding a new place in my neck and the kisses turn hot and aggressive. Bites litter my skin, promising to be evidence of this rendezvous. Amari’s shirt is off and thrown into a corner, allowing my hands to caress her through the black sports bra she adorned. 

“Oh, Ri.” The moan flees me, loudly before I catch it. “You’ve never called me that before, baby girl,” Amari breathes into my neck, causing a giggle in response.

The thumping on my dorm door becomes a banging. “Let me get it. I’ll send whoever it is away and we can finish what we started.” Amari offers, already standing and giving me no time to protest.

Her long legs reach the entrance in two strides. Riri is standing in the doorway, small body filled to the brim with anger. Her eyes barely acknowledge Amari, but they lock onto me. My topless figure, still exposed to the air, retreated back like a child about to receive a scolding. 

She finally turns to Amari, now leaning against the frame. “Bounce,” Riri seethes. 

“Excuse me?” the taller girl’s brows are drawn high, probably in shock at Riri’s anger and disrespect.

Riri’s gaze returns to me, though her words are meant for Amari. “Leave. Me and y/n need to talk.”

Amari follows Riri’s stare to my pathetic posture. “Y/n”? 

All I can offer up is a half-assed smile. “You should go. I’ll call you later.”

With a single nod, Amari retrieves her shirt and books and exits the room, bumping past Riri as she does. Ri takes this chance to invite herself in, slamming the door behind her.

In a few steps, she’s seated at the foot of my bed, eyes trying so hard to tell me something her mouth wasn’t. We sit in silence, neither of us wanting to be the first to speak.

Suddenly, a dry smile spreads from cheek to cheek. “You fucking other bitches, but moaning my name?”

I roll my eyes to the heavens, knowing she hates when I do. “It’s her name too, Riri.”

“Mm,” she hums. “I missed you today in uh - three classes.”

“You didn’t have Serenity to keep you company?”

Ri sucks her teeth at my pettiness. “Nah, but it looks like you wasn’t sitting up here worried too much about me and Serenity.”

Her words almost burn me. The horniness originally present in my veins has turned to anger. Riri doesn’t get to be jealous, but she sure as hell could be as hurt as I was last night.

I push the blanket aside, dropping to all fours to crawl over to Riri. “I wasn’t. I was about to get fucked, good too. Until you interrupted it.”

She doesn’t speak, eyes fixated on me and my partially naked body. “What do you want Ri? You get to have Serenity moaning your name and cumming on your hand and I’m just supposed to sit around and wait for it to be my turn?”

As angry as I was trying to stay, her face falling at my words almost melt away my hard demeanor. Her eyes are now readable, sadness displayed on them like a teleprompter. 

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Riri. If you’re having sex with other people, so can I. Matter of fact, how about you have sex with who you want and I have sex with who I want and we stop having sex with each other.”

That gets her attention, and her voice vibrates the room. “How am I supposed to let you go?”

I’m ready to interrupt, but her next words silence me. “I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me, y/n. Okay? I-I’m not mature enough to be able to watch you do to me the wrong I do to you.”

Tears cover her features. “I love you, y/n. I have a shitty way of showing it, but I’m a coward. I’m too afraid to have my heart broken the way I must be breaking yours.”

I don’t even notice my own tears begin to streak my face. “Seeing you cry makes it worse, baby. Come here,” she welcomes, patting her lap, and inviting me to sit. 

Acceptance is granted and I take a seat, allowing her to pull me close. “I only like myself when I’m with you, y/n. I should’ve stayed to cuddle. To play in your hair or something. Anything.”

“I bet you tell Serenity the same thing,” I declare, still feeling petty. Riri sighs a deep, tired sound. “I kicked Serenity to the curb, baby.”

The shock in my features is hard to hide. “Why?”

She rests her head against my bare breasts, eyes staring intensely into mine. “Nobody gets me like you.”

My smile fights to return, “You’re so damn corny.” Riri’s grin coaxes mine out.

“Corny but I mean it, y/n. Please, start from scratch with me. Give me a chance to do it right.” She bites her bottom lip, anticipating my answer.

“Do it right how?” I challenge.

“Take you on dates,” Ri kisses my hand.

“Cuddle you while we watch movies,” a kiss on my shoulder.

“Aftercare after every time I make you cum so hard, you lose your ability to form a legible sentence,” her lips touch my neck, exposing her vision to Amari’s love bites.

“Ugh,” Riri starts, but my expression is enough to stop her short. 

“How about you start now?” I suggest.

When she smiles, it reaches her eyes and lights up her whole face. She nods and takes a handful of my breast, guiding my nipple to her warm mouth. It felt good when it was Amari, but it feels right with Riri. 

“Mm, Ri,” I draw out, sucking in a hiss when she grins with my nipple between her teeth. 

"Yeah, I knew you were moaning my name, baby" her stupid, arrogant voice rings out.

[whosbluujai]

⤷ 𝕻𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕹𝖔 𝕽𝖊𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓.

PAIRING: Possessive!Toxic!Ex-boyfriend!Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader

SUMMARY: You come to pick up a sweater you left at your ex-boyfriend Miguel's house a month after you've broken up. Then he discovers that you've moved on to another guy.

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

WARNINGS: Swearing, Miguel is an ignorant bigot, blood, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of sex, pretty heavy angst

A/N: This is my first fic on Tumblr! I'm sorry if the Spanish translations are wrong, I used DeepL to be as accurate as possible 😭

The streets of Nueva York are cold now. Streetlights illuminate the wet sidewalks, casting a faint yellow haze around them. Your ex-boyfriend Miguel stands at the doorway with an unapproving frown on his face. You stand in front of him, glaring at his chiseled face.

“...New boyfriend?” He sneers. “You can’t even function when you don’t have a man to latch on to, can you? Typical.”

Your anger flares in your stomach at his ignorance. You scoff and cross your arms. You didn’t have time to deal with this, you were only here to get a sweater you left before you broke up with Miguel.

“Are you serious? I’m sorry I’m happily with someone else while you’re just sitting here on your ass, alone.” You bite back. Miguel’s brow twitches at your comment. How could another guy be better than he was?

“You think he could take care of you like I can? You think he even can satisfy you the way I can?” He spits. His expression darkens as his red eyes pierce your own.

You laugh at the size of this man’s ego.

“Take care of me? Satisfy me? You did neither and I found somebody who can do both for me,” you reply with disbelief. “Being with you made me realize I don’t deserve to be treated like how you treated me.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” You mumble under your breath.

Without warning, Miguel grabs you by the wrists. His talons dig into you and you whimper, face contorting with shock and pain. He forces you to look at him. His eyes are erratic and his face is scrunched in anger. It’s truly an animalistic sight.

“What did you just say?” He seethes, voice dripping with malice. His grip on your wrists borders on bone-breaking. You can feel warm blood trickle down to your elbows but the pain is the last thing on your mind right now.

“The fuck is your problem, Miguel?!” You cry and try to rip your arms away from his iron grip to no avail. Your anger slowly dissipates to fear as it slowly consumes you. “Let- let go of me. You’re hurting me, please!” You stutter with desperation. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you. His rage has fully taken over him now. It goes beyond his self-control and deeper than his rationale.

“Who’s this cabrón who you say is taking care and satisfying you, now. Tell me his name or goddammit I will find out myself.” Miguel spits. His voice is husky, almost like a growl. Your breathing becomes shallower.

“You’re fucking demented.” You hiss. Miguel huffs angrily. He brings a hand up to slick his hair back and you flinch. He doesn’t care, though. He wants you to feel fear.

“Tell me his name or I’ll give you something to actually be scared of.” Miguel states emotionlessly. It’s uneasy how cold he suddenly has become. Angry tears escape your eyes.

“I’m already scared of you.”

He snarls. “Quit it. Are you really going to be some scared, entitled little bitch who thinks that you’re better than everybody else? News flash, you’re not. If you’re scared, good.” Rage returns to his voice. “Because you don’t deserve to be fucking happy if it’s not with me.”

Your eyes widen at his absurd statement. Happy? You don’t remember the last time you were happy with him. You shout back at him. “You’re so damn toxic! We broke up because neither of us were happy in our relationship anymore!” You rant. “We fought so much I forgot why we got together in the first place, that’s how unhappy I was.” You pause to catch your breath. Things you’ve wanted to say forever are finally coming out now.

“You didn’t make me happy, Miguel.”

His jaw drops. Who do you think you are? Sure, you and Miguel had your occasional… mishaps but everything else was fine, right? But at the end of the day, he was the one you ran to, not someone else. He was the one you chose.

“I made every day worth it.” His grip is still tight. The pain is just a dull buzz at this point. You clench your fists.

"Oh yeah? Even the days when we would do nothing but scream at each other for the littlest things? Even the days where you got so angry I genuinely thought you would hurt me? Even the days where we wouldn't talk, or even look at each other for hours at a time because we resented each other?" You retort.

"Yes, there were good days. But did being constantly verbally abused make it worth it? No."

Miguel’s face changes into complete outrage by the time you’re finished. He lets go of you, though continues to glare at you. A few drops of blood drip from his grip. You rub your wrists, hissing at the stinging sensation in the absence of his sharp talons.

“You make it sound like I abused you or something,” His voice is low and threatening. “You’re really that scared of me? I would never touch you. I would never lay a finger on you.” He states cockily. Like you’re crazy. He’s treated you so well and this is how you thank him?

You lift your bloody wrists in his face. "This says otherwise."

His blood runs cold. In his rage he didn’t notice how his talons were digging into your skin, puncturing the flesh he once kissed. His eyes widen while you show him actual proof of just how much he damaged you while trying to prove he never would. The irony sinks into the pits of his stomach.

Tears stream down your face. Not from pain or anguish or rage, but from grief. Grief for your past self, grief for your relationship, everything.

"This is exactly why we broke up." I let every word sink in.

He’s frozen in a state of total shock. Did he really do that? Was he really the root of your suffering?

The anger inside him melts away, replaced by remorse. Miguel steps forward and goes to wrap his arms around you, suddenly wanting nothing more than the last six months back.

You take a step back from him and put your arms up in defense.

"No. I'm going back to my boyfriend who actually treats me well." You breathe. There is hurt in your voice. Bitter tears fall on the sidewalk as you back away from the man you once loved.

Miguel’s heart shatters in his chest. You’ve fallen in love with someone new. Someone better. Someone who doesn’t treat you poorly. Someone who isn’t him.

He tries to reach out for you again. “Wait. Don’t go. Just- just listen to me.” You shake your head and stare at him.

"No. No. I'm done. I've had enough of this."

“I can change. I can. Just… just let me prove it, please.”

"I've let you prove it four times already, Miguel. I put my faith in you to change four times. And every time always ends the same. Exactly like this. You've had four more second chances than I should ever have given you." Your eyes have nothing but hurt in them, voice cold and anguished.

“But I’m different, now. I mean it this time, I-I swear! Just give me one last chance. I- I won’t hurt you again. On my life. I’ll do anything.” He’s getting desperate now. Pleading with you like a beggar.

"Aren't you getting déjà vu, Miguel? We've been here before. We fight, break up, you beg me to give you another chance, I accept, we have apology sex, and then we're good for 3 months, then it happens again,” you recount.

“I'm breaking that cycle."

Miguel is quiet for a few moments. The painful truth of your words is starting to set in. 

You’re right. And he can’t handle the fact that you don’t need him anymore. He can’t handle the fact that somebody better is taking you away. 

“I- I’ll be different this time.” But there’s something different in his voice. A tone of defeat. The fire of rage burning in his red irises have extinguished and there is nothing left in them except for cold gray ash.

"No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do us anymore. You've broken my trust too many times to believe you." Your tone is firm, opposite to Miguel’s. You’ve finally won this battle. Finally plateaued on the endless uphill climb that is Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel is still in utter shock and disbelief. The desperation has morphed into something beyond. He knows his pleas are falling on deaf ears. 

“But… te quiero...” He utters those words, frightening and unfamiliar in his mouth when they were once what he called home. He utters them with such defeat not as the declaration of his dedication to you as they once were, but rather as a good-bye he knows is coming.

You shake your head and more tears fall from your eyes. You’re clearly and visibly hurt.

"I don't."

“W-what?” His mouth drops. “What do you mean? We’ve… We’ve been through so much together. We- we were so in love…” He doesn’t believe it. He never even fathomed that you would admit to such a thing. He looks at you as if you admitted to a horrible crime.

To him, you did.

"Were. We were so in love. But you've hurt me too many times. My heart can't take it anymore, Miguel. I’m sorry.” You try to reason with him. He shakes his head as his jaw hangs open and takes a step back into his apartment.

“No...” Miguel whispers. “No, I-I can’t let you go. I can’t... I-.”

He’s lost. He’s panicking. He’s not going to let you leave him. Not this time. Not again. Not anymore. His eyes dart around the room, trying to anchor himself to anything but you. You. You. Heart thumping wildly in his chest like an untamed animal, his knees quiver.

"Miguel, let's be honest here. Do you remember anything good about the past 6 months? Really? Because I don't. I'm sorry Miguel but neither of us can take being hurt anymore!" You go on. You know you’ve finally reasoned with him. Finally broken down the years-old walls that has protected his fragile ego. Miguel is quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s already hurt you too much to deny it.

“You’re right. You’re exactly right. I- I don’t… I don’t have any excuses. You deserved better. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry…” He’s stuttering and rambling like a nervous schoolgirl now. Get it together, Miguel. Don’t let her get away. She needs you. The little voice in the back of his head says through all the chaos. He wants to believe it but he knows you’re right.

You’re always right.

You hold a hand up to silence him. The blood on your wrists is starting to dry. It’s darkened and formed a crust on your rolled up sleeves.

"Save it. I'm going back to my boyfriend."

“I’m not letting you go.” He’s panicking. He’s desperate. His voice gets quiet. “You can’t go. You can’t leave. Not like this.” His hands tremble as he holds them out to you, begging for you to run back into his arms. “I don’t want you to go. You can’t leave me. Not now. Not when I’m hurting and begging you to stay.”

You sigh. Even after getting through to him, he is still as incessant as ever.

"You have to let go of me, Miguel. I want to help you, believe me, I do. But I don't want to get hurt more than I already have in the process of doing so.."

He shakes his head aggressively like a child. He refuses to believe you. Somewhere deep down, you still love him, he’s sure of it.

“I- I know, but... you don’t understand how much I need you. Please. You’re all I have. You mean to much to me,” He grabs your arms again but with a tenderness this time. He’s already hurt you enough. “I’ll be good. I’ll do anything to make you stay, anything to have one last chance. I don’t want you to go.”

"Miguel if I leave here now, we'll both be happy. You're gonna meet someone else who's going to be perfect for you. You guys will get married, and have children perhaps. You've always wanted a girl, hm? I want that for you, for both of us. I just... I can't have that with you. Please, please move on and forget about me." You smile sadly. You’re speaking the truth. Even through all the months of crying, apologizing, and aggressive make-up sex, you still wish him happiness. Even though you shouldn’t.

Miguel keeps silent for a moment. That… actually makes sense. You’re right. But he’s selfish.

“But I-... I don’t want that with someone else. I want that with you, you- you’re the love of my life! I- I know I messed that up. I ruined us. But I-” He pauses to swallow the lump in his throat. He can’t cry. Not here. Not now. “Can’t we… can’t we just leave everything behind and start over? I- just give me one last chance. Plea- please…”

"You're so persistent."

“I’m desperate,” he whispers.

He grabs onto your arms tightly. “You... you’re so important to me and I ruined everything. I was stupid. I ruined the only good thing I had left. I- I don’t want to lose you-”

"Miguel, will you let me go if I kiss you one last time?"

You just wanted to leave. To forget him. To move past. This seemed like the only way to get him off your back.

Miguel’s eyes light up as you ask him that. You still want to kiss him before you leave. That’s a good sign right? He nods desperately.

You exhale and walk slowly toward him, staring at his lips. Miguel’s heart is racing a mile a minute, but that just makes the impending kiss even more thrilling. His hand comes up to touch your cheek and he leans in but stops halfway. He waits for you to make the move first. 

You hold his head with both hands and close the distance and kiss him softly, fingers carding through his brown hair.

Miguel melts into the kiss. It feels like your lips have been designed to fit his exactly. It’s like you were built to be together. For a moment your lips are the only thing in the world important to him. 

He leans in closer, deepening the kiss. You want him back. You want him. You want him, you want him, you want him-

"No. No more." You break away abruptly and put a hand on his chest to stop him.

What?

Miguel’s eyes are wide. But… you want him. It’s clear. You kissed him, so you want him.

He puts his hand on your wrist. “But- why- why’d you stop? That felt… I- I thought we were-“ 

He poured his life, heart, and soul into that kiss. To win you back. You were surely to reciprocate his feelings after he bared his raw, bloody, and beaten heart to you in his calloused hands.

Surely.

Your lips press into a thin line. "I have to go now. Live a long and happy life for me, okay?"

Miguel stares at you, his eyes filled with tears. He’s still in denial. He’s completely heartbroken. He won’t believe this. He can’t believe this. He’s losing you forever. Your smile, your lips, your body, you.

“B- but… b- but I-“ 

It’s clear you’ve made your final decision. There really is nothing he can do to keep you from leaving. He can’t even find the words to say goodbye. The only thing he manages to croak out is:

“I’m… I’m sorry… and I- I love you…”

"Thank you, Miguel O'Hara."

You give him one last look before I turn around and walk away from him.

Miguel watches you leave. He can still feel the ghost of lips on his. It’s going to be an image that lives inside his mind forever, branded on his brain. The mark that you’ve left on his life permanently.

He knows this is the last time he’ll ever see you. He won’t ever get to kiss you again. He won’t ever get to hold you again. 

Tears stream down your face as you walk away from Miguel, but these aren’t tears of grief anymore. They are tears of freedom. You feel the shackles of your former life fall from your bruised and bloodied wrists and you realize:

You are free.

Miguel stands there, silent. He doesn’t cry. His eyes are completely dry. He doesn’t let any emotion get the best of him. 

Even now. Even though his world just shattered. He watches you get smaller and smaller, growing more distant with each step.

And then you’re gone, and Nueva York seems so much colder without you.

[geralt-of-baevia]

Call It What You Want: Chapter Eight

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

pairing: nobreakout!joel x f!ofc (Violet Fletcher)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 3.7k

summary: Seeking solace from a painful breakup, Violet relocates to a tranquil town, purchasing a neglected house to renovate. In her new neighborhood, she befriends Harlow, who introduces her to Joel, a gruff and seasoned contractor with a heart of gold. Despite Joel's initial grumpiness, Violet finds herself drawn to his expertise and hidden kindness.

As Violet immerses herself in home renovations alongside Joel, their dynamic begins to shift, with Joel unexpectedly opening himself up to the possibility of love. Their budding relationship faces challenges as shadows from their pasts emerge, testing their newfound connection.

warnings/tags: alright folks. dirty talk, softdom!joel, hung!joel, kitchen sex, nipple/breast play, vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, one pussy slap, oral sex/cunnilingus (female receiving), size kink, consent king joel miller, baby. 😎

a/n: uhhh, maybe after you read this I'll have some water waiting for you to cool down? bahahaha, just kidding. but man, these two finally get freaky and thank GOD. 😈

The next week flew by faster than I realized. Joel and I dove headfirst into the house. While he was fixing things like the roof and crown molding, I was alternating between painting rooms and baking pies for taste testing. 

It turned out Harlow was right, Frank and Bill loved my croissants and asked me to bake them a few pies to try. They just used frozen pies, but for years had been wanting to have homemade ones instead. Once Joel mentioned that damned apple pie I made the day he came over to them, they knew they wanted to potentially sell them at the diner. 

Saturday afternoon, Bill and Frank, along with Joel and Harlow, all got together to taste tested the four pies I made. Apple, banana cream, lemon meringue and cherry. I figured those four gave a range and variety to show off my skills. The chorus of ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’ rang throughout Bill and Frank’s dining room. I giggled to myself, hiding my smile behind my hand. I had forgotten how much I loved making food and it making people happy. 

“Goddammit, Violet. Where did you learn to bake like this?” Bill asked in his gruff voice, greedily cutting a piece of the lemon meringue to try next. 

“Now I can understand why you said Joel was eye fucking that apple pie. This is fucking amazing, Vi,” Harlow mumbled through a mouthful, causing Joel to choke on his bite. Frank and Bill broke out into giggles at her statement, Joel blushing as he coughed. 

“Violet, how many pies a week can you bake?” Frank asked, putting his fork down and wiping his mouth with a napkin. I sighed and stared off into the corner, mentally doing the math. 

“Well, we can do this. What I did at my bakery was prepare pies in advance and then each morning I would bake the pie before opening the shop, like when I would also bake the bread and stuff. Then give it time to rest before serving. So what if I prepare two of each pie you’d like me to make, I’ll freeze them raw. Then we can see how quickly you go through those pies to know what is the most popular and what you go through the fastest,” I rambled, “But to answer your question straight I can bake four pies a day and prepare like 8 a day.”

“Violet, I’m very impressed with you,” Frank told me, a beaming smile on his face, “that plan sounds great. We can talk about costs in private.”

I giggled. “I respect your professionalism Frank, but I’m just going to tell Harlow and Joel any way. How much were you thinking per pie?”

“$50 a pie? And make whatever flavors you know sell, I trust you on that,” he said with a friendly wink. “Will you make five different flavors? 10 pies total? Would you be willing to do half of the payment now and the other half when you deliver them?”

“That sounds perfect, Frank. And you two are welcome to keep these pies I made,” I said with a smile. 

“The hell they are. This pie is coming home with me,” Harlow said, grabbing the apple pie and putting it next to her plate. We all chuckled. 

The following evening I stood and stared at my kitchen, it was a complete mess. I was a complete mess. Flour, sugar and various fruits were all over me and had stained my hands. I had only cut myself once, which was a miracle. But six pies sat in my freezer ready and done. I had obviously miscalculated to Frank how long it would take me to prepare the pies, but I had to remind myself I was a little rusty and used to working with an assistant. 

I made two cherry, two pecan and two apple. Tomorrow would be banana crème and chocolate creme. But for now, I needed to be done. It was almost 8pm, and I had been going since noon. I began to clean up, but then I heard that all too familiar knock at my door. 

It was Joel. 

I didn’t care if I was a mess or the kitchen at this point with him. When I opened the door, Joel’s hand was up, me interrupting his second knock.

“What happened to you?” He asked, looking me up and down. 

“I’ve been baking pies all day,” I told him. His eyes lit up. “No, that doesn’t mean there’s any pie for you. You just had some last night and if you want anymore you’ll have to wait until you buy some from Frank at the diner.” 

His eyes grew wide. My words came out harsher than I meant them. “Wow, I’m sorry I-”

“No, no, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m just very tired and frazzled and I need to clean the kitchen and shower-”

“Well if you let me in, I’ll clean the kitchen for you while you shower,” he offered, raising his eyebrows at me. I sighed. 

“That would actually be wonderful,” I stated. I let Joel in and we both headed to the kitchen. 

“Oh this isn’t that bad at all, I’ve got this,” he told me. I watched in amazement as Joel went over to the sink and put my dark green apron on before collecting dishes off of the table. He looked up at me and gave me a smirk. “Go, shower and don’t worry about this.” 

“Thank you,” I told him. He gave me a wink, and with that I turned around and headed up the stairs. I took a longer shower than normal, just basking in the heat of the water, almost forgetting that Joel was there. 

When I was done showering, I dried off and got dressed in pajamas in my room. I threw on a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized sweater. In the shower I had decided to ask Joel to stay over. Part of me felt like he wanted to, coming over at eight at night. 

I headed back downstairs and to my surprise, Joel had not only cleaned the kitchen, but had food waiting for us to eat together on the table. Joel looked up from the fridge as I entered, wine in his hand.  My eyes started to well up at the sight. 

“Hi,” I moused out with a smile. I bit at my bottom lip as Joel set the wine down on the counter and walked over to me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close as I placed my hands on his chest.

“How was your shower?” 

“It was nice. Joel, this is so wonderful. You didn’t have to-”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to,” he said with a scrunch of his nose. I quickly wiped tears away from under my eyes with the sleeves of my sweater. 

“Why?” 

He chuckled, shaking his head at me in amused disbelief. 

“Because Violet, you deserve it. You said last night that you were going to be baking all day, and when you texted me earlier saying you were on your last pie I went and picked up food for us. It’s what Harlow said she sees you order all the time,” he said with a smile. My heart felt like it was swelling in my chest. I just beamed up at him, speechless at his actions. The way he continued to take care of me amazed me. He did it just because he wanted to, not because he had to. 

“So, I thought we’d eat this and have a glass of wine and then-”

Without another thought, I cut Joel off mid sentence. I reached up and grabbed his face to pull him down into a deep kiss. I needed to kiss him. To touch him. 

Joel reacted immediately, his hands eagerly grabbing at any part of me he could. I felt one of his hands sneak up under my sweater. Soon it found what it was searching for, cupping my breast. I moaned against his mouth as his rough fingertips found my nipple, pinching and twisting it. His other hand slinked down my shorts and grabbed at my ass, keeping me close.

My mouth broke away from his to breathe as he planted sloppy, needy kisses down my neck. 

“Fuck Joel,” I panted out. He removed his hand from my shorts and released my tit, much to my dismay. Joel picked me up under my ass, my legs wrapping around his waist, all while still kissing and biting at my neck. My arms clutched onto his shoulders as I felt him walk me backwards. Soon my ass was placed on the counter to sit. I wrapped my legs around him tighter, rubbing my throbbing core against his hardening cock. 

His hands tugged at the bottom of my sweater and I lifted my arms above my head so that he could take it off. He looked me over for a second, a wicked smile playing on his face. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said as his eyes took me in. His hands reached up and cupped both of my tits, massaging them roughly and causing fire to spark between my thighs again. I placed my hands on either side of Joel’s head and guided his face to between my tits. 

He took in a deep breath, breathing me in before kissing and biting at still damp skin. I let out a loud cry as he pinched both my nipples at the same time. He removed one of his hands and replaced it quickly with his mouth. I clutched onto him as he bit and sucked at my nipple, still twisting the other one in his fingertips. 

“Joel…” I whined out through a moan. I had never felt so needy, the space between my legs aching. He looked up at me, my nipple still between his teeth. I watched with quick breaths as he released it from his mouth, my nipple now swollen and peaked. He reached around and hooked his thumbs under my knees, prying me off of him. I watched confused for a moment as he knelt down, but then I realized what he was doing. 

Joel reached up and grabbed at the waistband of my shorts. He tugged them down as I lifted my ass up, discarding them to the side. My breathing became shallow as he spread my legs apart, he was now eye level with my aching, wet pussy. 

“Fuck, Vi…” he said, his eyes turning dark with lust at the sight before him. 

I leaned back on my hands, bracing myself against the cold quartz of the countertop. He began to kiss at the inside of my thighs, making his way painstakingly slow towards my core. Joel placed one of my knees over his shoulders and pulled my ass a little closer to the edge. 

Joel hovered over my pussy and I felt like I was going to explode if he didn’t touch me. Moans formed in the back of my throat as he kissed the outside of my slit, crying out as he began biting lightly at my pussy lips. My mouth gaped open as I watched him slide his strong nose between my slit, the tip of it hitting my clit and causing me to cry out again. 

Joel looked up at me, a cheeky grin on his stupid, sexy face.

“You like that, Vi?” he asked, kissing the inside of my thigh. Before I could answer, he did it again. When I didn’t answer him soon enough, I was shocked when he slapped my pussy, causing a surge throughout my body. 

“I asked you, did you like it?” he questioned again, his voice stern now. “I expect an answer when I ask you questions.” 

“Y-yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, I liked it,” I replied through heavy breaths . He smiled. 

“Good girl.”

Before I had anytime to respond, he dipped his tongue into my slit and swiped his tongue against my clit. 

“Fuuuuuck, Joel,” I whined out. He smiled to himself before dipping in, this time burying his face in my pussy. My arms buckled and I fell back against the countertop, catching myself on my elbows. 

He pulled away for a moment to mutter out how I ‘tasted so good’ before diving back in. I reached down with one of my hands and raked it through his hair, gripping at it. 

Joel began to suck on my clit, causing my hips to instinctively grind against his face. He moaned against me, causing that familiar tension to build between my legs. I knew what was coming, but I wasn’t ready. 

“Joel-Joel I’m gonna-”

Before I could finish my sentence he gripped onto me tighter, his strong arms locking my legs into place. He moaned again against my clit, alternating between licking and sucking on it. 

“Joel-Joel-“

In a matter of seconds I was peaking, shockwaves causing my body to convulse with my loud orgasm. Joel continued to circle his tongue around my clit as I came, letting me ride it out. 

I laid back against the counter, my breathing heavy as I was still reeling. Joel got to his feet and pulled me up off of my back, and against his warm chest. He leaned down and kissed me hard, feeling myself get turned on again already as I tasted myself on his tongue.

“But, I wanted you to-”

“Do you think I’m done with you?” he practically growled low in my ear. My eyes grew wide and without another word, he picked me up. I relaxed against him as he led us out of the kitchen, my legs still feeling like dead weight. 

My heart began to race again as he ascended the stairs, heading straight for my bedroom once he hit the landing. Once in my room, he set me down on my bed. I immediately reached out and began undoing his belt. While I undid that and his jeans, Joel began working on the buttons on his shirt. At almost the same time we got done. He pulled off his shirt and discarded it to the side before pulling down his jeans and boxers, kicking them off. 

My eyes grew wide. Joel was much bigger than I had expected. I reached out and wrapped my right hand around his cock. He let out a sigh of relief as I began stroking him. 

“God, you’re so big,” I told him, looking at him through hooded eyes. 

“Hmm, I can’t wait to fuck that pussy of yours,” he said, his eyes closing in pleasure. His head fell back as I quickened my pace, moans escaping his parted lips. 

I stopped the movements with my hand and released him from my grip. His head snapped back down, looking at me intensely. I bit at my lip as I scooted back on the bed, laying so that my head was at my pillows. Anticipation rippled through my chest as he kneeled onto the bed and started crawling towards me. 

Once Joel was hovering over me, he leaned down and crashed our lips together again. I wrapped my limbs around his naked frame and pulled him down on top of me. Joel moved to lay to the side of me, and I met his eyes with a curious expression. 

“Spread your legs for me,” he said. I followed orders, bending my knees and letting them fall to the sides,  one of my legs resting on Joel’s thighs. 

I watched as his right hand trailed down my torso, my chest rising and falling as my breathing sped back up. 

“Joel, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any-”

“Shhh, don’t worry. We’re going to get you nice and ready for my cock.” He slipped his hand down to my pussy and grabbed it, massaging me gently with his palm. My clit was still extra sensitive and sore, so this felt amazing. I tried to spread my legs a little more as I felt his middle finger dip into my slit. He circled around my clit softly for a moment, eliciting soft moans out of me.

I couldn’t help but moan out Joel’s name as he plunged his thick finger into my pussy. He moved very slowly, letting my walls adjust to him. I grabbed onto him where I could, trying to keep grounded. After a moment he began to move his finger in and out, producing more moans from me. 

As soon as that felt comfortable and I began to thrust against him, he added another finger. I winced out in pain for a moment, but that pain quickly turned to pleasure again. 

“Are you okay? Am I going too fast?” Joel asked, scanning my face for an answer. I nodded eagerly, not being able to form any coherent words. 

My walls adjusted again as he began to finger fuck me with his fingers, my pussy stretching and getting wetter with every thrust. 

“Joel, Joel I need you,” I quietly begged. 

“What was that?” he asked in a devilish tone. He was such a fucking tease. 

“I need you,” I said a little louder.

“Hmm?” 

“Fuck Joel! I need you to fuck me with your cock!” I said loudly through gritted teeth. 

My pussy squelched as he finger fucked me a few more times before pulling them out. He started to move his hand to wipe me off on the bed, but I stopped him. He watched curiously as I brought his messy hand up to my face. His jaw slackened as I put his two wet fingers in my mouth and began sucking and licking my juices off of them. 

I groaned as he pulled his fingers out of my mouth and started moving so he was sitting on his knees between my legs. He roughly grabbed onto my hips and pulled them up onto his thighs. I watched as he lined the head of his cock up with my pussy with one of his hands, the other holding me still. 

Without another thought, Joel began to slowly plunge his cock into my center. Even though he had stretched me out with his fingers, it still ached as I adjusted. I closed my eyes and breathed and he continued to push into me, filling me up to the brim. We stayed like that for a moment, allowing me to get used to his size. He reached down and gently stroked my clit, causing my pussy to tighten again around his cock in pleasure.

“Jesus, Violet. You’re so tight,” he breathed out, “you feel so fucking good. Am I hurting you?” 

I shook my head, words failing me again. After another moment I finally spoke. All I could say was, ‘start moving.” 

Joel’s eyes lit up. I began to feel empty as he almost pulled all the way out, but not for long. He thrust back into me, it aching less. After a few times of him moving slowly, he began to quicken his pace. 

I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling back in my head as he held a steady pace. Moans escaped both of us as he fucked into me, my pussy gripping his cock.

“Joel, fucking hell,” I mumbled out, bliss taking over my senses. Suddenly Joel pulled out of me, granting a whine from me. He slapped my pussy in response. 

“Roll over,” he said, in more of a demand than a request. I moaned and slid down off of him before rolling over onto my stomach. Joel grabbed me by the hips and pulled me up onto a fours. I laid my upper body back down, arching my back and sticking my ass up more in the process. As he slapped my ass I turned around to look at him the best I could, only being able to see him roughly out of my peripheral vision. 

I almost melted into the mattress as I watched him lick his finger tips before rubbing the saliva he had collected on the head of his cock. His eyes were hungrily fixed on my cunt. I spread my knees out, just enough for him to kneel in between them. I felt again as he lined himself up with my pussy, this time sliding in much easier at this angle. 

“Oh my god,” I whimpered out as he filled me up again. Joel let out a heavy moan as he began to thrust in and out of me, going slowly again at first. But that’s not what I wanted.

“Joel, harder,” I told him, my face half smothered in my pillow. He thrust into me, holding my hips so that we didn’t move. 

“Speak up, baby,” he told me, his pet name sending a shiver down my spine. 

“Harder,” I said louder this time. 

“That’s my girl.” 

Joel’s fingers dug into my hip bones, threatening to leave bruises tomorrow. One of his hands moved to my shoulder and pulled me backwards, pressing my back against his chest. This angle suddenly began to hit a new spot, and I gasped as I began climbing towards a second orgasm. 

“Joel, Joel I’m so-“

“Me too, come on, baby. Cum for me,” he crooned into my ear. 

That was enough to send me over the edge. Joel wrapped the hand not gripping my hip around my middle, keeping me close to him as came. He continued to thrust into me and within moments he was moaning in my ear, his cock throbbing inside me. He trust in and out of me a couple more times, softer as he spilled into me. 

When he was finished, he slipped himself out of me with a groan. I felt as he then immediately laid me down, not wanting to make a mess on my bed. But at this point, I didn’t care. I had extra bedding if things needed to be changed.

We moved underneath the covers and Joel cuddled up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. I immediately relaxed into him, not sure if my body was still actually there. 

“That’s the first time I’ve done that,” I told him, my voice just above a whisper. He kissed my shoulder. 

“What’s that?” 

“Orgasmed twice in one go like that,” I said. He chuckled a sleepy laugh. “What?” 

“Oh, just that it won’t be the last time that happens.”

[a-boca-do-inferno]

you already did, part 1 (vincent mancini x reader)

part 2

summary: This is the point of no return, they both know it; it’s only a matter of who’s gonna let go first, now.

warnings: angst, swearing

words: 2.0k

notes: no one will read this part 2 lol this is just me trying to focus on anything other than my anxiety. i also like angry men have you noticed? enjoy xx

“Leave the business”, Vincent repeats after her somewhat incredulously, raising a brow. His hands rest on his knees casually, and his face is contorted in confusion and even mockery, yet his voice is dead serious. “This is what our lives are. I’m part of something so much bigger than myself, babe. I can’t just turn my back on that. It’s my destiny, the thing I’m meant to do, and there’s way too much money in this for me to stop now”, he then sighs heavily, giving his wife a resigned stare. “But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll make sure never to put business ahead of you again. I’ll always put you first, and I’ll always be right here by your side. I promise.” 

“But you’re not happy doing this, Vincent”, (y/n) breathes out, shaking her head slowly. “I know you want to prove yourself, but you already did. Now you’re just...” She looks up, trying to find the words. “Now you’re just slipping away. I can feel it.” 

“(y/n)...” He closes his eyes for a second, keeping his cool. “If I’m not doing this, then what kind of man am I? You’re not wrong, this life has sucked the joy out of me, and sometimes I do feel like I’m losing myself”, he lets out another heavy sigh, furrowing his forehead. “I wish I could be somebody different for you, I really do, but it’s just too late for me, for us. We’ve made our choices and this is what we have. I won’t abandon what I’m meant to be and what I am”, they exchange a hard look, full of sorrow and frustration, as they often did nowadays. Vincent concludes, his voice a little quieter, “and if you’re willing to stand by me, I’ll be lucky to have you in my corner.”  

Goddammit, she hated it. They have talked about this so many times, and Vinnie always says the same thing, as if she had some sort of amnesia every time they’d argue because of the mob. However, the past few weeks had just been too tense, and he’s been only more and more distant from her, not even caring to talk things out, ever making promises and not making any effort in his attitudes. Before Vincent became Don, he would at least try and sort stuff out, try to change his behaviour if only but a little. It’s almost as if the title of Godfather went up his head, and she can’t stand by it anymore.  

(y/n) frowns, but still tries to contain her annoyance. “I don’t want you to be different, baby, I want you to be happy. And I know that’s not happening while you’re in the mafia.” 

“This is the life I chose. This is the life I signed up for when I followed my father’s steps and if I have to suffer, then I’ll make that sacrifice”, his tone is final, but there is almost regret in his dark orbs. “So, what’s it gonna be? Are you walking away from this?” Vincent finally asks, and she feels her whole body shiver with his cold voice. This is the point of no return, they both know it; it’s only a matter of who’s gonna let go first, now. “Are you walking away from me?” 

The television behind him showed a silent butter commercial, and the leftovers of dinner stared back at her, waiting for her answer like the audience in a baseball game. (y/n) gripped the newspaper loosely hanging to her side and read the headline, not really interested in what it was about. The girl had no idea of what she wanted right now from Vincent, but it sure as hell wasn’t the attitude he was displaying. And his phrasing was obviously constructed to somehow blame her later on, so he could throw it in her face that she was the one to give up on their marriage, to destroy their life together, to be weak. 

She wouldn’t stand by it. 

(y/n) huffs, slamming her fist on the dinner table and getting his attention immediately. “Why do you even wanna follow his steps? He was killed by this!” She exclaims infuriated, getting up from her seat and crossing her arms. “He couldn’t raise you because of all this bullshit, I don’t understand you.”  

“This is my heritage. I’m a Corleone and that’s what we do”, he mutters, clearly holding back from shouting at her. “What else can I be, (y/n)?” Vinnie then shrugs, trying to sound unaffected by her words. 

“You’re not even a goddamn Corleone, you’re a bastard!” She yells at the top of her lungs, her face red with anger now, but as soon as the words leave her mouth, she looks regretful. “Vincent, I’m sorry. Just please, listen to me...” 

Vincent’s expression darkened completely. He is hurt, she knows it. He stands up and walks over to her, with his eyes full of shock, anguish and hurt, all mixed into one. “I’m not a Corleone? I wasn’t born into this family?”, he stammers through gritted teeth. “The hell is wrong with you, eh? You got no idea what’s like to be in my shoes! You got no right to judge me”, his tone is dangerous and he grips her arm tightly, glaring at her. 

(y/n) winces at his hard touch. “What would you mother say if she saw you now, Vincent?” She sobs, trying to get away from his hand. “If she saw what you became, what you’re doing to yourself and to your real family?” 

He stops for a moment, taken aback by her words, and somehow, he growls even angrier. “How dare you... My mother loved this family, she loved me. She’s alive in my heart and I know she would be proud of the man I’ve become, what I’ve accomplished!” His voice cracks, yet he doesn’t let a single tear fall. “She always believed in me. Who are you to speak ill of her memory?! Of me?” 

(y/n) throws her hands up, losing her temper. “Well, then I guess it’s on me”, she sighs shakily, getting off his grip and turning her back on him. “Maybe I’m the crazy one, maybe I’m in the wrong for wanting to get out of this shithole full of death and despair!” She shouts again, going to bang on the door so everyone in the house will listen. “Guess it’s all on me, guys!” 

Silence follows her outburst before it all turns into madness. His family and even the servants come to see what’s going on, asking for (y/n) to calm down as she keeps yelling at them. She stands in the centre of it all, challenging them to say something back, and no one does. After a few minutes of arguing, every face points at Vincent and watches him with their eyes wide, urging him to do something. Vinnie then turns to his wife, and his expression is one of resignation and fear. He seems terrified of what can happen if (y/n) keeps this up. 

He tries to approach her, speaking softly, “(y/n), please...” 

“What, am I gonna be mob lynched?”, the girl laughs humourlessly, gazing around at everybody. “Fuck all of this, you can all go to hell.” There is a moment of pause and shock for her words, and she takes off her wedding band and throws it at Vincent. “I want a divorce. I’m done.” 

The room goes quiet in an instant as Vincent catches the ring with his hand by surprise, almost letting it fall on the floor. His voice is filled with rage, “this is our life! This is what we are, and you’re leaving me for what?!”. He walks up to her, seething, his new-yorker accent only getting meaner and louder. “What’s wrong with you?”, he takes her arm again, squeezing it forcefully. “I’m trying to do the honourable thing here, what the hell’s wrong with you?” 

“The honourable thing? You don’t have time to do anything except making drug deals and murdering people”, she hisses, pushing his chest to get out of his grip again. “You say you love me and will do anything for me, but you’d rather stay here with these people when they never even fucking let you in their house, even though you’re the same blood!” She doesn’t cry anymore, sounding firm like never before. “They all see you as an intruder and you know it, Vincent.” She glances at Michael, who’s quietly watching her fit with a neutral expression. “He was the one who dragged you into this because he just wanted to get out, he lost everything because of this too. His own daughter.” 

Vincent’s eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath. Although his interior is boiling with wrath, he takes a step back to calm himself, shaking his head. He states sternly, with menace to his tone, “you can leave if you want, that’s your right. We can take care of the divorce and you can go wherever you want. I won’t stop ya.” He pauses for a second, glowering at her, “but you can’t take anything with you. I’ll get the house, the cars and all the money. You leave with nothing. It’s your choice.” 

Her eyelid twitches in anger and surprise. “You... you can shove it all up your ass!”, she blurts out and holds her palm up to hit him. 

Vincent grabs her arm swiftly. “(y/n)!” He screams, holding her by the shoulders harshly. His face’s entirely clouded by fury, and his family watches in fear as he seems to be losing control of his actions. “Don’t you ever raise a hand to me.” 

“Or what?” (y/n) yells back, glaring at him with wide, teary eyes. 

He is trembling with rage, but gives her a disbelieved look. “You dare me to hit you, you think this is a game?!” He pulls her forearm violently. “I’m gonna make your life a living hell. I’m gonna make you regret every choice you ever make. I’m gonna destroy you, (y/n). I will ruin your life, your reputation, your sanity, everything”, he spits out ruthlessly, looking her dead in the eye, and his heavy breath is hot against her lips. 

(y/n) had only ever heard about that side of Vincent. She knew how cruel he could be, how evil, but she never thought one day that danger would be directed towards her. She sobbed, so close to his face no one else could listen but him, “you already did.” 

Another pause hovers over them and shortly after, everyone scatters and leaves the room. (y/n) cries silently still under Vincent’s grip, unable to speak anymore. He is holding her tenderly now, and his anger starts to die down at the sight of her despair. He lets go of her, sighing. “I love you more than anything. More than my life”, he mumbles helplessly, in a last attempt to make her stay.  

She replies seriously, getting away from his hold and wiping her tears, “I love you too, Vincent, but you’re just not the man I once loved anymore.” 

Vinnie takes a step back, his face growing sorrowful, and his eyes glisten. “How did we come to this point, of hating each other?” He whispers to himself, facing down with his hands resting on his waist.  

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t see you”, she confesses, her collected tone catching him off guard. “And I can’t be with someone I can’t see.” 

(y/n) leaves the house without another word, and Vincent is left with her wedding band between his knuckles. He wants to scream, break something, kill someone, but stands paralyzed in the middle of the living room, simply hanging his head and letting his tears fall freely at last. He’s never felt so lost in his life. With a silent sob, he throws the ring on the wall, storming off to his office and slamming the door behind him. He knew, in his black heart of hearts he knew; this was the point of no return. And he was the one who drove them to it.