#tw eyelash plucking

[feelingunfulfilled]

Me: oh wow look at me go I’m doing such a great job managing my stress I haven’t plucked my eyelashes in forever-

*plucks two eyelashes during test*

Me: ……HMMMMMMMM

[whump-queen]

begging someone to hold a gun to my head so my brain will finally make me do my dishes, laundry, vacuuming, job applications, emails, messages,, just to get anything done at all without constantly wanting to die

[eddiebuckley-diaz]

Straight up having a shit time rn 😄

TW: needles

Was drawing someone’s blood at work, moment I pull the needle out, I get poked in the thumb when I was closing and disposing it in the sharps

So now I have to get tested for all the lovely blood pathogens and I hate my life (tho that part ain’t new)

[angel-of-the-moons]

Carry-Ons

Anselm Vogelweide x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Anselm being a shameless weirdo, sex toys, NSFW stuff, references to sex so not for kiddies!

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I blame @reallyrallyauthor for this asjlsnodn. I haven't seen the movie yet but from your writings plus the scene comps I've seen I got this stupid ass idea in my head I have to spit out. Feeling a bit under the weather because of a tummy bug but I'm hoping to get over it so we can still make the family trip.

💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰

When his private plane was down due to a recall on vital parts, Anselm was livid. He had planned on treating you to a nice rural trip for the two of you, where no distractions or "business" aims to worry about. Where--he hoped--the two of you would spend almost the whole two weeks fornicating like horny rabbits in springtime.

He was trying to find different methods of travel, even looking at private charters or possibly outright buying a new jet. He had the money to do it, of course.

But Anselm was completely flummoxed when you actually brought up the idea of flying on a public flight. Like a lowly... commoner!

"Oh, come on. It's cheaper, you don't have to do much..." You say, rolling your eyes as you clicked through flights on your laptop. "And it'd save a little bit of money, if you think about it."

Anselm huffed, licking the spoon free of ice cream (perhaps being a bit too messy with it, intentionally) and rolled his eyes right back. "Money is hardly a concern for me, my love."

"C'mon! It could be fun." You try, grinning and batting your eyelashes at him.

He shot you a skeptical look.

Yeah, he wasn't gonna budge on this, was he?

Well, it's a good thing you know how to talk and twist Anselm to bend how you want him. Both figuratively and literally.

You slowly slide your laptop off of your lap and stand from the expensive leather chaise, sauntering over to his desk and perching your ass firmly on the edge, scooting over until your legs bracketed his torso, your feet planted on either side of his hips and pushing into the cushioning.

Almost immediately, a hungry glare overtakes him, his eyes behind his glasses becoming dark and stormy as he quirked a thick brow.

You pull the handkerchief from the pocket of his suit and wipe his messy beard, tutting playfully. "Honestly, Anselm, you eat like a messy toddler, sometimes."

"Oh... I thought you liked it when I ate messy?" He crooned, tilting his head as your fingers brush through his beard. "Especially if how much you writhe and soak my beard with that sweet little cunt of yours is anything to go by..."

You scoff and chuckle, rolling your eyes at him as you flick him in the chest with the handkerchief. "You know what I mean."

"Hmm, yes." He purred, his hands immediately going to your inner thighs, his thumbs teasing the edges of your stockings, hiking your skirt up to playfully pluck at your garter straps.

Anselm's eyes immediately went between your legs, his tongue running along the seam of his lips as he stared at your crotch.

"Ah-ah." You say, fingers gripping his chin to force him to look at you.

"You're no fun, sometimes, darling." Anselm pouts, his brows furrowing. "Such a tease."

"Will you consider booking a flight, then?" You ask once more.

He frowns further. "No."

You pout in return, your fingers snagging the curls of his beard as you consider another approach.

"Well..." You purr, relinquishing your grip on his beard to grip at his messy salt and pepper curls, tugging his head down so you could look down on him further.

His eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens in a low, breathy sound as you continue.

"How about this... When we book the plane, when we get to the cabin..." You tug him up so you can brush the scars over his left ear with your lips, '...you can do whatever you want to me. Or vice versa."

The moan that comes from him is damn near pornographic, and he viciously licks his lips to moisten them.

"Yes. But we only fly first class." He rattles off, his breath hitching.

Got 'im.

You grin mischievously and hum, "Good boy, Anselm." You begin to turn to get off of his large, ornate desk to return to your laptop and book a flight.

His hands seize your thighs again, and he growls up at you.

"Where do you think you're going?" He rasps, his hands yanking your panties down and pushing your skirt up further.

His thumbs part your folds and once more he licks his lips like a hungry dog.

"If I'm to suffer the embarrassment of flying public... I demand some up front compensation."

💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰

Of course Anselm had booked all of the first class seats just so the two of you wouldn't have to sit around other people. It was such an Anselm thing to do.

You had to deal with him loudly complaining of the pitiful lounge you were able to wait in, swatting him on the leg when he would get rude with a random person.

However, watching him deal with a woman who was harassing the staff of the airport over a simple problem with a simple fix was funny. The woman was clearly intoxicated while he began to lay into her.

"Honestly, my dear. Could you make it any more plain that your parents are brother and sister?" He'd said, his tone neutral, the drawl of his native tongue heavy with each word uttered, much to the woman's shock (and the staff's amusement).

"You are obviously wading in the shallow end of your gene pool, judging by how misplaced your teeth seem to be. Your brain must not be developed properly either because you cannot grasp the simple solution to your problem." He clicked his tongue and you had to hide your mouth behind your hand to cover up the laugh that was trying to bubble free as the woman tried to flounder.

Anselm didn't let up.

"Did your mother-aunt drink whilst pregnant with you? Surely you're suffering from fetal alcohol syndrome, or some kind of mental deficiency in a similar regard. Even your excuse for an "accent" makes you sound inbred and ignorant. You--"

The inebriated woman immediately began to bawl as she fled for the bathroom, her heavy mascara running down her face as Anselm slapped a wad of bills into the hand of the poor young worker, shoo'ing them off.

"Split it amongst yourselves. Honestly, I would have shot the bitch and called it a day." He dismissed, walking with you to the bag checking area, his leg brace squeaking almost as loud as you began to cackle.

"I only punish the staff that deserve it, my love." Anselm said, kissing your cheek. "That woman was a filthy creature who needed to be told such things. Honestly, that poor child looked ready to crumble from that woman's verbal abuse."

You grin at him, your matching suitcases wheeling behind you as you pulled them. It was only fair after basically bullying Anselm into booking a public flight.

Honestly now it was more an experiment to see how he would act--to "loosen the leash" a bit on him, you might say--in a "low-budget" public setting such as this. You didn't regret it one bit.

You let the security crew help you hoist your suitcases up and slide them across the metal table, Anselm looking frankly bored already at the tedium. Checking his oxygen tank was rather simple--even if you had suspicions that it didn't contain "oxygen" at all--and it passed through quickly without much examination.

The x-ray beeps softly as the first suitcase is scanned--and the guards frown with concern as they pull it out to check it.

"People are like that everywhere if you're unlucky." You say as the second guard unzips the first suitcase. "Hopefully we won't have any more--"

Your voice goes silent as the top to the suitcase flops open, and placed nice and neat atop the folded laundry...

...was a rather large, ornate, custom dildo and a cushioned leather harness.

The guard slowly creeps his wide eyes up to you as his coworker turns to cough, his face reddening as he tried to hold in his laughter.

"Uh, ma'am--" The one holding the case stuttered.

"That's not my suitcase." You say.

You and the two guards stare at each other, blinking owlishly until all three of you slowly turn to look at Anselm, who was leaning on his cane, a bored but also slightly amused smirk on his face as he watched the debacle.

"...What?" He asked innocently, quirking an eyebrow at the lot of you. "I kept my luggage within acceptable weight limits."

"Uh... I don't... Uh, I'm not sure--" The guard turned to look at his coworker for help, his eyes wide and pleading for help, his cheeks flushed with color.

"I-Is there a protocol for... for--"

"Gah, will I not be able to bring it?" Anselm frowns deeply, an irritated tone slipping into his voice. "I had it custom made, you know. I'd hoped we could make use of it."

He clicked his tongue and shrugged boredly, "Either on the plane or at our destination, I don't care which..."

You pinch the bridge of your nose and curse, trying not to smile and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Of course the shithead would pull a stunt like this.

The guards looked like a strange cocktail of amused, confused, worried, and aghast at the thoughts running through their heads.

"Uh... I don't... I don't think you can bring that on the flight. For... for security.... reasons..." The younger guard stammered out, awkwardly adjusting his collar with his finger.

Anselm sighs and rolls his eyes, waving his hand. "Fine, fine, you can keep it. I suppose I'll have to check what kind of stores I can order from while we're at our destination."

"Anselm!" You hiss, a grin on your face despite your mortification as the poor guard--in view of cameras and other people no less!--hoists the hefty glass dildo out of the suitcase and sets it in a separate container off to the side, coughing nervously as he checks the rest of your things.

As you boarded the flight, your suitcases being loaded and your carry-on bag thoroughly inspected--you elbowed Anselm.

"What the hell was that?!" You whisper-shout.

Anselm grinned at you, much like a hungry shark.

"Why my dear... If I must suffer the embarrassment of flying public... you deserve a little embarrassment yourself."

[florsial]

Doin Time Jegulus Microfic

"Evil, I've come to tell you that she's evil, most definitely Evil, ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely The tension, it's getting hotter I'd like to hold her head underwater (Summertime) (Ah, ah, ah)" -Doin' Time by Land Del Rey

TW: Violent thoughts

Sometimes, James wants to drown Regulus. Grab the head of perfect black curls on his head and shove him into a bath of freezing cold water. He wants the feel the younger thrash his limbs and shake free desperately. Or maybe Regulus would just take it. Let himself be taken under.

But that doesn't mean James doesn't love him. He does. Dearly so. But he's curious.

Regulus sits on the bathroom sink, naked and scarred with only a thin sheet to cover his modesty, he twirls a black cigarette holder between his pale, slim, fingers. The window is left open to air out the smoke from his lips. His eyes hold a cloudy look, a look of indifference.

It makes James want to pluck out his pretty gray eyes and rub the cloudy look into something more clear. Maybe that way he won't be stuck wondering whether his lover is with him or not. Wondering whether Regulus is looking at him with love underneath or hate.

His hand reaches up to the other's face. James' thumb rests right under Regulus' right eye, his nail brushing against the bottom eyelashes. Regulus makes no move to turn away. So James presses a little firmer down. He wants to dig his thumb into Regulus' eye socket and force out the gray organ that sends his heart into turmoil. Would Regulus let him?

Regulus lets him press his thumb down deeper and deeper until James is sure it will bruise.

But he stops before he can take Regulus' eye out.

[hp-rarepair-requests]

Oops! I realised that I had to be more specific

- Augurlight (Delphi x Albus)

- Muggle au

- Abusive relationship

-Albus realizing that Delphi was grooming him (Flashbacks would be nice if possible)

All good! I can absolutely do that!

Augurlight Oneshot

TW/CW: Grooming, Child Predation and CSA

Albus sat in his bedroom, curtains closed, headphones blasting, homework unfinished, and food left to go cold. He wasn’t really sure what day it was, or what time it was, but he really didn’t care. He couldn’t explain the depression he had fallen into. Or maybe he could and he just didn’t want to admit it.

~

“Come on, Dad! Please!” Albus begged.

“For the hundredth time Albus, no,” his father refused him yet again. “You need to finish school.”

“Come on! The kids are mean!” Albus whined. “I passed all the necessary exams for finishing school, I have a job, I can start working more hours and even pay board!”

“I don’t care Albus, you need to complete your education,” his father tried to keep a hushed voice as they browsed the shop, looking for a specific CD for Lily’s upcoming birthday. “I’m not letting you drop out just to chase some fantasy.”

“This isn’t about music—“

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about not having to go back to that shithole of a school!”

“Watch your language!” His father scolded. “I can’t find it. Stay here while I talk to that worker over there.”

Albus groaned and slumped against the shelf of CD’s. He was sick of that high school. Hogwarts was shit, and any wayward misfit with half a brain knew to stay far away from the preppy shitheads that wore the maroon and blue uniform. He was so sick of his classmates constantly bullying him, and he wasn’t even learning anything he could use in the career he wanted. They’d bloody cut the Music Program, the whole reason he’d even been trying to stay well enough behaved to avoid expulsion.

“Hey,” Albus turned to see a worker, with silver and blue hair and thick eyeliner. “Delphi. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your Dad?”

“Oh, that,” Albus shuffled. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, happens a lot,” Delphi smiled. “Hogwarts uniform?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t sue you for breathing,” Albus answered. “Not unless you breathe too loudly.”

“I’ll try not to. We get a lot of your classmates in here. Usually they’re upset that their Dad’s aren’t buying something super expensive for them.”

“Nah, I’ve got a different kind of dysfunctional family.”

“I can tell,” Delphi plucked something from Albus’ face and he felt it heat up. “Eyelash. Sorry about your Dad. Sucks when your parents don’t believe in you.”

“Well, I don’t know if he doesn’t believe in me,” Albus cleared his throat. “He just … he’s an adult, he probably knows better.”

“I don’t know,” Delphi knocked Albus’ shoulder. “You didn’t start singing the lyrics to Emo Girl when you saw me. Makes you much more mature than some of the other kids your age. It’s also not that hard to enter the music scene. I would know, my band The Augurey are doing pretty well.”

Delphi walked away as Albus saw his father approaching, Lily’s gift in hand.

~

Albus rubbed his eyes and took his earphones out. There had been a light tapping at his door, and when he pulled it open he saw his younger sister. Lily was in her soccer uniform, with dirt on her shins. She’d just got back from practice, it was afternoon.

“Just figured I’d let you know we won,” Lily grumbled. “Not that you even cared to show up.”

“Won what?” Albus asked.

“The game. The Liverpool Griffins are moving onto the semifinals.”

“You had an actual game today?”

“Yes, and you promised you’d come to this one!” Lily crossed her arms. “You’ve become a real jerk these holidays.”

“Oh my God. Lily I am so sorry. I completely forgot.”

“Yeah, I know! Couldn’t even get out of bed to say goodbye this morning.”

Lily turned and began to storm off.

“Lily wait!” Albus followed her. “I don’t even know what day it was.”

“Save it, Albus,” Lily shook her head. “I would invite you to the next one but I doubt you’d show up. Dad’s making soup for dinner, maybe you can show up for that?”

Lily slammed her bedroom door shut and Albus felt lost. How could he forget something as important as Lily’s game? It was the first one where he wouldn’t be too busy working at The Three Broomsticks to go! He’d promised to go! He hadn’t been able to go to any of her other games that year and she missed his support in the stands. And he missed cheering her on from the crowds. How could he forget something as important as that?

~

“Well, well, well, we meet again,” Albus looked up in shock to see none other than Delphi. “Studying for a test?”

“Algebra,” Albus informed her.

“God, what year?”

“Year ten.”

“Yikes,” Delphi hissed in sympathy. “So your doing all that expand and simplify bullshit with the brackets.”

“Yep,” Albus sighed. “Although, it looks more like hieroglyphics to me.”

Delphi giggled. “You’re funny. What was your name?”

“Albus,” he answered, blushing at the compliment. “I work at The Three Broomsticks just down there.”

“Oh sick, my band is performing a gig there this Friday night.”

“I’m working this Friday night.”

“Oh, so you’re getting paid to see The Augurey live. Now that’s an honour.”

Albus laughed. “What instrument do you play?”

“I’m all vocals,” Delphi clarified. “What about you?”

“Oh um, I used to do the music program at my school before they cut it,” Albus fiddled with his pencil, feeling suddenly shy under Delphi’s piercing brown eyes. “Guitar, bass, drums, piano, little bit of vocals.”

“Oh, so you are literally just a one man band?”

Albus laughed to the point of smiling very brightly. “I guess you could call me that. If you can call a fourteen year old with no released songs a one man band.”

“You’ll be a one man band eventually,” Delphi ruffled his hair. “I have faith in you.”

~

Albus closed his bedroom door and pulled out his phone. A notification popped up and he bit his lip. The Augurey’s social media. They’d posted something new.

Albus opened the app and saw the pictures. Delphi smiling with the rest of her bandmates. Pictures from whatever event they were at now. Pictures he couldn’t help but stare at. Especially the last one. The picture was technically of Rascal and Vermyn, the bassist and guitarist, but Albus was focused on the background. Delphi with some guys tongue shoved down her throat.

Albus hadn’t learnt this guys name. He appeared in many pictures. Sometimes he was even in the foreground. But Albus hadn’t learnt his name. Didn’t want to. He just wanted to know why Delphi would lead him on the way she did.

~

Albus was left to close up close up the restaurant while his manager, Rosmerta, went over the employee schedules for the next week. He found he quite enjoyed The Augurey’s live performance that night. He’d hoped to speak to Delphi at some point, but he was stuck as the dishwasher for most of the night, but the few times he had been out cleaning tables he could of sworn she’d been looking at him. He was pretty certain she’d even winked at him at some point.

“Hey Albus!” He jumped when Delphi came up behind him. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, you guys are really good. You have a very good voice.”

“Thank you,” Delphi smiled brightly and touched Albus’ cheek. “You lose a lot of eyelashes. So, are your parents here to pick you up?”

“No, I was going to catch the bus home.”

“You’re kidding?” Delphi’s jaw dropped even further when Albus shook his head. “You can’t catch the bus home at this time of night! There are creeps and weirdos out there.”

“Aside from the creepy weirdo I’m talking to now?” Albus asked, wiping the last corner of the bench down. “It’s fine, I do it all the time.”

“It’s not fine!” Delphi sighed. “How about I drive you home?”

“What?”

“Come on! I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t mKe sure you get home safe.”

Albus felt his face heat up at that. He supposed a car ride with Delphi wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen. “Alright, I can give you the directions.”

“Great! Let’s go.”

Albus let out a nervous breath as he followed her to her car, locking the shop door behind himself. She drove a second hand car, small and inexpensive, but the inside was decorated with plenty of gothic delights. He got into the passenger seat and told her where to go.

“So, you hate Hogwarts I take it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Albus shook his head. “Bit of an understatement really. I get bullied. Really badly. And the teachers don’t do shit about it.”

“I feel that,” Delphi sighed. “Wish there was something I could do to help.”

“It’s alright,” Albus chewed on his lip. “My house is that one.”

Delphi pulled into the driveway. “Damn, you’re families loaded.”

“Yeah, we are.”

Albus went to get out of the car but Delphi grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“What are you—“

“My phone number,” she wrote the digits onto his palm. “Message me next time you have work late. I don’t like the thought of you catching the bus this late at night.”

“Oh,” Albus swallowed. He had her number, that was fun. And really nice of her to be so worried for his well-being.

Delphi caressed his cheek and rested her hand on his face. “Eyelash. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

~

Albus threw his phone to the floor and curled up in his blanket. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. She was pretty, she was semi-famous, she was older. And they weren’t exactly on good terms at the moment either. Of course something like this would have happened.

He wanted to curl into such a small little ball it was like he didn’t exist. No one could hurt him or lead him on that way. People wouldn’t even be able to look at him, let alone talk to him.

“Albus,” he groaned when he heard his fathers voice just outside his door. “Dinners ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you haven’t had dinner with us in a week,” his father answered. “I’m starting to get a little worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, if you’re fine you come down to dinner. Come on, get up.”

Albus groaned, and crawled out of bed again. Why him? Why that day?

~

Albus walked out of admin with his letter, supposedly his aunt Hermione was there to pick him up for an appointment he hadn’t even known about. God, his time management skills could really use some work.

As Albus left the school gates he noticed a familiar beat up car. It didn’t belong to his aunt, her car was certainly not beat up, but it did belong to someone else he knew. Someone he was much more excited to see.

“Oh my God, you did not just get me out of school.”

“Hey,” Delphi shrugged. “I told you I wanted to do something to help. Come on, we’re going to the beach.”

“The beach? Are there even any good beaches nearby?”

“Of course there are! You just need to know where to look!”

Albus smiled brightly and got into the car with her. He hadn’t properly skipped school like this in a long time, it was exhilarating.

“Alright Eyelashes, let’s go.”

Albus came down the stairs to see the rest of his family had already started eating their soup. He approached the counter and filled up his bowl. Pumpkin soup. He plonked down at the table, feeling much like the rain that poured outside the window.

“Hoods off at the table, Albus.”

Albus groaned at his mothers words, and yanked the hood from his head before continuing to eat.

“So as I was saying, it’s a very delicate and difficult case,” his father complained about work. “Grooming is a very difficult crime to prove. Our evidence is circumstantial at best.”

Albus ripped a piece of bread and dipped it into his loaf.

“I mean, how am I even supposed to prove he did this? It’s not like he ever actually hurt her, just made it so he could.”

“What?” That confused Albus.

“What’s confusing you?”

“How could he have groomed her if he never hurt her?”

“Grooming is the process of creating an environment which enables abuse,” his father clarified. “A very common misconception people have is that you have to actually h physically hurt someone.”

“Oh.”

~

Albus flopped down onto his towel, and let the rare sunshine beat down on him, giving him a much needed tan. Delphi soon after joined him, and he tried not to look at her too much. He really should have realised that the beach entailed a certain amount of vulnerability.

“That was fun, but I think I might have to take you back to school soon.”

Albus groaned very loudly. “Please don’t.”

“What do you want me to do?” Delphi sat up. “Hold you captive here forever?”

Albus jumped when Delphi pounced on him and they began to wrestle in the sand. His leg was only slightly tangled in his towel by the time she managed to get on top of him. Oh goodness, this was a very compromising position. He only hoped she didn’t do anything to uh … provoke him, we’ll say.

“You’ve got another eyelash,” Delphi’s fingers danced across Albus face as she wiped the stray hair away.

“I swear I didn’t used to lose eyelashes this regularly,” Albus sighed, hoping to get her off from on top of him. This was not something he felt ready to deal with.

“Sure,” Delphi’s face seemed to move impossibly closer, and her breath grazed over Albus’ lips. All he’d have to do is move slightly and they’d practically be snogging.

“We should go,” Delphi got up and put her shirt back on over the top of her bikini. “Your parents will surely be mad if you aren’t home in time.”

~

Albus finished his soup and climbed the stairs before anyone could stop him. He needed some space. Desperately.

Albus opened his laptop and stared at the search engine for a moment. He began to chew on his nails, feeling his stomach roil with the unasked question still lingering in his head. What was he even supposed to do in this type of situation? What was he even supposed to look up?

He swallowed and quickly typed up his question before staring at it. The fact that he even felt the need to ask felt a bit like a confirmation, but he couldn’t be certain. He pressed enter.

How do you know if you’ve been groomed?

~

“What’s this?” Albus asked.

“It’s a birthday present,” Delphi answered.

“My birthday is in October.”

“Just open it.”

Albus smiled before tearing into the gift Delphi had gotten for him. He pulled open the box and inside there was nothing more than a business card. Riddle Studios?

“I may have pulled some strings with my manager,” Delphi clarified. “They’re going to let you record one song, and if they like it and it performs well they might take you on.”

“You’re joking.”

“No joke.”

“Oh my God! Delphi!” Albus got up. “Thank you so much! God, I could kiss you!”

“What?”

“What? Um … not actually kiss you. Just — you know it’s an expression.”

“Right,” Delphi nodded. “Well, I’ll pick you up on Saturday and drive you there.”

“Yeah,” Albus nodded excitedly.

“See you,” Delphi left a peck on Albus’ cheek before walking away.

~

Grooming is the action of attempting to form a relationship with a child or young person, which would enable you to sexually assault them or persuade them to commit some type of crime, such as drug dealing or joining a terrorist organisation.

Albus wasn’t sure that exactly applied to him. He’d been a child, he was a child, but … he didn’t — he didn’t know.

A groomed child may think they are: in a special relationship with the person hurting them, experience self-blame over the the abuse they are experiencing, be confused by the nature of the relationship, and have a fear of harmed or abandoned if they speak out or defy their groomer.

~

Albus had initiated it, but he immediately regretted it. It was stupid really. To think someone as amazing as Delphi might return his feelings. As soon as he’d kissed her he felt like he’d made some horrible mistake and that he needed to run as far away as humanly possible. Something about it just felt innately wrong. Like he’d done something he really shouldn’t have.

“I am so sorry,” Albus stepped back. “I should go. That was — sorry!”

“Albus! It’s fine,” Delphi stopped him from running away. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Delphi pulled Albus in and this time their kiss was much more of a mutual experience. And it was nice. He’d never really kissed anyone before, so he hoped he was doing it right. Delphi was definitely much more experienced in that regard. And it showed. Delphi was very good at kissing, Albus found.

~

Well, that just didn’t apply to Albus. Right? There was no abuse to feel any guilt or self-blame over. There couldn’t be. Could there? He tried to think. Had Delphi at any point actually abused him? Sure, technically she didn’t need to abuse him for it to be grooming, but there wasn’t anything to blame himself for. Was there?

He’d admit, he had felt special, he had been a little confused by their relationship, he had done things just because he was worried she’d leave if he didn’t, but he didn’t blame himself for … okay he did. Just a little bit. But it was fine because it was technically his fault. The self-blame thing surely only applied when he hadn’t actually done anything wrong right? Because he had! He’d let her get close to him, he’d initiated their … situationship? Relationship? Their whatever! He’d been the one to start it and make it confusing. He made the choice to not defy her. It was his fault.

So, therefore, it couldn’t have actually even been grooming right? What even was the definition of sexual abuse?

~

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going on tour?” Albus asked. “I mean, I figure that’s something you tell your … friend?”

“I was going to,” Delphi got up from her seat on the couch. “But it’s not even like it’s a major tour. We’re just going around England. Nowhere too far away.”

“Right, just the other side of the country,” Albus shrugged. “Would have been nice to know.”

“What? You aren’t proud of us? After all I’ve done for you, you can’t accept that I’m also making progress?”

“That’s not it—“

“Then what is it?”

“You’re leaving…,” Albus sighed. “I just — I thought we were close enough that you’d let me know first.”

“We are that close,” Delphi came over to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Come with us.”

“What?”

Albus was dumbfounded. There was no way she was actually inviting him to go on tour with her.

“Come with us!” Delphi’s smile widened. “Come on, you hate school, you hate your family, leave it behind and come with us.”

Albus took a step back. “Okay, first of all, I don’t hate my family. I just don’t always get along with them. And second of all, I can’t just go with you. I have a job, other friends, and my parents are worried enough that I keep disappearing from school and the house. I can’t just runaway.”

“Sure you can!” Delphi held his face now. “Please? For me?”

Albus didn’t know what to say. Delphi kissed him to see if maybe that would be convincing. It wasn’t.

“It’ll be fun.”

“No, I’m putting my foot down,” Albus shook his head and started leaving. “I can’t go with you.”

~

Sexual assault refers to the act of intentionally touching someone in a sexual manner without consent, through either force or coercion. It’s a form of sexual violence that includes child sexual abuse, groping, rape and sexual torture.

Albus scrolled down, trying to find further explanation on what child sexual abuse might entail. He didn’t think he was abused; it was just good to make sure. He seriously doubted he encountered anything severe enough to be considered abuse. And he’d been the one to initiate their relationship in the first place. So it was probably fine.

~

Albus got up from the couch and walked over to the door. Lily was at football practice and their Dad had been the one to drive her. Their Mum was stuck at work so Albus and his older brother, James, were the only ones left at home. He had to assume James took advantage of this absence of people and invited over a couple friends.

He pulled the door open and was surprised to see Delphi of all people standing outside.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure,” Albus stepped aside and let her in. “We better go up to my room, so James doesn’t see you.”

Albus brought Delphi to his bedroom, and gently closed the door behind her. He was sort of glad they were getting the opportunity to talk before she had to leave. They could sort out the argument they’d had and calm down.

“I guess we should—“

Albus was startled by Delphi just grabbing his face and beginning to snog him. They’d snogged maybe a couple times, but never like this. Albus raised his hands to her head as his back hit the wall. His head hurt a little bit, and he winced, trying to separate for at least a moment to rub where his head had hit. But he hadn’t been able to. At least, he hadn’t been the one to separate.

Delphi pulled away only momentarily before attacking his neck. Which, wasn’t really something they’d ever done. It felt a little weird, but kind of nice.

“Um, you said you wanted to talk?” Albus was a little confused now. Not upset, but definitely confused.

Delphi sighed and pulled away. Did he do something wrong?

“Just … wanted to see if maybe you’d changed your mind?”

“Well, I haven’t,” Albus slouched. “You know why I said I couldn’t go.”

“Oh, come on!” She complained. “After everything I’ve done for you, you kind of owe me!”

“Travelling around the country isn’t something I can just do, Delphi,” Albus groaned. “I already told you, my parents are worried enough about me as is. If I left with you they’d probably send a whole search party looking for me.”

“Then leave a note,” Delphi stepped closer. “Please? Can’t you just be the least bit supportive?”

Albus swallowed. He could theoretically go with her, and there was probably a scenario in which everything turned out fine. But Albus didn’t think this was that scenario. He was in enough trouble as it was for constantly sneaking out and skipping school to go see her, although his parents didn’t know about Delphi’s involvement. He didn’t want to make things worse. And Lily kept asking him to go to one of her games. He’d promised to go to one as soon as he could, he couldn’t do that if he was on tour with The Augurey.

“I am supportive, and I’m sorry but I can’t just—“

Albus gasped when Delphi’s palm hit his cheek, and stilled as the sting spread across his face. She’d slapped him. She had just slapped him. And it hurt. Really bad.

“Fine, I don’t need you there anyway,” Delphi stormed out while Albus stood frozen in disbelief.

~

Child sexual abuse (CSA) occurs when an adult or older adolescent abuses a child for sexual gratification. This can include pressuring a child into a sexual activity, indecent exposure of genitals to a child, displaying pornography to a child, sexual contact with a child, physical contact to the child’s genitals, viewing of the child’s genitals, and producing pornography of a child.

Albus wiped a tear from his eye. Did kissing count as sexual contact? Did it even matter? A month ago, if Delphi had asked, Albus probably would have done everything on that list for her. If grooming was only the process of enabling abuse, had Delphi groomed him?

“Hey Albus,” he jumped when his mother walked in without knocking, and turned to face her, “what’s—?”

Albus slammed his laptop shut before she could finish asking her questions.

“Why were you looking at the definition of sexual assault?” She asked.

“I wasn’t,” Albus answered, scratching his neck.

“What were you looking at then?”

“Nothing.”

His mother gave him a look before walking towards him. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

“No,” Albus tried to smile. “Mum, I’m fine. What did you want?”

She let out a breath through her nose. “Lily and James have both had their showers. I wanted to check if you had had yours?”

“No, I’ll go do that.”

“Albus—“

“Thanks for letting me know,” Albus grabbed his clothes and hurried towards the bathroom. He didn’t think he was in the mental state to explain everything about Delphi to his mother.

[sxturn-to-mxrs]

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻

genre: angst pairing: assassin!oc x princess!oc tw: none as of now (please lmk if there is one)

Eleanor clutched the handle of her dagger, adorned in pearls. The dagger gave her a sense of safety while she was crawling through the vents of the castle. She tried to block all her thoughts and emotions; she wasn't here as Eleanor Mckay; she was here as the Phantom, whose name was whispered with fear in every alleyway of the country, the heartless hunter, the soulless killer.

Reaching a opening, she calculated the drop to the floor was of about 9 meter. Tying the rope securely, she lowered herself down, and dropped without a sound. She was the Phantom, silent and agile.

As she scanned the room for any threats, she let herself pretend that she hadn't been here a million times before. Her victim, the beloved princess of the country, Daphne Woods would be sleeping in the next room. Her princess, her darling, her mind whispered. She welled those thoughts away, focusing on her mission.

Sneaking into the princess' room was fairly easy. The corridors of the lavish palace were deserted; all the guards sleeping. The security sucks, she thought to herself. She unlocked the room's door and slipped in quietly.

There she was, sleeping blissfully, not knowing she would never wake up again. Emotions rose up in her throat; she tried her best to suppress them, but she couldn't. She remembered the times she was here with Daphne, the times were so peaceful, so happy.

"Guess who?", Daphne had covered her eyes, not knowing Eleanor could know it was her by her scent alone.

She giggled, a sound she didn't know she could make. "My darling princess, obviously", She whispered to her.

"You're too good at guessing. I don't like it", Daphne complained with the cutest pout Eleanor had ever seen. She had a sudden urge to kiss her, which she did.

"The cutest Princess I've ever seen", She mumbled after she had kissed her, which caused Daphne to blush quite a bit.

The flashback caused her immense guilt for even thinking about killing her. Eleanor Mckay had almost decided to retreat. Almost. It was the Phantom who decided against it.

She snuck to her bedside, and took a good look at her angelic face. It would be the last time she would see her. She took in all her details; her brown skin, the sharp upturn of her nose, the moles on her upper lip and forehead, her hair in loose braids, her long eyelashes. She was the most beautiful person Eleanor had ever seen. Alas, the most beautiful flowers are the ones which are plucked first. She clutched the handle of her dagger.

"I love you", it was Eleanor Mckay who had whispered.

It was the Phantom who stabbed Daphne Woods.

©reyna-obsessed | Not to be reposted or copied on any platform

[thunderousone]

Chapter 3

Summary: The storms attempt to claim Eirene as well as another. Will it succeed?

TW: profanity, (eventual... it's slow burn get over it) graphic depictions of sex, pain kink, childhood trauma, parental trauma, chronic pain

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated 🤍

masterlist | read it first on ao3

Eirene stirred in her bed, finding herself alone. She could hear quiet footfall heading down the hall to the main living area. She got out of bed and quickly dressed, leaving behind her soft cotton clothes that still smelled of Paarth and changed into her waxed cotton clothes to prepare to go out for the day.  

In the main hall, she saw Beck who looked like she was finishing up making some oatmeal. Where she had gotten blueberries from was beyond Eirene. She pulled up a tall chair next to Paarth who slid a bowl in front of her with her serving already in it. She leaned her shoulder into his in silent thanks and dove in. She couldn't hear any rain hitting the roof yet, so she ate as fast as she could. As she finished her breakfast, Eirene rose from her seat, taking her bowl to the sink. Her fingers plucked a lone blueberry from the bowl that Beck was using, and she offered a soft kiss on her cheek.  

"I'm headed out before the storm kicks up," she said, quickly putting her hair into a braid. "It seems like it's been quiet for a while which means it'll probably be rough after so everyone just be careful, keep an eye out on the pipes and plumbing," she said behind her as she slipped out the door, into the mudroom, and up out of the house.  

The ominous rumble echoing through the clouds above signaled to Eirene that her window for hunting might be closing faster than she had anticipated. She quickened her pace, traversing the rain-soaked streets that led toward the outskirts of Lyranth. Despite the relatively dry night, she held hope that the drenched green forest that encircled the town might still yield something worth hunting. 

Approaching the edge of the footbridge that led into the forest, a sudden flash of light tore through the sky, accompanied by a deafening peal of thunder that reverberated through the air. The bridge beneath her feet quivered in response, almost out of fear alone. In that same moment, a sharp cry reached her ears. 

Violet. 

Eirene whirled around, her braid lashing against her cheek in whiplash. On the far end of the bridge, Violet clung to the soaked rope, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched tightly in her small hands. 

Quickly, but trying not to slip with the wet wood beneath her, Eirene moved toward her, striving to remain calm so as not to terrify her sister. She inched forward cautiously, calling out over the growing roar of the wind, which was steadily intensifying with each passing second. "Violet!" she shouted, her voice strained to be heard amidst the thunder and wind. "I'm coming! Stay where you are, do not move, do not let go of the rope, do you hear me?" Her words were nearly drowned out by the of storm and the blinding flashes of lightning that ignited the sky. 

Tears mixed with raindrops as Eirene sprinted forward, the wooden bridge swaying beneath her every step. She had anticipated a fierce storm, but she had no idea it would come so quickly, its arrival caught her off guard. It had been no more than half an hour since she had left home. 

Lightning struck all around them while sheets of rain lashed at her, stinging her face. The raindrops clung to her eyelashes, obscuring her vision, but she continued moving. 

Reaching Violet, whose cries now pierced through the maelstrom, Eirene took her into her arms, her heart pounding with relief and concern. She knelt down, shouting into Violet's ear above the howling storm. "Vi, what the hell are you doing out here? Who let you out of the house?" 

Violet's small voice broke between sobs, her eyes red and brimming with tears and rain. "I drew you another picture and wanted to show you! And then you started crossing the bridge, and I'd never been over here before, so I wanted to follow you! I didn't know it was going to storm!" 

Eirene rose to one knee, she looked down at her Violet in the middle of the storm. "Vi, I can't carry you across the bridge, so you'll have to hold my hand with one hand and the rope with the other! Can you do that?" She tried to make herself sound normal, and not show the true fear that she was pushing down with each strike of lightning.  

Violet remained silent but handed Eirene the soaked piece of thick parchment and gripped the rope tightly with one hand, while the other clung to Eirene's knee. Eirene extended her hand, and Violet grasped it so tightly that her small fingers turned white. 

"Come on, we're going together, okay?" Eirene's voice trembled. She hurriedly shoved the paper inside her jacket and kept her eyes locked onto Violet, their figures briefly illuminated on this shaking bridge by the bright flashes of lightning. Slowly and cautiously, Violet began to rise, each step causing the already unstable bridge to sway. 

Gripping Eirene's hand tightly, Violet ventured forward, her unsteady footsteps mirrored by the pounding of Eirene's heart. Never before had Violet been allowed to venture out alone, especially during these past few months when the storms seemed so unforgiving. Eirene knew she would confront those thoughts later; for now, her singular focus was on guiding Vi safely to the other side of the bridge and back home. 

As they neared the cobblestone streets of town, the bridge's edge now behind them, a blinding flash of lightning, searing in its brilliance, split the sky apart. 

In that instantaneous moment, Eirene's mind raced, but she had no time to think. Instinct took over. 

She shoved Violet with all her might, propelling her as far away as humanly possible. Exhausted and desperate, she couldn't bear the thought of another soul being consumed by the storm. 

Eirene pushed Violet away, leaving herself to confront the wrath of the electrifying tempest. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she could hear Violet's screams as she ran to safety. Good, Eirene thought. She didn't want the young girl to witness this, as she herself once had. 

Eirene screamed and outstretched her arms as if to brace herself for whatever came next.

[999moreyears]

lole that moment when </3

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hello. I'm an anonymous quests giver. I'd like to challenge you to write a fic or scenario based on your interpretation of :

💻🌃💤☕🎁

Character : Mitsuya Takashi

Since you write for both sfw and nsfw contents, you can freely choose one that suits your idea.

Please take your time if you decide to accept this challenge. Have a nice day, Challenger!

Wow, would you look at that!

*A CHALLENGE FOR MITSUYA*

Challenge accepted.

💻🌃💤☕🎁: Mitsuya Takashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: fluff

masterlist

song recommendation:

"Takashi... What are doing up, still?"

Mitsuya turns to face you, his lavender eyes tired and roaming around your face as you stand in the doorway of his office, robe wrapped tightly around your figure. He inhales deeply, catching the scent of your lotion, and drowning in it as you pad across the carpet to wrap your arms around his neck while you settle onto his lap.

"What did I tell you about long nights?" You tap his small nose, smiling down at him with that grin he just can't resist. Mitsuya tries to drag himself out of your siren's embrace but finds that his fingers will not move an inch to unwrap your body from his.

And Mitsuya remembers that he loves every second of the feeling of your warmth nestling into him.

"Once a month," the man chants, and you press a kiss to his forehead as a reward, your breasts coming closer to his face as you dip low. "One long night a month."

"And you already used your long night up last week." When you stand, you grab his fingers and tug him out of his chair, which he doesn't feel so attached to now that you're persuading him to come to bed. Well, sort of.

You see, he knows your tricks and the spells you cast over him when you flutter your eyelashes or purse your lips slightly. Mitsuya knows every move of your hips, every sense you light up when you're talking to him in your sultry voice, and every single thing you do out of concern for him. Even when it comes to Luna and Mana, you're right there, guiding them through the teen years and you never appear to get tired.

Mitsuya undresses from his day clothes and throws on a t-shirt and pajamas before climbing into bed with you then pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Wait," you whisper into the night, dragging your hands across his chest and down the waistband of his pants. "I want you."

"Oh?" Fingers dart to your nightshirt, rolling underneath it with care. "Right now?"

"No," you quip. "Tomorrow during the nightly news broadcast." Mitsuya laughs and pulls you close to him, breathing a soft sigh before pressing his lips into yours and letting his hands roam about your body as they pleased.

This - the night-time exploration of you - is enough to make him dizzy with want, with need. You lace your fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands softly as you break the kiss, and his mouth opens to whisper your name into the darkness.

"Remember when we met," he breathes, tugging himself free of his pants and then proceeding to do the same with yours. "When you tried to seduce me at Takemitchi's wedding?"

"Tried to?" you giggle, letting his fingers pluck at your shirt. "I remember the hotel bed you blew my back out in." Mitsuya clicks his tongue softly, head dipping to kiss you again. "Why do you bring it up?"

"Oh, no reason," the lavender-haired man murmurs. "I'm just about to make you moan my name like you did that night."

"But the girls--"

"Are dead asleep. Now open those beautiful legs for me, my love. I've got some overtime to put in."

_____________________________________________________________

Hands pull your hair away from your face in the morning, then lips press a tender kiss against your forehead.

"I'll see you when I get home."

The smell of caffeine and espresso lingers long after Mitsuya has gone off to work, and it only slightly troubles your sense of smell as you, Mana, and Luna prepare the surprise party for Mitsuya's birthday.

"It only comes around once a year," you begged a few former members of Toman. "Just this once." Hakkai had been the first to say "yes", and then Draken, Takemitchi, and Kazutora. Mikey hadn't been heard from in years, and you knew better than to try to contact him now. One wrong move with him could shatter the careful life you'd built with Mitsuya in mind.

Hakkai is helping the girls hang a banner when your phone rings and Mitsuya's name flashes across the screen.

"Hey, babe," you answer, walking into the kitchen and away from the noise that could reveal your little plan.

"Hey. I wanted to know if you'd want to go to dinner tonight. I called Hakkai to see if he would like to come, but he said he's busy and can't come. Not sure who else would come, but I'm making some calls."

"Dinner sounds wonderful," you begin, looking over your shoulder at the progress being made. "But Luna and Mana have that thing tonight, remember?"

"That thing". Those two words make Mitsuya groan, and he sighs.

"So maybe tomorrow night, then?"

"Tomorrow is great. Let me know when you're on your way home." But as you all prepare for Mitsuya to come back from work, you know "tomorrow" won't be in the plan at all.

"Hide!" you and the girls whisper as you hear the sounds of Mitsuya's footfalls on the metal stairs leading up to your apartment. You open the door for him, welcoming him home with a peck on the lips and taking his things out of his hands before he gets inside.

"Surprise!"

The exclamation catches the man off guard, and you laugh as he stares at the gathered group of old friends, fumbling for words to express his shock. Finally, what comes out is:

"You scared the shit out of me!"

_____________________________________________________________

You're cleaning up after the successful party, Hakkai staying behind to talk and reminisce with Mitsuya while the girls go off to bed. When you shuffle into the kitchen, Hakkai finally stands, grabbing his jacket.

"I should get going," he exhales, hugging his best friend before turning to you. "Thanks for the party, y/n." You give Hakkai a hug, whispering,

"Thanks for coming." Mitsuya lets him out, then comes over to you, snaking his hands around your waist and kissing your shoulder blade.

"Should I thank you in words or actions?" You smile at your husband, then take his hand and lead him into your bedroom.

"One last gift before bed."

"Do I get a round three of last night?" Mitsuya asks, laughing at the way you roll your eyes. You shuffle around in your drawer before pulling out the box and handing it to him quickly. Mitsuya shakes it, but you place your hands on your hips, and he unties the bow gently, pulling off the top of the small, rectangular box.

"Happy birthday," you murmur, and the man covers his mouth with his hand, staring into the box in disbelief.

"We've been trying for so long..." he exhales, and you nod.

"Actually, I'm two months in already, barely showing." He places the box on the dresser, then cups your face between his soft palms.

"I could cry right now," Mitsuya breathes, and you shake your head, grinning widely as he leans in for a kiss that you can feel in your toes. "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," you reply, feeling the future between you two growing and being much brighter than before.

[arya-skywalker]

Monsters and Men (Sanders Sides Fanfic)

A Dukexiety Oneshot with powers

Summary: Virgil gets kidnapped by a gang, but finds an unlikely ally. Together they uncover secrets and try to escape before it’s too late.

Notes: Thanks to the TSS Fanworks Collective for brainstorming, especially fangirl, Losty, and Helena.

TWs: torture, threats, violence, kidnapping, people treated as weapons, brief innuendos, swearing

AO3 Link

(Fic under read more)

Virgil stirred, then froze when he realized he couldn’t fucking move. He felt ropes around his wrists and legs. His eyes flew open. He was in a cell, a block of concrete, tied to a metal chair.

“My, my, look who’s finally awake,” the man in front of him drawled. “You’ve been poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t know it was your territory, or whatever,” Virgil said, his throat dry and heart beating way too fast. “Just let me go, and we can forget this ever happened.”

The man clicked his tongue. “No, no. You need to learn your lesson,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”

“I’ll teach him,” another man said, taking a step closer. He had a ridiculous mustache— which didn’t take away from the fact that he looked like he could easily snap a man in two. “If you want me to.”

The first man smirked. “Look at you, Remus. Good boy.” He gestured to Virgil. “Go on. Have fun with him.”

Mustache-man— Remus— scurried over to the chair. “Cute little emo. Let’s hear you scream....” He trailed a finger along Virgil’s hand— which felt like a knife digging into his flesh.

Virgil gasped and looked down, but there was no blood, no mark. ��What the hell?” he snarled.

Remus grinned. “You like that, little emo?” He shoved the hoodie sleeve up and gripped Virgil’s arm tightly.

Pain. Pulsing pain wherever the man’s hand touched. Virgil clenched his jaw. “Actually not into it, thanks,” he spat.

Remus giggled. “Oooh spicy!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” the first man said. “Best get some results soon.” The door slammed behind him once he left.

Remus waited until the man was clearly gone, then cocked his head to the side, expression suddenly more serious. “You know you really should do what he says. Grovel at his feet, even. It’ll save you a lot of pain.”

“Fuck that,” Virgil retorted.

“Nah, you don’t wanna fuck him. It’s not as fun as it looks. His cock is—“

“Gross, dude. Not what I meant!”

Remus cackled. “You’re fun! I like you already. You got a name?”

“Not one I’m telling you.”

Remus shrugged. “Well, I’m Remus! If you didn’t catch that.” He scratched his chin, then moved behind Virgil.

“Don’t care.” Virgil stayed utterly still, feeling the man’s breath at his neck. “What are you doing back th—“ Sharp pain in the middle of his back cut him off with a strangled cry.

“Aww that’s not very nice of you...”

The pain moved slowly upwards to his neck. “S-sorry that I don’t wanna be nice... to my fucking torturer,” Virgil ground out.

Remus stopped whatever he was doing. “You think this is torture?” He snickered. “We’re just getting warmed up!”

More pain along his back like some sort of twisted massage. Virgil grimaced. “Really? Is that so?”

“Mmhmm! I can do way worse things to you!” Remus giggled again. “Like plucking out all your pretty eyelashes and making a paintbrush out of them to paint abstract interpretations of your screams!”

“Awww you think I’m pretty, thanks,” Virgil replied with a smirk, shoving down his revulsion. “But I doubt eyelashes would make great brushes.”

“Or I’ll g-note you so hard you’ll never be able to listen to your favorite emo music without thinking of this,” Remus said, sending a other burst of pain.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Virgil snarled.

Remus hummed. “You don’t really need this hoodie, do you?”

Virgil’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Please don’t.”

Remus moved in front of him again and tilted his head to the side. “Huh. I guess you do! Why? It’s just a piece of fabric!”

Virgil swallowed, but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. Trying to explain would only make the hoodie sound more valuable, which would make it more likely to be used against him.

Remus stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okie we’ll leave it one piece. I just gotta get to your skin, so I can reach under, no biggie.” He moved behind Virgil again.

The pain started once more, but this time it lingered in one spot, growing stronger and more intense by the second until it was too much to possibly ignore.

Virgil screamed as he felt something exploding from inside himself what the fuck. Darkness filling the room. A thud and a grunt as Remus hit the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Both of them exclaimed at once.

Virgil shuddered and tried to even his breathing. “You still alive back there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve had worse,” Remus retorted, moving to be in Virgil’s line of sight. “Has that happened to you before?”

Virgil shook his head quickly. “No, never. What the hell was that?”

Remus was silent for a long moment, staring at him. “If I had to guess, I’d say the pain and stress triggered your powers. Lucky you.”

“P-Powers?”

“Mmhmm!”

“I don’t have powers.”

Remus laughed. “You got a better explanation for your shadow throwing me at the wall?”

Virgil bit his lip. “… No?”

“Then congrats! You got powers!” Remus clapped his hands.

Virgil shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Remus shrugged. “I’m no scientist, dunno how it works, but it’s the truth.”

“Whatever.”

A few minutes later, the door opened with a loud clang and the man from before strode inside. “How’s our new friend doing, hm?” he asked with a smirk.

Virgil glared at him. “Fuck off.”

“Still wearing down on him, boss,” Remus said, head down. “It’ll take time—“

The boss slapped him across the face. “You useless piece of shit!”

Remus flinched and stumbled back, but made no attempt to fight back.

The boss shoved him to the floor and kicked him. “If someone with the smallest degree of competency were working on him, he’d be long broken. What is taking you so long?”

Remus grunted, but made no attempt to stand. “S-sorry, sir. I... I’ll pick up the pace.”

The boss kicked him some more, then tugged him up by his hair. “If you don’t break him by dawn tomorrow, I will make you both scream so hard you won’t be able to speak for days. Is that clear?”

Remus winced. “Crystal clear, sir,” he said quietly.

The boss punched him. “Speak up, rat.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus said, louder.

“Good.” The boss dropped him.

Remus fell into a heap on the floor and didn’t move until after the door slammed shut once more. He coughed a few times and sat up.

Virgil stared at him. “What the hell was that?”

“That was me covering your ass, you’re welcome.” Remus flashed a crooked grin.

“But... why? You volunteered to do this shit. If you told him what happened, you wouldn’t have gotten your ass handed to you.”

“It’s kinda expected of me. To do the hurting and shit. Powers aren’t useful for much else.” Remus shrugged, looking away and rubbing his face. “If boss-man found out about you having powers, he’d run you ragged. Turn you into a weapon. A monster.” He added in a barely-audible voice, “A monster like me.”

The silence stretched between them.

“What did they do to you?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

Remus laughed, a shrill mirthless sound. “What didn’t they do is the question,” he retorted. “With my powers, I give pain, but leave no scars— as soon as I lift my hand, the pain goes away. The others… They make sure the pain stays. They let the wounds fester. They decorate you with scars and brands. They break your bones, let ‘em heal crooked, and break ‘em again. Believe it or not, me ‘torturing’ you was a mercy.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat— limited due to the bonds. His mouth was dry, too dry to form words.

Remus looked back at him. “Which is why we’re breaking you out. Tonight.”

Virgil blinked. “We’re what?”

“First you gotta learn how to control whatever power you have. It’ll be more useful for long range attacks, probably. I know most lock codes, but there’ll be guards everywhere. You ever pulled an all-nighter before?” Remus jumped to his feet.

“Uhhh yeah, lots of all-nighters. Sleep is for the weak. What the hell is happening?”

Remus grinned. “Great! Let’s get started. This might hurt a bit, but not as much as what’ll happen if we fail,” he said. “We’re gonna figure out how your powers work.”

~*~

Hours later, Virgil had somewhat of a handle on things. He could summon the darkness at will and aim it to some degree. Which would need to be good enough, as they were running out of time.

“You ready?” Remus asked, cracking his knuckles.

Virgil took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered, then shot a bolt of darkness at the door.

Nothing happened.

“Harder,” Remus said, then giggled.

Virgil flexed his hands and shot another bolt of darkness, and another, and a third for good measure.

The door was blown off its hinges.

Followed quickly by alarms blaring through the building.

“Shit! You didn’t tell me you had alarms on the fucking doors!”

“Oops! Run!”

Remus darted out the door and Virgil scrambled to follow. The alarms didn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before the guards came at them, swarming through the halls. Virgil threw darkness from a distance, while Remus fought hand-to-hand with any guards that got within range.

“You go, I’ll keep them off your tail,” Remus said, stopping within view of the exit.

Virgil skidded to a stop. “Wait, what? You’re not coming?”

Remus smiled sideways. “You’ll get farther without me.”

“I’m not leaving you with them! You said they’d torture you or worse!”

“Eh, I’m used to it by now. Besides, if they kill me, at least it’ll be a cool way to die.”

“You’re not dying! Get your ass over here! Or I’ll drag you with the shadows!”

“Kinky!”

“Shut up and run! If we get out of this alive, then I’ll show you kinky!”

Remus’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You’ll never find out if you die here alone! C’mon!” Virgil shot darkness at the approaching thugs, careful not to hit Remus. Luckily that was enough to get him to follow. They’d figure out the rest later.

Together, they ran towards freedom.

[palbabor-writes]

✿ ൠ for Mahito

i knew this day would come.

warnings: stalking, tw.mentions of blood & gore, tw.noncon, belly bulge, tw.violence, SMUT/18+only tw.mentions of death, i mean, it’s freaking Mahito - there is nothing redeemable in what you will find below 

random - humans are so predictable. it’s easy to see what motivates them, so it’s easier still to dismantle those hopes - crushing their hollow bones and weak sinew to bits, or expanding it until the skin floats, stretched to breaking; flapping like a clean wash in the breeze. 

but he’s getting ahead of himself. 

that will come later. for now he’s content with watching; perched at the back of a busy cafe, long legs crossed languidly in front of him. some of them, the humans that is, can sense him.

they startle, like cattle; eyes wide and ears pricked, stupidly gaping at the vacant chair; unsure if they should run or wait until the danger presents itself. 

he likes plucking these the best.

they’re like an overripe fruit by the time he shoves them down into the dank pathways of the sewer; rent asunder, soaked with tears and snot, their split lips and trembling limbs wobbling. 

wait.

you didn’t ask him about this. you’d only wanted to know what books he liked best.

oh. well, it depends on the genre.

he’s new, you see; but don’t worry, there’s so much more he wants to learn.       

sex - Mahito isn’t picky about these encounters. he’ll shift to whatever form you like best. perhaps a pretty lady? all tits and ass? oh. or do you want lanky legs and spindly arms? maybe a little more muscle? would you like that? 

no? no additional brawn? just thin wrists and lean flesh? he’s ganglier, but it’s fine. he likes this shape anyway - it feels like him. 

besides, you humans are all the same. so disgustingly obvious in your greedy want; hands fluttering at your sides, eyes hidden behind those lashes. 

cute. he thinks, cocking his head at your short skirt and the elegant line of your legs, plump thighs peeking between the folds of the pleats. Getō said he should find someone he’d... enjoy for this experiment. 

he thinks he might enjoy you.

it won’t be the same as a fight - but you’ll be a distraction. and he can always use a distraction. 

when he flips that skirt over your belly you twitch, knees knocking demurely as you try to hide yourself from his inquisitive touch. his fingers pad at the elastic of your panties, gathering the slick against his thumb, a crooked smile on his lips.

don’t worry, he lies. this won’t hurt.

when he molds the shape of his... what is it? ah, that’s right. it’s called a cock. humans use them to impregnate females. how gross. they really are no better than animals. so base that they can’t even mold the outline of their souls to something better, more refined...

wait. where was he? right. 

it - the cock - goes in here. 

Getō said to prep you, but who cares if it bleeds? blood might make this better.

the first push has you jolting away, more of that annoying moisture clinging to your fluttering eyelashes; but the second rut of his hips makes you scream.

oh. that’s nice. that sound is promising.  

he adjusts his angle and elongates the length of his cock, swelling until your belly is distending under him. so, so disgusting, he thinks gleefully. 

yes, let’s see if he can make you scream again. 

Thanks for playing! Headcanon Ask Game   

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

How would Mikasa react to waking up to a female!siren singing to her?

Interestingly enough did you know that the original designs for Sirens portrayed them as humans with wings in greek mythology, having bird features like feathers and claws for legs. "Winged maidens, daughters of the Earth" Helen in In Euripides's play

The goddess Demeter who gave them wings for a reason related to her daughter persephone, although if the wings were a blessing to search for her or a curse as punishment for their failure to protect her is...unkown. If someone managed to resist a siren's song, the siren's life will end.

The only people who managed to best their singing are the muses, who plucked their wings and made crowns from the feathers and Orpheus who drowned out their singing by playing the lyre.

It's not until people began classifying them with mermaids that they merged their looks and instead the Sirens took their appearance but kept their backstory, or got known as the "predator" of mermaids when in realty they just target sailors.

Also this request is lowkey a pun since Mikasa's name is originally from a battleship name and Sirens drown ships.

Mikasa waking up to a female Siren!reader

{ Mikasa x Female reader | tw: mentions of death tw: drowning | fantasy, falling in love, angst with comfort | canon universe }

{ "Aphrodite" 1893 by Adolf Hirémy-Hirschl 1860–1933 }

It's burning, her lungs are burning.

Was the first thing Mikasa realised as she drifted back into consciousness, her body felt heavy and her throat burned. Suddenly a heavy pressure was against her chest for a split second before coming back again, push after push, she felt air making it's way to her lungs.

And then the coughing started, pushing all the remaining water out of her body. Her vision returning as she could make out the voice of someone near her.

Looking above her, Mikasa's breath stilled for a moment when she saw a naked women, the most gorgeous women she's ever seen and when you smiled at her staring, her heart jumped.

Trying to help her sit up, you reached for her hand. She instantly reached for her blade before forcing her hand up, sharp edge inches from your face.

"Who are you and where am i" her voice was still hoarse, despite that it didn't lose it's threatening tone.

You look at her, the human you just saved from drowning, pointing the end of the weapon, you just retrieved from the floor of the ocean, at you.

Trying to think this through and not frighten her any further, you open your mouth to talk. The second she sees your sharp pointy teeth, she leaps four steps back.

This isn't going to work, you think watching her eyes widening while taking in the rest of your body. Moving the end your tail in the air, the big colorful fins disract her for a second for you to start singing.

One moment she felt utterly terrfied, cold and confused but the second your voice went through her like silk, it felt as if her brain numbed her pain and worries. Too hyponitzed to notice the sound the blade made as it hit the rocks under, her eyes softened as she walked towards you.

Her steps echoed through the cave, your singing coating her mind in milk and honey as she realised again how absolutely beautiful you are, how lovely your skin looked without anything to cover it, how mesmerising your tail was.

She wanted to see you up close, to touch you again, to have your hands on her chest again. She was hooked on your voice.

When you squeezed her shoulder she melted under your touch, when you stepped closer her eyelashes fluttered. She followed you to the edge of the cave, sitting right beside on on the cliff as waves crashed against the sharp rocks under.

You could sing her to jump and she wouldn't think twice about it. But you didn't, no instead the end of your tail wrapped around her legs, securing her in place and making sure no wave will dare make her fall.

The singing stopped, but the molten sugar her brain was swimming in didn't. You asked her what's the last thing she can remember, attempting to help before the effects of your voice wear off.

Her dark eyes stared into your glowing ones, just as confused as before but willing to co-operate this time.

What's the last thing can Mikasa remember...well she remembers her name. She also remembers the feeling of cold air and dry sand, she remembers walking miles down the beach at night, hoping the sea could drown her sorrows. With no Titans to worry about anymore, her worries for her friends grew more and more.

It's easy to protect them against a flesh eating gaint, but could she say the same when it comes to protecting them from their own minds?

She remembers the stars being her only company on the long walk, that was until she saw a figure leaning against the rocks in the sea.

Who in their right mind would attempt something so dangerous, she thought. They could die, were they attempting to...

and so she didn't hesitate in jumping after them, ignoring the freezing water while pushing her self towards the figure, hoping to pull them into land.

But she underestimated just how deep the water was, having only been in shallow parts before she didn't realise how dangerous it is when she couldn't feel her feet touching the ground anymore. The sea having no remorse or pity on her before dragging her down under, waves setting off her balance as salty water filled her lungs.

Burning, her lungs were burning.

Horror settled in her eyes, she could still taste the saltiness in her mouth, she could still feel the pressure of water dragging her down, too much, it was all too much.

And then your hands were holding hers, and the storm in her mind calmed down. She felt like she could breath again just by looking at your eyes, she was alive.

"You saved me" it was her turn to squeeze your hands, bringing them to her face. Your thumbs wiped away the salty tears before they could reach her lips.

You held her as she cried her heart out, part because of the horrible experience she just went through, another because of the ghosts of fears and responsibilities on her shoulders. As she sobbed in your chest, mentioning some names you've never heard before. Asking them to forgive her for not knowing how to help, for not being strong enough to protect him from himself.

You don't ask who Eren and Armin are.

Running your fingers through her silky dark hair, it calms her down. She doesn't let go of you and you find the warmth comforting, her grip is surprisingly strong as if she's worried you'll slip between her fingers.

Getting her composer back together, she silently thanks you. The moon is still up and the night is still young, and so she doesn't attempt to leave or move away. Instead she leans closer, her face inches from yours that you could feel her breath against your lips.

"Could you...sing to me again? Please."

You nod, she gives you the most heartwarming smile you've seen before closing the distance between you slowly, almost as if she's giving you space to pull away. You don't.

Her kiss was soft, delicate even, like she's never been kissed before and when you kiss back she becomes putty in your hand. Her mouth taste salty but you don't mind it.

When she pulls away, amazement in her eyes as if she just discovered a new secret to life, she whispers a small thank you.

[hephaestiions]

noose.

written for the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt: verklempt. it took especially long because i had an idea but i just couldn’t transfer it into text in a satisfactory fashion. frankly speaking, i’m still not entirely satisfied, but perhaps posting this will teach me to stop setting unrealistic standards for myself. tw for mcd/unhappy ending and hanging/execution.

They do not drag Draco to the gallows, he goes willingly.

What they do not tell you about execution is that before it happens, the noose does not look like death. It rests, loose against his collarbones– a snake in sleep. If he weren’t standing in front of a crowd baying for his blood, I would mistake it for some kind of macabre, avant-garde fashion statement to be paired with a cynical glimpse of his scarred forearm.

Our eyes meet– his are shining. My mouth, it aches from the distance, aches with the urge to kiss the smirk off him. I think, for a suspended, fantasy-soft moment, they cannot possibly kill him because– because he cannot possibly die.

The wind teases his hair into his eyes. When it comes to kiss my arms with its sighs, I hope it carries whatever he sent of his touch. It coasts gently across my nape; I close my eyes– fool in forbidden love that I am– imagining it his soft, smoke-scented breath. I am held, I am held, I am held–

Hot hands, fluttering eyelashes, murmured gasps of I have seven days left, Potter, better make them count.

I open my eyes.

It starts to rain. He tilts his face up to it; the rope tightens around his throat. There is a scream building in mine– shameful and deviant, trapped behind clenched teeth and helplessness. He looks– alive, alive, alive as a red rose in full bloom, the reaching hands cannot help but pluck him– alive, alive, until he’s not, six feet in the air– alive, alive,

Dead.

And all that is left of him is a noose around my own neck of bruising kisses or kissed bruises– oh I do not know what to call them, only that they throb with the phantom pressure of his warm mouth when I press my searching fingers, bereft of his, into their brokenness– that will fade in the coming seven days.

[samingtonwilson]

Sweet Creature

Summary: sam is in love with the girl at the front desk of the VA, but he has the ability to help-- so he will. (named after the harry styles song but not ENTIRELY based off it. takes place pre-TWS, through AOU, until right before CW) 

Pairing: sam wilson x reader

Warnings: language. NSFW, sexual content, 18+. very slightly angsty.

A/N: i don’t usually write smut and here i am, writing 2 sex scenes in one one-shot. anyway sam wilson is an angel who has been through a lot and is still full of love.

gif below isn’t mine.

She’s hired in autumn and it’s like color bursts with every step she takes. 

Dull grayscale fades into red and yellow leaves, orange and pink sunsets. The burning sun finally cools, grains of desert sand stuck to his every memory slowly trickle away with the chilly breeze. Jack-o-lantern grins hurt his cheeks less, words exchanged over lukewarm coffee now spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg come easier. 

He hears the whistling of birds at dawn without the thought of malfunctioning wings, sleeps in a bed of softness without an ironic longing for dirt and rock mattresses under attacking stars. 

He falls in love in autumn. And smiles.

A smile that’s gap-toothed and silly by winter. A smile that brings warmth and sweetness to bitterly frozen December mornings. One which he offers her as he slides a cardboard cup across her desk, a white napkin tucked underneath it. 

She sees him listen in winter. Sees him as he lets others bleed on him while he bandages himself in silence. 

She hears him give heavy advice with a lightness that makes the others chuckle, like glittering rays of sunlight tearing through the blanket of clouds which is spread by mid-afternoon nowadays. 

He demystifies plastic bags that resemble harbingers of death, dispels blame and shamefully missed opportunities in favor of forgiveness and acceptance. He offers ribbon to tie a broken heart together, balm to ease the tightness of guilt. 

And it’s all done real easy. Pain isn’t discounted. It’s merely no longer thought of as the sublime mountain range of Romanticism. It’s real and surmountable, it has a slow-acting— but acting, nonetheless— antidote. There is liberty to be attained. Enlightenment.

There’s hope. A word which had lost its meaning until it’s said with those hot cocoa eyes and that woolen smile. A word that hurts less each time it’s used. 

She watches him radiate heat in the form of realistic optimism in winter. And falls in love. 

They’re setting up chairs one morning in spring. Half-past eight, the smell of percolating coffee and a greasy pink box of donuts in cool air. Sam’s phone is connected to the AUX cord, it plays something bluesy. A little sleepy sounding, but infinitely smooth. 

It reminds her of his voice as he greets her each weekday morning, his smile a saxophone solo and laughter a symphony. 

“I’ve been thinking.” 

Setting a chair beside the one Sam has just unfolded, she smiles. “That’s never a good sign.”

Deep brown eyes narrow in playful annoyance. “Cute.” 

“I’m aware.”

“I want to take you out.” 

She stills, rubber caps fastened to the end of the chair legs like boots are suspended just above the floor. Her eyes meet Sam’s as he stands a few feet away. He wears an effortless, confident smile and she stifles one back. Albeit miserably. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about? Asking me on a date?” 

“Among other things.” 

Something about the way he says it, that soft glimmer in his eyes and slyness in his smile, makes heat rise to her cheeks. She doesn’t look away, though. Simply narrows her eyes and sets the chair down. “Yeah? Like what?” 

He leans in her direction to take a folded chair from the rack behind her. She can smell his cologne, feel the warmth which rolls off him in waves, and something in her seems to catch on fire. Softly, he replies, “Say yes and we’ll talk about it on the date.” 

“Bribes don’t work on me,” she says, nose wrinkled as it almost bumps against his. She smooths his collar with nimble fingertips, gently brushing the cotton of his button-up. 

He watches as she looks up at him through her eyelashes and he nearly loses his balance— clumsy at the sight even as he stands still. 

“Give me until the end of the day to think about it?”

“Take as long as you want,” he breathes before he can help it, practically putty. 

Her nod comes with a smile. Something gentle and sweet. Steps slow and casual as she walks to the door. 

“Sam,” she calls, fingers wrapped around the wooden doorframe. Everything about her posture speaks to a reluctance to leave, a reluctance to follow that stupid advice from her old college roommate to mask eagerness. She grins when he looks up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I want you to take me out, too.” 

He grins as well. The coffee pot is set back down and he slips his hand into his pocket. Casual. 

Right? 

He hopes so. “You free tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night?” she repeats with a laugh. Colorful against the beige walls, scuffed tile floors. “A little eager?” 

A shrug. Casual. 

But the look he gives her? Far from. “Maybe.” 

She looks away with a frown of consideration. Sends a smile to one of the regulars of Sam's sessions as he slides past her to enter the room with a short wave in greeting, sun-creased fingers and anemia-paled nails a brief flourish. “How about tonight then?” 

The gushing red of the first date seems to bleed into the second. 

The days between pass with sly looks, smiles hidden behind coffee cups and wrapped around smoothie straws. It’s as if his eyes have remained in hers since that night over a dinner she can’t remember the taste of. That same glimmer, that same miserably hidden desire and elation she knows are in her eyes, too. 

He touches her more in those days when the sun lingers a bit longer and the petals of flowering dogwood blossoms stick to the bottom of her shoes. Deep amber toned skin meets hers when a thumb sweeps over her knuckles, when a hand is placed at the small of her back, when fingers tangled together are hidden between them as they walk to the Hall C vending machine together— whispers about no other vending machine having the ginger ale she likes. 

There’s longing in those touches and whispers. In the looks exchanged across the lobby of the VA. In his posture as he stands in her doorway, a single long stem white rose in his hand. And especially in his gaze as he scans the length of her, done up all pretty for a movie he doubts he’ll be able to pay attention to. 

It’s just as well, though, as they don’t make it to the movie.

She invites him in, mumbling something about needing to fasten an earring, and forgets about it as soon as he takes a step to invade the space she’s kept open for him all along. 

A gentle breath when she thinks her eyelashes might caress his skin before she can and her laugh is a little nervous when she plucks the rose from his gentle grip. “I should put this in water.” 

He nods, but neither of them move. It’s only a second that his eyes slip a glance to her lips. But in that second he’s conveyed the shakiness in both their chests and the rose is forgotten at her feet as his lips claim hers. 

Warm fingers curve around the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he pours every bit of longing and withheld desperation into the kiss. She grasps the softness of his thin sweater in her fists and pulls him closer, smiling against his lips when a groan is ripped from his chest. 

A blind kick— one which has Sam worried that he’ll put a hole through her wall— shuts the door and a graceful spin has her back pushed into the splintering wood she’d painted turquoise a week after moving in. 

The brass knob digs into her side but it’s entirely ignored. All she can perceive is every solid, stone-like inch of his body— hot like fire beneath burgundy cotton— pressed against her, his soft but urgent lips moving with hers. 

It’s another minute, hour, decade perhaps of firecracker heat before he breaks the kiss. He smiles at the weight keeping her eyes closed, forehead lazily set against hers. He visually traces the slight swelling of her lips, the smudged gloss he’s sure is smeared over his own mouth in a thin, shiny layer on her cupid’s bow and the skin below her bottom lip. 

She sweeps her tongue over it, as if it’ll help bring her back to Earth. Her eyelashes flutter up toward her brows. Irises a mere ring around pupils blown wide, she gazes at deep brown eyes just barely honeyed by overhead bulbs. 

He watches his thumb glide over her cheek, feather-light over her lips. Commits the image and feel to memory. 

There’s amazement in his eyes. Perhaps at the confirmation that she is just as soft as he’d imagined. Perhaps at the feeling of finally. And, through harsh breath, his voice is hoarse as he says, “The movie’s in twenty minutes.” 

Before she can reply, he presses a kiss to her left temple, her left cheek then her right. Another kiss at the corner of lips now pitched upward and smooth lips glide over her jaw, then just below. She cranes her neck for him. “I have movies here.” 

His smile is felt rather than seen and it inspires one of her own. A strong arm winds around her waist, tight and answer enough. But, once he’s kissed his way to her lips again, he voices one anyway, “Even better.” 

She closes whatever centimeters of distance separate their lips and sighs when his hands slide behind her thighs, lifting her so that she can hook her legs around his waist. Her arms wrap around his neck and, somehow, she feels as if they aren’t close enough. Not with the layers of fabric separating them, not as he stands only feet from her door. 

His step backwards is hesitant, slow. 

“Down the hall,” she tells him, lips brushing his, “first door to the left.” 

His eyes open, but struggle to remain so when she presses kisses everywhere he had. Barely a foot past the hall entryway, she nips the skin beneath the hard line of his jaw a bit harshly. A soft hiss through his teeth and her tongue soothes the sting. It has his steps faltering until he presses her against the wall to join their lips in a deep but quick kiss. 

Her bedroom door is ajar and requires only the gentle push of her fingers to allow them through. The setting sunlight streaming through her drapes paints patches of her white comforter a deep gold, shining over her mirror and closet door. 

Everything about the space is warm and inviting. From the rumpled grey faux fur throw blanket and the floral rug placed before her bed, to the melted candles in glass jars and sloppily made porcelain vases he thinks she must have thrown and glazed herself. 

He lowers her onto the bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows haphazardly thrown near the headboard, and firmly kisses her lips— but only for a moment. “Baby, are you—” coffee brown eyes pop open to meet hers. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—” 

“I know we don’t have to.” Her nose wrinkles before she smiles up at him, sun outlining her features. “It might be a little soon, but I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

He grins in return. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So have I.” 

She narrows her eyes. A jesting glare, a contradictory smile. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, Wilson.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” The pitch of his voice is lowered, he ducks his head so his lips skim the skin behind her ear. He hears the hitch in her breath when his teeth scrape a particularly sensitive spot and shifts his weight so his hips rock into hers. “Over, and over, and over.”

The grind is faint. Barely there. But her mind reels, her nerves spark. Voice a mess of sighs, she asks, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Guess you’ll have to be patient and see,” he says, but only once he’s nudged his nose against hers. Spared a long look into her eyes. Watched as her tender bottom lip is bitten.

His hands— such, such good hands, all warm and strong and safe— are everywhere. One grips the tip of her chin to mould their lips together, one skims bare skin just below the hem of her shirt. Fingers soft and the press of them gentle, blunt nails run up her side to follow the curve of her waist, tracing the band of her bra and just barely along the underside of a lace cup. 

He tips her chin upward to trail his lips to her throat. She gasps at the feel of a bite, the lap of a tongue just as his fingers pop the button on her jeans, and the muscles in her abdomen contract as he moves lower. 

His hands now push the knit fabric further and further up— slowly, inch by inch— until, in impatience, she lifts her shoulders and strips it away. Chin set just above her waistband, Sam grins at her. His low laughter is more felt than heard. “A little eager?” 

He’s met with a glower as she reaches back to unclasp her bra and toss it aside— and it only makes him laugh harder. However her frustration is merely a thin veil. A veil which has gone sheer the moment she struggles against a smile. 

Though there hasn’t been a loss of the heat in either of their eyes, their movements are now decidedly unhurried. The drag of his knuckles as he pulls black denim and lace the color of marigolds over her ass and down her legs once he’s tucked his shoulder under her thighs. The slow lift of his gaze as he seems to study every inch of her. The path of his lips and tongue from her belly button to her breasts to her lips. And the languid kiss that follows. 

Her leg hooks over his hip and, though she breaks the kiss, she speaks against his lips, “You’re a little overdressed.” 

Feeling him smile, she pushes against him and manages to roll him onto his back so her knees dig into the mattress. A playfully smug waggle of her eyebrows and she giggles— and, oh, he thinks his heart might burst at that. At the sight of her disheveled and a little scuffed from his ministrations. At the sight of her so bare and vulnerable, but so trusting and strong and happy.

He stares up at her, not hiding any bit of wonder or love, as she imitates the way he’d pushed the fabric of her shirt up her torso until he pulls it off the rest of the way. When she leans over him to kiss him once more, his hands cup her face to hold her there, barely registering in his mind how she unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans. 

Thoroughly kissed silly, she presses swollen lips to his jaw, his neck, shimmying lower until she’s knelt between his legs. A lift of his hips helps her remove the bothersome fabric and she gives him a slow study of her own. That deep shade of his skin— interrupted only by a few lifted scars littered over his chest— seems to glow and reflect the golden shade of sunlight. Early evening sunlight which brightens already sparkling eyes, an already shining smile. 

Just as she makes to lean down a bit, intending to teach him the feel of his hard length down her throat, he sits up, fingers comb through her hair to guide her lips back to his. 

His arm then wraps around her waist and he pulls her into his lap, those soft, deliberate fingers slipping between her legs. The kiss gains further urgency when she moans into his mouth. When she rolls her hips to grind against his fingers. When he slips in a finger, then two, as his thumb moves against her clit and she arches into him. 

A slight lift of her hips only to bring them back down, Sam’s lips are at her neck now. A stroke of his thumb, a curl to his fingers as they’re thrust deep inside her. Her whimper is broken, a little choked as her walls tighten around his fingers. “Fuck. God, Sam.” 

He looks up at her. Stares at the shadow her eyelashes cast over her cheekbones, the plumpness of her parted lips, that wrinkle of tension between her brows. His hand moves faster, impatient as if he can feel the tight coiling in her stomach, the heat slowly creeping through her limbs. 

A whine escapes his throat as she practically shivers at a particularly slow, purposeful stroke of his thumb. “There we go, baby. Come on, I’ve got you.”

She says something. Something she herself doesn’t grasp. Stutters it, stammers it, slurs it.

Arm resting on his shoulders, her nails dig into his back harshly as the coil snaps. All at once. Walls fluttering, pulsing around thick fingers. Heat impossibly higher in trembling legs and tense arms. 

But it’s not enough. 

Not until, a slight burn and quiver in her thighs, she rises to her knees and grasps him at the base. She swallows over the thickness in her throat as she twists her wrist in a slow stroke of her own. Over his answering shudder, she says, “Condom.” 

A steadying breath. “I’ve got one in my wallet.”

He looks over her shoulder to the floor where the dark denim has been carelessly tossed and nearly whimpers.

Then she giggles. Presses herself closer and tilts a little to the left to reach into a drawer in the bedside table. She tears the package and seems to go purposefully slow as she rolls the latex down the length of him, smiling as her hand, loosely gripping him, sweeps back up and he softly groans. “Did you come here with expectations, Sam?” 

“Just precautionary.” 

Another laugh and a skeptical, “Uh-huh.”

So stiff she feels empathetic pain, she sinks down on him with little resistance. A bit of a lift, then down further. 

She, resisting the downward pull of her eyelids, watches him. As his eyes close, lips part, chest falls. All as he sighs. A loud rumble of relief from deep in his chest. 

He hits a point so far inside of her, it very nearly hurts. So thick, she feels she might have been split in two had he not taken the edge off so expertly. 

And he finds himself having to regulate his breaths. Not to choke at the silky feel of her stretched around him. Not to embarrass himself so quickly because it’s been so long. Since he’s had sex, yes— but especially since he’s felt anything near what she inspires in him, from wonderment to adoration, from blissful to so much love. 

“You doin’ okay?” through light laughter, she asks. Her voice is not much more than an exhale and there’s a soft squeeze around him. Not nearly at the strength of his fingers on her hips, though, bruising and stilling as she experimentally rolls her hips. 

She can’t help her smile at the hissed grunt he lets loose, at his own reacting laughter— dry, a little embarrassed. “Gotta give me a second, baby.” 

It’s only a few seconds— seconds she spends familiarizing herself with the heavy weight of him inside of her— before those same hands beckon movement. First by adjusting her legs so she crosses her ankles behind his back, then by pulling her impossibly closer.  

She pulls off of him inch by inch, sighs a moan at the slow drag of him, and whimpers at the snap of his hips, his voice gruff as he grinds out, “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”

He punctuates the statement with a hard thrust, drawing a gasped whimper from her, and effectively takes control as his hands guide her hips forward and back. One hand, however, slides across her skin to her neck, his fingers curving around her nape and tangling through knotted hair to pull her into a messy kiss. 

She pants against his lips, kiss broken when his hips— definitely showing off— take on a somewhat circular motion as he thrusts. Her head tips back as he relearns the taste of her throat. 

His teeth scrape that spot he’d learned about just a few minutes— although it feels like a lifetime— ago just as his fingers slide between her legs, carefully passing over that bundle of nerves before pressing down fully with rapid movements. 

It’s as if that firecracker heat now sparkles up her spine, back arching into him as her vision seems to white out. Her walls tighten, her moans broken. 

“God, fuck.” His voice is harsh. Deeper than usual as he watches himself disappear inside her, each thrust more difficult than the last with the way she clamps down harder. 

He tries to stall the warmth that spreads through him, tries to hold himself back, but as his eyes trace every bit of her before focusing on the way pleasure twists her features, he thinks he might snap. Voice now verging on revelatory, he breathes, “So fuckin’ good, so perfect.” 

“Sam— Sam, I’m—” 

He doesn’t voice how thankful he is. Doesn’t praise the heavens aloud because fuck knows he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. 

He thrusts deep, hard. Sweet words mere babble against her lips, hips and fingers working quicker until—

His name is a mantra. The mingling of kaleidoscopic visions beneath shut eyelids and alight sandalwood incense nerves a kind of meditation. 

“Goddamn.” He slows but doesn’t stop working his hips against hers. The sounds from his throat blending with hers as he feels the quick squeeze and release around him, pulsing waves overtaking him entirely. “Fuck, fuck.” 

One last thrust. As far as he can go. And he spills white hot into the condom, words a mixture of curses and praises, declarations and damnations. She’d forgotten her own name in the throws of it all until he says it. Repeats it. A confirmation of reality to them both.

Silence apart from jagged breaths. Sunlight depleting, but she finds his skin still glows, eyes are still bright as he stares right back at her. 

It starts as a silent chuckle through her nose, one that is more felt as she shakes than heard. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip in an attempt to hold it in— this odd, messy laughter of happiness, and surprise, and so much love. It bubbles out of her anyway, especially as he grins in return. 

She doesn’t care about the goofiness of her laughter. The hiccupy punctuations liberally littered throughout. Doesn’t care about the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, along the bridge of her nose. The smudged makeup it sharpens. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips, smiling when he follows her after she pulls away. 

“So are we gonna talk about that condom you brought?” 

A groan born of a snicker, he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His hands follow the curve of her waist, the indents of her discarded bra against her back and shoulders. Touches meant to memorize, rather than rouse. His thumbs sweep across her ribcage. “Told you. They’re just precautionary.” 

She gasps. Entirely too dramatic. “‘They’?” Her nails dig into his shoulder a little mean when he refuses to loosen the strong arm around her waist. 

He immediately lifts his head to glare at her and she glares back, far more convincing than he could ever be. “‘They.’ ‘They’!” 

She pokes her fingertip into his side. Once, then twice when his hold on her only tightens. “Did you have a big night planned, Sam? Huh?” 

Twice more and he sighs, pushes off the bed to roll the two of them over, smiles at the surprised squeak falling from her lips. He slips out of her as he holds himself above her. “You never know what might happen.”

“At the movies?” she asks. He’s sure he would’ve been able to hear the grin in her voice even if he hadn’t seen it stretching swollen lips. Another jab to his ribs and he hisses. “Just in case we fucked at the movies?”

In one hand, he grasps both of her wrists and pins them against the mattress. “Try it now.” 

Though his grip is loose enough for her to simply twist out of, she glowers up at him. But the glimmer in her eye, the way her toes trace up his calf stirs something still burning inside him. Tone deadpan, she murmurs, “Oh, no. What a terrible position you’ve got me in. What will I do now?” 

Though night falls quickly, draining the room of light but not desire, she sees her bedroom walls turn pink, her comforter now the hue of strawberry bubblegum. 

It seems to blossom more and more each night they spend tangled together beneath her sheets. On the kitchen counter after an early morning trip to the farmer’s market. In her car when the film is just too boring and she kisses him just too fucking much to stay in that fucking theater any longer. Against the wall beside his front door after he’d vanished with that new super-friend of his to chase down a ghost story on a busy highway. 

A pink balloon which pops before summer. Wilted scraps cast a shadow over cotton candy skies, browning once-green grass now gone unwatered. The sun burns tense skin and she fans herself with an informational brochure from the plastic pockets mounted to the wall. 

A summer like the frosty can of lemon-lime soda she drops after having just purchased it from the Hall A vending machine. Barely contained, set to combust at the first purposeful touch. Bent. Entirely wrong. 

She watches as new counselors take over Sam’s sessions. Watches as regulars fall away. Watches as CNN pundits berate a different Steve Rogers than the Please, just call me Steve who drops by monthly with a fresh donation check signed by Tony Stark— a Steve allegedly semi-responsible for the destruction of Sokovia. Watches as the story shifts to one of hope in the glowing hands— and on the wings— of new recruits. 

He stands outside her door that August evening. Shadows under his eyes, a scar below his hairline. “I can explain,” is his greeting. 

The green of a freshly mowed lawn stains her white canvas sneakers. Humidity leaves a sheen of perspiration over the high points of her cheeks. One of the Mickey Mouse band-aids the VA jokingly stocks in the break room first aid kit pasted over her knee. He stores the sight away, something nice to hold onto. “Can’t you always?”

He follows her inside, she knows she shouldn’t allow it. 

He stands too close, she knows she shouldn’t allow that either. “It’s been two weeks. You’ve called maybe twice. You won’t tell me where you’ve been.”

And she believes him when he says, “I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I told you, some things are classified.” 

“Jake Tapper on CNN says you’re moving to New York,” her voice is as small as she feels under the warm, safe hands he holds her face— and every bit of her heart— in. 

There’s little anger in the eyes she watches him with, almost none in fractured words. And he’s fully aware he’s undeserving of that. Of her neverending kindness, that small smile hidden under the long-suffering frown she’d offered upon seeing him in the hall, the home she provides. 

But not the warm apartment with the gauzy drapes and mismatched dining chairs— it’s the heart she somehow hasn’t taken back. Neither through the Steve needs me to find someone explanation which is meager at best, nor the I’ll be back as soon as I can goodbye each time he gets even the faintest lead on the assassin who owes him a new steering wheel. 

He isn’t sure why she’s stuck around. Or why she’s allowed him to walk in and out this way. He sighs and gives her the most detailed explanation yet, “Things are a mess upstate. Steve, Natasha, Stark… They’re scrambling. Trying to get everyone who can help together to avoid another Sokovia.” 

“You could’ve asked my opinion.” She wishes she could sound more stern to even herself. But her voice is a plea and overhead lights do for her filled eyes what the sun does for the ocean. Blinding glitter. “I wouldn’t have said no.” 

“I wanted to tell you in person. Talk to you about it face to face.” 

Though he’s made his decision. Made it the second Steve asked. And she knows it.

Because this is the same Sam with ribbons, balm, and hope. The same Sam who knows there is no liberty to hold when it isn’t made available to everyone. The same Sam who does what’s right no matter the personal cost— and what’s right is helping, simply because he can. 

She forgets that, beyond the barren walls and slowly emptying shelves of his home, summer still scalds bare shoulders and lemonade made from concentrate is still being sold by five-year olds from plastic lawn tables. Too busy boxing up his life. Too tired from nights— and early mornings— marked by urgency and premature goodbyes. 

It isn’t like the first time. Tears punctuate laughter. He holds onto her tighter and thrusts into her harder. Leaves marks as if reminders of himself he knows will physically fade but hopes remain emotionally. Each kiss an attempt to imprint the shape of his lips on the brightness of the soul she’s already embroidered his every touch onto with sharp needles and gilded thread. 

On the eve of his departure, he’s a sinner in confessional. Tells her everything as he rolls them over, a delicate entangling of their fingers while the movement of his hips is anything but. “I love you,” is said against her lips, repeated when he hears her breath stall. But this time as he looks into her eyes. “I love you. I have for so long.” 

He finds himself unable to stop. Strung out on each moan and gasped breath of hers and how long it might be until he can hear it again. How long it might be until he can feel her tighten around him again. “You’re so good. My sweet, beautiful girl. I love you so much.” 

She can’t speak. Not around the knot which has tightened itself at the base of her throat. The knot which only lets his name through, only lets please’s and profanity wrapped in the voice of an angel through. 

She loses count of how many times he says it. Only remembers the different inflections each time. From revelatory and amazed, urging and pleading, to firm, as if it’s indisputable fact. And that, coupled with the way he angles himself to drag against her clit with every bit of push and pull, causes her to fall over the edge twice— nerves overshot and almost painfully sensitive. 

He wants a third. Needs to give her a third. Something to remember him by. So his fingers shoot down between them, thumb hooked between her legs. Even as she grasps his wrist. Her eyes shut, her back arched and head thrown back. 

“You have one more in you,” his voice is rough. Slurred syllables, dragging consonants. His free hand grabs her chin, an attempt to physically bring her gaze back to his. But her eyelids remain closed. “Look at me.”

Eyelashes with remnants of the day’s mascara flutter up toward her brows. Hazy. Yet through it all— through the sparks shooting up her spine as she comes for the third time and through the tears which seem to have found a home above her lashline throughout the past week— she sees him. She’s always seen him. She always wants to see him. 

So as he paints her pulsing walls in warm white ribbons and tells her he loves her for the nth time, she breathes, “I love you, too. Also have for a long time.” 

A beat of silence. Shallow breath held. And he smiles. Silly and warm, like winter in summer. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, baby.” 

She rolls her eyes— well-meaning and fond. A giggle that makes him lose his mind. Thumbs brush feather-light over his cheekbones. “Come back to me in one piece and I’ll make it up to you. Over, and over, and over.” 

He makes her a promise that night. 

One he echoes the next morning and every subsequent night they manage to catch each other on the phone. The promise which becomes a goodbye whenever, after a day or two of personal leave as far as SHIELD and the Avengers are concerned, he’s set to take her heart back to New York with him.

“I’ll always come back to you.” 

---

[bad-behavior]

Glue Prompts

[TW: Gore] [TW: Eye Trauma]

Glue your Whumpees fingers together with superglue. They won’t be able to pick stuff up, and they won’t be able to do basic tasks like use silverware.

Put glue in their hair. It’ll get impossibly matted, and trying to brush it out will result in torn hair, screaming and crying.

Glue their eyes shut. Trying to open their eyes will tear out all their eyelashes.

Glue their mouth shut.

Pour superglue all over their body and make them pull all the pieces from their skin. It’s so attached to their skin that there is bound to be pieces of flesh pulled off too.

For your winged Whumpees, pour glue all over their wings and make them pluck every feather out to get it all out.

Make Whumpee grovel for glue remover, or make it a reward for being good.