#if you’re interested maybe i’ll try to write it out fully one day

[paimonial-rage]

spark - xiao

[random writing event] | requested by anonymous

“Do you want to try it?” You asked with a smile. “A day like this is a cause for celebration, don’t you think?”

He kept quiet as his gaze trailed to the thin stick within your hand. Though he never used one before, they weren’t unfamiliar to him. In times past, the more studious of the adepti found interest in those Inazuman delights. The lights would often draw his eyes from across a crowd, but he never bothered to investigate up close. While bright and beautiful, they died quickly as transient things often did.

“I’m alright. There’s no need to waste such human trivialities on me.”

As usual, his refusal didn’t color your expression with hurt. Instead, you shrugged and turned your attention back to the Mingxiao Lanterns floating in the sky.

“It wouldn’t be a waste to me. Not for you.”

He held back his urge to sigh. There you went again saying such things. Though you were assigned to his care, you didn’t need to visit him so often. You didn’t need to shower him with gifts. You didn’t need to stay by his side. He knew he wasn’t easy to be around. He knew he often made people feel nervous. But you didn’t mind. You weren’t scared away.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why Rex Lapis gave you to him. Xiao had been a loyal servant for years. Never once had he failed his duty. So he didn’t understand. What was he supposed to do with you? What was the purpose of keeping you by his side?

He broke away from his thoughts when a soft humming filled the air. Turning his attention to you, there you stood by the torchlight with that stick from earlier in hand. After lighting the tip, you held your arm out as the stick began to erupt in a burst of lights and stars. You laughed, waving it around, enjoying the streaks it made across the evening sky.

The sight was captivating.

But just as quickly as it began, it soon came to an end. With a sigh, you placed the sparkler to the side. Almost as if reading his mind, you turned to him with a bashful smile.

“They don’t last long, but they are beautiful, aren’t they? It may be a bit frivolous, but what’s the point in being alive if we don’t allow ourselves to enjoy it?”

Perhaps it was due to it being Lantern Rite that he suddenly found himself caught in a bout of honesty.

“I’m… not sure I understand.”

It was the most truthful answer he could give. And how shocking it was you did not judge him for it. Instead, you walked over to the box of sparklers and picked out a stick. With a smile, you then held it out to him.

“Why not try?”

[luveline]

BABE i miss badass bau!reader!!! do you feel up to write something about her and spencer? 🫣🫣

—Spencer comforts you, even when you think you don’t need it. fem, 1.2k

You’d think that agents and staff working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit would use a little subtlety when gossiping about their coworkers. It’s in the name. You’re a profiler, after all, but you wouldn’t need to be to know that the sudden quiet that falls over the kitchenette area when you walk in is for a reason. 

You’re determined to act unbothered. Only, it’s high school all over again, the whispering and the staring boring holes in the back of your head, and you’re thinking What are they saying about me? What have you done now? 

Flustered, you make a cup of herbal tea and forget it on the counter by the sink. Humiliated, you rush back to your desk. 

Spencer doesn’t look up as you sit. Your desks are together again for now, but who knows what whim will have Hotch separating you again. Last time it had been for ‘enabling bad behaviour’. 

So what if Spencer likes to talk? He’d only think all the things he’s saying to himself. You’re speeding up the process if anything by listening. Plus, whatever the others might think, he’s interesting, smart and funny and he deserves to be listened to when he wants to tell you things. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to push the humiliation brewing in your chest back to a quiet place. 

“Hey,” he says. He talks to you in a way he doesn’t with the others. He’s more relaxed, less exuberantly friendly and more like a true friend. 

He’s the only one in this whole office you’d ever want to sit next to every day. “Hi. What are you reading?” 

Spencer folds his novel closed over his hand, an answer on his lips that stutters and fades. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look unhappy.” 

It’s that unfortunate moment that Morgan decides to arrive, a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, eyeing you both where you’ve stopped your conversation, the slight light of smugness to his eyes as he says, “Doesn’t she always?” 

“Around you, Morgan, yes,” you say, turning your body fully to your computer. “That would be accurate.” 

Morgan laughs heartily. “You love me.” 

Maybe. You certainly don’t like him. Or, you’re annoyed with him most of the time. You wonder occasionally if he and the rest of your teammates are emotionally blind, considering the way they treat Spencer. Everybody makes their funny ‘harmless’ jokes, you’ve never understood why. They’re profilers, aren’t they? Can’t they tell it hurts his feelings?  And they love to tell you that Spencer’s your soft spot, he is, but he’s also a nice boy who wants to be listened to above all else, so you’re a little bitter about it. You weren’t too sweet to begin with. 

Today, you aren’t in the mood. You ignore Morgan and open your emails. 

“You want tea?” Spencer asks, standing from his desk. 

“No.”

“You always have tea in the morning. I’ll make it. Sit tight.” 

You follow Spencer’s figure as he leaves. Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you from across the divider. 

“Do you ever think about taking him out?” Morgan asks. 

“That’s an inappropriate question,” you say. You aren’t monotone, but you certainly don’t bustle with emotion either.

“You like him, he likes you.” 

That’s exactly what Spencer needs, you think bitterly, the moody girlfriend, another thing to make him an outsider.

“You make each other happy,” Morgan continues.

“You get the same blueberry muffin every day,” you say, clicking an email attachment Hotch sent this morning distractedly, the temptation to roll your eyes at an all time high, “will you marry the baker?” 

“I could. His wife might not like the idea.” 

You hold in a smile. You sort of maybe do love Morgan, even when he’s prying. Better when Spencer returns and Morgan asks about the younger man’s weekend trip to Quantico’s seven floor library. 

“It was awesome,” Spencer says, putting a mug down in front of your keyboard, his palm still warm from the mug taking temporary station on your shoulder. “There were more books about inmate crime than there were dictionaries. Is that okay?” 

You take a sip of your tea. “It’s perfect,” you confess once you’ve swallowed. How does he know how you like it? He must steep it just as you do. Even the water level. You’d think it were the tea you’d left behind if it wasn’t in a new mug, scalding hot. 

“Morgan, could you excuse us, please? For five minutes?” Spencer asks. 

Your eyes widen of their own accord. Morgan makes flirty winky faces to hide his concern and meanders up the steps to Hotch’s office, pointedly looking away from the bullpen and your mess of desks. 

“What’s going on?” you ask. 

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Spencer says. 

He’s wearing his glasses today, a rare sight these days, less so at the office when you’re sure there won’t be a case to go on. His hair curls at the base of his neck and flicks out under his ears, brown eyes like the flat of a mirror against the light, dark and deep. You wince when you realise you’ve been looking him over intensely, averting your eyes to the cup of tea warming your fingers. 

“You know you can tell me anything,” he says. 

“Sure.” 

“I’d defend you. Just like you would for me.” 

You drag your eyes to his. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

��I mean, if you want me to go fight your corner, I will.” 

“Who says I need that?” 

“It’s Madge, right? The blonde woman with the pearl earrings. She and Andrea monopolise the kitchen in the morning and talk about all of us.” 

You hate profilers, but you could never hate Spencer. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset that he’s worked out what perturbed you so quickly. 

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your desk chair slowly. “There’s no point arguing with them, babe, you’d end up at Human Resources by the end of the day forced to write an apology letter.” 

Spencer looks like he wants to touch you again, hand heistant, fingers moving as though he’s typing curled into his palm. “I’ll stick up for you if you want me to. I don’t care if they make me write a letter.” 

“Can’t argue over silence,” you say.

It’s a kind offer, and he really is so handsome. Everybody else in the office might drive you up the wall but he’s a sweetheart, through and through. 

“I like when you smile. Doesn’t happen much,” he murmurs. 

If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. “Thank you, Spencer. I like your smile too.” 

He leans down for a hug. Again, if it were anyone else, you’d wriggle out of reach and give a speech on boundaries, but it’s him. He folds his arms behind your head and back, encouraging your face into the crook of his neck as he bends to meet you, gentle even when you don’t hug him back. “Don’t listen to anybody,” he says, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. 

“I don’t.” 

“Who cares if they’re talking about us?” Spencer asks. 

You touch his waist. “Not me.” 

[the0doreslover]

Stuck forever by the... glue? | t.n x fem!reader

summary: you and theodore are quite literally “stuck together”

warnings: a few innuendos

a/n: so i’ve been MIA for a little while but i hope this 4k piece makes up for it 😬😬😬

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

These were the five simple words that played in your mind since the beginning of the week.

Maybe it was because your mother had been sending you a letter every day, reinforcing the importance of your success in any exam you are to partake in, or because your professors had seemed to be putting extra pressure on you at the moment, or maybe… just maybe it was because you were simply tired, that every day seemed to be getting harder.

Your friends weren’t much help, it wasn’t their fault, they just couldn’t understand the pressure you had been going through over the past few weeks. You had unintentionally pushed them away.

Friday morning at last.

You had a little while to kill before your first lesson of the day and had decided on sitting in the courtyard.

You were walking towards your usual seat behind the large oak tree when you noticed

a rather peculiar looking sketchbook in its place

You picked it up, and opened the first page, and there in the neatest writing was the words; Property Of Theodore Nott

Great.

You were just admiring the pattern on the front of the book when a hand on your wrist startled you.

Looking up, in all his glory was Theodore Nott.

You didn’t have a chance to fully clock him, when he snatched the book from your hands.

“Did you open the book?” he asked, seeming to be catching his breath

“What?”

“i said did you open the book?” he urged, louder this time.

“No… Nott i didn’t” you answered

“right… well your blouse is undone” he nodded towards your chest.

You gasped slightly pulling your fingers towards the buttons, you felt around for a second until he started laughing “i lied”

“why do you have to be such a dick” you groaned noticing he tried to change the subject away from his sketchbook

“i guess i was born that way” he shrugged, with a slight grin on his face “why do you have to be such a prat?”

“i guess i was born that way” you huffed before walking away from him

Seeing as you had only a few minutes before your lesson, you had decided on going a bit earlier.

Professor Flitwick's classroom was already half-full, the usual chatter filling the air as students settled into their seats.

After what felt like an eternity, Flitwick clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, today we're going to practice some partner work. Pair up and choose the most interesting charm you can think of, the winning pair will be free from the assignment i am giving out later”

You groaned inwardly. Partner work meant having to socialize, something you didn't feel up to after the morning's events. You stayed seated, hoping someone would approach you. Instead, you felt a presence next to your desk. Looking up, you saw Theodore standing there,

"I’ll partner with you” he said taking the seat next to you

You blinked in surprise. Maybe he was trying to sabotage you in revenge of the morning…. but seeing some of the other options for partners, he didn’t seem so bad

"fine"

The two of you moved to an empty corner of the classroom, while you grabbed a study guide to charms.

“We’re not using that” theodore laughed

“well unless you’re secretly a charms dictionary i’m not sure what you think we should use”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick grey book, labelled “A masters guide to charms”

“Sorry Nott i didn’t know you were a master” you mocked him bowing your head down

“yeah yeah funny” he rolled his eyes opening the first page to its contents

“how about this one?” you asked pointing to a picture of a beautiful ocean

“no way i don’t really want to drown today”

you glared at his reply

“let’s do this” he hummed

“no way, i’m not turning everything edible”

“boring” he sighed

“lets do this” “we’ll do this”

you both said at the same time pointing to a photo of a man appearing to be stuck to a tree.

After agreeing on the spell and practising it without wands for a little while, You decided you should try it out.

“i have a pencil and a sharpener. Try on them” you said pulling both out your pocket and placing them infront of him

Stepping back you watched theodore perform the spell.

one

two

three

“nothing happened?” you sighed

“i think i can see that myself” he grabbed the pencil and placed it closer to the sharpener

“let’s do it at the same time. That way it might be stronger” you suggested and picked your wand up.

“one” you looked at him to ensure he was doing it correctly

“two” he watched your hands to ensure you had placed your wand at the right point”

“Three!” Just as you both cast your charm, a sudden jolt sent your wands askew. You glanced up in surprise to see Fred and George Weasley barreling past.

"Watch it!" Theodore snapped, but it was too late.

The spell went haywire. You felt a strange pull on your hand and looked down to see your fingers stuck to Theodore's. His eyes widened as he tried to pull away, but your hands were firmly glued together.

"Fred! George!" you called after the twins, who had stopped and were now doubled over with laughter. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, love, it seems we just gave your charm a little nudge," Fred grinned, winking at you.

"we are very familiar with this charm" George added, chuckling.

"So you can fix this?" Theodore demanded, his usual cool demeanor slipping into frustration.

"Afraid not, mate. You'll have to wait it out," Fred said, still laughing. "The charm wears off in a 24 hours."

“Even if we performed it at the same time?” you asked

This seemed to make the twins laugh even harder

“let’s say an estimate of 48 hours then”

As the twins walked away, still laughing, you turned to Theodore. "This is your fault," you accused, trying to free your hand but only managing to make the bond tighter.

"My fault? You're the one who suggested we practice that spell," he shot back, though there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You said it too!” you argued

“Okay stop pulling! it’s my hand too!” he said

"Well, now what?" you sighed, looking at your joined hands.

“we need to find Hermione"

Theodore sighed "why?"

“because she is literally smarter than you”

Navigating the crowded corridors of Hogwarts with your hand stuck to Theodore's was an exercise in patience.

Students cast curious glances your way, and whispers followed you down the halls. You kept your head down, focusing on getting to the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible.

As you entered the common room, heads turned, and the chatter died down. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting by the fireplace, deep in conversation. They looked up simultaneously, eyes widening at the sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand.

"What in Merlin's name?" Ron blurted out, almost dropping the chess piece he was holding.

Hermione stood up, her brows knitting in confusion. "What’s happening?"

You cleared your throat. "We had a bit of a mishap in Charms. Fred and George decided to 'assist' our spell, and now we're stuck like this."

Harry snorted, trying to hide his laughter. "Of course it was Fred and George."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as Hermione approached, examining your joined hands. "Hmm, let me see," she muttered, pulling out her wand and waving it gently over your hands. "It's a strong charm. They must have amplified it somehow."

"Can you fix it?" you asked, desperation creeping into your voice.

Hermione bit her lip. "It might take a bit of time. This isn't a simple charm to reverse, especially if they boosted its strength. Let's sit down, and I'll see what I can do."

You and Theodore awkwardly made your way to a nearby table, still joined at the hand. Hermione began leafing through her Charms textbook, occasionally glancing up at your hands.

"Are you sure it wasn't intentional?" Harry teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Shut up, Potter," Theodore shot back, but there was no real malice in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face. "Can you please just help us, Hermione?"

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand to shush the boys. "I think I found something. It says here that a reversal spell should work, but it needs to be performed perfectly, or it could make things worse."

"Perfectly?" you echoed, feeling a pang of anxiety. "And if it goes wrong?"

"Well, we might end up with more than just your hands stuck together," Hermione admitted. "But don't worry, I've got this."

“Okay i’m ready… let’s do it” you breathed in

“Wait… i can’t do it now, i need some time to practise it. As i said, it could go very wrong of not performed perfectly”

you groaned and fell backwards onto the sofa.

Theodore glanced at the clock on the wall, then at you, his expression shifting to one of mild panic. "I have to cut our despair short. I have Quidditch practice now."

You blinked at him, still processing the absurdity of the situation. "Okay, go then."

He raised your joined hands, giving you a pointed look.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione burst into laughter. Ron clutched his side, gasping for breath. "Good luck at practice, mate!"

Harry smirked. "Maybe you can use the bonding time to strategize."

Theodore rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Yeah it’s all fun and jokes now potter, but we have a match against you tomorrow."

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to stifle her giggles. "Alright, you two. I’ll need some time to figure this out. Why don’t you… well, make the best of it?"

You groaned again, feeling the weight of the situation. "Great. Just fantastic."

Theodore tugged gently at your joined hands, pulling you toward the door. "Come on, i don’t have all day."

As you approached the Slytherin locker room, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Theodore seemed to sense your apprehension.

"I need to get changed," he said leading you into the locker room. The room was empty, the rest of the team already on the pitch.

You looked around, feeling incredibly awkward. "Um, how are we going to do this?"

Theodore glanced at his Quidditch uniform hanging on a nearby hook, then back at you. "We'll have to cut the sleeve of my uniform."

You stared at him, unsure if he was serious. "Cut the sleeve? Are you sure?"

He nodded, his expression resigned. "It's the only way. Unless you have a better idea?"

You shook your head, feeling a bit guilty. "No, I guess not. Do you have scissors?"

Theodore rummaged through his locker, producing a pair of small, sharp scissors. He handed them to you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your hands.

"Alright, hold still," you instructed, carefully cutting through the fabric of his shirt sleeve. The sound of the scissors slicing through the material was oddly loud in the quiet locker room.

Theodore watched you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. His breath hitched slightly as you drew closer to his skin, "You're surprisingly good at this," he said

You glanced up at him, surprised. "Really? I feel like I'm ruining your shirt."

He shrugged, "It's just a shirt. Besides, you can sew it back together later, right?"

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, I can do that. Don't worry, I'll fix it."

With the sleeve cut, Theodore carefully slid his arm out of the shirt, keeping your joined hands steady. He then reached for his Quidditch uniform

"Now for the hard part," he said, looking at the uniform's sleeve.

You repeated the process, cutting the sleeve of the uniform with as much precision as you could muster. The fabric was tougher, but you managed to make a clean cut. Theodore slipped into the uniform, and you couldn't help but admire how the green and silver suited him. His muscles flexed under the tight fabric, and for a moment, you found it hard to look away.

He smirked teasingly "stop checking me out."

You rolled your eyes, your face flushing. "you’re insufferable… i’m trying to make sure the sleeve fits right," you retorted.

The reality of your situation hit you again as you exited the locker room, your hands still firmly stuck together. Navigating the hallways and the field together was awkward, to say the least.

As you approached the Quidditch pitch, the rest of the Slytherin team was already in mid-practice, flying through the air, tossing Quaffles, and practicing their Beater drills.

The sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand drew immediate attention.

Draco was the first to approach, a sly grin on his face. "whats happening here?" he laughed, "Nott, I didn't know you needed a babysitter for practice."

Theodore shot his friend a warning look. "Shut up, Draco."

Draco chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “i thought you guys hated each other? when did you make it official?” he laughed louder this time

"You are the only one laughing" theodore said chuckling at him

“i feel sorry for you” draco said towards you “anyway, let’s continue with practise”

You did your best to stay out of the way,

draco had allowed you and theo to simply sit in the stands while someone threw a bludger at him to try and hit.

he clearly didn’t try hard enough as you got hit in your head twice.

A few of the players couldn't resist taking jabs at you and Theodore as they ran past.

"Hey, Nott, maybe she can be our good luck charm!" one of them called out, laughing.

"Or a distraction for the other team!" another added, snickering.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the comments.

“they’re all stupid” theodore would say

Finally, one player took it too far.

"Hey, Nott, why don't you just sleep with her already? Maybe that'll break the spell!"

Theodore stopped dead in his tracks, his face flushing with anger. "That's enough!"

a few members of the team fell silent, taken aback by his outburst. The player who made the remark, Marcus Flint, sneered. "What's the matter, Nott? Can't take a joke?"

Theodore scoffed. "Shut up you tosser, yes, she is a girl, but she didn’t ask to be surrounded by you idiots, so the least you can do is respect her"

You could feel the tension radiating off him, and it was clear that his patience had reached its limit. Flint opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, you stepped forward.

"It’s okay," you said, "We didn't ask for this to happen, but we're dealing with it. So if you're done acting like children, maybe you can focus on your practise."

"Alright, enough," Draco said, his tone firm. "let’s end here today yeah, let’s just hope today was enough to get us our win tomorrow”

As the Quidditch practice ended, the players dispersed, heading towards the locker room.

"I can't go in there," you said, tugging on Theodore's hand to stop him from entering. "I don't want to see anyone...you know, changing."

Theodore paused "Fine, we'll wait out here until they're done."

You both sat on the bench outside the locker room, Silence hung heavily between you, neither of you wanting to break it. Finally, Theodore spoke.

“you should of punched flint, no one would’ve of said anything”

“well, i’m not one to start fights, that would make me reckless” you sighed

Theodore’s smirk widened. “well you did suggest we do this spell” he lifted up your hands “together, that’s pretty reckless.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, turning to face him. “Like you didn’t push for it too. That ‘I’m a master of charms’ act? Such a joke.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned in slightly. “well you’re always whining about how hard life is. If you’re so tired, maybe you should’ve stayed in bed instead of trying to impress everyone.”

“Impress everyone?” you shot back, your faces inches apart. “Nice try, but your house is all about being superior, right?”

“Well, if we’re talking about superiority,” Theodore said, his breath warm against your face, “maybe you should look at your own house, the loudest bunch of show-offs.”

“Loud?” you challenged, your fingers brushing against his arm. “At least we’re not sneaky and backstabbing. I’d rather be loud than be a two-faced snake.”

Theodore’s eyes flashed. “Better sneaky than a blabbering idiot. At least I don’t go around pretending to be perfect.”

“Perfect?” you scoffed, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. “You think you’re so high and mighty. Well, you’re not.”

“Yeah?” Theodore’s voice dropped to a low murmur as he leaned even closer. “Maybe I’m just tired of you acting like you’ve got it all together.”

“You mean like you’re tired of being a pompous jerk?” you spat, “I’m tired of your attitude.”

Your faces were so close now. Just as it seemed like something might actually happen, Theodore suddenly pulled back.

“Honestly, can’t we just have one conversation without it turning into a drama?” Theodore said, crossing his arms and turning slightly away from you.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on handling disagreements?” you retorted,

“Well, you’re not exactly making it easy to like you,” Theodore snapped, turning towards you for the tenth time. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a complete—” you began, but your words were cut off as Theodore’s lips almost touched yours again.

you both sat back

“Let’s just get this charm sorted and go our separate ways.”

You nodded, your jaw clenched.

“your blouse is open” he said staring at the pitch

“yeah nice try”

“i’m not joking” he urged

you discreetly looked down to see that your two buttons were, in fact undone.

you slowly dragged your hand towards your top, pulling theodore’s hand with it.

Your fingers failed to do the button with his hand in the way.

“Nott, please flatten your hand” you said lowly

he cleared his throat “if i flatten it… it would be on your chest”

you breathed out and closed your eyes slowly, before flattening his hand yourself.

Theodore shifted, his hand still pressed awkwardly against your chest. His eyes met yours, and for a brief, unsettling moment, the anger seemed to dissolve into something else.

“You’re such a...” Theodore started

“Don’t start,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You make me feel... things I don’t want to deal with.”

After visiting Hermione, who delivered the disappointing news that you and Theodore might be stuck like this for another day, the reality of the situation set in. The idea of spending an entire night with your hands stuck to Theodore's was less than appealing.

After agreeing on it, you both reluctantly made your way to the Astronomy tower. The tension was high, and you could feel every small touch between you—whether it was Theodore adjusting his position or the slight bump of your hands against each other.

“I guess we should figure out where we’re going to sleep,” Theodore said

“Right,” you replied, trying to sound collected despite the discomfort. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Theodore shrugged, glancing around the tower as if searching for an escape route. “We could just sit here until morning?”

You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up with you. “Fine. Just... let’s try to make this as bearable as possible.”

You both found a quiet corner of the tower and made yourselves as comfortable as you could, given the circumstances.

“So,” Theodore began after a moment of silence, “since we’re stuck together, we might as well talk.”

“Talk?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Plenty,” Theodore said with a shrug. “We’ve been arguing nonstop. Maybe it’s time we actually had a proper conversation.”

You considered this for a moment. “Alright, fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with why you always act like the world is out to get you,” Theodore said, leaning back against the wall.

You stared at him, taken aback by the question. “What makes you think I act that way?”

“You always seem so stressed and ready to snap,” Theodore explained. “It’s like you’ve got this cloud hanging over you.”

“maybe i do”

A brief silence followed, during which you both seemed to be lost in thought.

“So,” Theodore said, breaking the silence, “what annoys you the most about me”

You laughed slightly. “Your carelessness.”

Theodore chuckled softly. “i care about a lot of things actually”

“yeah? like what”

he stared at you in a comfortable silence, leaving that question unanswered

You smiled faintly

As the evening wore on, you both found it increasingly difficult to ignore the closeness of your situation. The moonlight made even the smallest touches feel more significant.

Eventually, you both fell asleep, leaning against each other for support.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Oh, this is just perfect,” you groaned, pushing yourself up and realizing just how tangled up you were. “We need to get to our dormitories and change. It’s almost time for the Quidditch match.”

You glanced around the tower, feeling the urgency of the situation. Theodore sat up, still a bit dazed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Then we need to find hermione”

You both maneuvered to stand up, your hands still firmly attached. It was a delicate balance, trying not to trip over each other as you made your way out of the Astronomy Tower.

The corridors of Hogwarts were quieter at this hour, but you still drew curious glances from early-rising students who whispered and pointed as you and Theodore hurried by.

Once you got to your dorm you instructed theo to turn around while you changed.

after you had gotten ready you both sprinted to the locker room and sighed in relief at hermione waiting there you.

You both lifted your hands infront of her ready to be freed

“i can’t perform the spell”

“what?”

“it’s too dangerous, i even consulted with mcgonagall, she said that we will just have to wait it out”

You sighed, feeling frustration “It’s okay, Hermione. Thank you for trying.”

Hermione gave you both a sympathetic smile. “I’ll head to the stands and watch the match. Good luck”

As Hermione walked away, you turned to Theodore, “I’m really sorry about this, Theo. I know how much this match means to you.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “It’s okay. We’ll have to try and manage.”

The tension between you seemed to dissolve slightly as you both stood there

The Quidditch match was about to start, and with the stands starting to fill up, you found yourselves standing closer than you had all day. The space between you seemed to shrink and In a moment of impulsive decision, Theodore leaned in, and before either of you could second-guess, your lips met his.

When the kiss ended, you pulled back slightly, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. You noticed, with a jolt, that Theodore’s hands were now resting comfortably on your waist. The realization hit you, and you looked at him in surprise. “Theo… your hands are on my waist.”

Theodore blinked, confusion crossing his face, before it dawned on him. “Wait—” he started, looking at your hands which were now free.

You both stared at each other, “I guess we really did have to kiss to break the spell,” you joked with a light laugh.

Theodore chuckled and a genuine smile lit up his face. “I suppose so.”

“Well,” Theodore said, “I’d better get changed before the match starts. I’m sure the team’s been waiting for me.”

“yeah” you said, smiling slightly. “good luck.”

he quickly leaned forward to kiss you one last time before fake saluting you with a smile on his face and turning towards the locker room.

“wait theodore”

he turned around

“your buttons undone” you pointed to his trousers

[monzabee]

the lusty month of may – cs55 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where it’s that darling month when everyone throws self-control away, and you and Carlos decide to do a wretched thing – or two. 

Pairing: carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (cover your willy, don’t be silly), pre-established relationship, cursing, google translate spanish bc i forgot all the spanish i learned in school (lo siento mucho, señora xenia), talks about pregnancy, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! okay so this was not supposed to take me this long to write, but i kind of procrastinated because of studying and my exams, but here it is, finally done! i fully blame carlos for my brain rot, so i hope you guys enjoy this one, and feedback is always appreciated! (p.s. the title comes from a song from the broadway musical ‘camelot’ for those of you who are interested!) good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

His hand is closed over your mouth in a feasible attempt to cover up any pleas or sounds coming from your lips. You tried telling him no when he started pulling you towards the greenhouse behind the villa his family rented out for the weekend. It was supposed to help Carlos destress before leaving for Miami for the rest of the triple header, a long weekend, “A quick little getaway,” his mother called it. Carlos lets out some built-up steam, alright, by fucking you every chance he gets over the course of the 4-day vacation. 

“You know what it does to me when you wear this dress, amorita,” Carlos’ breath hits your sweaty skin as he runs his nose down the length of your throat, “maybe I should rip it when I’m done with you, hm? De esa manera no puedes tentarme más.” That way you can't tease me anymore. You try shaking your head as a response which elicits a mocking chuckle from him, the way he bucks his hip driving him further deep inside you. The strangled moan that rips from the back of your throat has you throwing your head back, which causes Carlos to quickly, but gently, tug on your chin to make you look back up at him. “Eyes on me, cariño.” 

His hips continue their rushed movements as he keeps his eyes locked to yours, your lips opening in an attempt to make him see reason. “Carlos, they’ll hear us.” You think he’ll ignore you once again, like he did when he was frantically pulling you away from the pathway which leads to the courtyard both of you were supposed to be making your way over for dinner with his parents. 

With one last thrust of his lips, which pulls yet another moan from your lips. “I won’t let anyone see you like this; you know that don’t you?” His tone is sweet despite the way he’s breathing deeply in an attempt to organise his breathing, the way he uses the tip of his pointer finger to caress down your blushed cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Although you manage to nod your head, there is a small smile on his lips as he reminds you, “Words, amorita.”

“I- I know that,” you breathe out a ragged breath, hand gripping Carlos’ shirt tighter in the process, “you’re far too jealous to let anyone see.” 

“Always such wits, amor,” he drags the tip of his finger towards your lips, “maybe I’ll just have to fuck you harder to remind you how much you love my possessive side.” 

“You are insane,” you pant, letting out another moan when he shifts his hips to continue his movements even deeper, “is that why you pulled me here? To fuck me into the wall because you were jealous?” 

His voice is hoarse against your skin as he drags his hand down your face to your neck towards your chest to grope your breast. “I made you a promise, remember?” 

And you do. You remember the hushes whispers and promises shared before the New Year’s, and the sweet kiss you’ve shared afterwards. Your eyes soften as realisation sinks in, his determined gaze on yours suddenly making more sense. His hand is rough as he kneads the skin of your breast, his fingers quickly find your pebbled nipple, which has you whining. “I do- I do remember.” You manage to get out as you do your best to focus on his command from earlier. 

“Good, so be a good girl for me and hang on tight, hm?” He gives you enough time for you to organise yourself; your hands grab the flower arranging table underneath you firmly and it makes you receive a pleased hum from him as he keeps up the movement of his hips whilst also making you wrap your legs around him, a hand firmly placed on your upper thigh. “Eyes on me, cariño.” He reminds you.

You comply, of course, and his thrusts keep getting deeper and deeper every time his hips finds yours because of the new position. There is nothing innocent about the way the sounds of your skin slapping off of each other echo in the stuffy greenhouse, mixed with your moans calling out his name over and over again. He knows you well enough to know your tells when you’re getting closer, and he knows your body well enough to know that you won’t be able to hang on for too long. 

The way you scream out Carlos’ name when you feel his fingers drawing circles on your clit is nothing short of animalistic, the way he whispers praises to your lips is lost to you as you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Carlos,” his name leaves your mouth in a desperate moan, followed by a softer and more pleading, “Carlos, please.” 

“Ask me nicely, amor.” His smile is almost devilish as he mumbles the words to your lips, his fingers slowing down their movements until you give him what he wants. His free hand tighten around your upper thigh in warning as he adds, “No continuaré si no lo pides amablemente.” I won't continue if you don't ask nicely.

You bite back a snarky comment, hyperaware of the fact that he is a man of his word and will leave you unsatisfied on the table by yourself if you don’t give him what he wants. “Por favor déjame correrme.” Please let me cum. The next moan that comes out of your lips come off more as a broken sob as he resumes his fingers’ movement on your bundle of nerves and his hips speeding up their movements to get you there, and you can’t help but chant “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The continuous moans that keep coming out of your mouth, in which you are begging him to make you cum causes his hips to continue their movement rather sharply. Your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure as your visions gets blurry, but you make a point to maintain eye contact with Carlos while he guides you through your orgasm. He only lets himself come undone once you’re done, but unintentionally clench around him due to still feeling sensitive. Hearing your name come through his lips in a guttural moan causes you attempt to bring him closer by tightening your legs around him. 

After a few moments of calmness, you whine at the loss of contact as Carlos pulls out slowly, careful enough to not hurt you. Just as he begins tucking himself back to his pants you attempt to fix your own clothing, but he’s quick to stop you as he says, “Stay on the table, cariño.” 

You choose to nod, not trusting your voice. He’s gentle with you as he pulls up your underwear up your legs and fixes the top and the skirt of your dress. You watch him with sleepy eyes as you ask, “Do you think it took this time?”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he smiles softly at you while getting some of your tangled hair out of your face, “do you think it did?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, suddenly shy in front of him for no reason – but he is quick to divert the situation by cutting your feet off the ground by carrying you bridal style, which has you squealing as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Carlos!”

 He lets out a laugh a laugh as he walks out of the greenhouse and the colder air outside has you snuggling closer to his body for heat. His voice is light as he mumbles, “Well, this brings back memories.” 

“You say as if our wedding was a decade ago.” You complain, scrunching up your nose in disagreement. You let a confused hum when he starts walking back to the villa. “We’re supposed to–”

“I’ll tell my parents you were feeling ill,” he raises an eyebrow, “unless you want to sit with them for the rest of the night with my cum still–”

“Carlos!” You exclaim, making him quickly drop the rest of the sentence as he stars laughing. “This is not funny, you know.” 

“Oh it is plenty funny, cariño.” Carlos objects, “We can always tell my parents we were trying for a baby.” He is quick to add, “Not, the literal way, loca,” after receiving a bewildered look from you. 

You sigh as you shrug, “I mean, we could.” 

He agrees with a hum, “We’ll talk about it later, now go to sleep, I know you will before I make it back to the room anyway.”

“Mhm, you know me too well.” You mumble as you bury your face into his neck. 

“That I do, cariño.” He mumbles as he presses a gentle kiss to your hair “That I do.”

[leighsartworks216]

Hellooooo i have a request for Astarion that like

I’m dying to see:

Gn! Druid Tav that had small petty fight with Astarion, Astarion being his stubborn self didn’t apologize ~properly~ or acknowledge he was wrong, tries to pretend the fight didnt happen and chat with Tav, Tav shapeshifts into a cat to avoid talking to him and fights sass with sass and Astarion melts at Tav being adorable😭?

I finished writing this and then was like,, I forgot it's not normal for partners to like scold each other by pinching them and stuff?? My ex used to do shit like that so I just forgot that wasn't normal. So I'm just going to clarify that in this story it's not malicious or anything like that. If it makes you uncomfortable tho I am 100% willing to rewrite it so that's not there at all

Warnings: swearing, scratching

Word Count: 759

Masterlist

AO3

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Astarion sits beside you as though it’s just any other day. He’s got that damn suave smirk on his face - you can just feel it radiating off of him without even needing to see. You try not to visibly bristle and turn your head further away from him. It was best to just wait it out and maybe he’d finally suck up his damn pride long enough to apologize. Maybe.

“So, darling,” he makes sure to really emphasize the word, drawing it out sweetly, “in the interest of keeping myself in peak fighting form, I’m inclined to ask if you would be ever so kind as to let me dine with - or rather - on you tonight.”

You huff a dry laugh. Sharp, short, but lacking genuine amusement. You don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on patching up one of your shirts.

He leans close to you, hovering just over your shoulder. His chest just barely grazes your arm and his breath ghosts across your ear and neck. Was this bastard really trying to seduce you? At a time like this? “Please, dear heart? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You glance over your shoulder, to make sure he can see the dead-pan look on your face. “No.” You pull the thread taught. Admittedly, you tug a little more than necessary, bunching up the fabric. Astarion definitely notices. He always does.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about earlier?” he chides.

You turn to face your back fully to him, forcing him to move back. You smooth out the bunches of fabric and roughly, messily, continue the next few stitches. He sighs dramatically.

“Come on, love, that was hours ago! All I said was your stitches aren’t even!”

You scoffed and angrily wrinkled your shirt in your lap as you whirled around to face him. “You said my stitches weren’t even and that they were ugly! I have been fixing my clothes my whole life - this is the most efficient stitch to ensure it doesn’t unravel!”

“That doesn’t mean you have to leave a mile between stitches!”

Fuck this. If he doesn’t want to apologize, the least you can do is give him a taste of his own catty fighting style.

One moment, you’re a perfectly humanoid being. The next, you’ve shrunken to less than a foot off the ground. Your back arches, your tail fluffs and sticks straight up, and you bare pointed canines at him as a scratchy hissing comes from your throat. Astarion can hardly feel threatened by a feline.

“Now you’re just being childish,” he scoffs. You jump forward to dig your claws into his leg. “Ow! Hey, that’s not fair!”

He grabs you by your middle and lifts you up. Your claws are removed from his skin, but they continue to pull on his pants.

“You’re going to rip my pants!”

You squirm from his hold, releasing his pants in the process, and land back on the ground. You sit next to your abandoned, half-fixed shirt, back turned to the vampire once more. Your tail flicks side to side in irritation.

Astarion rubs his leg and checks that there’s no lasting damage. There isn’t, of course. Even your claws were mere pinpricks compared to what damage you could do with them, and you’d never willingly destroy his belongings, no matter how pissed at him you were. And even though you are pissed at him, he still can’t help but admire you.

You’re upset, but you’re not physically assaulting him until he apologizes. You pinch him, give him a little scratch - sure. But that pain fades, at most leaving a small mark that fades in a day. You’re so utterly, bafflingly kind to him. Even when he’s being a dick.

He reaches out and scratches just behind your ear. Your ear twitches, but otherwise you show no reaction to his touch. He sighs. “I’m sorry for insulting your handiwork, my dear. You know your work better than anyone, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Your tail continues flicking back and forth a moment longer. But then you relent. You turn around and press your cheek into his hand, which he gladly glides along your soft fur. He’d asked once what it felt like to be pet like this. You’d said it was like a massage; like someone was scratching an itch you just couldn’t reach.

You step into his lap and plop right down, rubbing yourself into his abdomen with loud purrs. He chuckles. “Oh you sweet thing,” he coos. “What have I done to deserve you?”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog

[ollie-lolly]

Hiya, Ollie! Hope you're doing good whenever ya read this. And if you're not, I have a fluffy request for you:

For the Brothers and dateables, where would they take someone for their first date, what would they do, and how would the day/night end?

Sending you hugs and cuddles, friend! Have a great day/night! ♡

Authors note: Hi I know you’ve requested this in September and I haven’t been writing in FOREVER, but I’m so happy I am finally feeling up for it again! Enjoy!! I’ll just start with the brothers first, if people still think I write decently after all these months I’ll write the letter rest! Also 700+ followers WOW I love y’all.

Lucifer💙

He likes his everything dates very organised. He plans everything out to a tea, he knows he will win you over, but it takes time if he wants you to love him exactly in the way he already fell for you. I think he would take you to a museum, then to a restaurant he somehow knew you wanted to try the food from. Making a reservation to guarantee the best table. He will subtly compliment you throughout the whole day. As a subtle way to tell you he is having a great time. At the end he will walk you to your room and bid you goodnight. His lips touching your knuckles as he kissed your hand. He is the eldest brother, but that doesn’t hold him back from thinking about you all night after the date ended. 

Mammon💛

He will NEVER admit he was nervous even asking you out, but you knew. He likes to be flexible on his dates. Really going with the flow while subtly showing off how much he likes you. I’m mostly thinking of him taking you out to go shopping together, while he secretly takes pictures for the things you find ‘to expensive’ so he could buy you them later when he will make sure his debt declines. Then if you’re that kinda person going dancing together! Either way I think you two will both end up a little tipsy at the end, Mammon accidentally giving you a kiss on the cheek as he drops you off. Remembering when he finally fully sobered up in the dead of night. He would text you about it the next morning, preying you didn’t mind and maybe would want him to give one on the lips next time.

Leviathan🧡

I’d like to think he asked to hangout in his room and if you ask if it is a date, he would throw his phone the moment he replied with: “If you’d be okay with it!”. Safe to say he is scared shitless at just the thought. He preys Asmo will help him with the fact he is sweating buckets. It will most likely be a date in his room, watching a movie or playing a video game with him you expressed interest in. He can’t even enjoy the movie or video game most of the time, because he is constantly worrying if you’re enjoying yourself or not. I think he could finally calm down the moment he would see you smile while eating the take-out you and him ordered. If you ever suggest feeding him some of your food he will be flustered and nod. Avoiding eye contact as you feed him. When the date ends he tries not to be sad you’re leaving already.

Satan💚

He finds your comfort the most important thing at all times. He is extremely considerate, who said chivalry is dead? Because then he would be dead. He is still a little nervous, but that’s because you’re so attractive to him. The date will most likely be to a book store where the two of you would pick a book for each other to read. I think then he would take you to a cat cafe. Him paying all of it with a smile. Just don’t give the cats all your attention, because he wil get a little jealous. I think he would ask to hold your hand on the later part of the date, giving you his jacket as you two walk beside a river on the way home.

Asmodeus🩷

He is over the moon. He will must look his best because he wants you to be entranced by him every second that he is with you. From the outfit, the perfume, the make up and the hair. Everything is top notch. When he sees you, in his mind you couldn’t look better. It doesn’t matter if you choose something more simple to wear and he definitely lets you know how he feels. Our sweet Asmo is most likely taking you to shop together then a self care spa at the end. He is quite touchy the whole time if you don’t mind that of course. Holding onto your arm, complimenting you, he might as well yell to the whole world he is madly in love with you. He might take you to his room by the end if you’re comfortable with it.

Beelzebub❤️

He wil be smiling throughout it all. When you would meet up at the spot he would have his usual blank face, the moment he would see you his sweet smile would appear. His bouquet of sunflowers in his slightly happy and nervous shaking hands as he gave it to you. I think you and him would do a workout class or go to a sports game together. He really pays attention to the things you like and talk about as you two talk in between breaks. Taking you to eat your favourite foods at the end and sharing desserts.

Belphegor💜

This sneaky little cow is most likely showing you the stars constellations in the planetarium on your first date. Little picknick blanket laid out as he would explain all your questions about the stars. Having lavender and chamomile tea and biscuits beside the two of you. The conversation eventually deepening to the thoughts in your heads to the memories the both of you have collected over the years. Belphie eventually placing his beloved cow pillow under your heads as the sleepiness slowly overpowers any nerves you might have had. Holding your hand as the two of you drift to sleep under the starry night above.

[justsomegdude]

Prisoner!Negan x Gn!Reader

Prompt: “This can’t get any worse, can it?” // “Sure it can, just give me a minute.”

A/N: I am IN LOVE with prisoner Negan, I try to keep my best to keep gender out of my posts, in case there is males(like myself), or another gender identity wanting to read. Maybe when i get used to writing i’ll make actual one shots (maybe multi chapters) but until then i’m sticking to prompt quotes. Enjoy, send feedback, and ideas you might want me to write!

(stay tuned for the next few days because i may or may be trying to write a one shot!)

You were the one responsible for checking in, and giving food, to Negan. You got it by being one of the calmest in stressful situations. Ever since you’ve known Negan, he’s always been a thorn on a rose stem. Annoying you any chance he can get. Although never knowing exactly why he loves doing it so much.

“Hey Negan, Got your food.” You say as you enter the room where his cell was. Bringing the food you always served, a sandwich. Although he never seems pleased with what food you give him.

“What’s in the menu today?” He didn’t look towards you, just laying in his cot with his stare at the ceiling. Sometime you feel like you should pity this man, but then you remember what he’s done and that thought quickly went away.

“Like usual, a sandwich.” You spoke, holding out the sandwich, but it seems he has no interest in taking it. It upset you when he got like this, like he was trying to starve himself to death. Rick gave you this position to make sure he stays alive, but if he doesn’t eat you failed Rick.

“One of the kids here would love that more than I would, sweetheart.” His grin back, as he sat up on his cot. Still, he isn’t fully getting up to take it. You can’t force him to eat it, but you have to try.

“Negan, just take the sandwich.” You glare at him, hoping your, now, position of power over him will make him listen. Still no sign he’s getting up.

“This can’t get any worse, can it?” He sighed, his gaze went from you to the floor. Again you wanted to pity him, but you just can’t.

“Sure it can, just give me a minute.” The corners of your mouth tugging into a smirk, as you grab your pocket knife. No, you weren’t actually going to do anything, but maybe it will give him a reason to eat.

“God, Darlin’.. Don’t be such a turn on.” It almost sounded like he groaned out the pet name. He finally stood up with that atrocious remark. Smirking the entire way when he grabbed the sandwich from you and returned back to his cot. “Might make me want to live.”

Your eyes closed partly, squinting at him. “You think you’d want to live.. because ‘i’m a turn on’?” You let out a short huff and put your pocket knife away. “You know how stupid that sounds?”

His eyes glanced back up to you, speaking in between slow bites of his food. “Not as stupid as my thoughts, Darlin’. Especially when you’re in them.” He bit his lip, looking you up and down. You almost felt exposed, even when you didn’t specifically do anything.

“Negan, watch your mouth.” You spoke with clear irritation, you almost have a feeling of endearment, if it weren’t for who you were talking to. “and your eyes.”

He let out a chuckle, leaning back in his cot. “My eyes wonder. What can I say, they’re attracted by beauty.” He either found you attractive, and was attempting at flirting, or he was just trying to annoy you.

“I wish I wasn’t messing around when I pulled my knife out.” Your hand found their way to your pockets.

[venus-haze]

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there. 

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial. 

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article. 

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books. 

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders. 

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow. 

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies. 

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.” 

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?” 

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim. 

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips. 

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey. 

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process. 

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves. 

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window. 

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. 

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird. 

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it. 

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you. 

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room. 

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out. 

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger. 

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you. 

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation. 

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook. 

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

[buckysgrace]

Three

Professor!Steve Harrington x Fem!OC

Illicit Affairs Masterlist CW: Masturbation, sexting

Daphne tries to soothe her loneliness.

January passed in the usual manner; slow and painful. The days and weeks dragged on, the cold snow showers were unbearable and the homework piled up and up. The hours, days and weeks seemed to blend together as one. 

Daphne had certainly chosen the wrong classes for this semester. She had been confident in all of her nursing classes, but most of those had consisted of math and science courses. She didn’t have a problem with reading, she actually enjoyed it quite a bit, but she hated the boring textbooks she received. And she hated writing essays. 

And that’s all that her Ancient Greek class consisted of. Boring textbooks and even dreadful essays. She couldn’t pronounce the majority of the names, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to understand what any of them were doing. And it never seemed right to bring up in class that her parents had forbade her from watching or reading Percy Jackson when she was young. Maybe that would’ve helped her.

“I’m going to fail,” she groaned as she slumped further onto the counter, her face squished into her palms as she rested loosely against as Gillian turned towards her unamused, “I know it’s the beginning of the semester but it doesn’t make sense.”

“So ask your professor,” she drew out, as if it was that easy. Daphne scoffed as she leaned back, slumping further into her spot, “Don’t start whining again.” She threatened her, making Daphne gasp in disbelief. 

“I’m not whining,” she protested, huffing a second later, “He’s just intimidating.” She gestured with her hands, knowing she hadn’t been fully honest about the whole ordeal to anyone yet. It was too much of a sore subject yet. Perhaps she’d tell them once she passed the class, just so they could all laugh about how she’d never have to see him again. 

“Or handsome?” Gillian suggested, wiggling her dark eyebrows as she shoved a jacket over her nursing scrubs. The color matched nicely against her dark tawny skin, though she had been complaining about growing pale in the winter months. 

“You’re hilarious,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s my professor,” she mumbled, looking back down at the very thick book in front of her. She had no idea how she was supposed to have a paper written up and perfected by next week. 

“Right,” Gillian nodded, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Daisy said that he was cute,” she said playfully, puckering her lips out as Daphne quickly shot her head up in surprise. Of course Daisy would’ve told Gillian that. 

“Daisy doesn’t know shit,” she protested as she crossed her arms, feeling immature as she turned her head away. They’d understand if they were in her shoes. In fact, she knew that Gillian would be twice as bad as she was right now. She probably would’ve gone to the school board and admitted to everything at this point. 

“Touchy,” she laughed as she finished gathering her things up. “You sure you don’t want to join me at the hospital again?” she asked as she popped her hip out playfully and rested her hands on her sides. Daphne snorted as she shook her head. 

“They hated me,” She sighed as she pushed her hair out of her face, “and I was not a fan of it.” She reminded her, trying not to think of how bad her experience had been. That was another rant for some other time. 

“Poor baby,” Gillian mocked as she patted her face softly, “Well you have a fun night. All on your own.” She painfully reminded her. Daisy was out with Baron and Lila was on a date with someone new, like the third one this week and every night that Gillian wasn’t working, she was with her boyfriend. Daphne was the only single one in their little group. 

“Don’t remind me,” she huffed, “Maybe I’ll find someone interesting on Tinder.” She replied sarcastically, mentally reminding herself that she had a few people to answer still. She couldn't handle the boring conversations at the moment. It was too much work for something that wouldn’t pay off in the end. 

“And not creepy,” Gillian warned as she held her index finger up, “Best of luck. Love you.” She teased as she walked out of the dorm room, leaving Daphne to wallow in the silence. She had started to rewatch Bridgerton, but had grown bored of that too. She needed something to do. Or someone. 

She was no longer humiliated about Steve not recognizing her, at least not that she would admit to, rather she had grown bitter over the whole ordeal. Sometimes she wondered if going blonde would help jog his memory, but she doubted it. He probably had someone else anyways. 

The most annoying thing was how ridiculously handsome he was all the time. No matter what he wore or how tired he was. His hair was always thick and styled, his pants just a little too tight. She thought it was especially aggravating when he’d roll his sleeves up to his elbows. She didn’t understand why something so simple could drive her so crazy. 

It didn’t help that his class was too hard for her, but she was too proud to approach him. She’d be damned before she made a fool of herself by asking for help, especially over someone that didn’t have the decency to remember her. Absolutely not. 

She scrolled on her phone until there was nothing left to look at, nothing else to distract her from the giant book that kept screaming her name. She knew that she should work on it, but she simply didn’t want to. Putting it off seemed like a much better idea in her opinion.

She rolled around on the couch, resting with her legs up in the air and feet against the wall and dangling her head as she mindlessly scrolled and typed through Tinder. She hated that no one really caught her eye. She felt dumb, sure that with each new picture that popped up she was searching for someone else. It was pathetic.

And then there was Steve. Not the Steve that she was thinking of, but close enough to tame the wild thoughts that were swimming in her mind. A few pleasantries were exchanged before she sent him her snapchat, deciding that he could at least help her get off. 

She wiggled off of the couch, nearly falling on her head before she huffed and pulled herself onto her feet. She walked a little faster to her room, shutting the door despite everyone being gone. She thought her own privacy was still important. 

“Pussylover69,” she huffed as she typed and added the name to her search bar, “How mature.” She spoke to herself, shaking her head. She shouldn’t really be surprised. She had gone searching for him.

She wondered how long she would be doing this, if she would eventually find a boyfriend or if she would just be stuck searching for mindless hookups all the time. She hoped it wasn’t the case. Prayed it wasn’t either. She liked having a boyfriend and she was fairly certain she had been a good lover. Not that she could really ask anyone. Hugh was into the opposite gender and Steve had forgotten about her completely. Okay. Maybe she wasn’t the best lover then. 

“Geez,” she mumbled to herself, a little horrified that two different accounts popped up when she finished typing in the word pussy, “Who are you talking to?” She asked herself, unsure if she really wanted to know that answer or not. Apparently she was fairly desperate when she was down in the dumps. 

She clicked on the account she was sure she had just messaged previously on Tinder, smiling awkwardly as her face popped into view of the camera. She hated trying to find good angles for herself. 

She laid back on the bed, taking a deep exhale as she shifted around until she found something she’d be comfortable with. She pushed the straps of her tank top down until she could slide her arms out freely. She pushed the material down next, letting her boobs fall out as she angled her phone up over her head. She pouted up her lips, scrunched her eyebrows together then stopped as she decided that looked dumb.

She relaxed her features this time, letting her lips part and show off a bit of her teeth as she drifted her eyes towards the camera. He had mentioned liking her eyes after all. Maybe he’d really like how she looked right now.

She stared at the picture once she was done, trying not to critique herself too hard before she sent it. She quickly flipped her phone around, hiding the results from her curious eyes. She thought that the more that she stared at it, the least likely she was to get a response.

Yet she still jumped at the sound of a notification, entering the chat as soon as she saw that Steve was typing. That was a good sign. He seemed cocky from their previous and brief conversation, perhaps he’d be good at dirty talking. She hoped that he would be. 

She waited, watching as a little emoji popped up on her screen before it disappeared a second later. She frowned, hesitating another second before she was notified that Steve took a screenshot. Then that was it. He was gone. Ran off with her nude and left her all alone once again. 

“What a dick,” she gaped, mad that she had sent him her face when he hadn’t even answered back. “Screw you too,” she mumbled as she tossed her phone, wondering how she was supposed to ever find a boyfriend again. 

The stack of papers had been discarded, tossed to the side of the couch as Steve Harvey’s next question popped up on the screen. He looked up for just a moment, pausing his mindless scrolling through the Facebook reels he had gotten dragged into. 

He knew he really, really needed to grade the papers that he had been putting off but he just wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight after he’d already downed his tea and finished off the last of his brownie. Reminding himself that he needed to go to the grocery store soon. 

There wasn’t much he could do, not at the moment. It was late enough that he knew if he tried to text the majority of his friend group that they wouldn’t answer, as they all had kids. Robin was about the only one that would be available this late at night, but he was sure he couldn’t handle her talking about her divorce again. 

He’d really been thinking about the little blonde that he met at the bar around his birthday, but had stupidly been too nervous to message her. So much time had passed that he now figured it would be weird to even try. Even though he thought about her every night. He was fucked. 

There was a redhead in his class too that had caught his attention, just enough for him to think that she was pretty and to move on from there. It was unprofessional, but sometimes he couldn’t stop his eye from wandering just a bit. And he liked her accent. It was cute. But he wouldn’t try anything.

His eyes snapped up towards the notification, signaling an unknown account had messaged him on Snapchat. He didn’t use that much either, other to keep up the streak with Robin as she had insisted it was very important. 

Steve hovered his finger over the little red box before he clicked on it, sure that someone had just accidentally found his account. Or one of his students had. That had happened a few times and tended to grow a little frustrating. Apparently no one else understood to keep all relationships professional like he did. 

He choked on air as the picture popped up, nearly toppled out of his seat as he dropped his phone onto his lap. He stared at fiery red hair, bright blue eyes and a full set up lips. Then his eyes dropped lower. 

Her arms were pressed in against her chest, pushing her tits further out. Her nipples were a bright pink, a soft mole placed delicately underneath the right one. Her skin was slightly flushed, a soft grin on her lips. One that he was certain he recognized. 

He stared at the image in front of him, then watched some more. Then observed it for a little while longer until he took a screenshot and had to inspect it in his camera roll as pieces slowly fell into place. Shit. Daphne. That was Daphne.

And she was the girl in his class too. There was no mistaking it now as the evidence was shoved in front of his face. The hair was different, but everything else was the same. She looked exactly the same. He felt stupid suddenly, unsure of how he’d spent weeks with her and failed to notice. Jesus. He’d been blind. 

He exhaled slowly, heart pounding against his skin as he moved his hand over his growing bulge. He hissed softly, feeling his dick twitch to life as he stared at her picture again. He observed the freckles on her skin, the moles and her perky tits. This was wrong. 

“Shit,” he dropped his phone, shaking his head as he snapped his hand away from his growing cock. He breathed in deeply as he stood up, taking a lap around his apartment as he thought about how wrong it was to think of her in that manner. Accidentally sleeping with her was bad enough, but jerking off to her after what he now knew would be even worse.

He paced with his hands on his hips, trying to think of anything else other than her full lips and sparkly eyes. He didn’t want to think of her laying underneath him, of her breathy moans and soft skin. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in order to calm himself once again. 

The image of her spread underneath him rose in his mind, her fingers knitted in his hair as he buried his tongue into her cunt. He nearly came to a halt at the memory, shutting his eyes as he breathed in the same fantasy he’d been having for weeks now. He’d been craving the taste of her cunt. And this hadn’t helped at all. The desire only grew. 

As he accepted defeat, he gripped his phone a little too tightly before he opened his camera roll to open the picture once again. Even though he was fairly certain it was already burned inside of his mind. The same way she had occupied his thoughts since he’d had a taste of her. Something that he had been craving. 

He licked his bottom lip, eyes greedily inhaling the sight of her once again. He observed her until he was sure that there was nothing left to look at, like he had every detail of her committed to memory.

“Jesus,” he mumbled to himself, blinking hazily as he tried to remind himself of how wrong this was. He shouldn’t be looking at his student in such a way, but he couldn’t help it. His cock was throbbing harder than before, aching in his boxers as he messed with the button on his pajama pants, “Fuck,” he breathed out a moment later as jolts of electricity raced through his body.

His skin warmed despite the wrongness of the whole situation, his mind swirling in pleasure as he rested his phone against his thigh. He freed his long cock, sighing deeply at the way it bounced against his abdomen. Excitement grew in his stomach as the pleasure twisted and turned inside of him. 

He gave himself another quick pause, trying to convince himself that it was wrong before he teasingly brushed his fingers across his cock. He twitched in response, a groan falling free as he imagined her doing the same motions. Surely it wouldn’t be wrong if he still pictured her as a blonde. 

Her blue eyes bore into him as he wrapped his fingers around his girth, picturing it was her slender hand instead. He thought of her sliding between his thighs as he spread his legs further, picturing her amused smirk on her lips. He wondered what she was doing right now, if she was touching herself in a similar manner and thinking of him.

He imagined her all spread out, knees pushed into the air as she rutted up against two of her fingers. He wondered if she would add a third, or if she needed to play with her clit to cum. Or her nipples. 

A deep groan left his lips, his chest rising harshly as he squeezed at the head of his cock. He licked his lips, rubbing the precum across his tip before he spread it down the length of his cock. His head fell back against the chair, sighing deeply in awe as his eyes drifted back towards her pretty tits. 

Memories flashed before his eyes as he thought of the way her nipples had felt against his skin, the way her boobs moved when he had been buried deep inside of her. He whined softly as he stalled his fingers across the base of his cock, rocking his hips forward at the way he teased himself. 

He moved his free hand to tap his finger against the phone screen, lighting the photo up once again as he imagined how big his cock would look pressed between her tits. He imagined that his cock would still slide easily against her skin with enough lube, enough spit. The thought of feeling her heart beating underneath his heavy cock made his eyes flutter. 

He brought a palm against his balls, squeezing softly as he lazily stroked his other hand along the curve of his cock. He hissed each time he reached his tip, thinking of how good it had felt to be buried deep inside of her. He wanted to feel her slender legs wrapped around his waist again, her fingers buried into his shoulders and her lips on his. 

The movement of his hand increased, precum leaking from the head of his cock and leaving his hand wet and sticky. He grunted louder, rutting his hips up into his hand as he continually palmed at his heavy balls as he thought of how pretty she’d look with her lips stretched around his dick.

Sweat formed on the back of his neck, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dragged his palm up and down the length of his cock again. He squeezed at his tip, then paused before he roughly jerked his hand back down towards his base. He gaped, her name falling to the tip of his tongue as pleasure raced through every inch of his body.

He came with a croaked groan, whines falling free as spurts of white shot out from the tip of his cock. He thrusted up slowly, seeking out the last of his pleasure as globs of cum landed in a frenzy against his pants. His orgasm had crashed over him far too quickly, leaving everything far messier than he meant it to be.

His heart was hammering roughly inside of his chest as he slowly released his grip against his dick, which continued to ache as he glanced back to his phone. He pressed against the screen again, bringing the picture brighter as he winced at the spunk that landed against his screen. It coated her tits, her chin. A new desire burned deep within his chest before he could stop it.

Guilt spread through him suddenly, crashing deep inside of him as the pleasure slowly died away. He couldn’t believe that he had really masturbated to her, had secretly saved her photo without her knowing. He knew that it wasn’t a crime to sleep with her before, considering that they hadn’t known each other, but this was wrong. He knew she was his student this time and he’d still done it. 

He felt grossed out by the time he made it to his bathroom, stripping down and stepping into a lukewarm shower. He needed something to chill his body off, to wash away the worried thoughts as he groaned into his hands. He couldn’t believe that the woman he’d been pinning over was someone he was supposed to teach. And off limits. Fuck him. 

Questions arose in place of guilt as he wondered why she hadn’t said anything, how she had acted completely normal about everything until now. She hadn’t said anything and then decided to send her a nude? He couldn’t make sense of what game she was playing or what she expected him to do from this point on.

He wasn’t excited for Monday. 

[remotepixel]

Hello! I love your work so so so much it's so good!! I was just wondering if you could write a platonic yandere Tony stark with a biological male reader who wants to gain independence? Thank you so much 💗💗

Thank you so much, I'm always happy to hear someone likes my work!! <33

Also, thank you for requesting :))

Growing up with a famous father, especially one targeted by numerous terrorist organisations in the past, you have a lot of regulations placed on you.

-Trackers, CCTV, bodyguards (that are only hired after a lengthy questioning), anything you can think of.

-You’d be home-schooled and would only go out if either Tony or Pepper (maybe Rhodey if it was urgent for any reason) can go with you.

-It was a way of keeping you safe at first, but it turns more into a game of keeping you where he wants you.

He knew you would want to explore more as you grew up, and, if if he was being honest, it scared him.

-What if you lost interest in talking to your dad and started hanging out with other people? Other people who could have any intentions and could easily break your heart?

-Or got dragged into danger just because of your ties with him?

-It was selfish to keep you isolated just because of his own insecurities/paranoia, but he justified it for his own mental benefit.

When you first approach him to gain some more independence, he shuts it down real quick.

-If it’s a small idea, like maybe getting your own bank account, he may go along with it, but he’ll probably hit you with an excuse not to.

-Like, “i’m a billionaire, ask and I’ll just get it for you”.

-He probably sounds patronizing on accident, which doesn’t help when you’re trying to be taken seriously for once.

-If it’s something pretty out there, like wanting to move out, you’re getting questioned (after a long silence).

-He’ll try to hide how offended/upset he feels about you even bringing up the idea but you can easily tell.

-He’ll desperately refute anything you’re saying, even if it means missing the point sometimes.

-You don’t want to completely cut him out of your life, but that’s what he’s assuming.

-He’s given you everything he can, done everything he can to be the best father? and yet you don’t seem to care (you do, mf is spiralling).

Obviously, the conversation ends with no but, in the aftermaths, he’ll think over your suggestions with a clearer head.

-I think the overall outcome of this depends on your personality.

-For example, if the sheltered-ness of your childhood is obvious and/or you’re more naïve than most, he’s more inclined to keep with disagreeing.

-You don’t know what it’s like without him, and he thinks you won’t be able to cope.

-However, if you’re more confident, aware of the world outside your bubble, he has a higher chance of agreeing.

-Though, not fully of course.

-It’d be more of a compromise that gives you the technicalities and him the actual power.

-For example, he’ll give you your own apartment. However, he’s paying for it all (meaning you have no control over your own finances), it’s extremely close to his, he shows up whenever (aka everyday), there’s probably CCTV outside and still trackers installed onto your devices, etc.

-It’s like you’ve moved into a slightly bigger bedroom rather than your own house.

He wants you to be happy, and you might be able to push your luck if you act upset over his decision, but, at the end of the day, he’s your father first - what he says, goes.

If keeping you in the tower, somewhere safe where he can watch over you, is the only way he feels content? That’s the life you have to live with, even if it means threatening your independence.

[pensat-i-fet]

Dream team (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**So this is the other CL related imagine I got for you but there is a bit of a twist. I was asked to give the characters some backstory, hence why this is more than just about the CL and the celebrations. I like that the request was more specific like this since it’s more interesting for me to write and hopefully for you to read. I hope you enjoy it! ❤️**

Word count: 2452

Masterlist

Wattpad

Every time a kid decides to play football, the dreams begin. I’ll win the Champions League one day, I’ll represent my country in a World Cup, …

For you, those dreams seemed harder to reach, since women’s football wasn’t treated seriously when you were a child. But that didn’t stop you from dreaming or from playing. If no other girls wanted to play, you didn’t care. You’d join the boys playing in the park, not giving them the chance of saying you weren’t allowed there. That’s how one day you met another little boy who also had very big dreams.

“Who is she? And why is she better than all of you?”, asked little Rúben to one of his friends, who just shrugged.

He always tried to get you on his team but was never chosen as a captain even if he knew he’d be one in the future. You were chosen last most of the time because of the boys’ stupidity and refusal to acknowledge you were better than them. But that still meant he got to play on your team sometimes. Most of the time, however, you were on opposite teams because the other team’s captain had a crush on you and started to pick you just so he could talk to you. And while Rúben was a defender, you were a striker…so things didn’t always end up in a nice way for you two.

“Stop kicking me!”, complained Rúben.

“You are the one who’s always kicking me!”

“I’m a defender. I’m just trying to take the ball from you”.

“And because you’re so bad, you end up kicking me”.

The bickering went on for years. But also, a friendship started to grow between you two. People were always shocked when they saw you laugh at Rúben’s comments that you couldn’t play well because you were a girl. Because they didn’t get it was you two joking. And you told him about plenty of things he was allegedly bad at for being a stupid boy. He understood you and respected you…but there were things he didn’t fully understand.

One of the reasons why so many girls give up sports while they’re teens is reaching puberty and when it was time for you to face that, it was more challenging than you expected. Growing pains were bad enough but playing when you had your period almost made you cry. But you didn’t give up.

“Ahhh!”, you yelled when another boy elbowed you in the stomach. The way you held your lower stomach made the boy worry. He didn’t want to hurt you, he just tried to push you out of his way.

“Come on”, laughed Rúben, not realizing the seriousness of your pain. “You hit me like that all the time and I don’t complain. You’re so weak”.

“Yes, because I’m a girl, right?”, you screamed at his face and got up to leave.

Rúben didn’t understand why you reacted like that. You always joked about the other being weak. Why was it different now? He didn’t know how weird it felt for you to be going through all those changes. And even if he knew, he wouldn’t understand them because he wasn’t going through the same and never was going to.

Your reaction worried him, so he tried to follow you. It must have been serious if you were reacting and leaving like that. And it didn’t take him long to find you because you were sitting on the floor not far from the park, crying.

“Hey! Are you ok? I didn’t realise he hit you so badly. Do you need a doctor or something? Can I see the bruise? No, maybe better if I don’t or I’ll go back and punch him”.

“Rúben, shut up”.

“Tell me you’re ok and I will”.

“I am, it’s not an injury. I…have my period”.

“It’s that…the thing where…emmm…you know?”

That made you laugh. You were both barely teens, of course he found periods gross. You didn’t find them that appealing either.

“Yes, that thing”.

“So he didn’t hurt you?”

“No. Just touched the area that already hurt”.

You both stayed silent for a second before you hugged your legs with one arm and your stomach with the other to try and get some relief from the pain.

“You should go home and have some medicine”.

“It hurts to walk”, you admitted. When you tried to leave, the pain stopped you from moving further.

Rúben tried to think quickly of what to do. He could call your parents but he wasn’t sure they were home. And he knew his were still at work. So it’d have to be him who helped you.

“Give me your hand”, he said, standing from where he was sitting next to you.

“I can’t”.

“Just stand. It’ll be fine. I promise”.

So you took his hand and stood with his help. That only made the pain worse and you tried to sit back again but Rúben didn’t let you. He bent down to lift you in his arms so he could carry you home.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you home. Do you have a better idea?”

You laughed, grateful for a friend like him. “You just want to show off how strong you are, right? Taking the damsel in distress home”.

“I might throw the damsel to the nearest river if she doesn’t stop talking”, he bantered back, smiling.

When you got to your house, he asked for your keys to open the door.

“Just ring the bell. Dad should be back already”.

But there was no need because your dad had seen you approaching the house and ran to the door to see what had happened to you.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

“It’s period cramps, dad. Mum told you it could happen again”.

“She did…come in. Take her to her room and I’ll take it from there. Thank you, Rúben”.

“Not a problem”.

After Rúben left you in your room, he went downstairs to say goodbye to your dad, who was getting ready a hot water bottle for you.

“I’ll leave now. See you soon”.

“Thank you again, Rúben”.

“No need to thank me”.

“By the way, don’t take too long to ask her out or someone might beat you to it”.

“What?”, the colour was drained from Rúben’s face.

“She’ll say yes, don’t worry”.

And even though Rúben was almost scared of being near you for a whole week, worried your dad had made similar comments to you, he didn’t take long to ask you out. And of course, you said yes.

                                      **

The first dream to achieve was to at least make it to professional player and it ended up being fairly easy for you and Rúben. Everyone could spot your talent easily and both of you loved working hard. So dream one was accomplished.

Winning a trophy was easier for Rúben but the advantage of playing for one of the biggest teams in Portugal also helped. But you won trophies too. And the result of all that success was getting offers to go play in other leagues.

That was a dream you didn’t necessarily prioritise. But still, you did better than Rúben, getting a move to play for Barcelona before he signed for City. That came with the challenge of being in a long-distance relationship but if someone could make it work, it’d be you two.

“I can’t believe you’re not here supporting me. You’re so mean”.

“Ha ha! You’re so funny, Rúben. I’m playing to win my second Champions League, not a silly cup”.

He laughed but then sighed. “I hate this. I want to be there with you. And both of our matches are at the same time so I can’t even watch it on tv”.

“I know”.

Whoever decided to schedule the FA Cup and the Women’s Champions League final on the same day and at the same exact time deserved a slap in the back of the head. You also wanted to be there for Rúben or to at least see him on TV. But the biggest match of the season awaited you.

Winning the Champions was that dream all kids had and you had already achieved it. But losing the final last year hurt so much, you all wanted revenge. And you got it. You got to lift the trophy with all your teammates again. There was no better feeling.

Well, actually there was. Because in both Eindhoven and London, two players ran to the bench after their matches ended to ask for the result of the match their partner was playing. And after finding out you had both won, the happiness you both felt was even bigger.

yourusername well-deserved rest with my fellow Champions League winners!! 🏆🍹🏝️

-marialeonn16: 👑👑

-keirawalsh: love you! ❤️

-rubendias: not trying to say it’s not deserved but…

  -yourusername: Rúben, stop.

  -rubendias: but your boyfriend plays the Champions League final tomorrow and will miss seeing you there supporting him.

  -yourusername: he’ll survive.

  -alexiaputellas: you two are adorable! 🤣

What Rúben didn’t know was that you were going to cut your trip with your teammates short to go to Istambul and see him play. As if you were going to miss the final!

You debated whether to let him know you were there before or after the match. But after spotting you there, some of the pundits called your name to get you to do a quick interview for their channels.

Rúben heard your name when he was going out to warm up and felt very confused…until he saw you standing there. When you noticed him looking at you, you waved and laughed. The camera also turned to see him and they caught his little run towards you.

"I can't believe you're here", he said, hugging you.

"Did you really think I would miss it? Give me some credit, babe".

"I have to go. But I'm winning it for you. You know that, right?"

"I already have two Champions Leagues. Win it for you", you joked, but he could see you tearing up. Because the beauty of both of you being so successful was feeling like your victories didn't just belong to each one of you but to both.

After giving you a quick kiss, he left to join his teammates again.

"So that was Rúben", you joked, looking back at the camera and trying not to show all the emotions you were feeling. "He was just asking me for some advice on how to win a major trophy".

Not that he needed that advice, because a couple of hours later, he was also a Champions League winner. Both of you had accomplished that dream now.

You knew how painful it was not having him by your side after you won your trophy so it didn't take you long to join him on the pitch to celebrate with him.

"I'll photoshop you on my trophy pics so we can put both at home", you told him while posing with the trophy. "Oh, and there is a Portuguese channel that wanted to interview us if you won".

You took his hand to lead him to where the journalists were but he stopped you.

"What's wrong? Why are you making me move around? And you're barely looking at me".

"Because if I look at you I'll cry".

"Don't be so mean, I didn't have time to shower and do my hair after the match".

When you finally looked at him, as promised, you started to cry. "Why am I so proud of you? I hate this. I don't like crying in public".

Rúben just laughed and hugged you again, letting you hide your face against his chest. "I'm really proud of you too".

When you were done crying, you both walked to do the interview.

"It's a shame you don't have your trophy and medal with you today. We would love a couples photo with the two champions. You have to make that happen".

"We'll try", you laughed.

"I can't help with the trophy because I don't even know where hers is but we can share the medal tonight".

He took his medal off to put it around your neck.

"Will you be joining the City celebrations?"

"Of course. Rúben can't be left alone around alcohol", you joked.

"Oh, are you uncovering his secrets? Is he a party boy?"

"No, the opposite. And he can't handle drinking much. So many muscles but still…such a lightweight".

Rúben was rolling his eyes. "It's not true".

"Sure, honey. It's not true at all…but I'll be there just in case".

Even if Rúben had to leave a few times to get photos done with the team and to do more interviews, it never took him long to get back to you.

"Maybe we could skip the party", he whispered in your ear.

"You'll regret missing it if you do. But we don't have to stay there long".

"You're right".

So off to the party it was and, well, you hated being always right but you knew your boyfriend well. So when you saw him vomit after just a couple of shots, you were the only one there who wasn't surprised. Most of his teammates were laughing their heads off, of course. Both the ones who were sober and the ones who had drunk more than you and Rúben had in your entire lives.

"Come here, big boy. Let's take you to the bathroom".

"I feel fine", he complained.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. Vomiting is a great feeling".

After making sure he was ok, you ordered him some water and he actually felt good enough to stay at the party a little longer. Some of the alcohol got to his system before he was sick, and he kept you on the dancefloor for a while.

When you noticed people starting to leave for the hotel, you told Rúben you should go too. He looked so tired.

"Today was such a good day", he sighed when he was finally able to lie down in bed.

"You think? I think I should have stayed in the Maldives with the girls".

"Nooo! You belong here with me".

"With my Champions League winner?", you asked, laying down next to him and putting your head on his chest, right next to where his medal was.

"Yes, with me. Can you believe we've achieved all this? I sometimes have to pinch myself to make sure it's not a dream. It feels like it was yesterday when we were playing at the park and joking about all the trophies we were going to win. No one else in the group won anything".

"I know, but we did. Together".

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  Skepsis_Ree! @skepsiss has 16 fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and 15 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @skepsiss:

The Last Strange Thing

It's Snowing In Hawkins

Long Road Ahead

House to ourselves

Modern Problems, Modern Solutions

"Bailey's fics are phenomenal and they don't get enough love!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @skepsiss answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

a) Why does anyone latch onto any pairing? Something about Steve and Eddie grabbed my attention like no other ship has in years. I’ve always liked Stranger Things, but I never shipped anything from it until season 4 and until I saw the on-screen dynamic of Steve and Eddie. It felt so fun, and I just constantly saw Steddie art popping up on my dash, so I was looking more and more at it until I just said OKAY, I’M GOING ALL IN and started writing private fan fictions for just one of my friends who encouraged me to post them. b)Why do I still write Steddie? Probably because of my pals Eddy and Jess who talk to me about the lads day in and day out <3

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I’m really bad at reading fan fics, to be honest, and I don’t actually enjoy reading tropes. The closest thing to a trope I like to read is probably just “they’re in love” or “they will fall in love.” I like good stories, regardless of the setting or the trope.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Does angst count? I pretty much just write angst! I love drama, angst, and exploring miscommunication! Supernatural elements are also super fun, and of course, I love horror, but those things feel more like genre rather than tropes. But I am also a sucker for a happy ending, so you can sort of expect that from me.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

My fav fic is “No Regrets” by @/strangersteddierthings I loved it so much that I made a graphic for it, and Jess uses it as a banner for the fic now!

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I try to avoid tropes in my writing, (unless you count drama and angst, lol), so I’m not really sure how to answer this. I’ve never written a classic “there is only one bed” or “coffee shop au” or ANYTHING like that, so maybe I should try and do an actual, classic trope. I don’t think I’ve ever, EVER written a REAL trope before, tbh. I’m actually really curious what people would suggest for me to write, if anyone has a suggestion, I’m all ears!

What is your writing process like?

If I’m looking for a story idea, I usually play the “3-word game” to generate an idea. It works like this: I ask someone to give me 1 word that is a Person (priest, character from a show, sister, etc), a Place (NYC, a house, tombstone, etc), and an Object (pen, houseplant, knife, etc) and then I try and connect those 3 things. That usually helps me generate an idea and develop an interesting story. My other method is… I have wild dreams and wake up with a fully-formed scene in my brain, and I deconstruct that scene in order to find out how I can create a story to get to that point. I also write super fast, so I try and get the idea down on paper asap, or I’ll lose interest and never write it. If I’m writing for a Big Bang or something, I have usually finished writing that fic like… months before I need to post it.

Do you have any writing quirks?

A say “though” a lot, start sentences with “so,” and say “a bit” or “a little bit” in my writing a lot. An example would be “He wasn’t alive though, he didn’t ‘have a life’ to speak of, so this was what exactly?”

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

As soon as I finish!!!! I have a hard time holding back….

Which fic are you most proud of?

That I have posted? Probably “The Last Strange Thing.” It is my longest one. But I have one that I will be posting soon that I am very proud of that I have been working on for a while called “Senior Year” which I’ve been writing on and off since November 2022. I finally buckled down and finished writing it for the Steddie Big Bang and I’ll be posting it this year!

How did you get the idea for The Last Strange Thing?

“The Last Strange Thing” was written for a Reverse Big Bang in collaboration with @/llamalpaca. They created an amazing art piece of Steve and Robin in apocalypse gear, and it got the wheels turning in my brain about an apocalypse AU which reminded me of a conversation I had with a pal about “The Last of Us.” It inspired a whole tale in my brain about Steve and all of the “Stranger Things” party existing in a “The Last of Us” world, so I mashed them together and started writing a story.

When writing The Last Strange Thing, what was something you didn’t expect?

I plan out my stories pretty thoroughly, but something I feel is a very “weak point” in my writing is “action scenes,” so I really surprised myself by even ATTEMPTING to tackle something like “The Last Strange Thing,” which has so much action in it. At first, I sort of assumed I would avoid action as much as possible and make the story about the journey, but as I plotted things out, I just kept making plot points that involved more and more action so when I sat down to write it… I was really surprised that everything flowed together so well and the action felt really natural. Lots of people even complimented my action writing, which felt amazing, cause I’ve always felt it was a weakness!

What inspired It's Snowing In Hawkins?

“It’s Snowing In Hawkins” was a request for a mini-Steddie Winter Exchange where a secret exchanger submitted three requests/tropes/inspirations, and you got to choose from them. One of them involved a snowman-building contest, and Eddie “schooling the younger members of the party.” Another part of the request was that they DID NOT WANT ANY ANGST, so that was a big challenge for me! So it was all fluff, and I thought giving Eddie a slightly ADHD-sideways assignment from “snowman” felt fitting for him. Thus, snow-dome and Steve and Eddie getting some private time in the snow together. That, and at that point, I had never written “virgin Eddie” before, so I thought it would be super cute to explore.

What was your favorite part to write from House to ourselves?

Oh geez, this one is almost PWP, but I think probably just the adult-domestic side of it. Just two dads… getting to be dads. Their young kids are away for the weekend, and they get to take a nap together? There is something so… luxurious about that as an adult (I don’t have kids, but working full-time doesn’t give you enough time for naps either) that feels so nice and REAL about that, haha.

How do/did you feel writing Modern Problems, Modern Solutions?

I really wanted to channel shitty-teen energy. This was the most TEENAGE ANGST AND TEEN DRAMA story I’ve written. Everyone in the story is properly a teen in this, and I dug deep to remember what it felt like to be a teenager again. So I guess what I was feeling was… teen spirit.

What was the most difficult part of writing Long Road Ahead?

This is a really emotional fic, actually. Probably the hardest chapters to write were chapters 2 and 3 where we see the intense yearning between Eddie and Steve and how both of them truly believe that nothing would work between them—Eddie because he thinks Steve doesn’t like him, and with Steve, it is because he is terrified about being queer. I think the toughest thing about writing this was challenging Steve’s intense internal homophobia. That’s something that isn’t explored a lot in fic, and it does not feel good, so I get it, but I think it’s realistic for the 80s. Steve being really scared about his own feelings would be something a lot of boys would struggle with in that era, especially as a handsome, sporty guy who really thinks he is straight up until that point where he falls HARD for his guy friends uncontrollably. It’s difficult to write characters who have polar opposite opinions compared to yourself, but I find it really interesting, and it makes it really fun to write them GROWING OUT of that mindset.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I don’t think I can pick a line because it has been too long since I have written any of those fics, but scene-wise, I think one of my favourite scenes is from one of my stories called “Tooth and Nail” where EDDIE is the one struggle with the idea of being queer and Steve is the one who has “come out” first. Anyway, Eddie is sitting on one side of a door, and he has no idea if Steve is listening to him or not, but he is confessing all of his feeling of “I messed up, and I don’t know how I feel, but I know I messed up and I’m sorry.” Also later, he cries about it to Steve and gets so embarrassed he pulls his shirt over his head to hide the fact that he is crying, and I still think that is adorable. I really like both of those scenes.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

a) If you haven’t read “Tooth and Nail” you should, it’s older but up on my Tumblr. b) New project wise though!!!! I HAVE THREE NEW ONES! c) “Batter Up” just dropped on June 16th and is a 14,000 word fluff fic for the Steddie Summer Exchange. It’s about Baseball!Player Steve and Rockstar!Eddie meeting and falling in love. d) “Momento Mori” is my Wayne & Steve (with Steddie of course) fic for the Stranger Things Big Bang that will be posting in July, so keep an eye on my Tumblr and/or my Ao3. My artist @/the-aphelion-archives has some really cool art being cooked up, so stay tuned for that! e) And last but not least, my Steddie piece “Senior Year” will be posted for the Steddie Big Bang at the end of this summer/early fall during the bang with art made by @/metalfreaks86! This is my 50k fic that spans from just after Season 2 to after Season 4, and involves a lot of heartbreak, and first loves. Keep an eye on my Tumblr and Ao3 for that one too because we do not yet have a release date.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thank you to whoever nominated me! I often feel like my fics aren’t for everyone because I tend to write for a more serious audience and tackle tougher topics and that just isn’t an overly popular medium in fan fiction––which is fine! Because fan fiction is escapism and I know people use it to feel good, and sometimes you don’t want to read sad stuff. So, I really appreciate people who take the time to read my sad stuff (that ends happily every time, cause I also like happy things haha), and enjoy my hard work. Genuinely, every time I feel like throwing in the towel because I think I’m writing into the void, some little kudo-kween pops up and reminds me that my writing is appreciated. Thanks gang <3 Also!!!! I am ALWAYS accepting requests. Anyone and EVERYONE (anon or not) is welcome to pop into my inbox on Tumblr at ANY TIME to make a Steddie fic request, be that a trope, a tiny Steddie idea or whatever. And if you’ve made a request and I’ve forgotten… please ask again!

Thank you to our author, @skepsiss, and our anonymous nominator! See more of Skepsis_Ree's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[prolix-yuy]

For the Bangathon: Snuggling spoon with Javi G or Oberyn?

Ahhhhh we love ourselves a little snuggly sexxin'! Oberyn was calling to me for this one, but it may be a little more tense than we think...

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

Position: Snuggled Spoon

Word Count: 1419 (see how these get longer the more of them I write? I have no self-control)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), fingering (f receiving), allusions to public sex, cum tasting, hate sex, Oberyn is an affectionate bastard.

Notes: A follow-up to this drabble, because I wanted to see how it all panned out.

“How are your accommodations, little scorpion?”

The infuriating voice of her captor (and failed assassination attempt) drifts through her cell bars. Remaining on her side on the floor, only a few crumpled blankets to soften the uncomfortable stone, she ignores his question. 

It wasn’t the first time the Prince had visited during her imprisonment. She’d screamed and railed against him the first time, tried to claw at him the second. Every spitfire reaction left him with a smarmy smile, standing just out of reach. He pulled little bits of information out of her each time - who sent her (a prominent family tired of the house leaders), what her plan was (to poison him and flee to Westeros), if she’d ever cum that hard with a lover she chose (silence). The game was more intriguing to him than she’d hoped, praying for his attention to drift so she could devise a way to escape. But every passing day he visits, and every day she grows wearier of her predicament.

Today, she’s done with this game. Her stomach is empty yet again, body aching, and hope waning. Her employers feign ignorance of her plan, abandoning her as she should have guessed. There was no one coming to reward her for her loyalty. 

“Oh come now, has all your fire finally burned out?” Oberyn purrs, but she doesn’t rise to his challenge. She’d overheard the guards speaking of an execution date, fast approaching. What does this sparring matter when she’s about to be erased from history? A blip only in the mind of a small few, forgotten when larger matters loom. 

Oberyn hums, then calls to a guard. Her interest piques for a moment, the rusty clank of keys and the creak of her door opening urging her to roll over and watch. The Prince, in his fine mustard robes and heavy jewelry, steps into the cell. The door closes behind him, even though the guard’s wary face hovers nearby. She sits fully, glaring up at her captor. He only chuckles, leaning back against the bars.

“So I have your attention finally,” he drawls, crossing his arms and raking his gaze over her body. They’d swapped her gauze and silk for a rough shift, the fabric barely keeping her warm in the night. The vulnerability makes her skin crawl.

“If it pleases the Prince of Dorne,” she spits, turning to lay back on her side. Her hands itch to press her thumbs into his eyes, but what good would it do? Speed up the sentence from days to minutes?

“Oh come now, little scorpion, I’ve already commended you on how much your subterfuge entertained me,” he tuts, steps light and cat-like approaching. “Easily the most fun I’ve had in months. And all our sparring over these last days. Don’t let your current state tamp out your fury. It’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

She stays firmly turned to the wall as he sits beside her, the heat of his body melting the ice along her spine. Denying the satisfaction of her relief, she bites down on her lip.

“I’ve never had such a…” he begins again, trying to win her attention for some mystifying reason, before he stops. His fingers brush against her bare arm. “You’re freezing.”

She snorts, very unladylike. “Maybe I’ll perish from the cold before my beheading.”

Suddenly she’s surrounded by warmth, eyes shooting open. The man she was conscripted to kill is now draping his robe around her, bare expanse of his chest snug to her back. His breath dances along her cheek, and try as she might a shudder loosens her limbs.

“Little scorpion, I would not have you suffer,” he says, and the somber tone drips wonder on her skin. Perhaps ill-advised, but she presses back against his blazing heat, wondering if all desert men are this scorching or if it’s only Oberyn. His palm comes up to her arm and warms her skin. A reedy sound of relief catches in her throat. 

Before she can protest his hand travels over her stomach to cup her sex. Such boldness would normally result in the loss of a hand, but at the barest brush her core aches. Much as she hates to admit it (and never would to the Prince), she had dreamt of his touch more than once.

“I can warm you much better than this,” Oberyn purrs in her ear, his wicked fingers already creeping below her shift.

“What makes you think I would want your touch, my Prince?” She tries to hold her voice steady but his fingers are already swiping at her folds.

“This,” he gloats, bringing his soaked fingers to her face. Her arousal gleams thickly. “I think you would positively gush on me again.” Without pretense he drags his fingers into his mouth, sucking indulgently. She turns and watches him, pure sin and infuriating charm. His eyes open, and by the gods, they’re ravenous. 

“Will you take what your Prince gives you, little scorpion?” he demands, and every fiber of her being is screaming to deny him, but her parted lips and slow nod betray her. He smiles wickedly, tugging his cock from his pants to slide between her clenched thighs. Passing over her weeping cunt, he props himself up to closely watch her face. 

“I have dreamt of this cunt since you gave it to me, fucked my fist at the memory of you clenching around me,” he spits out, notching his blunt head at her at her entrance. “And now, I’ll do it again. But this time, you’ll scream my name.”

With a forceful thrust he buries himself inside her, the blinding sensation of fullness and sharp pleasure driving her to tuck into herself. He tuts and yanks her back against his chest, hand loosely around her throat as he sets a toe-curling pace. His teeth scrape her ear as he pants.

“Tight, wet, perfect little thing. Did you think your beauty and wiles would keep me from seeing your true nature?” he hisses, plunging his other hand between her legs to pinch her clit between his fingers. All she can do is wail and rock against his hold, hands scrabbling back to grip his pounding hips. “I’ve had many a pleasure, indulged all my vices, but making you cum on my cock as you tried to kill me…now that was a new experience.” 

Her breath whistles out through clenched teeth, wishing her body didn’t mold to his so readily. Nails digging into his hips, he growls and nips at her skin. Her orgasm is fast approaching, cursing and praising his skill as he pointedly strokes her clit and pounds into the perfect place inside. 

“Yes, my dangerous little scorpion, all glittering and deadly, cum for me a second time. I want your cunt to only desire how well I fuck it.” A quick strum of his fingers and her body traitorously snaps around him, only held in check by his grip and the roar of his snarl in her ear. When her body laxes he manhandles her to her back, lifting her hips off the ground as he slaps into her with reckless thrusts. A few more and he pulls out, fisting his cock and mashing his lips to hers as he cums in the palm of his hand. 

His lips are full and soft, the scratch of his mustache and beard burning against her skin. He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, full and domineering, but when she presses back with teeth and a lap of her own his hips stutter between hers. They kiss messily, licking and biting and panting against each other’s mouths until he finally lifts up and looks down at her. The Prince of House Martell, flushed and satiated, eyes just as dark and promising. 

“I stand by what I said during your arrest,” he says lightly, standing and shrugging off the floor-length robe. He drapes it over her body, sauntering to the cell door with only low-slung pants and the golden expanse of his back. She sits up, clutching the robe to her chest still warm. “You may beat us all to the Iron Throne one day, with that tenacity of yours.” 

One hand pulls the door shut…but not quite. Not enough for the latch to catch, but enough for the guards to believe so. Her eyes snap from the door to Oberyn’s eyes, challenge and conquest pooling in them.

“Come try and kill me again if you can, little scorpion.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

I saw a post a couple days ago that I really wish I reblogged and now I can’t find it. It talked about how to combat the feeling of being unproductive. So unproductive that you can’t seem to be able to do anything, even your own interests. That feeling can stem from taking a break and you can’t seem to come back from it, or you’re just out of energy/spoons or depressed. Their solution seemed too good to be true.

Do just one thing.

I tried it. I have been doing the dishes. That’s my one thing. I haven’t been able to make myself do anything else but for the past 4 days I have done whatever dishes are there. At first it was too many so I saved some for the next day. That was still too many so I saved some for the next day. And I kept doing it until I had no more to do.

It’s dishes, and I might only have just done some fucking dishes but that feeling went away. The feeling of not being able to do something. The unproductive rut that is hard to get out of.

I don’t fully understand the psychology behind it but just doing the dishes has led me to be able to do one of my hobbies, like writing. I’ve wrote more in the past 4 days than I have in the past 3 months. I’ve even started to think about trying to do more than just the dishes. Maybe tomorrow I can do the dishes and clean the floors.

Will I be able to? I don’t know but I’m going to try. And even if I can’t I’ll just do the dishes for now.

[campbyler]

ok. a genuine question. how do u guys write 20-30k *chapters* bc i will outline fics minutely or i will just let myself start writing based off a vibe & either way i will get 600 words out of maybe. two hours of work. on a good day with no distractions/interruptions, & i very much do not have an uninterrupted two hours to write very often, so you can imagine how slowly things get written T_T so i’m interested if there’s any aspect of any of your writing processes that really enables u guys to write so much or if it’s not really something you think about? anyways i really like ur guys’s work, & thank you for deciding to write for byler bc i know me and a lot of people enjoy it a lot. thanks!!

hello !! this is a super valid question and i’ll try my best to answer it for you 😗✌️

andi infamously writes a lot faster than thea and i do (she finished draft 1 of chapter 3 in like. two days. which was so scary. i’m in awe of her fr) but she has also spent a lot of time editing ch3 so it’s definitely not like these chapters are publish-ready in a short amount of time by any means! it took thea a couple of months total to fully write + edit ch1 and it took me about 3.5 weeks to write ch2 and another two weeks to edit it which is part of the reason we’ve spaced out our posting schedule like we have — we put a lot of effort and care into these updates and we want to give ourselves as much time as possible to get ahead before all 3 of us inevitably get so super busy with work and/or school in the fall!! so while we do write a lot, please don’t think we are so insanely speedy about it because unless we are having Really Good Writing Days, that’s definitely not the case. sometimes we do have days where we are really in the zone and write more than usual, but at least for me, this is so so so rare. whatever i write in this time gets heavily edited because so much of it was nonsensical brain vomit LOL

as far as writing process goes, i think one of the things that motivates us a lot is that we genuinely do just talk about this au constantlyyyyy like we’re always coming up with silly little hcs or drawing for it or adding to the Lore ™️so we’re always getting inspired to write! all three of us are definitely people who use writing as a way to relax or even reward ourselves after a long day; we would probably die if we had to go too long unable to :/ messages like “i can’t wait to get home and write after work today” or “i’m going to write a little bit of ___ before bed because i deserve it” are very commonly found in our gc because we really just look forward to it so much! as for our scary word counts, i feel like there is a lot of worldbuilding in this universe specifically, and pacing is really important to us — we want to make sure introductions and set-up to a scene and character interactions are meaningful and flow naturally, and building tension (which is a hallmark of this fic hehe) does take some time, which can definitely add up word count-wise.

for the most part, none of us usually have a solid few hours to sit and write either (unless it’s on our days off or after work if we’re not too tired) and we get a lot of writing done in chunks! we hold each other accountable for short check-ins (“ask me for a snip in 30 minutes”) which is super helpful when you’re stuck, because it kind of forces you to get Something down without worrying if it’s super polished and edited and perfect. if you’re writing on your own, something i’ve started doing lately is setting a 15 minute timer and just seeing how much i can get done in that time, and then setting another and doing it again (up until however much time you have to write that day). i’ve found that the artificial deadline helps break the monotony of sitting in front of your computer for Hours on end with nothing to show for it bc TRUST we’ve all been there and it sucks so bad 😔✊

this got super long so i apologize but i hope at least a little bit of it was helpful! it definitely helps that we are constantly feeding into each other (i.e: having brainrot) and offering inspiration and advice, which does wonders for creative flow tbh. we’re definitely not cranking these chapters out as quickly as people might seem to think — thea started chapter four, which won’t be posted for about a month, maybe a week or two ago. i just started chapter 5 — about 6 weeks away — yesterday lol so we do take our time! don’t be scared by the giant chapters, we just had a lot of content we wanted to include in each one and are in too deep to take anything out 🥳🥳 thank you for the question! good luck with your writing we believe in you 🫡

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Thank you for writing for Lackadaisy. You’re the only one I’ve found so far.

Could you do Reader being Atlas’s sibling and Mitzi’s in law deciding to help her with the speakeasy since they have a sibling like relationship with her? Absinthe or one shot dealer’s choice if you decide to.

Atlas’ death was a major blow for everyone. Y/N was no different, being his sibling. It was a wonder they were out of the house as early as they were.

However, someone had to make sure Mitzi was making it okay. She was infatuated with the tomcat, regardless of whether or not their marriage was on the rocks at the time. That was their story, anyway, and they were sticking to it.

Y/N and Mitzi meet about three weeks into her time dating Atlas. They hit it off almost immediately. Mitzi was a good sweet-talker, but Y/N grew up with Atlas and knew when someone was trying to worm their way in and when to slam the door on them. Manipulating Y/N was not going to happen, but it was fun watching Mitzi tried until she clued in that this cat was just as sharp as their brother.

Their relationship only flourished from there. Mitzi dropped the act a little bit and opened up to them, the nights she wasn’t with Atlas or the band she spent with Y/N and the two were seen as thick as thieves. Needless to say, Y/N barely hesitated to give Mitzi their blessing to marry their brother.

They were also a regular at the Lackadaisy speakeasy. They hung out with Ivy as her kittensitter, they attempted to talk to Mordecai, they helped run the bar if need be and found new hire Rocky to be hysterical. Atlas had a beautiful queen cat on his arm, a sibling watching his family’s back, an empire running booze like water and a legacy that seemed like it would never end.

And then he died, and it almost all went up in smoke.

Rocky and Y/N had to be Mitzi’s rock for a little while, although she was likely reluctant to tell them. Y/N stepped up to run things when it overwhelmed her and we all know what Rocky got up to. In their own ways, it helped more than she wants to admit.

Y/N paid for Atlas’ funeral, Rocky ran things while she was away. Y/N came over on the nights Mitzi couldn’t sleep, Rocky made up bombastic poems to make her smile. Y/N helped pay for things when money started running low, Rocky took up rumrunning to keep bringing money in. Every little thing either one could think of, they went out of their way to do it.

In return, Mitzi gave Y/N a job when they wound up losing theirs and gave Rocky a concrete place to stay, at least for now. Lady fortune finally seemed to smile on the little ragtag family of five (later six when Freckle was roped in).

When Wick entered the picture and Mitzi started showing interest, Y/N was all for it. Mitzi had never let herself go, but she was clearly preening more often now that there was another cat that caught her eye. If money wasn't an issue Y/N would suggest Mitzi take things a step further and fully go out with him–not just on one random adventure that ends in a kiss, but a full-out date.

Rocky’s extreme distaste for Wick is the first crack in their friendship. Y/N doesn’t see anything wrong with him: he’s kind to Mitzi, he’s sweet to everyone around him, he likes Y/N and seems to genuinely love Mitzi. Still, the crack is enough for them to keep quiet and not rock the boat and Rocky never elaborates on his distate's foundation.

It stays like that for a little while. Rocky and Y/N kinda-sorta-but-not-really walking on eggshells around each other whenever Wick gets brought up in conversation, Y/N running things in the background, Mitzi putting more and more trust into them. Maybe one day she’ll tell them just what exactly happened to their brother, since all anyone ever told them was that he was dead.

Does their relationship get better or worse with passing events? I’ll leave that up to your interpretation.