#with a red dot on his chest and a swift end plEASE

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Does someone wanna fix Keith. Like, as in “I could fix him” ?

He’s terrible and needs intervention.

[storiesforallfandoms]

i know ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 1300

request?: yes!

“Hi! I love your Hannibal stories and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write one?

Where the reader walks in to Hannibal in the middle of killing someone and he freezes when he sees the reader, thinking that she’s gonna freak out. But when the guy he’s killing starts asking her for help she just knocks him out and Hannibal is like “the shit?” And she’s like “I know about you”

Again I love your writing, it’s amazing! ♥️”

description: in which he thought he was keeping his “butchering” habits a secret from his girlfriend, only to remember she’s a lot smarter than he gives her credit for

pairing: hannibal lector x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of gore and murder, it gets steamy but no actual smut

masterlist (one, two)

Hannibal hadn’t expected his latest victim to be such a fighter. The man had been knocked out cold when Hannibal brought him in, and he expected the man to stay that way until he could knock him out permanently. He was shocked when the man suddenly jumped up and attempted to attack Hannibal.

It was far from a fair fight. Hannibal was easily a head taller than his victim, and much more fit from how many times he had done it before. The man, who was still a bit delirious, would lunge at Hannibal only for the taller man to easily strike him down again.

The fight had moved upstairs and Hannibal was desperate to end it there. The last thing he needed was for an unexpected visitor to walk in and catch him.

He was so sure he had the man right where he wanted. His victim was bloody and unable to keep running. A knife was held firmly in Hannibal’s hand, and he was raising it to strike when the man started to scream.

“Help me! Help me, please, he’s going to kill me!”

Hannibal stepped into the kitchen to find his girlfriend, (Y/N), stood there looking at his victim with wide eyes. His blood ran cold as the options he had to deal with this situation ran through his head.

There was only one that would benefit him: he had to kill the both of them.

The man raced up to (Y/N), collapsing against her due to his blood loss. He was still begging her for her help as her gaze raised up to Hannibal’s face. His heart broke knowing what he was going to have to do to the woman he loved.

In one swift movement, (Y/N) raised her hand and brought a knife down into the back of the man clinging to her. She winced at the blood that splattered over her face and ran down her shirt. The man gasped, but his breathing turned into gurgles until finally, he just stopped.

(Y/N) let his body fall to the floor. Hannibal looked up at her with shock.

“I know about you,” she said.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) cleaned the kitchen while Hannibal took care of the body. When he came back upstairs, he found the place spotless and could hear the faint sound of the shower running from his ensuite bathroom. Her bloody clothes were discarded on a pile in his bedroom, and he decided to shed his own and lay them there as well.

The hot water poured from the shower head and, the moment it made contact with her body, it turned a light shade of red from the blood. (Y/N) shivered as the cold air touched her body for a brief moment. Hannibal’s hands touched her waist and his lips placed soft kisses on her neck and shoulders.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“I heard you talking to Will a few weeks back in your office,” she responded through shuttered breaths of pleasure. “You were talking about someone you had killed. I didn’t want to believe it, of course I didn’t. No one wants to learn that their boyfriend is a murderer, let alone a cannibal. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Too many dots that were being connected.”

“You never said anything.”

“How could I? ‘Hey babe, I heard you admitting to Will that you kill and eat people. Anyways, who’s for dinner tonight?’.”

“You could’ve told Jack.”

His hand moved from her hip to her throat, pulling her head back so it was pressed against his chest. She turned her head slightly so that she could peer up at Hannibal. Unlike other he had had in that position many times before, (Y/N) didn’t look afraid of him. Quite the opposite, really. She looked at him with the same amount of love in her eyes that she had always looked at him with.

“I’m not going to turn you in, Hannibal,” she said. “Especially not now considering the fact that I murdered that man earlier.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m just curious as to why you never went to Jack in the first place.”

(Y/N) turned to face Hannibal. She pressed her body against his as she looked up at him.

“I thought about it,” she admitted. “I figured that was what I was supposed to do, but the more I thought about it, the more I found myself unbothered by the whole thing. What’s the point of being upset by shitty people getting what they deserve? And what better way to dispose of the bodies than by feeding them to the detectives in charge of the cases?”

She stood on her toes and leaned in close to Hannibal’s ear to add, “And it really turns me on to know how much you have outsmarted the FBI.”

That was enough to drive Hannibal wild. His hand enclosed around (Y/N)’s throat again as he pulled her in for a heated kiss. (Y/N) felt her legs becoming weak and had to lean against Hannibal to keep herself standing up. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, using it to hold her up as he kissed her with so much force that it made her head dizzy.

By the time they were finished in the shower, the water had gone cold. Hannibal had to help (Y/N) out of the bathroom and into his bed. She nearly sighed with relief when her aching body touched the softness of his bed. Hannibal chuckled at her as he took a moment to get rid of their bloody clothes before getting into bed with her.

“I take it you’re not killing me then,” (Y/N) said.

“I have no reason to kill you,” Hannibal told her. “Even if you went to Jack about all of this, I don’t think I’d have the heart to do it. I’d go to jail if it meant you were safe and alive.”

(Y/N) smiled at him. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, too. That’s why I promise to keep this our little secret, and if Will ever tries to go to Jack or anyone on the FBI about you, I’ll be by your side.”

“He won’t. I have too much on him for him to turn around and go to Jack. He’d end up back in jail with me if he ever tried.”

(Y/N) hummed in response. “You’ve really figured everything out.”

“You don’t get away with what I’ve been doing for years without being one step ahead of everyone around you.”

(Y/N) settled against his chest. It was a lot to take in, and she knew it’d take some time to adjust to what she knew now, but she meant what she had said to Hannibal. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone or anything in her life. She was willing to do whatever she had to to make sure he would still be with her. If that meant helping him from time to time, or lying to the police for him, then so be it. It wouldn’t be hard considering how ahead of everyone Hannibal was.

“Promise you won’t eat me,” she mumbled sleepily, a joke she hadn’t meant to come out but had managed to slip through her filter.

Hannibal’s chest vibrated as he laughed. “Oh, I will eat you. Just not in the same way.”

As if to prove his point, he moved from under her and slipped under the blankets. (Y/N)’s head lulled back against the pillow beneath her as she let out a gasp, her hand finding its way to Hannibal’s hair and gripping it tightly between her fists.

[atsuminthe]

I'm excited for this one dove!! I'd love to participate! owww it'll have to be red room + vampire!sakusa + sir + 'pet', 'bunny' + f!reader + bloodplay ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄*₎◞ ̑̑

★ minty’s notes: this is great, this is so great

cw — fem reader, strict dom!sakusa, sir kink, pet names (pet, bunny), blood play, mentions of punishments

    “sit still, pet.”

    his cold voice echoes through the room—alongside the obscene squelching noises and the moans rippling from your throat as your thighs tremble. sakusa has one of them pinned to the bed, your other leg thrown over his shoulder as he splits you in two on his cock. you’ve never had anyone as long and thick as sakusa, shyly admitting that to your vampire boyfriend, and he only laughed sympathetically at the poor attempts of your previous partner to make you cum.

    “you deserve someone who can please you, bunny,” he whispered, his lips trailing along the expanse of your arm, softly sinking his sharp canines into your wrist and suckling on the red liquid that trickled from the little wounds. he soothed your pain with a hand between your thighs, quickly making you keen. “not some flimsy idiot who only wants to get his dick wet. let me show you what it means to be properly and thoroughly loved, yes?”

    that’s how you ended up in a mating press, sakusa’s canines pricking your skin as they puncture it. you cry out, feeling him hum against the column of your throat, letting a little of the crimson liquid to drip down on the silk sheets, feeling you writhe under him. he’d never drain you of your blood to the point of killing you, of course, but whenever he fed on you, it seemed you enjoyed it a little too much. you gave yourself to him completely, letting him take whatever he wanted from you—something not many creatures have done over the very long span of his life. he admires your courage for that. his teeth detach from your neck, nose nudging the two red dots as a sign of affection.

    “stop squirming.” even if his actions give you a sense of warmth and security—knowing that he has already chosen you as his partner by claiming your blood and he won’t seriously hurt you—his tone is still harsh and demanding, prompting you to shiver. “behave, pet. unless you want to be punished again.” you cry out a pathetic ‘no, sir!’ as he chuckles dryly. “that’s what i thought.” he pushes his hips so the remaining length of his cock slips inside your pussy as he watches your chest heave, breasts bouncing with each breath. “you seem to be enjoying this, bunny. does it feel good?”

    you’re too lost in the hazy pleasure he provides to answer—you can barely hear him, voice muffled as your ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. he clicks his tongue, tone firm as he pulls out entirely and slams his cock back inside in one swift motion. “i asked you a question, pet, and i expect an answer.” the threat of punishment looms over you as your teary eyes focus slowly on his pale, handsome face.

    “y-yes, sir—feels… feels great—oh!” you gasp as his lithe fingers circle your clit, a satisfied smirk on his face. he doesn’t say anything more, but judging by the hunger in his dark eyes, you’re in for a long night.

[nutmegalomania]

Sweet Tooth

a beelzebub x reader ff

description: a midnight snack before bed turned into more when you ran into the object of your recent sexual desires: beelzebub. Instead of sinking your teeth into a delicious snack, he devoured you instead, and it was more than you could have asked for.

ingredients: beelzebub (obey me!)/reader, gender-neutral reader, beelzebub (obey me!), smut, blow jobs, fingering, sir kink, asphyxiation, hair pulling, food play, spanking, degradation, creampie

flavor: spicy  🌶️

calories: 8,272

🥐

Your mouth stretched open, and a yawn pushed itself out as you walked out of Levi’s room towards the kitchen. Between playing games with him and Mammon texting you every five seconds asking if he could borrow money which you knew he’d blow instantly and never pay back, you were in desperate need of a deep nights sleep, but before that, your stomach beckoned you to eat something to calm the grumbling down and allow you to have a good rest in your soft bed. Tears sprung up in your eyes as another yawn hit you along with the scent of something sweet that led you deeper into the kitchen.

A large back met your droopy eyes as you dragged your feet on the floor, and you plopped down into a chair at the wooden table as you rubbed your eyes with a fist. The smell of cake mixed with peanut butter, chocolate, and fruits hit your nose—or at least things that smelled similar since your comfort foods on earth didn’t exist here in Devildom. Your stomach let out a drawn out and pathetic growl, and saliva filled your mouth at the thought of tasting whatever was cooking. You wiped the side of your mouth with the back of your hand, and leaned forward to catch a better whiff of the baked goods.

“Are you hungry as well, Y/N?” a voice asked, and you shook your head to snap yourself out of your hunger daze to see Beelzebub staring at you, his orange hair falling into his amethyst eyes as he leaned against the table to look at you, a bar of what you assumed to be chocolate in his hands, a large bite taken out of its corner. 

You blinked and leaned back at his proximity to you, your cheeks reddening as the smell of chocolate from his breath wrapped around you and mixed with his natural scent. “Uh… Y-yeah. I got a little hungry after playing with Levi so I decided to grab a little snack before I went to sleep.” You gave him an awkward chuckle and scratched the back of your head while avoiding his eyes. “The smell of whatever you’re baking made me stop though.” He took another large bite of the chocolate bar, almost all of the chocolatey goodness gone now, and you watched as he licked his lips after swallowing the food. “It-It smells good,” you said, mentally hitting yourself for honing in on his lips instead of looking him in the eyes and managing to stutter. 

You didn’t know what was wrong with you that your breath kept getting caught in your chest whenever you saw Beelzebub lick his lips after eating, but it had been happening for a few weeks now. You had been hanging out with anyone but Beelzebub to get your minds off it, whether that be playing games or talking about manga with Levi, going shopping or getting mani pedis with Asmodeus, kicking Mammon out of your room for begging to borrow money, taking naps with Belphie, reading in Satan’s room, or helping Lucifer with artifacts he’s found. Frankly, you should have known that Beelzebub would be in the kitchen, so you should have steered clear and gone straight to your room, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach won and led you to the predicament you found yourself in right now, aka trying not to grab Beelzebub by the back of his head to smash your lips against his. 

He tilted his head to the side, his hair bouncing as he smiled at you. “It does, doesn’t it? It’s almost done. When it’s finished cooking, do you want a piece? I might be willing to share if it’s you,” he said, and you nodded as your heart thrummed in your chest at his words. 

Though you didn’t tend to read too deeply into things, his words struck something in you that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he liked you even a smudge of what you felt for him. Just someone bringing his name up in conversation sent your face flushing and pulse racing, and being in his presence only worsened those symptoms. 

After you nodded, he turned away from you to take the cake out of the oven, giving you a full view of his wide back. You bit your lip as his back muscle contracted underneath his shirt, and you slapped the sides of your face to get your mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t be. Instead, you opted for looking at the steaming cake he pulled out of the oven and decorated it with swift ease, white icing dripping down the sides of the dark brown cake, red strawberries dotting the top with whip cream piped around where the fruits touched the cake. You licked your lips as the smell became stronger and hit your nose, triggering saliva to fill your mouth at the sweet, tantalizing scent. 

“Someone looks excited to see the food,” Beelzebub said, and you nodded your head so fast that he thought it would fall off.

“It’s very, very rare that you offer food to others, so I know it has to be good enough to share. It smells so good though that I’m dying to dig in. Please hurry up or I’ll die of hunger!”

“Now you know how I feel every day,” he said with a chuckle, and you groaned in agony, unable to imagine this empty feeling in your stomach lasting every single day, every waking hour. 

Your eyes remained glued to the cake as he set it down on the countertop, a knife in hand as he prepared himself to cut you a slice. The knife sank into the cake, and Beelzebub slipped it underneath the slice he cut for you before he placed it on a plate and handed it to you with a fork. After he set the knife down, he grabbed the rest of the cake and sat across from you to indulge in his food. 

Hunger gnawed at your stomach, begging for food, and you used your fork to cut off a tiny piece to eat. You brought it to your mouth, and Beelzebub watched with an intense gaze as you wrapped your lips around the cake. As it entered your mouth, you chewed it a few times and licked your lips. You just about moaned when the familiar flavor of sweet and sour strawberries hit your tongue and mixed with the whipped cream frosting and rich chocolate cake.

“It’s so good!” you said as you shoved another piece into your mouth. A glob of icing fell out of your mouth and hit the exposed skin of your chest, your baggy shirt’s collar hanging low enough that all Beelzebub had to do was lean over the table to see down your shirt. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he responded as he brought a piece up to his mouth, but his eyes widened when another blob of icing dropped onto your collar bones and trickled down.

“Where did you even get all of this stuff? I thought the Devildom didn’t have any human foods,” you said, shovelling more cake into your mouth, not caring how messy you were.

“I asked Lucifer if he’d allow a one time import of human food so I could try it once, and he surprisingly agreed.”

You nodded as you chewed, this time not hiding your satisfied moan as the sweetness of the cake spread throughout your mouth, and Beelzebub’s body tensed at the sound. The amount of thick, white icing dotted across your face with your moan made not-so-innocent thoughts run through his mind. Once you cleaned your plate of any crumbs, you licked around your mouth and sucked icing from your hands. Beelzebub set his fork down, the metal clinking against the plate, and your eyes shot up to look at him. 

He leaned over the table, and you stared at him with wide eyes, warning sirens blaring at full volume inside your head. From how close he was, his body heat reached you, and you wanted nothing more than to climb on top of the table and push your body against his. His scent that always made you light headed and five seconds away from pouncing on him wrapped its musky fingers around you and trapped you in its grasp. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, and before you could get out a single sound, his face was centimeters from yours. The sweet, tantalizing smell of his breath fanned across your face, and your eyes honed in on his lips.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he ground out, and you shot your eyes up to look into his. 

“W-What do you mean?” you asked while your heart pounded in your chest and body heated up from the look in his eyes.

In response, he took a finger, dipped it down to where the collar of your shirt ended, and swiped up a glob of icing from your skin. You shuddered when the rough pad of his finger grazed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from following his finger as he brought it to his mouth and slipped it inside, his tongue wrapping around the digit to lick the icing clean off. You squeezed your thighs together as he looked into your eyes the whole time, a burning fire of desire lit behind his purple irises.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” he said, voice deep and husky as it puffed across your face, and you breathed in the chocolate scent of his breath. 

Your throat felt thick as you gulped, eyes unable to look away from his lust-filled ones. Instead, your body instinctively leaned forward until your lips remained a hair from his. Air escaped you and fanned against his mouth, and his tongue snuck out to swipe along his bottom lip, the touch of his tongue ghosting over your soft lips. Shivers ran down your spine, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and your body begged for more of his touch.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your eyes fixating on the other’s lips, and you snaked a hand behind his neck to tangle your fingers through his orange hair. He shuddered when your fingernails grazed the skin of his nape, and you sucked in a deep breath as you curled your digits in his locks and tugged his head back to see his reaction. The deep groan that escaped his mouth rumbled in your core, and your thighs squeezed together, arousal burning deep inside. 

His amethyst eyes peered down at you, lips parted, and you licked your lips when his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Your chair scraped against the floor as you pushed it back and climbed onto the table, the wood digging into your exposed legs while you slid the cake away from underneath you two, and Beel’s tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth as a heavy breath pushed past his lips. Lust swam in your hooded eyes as you locked eyes with him, his eyes telling you all you needed to know. He was ready to fuck you up. 

A soft tug to his hair pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry eyes, and desire burned in your veins and spurred you on to latch your slick lips to his smooth skin. A content sigh tickled his neck as the taste of his skin melted on your tongue, the salty taste from the thin sheen of sweat coating his neck addicting you to him. You dragged your tongue over the muscles in his neck, stopping as you ran it over his Adam’s apple, and your teeth nipped at the skin beneath his Adam’s apple, red splotches staining his skin. He hummed, the vibrations stimulating your lips against his skin, and you tightened your finger in his hair. 

His large hands slid underneath your thighs to pull you into a sitting position in front of him, your legs dangling on either side of his hips, and he pressed his pelvis into you. Your lips detached from his neck as you threw your head back to let out a quiet moan as his clothed cock pressed against your lower half. The size of it from behind his clothing left your mouth drying and heart rate quickening, and your throat bobbed. You needed him inside now.

“Beel…” you breathed out, and he hummed in acknowledgement as his hands slid to your ass to press your lower half flush against his, and your body jerked when he rocked his hips forward, rubbing against your arousal and slicking your underwear through your shorts. He peppered wet kisses against your jaw, his tongue slither out to lap at the perspiration forming on your skin, and you whimpered and slid your hand from his hair to grip his shoulder. Your nails dug into his back, and he hissed in pain against your neck, though he didn’t stop swiping his tongue along your skin and nipping to leave his mark. Your toes curled, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull his cock flush against you. “Fuck… I-I want you to fuck me now.” 

Your unwavering eyes that begged for him to fuck you senseless made his cock twitch in his pants, and he rested his forehead against your shoulder, the last shred of sanity he had ready to snap. The grip on your ass tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh when impatience filled your body and urged your body to grind against his clothed erection. The friction of your clothes rubbing against you left high-pitched mewls slipping from your red lips, and he groaned against your shoulder.

“If you keep doing that, Y/N, I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, and you tugged his head back to bite your lip at him, taunting him with your eyes.

“I don’t mind.” Your arms slithered behind his neck as you pulled your face closer to his, the tip of your nose pressing against his. “Make a mess of me, Beel,” you said, and the sweet scent of strawberries lingering in your breath invaded his nose and muddled his brain, your words taking a few moments to register in his mind.

“Shit…” he said once the words processed, and he wasted no time in slamming your back against the table, a large hand gripping your wrists to hold them above your head. The wood digging into your back and the tight hold on your wrists burned in your core, your arousal increasing as you moaned. His head dipped down to your shoulders, his tongue pressing against your collar bones. You had dreamed of being roughed up by Beel, and now that it was happening, your body couldn’t take how much you loved it.

“Rougher,” you said, and he groaned against your neck. His hot, damp breath burned against your skin, and your fingernails dug into your palm to control yourself. “Slap me. Pull my hair. Make me your bitch!” 

His hands around your wrists tightened, and your back arched as the burning pain spread through your body and made arousal spill from your lower half. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, and a hand slid underneath your shirt, the calluses on his fingers scraping against your skin as his hand crawled up to your nipples. 

A shuddering gasp dissipated into the air from your lips as his fingers pinched your nipple and yanked on it, your back arching and legs trembling around his waist. He grinded against you as his teeth sank into your trapezius, fingers still twisting, pinching, and yanking on your nipples. Curses spilled from your lips as searing pain flared up in your shoulder and chest. 

“More!” 

His hand on your nipple retracted and reached up to grab your hair. He yanked it back, your scalp screaming in pain, and you winced as you stared into his purple eyes.

“Don’t get greedy, bitch. On your knees. Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice as your body twitched in pleasure from his degrading words and commands, and you unhooked your ankles to slide from of his grasp on your wrists to sink to your knees on the ground in front of the table. Beel turned around and leaned against the table, the outline of his cock free for your hungry eyes to take in. You crawled towards him on your hands and knees, your legs burning from the hard floor, but before you could run your hands over his bulge, he grabbed something from the table and held it up. A bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Why don’t we have a little fun?” he asked, lips curling into a smirk as your mouth went dry. You nodded, and he sat on the table, spreading his legs. “Pour this on me.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slotting your body between his legs as you propped yourself up on your knees and rested your hands on his hard thighs. 

He shoved the bottle of chocolate syrup into your hands, and your mind whirred with ideas of what to do. An image of the dark liquid dripping down his stomach for your tongue to lap up popped up, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Your hand slid underneath his shirt and ran over his abs, the muscles tensing beneath your soft touch, and you rubbed over his hard chest before dragging your hands back down to the edge of his shirt, loving the way his body trembled beneath your hand. He groaned at your touch, eyes closing as his head rolled back, and when you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he peered down at your face and chuckled.

“You sure are eager,” he said as he took in your glistening red lips and hooded eyes that begged for his cock. 

His muscles rippled as he gripped the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head to discard off to the side. Your eyes dragged over his body, and you brought the bottle of chocolate syrup up once you popped open the cap. Your hand tightened around it, and a stream of dark liquid poured out and trickled down his chest. The syrup dipped down into his abs, and before it could reach the waistband of his pants, your tongue stopped it. The sweet, chocolatey taste of the syrup mixed with his sweat to create a tantalizing new flavor on your tongue better and more addicting than any drug. 

 A needy sigh hit his skin as you ran your tongue up the sauce running down his body, bottle of chocolate syrup on the chair next to you, hands running up and down his sides. You stood to your feet as your tongue trailed up to his chest, fingernails scratching his sides, and your head craned down as you swirled your tongue around his nipple to get every last drop of chocolate off of his body. You looked up at him as you lapped a streak of sauce from his chest. He groaned, and a hand snaked up to grip your hair. He yanked your head back once you licked the last drop of sauce from his chest, and your tongue stuck out as a breathy chuckle left your open mouth, hands resting on his thighs.

“Good, bitch. Here’s your reward,” he said, and he pushed his face towards yours, his tongue rubbing against yours as he pushed it inside your mouth. 

He swallowed a surprised whimper escaping your mouth, his tongue circling yours, and your body trembled when he sucked on your tongue, the wet sounds echoing in your head and muddling your thoughts. His grip on your hair and the warmth of his tongue running along your teeth and prodding inside your mouth stole all your attention and made it impossible to think of anything else. The chocolate on your tongue mingled with the sweet icing and strawberries on his, but you couldn’t focus on it as you dug your fingers into his thighs, your nails sinking into the cloth of his pants. He let out a pained grunt into your mouth, hand tightening around your hair.

His lips pressed into your abused ones in a heated, open-mouth kiss as he yanked your head back, and a shaky breath slipped from your mouth as searing pain shot up on your scalp. The pain traveled through your body in a burning sensation that brought forth a wave of desire that his soft, warm lips dancing against yours only served to worsen. His teeth sank into your bottom lip, and your body flinched. He pulled back from your face and tugged on your bottom lip as your chest heaved up and down.

His fisted your hair tighter, and his free hand snaked up your torso, grazing your hardened nipples to clutch your jaw as his teeth released your lip. The pad of his thumb pressed into your jaw, and you pursed your lips at the dull pain echoing in your face. He turned your face over, watching with mild amusement as you let your head follow his guidance, and his large hand let go of your jaw to slide down to your neck.

Before you could react, his fingers dug into the side of your neck, and his lips slammed into yours again. Your head felt light as oxygen flow to your brain cut off, all thoughts flying out of your mind, and his tongue curled inside your mouth to run across the roof of your mouth.   Your hands on his thighs fumbled around as your lungs and head begged for air, but the enticing burning sensation left you wanting nothing more than for his hand to stay around your throat as he tongue-fucked your mouth. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and right before darkness took over, he detached his hand from your throat and pulled away from your lips. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, a deep, broken breath rubbing your throat raw as you gasped for air. As oxygen reached your brain and allowed you to think again, you licked your lips as a tempting thought came to mind.  “I wanna suck you off, sir…. Please,” you whimpered as your hands ran over his erection, the warmth seeping into your hands through his clothing. “I need your cock in my mouth.”

His eyes fluttered back, the whites exposed to you, as he tilted his head back, and a guttural groan kissed your ears and set ablaze a burning desire in your lower half. Your hands climbed up to his abs, the muscles contracting beneath your touch as you glided your palms against his warm skin, and you leaned in towards his neck to press wet kisses to his throat. As you trailed the kisses lower and lower on his body, his hands gripped your ass and squeezed it, an aching whine escaping your lips and fanning against his skin as his fingers dug into your clothed ass and pulled at the flesh. You pressed your ass back against his hands as he massaged it between his digits, and a needy mewl released itself from your throat when he delivered a slap to your cheeks, the flesh bouncing before he grabbed it again in a vice grip. 

Your fingernails scratched against his stomach and left red marks as the pressure against your ass cheeks moved to your waist, his large hands pressing into the dips in your waist, and your lips trailed down to his chest. You looked up at him as your tongue rolled his nipple around on your tongue, and when his eyes locked with yours, you let out a breathy laugh and wrapped your lips around his nipple, teeth nipping the bud, before you moved down to his abs. Your knees sunk to the kitchen floor, hands on the waistband of his pants as you traced the outline of his stomach muscles with your tongue.

A hand moved to run through your hair as you licked his stomach, and the other reached over to grab the bottle of chocolate syrup from the chair. As your hands slipped underneath his pants, he tugged your head back, your tongue sticking out, and he squeezed a stream of chocolate onto your tongue. The brown liquid trickled down your tongue into your throat, and you swallowed, the chocolate disappearing from the flat of your tongue, and stuck it back out. 

“Good, bitch,” he said in a rasp, and you wasted no time in tugging his waistband down to let his erection spring free. 

You gasped when it hit you in the side of the face, the size of it bigger than your mind ever imagined, and your underwear felt even wetter than before. This was really happening. You were about to put his cock in your mouth. 

He chuckled as your wide eyes stared at the red tip of his erect cock, the deep huskiness of the sound shaking you to your core. All of a sudden, a stream of chocolate syrup hit the head of his dick and dripped down his shaft to rest on his balls. Your tongue swiped across your lip, slicking the plump flesh as you mentally prepared yourself to take him into your mouth. The chocolate glistened in the lighting of the kitchen and begged for your tongue to lap it off of his pulsating erection.

A shaky hand reached out to rest underneath his balls, the chocolate syrup running down onto your hand as you brought your face closer to his tip. Your throat bobbed as you gulped, ready to test your gag reflex on his length, and you pressed a kiss to his red tip. Chocolate coated your lips, the bitter taste of his precum blending with it and making you wince. Had it not been for the deep sigh he let out when you kissed the head of his cock and the way his hand tightened in your hair, you would have been hesitant to go further.

Your lips wrapped back around his head to suck the chocolate off of it and ignored the slight bitter taste of it as your lips wandered down his length, stopping to press sloppy kisses against his dick to remove the chocolate syrup. You reached the crevice between his balls and the base of his dick and peppered kisses against it as your left hand on his balls gently massaged the flesh, your right hand circling around his shaft. As you lapped at the liquid around the base of his cock, sometimes running your tongue across the creases on his balls, your right hand tugging at his length. 

Your thumb pressed into his slit, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, and you rolled the pad of your thumb around his head to slick it up with his precum. You hummed against his cock and balls, and his grip in your hair pulled at your roots as he tightened his hand. Once you had spread his precum, the bitter liquid mingling with the leftover chocolate syrup on his skin, you twisted your wrist around his head and worked your way down his shaft as you returned to sucking at the base of his dick, nipping softly to leave love bites on his tan skin. 

“Put it in your mouth, whore,” he ground out, and your throat went dry as his strained, rough voice went straight to your core, your thighs squeezing together to hide the wetness between your legs. 

You ran your hand along the length of his shaft before resting it at the base and pulling your lips free from his warm, chocolate-covered skin to press them against his head once more. Your right hand gripped his base, your left supporting his balls, and you took a deep breath before wrapping your lips around his head. His warmth spread across the flat of your tongue as his dick inched farther inside your mouth. To accommodate his size, you relaxed your jaw and your throat as he invaded the heat of your throat. Before you reached half of his length, the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, your throat closing on his head and trying to force it out.

“Watch your teeth,” he said when your mouth tried to instinctively close around him, and you looked up at him with teary eyes as you forced your throat to adjust to his size. He sighed as your right hand twisted around his base, shaking rapidly to send vibrations through his length while you readied yourself to take him in more. 

With a deep breath through your nose, you pushed your head farther down his length, and your grip on his balls and shaft tightened for a second as his tip slid down your throat. Your throat bulged as you took him in, and you forgot to breathe when you slid down to his base. As your nose pressed against his pelvis, he tapped your cheek with his hand to remind you to breathe, and your hands moved to grip his thighs and dig into his flesh as you took a deep breath through your nose. You whined around his length in your mouth, and he threw his head back.

“Yeah, just like that, slut. Take it nice and slow for now.”

His encouraging words lit a fire inside you, and you dragged your mouth up his length, reaching halfway, before shoving your head back down onto him. A wet gagging sound reached your ears as he slid fully into your throat, but when he grunted and adjusted his hands in your hair to move it out of your face, you didn’t care about your gag reflex and only wanted to make him cum. 

You rocked your head forward on his cock, sucking as you tilted your head to the side and took him inside your mouth at a consistent pace. Your tongue traced the large, bulging being on his cock, smirking around his dick when his body twitched under your tongue. A moan vibrated against his length as you dragged your head up his shaft to press the tip of your tongue against his frenulum. 

“Fuck!” he cursed, hands gripping the back of your head as you flitted your tongue back and forth over the sensitive spot beneath his tip, and he pushed your head down onto his length once more, his cock sliding fully into your mouth and resting on your tongue. You gagged around him, but you relaxed your jaw and let him rest in your throat.

He held your head down on his length, and you breathed through your nose as your throat closed around him, hands clutching his thighs. You pressed the flat of your tongue against his length, the last smearing of chocolate on his cock disappearing on your taste buds. His head fell back, and his hand holding your head on his dick loosened. You dragged your head off of his cock as his hand dropped from your head, swirling your tongue around his tip and sucking on his slit. As you detached your lips from him and sat back on your knees, he gripped his cock in his hand and twisted his wrist around his length.

“Fuck, I want you to cum in my mouth, sir. Give it to me. I’ve been a good slut,” you said, eyes trained on his hands violently jerking up and down his shaft. The heavy, guttural grunts leaving him warned you of his oncoming orgasm, and you stuck your tongue out, ready for his thick, hot cum to shoot onto it. 

“Shit…” he cursed, and you scooted closer to his pulsating cock as it twitched in his hands.

You cupped his balls in your hands and rested the tip of his dick against the flat of your tongue, and his cock bulged in his hands before he released onto your tongue with a rough, drawn-out moan, his hot liquid trickling down your tongue when you swallowed all of it and lapped at the white cum that spilled from his slit. The bitter liquid made you cringe, but knowing it was Beel’s, you didn’t care and made sure not to waste a drop as your tongue ran along his shaft to lick up any that trickled down. As you dragged your tongue up his length to get all the cum and leftover chocolate from his skin, your eyes bore into his with a burning flame of lust. His tongue poked out to swipe along his bottom lip, and his teeth snagged the flesh as the flat of your tongue rubbed against him.   

“Get on the table and spread your legs,” he said, and the rough, filthy growl with which the words left his saliva-slicked lips had you obeying in an instant. You licked your lips as you settled yourself onto your back and opened your legs, exposing your pulsating entrance to his hungry eyes. “Fuck…” he breathed out as you used two fingers to spread open your hole for him to see your pink walls.

He trailed a finger from the base of your opening to the top, loving the way your body shuddered beneath his calloused touch. Your hands gripped your thighs as you pulled your legs back towards your chest, giving him full access to your wet, needy opening. The tip of his fingers swirled your arousal around your hole, slicking up his digits, and he spread you open. His cock twitched when you whined in annoyance, wanting his fingers inside you already, and he chuckled.

“Desperate whore,” he said. “I’ll give you what you wanted.”

You bit your lip and giggled, eyes rolling back in your head and mouth opening in a silent moan as he pushed his middle finger inside of your warm walls. The presence of his finger inside made you clench around it, and you rolled your hips as he pumped the finger in and out of you. When he curled his finger inside of you and scraped the calloused pads of his digit against your walls, your legs trembled and threatened to escape your grasp. 

“Just like that!” you said, whining as he complied and curled his finger again, pressing into your walls and dragging it along it. 

“You like that?” he said, and you nodded your head, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He slapped your thigh, and you moaned. “Use your words, bitch.”

“Yes! I love it! More, sir.” 

“Good bitch,” he said, slapping your ass as he inserted another finger. 

You gasped as your walls stretched around the two fingers inside of you, and your head rolled back against the wooden table. He licked his lips, an idea twinkling in his hooded eyes, and your body tensed in anticipation.

He pulled your shirt up to expose your chest to his eyes. “Bite it,” he told you, and your teeth sank into the hem of your shirt without a word. 

Your pupils trailed after him as he reached over to the side, his arm flexing, and grabbed your unfinished slice of cake. The food sat on the white plate, and before you could question why he held it in his hand, he tilted the plate and let the slice fall onto your stomach. 

While he thrusted his fingers into you, he used his other hand to smash the cake against your stomach and smear it onto your skin. His tongue poked out to slowly lick up the cake coating his hand, and the lustful look in his hooded eyes left your hips jutting in the air. He shoved his cake-coated fingers into his mouth, tongue rolling around each digit with care to get everything off of it before he retracted them from his mouth to push your hips back down to the table. Your back rested against the wood, and he bent down to kiss your stomach, a shaky breath exhaling from your nose.

His tongue pressed against your stomach, licking the icing from your skin as his eyes bore right into yours. Your breath caught in your throat, and he closed his eyes as he panted against you, tongue swirling around your body. You rolled your hips when his fingers pressed against the top of your walls, tongue still dancing on your skin. Little by little, the white icing smeared on you disappeared as the sweetness melted against his tongue.

“Fuck, it taste so good on you,” he moaned while he pumped his fingers inside you, his other hand trailing up your side to run over your chest. His hand stopped to pinch your nipple and tug at it, watching as you arched your back and whined through your shirt in your mouth, and he chuckled against you, his hot breath hitting your skin and making your stomach tense. “Such a waste that you couldn’t finish your slice of cake, but it tasted better on you anyways.”

You dropped the hem of your shirt in your mouth, the cloth sticking to your sweat coated chest, and he sucked at your skin, nipping and relishing in the hisses you let out as he left red splotches on you.

“Who said you could drop your shirt, whore?” he asked, and he pulled away from your stomach. His hand circled around your throat, and you clutched at his wrist as airflow cut off. You gasped around his grip as his fingers thrusted into you at an erratic pace. The tips of his fingers jabbed into your soft, wet walls, and the pain from his digits abusing your walls mixing with your lightheadedness brought your high closer. 

“Cum… cumming,” you choked out as your lower body tensed and the pool of heat in you spilled over. 

His fingers kept moving in and out of you, not changing pace or depth as he helped you chase your orgasm, and you threw your head against the table, back arching as a choked moan left you, legs shaking and hole clenching around his fingers. He pumped his digits in you for you to ride out your orgasm, and as you whined from overstimulation, you moved your hands from his wrist around your throat to his hand between your legs to pull it away from your walls. The hand around your throat disappeared, and he leaned over you, his sweet breath puffing against your face as you looked him in the eyes.

“You’re so wet. Aren’t you naughty?” he ground out in your ear as he slipped his fingers out of you, a string of your juices connecting the tips of his digits to your hole. The huskiness in his voice reverberated through your body, and you rolled your head to the side to give him a sly look out of the corner of your eyes.

“Just for you, sir.” You rolled your hips and pressed his hands harder against you. “Please fuck me now.” The sharp inhale from him made your entrance clench as confidence coursed through you. It made you proud to know you were able to have an effect on him and make him as crazy as he was making you.

“On your hands and knees. Now.”

In an instant, you flipped yourself over and pushed your ass into the air for him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you waited for his cock to enter you. He slid closer to you, pushing the chairs out of his way, and his fingers slipped back inside you. A broken moan left you as he curled his digits inside you, his fingernails scraping against your walls, and your legs trembled as your arms gave out and left your upper body leaning on the table.

“Give me your cock now, sir. I want it in my hole. Fucking abuse me—I can take it,” you begged against the table, the wood pressing into the side of your face as his fingers slid out of your wet hole and left you clenching around nothing.

A slap to your ass jolted your body, and you threw your head back to moan at the stinging pain spreading through your skin. He grabbed your hair, shoving your face into the table before he yanked it back to lean into your ear. Your neck ached from the way he craned it, but you let out desperate pants in anticipation for what he would do to you.

“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch. I’ll fuck you how I want to, and you’ll take it,” Beel growled into your ear, his hot breath hitting the side of your face, and you pushed yourself back onto him.

“Yes, sir. I’m just a hole for your cock. Use me,” you said in between heavy pants, and your voice turned into a whine near the end of your words as your entrance clenched, ready for him to enter and mess you up.

The palm of his hand slapped your ass once more, your body twitching at the impact before he gripped it between his fingers and spread it apart. His other hand released your hair and gripped his cock to press the tip of it to your entrance, and he ran it around your hole, chuckling as you tried to push yourself against it to get it inside of you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” he said, and you bit your lip to hold in a cut-off whine, your head still thrown back. “Fine, I’ll give you what you want so badly.” Without another word, his dick entered your hole, and your body jerked forward at the sudden action.

“Oh, fuck yes! Shove it all in! Yes, yes, yes!” you cried out as your walls spread when he pushed inside you. Your mouth hung open in a silent moan as his length rubbed against your walls before a long, drawn-out, and filthy moan pushed its way out. The loud noise echoed in the silent kitchen. 

“Not so loud, slut,” he told you, a hand snaking around your throat to hold it as his digits dug into your throat.

You choked as his fingers curled around the sides of your neck and squeezed your throat shut for a second. As you coughed on your saliva, his hips rolled forward, pressing his dick farther inside of you slowly as he let you adjust to his size. Your coughs turned into surprised gasps as your hole burned from his cock forcing it open. 

“Yes… Abuse my tight hole with your large cock, sir,” you choked out, throat scratchy from his hold, and the lack of oxygen to your brain and lungs made your thoughts hazy as words slipped from your lips in incomprehensible babbles. 

“Don’t egg me on, whore. If you do, I’ll make it so that you can’t walk,” he growled into your ear, and shallow pants left you.

“Do it, sir. Fuck me so hard that I’ll be walking sideways for a month!” you said through a gasp, and the pads of his fingers dug into the side of your neck more, his other hand slapping your ass and watching it jiggle from the impact.

“You asked for it, bitch,” he said, and he pulled his cock out until only his head remained inside of you. Before a complaint could slip from your tongue, he snapped his hips and thrusted his full length inside of you, his head prodding a bundle of nerves deep in your walls that shook your body.

You moaned, the noise cut off from his hand around your throat, and more whiny sounds spilled from your lips as he continued to slam inside of you. Your ass jiggled each time he slammed fully inside you and pressed his pelvis flush against you, and the sound of skin slapping created a symphony in your ears with your moans and his grunts. Each thrust from him burned your entrance and pricked your insides, but the pain mingled with your lack of oxygen to produce a dull pleasure in your body that you couldn’t get enough of. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure as he abused your hole, using you like his own little slut as he chased his orgasm, and your walls cried out from the pain and pleasure his cock gave you. With each snap of his hips, his cock nestled farther inside of you and hit all the spots on your walls. You pushed yourself back onto his cock to meet his thrusts, loving the way it pushed his cock even deeper into you than before, and he raised his other hand to deliver a hard slap to your ass.

“You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you, slut?” he drawled, rubbing your reddening skin. He yanked your head back by your throat, a strangled gasp leaving you, and his hand loosened to grip your jaw as he leaned down to your ear. “Who said you could fuck yourself against my cock?”

“I’m sorry, sir… It just… it just feels so good,” you whined, still bouncing back onto his dick. 

He released your jaw and grabbed your wrists with his hands to pull you back until you sat on your knees. His dick slipped in and out of you at a faster pace as he held your wrists in a tight grip. The burning on your skin from his hands brought a delicious tingle of pain crawling through your body, and you knew it would leave bruises on your skin. Strings of moans and whines spilled from your lips as you arched your back from the stinging pleasure in your lower half, and he cursed when you clenched around his cock. His balls slapped against you as he moved faster and faster inside of you, and you let out breathy ‘yes’s as your core burned.

The head of his cock prodded against walls, and you looked down to see the bulge in your stomach from his dick. Your eyes watched as it disappeared before returning, your stomach bulging out once more. The sight made your hole squeeze around him as it reminded you of who was inside of you, making you a moaning, blabbering mess, and before you knew it, the puddle of heat deep inside of you burned while your body tensed. He released your arms, and you fell forward, bracing yourself against the table as your high came closer and closer.

“I’m… I’m cumming!” you cried out, and he kept his pace consistent as he leaned forward to press his front into your back and groaned in your ear.

“Cum for me, slut,” he said, and you let out one last filthy moan before your orgasm slammed into you. 

Your whole body shook, the wave of pleasure spreading from your scalp to your toes as your head tingled and toes curled from your orgasm. You blanked out for a second as all you could register was the pleasure in coursing through you. Your lower half dipped down towards the table, and he slid an arm around your waist to hold you up as you clenched around him. He craned his head down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, and as your walls squeezed him once more, he cursed against your back as his hot, thick cum shot out into your hole. A helpless whine pushed past your abused lips as he filled every crevice inside of you with his cum, your walls expanding to let his seed fill you up. You rocked your hips back onto his cock to milk him of every last drop and to ride out your orgasm, and he hissed as you squeezed his dick.

As you rocked yourself on his cock. he slipped it out of you, your body twitching from the overstimulation. His cum slipped out of your hole as it clenched and pushed his seed out of your opening. A blob of cum hit the table, and a small bit trickled from your hole down the inside of your thighs. Beel used a thumb to spread open your hole as it pushed more of his cum out, watching with mild amusement as your hole clenched uncontrollably to push his white liquid out. 

You tried to hold his cum in, wanting to savor the feeling of it inside of you, but he dipped his head down to press his lips to your entrance. A soft kiss pressed itself against your sweaty skin before he poked his tongue out to enter you and swirl it around inside of you. He licked up his liquid painting your walls as you whined from the uncomfortable burning in your lower half. 

A sucking sound echoed through the kitchen as he made sure to get the last drop from your hole, and you reached a hand back to latch onto his hair and tug at it. He swirled his tongue inside you once more before he pulled off, and you fell forward and flopped onto your back. Your chest heaved up and down, sweat sticking your clothes to your torso, and Beel ran a hand through his orange hair to push it out of his face. Your hazy eyes trailed down his body and fell onto his erection. You knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and you silently apologized to everyone in the dorm, knowing they’d hear everything. You gulped, and he smirked at you, lust still swimming in his purple irises as he grabbed his cock. 

“Care for seconds?”

[graymatters]

Triptych

M | 1.8K | On AO3 | Veela!Draco, body horror, blood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild sexual content 

Many thanks to @corvuscrowned for the beta work 💚 and to @floydig for all the horror chats 😂

i.

The spine of a single feather, sleek and wet with blood, erupts from the thin skin draped over my collarbone. It mocks me in the bathroom mirror, unsightly and pale quills stained pink. My shoulders droop, and my spine rounds, a weary folding beneath the weight of an unsurprising development, as a crimson droplet runs smooth down my ribs.

“Babe, are you ready to go?” Harry calls from the bedroom. He’s taken to calling me babe lately. The word knocks about in my skull, overstaying its welcome.

“What’s it called when little birds shed their feathers?” I ask my reflection, arching forward until my breath fogs the glass. My nose wrinkles at the stench, prompting a swift snatch of my toothbrush from the plastic cup on the sink.

“Er…” Harry ponders as he waltzes into the bathroom, running an aimless hand through his hair. In the reflection, I watch him smooth over my naked back and bum with heavy-lidded eyes, lips tugged upward in an appreciative grin and glasses crooked on the sunburnt bridge of his nose. I think he might be perfect, and it terrifies me.

“Mulching?”

Almost, my dear, but not quite.

“Molting, I think,” I murmur around my toothbrush, scraping the frayed bristles violently against my gums.

“That’s what I said.”

“No.” I spit, frowning at the bright blood tinting the frothy toothpaste. “Molting. Not mulching.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening as he looks at my chest in the mirror. And I mean looks, not the passing glance that you toss at the empty glass that’s sat on your end table for three days, not the glassy gaze of a Seeker fading into auto-pilot above the pitch. No, I’m talking about the undivided attention afforded to a tragic train derailment with dozens of fatalities, the careful pondering over a loaf of bread that may have gone off, the terrifying and wondrous stare of finding your enemy naked in your bed.

“Draco, are you bleeding?” He moves to grip my shoulders but stops when he gets a closer look, hands held mid-air as though his puppeteer got bored, hung his strings on the hook, and took a smoke break. “Is that a—”

“I never could tell if Mother was serious about the Veela blood.” I frown as Harry still stands, unmoving but for the tremble in his fingers. “Harry, why are you shaking?”

Harry doesn’t answer as I lean across the sink, poking at the delicate spine with my fingertip. He just stares dumbly at my reflection, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. I huff a laugh through my nose, feeling the universe’s sick sense of humor settle heavily over my bloodied chest.

“I wonder if I’ll molt.”

Read ii. & iii. below the cut.

ii.

Harry’s left the cap off the toothpaste again, leaving it to ooze onto the bathroom countertop. I could easily dismiss the caked-on paste from the porcelain. All it would take is a snap of my fingers, a muttered jumble of pseudo-Latin under my breath to make it disappear. However, a crescendo of unfortunate events through the week culminated in a Ministry-issued number that replaced my name, a reminder of the creature that replaces my identity. The thought numbs my limbs, rattles my nerves, and prickles at the remnants of my fleeting patience.

“Harry!”

“Did you say something, Draco?” he shouts from down the hall. I wait, listening for footsteps that don’t come.

“Harry! Will you come here for a minute?” A rustle of irritation blooms beneath my skin, scaly skin and ivory feathers shifting restlessly, eager to surface. With a forced sigh, I snap my eyelids shut, concentrating on pulling the musty bathroom air in and out of my lungs.

“What is it, babe? Is everything all right?”

I open my eyes, meeting my own steely gaze in the mirror. The skin over my neck, my collarbone, my temple, crawls with the anxious magic that pulses underneath, like a spider’s trapped beneath the surface. I can almost see the iridescent shimmer of that scaly skin that lurks somewhere between the delicate dermal layers that cover my neck. Harry catches my stare, his gaze soft and a sleepy smile plastered on his face. He looks at me like there isn’t ruinous blood in my veins, like the war in my body doesn’t seep out of my pores, infecting the air between us like the stench of a rotting corpse.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. And this week has been so very long.

“Nothing, love.” My eyes fall to the open tube of toothpaste as I reach an unsteady hand out behind me, softening once I feel the slide of Harry’s fingers between mine.

He moves to stand behind me, wrapping his hands over my ribs and dotting honeyed kisses along my neck and shoulders like he can’t see the rustle of feathered plumes tucked deep in the sinewy fibers. Though guilt twists in my gut, strangling my lungs and wringing my heart, I ignore it, instead melting beneath Harry’s touch.

“You’re so gorgeous, Draco,” he murmurs behind my ear. “Look at you,” he whispers, softly gripping my neck beneath my jaw, forcing me to stare myself down in the mirror as his other hand dips beneath my waistband, palming my cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Thoughts blurred, I gasp as he ruts against my arse, as I thicken in his hand and a heady rush soothes the irritable magic that bristles beneath my skin. I groan against the pressure of his palm over my throat, feeling the vibration in my chest.

He catches my eye in the mirror, raising a brow in silent question. I nod in answer, preening at the satisfied smirk that overcomes Harry’s face as he slips a spit-slicked finger inside me, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

And then I hum, a pleased and pathetic whimper of a song, because I know he’s right.

iii.

The heat of the shower burns my skin, painting my limbs and the tops of my feet in a pink, watercolor flush. I let the water strip away the remnants of the evening, the cigarette smoke that clings to my hair and the grease and salt lodged beneath my fingernails. It doesn’t wash away the memories of the Weasel’s grimace, or the distasteful curl of Granger’s lip. Instead, they linger, trapped in the clouds of steam like a bird’s wings, wet with oil.

“Draco? Are you here? Awfully nice of you to run out on me like that. Ron and Hermione are sure to love you, now.”

A single, vehement beep pierces the thick air of the bathroom, cascading into a series of agonizing tones as the fire alarm protests the steam of the shower.

I look up from my spot on the tile floor, entranced by the flashing red light on the screeching machine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry bursts through the door and yells over the blare of the alarm. “How long have you been in here?” He clambers onto the countertop to reach the horrid device, fumbling with the buttons before finally ripping it from its base on the ceiling. It falls to the floor; a smattering of dusty plastic shards decorates the floor on impact.

“Draco, are you even listening?”

I nod, feeling the itch of magic over my palms, the roll of frustration between my shoulder blades.

“Draco?” He opens the shower door, eyes following the stream of water that falls from the tip of my nose. “What’s wrong?”

My vision blurs, the yellow bathroom light, shining stellate over the grungy shower tile.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, eyes wide and incredulous as an unhinged laugh crawls out my lips. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

A curl falls in his eyes, damp from the humid air. His gaze is soft, aching, like he wants to wipe away the malicious glances, the tainted blood in the rotten chambers of my heart, the ink on my arm.

Loving him is too much.

Anxious anger burns a trail starting at the tips of my fingers, drawing claws to break through the skin beneath my nails and a black, tarry flush to creep towards my elbows like my arms have been dipped in soot. I roll my neck at the feeling of hundreds of feathery needles piercing through the skin of my collarbone, my neck, my shoulders. A flash of pain, lightning hot, grips my spine as a set of wings punctures the surface between my shoulder blades, hanging low in the tight space of the shower.

The water runs red, my back hot from the wash of blood.

With a guttural roar, I whip towards Harry, wanting to squeeze his ribs between my disfigured hands and feel the stutter of his breath.

But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t turn to walk away. In fact, rather than a look of fear or disgust, Harry watches me the same way Mother watched me when my pet Kneazle died, devoured by the Nepenthes. Like I’m still a child who doesn’t know what to do with his hurt.

“Draco, I’m sorry—”

“You’re in love with a fucking monster, Harry. Why are you even here?” A heat burns beneath my palms as I grip the frame of the shower.

Harry sighs, taking a slow and careful step forward to shut off the water, leaving a slow trickle to caress the smooth surface of my wings.

“Come here, Draco,” he whispers, gesturing for me to step out of the shower. “Come on, babe; I’ve got you.”

Loving him is too much. Too much to weather. Too much to resist.

I tumble into his arms, catching a blood-stained, ivory wing on the shower door and jostling Harry’s glasses. As the fog of the mirror clears, I watch as my face appears, nose elongated and eyes pitch-black, the skin of my neck and arms cracked where the feathers have broken through the layers like an iceberg piercing the sea. With a stuttered sob, I grip Harry’s shoulders and tuck my face into his neck, unable to contain myself anymore.

I’m not sure how long we huddle on the bathroom floor, cramped between the toilet and the shower. Long enough for the feathers to recede beneath my skin, for my wings to fold in on themselves and lie soft against my back. The sun has long set, shrouding the bathroom in darkness, as Harry still runs his hands through my hair, untangling the knots as he whispers lovely reassurances into my ear and presses kisses over my jaw.

“Draco, I love you, you know that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“What do you need, Draco?”

“I don’t know.”

“Need me, then. It’s that easy. Draco, just—need me.”

I nod, a trembling and stuttered admission, because I know he’s right.

Also on AO3.

[cryoaquila]

the cost

prompt; you see something you weren’t supposed to see...

pairings; tartaglia x gn!reader

themes; established relationship, genshin universe, death (no major characters), descriptive death, blood, angst, break-up.

wc; 2k

you were in over your head, but that realization came far too late. now, every little sound, like the creek of your house or the sounds of people walking outside or the knock at your door like the one you just heard all cause your heart to skip a beat. you peek through your window, something that had become custom for you, and there he was; tartaglia was standing at your door, waiting for you to answer and explain to him why you’ve been avoiding him. as you look him over you notice he’s wearing a sorrowful expression, but your eyes could not unsee his expression before, the one you saw during the 'accident’, as you refer to it. it was a terrible event you wish you could forget or not care about, but no, instead it changed your relationship with him forever.

the ‘accident’ occurred at his house. he wanted to treat you to a nice dinner out and asked you to come by his place in the evening. having gotten ready a little early, you decided that you’d just go to his house to hang out before the date. but as you approached you noticed his front door was slightly ajar and you heard angry yelling coming from inside that made you both curious and fearful. you hurried up the steps and let yourself in, your mind racing with possibilities from the tame to the quite imaginative. the entrance hallway was dark save for a light shining from the dining room all the way toward the back of the hall. quietly, you walk over to peer into the dining room, pressing yourself against the wall to stay in the shadows. tartaglia was sitting in one of the dining chairs, dressed and ready for the date tonight, but there was someone else in the room that you had never seen before. a man, who was pacing around the table, dressed in black and red and wearing a mask, muttering about something. it was strange, while you’ve never seen him before, his clothes looked… familiar as if you saw them once stuffed somewhere in the back of a closet or drawer. your train of thought ended as the man began to yell once more.

“you can’t just vanish without saying a word and expect us to accept it without consequence. you know how our organization deals with deserters.” 

“i know how your organization deals with people who want to leave, too.” tartaglia scoffed at him before letting a sigh out, resting an arm on the table beside him, “i can do what i wish, my past ranking should allow that much.”

“but why leave? you were at the top of your game and you loved what you did, i don’t understand.”

“i owe you no explanation,” he replied coldly.

“then,” the man in the mask muttered, “let me show you what we owe you.” suddenly, the gleam of a dagger appeared from one of his pockets. you reached out a hand, about to say something, but it was too late. he lunged at tartaglia. you gaped, watching as he skillfully jumped up from the chair before you could even get a single word out. the candlelight flickered as the dagger slammed into the back of the wooden chair, getting stuck. tartaglia grabbed the chair before the other man could retrieve his weapon, and, in one swift motion, he slammed the chair into his attacker before taking the dagger for himself. he threw the chair at the masked man who staggered backward against the wall behind him. the masked man managed to punch tartaglia in the face as a last defense, but this only made him stagger sideways a little. he looked back up, a smirk on his face, and you heard him chuckle, almost as if he enjoyed the futile effort of his attacker. you slapped your hands over your mouth, trying to hold back your scream as, before your eyes, tartaglia stabbed the man directly in his throat without hesitation. you watched in horror as the attacker’s body spasmed for a few seconds along with a horrendous gurgling sound that scarred your ears. he clawed at the dagger impaling him, desperate, but tartaglia didn’t let go and instead his grip on the weapon only seemed to tighten. you continued to watch in horror as the life left the masked man’s eyes and his body went limp. once he made sure the man was dead, he yanked the dagger out, blood splattering across his attire and pooling on the floor below.

“damn,” he muttered as the body fell to the floor with a loud thud, “what a mess this was.” you swallowed hard before taking a few small steps backward toward where the front door was, wanting to leave without alerting him but unable to take your eyes off the scene before you. a small creek from the floorboards echoed from one of your steps and you paused, noticing that he was now looking toward the hallway you were in. he held the dagger out in your direction and asked, “who’s there? come out, or do you not want to die like your ally here?” that’s when you saw his expression. he had a small grin on his uncaring and unafraid face and he looked strangely determined, as if he was ready to stab the next person who dared confront him without any mercy. and his eyes. dear archons, his eyes were that of a killer’s - not the wide bright blue eyes that you were used to seeing. you were sure if you stayed, if you showed yourself, he’d act without thinking and that single thought sent a shiver down your spine. with your heart now racing your flight instincts kicked in and you turned and booked it out of his house and headed back to lock yourself inside your own home, terrified of what you witnessed him do and terrified of… well, him.

that was the reason you had been avoiding him for a while and, currently, why you weren’t keen on opening the door. he knocks again and you see him roll his eyes as you duck back down. “hey, i’m worried about you. i haven’t seen you in weeks, just, talk to me? please?”

you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him, even though you wanted to. you rise to your feet, letting out a shaky sigh before heading to the front door. you crack it open only a tiny bit, enough to show him that you were somewhat alright. you decide to rip the bandage off and confront your fears and let him know what the issue was, “i saw.” was the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“you saw?” he pauses to think over your reply before responding quicker than you expect, “oh. you mean... that day, before our date...? you weren’t supposed to see that...” he stayed silent for a few moments before trying to justify himself to you, “it was nothing but self-protection, i didn’t want to harm him.” he connected the dots so easily, you wondered if he had expected that you saw what happened but hoped you hadn’t. at the very least, that... uncaring killer you saw at his house was gone and the tartaglia you fell in love with was before you.

“i know it was self-protection.” although, you couldn’t help but feel like a part of him took a little joy in killing that masked man - a mixture of self-protection and a liberating form of pleasure seemed more like it to you. “who was he?” it was difficult to even look at him, afraid that the next time you glance up he’d be covered in blood with a dagger in his hand.

“he was an old... colleague from a past i’m not happy with, but that doesn’t matter right now. i don’t understand why you avoided me if all i did was protect myself. it’s not like i was in the wrong.”

“no, you weren’t in the wrong.” you shake your head, “but i’m so afraid of seeing someone die like that or... seeing you kill like that again. you did it so easily, without a second thought, even when he lost his weapon. and how you looked when you did it.” you notice he flinched as soon as you said that. “what... did you do before i met you?” your voice was barely a whisper at this point.

he put a hand on his chest, “what you saw wasn’t me, or, i mean, isn’t what i want to be anymore. it’s just... an after affect, i guess, but i’m done with that life. however, if death is the cost of protection, i’d rather the death be someone else’s than yours or mine.”

“no! i don’t want there to be any more death. yours, mine, theirs, a stranger’s, i can’t...” you mutter in a shaky tone, resting your forehead against the cold door in-between the two of you. your words were jumbled together, your thoughts equally so. 

he leans to the side, trying to get a peak of you, his face distraught, “that... might not be a possibility. this organization i used to be a part of doesn’t look kindly on deserters like me. that’s why i didn’t mention it to you, i know you aren’t used to... such a lifestyle since you’ve lived in town your whole life. but that doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. i swear, they won’t touch a single hair on your head, i’ll die before they harm you.”

tears form in the corners of your eyes, “please don’t say something like that! i can’t see you... die.” just saying the word out loud felt like you were bringing it into fruition and you can’t help but grit your teeth and hold your breath, ready for an archon or even someone lesser to come and end his life before your eyes. but nothing of the sort happens. letting out the breath you were holding, you continue speaking, your voice shakier than before, “and not just dying, i can’t handle you killing either! seeing you like that, with blood on you, ready to kill or be killed...”

he looks just as confused as you felt, “i’m sorry, i’m really, truly sorry. you weren’t supposed to ever see me like that. tell me, how can i make this right so we can be happy together once again?” his tone went from worried and confused to practically begging.

“i… i don’t think i can... i’m terrified...” you wrap your arms around yourself before muttering, “i’m terrified of you and what might happen to you.” the words felt strange to say, to be terrified of the man you once hugged and kissed freely, and now watching his hopeful expression drop off his face was not helping your own conflicting thoughts.

“no, archons no, i don’t want you to be terrified of me, i want you to see me like you used to see me and how... how i want to see myself now that i’m not with them. i love you, please i don’t want this to end, i can be good-”

“i just, i need time for myself, time away from... you. maybe that will help me come to terms with... everything? i don’t know... i just don’t know...” your head was hurting, but not as much as the ache in your chest like someone ripped your heart out.

“i…” he sighs, looking like he was on the verge of tears. he rubs his eyes, trying to keep the tears from building up, before looking back at you, completely defeated, “ok… i can give you some space if that’s what you need now.” his words cause your bottom lip to tremble.

“i think it will help me figure things out.” you try to keep your voice from cracking, but couldn’t. and his response only made your stomach churn.

“i won’t ever stop loving you, though.”

you shut your eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks, “... i know.” you whisper and, with that, you shut the door before letting the tears flow freely.

[hes-writer]

Routine

Summary: y/n catches harry live streaming a show

Warning: smut

Word Count: 2293 words

___

University was no joke. It’s expensive for sure. Harry had a full-time job at the beginning of the semester working at a cafe near his flat. He soon found out that that wasn’t the best idea. Maybe because he didn’t manage his time right or it was simply too exhausting for him to work late hours when he had to take mandatory morning classes. His next solution was more--risky per se. 

Harry had always been confident with his body. He ate well; loading up on fruit smoothies and veggie shakes every morning to accompany him on his early morning workouts. The sweat beading in between his toned pecs made him revel in the accomplishments of self-care, washed away as he palmed his face underneath the stream of the locker room shower. His wet curls stuck to his small ears as he pulled his sweater over his body, exiting the gym with a bag slung over his shoulder, plucking a peace sign to the person at the front desk as he left the building. 

It started off as a blog; posting pictures of his body that he worked hard on. The narcissist in him craved the compliments of strangers drooling over his muscles and shapely body. Sometimes the messages he received were explicit, but he also couldn’t help the arousal flowing through his veins as blood pumped towards his cock. Thus, the next part of his routine was to go home to his flat and strip his body off of his clothes. His webcam would be switched on with a push of a button, his long fingers floating over the keyboard as he signed in to his account. 

Speaking of, the meat between his thighs plumped up with the lingering thought of user ‘sweetgirl112’ messages last night. How much she wanted to tuck his thick length in her mouth, how much she craved to feel his large hands adorning her body. God, she had such a way with words and here Harry was with an erection pudging up in his lycra leggings. An outline of his mushroom head visible through the tight material. He played with his bottom lip as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. One hand tapped against the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern, his mind drifting away to how it would feel like to have those pleasures within his reach. 

But he didn’t. 

He rushed off from his seat, quickly locking his car and keying the front door to his flat. Harry was hornier than usual today, thanks to sweetgirl’s lovely messages from last night. Harry rolled his eyes at the effect the stranger had on him. He dropped the chain dangling from his fingers on the bowl beside his door, sighing with excitement as he toed off his runners. 

On the couch, Y/N snoozed with her mouth agape, hair messily splayed across the pillow he provided her. He almost forgot she had slept over last night during their movie night. She insisted to sleep on the sofa despite Harry offering his bed to share between the both of them. In the end, both of them slept on the uncomfortable cushion cuddled up into one another. The distance between them was non-existent but Harry found it endearing the way Y/N cuddled up into his body in order not to fall off the edge, snuggling into his chest with a quiet snore after jolting when one of her legs tumbled of the border. 

Nonetheless, that meant that Harry had to tone his volume down a bit, keeping a keen ear to make sure his noises don’t wake her up or arise any alarm from his friend. He crouched down beside her sleeping face, waving a hand over her eyes to make sure she was still in a deep sleep. 

“Hope yer’ having sweet dreams,” His thick accent made the words stick to his tongue, lazily drooping like honey. Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the way his heart thumped as she smiled slightly in her sleep, humming with satisfaction and cuddling closer to the pillow clutched between her arms. 

Adorable, Harry thought. 

Soft footsteps tiptoed over his bedroom, shutting the door gently. He stretched his arms to remove the black sweater over his head, ruffling his curls in the process. His nose hooked at the opening, muffling his breath for a bit that had him tumbling down on the end of his bed with a slight bounce. Harry is clumsy.

He managed to remove the rest of his clothes without further trouble, leaving him in his boxers briefs and socks which he would take off when he got situated in his office chair situated in front of his computer. His set up was on the corner of his room, facing the door. It was a bit odd at first but Harry learned to make it work. 

Harry pushed two pumps of coconut-scented lotion into his large palm, lathering his upper body with a subtle sheen, moisturizing his biceps to appear shiny. The excess cream was rubbed along the nape of his neck, massaging the tense muscles along the way. A swift glance at the time at the bottom corner informed him that he had five minutes left until his scheduled show would begin. In preparation, Harry gathered the items he might need during his session. A bottle of clear, water-based lube, a bullet vibrator that recently joined his collection of toys and a silicone cock ring that looked to be a struggle to fit around his plump dick. He set the items aside on the table in front of where he would be sitting. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, hands grasping the width of his hip as he opted to check on Y/N again. She was a heavy sleeper and the show will probably take around thirty minutes to do, minus the foreplay and all of that. It was still pretty early in the morning too; around ten-thirty, surely she’d stay put till then. He peeked his head through a small gap in his door, craning his neck to catch Y/N shifting just in time to rest on her other side. 

Pretty soon, the webcam displayed a green dot at the corner and his screen was loaded to a  black screen. The chat indicated that there were currently twenty people watching him. The total viewer count increased with each passing second that had Harry grinning to himself. Once the camera was adjusted to where it cut off around his neck, he sat back in his spinny chair, splaying his wide palms on his muscly thighs. 

20 seconds left.

Harry could feel his cock grow in his boxers, the anticipation of his fans commenting on dirty things that they would like to do to him left his imagination endless. A blurt of precum stained the inside of the fabric, dotting the area a darker colour. He sighed deeply, wide eyes watching as the countdown changed.

5...4...3...2...1

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of viewing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly. 

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

“How’s my baby? Are you needy for me?” He found that the best way to ensure as much of connection between his viewers was to speak as though it was a one-on-one conversation. “Because I am,” A hand crawled towards his crotch where his half-massed dick rested on his upper thigh, the head prominent against the tight briefs. 

Making sure to keep his face out of view, Harry leaned forward to read the remarks.

User12314: i love your tattoos

User48529: what i’d do to have my hands on you

He chuckled to himself, rubbing up and down to tease himself and them even more. Various 'pings' littered the room with Harry thanking each of them as much as possible. 

“I’d love to have my hands on you too,” He gave his cock a gentle squeeze, sucking a breath through his gritted teeth at the sensation. “Wanna feel your body on my skin,” Harry released a throaty groan as he shifted to pinch at his nipples, “Would ya’ let me touch your breasts? I bet they’re soft and perfect for my hands,” His thumb rubbed circles on his top two nipples, shivering slightly.

One palm cupped his balls, thumbing at the middle as the other continued the ministrations on his chest. This went on for a couple more seconds until he pulled his hands away to rest on the ferns tattooed on his hips, rubbing the skin there sensually while he spoke, “Y’wanna see my cock? It’s so hard for you,” The head twitched twice, forcing an involuntary moan to leak from his plump lips. 

User09321: yes please

He sighed at the message, his stomach burning with the need to just wrap his fingers around his dick and jerk it till he cums. But he couldn’t do that—at least not yet.

___

Y/N woke up from her slumber, dizzy and discombobulated about where she was only to realize that the ache in her lower back was caused by Harry’s uncomfortable couch. Her phone buzzed beside her; an alarm to wake up to watch a show. Not just any show—a filthy, dirty cam boy who hadn’t left Y/N’s mind ever since she discovered him for the first time a few days ago. She was drunk on wine and barely remembered what the live stream had contained. He was hot, that much she knew. 

He wore a dark red sweater that covered his body which Y/N found quite adorable. Yet at the same time, his fist peeked out from his bunched sweater paws to desperately tug at his cock while endless whispers and groans flowed from his mouth through the speakers. His covered body arching against his seat, the walls behind him a plain white. Apparently, he was feeling like a sub that day and asked permission to touch himself like a good boy, pleading to cum. His audience couldn’t resist the whine in his deep voice, shooting streams of cum on his sweater, staining the fabric and probably ruining it forever. 

Just before the live stream ended, he reminded everyone when his next show was--today-- and in her drunk daze, Y/N must have set up a reminder on her phone, completely forgetting that she was to hang out with Harry the day before. She rubbed the ball of her palm against her eyes, willing away the sleep on her lids. Sitting up on the cushion, she looked around Harry’s apartment to find the curly-headed boy. 

“Harry?” She called out, checking his kitchen to find it empty. She went to his bathroom to freshen up, picking up her toothbrush that Harry had sweetly brought her after Y/N stayed at his place more times than both of them can count. After spitting out the foam pooling in her cheeks, Y/N dabbed the corners of her mouth with a soft, fluffy towel. 

As she exited the bathroom, Y/N opened up the web browser in incognito mode, refreshing the link from a few days ago. The page loaded slowly, enabling Y/N to continue searching for Harry. She absent-mindedly walked to Harry’s closed bedroom door—the last place she had yet to look. Her phone produced a muffled sound when it finally loaded. She rapidly typed out a comment to send.

“Can’t take it anymore,” The man said, “I‘ve gotta touch myself but I’m wishing it’s you wrapping your hands around m’cock,”

Y/N could feel her thighs tighten, standing in front of Harry’s bedroom. 

Sweetgirl112: touch yourself for me daddy. i wanna hear you say how good it feels

Harry growled upon seeing the message and its user,  pulling the fabric down and letting his dick hit his skin with a faint slapping sound on his flushed stomach. Shaky fingers teased his length, tracing of the prominent veins that pumped his cock with blood. “Mm, it feels so good, love,” His thumb spread the liquid seeping at the tip, making sure to lube the head of his dick for a smooth stroke. 

With distracted thoughts, Y/N pushed the bar handle down, a gentle bump knocking the door open.  

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the loading screen on her phone mirrored the sight in front of her; Harry’s head thrown back, resting against the head of the office chair. Her phone cut off at the veins stretched over the expanse of his neck. His heaving chest glistening with sweat and the faint smell of coconut lingered in the air. His fist pumped his long cock up and down, squeezing at the tip to produce a dollop of wispy pre-cum. Closed eyes blocked his vision from Y/N standing frozen on the door, gazing back and forth towards the device on her sweaty palm to the even hotter view right in front of her.

A resonant sound of ‘pings’ pulled Harry out of his pleasure, lifting his head with the aim to thank whoever tipped him but was taken aback by the sight of his friend at his doorway.

“Oh shit,” He mumbled, impulsively clutching his full balls cradled between his fingers. Harry’s green irises were hooded, observing Y/N’s face with such intensity that it made her want to cower back. His two-front teeth grazed his bottom lip before parting his sweet mouth in a silent gasp at a particularly good stroke. “Wanna join me, baby?”

——

Let me know what you thought!

——

Permanent Taglist: @splendidsunsetx @swagmoneymaya @luviewoo @textingharry @arypesanchez @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @sunguines

[hops-hunny]

Could you do something like a bunch of ur friends go on a trip and spend the night at a hotel and you end up having to share a room with Neville and it’s kinda awkward at first but after a while it’s kinda chill and then outta no where Neville confesses his feelings and then you confess yours and then there is just very lovey dovey type sex

PRONOUNS: SHE/HER

(Y/n) was beyond the valley of happy. Ever since 4th year, her and her friends had been saving and planning for this very trip. To celebrate their departure from their days at Hogwarts, they all had collectively decided to visit the various places in Europe. Tonight they ended up in Italy, a lavish hotel that they had gotten for such a good deal! However, when she arrived and saw that Ginny, Luna, and Hermione had all brought their boyfriends, she shortly realized this wasn’t the all girl’s trip they had planned it as when they were 15.

“Guys? What are the boys doing here? And Neville, no offense Neville.” she said. The boy shot her a nod of acknowledgment letting her know he knew her words held no ill intent.

“Well you see, when we told the boys we were going on a trip, they for some reason thought they were included.” Ginny started, avoiding her friend’s agitated (e/c) eyes.

“Yeah and so we had to switch the room arrangements..” Hermione trailed, also not making eye contact with her. However, Luna offered the girl a bright smile, a glint unknown behind her eyes.

“Meaning?” (Y/n) asked, already sensing that something was most definitely up.

“Meaning you’re sharing a room with Neville! You two know each other, yes?” Luna beamed causing the girl to stiffen. Of course she knew Neville. She had been madly in love with her since 3rd year when he gave her a flower on valentine’s day because her date stood her up. She looked over at Neville who had an unreadable look on his face, cheeks flushed a bright red as he picked at his skin awkwardly. (Y/n) sighed, nodding as she snatched her room key from Hermione’s hands, dragging her suitcase towards the elevator.

When she got into the room, her eyes widened at the California king sized bed in the middle. She groaned, throwing herself in the middle of the bed, her head sinking into the mountain of overly priced pillows. “Well, at least its big.” she muttered to herself. Even though she’d be sharing a bed with him, the bed was big enough for each of them to have their own sides and sleep comfortably. She popped up at the sound of the door slamming shut.

“Sorry. Oh dear, there’s only one bed? That can’t be right.” He said, eyes practically popping out of his head. If it weren’t for her own underlying nerves, she would’ve found humor in his expression.

“It’s fine. I mean it’s big enough for the both of us. I can just take the couch if you want.” she said shrugging going to move from the bed.

“No!” he shouted, causing her own eyes to bug a bit. “I-I mean it’s fine. I don’t mind sharing but I have to be honest.” he started off, taking a seat next to her on the edge of the bed. “It wouldn’t be right for me to sleep in the same bed without you knowing this so I think it’s important that I let you know prior that I have feelings for you. I don’t want you to think I’m a creep or something.” he muttered. However, (Y/n) couldn’t reply. She was stunned. The same guy she had been pining over since her 3rd year at that bloody school harbored the same feelings?

“Well that makes this a hell of a lot less awkward.” she responded simply, falling back on the bed. Neville’s eyes fell to the skin exposed by her skirt lifting before his eyes widened, shooting to hers which were closed in comfort.

“A-are you saying what I think you are?” He asked in disbelief. He couldn’t believe his ears. She giggled some at his dumb struck expression.

“Yes Neville, I like you too. Have since 3rd year.” she watched as he took it all in processing it all. She gasped as he suddenly began to hover over her. Both of his hands were caging the sides of her head.

"Well, how about we break the bed in, yeah?"

(A/N: I was so tempted to part 2 you guys but I'm feeling nice today <3)

(Y/n) found herself nodding along mindlessly and without another word, Neville leaned down placing his lips on hers. They both let out soft moans of pleasure, the feeling that they had imagine finally happening right before their eyes. He applied more pressure, gliding his tongue along her bottom lip. She complied, parting her lips letting out a soft gasp at the sensation of their tongues dancing together.

Neville trailed his hand under her skirt, rubbing her clit with his thumb through her panties. He felt his own pants tighten more at the feeling of the large wet spot along her panties. He pulled back, pulling her panties and skirt down with one smooth motion. He felt his mouth salivate at the sight of her slick folds which was caused by him and only him. His eyes trailed up to her bare chest, her shirt long gone in the heat of the moment.

As she reached her shaky hands up to remove his shirt, he helped her by lifting it over his head before standing up to remove his pants and boxers. As he got on his knees, he pulled her by her legs to the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, hot breath fanning on her cunt causing her to let out a small noise of impatience.

"May I?" He asked, rubbing her clit in fascination of the beautiful sight before him.

"Yes! I mean please." she mumbled, hiding her face in her hands. He chuckled before leaning forward, placing a kiss on her mound before diving in. He dragged his tongue all along her folds, paying extra attention to her clit as he delve a finger inside of her. He watched her face turn and change in pleasure, her eyes closed blissfully. He felt himself growing unbearably hard. He was the one causing her pleasure, he was the only one getting to see her in such a vulnerable state.

He added another finger, stroking along the expanse of her thigh with his free hand as she began to buck her hips into his face. He didn't stop her movements, enjoying the new level of closeness he had with her messy cunt. He moaned some, sucking and licking along her folds, tongue coated in the splendid taste of her arousal. She reached her free hand down, gripping at his messy locks before letting out a loud moan, creaming all over his face and fingers. As she slowly began to cease the grinding on his face, he pulled his fingers from her slowly, looking at the milky substance that soaked his fingers. He stuck them in his mouth, eyes rolling back at the taste as he let out a soft groan.

"Taste better than I could've ever imagined. I've been wanting to do that for years." He said before leaning down and kissing her deeply. She let out a moan of approval at the taste of herself, sucking the remanence from his tongue. He smiled at her softly before rubbing his tip along her entrance. "Dirty girl." he purred before sliding into her in one swift motion. They moaned in harmony, her back arching off the bed as he began to thrust into her slowly.

"I-I'm really glad to be doing this with you." she managed to get out, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him closer. She whimpered, burying her face in his neck as he continued to thrust into her, passion and love conveyed in every thrust.

"Me too petal. Y-you look so pretty like this." he hissed as she squeezed around him unintentionally, only fueling to his already strong pace. He gripped her hips harshly, pistoning himself even deeper into her. She let out a particularly loud moan as his tip rammed into her G-spot, the sensitive spot being brutalized over and over by his massive tip.

"O-oh god Nev! It feels too good! Yes just like that, just like that!" she cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks. She dug her nails into his shoulders deeper causing him to let out another moan. The feeling was painful but it only added to his desire to please her, to get her to release once more. "Oh my god, I'm gonna cum! I-I-I love you! Love you so much Nev, god yes!" she sobbed out, spasming around him.

The profound confession combined with the feeling of her warm velvety walls was enough to make him release. He groaned as he continued to thrust deep into her. "Oh fucking hell! I love you too, princess! Fuck you feel so good, so warm wrapped around me." he let out a small whimper, continue to thrust deep into her before collapsing onto the bed next to her.

Neville pulled the girl close to his chest, rubbing at her back affectionately. She lay her head on his chest, tracing patterns into his skin and playing connect the dots with a particular set of freckles. "That was, that was...wow." he said, letting out a breathless laugh. She giggled, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"Well you know what they say, when in Rome do as the Romans do."

"(Y/n)....we're in Sicily."

[acnelli]

Coming Home

This is my little story for the HPRomione Discord Popcorn. @remedial-potions gave me the prompt “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!” and I originally wanted to write some HBP angst, but then changed my mind and wrote this.

Up next is @dot-adsty and I give you the prompt “Flying higher than ever before”.

I also opened my Ask Box and accept prompts from this Prompt List.

Prompt: “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!”

Ron comes home from a long Auror mission, and Hermione’s plans for the night don’t quite go as she imagined.

You can also read this story on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** ***

She had it all planned out.

Every little detail, every single thing Hermione needed to buy or prepare for tonight had been neatly written down in handy list form, categorized and sorted.

Around noon it actually looked like everything would be ready when Ron would come home from his Auror mission this late afternoon. Behind half of the points on said list, Hermione had added a green checkmark. The sight of her lists, especially when some of her tasks on it had been checked off already, always had something oddly satisfying.

To have enough time to prepare everything, she left work early today, stopping by the grocery store on her way back home to buy the last of the ingredients she needed for the roast she planned to make for dinner.

Cooking wasn’t really Hermione’s forte. When Ron was home and didn’t have to work ridiculous hours, the flat was always filled with the scent of some delicious meal or another, and on weekends they often enjoyed a cake or some cookies fresh out of the oven. In the last two months, she sure did cook for herself every now and then but she got to admit that these meals mostly consisted of pasta and sandwiches.

When she planned this day she first considered going with take-away, which she was sure, Ron would’ve been more than fine with. But then she quickly dismissed the idea, figuring that following the instructions of Mrs Weasley’s cookbook couldn’t be that hard. It might not win a contest but she was sure to manage something eatable, at least.

Before she went into the kitchen to start preparing the roast, Hermione observed their living room, mentally going through her list again.

On their couch table Hermione had set up the brand new chess set she bought last week while shopping with her mother. Hermione had discovered the set in the display window of a small, cosy shop she would’ve completely missed it if weren’t for the unusually bright colours catching her attention when she walked by. As soon as she had seen the chess set, she made her way inside the shop right away because it practically screamed Ron Weasley. While not exactly the same bright colour of the Chudley Cannons, the usually white squares and wooden game pieces were painted orange. If she wouldn’t have purchased it from a Muggle, it could’ve been easily merchandise of Ron’s favourite Quidditch team.

Hermione walked over to the couch table and placed two tickets for the next Chudley Cannons game this upcoming weekend onto the chessboard. A smile split her face when she thought about his reaction later. Over the past six months the Cannons actually showed some kind of potential to not end up at the bottom of the league at the end of the season, resulting in the tickets to have gotten a little harder to come by. At least, for top games and derbies.

She knew it was probably a little over the top, considering they had been separated for much longer than eight weeks over the last years, but the constant worry and the almost non-existent possibility to talk or write to him during these missions, increased her excitement for Ron to come home ten-fold.

Yes, Hermione definitely felt slightly ridiculous when she placed a giant red bow around the TV and put the fancy Muggle beer into the fridge, but Ron’s absence caused a restlessness she had to overcome somehow. It also didn’t help that the few letters she got from him made Ron sound mentally and physically exhausted. Even though she knew next to nothing about this mission, she could tell it affected him more than usual.

That’s why today was all about distracting Ron from work, and what would hopefully be the start of a long, stress-free weekend.

But, of course, it would have just been too perfect if anything went according to plan. Because one hour before Ron was due to arrive at home, everything started to blow up in Hermione’s face. Literally and figuratively.

While she tried to research a way how to fix overcooked meat, Hermione cursed herself numerous times for not doing a test run first. Hermione had plans for everything but when it came to cooking she was obviously rubbish.

I should have just ordered Pizza. Ron loves Pizza.

Giving up on the meat’s consistency she quickly decided that spices and a good sauce could somehow safe this. Just as she was about to add all kinds of spices, she heard the fireplace roaring to life.

Ron was here. And he was early.

Forgetting all about the roast, she bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room, almost tripping over one of the loosened bindings of Ron’s ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron she borrowed. And there he stood, shaking the floo powder out of his hair and off the Auror uniform.

When he looked up at her she didn’t waste another second and jumped into his arms. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her when Ron hugged her close and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

Pulling back, Hermione took Ron’s face between her hands and tugged him down for a kiss. She waited far too long for this.

When they finally broke apart to come up for air again, Ron softly kissed her forehead. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said, “And I have a surprise for you!”

“So, you cooking isn’t the surprise?” Ron grinned at her.

“Oh, shut up!”

“Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?” Ron asked as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“You do. And please take your time.”

*** *** *** ***

Ron couldn’t decide if he was more amused or felt more sorry for Hermione as the 3-course-dinner turned into a small disaster.

With the soup, it had been rather easy. It was incredibly salty and he probably dehydrated this very second, but with a good amount of bread and large swigs from his beer, he was able to pretend he liked it quite easily.

But then Hermione served the main course. As soon as Ron took the first bite he wanted to spit it out right away. It was absolutely inedible and he wondered how he could pretend to eat something which wasn’t tasting like the sole of his trainers.

Very slowly he reached for his beer, figuring it would be easier if he swallowed the bite without chewing. Just as he was about to take a swig, Hermione gave up all pretence.

“Oh my God, this is a complete disaster,” she whined, spitting the piece of meat into a hand towel, “Ron, you can give up the act now.”

As he too spit the overcooked shoe sole out of his mouth, he couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping him, and reached for Hermione’s hand.

“Not all is lost,” he reasoned, a little bit surprised about her being so upset about this dinner. Hermione’s attempts to cook or bake usually made for a lot of entertainment for both of them. “There’s still dessert, isn’t it?”

“Yes, right! Dessert!” She jumped up from her seat and ran into the kitchen with a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“NO,” Ron heard Hermione cry from the kitchen and he immediately jumped up to join her, “No, Pig! No, no, no, no, no!”

As Ron got into the kitchen he saw Pig sitting in a bowl full of what looked like vanilla cream, happily hooting at Hermione who appeared to be on the verge of tears now. Of course, Pig chose this very moment to finish his bath in their pudding as he flew out of the bowl with wildly flapping wings, coating both Hermione and Ron with a good amount of vanilla cream; Hermione’s hair getting the worst of it.

Ron slowly lifted a finger and swiped some cream from his cheek, licking it off as he was wearing a thoughtful look. “That is pretty good, actually.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione let out a resigned sigh. “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine! You have some terrible weeks behind you, and then you come home to your girlfriend serving you food that makes you probably crave the tasteless snacks they feed you with on these missions. I should’ve just-“

“Oi!” Ron interrupted her, not quite being able to hide his amusement. “Stop the rambling, barmy woman.” He took her face in his hands and leaned down, so he was at eye level with her. “All I wanted for today was finally seeing you again, Hermione. You never before got upset about bollocking up some cooking. What’s the matter?”

“I- I just wanted to distract you from this mission and make this evening somewhat special, and by now, Pig most likely decorated the whole living room with our pudding.”

Ron simply kissed her. His hands went from her cheeks inside her curly hair, changing their angle a bit to deepen the kiss. As Hermione let her hands wander from his chest back to his shoulders blades and down to the hem of his shirt, Ron decided to make it very clear to Hermione that everything he really needed to feel better, was her. This mission forced Ron to see things he’ll have nightmares about forever, and the only reason he was able to power through all of it, was the prospect of coming home to Hermione. To her touch, to her kisses, to her ramblings about work, to the simple comfort of just having her beside him.

With one swift motion, he swooped her up in his arms. “For such a smart woman, you can be very daft sometimes, love,” Ron said as he walked out of the kitchen.

“I know,” Hermione sighed as she took advantage of her position in Ron’s arms, and left open kisses along the side of his neck and his throat.

Without bothering to clean up the mess in the kitchen and living room, Ron walked them straight to the bedroom, leaving behind a merrily hooting Pigwidgeon who hopped and danced on top of Ron’s new chessboard, coating it with the only eatable dish Hermione produced today.

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations, pt.2

The moment you’ve all been waiting for

Chapter Two: A Clarity

By the early evening, they had made it. Their journey was long and rough, leaving their muscles aching and in desperate need of rest. Ahead was a rather large shack nearly hidden by the towering elms all around it. Jean wasn’t really well versed in architecture, but he remembered one of Armin’s late night ramblings about an ancient style of housing that the cabin-like building resembled. It was a nice, homey looking place. Though it seemed long abandoned with ivy spreading up the walls and leaves camouflaging the roof and scattering the ground. To the east came a loud shushing sound, easily identifiable as a clogged up creek. Bingo.

“Yeah, tell me about it. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night here.” Marco chimed, trying to conceal the excitement that the sentiment brought.

They set the rest of their stuff by the rock-lined fire pit before making their way to the waterside. Water was building up rapidly, overflowing to the sides. Blocking it’s path was a massive oak tree, water only barely trickling over the top.

“Oh shit,” Jean began, rolling up his trousers and stepping in for a closer inspection.

Marco followed suit, yards of thick rope in his grasp. “Luckily it’s fairly hollow.” he called from behind Jean over the sound of water forcibly hitting the log. “The tree itself won’t be too heavy, it’s just stuck. Look there,” he gestured to the base of the tree trapped in the thick walls of the compacted mud. “It’s just trapped. If we attach rope to either side and pull at an angle, perhaps we can free it and get it to the surface.” he concluded with a small, self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of his little assessment. Marco always seemed to take joy in the simplest things, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Jean smiled devilishly. “Well done my brilliant friend. Let’s get this started.” Marco gave a dramatic salute before getting to work, tying the rope tightly to one end of the tree. Jean took a nearby stick to dig at the tough mud, aiming to loosen its grip on the tree. Marco noticed and began to do the same. Soon enough, they felt a thudded movement of the tree as water poured in from the sides.

“It’s coming loose!” Marco leapt. “Jean, I’ll drag the rope up my end, you meet me with your end, ok?”

Jean lifted the rope. “Ok, aye aye captain!” he yelped.

With just enough force from Marco’s end and Jean coming to meet him on the same edge of the creek, the water ferociously gushed in, releasing all the built up tension behind the log.

“Alright ready to flip it?!” Jean called out over the rushing water, and was met with a swift, “Yep, heave!” With one last bout of labor, they had gotten the bulky tree over the edge of the water, the makeshift dam no longer able to wreak havoc on their water supply.

And with that, Jean dramatically flung himself into the semi shallow water, the flowing tide steadying to a more constant trickle as it evened out. Marco starred in bafflement before howling with a poorly contained laughter.

“Jean! What on earth are you doing!” he cried between laughs. Jean had that devilish grin on his face again, and Marco knew exactly what was coming - he was next. “Jean, Jean no. Splash me and I will have no choice but to go in and defeat you myself.” he pleaded, threatened, warned, but despite his desperate cries and admonishing face, Jean got closer, arms in position to fire water directly at him.

“I’d like to see you try.” he said menacingly, before pushing a massive wave of water to the surface, full on drenching Marco on the spot.

Oh. This was war.

Marco hurdled into the deepest part of the creek, a battle cry leaving his lips as he shoved a tall wall of water onto the other. Managing to side step his first attack, Jean beamed as his eyebrows furrowed, face contorting to that of a jester.

“Jean, oh my God.” he chuckled, a standoff between the two men putting them at a pause. Jean bent low in the water, soaking his chest.

“Well? Gonna come and get me?” he taunted, smirking his most devilish smile. Marco eagerly leapt at him, arms wrapping around the bulkier man in a wrestle. The two danced in and out of the embrace with Jean finally gaining the upper hand, slamming Marco backwards into the water. Marco let out a small cry, soon to be muffled by the incoming water enveloping the pair.

The two quickly resurfaced, Jean looking more than pleased with his second consecutive win, and Marco coughing and hacking up stream water.

“Oh shit. Marco, I'm sorry, are you ok?”

“I'm-” Marco proceeded to nearly cough up an entire lung, obviously not having been prepared to be body-slammed mercilessly into a deepish body of water.

Jean sloshed his way over to his choking friend patting him on the back hard as if that would somehow help the situation.

“Jea-” cough “It’s fin-” couch “Just sto-”

“It’s not fine, I almost drowned you! Here um I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Jean said in a panic, rushing to stand behind Marco. Of course the Heimlich maneuver wouldn’t do a damned thing to help, but Jean didn’t need to know that, as for Marco’s master plan to work he needed to lull the other into his trap. Now directly behind him, Jean couldn’t see the absolutely devious grin on Marco’s face.

Jean hurriedly wrapped his arms around the other’s torso and before he could start the first compression Marco turned to face him at the speed of light. Confused and a bit startled, Jean froze in place, finally realizing the deep shit he was in once he saw Marco’s lopsided and evil grin.

Fuck. He was tricked. That cheeky little bastard.

“Wait, Marco-”

Before Jean could plead for his life, Marco's hands were already steadfast onto each of his shoulders.

“Now, accept your defeat!” Marco dramatically yelled as he forcefully dunked a yelping Jean under the rushing current. He let out a downright maniacal laugh, still reaching Jean’s ears over the rumbling sound of being dunked into the water.

He grabbed blindly in Marco’s direction, finding what felt to be his shirt and hoisting himself up with a gasp. The quick movement and general unsteadiness of the creek caused him to lose his balance, Marco catching him by the waist before he capsized again. Marco looked at Jean with a satisfied grin, and Jean could only sigh exasperatedly after finally catching his breath.

“Why do people think you're the nice one?”

“What? You started it. All I did was finish it.”

“You’re a demon.”

“Only for you~”

Jean promptly shook the remaining water from his hair, making damn sure it got on the smirking devil in front of him. Marco chuckled at his petty revenge, turning his head to avoid most of the incoming droplets, though not retreating his arms holding Jean upright.

Their impulsive little duel in the water had them both utterly soaked, Marco’s white shirt practically useless as it clung tight and sheer on his body. Of course, Jean had seen his bare arms and chest before but never this close up. Never with said arms still wrapped around his damn waist. They were really no further than a foot away from each other and Jean felt his face heating up as he looked everywhere but Marco’s face. His sun kissed shoulders were speckled with freckles that matched his cheeks and it made Jean want to know just how much of Marco was covered with them.

Whoa.

What?

Back the fuck up.

He did not just think about Marco’s naked body while being held this close in his arms and shit shit shit abort mission. NOW.

Jean rather abruptly shook himself out of Marco’s gentle hold, looking absolutely everywhere but at the man himself. His face was probably bright red with the embarrassing amount of heat radiating off it. He could practically feel the questioning look on Marco’s face but Jean was absolutely not going to let him voice it.

“Hey, you hungry? Let’s uh... get dressed and get some grub, shall we?”

Though it was technically a question, Jean didn’t wait for an answer. He was up and out of the water before Marco could so much as say “polo”.

Jean didn’t walk towards the shed so much as run to it.

The embarrassment and guilt ate at his psyche and all Jean could do to stop it was just pretend it wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to make things awkward for the rest of the night because he was… Imaging his best friend naked? In a not so dude-bro way? No. No, he hadn’t assured that yet. He was only thinking about his friend’s freckles… And there was nothing inherently inappropriate about that. Right. Jean was fine. Marco was fine. Everything was fine.

He decided to go with that explanation for now.

Jean dressed in the shed first, putting on what sort of resembled sleepwear before hanging his soaked clothes to dry over a tree limb. Marco did so next, coming out of the shed dressed in plain brown pants and a thick white tunic that hung low, exposing a part of his dotted chest. Jean tried not to notice, really, he did, but it was hard. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to it.

Seeing the sun begin to set, Marco took initiative and got a head start on a fire in the pit yards away from the shed. Jean dug through the bags to grab food, sheepishly bringing it over to Marco at the fire pit.

“It’s uh just wrapped rations, nothing special.” Jean explained, handing the sitting man a packet.

“Thanks Je-” Marco began before a scream escaped Jean’s lips,

“But I snuck BOOOOOOZE!” he exclaimed, holding out a bottle of hard liquor. Marco’s mouth flew open.

“You sneaky bastard!” Marco teased, causing Jean to stick his tongue out playfully.

“I know, you love it” Jean said, sitting cross legged not but a palms length away from Marco.

The sun quickly fell behind the mountainside, leaving a distant dim glow as the crackling fire took its place as the center source of light. The smell of wood burning and the trickling sound of fresh water reminded Jean of how much he missed simply just enjoying the outdoors.

“Yknow,” Marco began as Jean opened the bottle and took a swig. “I’ve never been camping before.” Jean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, handing him the bottle.

“This is news to me, you sure know how to navigate in the wilderness!” Marco chuckled, taking a swig.

“Guess you can teach me a thing or two more,” he winked. Jean stirred, his hands finding stability only when the bottle was passed back to him. Jeez Marco had no right looking so-

“Well then, a toast!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too loudly.

Marco looked at him quizzically. “Hah, to what?” Us he wanted to say, almost feeling the word slip off his tongue before correcting it.

“To Marco’s first night outdoors!” He held the bottle up in triumph, taking a large swig before handing it back to Marco, who did the same. They laughed heartily at the sentiment before settling to let the booze make its effect on their minds and bodies.

The moon’s soft white luster shone down onto the pair, reflecting off the fracturing water of the now ever-flowing stream. Broken images of adjacent trees appeared as inky veins dancing upon the water’s surface, nearly as mesmerizing of a sight as were the blinking flames in front of them. For a short while, there was a tranquil sort of silence. The soft sounds of a forested night; a lullaby, as Jean and Marco simply sat there, existing together under the dull shine of the stars.

The crackling heat of the fire provided ample warmth and light, allowing Jean an inviting gaze toward his companion's calmed face, eyelids shut softly as he enjoyed the slight chilly breeze. Jean let his eyes scan down the expanse of Marco’s figure, stopping at his toned, freckle-peppered arms. For reasons he could not decipher, Marco’s freckles enveloped his mind. Unbeknownst to Jean, he reached out to touch them, tracing shapes and constellations into the dots adorning Marco’s arm.

Marco startled a bit at the sudden touch, though upon seeing Jean’s peaceful, zoned out state, made no turn to move. His heart stammered in his chest, the light tracing of Jean's thumb on his arm spreading chills throughout his entire body. His mind abandoned any rational thought as he watched, rather felt Jean’s pointer finger and thumb gingerly dance across his skin. It was such a gentle gesture, one Marco hadn’t seen Jean ever perform. As his feather-light touch ran ever so slightly higher, Marco couldn’t hold back a twitch, halting Jean in his place. What on earth was he doing? Jean yanked his hand back close to his chest and averted his gaze back to the trees, the creek, the shack, hell anything but Marco.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely audible over the steady whooshing of running water. For the second time that night Jean’s face felt hotter than hell itself.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispered back, looking over at his now abashed friend. “I… don’t mind.” he finished and Jean glanced up, dilated eyes looking up through his lashes, not knowing what that response meant.

“Listen, Jean, I-” Marco began, liquid courage pushing him almost as hard as Ymir’s words the previous night. Jean crossed his arms in front of his chest, uncomfortable and otherwise unmoving as he took in Marco’s increasingly anxious behavior. “Fuck it, I just- Gah.” he swore, bringing his hands to grab nervously at his reddening face. Jean shivered, though he doubted it was due to the chilling air. What was the matter? Was it him? Did he make him uncomfortable?

Assuming that was certainly the case, Jean tugged in his legs close to his chest, demeanor physically decreasing. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have.... Was weird. I-” he was silenced by Marco’s fingertips resting on his knee in an action of reassurance.

“I liked it.” he hurriedly quipped, before his eyes widened and his cheeks grew a more prominent crimson. Marco turned away and looked off into the fire, seeming to contemplate something, though his hand stayed placed atop his knee. If Jean was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified. Terrified of himself, of fucking everything up, of how nice it felt to be touched like this…

Despite being a self-proclaimed womanizer, Jean was often untouched, making the sensation of Marco’s fingers upon his knee amplified and probably more intimate than was intended. But still, he longed for more, so much more. His mind went foggy as he tried to decipher what this all meant, what this entire night had ment. His skin felt hot as he took a deep breath, looking at Marco with equal amounts of concern and desire.

The want to always be close by to him, the walls of confidence and arrogance that seemed to falter and collapse when with him, the unjustifiable jealousy towards Ymir who had only just became close-ish to him, his obsession with seeing him laugh, seeing him happy, seeing him prattle on about his childish feather collection and seeing those freckles and that damned smile: it was all leading towards the same answer, an answer Jean didn’t know he was ready to fully confront.

Marco was still facing the dwindling fire, a heavy look weighing his features down. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he ought to do something, he rested a hand atop Marcos. He turned away from the smoldering coals to look Jean in the eyes, features flashing a whole myriad of emotions Jean couldn’t even begin to decipher. The tension between them grew as they both stared at one another, neither of them knowing how to proceed.

As if God Herself had had enough of the two’s back and forth antics, a downpour of rain started to fall from the darkened sky. Feeling the icy drops of water on his skin, Marco instinctively let Jean go, making his way up and off the now dampening ground.

“Ah shit, looks like the storm followed us here.” Marco awkwardly blurted, the contrast of the casual line with the previously tense staredown like chalk against a blackboard, finally breaking the impenetrable silence. Marco turned to start towards the shed, though when Jean didn’t follow, he threw him a worried glance. Jean knew he had to go in - this type of rain only meant bad news to come and it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin another pair of clothes... But something was stopping him. He was nervous. Nervous of the fire in Marcos eyes yet realizing he wanted it more than anything.

Seeing Jean unmoving as rain drenched his body, Marco bit his lips nervously, swimming with his own uncertainties and nerves from it all.

“Jean…?” he re-approached calmly, voice cautious as if approaching some sort of wild animal. The air grew colder and wetter as the winds picked up, Jean’s mumbled response rendered inaudible as he shook in the frigid air. He slowly stood, still fixating on the ground as the two made their way inside.

…

It seemed like this untouchable silence was to follow them inside as well.

The two men stood face to face in that rustic styled living room, Marco leaning against the east most wall and Jean standing limp by the door, neither sure if they had the courage to initiate what they both so desperately wanted. Marco looked at him with practically every traceable emotion etched onto his features. Jean could feel his remaining walls starting to chip away, a long running crack threatening to crumble the blockade into an unidentifiable nothing. Fine. He knows what he’s got to do.

A second of contemplation later and finally, it crumbles.

Jean makes his way over to the other, wordlessly and with his brain running damn miles a minute. Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean continued to step towards the other, stopping just a footstep in front of him. He looked a bit startled, though not afraid. If anything, Jean would say Marco looked… hopeful? Relieved? He reached out, hand grazing Marco’s hair as he settled it onto the wall behind him, leaning closer still. Marco was essentially trapped between the wood wall flush against his back and Jean, enclosing arm, yet he still did not look uncomfortable.

He had already made it this far… It was too late to chicken out right? Last minute thoughts raced in Jean’s mind as Marco's eyes looked up into his from wherever they were set before. His gaze was intense, his eyes aflame with a fire Jean had never seen in the other before. Now he wasn’t necessarily great with feelings and general social awareness, but looking into those fire orbs Jean saw nothing that said ‘Stop’

And so Jean said ‘Fuck it’

Jean finally closed the remaining space between them, lips meeting lips and- oh. OH. Jean’s body ignited with a sense of overwhelming intensity and desperation, the long awaited action of this sending his mind into overdrive. He was kissing Marco. Marco was kissing him. Marco didn’t hesitate to cup his jaw, Jean leaning into the touch before grabbing onto his arm. His other hand slid down from the base of the wall to slink around his waist, pulling the goddamned beautiful man closer.

Marco took initiative in deepening the kiss, eliciting unexpected hum from Jean’s lips. He let his other hand fall to meet Marcos waist, wanting nothing more than to graze his heated skin underneath the damp cloth, though Jean pulled back for a second, allowing room for retaliation or, possibly, resentment.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Marco nodded, fingers toying with the man's wet hair. “It’s more than okay.” he replied before Jean resumed his actions, lips meeting his with urgency. If it didn’t feel real at first, it sure as hell felt real now, and Jean was soaring.

It was sudden when Marco pulled back, hands moving to graze up and down Jean’s chest. Jean looked at him with nothing but fondness and ease, all his barriers down for him and him alone in this moment. Marco looked in his arms, skin burning with heat and eyes flaring with longing.

“Well…” Marco chuckled nervously, and Jean grinned. “This is unexpected,” Marco finished his sentence in a hush whisper.

Jean bit his tongue, more worried about this reaction than he had expected. “In a… good way?” he asked as anxiety crept its way into his slightly shaking hands. Marco put his forehead to his, getting a better look into his eyes. “You tell me,” he taunted.

Jean’s features took a turn for the serious, as he softly rocked his forehead against Marco’s. “Marco…” he began, the tone of his voice causing the said man to tremble slightly. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this... with you.” As Marco peered through the darkened wet strands of Jean’s hair, he saw his eyes were glistening. Tears. Jean was crying. Unable to spit even a syllable out in return, Marco simply brushed his lips against his in a kiss. This time, it was Jean who returned the action with haste. Marco cupped his cheeks and felt their fresh tears mixed with warm flesh as they kissed once again, this time, with mutual cognizance.

Jean began laughing between kisses, almost unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t realized how damaging it had been trying to ignore his feelings for Marco, nor how euphoric it would feel to finally acknowledge them. Marco pushed him back impishly and Jean caught his near-fall before grabbing Marco’s hand and holding it in his own.

“Is this real…?” Marco asked mindlessly, focusing entirely on their hands entangling as Jean rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

“It better fucking be,” Jean half-joked. “'Cus if it’s a dream, please don’t ever wake me up” he concluded, studying Marco’s lightly speckled skin in the little light the shack provided.

“Hug me, please” Marco hushed, embarrassed at the question despite having kissed the man already. Jean flushed, the demand sending chills down his spine and making something in the pit of his stomach flip. Without a word, Jean snaked his arms around him, Marco hesitantly leaning his head on Jean’s broad shoulder. It was an apprehensive embrace at first, as if they still were somewhat afraid this was some kind of prank. He held him, too, and Marco’s hands were tangled around his neck. After a moment of comforting solace, it seemed Marco had finally realized that yes, this was in fact real. “Thank you.” he muffled into the crook of his neck.

Jean smiled, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said.

“Why?” Marco chuckled. Jean stroked his back, stepping somehow even closer in the embrace.

“Because you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” he worded earnestly. Marco giggled cutely and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, nearly eliciting an embarrassing gasp from Jean.

“Says Jean fucking Kirstein.” he emphasized, kissing his neck again. Jean flushed furiously. He was seriously going to die.

“Mhph- don’t tease me, Bodt” he bit, forcing Marco’s head up as he collided with his lips again. Marco’s eyes widened as their bodies hit the wall, hands once more exploring and teasing through clothes.

Jean hiked his hands up Marco’s shirt, feeling his hot torso beneath as he thumbed the outline of his toned chest. Marco rutted against him, his hands moving to his hips in an attempt to bring him closer. “Ah-“ Jean hitched, his breath wavering as their clothed bodies rubbed against each other. Kisses deepened and tongues grazed curiously. All that could be heard in the little shack made for two were breathy moans and wanton grasps as the night took a physically fervent direction.

__________

Jean woke up in a daze, last night barely able to find its way back into his mind as his eyesight adjusted to the morning light. He shifted slightly before noticing Marco lying naked on his chest, hand snaked behind his head.

A smile easily spread over his tired face as the shining sun was proof the evening they shared wasn’t a dream or another figment of his imagination. It was real, and he treasured the feeling of Marco’s soft skin touching his. Careful to not wake him, he shyly traced false patterns on his speckled shoulder, elated at the prospect that he could just do that now.

A slight gust of cool wind slithered under the door and into the room, making Marco shiver slightly in his sleep. Jean pulled the fleece blanket to better cover the both of them as he continued to swipe his fingers across his skin. But it was too late, as Marco had already opened his pretty brown eyes.

Not being near awake enough to communicate, he entangled himself with Jean’s body as he reveled in the feeling of his skin being touched. Jean took this as full confidence there was no regret concerning what had happened and he kissed his forehead, hand ever so softly tickling his back.

Marco hummed, smiling into his touch as he slowly eased awake. He moved his head further into Jean’s chest, peppering him with small kisses as both of their quickening heart beats thumped against one another. Jean’s comforting touch faltered slightly, not being able to focus on much of anything other than the soft lips against his chest. Noticing this, Marco lifted his head up to be eye-level with him.

“Hi,” he grumbled cutely, voice deep and ridden with sleep.

“Hi,” Jean grumbled back, reaching slightly to place a quick kiss on Marco’s nose. They admired each other's sweat-lined skin before Jean spoke up again. “So,” he gulped, and Marco let out a low, grovely chuckle.

“We fucked and now you can barely look me in the eyes?” Jean went bright red. Hearing Marco’s joking tone and following chuckle didn’t lessen the effect this sentence had on him.

“I- sorry. Just never-” he began, and Marco placed his fingers on the man's chin.

“Me neither.” he confirmed, letting out a shaky breath.

Jean swung his thigh over Marco’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer - a clear sign to Marco that he was content with their situation. He snuggled closer, the blanket enveloping the both of them from the cool winds.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Marco’s sun-kissed cheeks went pink, those words being uttered to him by Jean only ever being a part of his late night fantasies.

“Of course,” he managed, and Jean obliged, leathery lips kissing him in a delicate action of reverence.

“Jean,” Marco began, breaking the kiss. “Before anything… y'know. I have to know your feelings on, this, I guess. I’m not- I can’t just leave until I have absolute clarification. Listen, if this was just a one-off, I understand, but-”

Marco was silenced by Jean using his thigh to maneuver himself on top, resting atop the man before answering his plea. “I don’t want this to be a one-off, Marco. Believe me, last night was a blast, but you need to understand it’s you that has me smitten - you who has me wanting to stay in this stupid shack forever. And for some goddamn reason, you fuckin like me just as much as I like you.” he answered wholeheartedly. Marco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Jean continued on. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the alcohol or anything that led to last night. Marco, I kissed you because for a long time now, I knew I didn’t want to be friends. And… being alone with you it just - it opened that up for me and-”

His words caught in his throat as Marco used his same technique to hoister himself on top. He smiled from ear to ear, a sight Jean couldn’t get enough of. “If at any point in time you would’ve made a move, I’d’ve been yours. That talk I had with Ymir? It was about you. Jean, if you’re serious, I need a definitive-”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase: fuck yes”

Marco could’ve squealed, elation running through his veins as he watched Jean’s equally giddy reaction. He adored Jean, his bluntness, sarcasm, and tender heart. Not everyone knew of Jean’s warm heart, they hadn’t given the jock the chance. But Marco did, and to Jean, that’s all that mattered. They kissed for the thousandth time before laying back down in a fervent embrace, both knowing they had to get up and head back to camp soon but neither making the move to do so.

Eventually, and begrudgingly, they got up. A little cleanup and packing was done before they got fully dressed, ready to make the trip back. “We still have several hours,” Marco pointed out as he slipped his backpack on.

Jean grinned. “Yeah?”

Marco nodded. “We could… if you wanted to, hold hands?” he finished. Jean blushed despite how juvenile it may have seemed as he took Marco’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze of assurance.

“You never have to ask to hold my hand,” he chuckled.

A few hours had passed as the overcast sky seemed somehow even brighter than usual, their spirits beyond content with themselves and the world around them. Jean looked at Marco as their hands stuck like glue, neither daring to let go. Overwhelmed with adoration of the man next to him, Jean snaked his hand behind his waist, pulling him close. Marco stopped out of surprise, returning the action and turning his head to kiss him.

“Fuck you,” he snipped as he smiled. Jean played with his hair.

“You already did.” he quipped, causing Marco’s face to glow a bright red.

“I- ah-” he stammered as Jean kissed him again.

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Jean whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder as they slowly began to pick up the pace again. Marco rubbed Jean’s back lovingly as they stayed conjoined at the hip.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll find time to sneak around. Especially at night”. Jean closed his eyes for a moment, imagining several nights of being close to him before waking up the next day to have it be their own little secret. That was okay by him, and by Marco too.

It was nearly nightfall when the pair had finally made it back, the sleeping quarters seen just ahead in the distance, lit by the torches lining the paths. They sighed, letting go of each other as they attempted to keep some semblance of normality of who they were before.

A hacking noise was heard, and Marco whipped his head to the side to see Ymir chopping wood. “Ymir?! What are you doing out so late?” Marco gasped. Ymir got up, striding toward them as she spoke. “Dumbasses back there are bickering. I’d rather be out here in order to avoid a headache.” she said flatly. Jean could only nod, as he had no idea what to say in reply.

“Fair enough,” Marco said nervously, watching as she crept closer to Jean. She pulled down the collar of his shirt and smirked.

“Ah Marco, it seems you finally learned how to ride horses.” she quipped. Jean nearly died right there on the campground and Marco let a hand shoot up to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Ymir!” he exclaimed before laughing out of embarrassment and defeat. She cackled before resting an arm on his shoulder, eyeing Jean’s absolutely horrified expression. “I’m proud of you, really. It was about time something was done about you two.”

Jean straightened out, a hand covering half of his face.”You… oh shit. You won't-”

“Tell anyone?” She finished, cutting through the bullshit. “No, ‘course not. That’s up to the two of you.” she smiled, calming the boys down.

Marco looked at her with a gentle gratitude. “Ymir, thank you. But… How do we keep this from everyone else? I just- I’m not ready. Jean isn’t ready.” he suggested before looking to Jean who was nodding furiously in confirmation. Ymir put her hand to her chin in momentary contemplation.

“Look, I’m not telling you all my secrets. But I can give a few. For now though I’ll just say this: if Christa and I can get away with it, so can you two knuckleheads.”

Jean’s eyes widened. So many bombshells in one evening. Ymir and Christa? Together? Thinking of it now, he wasn’t that surprised, but the sudden admittance of it caught him off guard. “Wow” is all he could muster before Marco tenderly put his head on his shoulder, making his face flush a light pink.

Seeing this, Ymir couldn’t help but grin. They were cute, and she unfortunately had to concede to that. “Well, I’m turning in for the night-” she began as Marco brought her in for a hug, interrupting her goodbyes.

“Thank you Ymir, really” he whispered. She patted his back. “Anytime man.” she concluded before breaking the hug to turn back. “Sleep tight!” she winked, and Marco looked back at a flushing Jean.

“How do you feel?” he questioned, unable to read Jean’s expression.

He ruffled Marco’s hair. “Good,” he said. “Really good”. He cupped Marco’s cheek and leaned in to meet his forehead. They breathed in the warmth of each other before pulling back, knowing they had to actually go back this time. “Meet me in my room, twenty minutes.” Jean hushed, and Marco bit his cheek.

“Fifteen” he quipped, jogging off to report their mission.

“Deal.”

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings:  Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex. 

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace. 

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs. 

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.  

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty. 

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity. 

Or so he believes. 

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.  

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears. 

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all. 

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.  

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night. 

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable. 

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh. 

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair. 

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice. 

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his. 

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers. 

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.  

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again. 

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble. 

“I want to follow you on your mission.”    

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do. 

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.  

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal.  “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass. 

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move.  He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist. 

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin. 

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.  

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist. 

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” 

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside. 

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns. 

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him. 

“I have to kill you.” 

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic. 

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued. 

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t. 

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.  

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies. 

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second. 

They’re tainted by fear. 

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.    

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her. 

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.    

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.  

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face. 

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.” 

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks. 

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings. 

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache. 

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin. 

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own. 

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants. 

‘Fuck, her touch...’ 

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle. 

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure. 

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him. 

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.  

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs. 

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble. 

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest. 

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.  

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her. 

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern. 

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt. 

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins. 

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap. 

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.   

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria. 

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales. 

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.” 

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts. 

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue. 

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers. 

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.   

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.  

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms. 

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight. 

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.   

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water. 

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.  

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

 Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.  

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.    

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him. 

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.” 

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms. 

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine. 

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for. 

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.” 

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow. 

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself.  August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”  

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind. 

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice. 

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[ficsnroses]

Prompt Fic #25

Prompt[s] : “holding their hands when they are shaking” & “lightly kissing the top of a freshly formed bruise”. 

Summary : When John comes home bruised and shaken, you help calm him down and soothe him, despite his efforts in keeping you from seeing him this way. 

Warnings : fluff! mentions of blood.

Word Count : 1.6K. requested by some of my favourite ladies, @omg-imagine​ & @ meetmeinthematinee 🖤 I combined two requests as they were quite similar!

It’s a quiet night in the house, the trees out the bedroom window shade in large silhouettes, the gentle hum of the evening breeze purrs at the glass frames. John hadn’t made it home yet, leaving you discontent and worrisome. Each time John left for a job, you’d sense the seams of your heart tear, as if part of you would leave with him, desperately hoping he’d bring it back-

that he’d be back.

John is efficient, frighteningly capable in his field; yet the thought of him, alone and fighting, murder wringing his fingertips, left you less than at ease. The wallowing dark outside threatens to fall deeper, the pitch, shadowy dim a mirror to your qualms. Sucking in a deep inhale, you feel your temple pulse with a shivering ache, John’s wellbeing never parting your thoughts. Dog sits at your feet, head of his matted gray suit fur tucked under his paws, silently glooming the hallow of the room. He felt it as well; he missed John each second he was away from you both, too.

“Up, boy.” You sweetly coo, patting the vacant spot beside you on the edge of the silken bedsheets. When a yearning whine escapes his mouth and his tail ceases to wag, your hand rakes through his coat, gentle assurance coated, knit into to your touch. “I know, baby. I miss him too.”

Just as a dull & empty exhale emits your breath, the mild turn of the bedroom door catches your ears in a perk, heart springing well known, that John had finally made it back. Yet, as you catch the first glimpse of his weary boned frame, cautious of a slight limp on his left leg, your heart tumbles into a trench again; tears forming before the remains of your mind had even registered the scene.

John shuts the door behind, and with his thin lips offers you a small smile, dreadfully endeavouring to hide his wilted stance. A slash, gushed of mahogany red clears to the left of his pec, the slice in his suit coat and dress shirt frighteningly nerve-wracking. “Hey, sweetheart.” He offers, a rasp to the tip of his tone. To the look of terror shading your eyes, he draws closer. “I’m alright.” A white lie, covered by a searing wince. “Nothing some sleep can’t fix.”

In disbelief, you bite back a whimper to the sight of him, bruised and battered in front of you, yet his vanity proves strong, striving firm to keep himself presentable to you; to make you not worry.

If anything, John wants you to never worry about him. She doesn’t deserve this, he thinks to himself, doesn’t deserve to wrangle over his misfortune, wallow in the sin that is his life. She’s better than that. She’s more than that.

Yet, in the midst of the endurance, John often forgets, that he too, hurts.

John hurts; a never-ending scald left to perverse through each vein of his frail body. John bleeds, John bleeds plenty. But for you, he shields it. He keeps that part of him shielded away, in hopes that you’re never left to fend in his calamities.

Nevertheless, John often also forgets the headstrong of your nature. You’re compassionate, and for John, you’d face any ruin. Hold his hand each step of the way.

With your movement slow, calm and collected, you fight back the scorch of tears that threatens the gleamed corners of your eyes, a gentle hand placed to his shoulder, with your other finding place to the small of his back as you guide him to your shared bed. Eyes holding a desperate weep break back, you divert all the negative reveries that capture at your mind, blinking away each cynic thought of harm to your John.

With your hands holding a slight quiver, you fight back the urge to hold him right then and there, stipple each inch of his face with loving kisses, assuring him that you’d nurse him back to health from any length. But right now, in this moment, you needed to be swift – tend to his injuries before any nasty taints made home.

“Y/N, I’m fine.” John argues, gentle movements, heaviness of his palms pushing your hands away as you try to strip him of his suit jacket. Through half attempted gestures to shield you away, prevent you from seeing this part of him, John utters a little louder than intended, the tense to his forehead carving lines of distress to already dreary features. “Y/N, stop. I’m fine.”

Fingers unsteady through a tremble, you reach your breaking point, astonished at his dominance to keep you away. “John!” You yell, connecting your eyes with his much deeper, burnt sienna returns.

He looks fearful.

You see right through him.

“John, please let me help you. Please.” You empathize, watching his coffee gaze falter, complete, utter sadness to his soft features. “I need this. I need to help you.” His shoulders barely fall, weary frame crumbling in front of you, defeat evident in his collected measure. Your eyes move down, tracing his hands that rest on his lap, shaking, trembling.

“Baby,” You allow to fall off your lips, your own eyes softening with hurt. “Your hands are shaking.” Whispering, your gentle hands move to hold his, secure, in a firm grasp. You bundle his bruised knuckles, thumbs gently grazing the calloused skin of his touch. “You don’t have to hide it from me, John. I’m going to be here with you, each step of the way. But you need to let me in. You need to trust that I’ll be okay.” you contend, words assertive, yet holding a delicate care. He merely nods, refusing to meet your eyes.

He’s ashamed that this, is how you have to see him.

Gently soothed to the skin of his shaking hands, your smaller, softer ones trace inch by inch, his palms, his wrists, his fingers. You often hold John’s hands, ensure he remembers the feeling of being touched with love, with adoration. With fondness, and care.

You never let him forget the feeling of being touched. Something so simple, yet so impactful, delicate for a man who hadn’t known the power of human touch, until he met his one person. You.

Stroking softly, you sit with him, skin touching delicately as you offer a firm, yet uniquely assuring hold to his hands, carelessly peppering in a few gentle, subtle kisses to his knuckles as you please. Eventually, John’s shaking nerves calm enough for you to remove his suit jacket off his arms, buttons of his dress shirt undone in your fingers. He watches you intent, gaze downcast in infamy. Dark eyes hold pools of regret, a river of gloom, shame.

Noticing his plight, you dot a kiss to his beard coupled cheek, lips staying put a tender moment longer to remind him that you’re there. “Baby, it’s just me.” You assure him, his cheek cupped in your hand. “I want to be here for you.” Promising, you peck a small kiss to his lips, offering him a gentle smile.

As you peel off his shirt, a small, yet fairly audible gasp enticed your lips, and much to your attempts at the opposite, your expression falls stoic; before reverting to a frown. He lingers there slightly, shivering, looks soft and hesitant. Ashamed that this is what he has to offer; bruises. Cuts. Impurities. This is all he felt, all he was.

A reminder of the dark that won’t let him go.

John’s chest is peppered in bruises, a delicate mix of deep black and purple hues adorned on his skin. The freshly formed cut of today’s job falls small, much to your joy. He won’t need stitches, thankfully. Yet the thought of the pain he must be feeling pricks tears at your eyes, as you fight back a sob. With a knowing sigh, John’s orbs cease, lowering his gaze yet again.

He didn’t want you to see him. Not like this.

“Does it hurt?” You bite back a flow of tears, index finger so softly, so gently smoothing over a bruise to his pec. John’s head returns a gentle response of ‘no’, taking hold of your hand now, executing his best attempts at biting away all traces of pain to his features, for you. “Not at all, sweetheart.” His hoarse voice promises. You chuckle lightly at your own question, suddenly feeling silly.

Of course it hurts. He’s been cut, beaten to shreds.

Gently, your fingers smooth over a fresh bruise, intently glossing your eyes over the shaded discoloration, reverting your curious orbs to his when he lets out an exhale of contentment. He sighs, melting further into the touch of you skin. John loves your touch dearly; his favourite antidote. You move in slowly, full, rosy lips brushed against the deep mauve bruises on his chest, each kiss filled to the brim with love, all the love he deserved,

Whether he’d acknowledge it or not.

Your hands stay held to his, and you feel him relax into your touch, earthy orbs drifting shut to the feel of you against him. You move deliberate, leisurely, making sure to softly drench each bruise with pure love for him, let him know you’re here, with him, in this moment, and you’d be always. As long as the skies allowed.

Finally, you bring his hands up to your lips, planting small kisses to his palms, voice soft and comforting into the evening light. “Let me help wash you up first, then I’ll bandage you up, alright?” you ease, cupping his bearded cheek again. He nods, placing his rough palm over yours that rests on his face, as he pulls you in to his chest, ignoring the slight buzz of pain it brought to the bruises.

To feel you close, he’d endure any pain.

His embrace was a cocoon of security, shelter and love, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Tonight had been a milestone in your relationship, and John felt closer to you now, than ever. Found himself deeper fallen in your wholeness than before; if even possible. Tonight, John felt sure. And he knew, without doubt,

You were it for him.

With the hum of his chest a gentle reverberation to your skin, you hear his voice as he strokes gentle soothes up and down your back, mindless kisses placed to your hair as you hold him, sure to avoid his wounds. And though, John was a man of few words, there were three he’d never falter to express to you, three you’d hear until the breath in his lungs would cease. “I love you.”

[pressedinthepages]

One Condition

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request [Hey! I love your Witcher fics! I know it might seem a silly prompt, but could you write an oneshot where Jaskier and the reader are sharing a bath together, and smut/fluff happens, please? Thanks so much!]  Hey thanks nonnie! not silly at all, mostly just like, hella sexy.

Also, thanks to @sometimesiwrite for beta-ing!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, bathtub sex, and they were roommates

Jaskier returns one cold winter evening looking for a bit of warmth.

    A single flurry of snow floats past your window, blown by a soft wind that frosts at the edges. You’ve been teaching at Oxenfurt for about fifteen years now, and this is the first year that they’ve seen fit to house you in your own private quarters in the city, rather than the set of dormitories, but it was on one condition.

    You let Professor Julian Pankratz winter in the home as well. 

    Well, that certainly seemed doable when you had agreed at the start of the term. You had been left with a sizable house all to yourself, complete with a luxurious bathing room just off of the bedroom. The home became your sanctuary, letting you fill it to the brim with books and knowledge.

    Just as the last of autumn had blown through, so had Julian, landing right at your door like a leaf whisked from a tree. You remembered him from your own time at Oxenfurt, having been a few years behind him. He had made quite a name for himself in his time traveling the Continent, and you looked forward to learning from him yourself.

    But by the Gods did he talk.

    From the moment he crossed your threshold with a kiss to the back of your hand and a request to be called “Jaskier,” he never actually seemed to stop chattering. He would talk about nothing for hours, pretty words lined with prettier threads. Jaskier prattled on about his travels, the weather outside, a nice flower he had seen while heading home. Hells, if he wasn’t talking, he was still making noise, humming as he went about his business around the house. 

    It was...different. You were used to quiet, silence suspended on the web of a spider. But Jaskier brought music, and life, into your dusty old home. Your heart warmed whenever he bustled back through the door, arms full of papers and little odds and ends he had found on the way home. You could lose yourself in his eyes, and the way that he devoted himself fully in a moment with you. It was breathtaking, being on the receiving end of such pointed attention. 

    Not that you’d ever tell him that. No, best to keep that bit to yourself.

    You perk up as the front door suddenly opens to reveal Jaskier, looking all the world like the perfect representation of winter. His bright doublet is encompassed by a thick fur cloak, bright white and lined with a deep, wine red. His hair, soft chestnut waves that have grown a bit long in his tenure, is dotted with soft flurries of snow that have yet to be brushed away. He kicks off his boots, leaving them haphazardly off to the side. At least if someone tries to break in they won’t get very far before something of Jaskier’s trips them. 

    Jaskier smiles when he sees you, shucking off the cloak and leaving it to hang on a peg by the door. “Ah, my favorite young professor. I hope you have not stayed up on my account, darling.”

    You shake your head, holding out a steaming mug. “Not at all, Jask. I was just reading for a bit when I peeked out of the window and saw you coming. That white cloak is immensely recognizable.”

    “Ah, you like it? I had it made not too long ago, I liked the contrast of the colors and how it differs from my typical wardrobe...You know, I once knew a man in Novigrad who…”

    And there he goes, sipping his mulled cider as he prattles off into no man’s land with his words. You smile as you listen, settling back into your chair. Jaskier moves to perch atop the arm, his backside barely brushing against your shoulder. You shift a bit, not wanting to read too far into it. Surely he just wanted a seat close by, ignoring the several other chairs in the room. 

    “-for a bath?” Jaskier asks, and you blink back at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

    “Sorry, what was that? I was in an entirely different world.”

    Jaskier smiles, bright and wide and contagious. “No worries, love. You are a scholar, it is what you do. I was going to draw a bath to stave off the cold, and I asked if you would like to join me.”

    You thank the Gods that Jaskier is not one of the Witchers that he sings of, since he surely would have been able to hear the way that your heart stuttered in your chest. “I-well, if you wouldn’t mind, I don’t want to intrude-”

    “Nonsense, I insist! That is, if you truly want to?” Jaskier goes serious for a moment, like a turn of a page. Suddenly, his face is all hard lines and worry between his brows, as if he were the one concerned about overstepping a line. His eyes are still kind, asking you genuinely if you would like to accompany him. 

    You smile, looking away before meeting his gaze once more. “Sure, Jaskier. I think a warm bath sounds lovely.”

Jaskier springs up, holding his hand out to you with all of the joy and mirth returned to his features. He pulls you up, leaving your now abandoned mugs on the floor beside the chair as he leads you to the bathing room. 

The wooden floor is cool on your bare feet but the air in the room is warm from the raging fire that heats water for the tub. Jaskier quickly undoes the delicate clasps on his doublet and drapes it over a rod along the wall. He shucks the sleeves of his chemise up to his elbows as he crosses to the fire. You see his arms swell as he lifts the great pot, and you can only hope that the heat in the room camouflages the way that your cheeks flush with arousal. 

    “Should I go fetch some more?” Jaskier grunts as he sets the empty pot on the floor. The tub is filled about a third of the way, but that should be plenty for the two of you. You shake your head, swallowing thickly as Jaskier begins to untuck his chemise from his trousers. He lifts the shirt over his head, revealing a broad chest covered in dark, thick hair that just begs for your fingers to run through. 

    Jaskier closes the distance between you, stopping just shy of touching you. “May I, my dear?”

    “Please…” you whisper as Jaskier brings his hand to the neck of your blouse. He deftly undoes the tie at the top and flitters down the line of buttons. When the shirt falls open Jaskier’s hands push the fabric aside and down your shoulders, his touch like fireflies alighting on your skin. You shiver into his hands as they toy with the waist of your skirt, teasing before undoing the tie and letting it pool around your feet. 

    You stand before Jaskier in only your underclothes and you instinctively move to cover your chest. 

    “Oh, darling,” Jaskier croons, “Please don’t hide from me…”

    You blush as your arms fall away, and Jaskier’s breath hitches high in his chest. His hands find your hips and grasp the hem of your underclothes, his eyes finding yours once more before moving. 

    “Go ahead, Jaskier.” Your voice is small but sure, and you stand confidently as Jaskier slides the delicates down your legs. You step out of them and reach for Jaskier’s trousers.

    Jaskier chuckles as you frantically search for buttons down the front or a tie on the side, but you can’t find any fastenings. “On the back, dear.”

    He turns, revealing the silly little bow at the small of his back that holds his trousers on. You smile as you slowly pull the ties, feeling the fabric loosen where it sits on his hips. As they start to fall you take the initiative to fit your fingers into his smallclothes as well, bringing everything to the floor in one swift motion. 

    You kneel on the floor for a heartbeat too long, just admiring the view. Jaskier’s legs are long and hairy, his thighs thick from the countless miles he has trekked over the Continent. You are oh so tempted to reach up and give his pert little ass a squeeze, but you just barely resist. Maybe another night…

    You stand and turn towards the bath and you hear a gasp when Jaskier turns around. You look over your shoulder to find him looking directly at your own backside, and he flushes even deeper when you catch him looking. 

    “Sorry, darling,” he whispers, a look of awe crossing his features, “you are truly a work of art.”

    You laugh, a new wave of arousal soaring through you when you look down and notice that Jaskier is half-hard, hanging heavily against his thigh. You step into the tub, letting the warm water lap around your ankles. You hold out your hand, beckoning Jaskier to join you.

    He takes your hand, fitting your fingers with his own as he climbs in with you. “Go ahead and sit, love. I’ll sit behind you.”

    You lower yourself into the water, sighing a bit as it warms your skin down to the bone. Jaskier follows close behind, and the sound that he lets out is obscene and goes straight to your core. The water sits right at your chest and you watch the steam rise in little tendrils that dissipate before your eyes. You scoot forward and lean back to dunk your hair under, feeling the droplets fall fast down your back. 

    “May I wash your hair for you?” Jaskier purrs into your ear. You melt into him, feeling the strength of his chest resting against your back. 

    “If you’d like,” you reply, and Jaskier leans over to collect the soaps and oils. The scent of flowers fills the air as he pours something into his palm and begins to run his fingers through your hair. His nails scratch along your scalp as he works the soap into a lather, rubbing little circles into the tender skin atop your crown and down to the nape of your neck. 

    You are very quickly lulled into a sense of peace, your arousal all but forgotten. But every touch of his hands sends sparks down your spine and you can feel your core flexing and squeezing, searching for any small bit of relief. 

By the Gods, he’s even humming now. But it’s slow, and his voice has dropped lower than the sweet, bright tone you have become accustomed to. You feel his chest vibrating against your back, and even down so far as the persistent hardness that presses itself against your ass. You moan darkly, letting the resonations from his voice soar across into your bones, everything having amplified in the matter of the moment between heartbeats. 

“Jaskier, please let me get this soap out of my hair so I can kiss you,” you murmur, fidgeting under his fingertips. He chuckles as you scoot forward once more, his hands returning to your hair as you lean under the surface. The water turns hazy with the suds rinsed from your hair as you sit back up, turning to face Jaskier where he rests with his back against the rim of the tub.

Your hand rests on his neck as you lean in, Jaskier’s finding your hip as he pulls you close. His skin is warm and wet from the humidity in the room and your fingers slip into his hair, curling a bit at the edges where it has dampened. You close your eyes as your lips meet, reveling in the sweet indulgence of his attentions. His lips are softer than they have any right to be in the chill of winter, but you can’t linger on that. 

You climb into Jaskier’s lap and straddle his hips, shivering when you feel his fingers drift under the water to your core. His eyes lock with yours as he leans into you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses over your chest while he plays with you beneath the surface of the water. You sigh as he slips a finger into your heat and circles the little peak of nerves with his thumb. 

Jaskier’s fingers move deftly around, in and out and adding a second as he strokes up and down your side with his other hand. “Ah, my dear,” he murmurs into your skin, “may I have you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, pushing into his hands as your hips chase him. He withdraws his fingers from you and takes your hips in a strong, firm grasp. All of the air leaves your chest when his length finds your core and pushes, filling you slowly. Your hips meet, and the world has fallen away from the walls of the room. 

You stare deep into the clear pools of Jaskier’s eyes, blown out with lust and looking at you with such blatant adoration it’s dizzying. “Please, Jask.”

Jaskier grins, “Anything for you, love.” His grip on your hips tightens as you raise yourself, sinking leisurely back down and up again. Jaskier’s head lolls back against the edge of the tub as the water swells around the two of you, his eyes shutting as he takes his pleasure. You scratch along his scalp as you increase your pace, feeling his thighs twitch beneath you. 

You continue faster and faster, chasing your climax as it builds with each passing moment. Water sloshes out onto the floor in waves. Jaskier shifts, planting his feet and pressing his chest up against you as he meets you thrust for thrust. You see stars with each spear into your core, moaning freely when his teeth dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

Your climax overtakes you, blinding in its euphoria. You are painfully aware of every sound and feeling in the relative vicinity but they are only background noise, deafened by Jaskier moaning his own orgasm into your neck. You feel him swell and spill within you, carefully riding him through his high as you come down from your own. 

The only sounds become your own heavy breathing accompanied by the gentle dripping of bathwater onto the floor. Jaskier looks up at you with that same dreamy look in his eyes and you find that you cannot resist the urge to meet his lips. The kiss you share is slow, languid, painted with contentment and strewn with sweet release. 

“Come to bed with me,” you whisper against his lips, stroking your thumb across his cheek. You feel his smile against your mouth, his cheek pushing up into your hand. 

“As I said before, my darling,” he murmurs, “anything for you.”

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 33

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1829

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: I believe the gif should be enough of what this part is all about. Thanks for reading everyone! I know we’re in dark times now but it will get resolved! Keep an eye out for a bonus part on Saturday!!!

poison & wine masterlist

You hope your entrance isn’t noticed by everyone in the compound but the Bifrost is anything but subtle. You didn’t have the mind to explain to everyone why you were in a wedding-like gown and had appeared without a royal prince by your side. You find yourself in luck as you manage to sprint into the nearby visitor’s lodge without being found. 

“Welcome back Miss Y/N.” 

“FRIDAY,” you greet hastily as you step into your room. “Where is everyone?” 

“They’ve been called to a mission. Would you like me to send a message to them?” 

“No!” you shout as you try to take your dress off. “No, I uh… I don’t want to bother them.” 

You continue to struggle with the dress and let out a muffled scream as you notice the row of buttons that line down your back. 

“Goddammit,” you cry out. “This stupid dress!” 

You continue to attempt to rip the dress of your back but the gown doesn’t allow for its destruction. The tears are burning in your eyes and you knew there was no point in trying to stop them. You had every intention of making a swift escape but nothing was going your way. It wouldn’t be long until Loki came chasing after you if he cared enough to do so. 

“Do you wish for me to call you some assistance Miss Y/N?” 

“No! No, please,” you manage to stammer out as you wipe your tears away. “I wish to keep my return secret.” 

“I believe your arrival has been noticed.” 

“By who?” you ask confused. “I thought everyone was gone.” 

“Not everyone…” 

Your panic shifts at the sound of his voice but you turn around to meet him.

“Bucky...” 

His frame took up most of your doorway but as imposing as he was, he held himself modestly. You took him all in noting the familiarities and the differences easily, but with everything that had changed, the long hair and dark scruff, you could still see the soldier you once had the pleasure of knowing. 

Bucky Barnes was like a glass of aged whiskey. With the time passed, he had become a bit rough, but still held a hint of his original sweetness.

You can’t ignore the warmth that spreads through your chest at seeing him again. The influx of memories of him was hard to ignore.

You embrace him instantly realizing how much bigger he’s gotten since his years in the war. 

“Y/N,” he breathes out as he hugs you back. A laugh vibrates through his chest and you can’t help but join him in it. “You look… exactly the same.” 

“So you remember me?” you ask as you pull away from him. 

“It’s hard to forget someone like you, doll,” Bucky answers slipping into his 40’s slang easily. “It was hard to believe that you were still alive but Steve…” 

“Of course,” you mutter with a shake of your head. “Steve was supposed to keep his mouth shut about me but that boy can’t keep a secret to save his life.”  

“He really can’t,” Bucky agrees. “But it was good to know. We both lost a lot and some things can’t be so easily replaced..” 

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” you answer knowing how time could take and take without ever giving back. “It’s good to have you back, Buck.” 

“It’s good to be back,” he states before frowning. “Except it seems I’ve missed something.” 

He takes in the gown you’re wearing and you’re mortified at being caught in it. 

“I gotta be honest, doll, I didn’t remember you as a runaway bride.” 

You try to laugh at his joke but all the reminders of Asgard come crashing back. The pain, the heartbreak, the utter humiliation. Your eyes begin to sting again and you’re embarrassed once more to find yourself on the verge of tears. 

“I’ve clearly said the wrong thing,” Bucky stammers out in concern. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as your throat continues to tighten. “It’s just… a lot has happened and I haven’t had the chance to process it all.” 

“Does the dress have something to do with it?” 

You just nod unable to speak anymore.

“Ok, ok, doll,” he whispers trying to calm you. “Will taking it off help you?” 

You nod once more and turn around allowing Bucky to undo the row of buttons that had caged you into a suffocating reminder of a certain dark prince. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

You knew this wasn’t wise. You couldn’t open up your heart to a man you had a deep history with, but your heart was broken and you were tired of carrying the weight of what happened with you for much longer. 

“I went to Asgard with Loki. I wanted to find my father,” you manage to explain. The dress loosens and you’re quick to hold the material from falling even lower. Being a gentleman, Bucky is quick to avert his stare allowing you to pull on some of the spare clothes you had left behind. “You can turn around. I’m done changing.” 

Bucky looks up once more and takes notice of your red, swollen eyes. You’re quick to look away focusing instead of pulling out your second suitcase from the closet and packing it up. 

“Ok, and what did you find?” Bucky asks as he watches you throw your clothes into the bag. “Why are you running away from it?” 

You stop briefly trying to formulate a response. 

“I uh… My father ended up dying,” you answer. “Quite some time ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky frowns. “But why are you packing your bag? Why are you leaving? You just got back… and you came back alone. If you went with Loki, why didn’t he come back with you?”

“Bucky, I-,” you whisper trying to wrap around the influx of questions he’s asking. “I can’t tell you. I really don’t want to.” 

It seems your hesitance to offer an explanation allows Bucky to find the answer on his own. 

“This has something to do with Loki.” 

You look up at him desperate for him to leave things be, but Bucky is too protective and you can see him jumping to conclusions. 

“He didn’t do anything,” you explain as you wipe the stray tears that had managed to escape. “I… I spent a week with him and we got close. Too close. And he… he did so much for me. He sacrificed himself over and over again just to keep me safe… just to help me find who my father was. Loki… he’s completely misunderstood and I somehow managed to catch a rare glimpse of the real him. A glimpse of him being utterly good and I fell in love with it. I fell in love with him.” 

“Then what went wrong?” 

“He doesn’t feel the same way,” you answer with a shake of your head. “I thought… I thought maybe he did, but he rejected me so harshly in front of the entire Asgardian population and all because of that stupid apple!” 

You knew there were details missing in your recounting but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them all. Your heart was already broken and there was no point in breaking it some more.  

It doesn’t seem to matter as Bucky pulls you into another embrace allowing you the comfort you needed. 

“I can’t stay here, Bucky,” you sigh tiredly. “Loki is bound to come back and I can’t face him. Not with all that happened in Asgard. I’ve made a mess of things because I couldn’t discern friendship from love.” 

“How are you so sure that he doesn’t love back?” Bucky asks you. 

“He told me to leave so I did. In fact, he yelled at me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Bucky whispers glancing down at you. A hint of a smile was on his lips. “It’s hard not to fall in love with you, Y/N. I would know.” 

You can’t breathe. Not with the way he was looking at you. His eyes spoke more than words ever could and it took your breath away. 

“I’m flattered, Bucky, but…” 

“...our time has passed,” Bucky finishes for you. “I know.”  

“You and I have changed since the last time we saw each other.” 

“Yes, we have.” 

Bucky lets you from his hold smiling sadly at you. 

“You should go.” 

“Bucky…” you whisper in surprise. 

“If Loki knows what’s right for him, he’ll be coming to find you,” Bucky explains as he zips up your bag. “And you don’t want that, do you?” 

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly. 

“You love him which means you want him,” Bucky states. “You can stay and wait for him. Demand the answers you rightfully deserve or you can run away. Ignore all that’s happened up there. Heal from your broken heart on your own.” 

You think about it briefly weighing the pros and cons of both options. All your emotions were still pressing in your chest, but the pain was winning overall. Hope and love were long gone. 

“What is it that you want, Y/N?”

The answer suddenly comes clear to you. 

“I’m really tired, Buck,” you breathe out. “I just want to go home.”  

Bucky nods recognizing your need to return to an old comfort that you were lucky to still have. 

“Then go,” he tells you.

“But you just came back…” 

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” Bucky assures you. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll catch up when you decide to return.” 

Bucky was allowing you a clean break and you would be dumb not to take it. You pick up your bag and offer him one last glance. 

“Thank you for this, Bucky.” 

“No need to thank me, doll,” he answers with a small smile. “Running away... Might not be the best coping mechanism but the distance can allow some much-needed clarity and that I can understand.” 

“Tell everyone I’m sorry,” you hesitate to continue but find yourself doing so. “Tell Loki… Tell him…” 

You don’t know what message to leave for him and yet Bucky seems to connect the dots before you can. 

“I’ll tell him,” Bucky nods. “I’ll tell him you had to save yourself.” 

There’s nothing holding you back anymore so you wish Bucky goodbye and take your leave. 

Bucky watches you go. Keeping an eye on you as you get into your car and speed off. Your car disappears past the secured gates and Bucky knows it won’t be long for Stark’s A.I. to notify its maker that you had come and gone without his knowing. 

With a sigh, Bucky turns back to the compound before another flashing of lights shooting into the lawn captures his attention. A man regaled in golden armor appears and Bucky doesn’t need an introduction to know that this was the anticipated and feared Loki. 

“If you’re looking for Y/N, she’s long gone.”

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha @accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer @punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals​ @rogerrhqpsody @imsad420 @pandacookieowo @justnerdystuffs @hanoi15​ @oneprolificqueen​ @nikki-who-likes-coffee​ @fandomrelative​ @nikki419ninja​ @onedollarduck​ @help-i-need-a-social-life​​ @ephemeraljade​ @catsladen @amwolowicz​ @captainmarvelnerd​ @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse​ @ddaeing​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi​ @defunctcherrybomb​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​@horsesandwolvesaremyanimals 

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie​ @moonlightprime

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part I

Title: Prelude

Word count: 2,980

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic. Crappy writing?

Notes: So three? I want to say three years ago this idea came to mind. Well not this one. But I worked off that idea and came to this. I like the idea of the Doctor being around children. They’re just so innocent. But then I though what the hell let’s torture 11 and the kids and this was born. I’ll explain more later but for now Spoilers. I reall have worked hard on this it’s my first Doctor Who fic. It’s been in my head and notes for years so please be kind and enjoy. I’m going to try, try to break this in to only 4 parts. But hey I’m a detailed writer.

Special Thanks to my college buddy B, @mirkwoodshewolf, and @underskaro​ for tolerating my ramblish rants and beta reading the chapter.

———

Down the road aways, pushed against the hills, stood a cobblestone farm style home. The front lawn was messy, jagged and uncut. From the muddy earth sprang up wildflowers and weeds, northern marches, poppies, and heathers. It was all very wild. The pedestal of a concrete birdbath was cracked and lopsided, with vines wrapping around the very base.

A trike was tangled, hidden in the tall overgrown grass. It felt out of place among the weedy garden. The bike in contrast to the exterior of the old homestead must have been brand new. Green and black, the trike was just brilliant enough to be noticeable through the thrush.

Visible from the left lower window appeared a boy, no older than 14 but no younger than 12. He reached out toward the edges of the frame, grasping at the sangria red fabric. In one swift motion, he drew the curtains closed.

“There,” the boy said, standing back to admire his work.

The four windows of the well-sized sitting room. The warm golden light that once flooded through the glass panes, faded, leaving room to feel somewhat dark and empty.

Stepping backward, the young teen collapsed over an armrest onto a sofa. The sofa’s cushions sank under the weight of him, creating a spot perfectly tailored to the shape of his body. The sofa had seen better days. The brown leather fabric was worn, torn in some places and had a great dark stain on the Center cushion that the boy couldn’t remember ever not existing.

Dragging his legs over the armrest, he moved himself so he was in a sitting position. He stretched his right hand out, leaning his body so he could reach a drawing book on the right end table. The silence of the sitting room hugged him like a security blanket, his muscles became jello, all the stress of the day just melted off him. Being the man of the house was hard.

He became lost in his own world. He didn’t utter a word for the next fifteen minutes and barely moved from his spot for a full thirty minutes. His left hand carefully looped and curved over the blank sheet of paper, no longer blank. Every now and again he’d spin his pencil around in his fingers in deep thought, or wildly erase a thoughtless mistake. He hummed along to the song blasting through his one right earbud (the one thing he’d moved to retrieve.) nodding his head in time with the 60’s melody.

The sound of creaking floorboards overhead pressed through his exposed ear, carrying him back to reality. He could hear gentle feet beating against the wood. They were almost unnoticeable over the music. Almost.

There was a lull in the footsteps, creating silence.

They must be at the stairs, he thought, beginning to set his drawing tools away.

They always stopped at the top of the stairs and the base. The stairs of the old farmhouse were criminally steep, with each weirdly a different height than the last. They were enough to give anyone unfamiliar with them a headache. If his mother had gotten them carpeted, maybe the stairs wouldn’t have been so nauseating, but she’d wanted to preserve the house’s history as best she could.

Thump, thump, thump.

He could just imagine the little human, the footsteps belonged to crawling down the stairs. Moving down them one by one, on their knees. Sort of in a reverse way of the puppy conquering the stairs in Lady and the Tramp.

“No, go away,” he called, pressing a pencil down into its colouring box. When there was quiet he looked over his shoulder, everything from the waist down just sitting there on the steps. The figure's upper body was obstructed from his view.

“I was kidding, you can come down.” He turned back to his tidying. He heard the little feet happily stomp about, then thump, thump, thump.

Focused on organising his things, he looked up only when noticing the pair of dust stained white socks out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, somewhat irritatedly, staring at the little girl who now stood across from him.

With a great sigh, he said.

“You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

A child no older than four stood before him. Her brown eyes, earthy hues of the soil after rain or bark on a walnut tree. They gave him a look that was of youthful innocence. Bright auburn hair reached down to the middle of her back, slightly covering the sides of her cheeks. Her pale skin was dotted and marked with a surplus of freckles — Sophia.

Sophia frowned, taking a step back. This made the older boy quietly snicker.

He smiles in a reassuring manner, “Hello, Soph-a-loaf.” He teased goofily pronouncing her name. The slightest smile tugged at the corners of the ginger's lips. He brought Sophia onto his lap, letting her sit on his thighs. “What’s up ducky?” He asked, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. Sophia scrunches her mouth to one side, making a few murmuring noises. “Oh really? Sounds like you’ve had a day.”

Sophia nods. She rests her head on Oliver’s stomach, looking up at him with her sweet doe eyes.

“What?”

Her eyes darted off toward the window.

“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sophia tilted her head to one side, training her attention on Oliver’s. “Seriously the park now?” Oliver whined, backing into the cushion.

He reaches for a throw pillow and covers his face with it.

“I’m sleeping,” he murmurs from behind the fabric. Sophia fusses lightly, pressing at his stomach. Oliver grunted, but kept the pillow pressed against his face. “I’m dead,” he tried.

This time Sophia head butted him in the gut. Oliver pulled a face, bringing the pillow down.

“Bleh!” He mocked, tongue lolled out of his mouth. Sophia squeaks, swatting her palm against Oliver’s arm. “Hey, we don’t hit. Sophia, I don’t want to go to the park.” Oliver said leaning down so his forehead was against hers. Sophia kindly taps her temple against his. Oliver chuckles softly, giving her forehead a sweet peck. “Sophey Tophie.”

He lifts Sophia off his lap, setting her on the floor in front of him.

“I suppose… it would be nice to get out of the house.” His eye drifted to a calendar on the interior sidewall of the sitting room. He couldn’t remember when he circled that day. Sophia excitedly bounces up and down. “What are you a rabbit?” The little ginger doesn’t respond, bouncing her way to the front door.

Oliver rolls his eyes. Upon realisation, he sprang up from the sofa.

“Sophia, you need a coat!”

-

The two children squinted against the hazy Yorkshire rain. The rain was cool against their exposed skin. It felt nice, refreshing even. It ran through their hair, smoothing out Sophia’s auburn waves, mopping Oliver’s ash brown locks. It plastered small individual strands to each of their faces.

Oliver chatted away as they went down the muddy, winding path. Chatting isn't quite the right word as Sophia never spoke. It had only taken him two minutes to go off on a tangent about something or other.

Sophia, only kind of sort of listening, pedaling her hand-me-down trike. His voice disappeared into the white noise, allowing her to quietly enjoy the English landscape.

The countryside stretched and weaved as far as the eye could see. Rustic English cottages and cobblestone farm houses dotted the grassy hills. The land gently rolled up and down the valley, merging with the uneven, mist filled moors half way up the emerald green mounds of earth.

Dew, white and clear, decorated the damp droopy grass the land glittered, sparkling under the orange purpling sunlight.

The houses of the humdrum sleepy town were few and well spaced out. One could walk a good half a mile before reaching their neighbours' property. Those closer to the center of town were flats, pushed together in neat lines, occupying the space over the small, often family owned shops.

Oliver and Sophia arrived at the park in twenty minutes. Sophia having to struggle, pedaling through the mud had set them back. However, neither of the children seemed to care. Sophia hopped off the trike and clicked off her helmet, abandoning both on the pavement. She couldn’t wait to explore the soggy park.

For the next 20 minutes they hung out at the park, Sophia wandered the grassy playing field picking at wild flowers while Oliver practiced his kicks. In the following ten, Sophia ran up the stairs then went down the slide. She’d dust herself off, then go round again. The next five minutes she sat still, a bit tired, content to watch the villagers while Oliver puttered around.

“Oi! Sophia, I’m goin’ to the loo. I’ll be back right back!” Oliver shouted from the far side of the futbol field. The park had no bathroom, so he’d have to walk clear cross the road to Brews Brothers’ Pub. The popular bar had an outdoor side restroom reserved for the public.

Sophia watched Oliver leave until he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

The quiet times brought a certain comfort to Sophia. It was the perfect time to watch people revel in the coolness of other humans’ lives. Usually the park was a buzz with townsfolk, mostly children. They melded together and dotted the public lawn like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. But now there was little life to distinguish the little village from Oradour-sur-Glane, France.

The night air, though cool, had a biting sharpness to it. No thanks to the rain. Sophia sniffs through her nostrils, inhaling the almost intoxicating spring air. Sitting on the bench, her little legs swung over mud coated grass. Misty rain was still falling steadily, and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Sophia wasn’t bothered though.

Reaching for a short stick she traces some shapes in the ground. She nods her head, humming a tune she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually know how to fly the TARDIS.” A voice, female with a thick Scottish accent, said.

Two foreign voices cut through the cold silence. Her eyes dart down the path. From where she sat she could hear them, the voices, bickering. About what, she had no clue.

Out of mist in the distance strode what appeared to be a young couple. The man seemed tall. His dark brown hair was long, stuck to his forehead in a droopy fashion, much like Ollie’s. Despite looking like a young man, he wore clothes that reminded Sophia of one of the town retirees; a Donegal tweed sport jacket with elbow patches, an off white dress shirt, rolled up deep blue trousers and… and bow tie?

Bow ties are for Sunday, Sophia thought, eyes narrowing at the approaching pair.

His partner appeared to be much more put together. Auburn hair, just a smidge less vibrant than Sophia’s framed a pale Scottish face. An irradiated cross expression dominated her features. Her voice wasn’t high nor low, it perfectly suited her in an indescribable way. And unlike the man to her right, she wore clothes appropriate for her age.

The pair stopped in the middle of the path, continuing to argue.

“Of course, I know how to fly the TARDIS sometimes she- she just has a mind of her own.” The lanky man argued, earning an eye roll from the ginger.

“We’re supposed to be England,” She grouched. “What about Churchill? This looks like— are we in Scotland?”

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, tourists. She watched as the man licked a finger, held it against the wind, then popped it back in his mouth.

“No, no. I’m sure we’re in England.”

The finger crossed her arms over her chest in a cool way.

“Shouldn’t there be I dunno fighters, soldiers, something? I’m getting sheep.” She said looking round the area. She wasn’t wrong there were sheep, white puffs mindlessly grazing on the hills. When she looked back at the man, he was squatting. In his right hand he held a good chunk of mud.

“Wha—What are you doing?”

“Definitely in England. Westerdale Yorkshire, to be more precise. Right country wrong period. Does something seem off to you?” He asked, running a thumb over the mucky mud, cautiously examining it.

His partner snorted indignantly.

“Something or… someone? No don’t eat the—”

Sophia quickly pushed her head down, crinkling her nose. Adults are weird. She turned her attention to her dirt scribbles. She didn’t understand what they were on about, anyway. Hopefully they’d be on their way soon. They didn’t belong.

There’s a weight increase, bending the planks of the bench. An electric chill ran up Sophia’s spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The reaction wasn’t from the cold. There was a weight increase bending the planks of the bench.

“Well hello there, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name.”

Surprise was never an emotion Sophia handled well. Her shoulders went rigid, her entire body defensively readying itself. Her sweet eyes become stoney. Her breathing felt as if it was becoming more shallow with each breath. The guarding alarms inside her mind we’re going crazy halting the thinking gears of her brain.

The man held his hands up resignedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a gentleness to his tone, a kind of concern. Sophia couldn’t be sure. No matter something about him. She let her shoulders go loose, but the rest of her still felt tense. “Would you mind? I have a few questions.”

Sophia allowed herself to relax a little more, not completely but more.

“Doctor!” The scot’s voice rang up briefly, sending Sophia back into defensive mode. “You can’t keep talking to children you don’t know.” She sounded like a mother chiding her young child.

Her comment sparked a minor argument between the pair.

Sophia took the time to lean back and take the pair in full, particularly the man. He was a little more normal-ish looking up close. Normal enough. There was something about his eyes she couldn’t quite describe.

Sophia observed the two curiously, unaware that the fear, once crushing her chest, was steadily subsiding.

“I introduced myself this time. Oh yes,” the Doctor swiftly turns to Sophia, “this is Amy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Amy grumbled.

Her partner ignores her, keeping his attention on Sophia. “There’s something… something about this place. Don't know. I think-" He spoke fast, flaggishly moving his hands about. “Well I know it’s something. Too many ideas. Head’s bit cloudy.” He knocked on his temple.

Sophia, though a little behind, shifted uncomfortably.

“Need to narrow it down…” he trailed off. Sophia, her left palm on her thigh, absently traces along each finger with her right index. He observes Sophia with a kind, sort of calculating, gaze.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?

Concurrently, Ollie was on his way back from the toilet. He dribbles across the park, knocking a futbol between one foot and the other. “He’s going for the full court folks.” He deepened his voice, trying to mimic the vocals of a proper sports announcer. “He’s at the 75 marker, will he go for the assist?” He sped up, using a lace touch to control the ball. “He passes to,” Oliver knocks the ball clear cross the field.

“No one.”

He’d get his ball back tomorrow. The silence made his blood as cold as the icy waters of a polar plunge, as he strode across the park to where he had left Sophia.

Everything was still hazy and cloudy from the English rain. Billions of trillions of icy drops dripped down his neck and fell off the flaps of his slicker. In this de-focused world, he could just make the outlined silhouette of Sophia.

“Sophia. Sophia?”

He goes taut, stopping in his tracks. For a moment his brain glitches. His eyes went wide, mouth falling slightly ajar. Although he was staring at Sophia, he was seeing more than he expected.

“Sophia, what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was steady, but had a sharpness to it. “Talking to strangers?” He holds a hand out, which Sophia compliantly takes within seconds.

“And you lot.” The ginger seemed taken back by Oliver’s frigidity. A tween scolding two strange grownups, one of them a Scot, bit startling. The gentleman, however, seemed off in his head, silently mouthing the same word over and over. “You can’t just be talking to people you don’t know, numpties.”

“Oi, watch it.”

Oliver’s eyes sourly narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He deadpanned.

“Just passing through. Hello, I’m the—”

“You should keep passing,” Oliver interrupted. Stepping between Sophia and the pair. Sophia could only watch as Oliver spoke to the two adults. “Leave town before it gets dark.” He warned, picking Sophia up, holding her on his hip.

“Is everything okay?” The gentleman asked, stepping up from the bench.

Though his expression held a casual indifference, his skin goes colourless. He let out an understated sigh, bowing his head and turning to leave. “I have to get Sophia home. It's almost supper time.”

Sophia beats her head against Oliver's shoulder, hitting it just hard enough to make the older child wince. He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the pair. “If you are going to stay… it’s only fair.” He sounded like a toddler forced to apologise.

“I must warn you.” He let his face fall in seriousness.

“Beware what lies in the mist of the Moors.”

[trashyswitch]

The Eeeevil Swift Fox

Jeremy had only just started this night. And already, Foxy was pulling his signature sprinting move. But what Jeremy DIDN'T anticipate, was what would happen when he's caught...

This was requested by @fivecoins! Hope you like it!

Jeremy's circular light from the flashlight was shaking as he held it. His anxiety was causing him to shake. Everything in his mind was telling him NOT to go to work today. But of course, Jeremy ignored his usual gut feeling and landed himself into yet another night of anxiety and potential PTSD. Was he going to die tonight? He sure hoped not. Was he going to get hurt? Maybe. Was he going to get jump-scared by the animatronics? Jeremy looked at the cameras...

...Most likely.

Jeremy sighed and put down the tablet, to look in the bottom vents on the side. Looks like there's nothing. He looked at the front vent: also nothing. Jeremy attempted to calm himself down by breathing and looking at the cameras again. He had flipped to the 6th camera, when a loud screeching noise could be heard! Suddenly, Jeremy let out a yelp as he was tackled to the ground by something big. Jeremy yelped loudly as the tablet fell onto his face, and the feeling of something heavy was laying on him. Suddenly, that heavy thing started moving, and quickly picked him up. The tablet went falling onto the ground, and his hat went flying off his head as well. It didn't take long for his eyes to gain better focus, to figure out who had caught him.

The face was red, and the one eye had an eye patch covering it. A couple pairs of teeth could be seen within the snout, and the face looked to be resembling the general shape of a fox! Jeremy gasped and quickly started shouting! All of his fight or flight signs began taking over all at once. He pushed as hard as he could against the hand, he wiggled and squirmed to get out of his grip, and he attempted to kick the fox wherever he could.

"Whoa! Look at what we've got here! Another security guard! And much more fearful than the last one." Foxy declared. Jeremy only continued to squirm, shout and kick like his life depended on it. Well...to Jeremy, his life DID depend on it! "Interesting...You have thick hair compared to the last one. And a bit shorter! Your uniform is a little different too. And your name tag..." Foxy used his hook to look at the yellow name tag. "Jeremy! I like it! Jeremy the scared security guard." Foxy reacted, poking him on the chest with the arched top of his hook.

Jeremy grabbed onto the hook. "Hey!" Foxy yelled, pulling the hook out of his hand. "Don't mess with my hook! What are ya trying to do? Pull it off me?" Foxy yelled, hitting Jeremy on the head with the back of the hook. Jeremy yelped and grabbed it out of instinct. Foxy, not wanting his hook to be touched by the guard, pulled his hook back. Only, the security guard refused to let go and wounded up a few feet off the floor, hanging onto the hook with his hands above his head. Foxy growled. "Oi! What's the big idea?" Foxy asked, growing annoyed. He groaned to himself as he started rubbing his chin. But looking at Jeremy's armpit gave him an idea rather fast.

Foxy smirked as he reached his hand out towards the guard. "Are you ticklish?" Foxy asked, before lightly scratching Jeremy's left armpit.

Jeremy squealed and threw his head back. "NO! PLEASE NO!" Jeremy yelled, pulling himself up slightly to try and cover up his armpit slightly. But the metal fingers brought themselves under the arm and dug in again! "NOHOHOHOHO! STAHAP!" Jeremy yelled.

"Are you going to let go? Or fight it?" Foxy asked.

"TIHIHICKLIHING DOHOESN'T STAHAHAP MEHE!" Jeremy yelled at him.

"There's no need to yell, I hope you know that. I'm right here." Foxy reminded him. Then, Foxy moved his hand to Jeremy's other armpit and started tickling.

Jeremy squeaked and finally stopped doing the pull-ups. Now he was just giggling, kicking and holding onto the hook for dear life while his right armpit was tickled to oblivion. "Fohohohohoxyhyhyhyhy! Nohohoho tihihihicklihihihing!" Jeremy told him through his giggles.

"But tickling is so fun! And you my friend..." Foxy told him, before lifting him up higher so he could see the man at eye level. "...have been visited by the ULTIMATE TICKLE MONSTER OF THE PIZZERIA!" Foxy declared proudly.

Jeremy whined in horror as he realized his fate. The security guard kicked his feet harder, in an attempt to stop the fox from tickling his exposed armpits. But this only resulted in Foxy grabbing the kicking foot. Jeremy yelped and started tugging, but ended up letting go of the hook and sending himself falling upside down.

Now the security guard was slightly swinging upside down, and facing away from Foxy! Now that just won't due! So Foxy picked Jeremy up by his shoe, and quickly turned him around to look at the guard face-to-face. Then, he grabbed the ankle again with his left hand and started removing the shoe with his hook.

"What are you- FOXY, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT REMOVING THA-" Jeremy was interrupted by the sound of a work shoe bouncing itself onto the floor below. "...Dammit..." Jeremy muttered.

Foxy chuckled at Jeremy's reaction and started lightly dragging his hook up and down the foot. "Why not? You don't happen to have a ticklish foot, do you?" Foxy teased. Jeremy quickly covered up a yelp with his hand, and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to stop his laughter from coming out. "Ooooh! Being stubborn, now are we? I wonder...can stubbornness keep a human from breathing properly?" Foxy asked. He moved his hook to the ball of Jeremy's foot. "...Probably for a bit. But can stubbornness save you from exposing your adorable laughter to me?" Foxy further asked. Jeremy shook his head helplessly as the giggles in his lungs made his body convulse.

Finally, after a good 5 minutes of nonstop tickling and no laughter, Jeremy squealed and let out all the laughter built up in his system. "NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOHO! CUHUHUHUT IHIT OHOHOHOUT! IHIHI DOHOHOHON'T NEHEHEED THIHIHIS!" Jeremy yelled through his laughter.

"Wow! What do ya know? The man CAN laugh! That, my sir, blows my mind!" Foxy reacted dramatically. "Now: what other laughs do you have?" Foxy asked. He brought his dull hook towards the toes and wiggled them under and in between Jeremy's toes.

"EEEEEEEEEEK! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHO TOHOHOHOES! NOHOHOT MYHY TOHOHOHOHOES!" Jeremy laughed, throwing his arms everywhere he could.

"But your toes are so tiny! And I gotta say: very well groomed! Do you get pedicures?" Foxy asked.

Jeremy facepalmed himself in embarrassment and outrage. "WHAHAHAHAT?! NOHOHOHO! PEHEHEDICUHUHUHURES AHARE FOHOHOHOR GIHIHIRLS!" Jeremy yelled.

"Since when? Why can't pedicures be for men as well? If I were a human, I would get my feet pedicured as much as possible!" Foxy declared.

Jeremy laughed at both the tickling on his feet, and at the irony of Foxy's personality. Foxy was built to look like a dirty, obsessed, sea-riding pirate! But his personality was incredibly preppy and almost feminine! HOW?!

"OHOHOKAHAHAY, YOHOHOU CAN STAHAP NOHOHOW!" Jeremy told him.

Foxy stopped his hook, lifted Jeremy up higher and looked at him with a single narrowed eye. "Since when could you tell me what to do?" Foxy asked him, sounding almost offended.

Jeremy's laughter began to calm down little by little. He had an uncontrollable smile plastered on his face, that just couldn't be wiped off no matter how much he tried. The tickling was most certainly the cause of it. While Jeremy was calming down, Foxy was trying to see where else to tickle the man. He wasn't done his spree quite yet, and he wanted to take advantage of the time he had left. And looking at the falling shirt was giving Foxy an idea...

Foxy gave Jeremy's belly a poke. "EEEP!...Uh-OH!" Jeremy shrieked, pulling his shirt down to cover up his stomach.

But Foxy wanted to test it out more. So, he tried scratching his hook on the right side of his shirt-covered side. Jeremy yelped and reached his hands out to the right to stop it. But Foxy was planning! Foxy's hook came flying over to the left side, and tickled it too. To keep the human on his toes, Foxy kept tickling and switching sides! No matter where Jeremy reached to stop it, the hook was already a step ahead and tickling his other side. Jeremy was rocking back and forth frantically, struggling to get away from the moving hook.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GEHEHEHET AWAHAHAYHYHYHYHYHY!" Jeremy yelled.

"Here, let's compromise: instead of me moving my hook away, can you move your hands away so I can reach your belly?" Foxy asked.

"THAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHO COHOHOMPROHOMIHIHIHISE!" Jeremy protested.

"I'll have you know it is a compromise when I SAY it's a compromise! Now move your hands!" Foxy ordered and pushed his hands aside. As soon as the little dot on his belly was exposed and within range, Foxy dipped the dull point of the hook into Jeremy's belly button.

"Boop! IIIIII've gotcha!" Foxy declared proudly. Jeremy screamed very high-pitched and covered his face. Foxy smirked and leaned himself towards Jeremy's face. "What's wrong, Jeremy? Ticklish belly button?" Foxy asked, wiggling the hook a little to lightly scratch the navel. Jeremy yipped and squeaked as the giggly tickle spot was poked and tweaked. "I gotta say: You're starting to sound less like a human, and more like a mouse or a chipmunk!" Foxy reacted. Jeremy shook his head as a muffled high-pitched giggle left his mouth. "You wouldn't happen to be related to the Chipmunks, would you?" Foxy asked.

Finally, Jeremy's pent up giggles exploded out of his lungs. "BAAAAaahehehehehehehehe! Nohohoho bellyyyyyhyhyhyhyhyhyhyhy!" Jeremy begged through his giggles.

Foxy's one eye widened in surprise. "Aaaahahahawwww! Thihis is so precious!! I don't think I realized just how adorable you can become, Jeremy!" Foxy cooed.

Jeremy's body, along with his giggles, began to almost melt from how flustered he was getting. He felt like he had just snorted up a bunch of sugar. It felt like a sugar high of some kind! He felt...loopy and overly happy. But why?! "Whahahahat ahare yohou dohohoihihing toho mehehehe?!" Jeremy asked, believing Foxy was somehow causing it.

"I'm tickling you, of course! I thought you knew?" Foxy replied.

Jeremy only grew more and more flustered the longer the fox talked to him. He began to grow confused and slightly frustrated by the state he was in. He started flapping his arms around. "STAHAHAP MAHAHAKIHING MEHEHEHE FLUHUHUHUSTEHEHEHERED!" Jeremy begged, throwing his fists around in midair.

"Awwww! Is de widdle human gwowing fwustered? Does de poor boy need more love?" Foxy cooed.

"NOOOOOOOOHOHOHO!" Jeremy begged.

"I think he does! I think he needs more tickles from the big bad tickle monster!" Foxy teased. Then, Foxy paused his tickles and flipped him the right way again. With a new grip on Jeremy, Foxy started tickling around Jeremy's belly button.

"Nohohohohoho! Nahahahahat ahahagahahahahain! Yohohohou're sohohohoho weheheheird!" Jeremy giggled, squirming and struggling to cover up his belly.

Foxy stopped his tickling and looked at him, confused and almost offended. "...Excuse me?" Foxy asked.

Jeremy's giggles began to die down and become breathy. He looked up, and noticed Foxy's face. "W-Whahat?" Jeremy asked.

"Did you just call me weird?" Foxy asked.

Jeremy looked around and looked back at Foxy. "Yeheheah? Ahare you hurt byhy that?" Jeremy asked, feeling like he messed up and actually hurt his feelings.

"Hurt?" Foxy clarified. "Hurt?!" Foxy yelled. He placed his hook sideways onto his chest in heartbroken offense. "I'm more than hurt! I am HORRIFIED!" Foxy yelled with a non-serious smile perking up on his lips. Jeremy giggled at the smile as it told Jeremy that Foxy was just being further playful. "How DARE you call me weird! What could possibly be weird about THIS, SEXY BODY?!" Foxy asked, waving at himself to show off his 'pristine' body. "Like, listen to me Jeremy. I've got silver legs, a pop-up patch, and the PERFECT, pirate body for the business." Foxy stated proudly, praising himself in front of Jeremy to both annoy him and make him laugh. "Oh! and did I even MENTION this hook?" Foxy asked.

Jeremy couldn't help but giggle at how feminine and self-obsessive he was being, right in front of him. "Nohoho, yohou didn't." Jeremy replied.

Foxy readied his hook for close examination. He brought the hook close enough to Jeremy, so he could see the slightly rusty details. "This hook..." He paused to look at it. "This hook right here...is the perfect tool for tickling." Foxy told him. Jeremy's giggles only increased once the word was spoken. Foxy pointed to him with the very hook. "See? I don't even need to tickle you with it, in order to make you laugh! You're already laughing just from me describing it!" Foxy teased. "You see? That's what I like about this thing." He concluded.

Jeremy's face was growing more and more red the longer the fox spoke. "Wanna know another thing I love about this hook?" Foxy asked. Jeremy nodded his head in reply. Foxy re-positioned himself to lean on his left hip, while he resumed his speech about his fabulous hook. "It's dull, meaning I can't scratch a human or cause them harm. But the hook's point is also thin..." Foxy explained.

Foxy moved his hook down and lifted up Jeremy's shirt to expose the belly button once again. With the belly button in his range, Foxy smirked and started lightly scratching his belly. "EEEEEEEEK! Dohohohohohohon't! Hahahahahahahaha!" Jeremy giggled.

"...Meaning my hook can fit in the tightest spaces!" Foxy resumed his speech. "Including..." Foxy swirled the end of his hook right towards the little hole in the middle. "The belly button!" Foxy declared, swirling the hook around inside the belly button.

"OHOHOhohohohokahahahahahay! Fohohohoxyhyhyhy, plehehehehehease! Cuhuhuhuhut ihihihit ohohohohohohuhut!" Jeremy fell into fits of giggles yet again. The giggles were quiet, yet super quick. Even if he tried to stop his giggles, he just can't find a breaking point for his giggles! And even if he could, another huge fit of giggles would start right back up again and ruin his fighting chance. There was just no getting away from the evil tickle pirate.

"But you see: For a proper speech to be perfect, there needs to be some proof to pull it off! So what a better way to prove it, than to try the tickle tool out on YOUR ticklish tum-tum!" Foxy suggested.

"Nohohohohohohohoho! Ihihihihit tihihicklehehehehes sohohoho muhuhuhuhuch!" Jeremy giggled.

"Well of COURSE it does! It's not called 'the perfect tickle tool' for nothin'!" Foxy replied proudly.

Jeremy covered his face with his hands as his belly button was attacked. He couldn't handle it anymore. The ironic part was, the teasing wasn't being directed towards him! It was subtle! Third-person! A constant description of the tool that was being used to tickle the young man! Jeremy's squirming and fighting began to weaken from the tickling, and his laughter started to grow breathy without the need to lessen the tickles. He was growing physically tired and needed to breath. Foxy had managed to forget that humans needed to breath. It was hard trying to make up for the human's fragile body, when you don't live the fragile life yourself.

So, Foxy stopped tickling him and gave him a long break. Jeremy's giggles grew less giggly and even more breathy in a few minutes or less. Foxy carefully placed Jeremy into the chair, and sat back. "Are you okay?" Foxy asked.

Jeremy only fell into more laughter from the question alone. He gave Foxy the 'Great' sign to calm his robotic nerves, and allowed his arm to just fall right onto his leg. "Yohohou...ahare vehery gohohohood ahat that." Jeremy told him, still slightly giggly.

"At what? Tickling?" Foxy asked.

"Yeheheheah...T-Ticklihing." Jeremy replied.

Foxy gasped and smiled happily, showing off his big animatronic teeth to the human. He cheered to himself and threw his arms up in the air at a job well done.

Yes indeed...Foxy really was, the ultimate tickle monster.