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virgincels · 5 months

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CAROL OF THE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader x dante (dmc)

tags. i made them brothers, cucking, threesome, age gap, size kink, ass play, leon eats his cum so incest, cum eating, creampie, p in v

note. SORRY FOR BEING LATE AGAIN i have been tweaking :3 but um whatever! ignore typos or i’ll detonate :3 feedback n rbs much appreciated !!! ooc bc dante is literally a well-meaning old man but i have to make him sleazy for porn without plot purposes sorry!! i also cut the smut short bc. bc i wanted to get this out so sorry if it’s jolty 😭

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Your love for Leon, much to his dismay, is no match for your pursuit of cock. His poor girl, you suffer from this awful disease at such a young age, the kind that tears a family apart - wandering hands they call it. In Leon’s terms, it would be something more akin to cock-driven. That’s your motivation, and if you see one you like, you’re gonna get it. Fuck, you’d do rocket science on the spot for a nice, fat cock. Unfortunately, it just so happens to be his older brother that you’ve set your eye on. And Leon’s older brother is the most shameless asshole since, like, god, Mark Antony? That guy was obnoxious, right? Fucking his best friend’s wife and all.

Dante is that obnoxious but amplified tenfold, if you can even imagine that. He’s got a big mouth to match his stature, and, you guessed it, he’s got one hell of a dick stuffed into those tacky leather pants. And you’re taking a very obvious gander at what sort of goodies he’s got tucked away. You’re playing footsie with him under the table for fuck’s sake. Leon can tell by the way you’re slouched too far back in your seat, but it’s mainly ‘cause he dropped his fork and when he lifted the table cloth, he found your foot rubbing along Dante’s inner thigh while his fingers toyed with the frilly cuff of your sock. Bringing you home for Christmas was a mistake. You’re too precious to give up and too hard to reign in. He should just store you away in a jar of some sort, poke a few holes in the lid so you can breathe, a bird cage perhaps, or maybe a crate?

Knowing you, you’d manage to get your paws on Dante either way. A cage would be no problem, just slip it right on in through the gaps! A makeshift gloryhole if you will. Honestly, he’d prefer you to pick Vergil over Dante, at least the guy has it all together, at least he’s not a washed up loser who can’t pay his bills, at least he’s not Dante. You’d think as the younger sibling you’d turn out better, right? It’s like baking a cake, the first time it’s shit, and the second time it’s better. Not soft in the centre, not burnt to a crisp on the sides - just don’t work like that around here. Instead, Leon’s parents had the stronger, taller, hotter, bigger one first, then little Leon to top it all off. Little ‘cause he’s 5’10 with insoles only.

Oh yeah, you can ask around town. Leon Kennedy? That guy’s decent, nice face, nice smile, nice guy. Dante? One that walks around like his dick is weighing him down, fuckin’ pornstar face, can tell if a girl likes him when she’s got her ankles behind her head – yeah, I know him, he broke my parents marriage up, and he fucked my sister, and my auntie, yeah, the one that came over for the holidays. I don’t really mind ‘cause he gave it to me after too! Oh, no way, I couldn’t do that with Leon, he’s more of the settle down type, don’t you think?

No one has actually said that and yes, he is more of the settle down type, but Leon has had his fair share of flings, and contrary to popular belief - missionary is not the only position he knows. He knows how to put a girl on her knees, no stranger to it. Maybe, just maybe, his dick is the problem. It’s not small, not quite big, it’s adequate, or perhaps it’s inadequate and that’s why you’re offering to wash the dishes alongside Dante. Leon hasn’t seen Dante do a household chore since 1976, that’s when Leon was in the womb if you didn’t know. Meaning he hasn’t ever seen Dante do a single chore, not even pick up his own underwear the fucking slob. And don't even get him started on you. The girl who struggles to get the vacuum working when Leon’s not around, then you do it half heartedly for five minutes before complaining about your back aching.

He’s pacing outside the kitchen like a guard on duty, listening in on your conversation with Dante, it’s absolutely thrilling. Leon couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time, he just loves to hear his girlfriend flirt her way into his brother’s pants.

Oh, your hands are so big, Dante! Wow, they’re so much bigger than mine. My goodness, Dante, you could pick me up, like, sooooo easy! I wonder what else is big! Has your hair always been that colour? No, that’s so not true, Dante, doesn’t make you look old at all! It suits you, don’t look a day over twenty. Duh, of course I’m joking, I like ‘em old anyway. Do you babe? You should go ahead and suck his old man cock, sure Dante wouldn’t mind, and it’s not like Leon has any say. You’re young and fickle - this is what he deserves for dating a girl your age. What more do you know than dick?

“It’s okay, he won’t wake up,” Your voice is muffled in his ears, distant despite you being less than an inch away from him. He shifts, feels around for your warmth, clasps an arm that’s way too jacked.

Leon’s brother is remarkable really, he turns over after a struggle with the bedside lamp, sees Dante’s teeth gleaming, your little hands splayed flat across his chest. He’d go at him, make a feast of it, he wishes for the tearing of Dante’s throat to be biblical. God, Kane and Abel have nothing on them. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His digs his nails into hardened muscle.

“Please, baby,” You beg him, beg is an exaggeration, from you it’s a command. Like, not Oh, please, Leon! May I suck and fuck your brother while you lay beside us? More of a Please, shut your mouth and let me have this, Leon. I haven’t had good dick ever since I started dating you.

He falters, “No, babe,” Leon shakes his head, lip curling upwards in both disgust and wonderment at the boldness of your request. “No, are you crazy?”

“C’mon, Leon,” Dante pouts, and it’s disturbing to see a grown man with no upper lip do that. “She just wants to have a little fun.”

“Don’t— don’t get involved, this is between me and her.” His attempt at assertion is only met with amusement.

“Leon, please?” You bat your lashes. Beat. His heart hammers in his chest. Then Leon closes his eyes like a good boy, he’s always been great at taking orders. Whatever. Fuck his brother to your heart’s content.

“He not treatin’ you right, sweet thing?” Dante murmurs into your neck, his thick fingers parting your slippery folds, rubbing deft circles on your twitching clit.

He grits his teeth so hard they squeak. Leon treats you perfectly well. Surely, saying otherwise—

“No, Dante,” You pout up at his brother, a small hand curled around his wrist as he pushes his fingers knuckle-deep into your slick cunt.

Stupid bitch. Leon has never been inclined to call a woman a bitch, total lie, but Claire told him it’s not appropriate, and Claire is usually right about most things. Not right now though, girls are fucking brutal.

“No?” Dante coos, “My little brother can’t please his girl? Can’t get this little cunt soaked?” There’s a wet smack, and you gasp.

“Don’t do that.” Leon can’t help himself, it’s like he insists on making a fool of himself. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Do it again.” You plead, “Dante, please, feels so good.” The crooked smile Dante gives him is humiliation at its finest.

He draws his hand back, spanks your cunt, the fleshy part of his palm mashing against your clit. “You don’t even know what your girl likes.”

“I do.” Leon’s chest aches, his dick aches even more, feels like it’s about to over-inflate and pop.

“Bet you like it rough, don’t you, babe?” Dante asks, presses his nose into your neck, licks a stripe up your jugular.

“She does not.”

“Yes.” You nod crazy like a dashboard bobblehead.

Dante raises his brows when he glances sideways at Leon, “He’s not givin’ it to you is he? You want him all up in your guts, baby, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, god, please,” You whine, clit thrumming beneath Dante’s fingertips. “Want it here.” You bring Dante’s hand to rest on your abdomen, “wanna feel you here, please.”

“Dirty little bitch,” Dante coaxes an orgasm out of you with his fingers alone.

“Don’t speak to her like that.”

“I’ll speak to her how I want,” He retorts, “She likes it, ‘s why you’re gettin’ me all wet, isn’t it, baby?”

“Mhm,” Your eyes follow his every move, and Leon has never seen you so enthralled during sex. He’s used to you laying on your back like a dead girl, legs over his shoulders, letting out the occasional grunt of discomfort.

His head dips low, the sheets are long forgotten, crumpled at the foot of the bed. Dante’s big hands spread your cheeks apart, licks into your cunt, flicks his tongue over your clit— and you moan like you never have before. Back bowing off the bed, covering your mouth with a balled-up fist, chest heaving.

“That good, baby?” Dante hums, his teeth scrape over your clit when he pulls back the hood, and you squirm.

“So good, so good— ‘s so fuckin’ good, god!”

Alright, can’t be that good, now you’re just putting it on to piss Leon off. You’ve never sucked his dick well enough for him to moaning like that. Then again, his dick doesn’t have a million nerve endings. The sounds Dante is making are downright lewd, unnecessary even, you’re dripping all over his face, his chin wet and shiny with your pussy— then he makes the jump. A move that’s bold even for a dude as outrageous as Dante, his pink tongue follows the natural trail from pussy to asshole. Licks the puckered rim till you relax, and there’s no resistance from you whatsoever. You’re just letting this grimy bastard eat your fucking ass? Even Leon hasn’t gotten that far, not that he’s asked, not that he’s ever thought about it - something about the second hole just feels wrong.

Dante spits on it, manages to get his thumb in nicely, then he sits up, leaves you empty. “Just a little girl takin’ big things, aren’t you? How am I s’posed to fit in this tight cunt without breaking it?” He tilts his head to the side, eyes droopy like he’s drunk on pussy juice alone. Probably is. Shit is potent. Especially when you’ve been nose-deep.

His brother only smiles, gives a pointed look to Leon’s dick straining against the fabric of his boxers, the sticky wet patch. “That’s why she wants cock so bad, huh?” Leon is not small. His dick is just right, it’s fine, it’s sufficient. There’s nothing wrong with it, but he cups a hand over his bulge to hide it from Dante.

Dante shucks off his pants, and yeah, Leon really is the little brother in every sense. He might as well just kill himself at this point, there is no winning against a dick that fat. Shit’s so big it’s hanging downwards, so heavy it can’t even hold itself up. Some big fucking balls to level it out. Jesus, is he seriously admiring his brother’s dick right now? Listen, it’s just got some real weight to it, and Leon has to say he’s impressed. Only seen this breed of horsecock in porn.

“Gosh, Dante,” You’re lovestruck, cockstruck, a trembling hand reaches forward to cup his heavy balls, then wrap it around the base, and it’s honestly so big your thumb and middle finger struggle to meet.

“Don’t throw her around like that, oh my god.” Leon frowns, catches your head from knocking against the headboard when Dante manhandles you onto your front. “Just be careful.” If you told Leon he’d be watching his brother fuck his little girlfriend from behind with a thumb in her ass, he’d say, yeah, sounds about right. Some shit that would happen to a guy like me.

“She can take it.” Dante says, then he’s sheathed inside with a single glide of his cock, no resistance whatsoever. You’re that wet. Dripping down your thighs. God, he’s never seen you get so worked up. “Can’t you, babe?”

“Yes, please, just give it to me please, Dante,” Now that’s begging, not that shit you were doing earlier. “Wan’ it so bad, please, might die, Dante.”

“Alright, okay, baby, only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” He snickers, wraps his arm around your front and then fucks into you so hard the bed rocks. Headboard hits the wall. Stuff you see in movies. God, his poor girl, you’ll be ruined once Dante’s done with you.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Dante,” You mewl an endless string of expletives, arch so your hips push back onto his fat cock, and your eyes roll back into your head, and there’s spit trickling down your chin— Holy fucking shit. It’s like watching a porno play out. Hell, it might very well be a porno. C’mon, where’s the camera, is this Dante’s new side gig? Is this keeping his lights on, his fridge full, his water running? Wouldn’t put it past him.

Once he creams your hole, Dante’s quick to spread you apart with his big hands, you’re still gaping. “Go on, Leon.” He says very simply, smiles the way he always does when he suggests something outlandish. “Clean her up.”

Leon’s never eaten pussy from the back, it’s impolite. Crude. That’s the general consensus, right? And Leon’s a feminist, he’ll eat a pussy that sits itself on his face, he’ll snuggle up between a thick pair of thighs - but from the back, oh, it’s just obscene. Still does it though. Eats his brother's thick cum from your hole, sucks on your swollen clit, laps till there’s nothing left that’s dirtier than his own tongue. Then he goes to bed with a hard dick and the taste of his brother’s cum in the back of his throat. He’ll sleep it off.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil leon #dante sparda smut #dante sparda x reader #dmc dante smut #dmc dante x reader

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serverusslaype · 8 months

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Shameless, pt. 9

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hello my fellow snape lovers. i think you will love this chapter. hehehehe. thats all i am saying. and you might hate mcgonagall. </3

you can thank harry styles' song 'fine line' for the ending of this chapter. oop.

thank you for reading so far and for all your kind comments, likes and reblogs! I LOVE YOU GUYS <3

i apologise in advance for any typos or anything along those lines, i suck at proofreading.

VAMOS!!

Your throat tightened as you stared at your dishevelled appearance in the dirty, old mirror that sat crookedly in your greenhouse; overgrown vines of poison ivy enveloping it, slowly reclaiming it.

"Shit..." You muttered, angling your face to gaze at the marks that Snape had so graciously left on your jaw. "For Merlin's sake..." You spun away from the mirror with a distressed huff and headed towards your cabinet in a sweep, kneeling down against the mossy tiles, searching for a herb of some sort that had healing properties. Or something along those lines. You were desperate at this point. "Dittany, dittany..." You mumbled to yourself, digging through shelves and shelves of dusty glass jars and containers. At once, your eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning as the sight of a worn label caught your attention. You thumbed the dust off of the yellowed and faded label, reading it aloud, "D.. di-di-an...y?" You muttered, only noticing how worn the writing really was once you pulled it out into the light. How long has this been in here...?

That has to be dittany, you thought, curious eyes scanning the long and slender, deep mossy green stem that branched out with smaller rounded leaves. You blew against the jar with a sharp breath, a ball of dust and dirt puffing up in your face. You coughed and quickly retrieved your wand, swiftly flicking it to make the heap of dust dissipate. Well, you'd certainly lacked on cleaning your cabinets during the past year, but it's not like that kind of thing had any space in your mind. It was full of... other things.

Your fingers clutched the lid of the glass jar and lifted it upwards, a gentle, spicy yet mountainous smell filling your nostrils. As you placed the lid down with a loud clack, you reached your hand into the jar to retrieve a stem of dittany. You hoped to god this would work, otherwise you'd reluctantly resort to make-up, and that would be even worse. Not that you were awful at using it, but your skintone was almost impossible to match perfectly. You padded back to the rusty mirror in your greenhouse, the richer herbal smell of the dittany invading your lungs as you held it up to your face, preparing yourself to rub it vigorously against the darkening fingertip marks upon your jaw.

"Merlin, please, let this work." You mumbled with a deep breath, pinching the dittany and beginning to massage it into your marked face. You couldn't bear to watch for fear of it not working, so you shut your eyes, avoiding your own reflection. Desperately rubbing a herb against your face to get rid of some suspicious looking marks so the man you were seeing wouldn't accuse you of seeing someone else? Yes, that's you. Dedicated clown.

Hesitantly, you wrenched open your eyes. From what you saw, the herb had done nothing but give you a red rash, in fact, it actually highlighted the purpling bruises. You wanted to launch a rock through a window. Why couldn't Snape just keep his hands off of you? Why did he always resort to touching you? Not that you were complaining- well, actually, this time you were. His reckless actions were going to get you in trouble, but you couldn't exactly blame him. You hadn't told anyone that you were seeing the infamous Benjamin Bluewater. So why wouldn't he... grab your jaw in a fit of rage? Speaking of this, you hadn't really discussed a label with Ben, though, sometimes, he made you think that he wasn't particularly interested in putting a label on your relationship. It didn't bother you, but you'd prefer to know what you were. Were you exclusive? Not exclusive? Was he dating or seeing other people?

What really piqued your interest was what Snape would think of you dating Bluewater. He despised that boy with a burning passion. He'd probably lose a lot of respect for you, surely? But Ben had changed, you'd seen it for yourself.

"Hagrid, tell me that you didn't willingly let the students approach Buckbeak without proper guidance..." You sighed deeply, perched on a felled tree stump as you watched the half-giant-half-man gather some herbs from his personal garden. As the day had progressed onwards, the marks that littered your skin had died down a little, so much so that Hagrid hadn't noticed. Perhaps the dittany did help?

"Am tellin' ya, Y/N, the boy didn't listen!" Hagrid exclaimed, quite clearly stressed. He picked and pulled at the luscious shrubs rather aggressively, placing the stems and leaves into a wicker basket he was holding in his opposite hand. "I told 'im ta' stop!" He continued, his voice strained and panicking. Hagrid stood straight for a moment, his head shaking in a quick back and forth motion. "T-They're gonna want to 'ave Buckbeak slain, I tell ya," he stuttered, "they won't let this go! I'll lose me job too, Y/N!" His voice went up an octave as he glanced at you, his eyes glossed with fear. Hagrid truly cared for his animals deeply, and it pained you to see him so distressed over an accident.

"Hagrid, it'll be alright, I-"

"Y/N," Hagrid interrupted you, a stern look adopted his worn features. You instantly shut your mouth. "This is the Malfoy's we're talkin' abou'. They don't care for nothin', n' they ain't care for anyone but themselves." He finished, turning to look at his hut for a moment, big and grey clouds were starting to push their way across the dim blue sky.

"So... there's no other way? Buckbeak will be killed...?" You asked hesitantly, a lump forming in your throat as the thought of the silver hippogriff slipped into your mind. Hagrid was right, Buckbeak didn't deserve this. But what could you do? You were powerless.

Hagrid only nodded at you gravely, averting his eyes back to the garden in front of him, sucking in his bottom lip as if to stop the tears that had formed in his eyes from falling. You quickly rushed from your tree stump to Hagrid, wrapping your arms around him as much as you could. In this very moment, all you could offer the man was comfort. And so you did.

"It'll be alright, Hagrid." You mumbled against his musky smelling, tatty brown jacket, pressing the side of your face into his large, protruding stomach. A sharp inhale of air sounded from above, and you knew he was sobbing now. "It's okay." You whispered with glossy eyes, leaning back to glance up at Hagrid as he stared sorrowfully at the ground; his big, brown eyes wet with regretful tears. Gods, this was breaking your heart.

"He don't deserve this, Y/N!" Hagrid cried, his gigantic hands rushing to clutch you against his shaking body as he sobbed. "He don't, he's a good boy, he is." He muttered through broken cries. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from breaking down into sobs too. As much as you wanted to cry with Hagrid, you wanted to be strong for him - like he was when you came running, crying hysterically because of... Severus.

It felt weird to use his first name. You hadn't used it since... you couldn't even remember when. You only called him Snape now, and it hurt you to do so.

A couple days had passed by since your incident with Snape, and he had found himself lurking in your greenhouse, sneakily searching for ingredients for his upcoming future classes. The screech of an owl hooked Snape's nose up and away from your cabinets and to the door of your greenhouse. He ducked, cursing, as a Spectacled Owl swooped over his head, the sweep of it's wings making Snape's raven-black hair fly outwards. He watched as it dropped a rather beautiful bouquet of flowers on your desk with a muffled thud, proceeding to fly out of an open ceiling window and perch itself on a tree branch to the right of it. The owl hooted as it watched Snape curiously with big, beady eyes. The Potions Master observed it for several seconds, his eyes narrowing inquisitively. Once he deemed it safe to move, Snape shuffled towards the bouquet, his eyes instantly finding a note attached. He slowly shifted his fingers towards it, opening the folded piece of parchment. His brows furrowed as it read:

Dearest Y/N,

I hope these stunning flowers find you well, the moment I saw them, they instantly reminded me of you, and I had to have them.

Since the day we parted from each other, you have not left my mind. You have ensorcelled me. Enchanted and charmed me. The sweet sound of your perfect laugh lives in my mind, and Merlin, how I miss the way that your smile bewitched my heart each time I had the honour of laying my blessed eyes upon it.

I do hope Hogwarts is treating you well. If it isn't, you know where to find me.

B.B x

Snape's stomach instantly twisted into a painful, egregious knot as his eyes continuously scanned over the sentimental note. You were seeing someone? Since when? More importantly, who was 'B.B'? Was it serious? It seemed to be, from Snape's basic knowledge of flowers, he knew they were high-quality, expensive ones. The thick, shiny material they were cocooned in also added to his conclusion. Whoever you were seeing was willing to spend a good amount of gold on you. Then, perhaps, was it an admirer? Someone trying to court you? No, it couldn't be, the note said-

Almost as fast as those thoughts had entered Snape's mind, he wiped them away, shaking his head aggressively as he let go of the note between his fingers, backing away from the flowers like a fearful doe. No, he wasn't doing this today. Not ever, actually.

Snape's eyes reluctantly fell to where you usually left a quill and parchment - specifically for him to note down what he'd taken. But it wasn't there. His brows knitted together, perplexed, as he glanced around the room for your quill and parchment. His eyes fell back onto the bouquet of flowers that 'B.B' had sent you. Snape's jaw clenched as he grudgingly padded forwards again, his hand reaching out slowly to lift up the neatly-wrapped bouquet. His hunch was right. That damned bird of yours had dropped the large bouquet on top of his quill and parchment, almost like a silent 'fuck you'. Snape had to force himself not to hex the poor animal as he retrived the materials, placing them beside the flowers to quickly scribble down the ingredients he required.

Snape felt something like a knife poke at his heart as he let his eyes glance over at the handwritten note again, staring at it with cruel eyes. A wave of disgust rushed through his body as he re-read the sickly sweet words. As much as he despised and envied the person behind the note, he couldn't help but agree with how they described you.

Over the next week at Hogwarts, more and more notes, flowers and small gifts began to turn up in your greenhouse. You had felt a bit smothered by Ben, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt - perhaps gift-giving was his love language. As time went on, you noticed that Snape began to slack in leaving notes of what he'd borrowed for his lessons. This confused you slightly, Snape was not someone that neglected agreements or promises. So, you just put it down to being an accident rather than on purpose. You weren't sure if you did that for the peace of your own mind, or hoping it was true.

Snape found himself assigned to the nightly patrol shift this Friday evening. He was a little miffed about it since he had planned to kick back in his room and bury his nose in a book he'd picked up on a subtle trip to Hogsmeade. Ever since he'd read that note in your greenhouse, he'd turned a little more bitter towards people. Including you. The only way he had figured out to hide something as petty and trivial as the feeling of jealousy was by acting a little colder to people. Everyone knew him as the callous and heartless Professor Snape, so it's not as if the students or staff alike would be alarmed by his extra bitterness.

As the Potions Master was strolling absentmindedly in the outside grounds of Hogwarts, two shadowy figures had caught his eye. Instinctively, he drew his wand, his fingers tightening around it. He crouched down a tad, narrowing his eyes in a feeble attempt to try and work out who the possible intruders were. Surely it was just two students out after curfew, right? Though, that idea came crashing down when he heard the sweet sound of your muffled laugh. His body ran cold as another heavenly, song-like giggle reached his ears. What were you doing out so late at night? …And who were you with?

"I'm sorry I kept you so late," Ben said quietly, squeezing your hand as you glanced up at him, the two of you strolling through the outside grounds of Hogwarts. The two of you kept your voices down as it was past midnight now, and you weren't exactly desiring the idea of getting caught. "I didn't expect the pub to stay open past eleven o'clock!"

"It's alright, work was rather stressful this week anyway. I needed a good break." You giggled, quickly placing a hand over your mouth to muffle it. Ben couldn't help but grin amusedly at your widened eyes.

"And you told me I had to be quiet," Ben mused, his eyes flicking back to the ground in front of him. You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him with a playful elbow. "But what happened with work? Annoying first years?" He teased. Oh, he had no idea.

A class of seventh years had been stressing you out since Tuesday afternoon when Jasper Greenlichen, a very intelligent and passionate budding Herbologist, made some fatal mistakes on a mock exam. The second you handed his results back to him, you hadn't expected, nor prepared yourself for such an intense meltdown of emotions. Since that moment, he was nonstop asking questions and asking for your expert opinion on certain ways to structure answers. The boy was absolutely obsessed with improving, and it was becoming extremely tiring for you. You could only help him so much.

"I wish," You groaned, shaking your head for a moment. "Seventh years, actually, one of them had a total meltdown when he did quite badly on a mock exam I'd set up for them." You explained, sighing exhaustedly. "From then on, it was chaos for me. I'd actually started dreading teaching for once!"

"Oh blimey," Ben grimaced at your words. "Sounds terrible." He added with a laugh, pulling you into his arms with a tug. A quiet squeak slipped from your throat as you fell into his chest, his hands snaking down to your waist suggestively.

"Ben," You warned, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips. The bright, pale moonlight glimmered down upon the two of you, illuminating you like two shards of broken glass in the sunlight.

"What?" He asked innocently, frowning as if he was being falsely accused of murder. "I've missed you." He muttered. Your stomach twisted at his words. Had you missed him as well? The only time Ben had poked at your brain was when you'd been with Snape...

"Me too." You replied, staring up at him. Did you just lie to him? Perhaps. Is it terrible if you felt nothing the moment those three words left his lips? Definitely. What a fucking mess.

With Ben facing against the moonlight, the shadows cast on his face made his nose appear slightly larger, and his eyes seemed to turn dark. Were you imagining this...?

Before you could continue to question yourself, Ben's smile faded and his brows furrowed as his hand rose up to your jaw, grasping it gently with his fingertips. Your blood ran cold as he angled your jaw towards the light, encouraging it to illuminate the fading bruises on your jaw. Fuck, there was no way this was happening right now.

"What's this?" He questioned softly, his tone flat. You swallowed, anxiety bubbling at your fingertips as they began to tingle. What the hell were you meant to say?

"Oh, it's nothing," You laughed lightly, leaning away from his concerned touch. Sure, some bouncing bulbs could have caused small, red marks on your face, right? "I was teaching some first-years a couple days ago, some bouncing bulbs got loose." You quickly lied, smiling up at Ben, praying he'd just let it go.

"Are you okay?" He asked once more, his eyes flicking up to yours, burning with worry. A wave of relief washed over you as he believed you. If you'd told him the truth, you weren't sure how he'd react. Perhaps he'd curse Snape's classroom to smell awfully for eternity, or maybe he'd do worse... but you didn't want to think about that right now.

"Yeah, I'm alright, it's happened before." You laughed again, quietly, staring at Ben for any sign of doubt on his face. He continued to study your injured jaw, not seemingly convinced.

"Alright," he nodded at you with a curt sigh, letting it go. "As long as you're not in pain." Ben smiled down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your marked jaw, trailing his lips to towards your parted ones. A gasp left your lips as Ben pulled you closer to him, his fingers digging into your waist hungrily. He kissed you a little harder, and you had to push him away slightly, releasing yourself from his lips.

"Ben, remember where we are." You said quietly, nodding to the grounds of Hogwarts that the two of you were currently stood in. "Someone could see us." You warned, a sheepish and awkward smile picking at the corners of your lips.

"So what?" Ben smirked as he leaned in to kiss you again, his reckless personality rearing it's head once more. You placed a firm hand against his chest, placing some space between you.

"I'm serious." You said again, your tone switching from playful to stern. Ben sighed, nodding, as he waved his white flag and surrendered to your demands. "Thank you." You smiled up at him, patting his chest gently, watching how as he turned his head, that familiar looking shadow cast over his features again, transforming him into your true desire. You tore your gaze away from his face as your heartbeat began to pick up in speed, memories of you and a certain brooding Potion Master flooding your mind. "I should really get going now." You quickly muttered, swallowing the lump of anxiety in your throat as you glanced to the right, avoiding his eyes.

Was this how your life was going to be now? Everytime you looked at someone you tried to move on with, his face would appear? Everywhere you looked, the thought of him would slide into your mind effortlessly - at this point, you were wondering if he had slipped you some sort of potion when you weren't looking.

"Oh right, yeah... I forgot it was so late," Ben laughed awkwardly, noticing your subtle change in demeanour. He wondered if he'd done something wrong. "I'll come and see you again soon, Y/N." He pushed past the niggling feeling in his mind and smiled at you, leaning forwards to press a kiss to your cheek. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you returned his smile, the overwhelming feeling of guilt beginning to nibble away at your bones. This man was treating you like a princess and all you could think about was the man that had roughly grabbed you by your jaw the other day, leaving bruises on it.

"Send me an owl first, I'd like to be prepared this time." You hummed, referring to how Ben had caught you in your messy casualwear, tending to the plants in your greenhouse and covered in filth. It wasn't a pretty sight - well in your opinion, at least. "See you soon, Ben." You smiled at him as you turned to leave, a ghastly, freezing breeze of cold air suddenly tickling your skin.

"See you later, and... get back safe, please." Ben said wearily as he glanced about, having noticed the sudden drop in temperature as well. You nodded at him and pulled your shawl tighter around you, trying to ward off the cold that was now biting at your bare shoulders. You'd quickly slipped on a dark, rich emerald green dress that fell to the floor, and was slightly cinched at your waist in a shirred fashion, with baggy, ballooned sleeves that reached your wrists. You'd also opted to bring a thick, warm dusty rose-coloured shawl that was currently wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Walking back to the grand entrance of the castle, your brows knitted together as your eyes stared at the ground that was suddenly frosting over, wilting flowers and withering plants. A feeling of uneasiness permeated your ice-cold skin as you let your eyes glaze over the frozen ground, the clouds above you suddenly turning deathly grey. Your heart began to pound as you immediately took off in a sprint, desperately trying to reach Hogwarts before whatever the hell was coming could get to you.

The air was dead, silent and motionless. Only the sound of your crunching footfalls and your chattering teeth pierced the blanket of silence. You were praying that you were only imagining this, there was no way you could fend off a dementor. As you ran, your hands began to clench and unclench, a layer of sweat forming within them as you continued to run as fast as you could, your chest heaving with complete fear as the cold began to invade your body. You felt as if you were going to die right then and there, dementor or not, your heart was going absolutely mental, pounding against your ribs like an insane prisoner, begging to be let out. Your legs began to slow as the freezing cold began to overpower your body, numbing your legs and sending you tumbling to the ground. You fell to your hands and knees, tears streaming down your face, still desperate to escape as you clambered forwards in vain.

The chilling temperature was becoming too much for your body to withstand, and so you fell to the side, a paralysing scream leaping from your lungs as your worst nightmare suddenly swept in front of you. It floated in front of you, as if taunting you. The haunting noise of a rattling, sucking-like sound surrounded you like a bubble. You stared up at the dementor, your mouth agape in horror, fearful tears brimming your eyes as you watched on helplessly. Your lungs burned with each strangled breath you stole, your limp body falling backwards against the ground, as the dementor glided closer to you, finally kissing you.

You felt as if you were drowning. Your lungs felt as if they were filled with water, stealing your breath away, leaving you to suffocate. All you could see was the dementor, it's menacing appearance rendering you immobile. You were paralysed. You couldn't move, you couldn't run away. This was it, this was how you died.

Then, suddenly, a bright white light pierced the darkness that had almost swallowed you whole. It was almost blinding as you glanced towards it, your vision blurring. You struggled on the ground, your eyes fighting to stay open as they caught a glimpse of what looked to be like... a... doe?

As you let your eyes roll back to the gloomy and black sky above you, it felt like you were in slow motion - everything was spinning and the lids of your eyes were feeling heavier and heavier; the freezing cold that once had you within it's grasp subsiding. The roar of rushing blood in your ears muffled the screaming voice from afar. You wanted to scream out, to beg them for help, but you couldn't. Your voice was no where to be heard.

As you laid motionless upon the frosted grass, your muscles relaxed, your body finally caving as the black abyss swallowed your vision.

Peace.

A quiet rustling of what sounded like metal against metal stirred you awake. You felt your fingers twitch as you gradually shuffled the tiniest bit against some soft sheets that you'd been carefully wrapped up in.

"She's awake." A soft, feminine voice called out from beside you; your eyes slowly, but painfully fluttering open.

"How are you feeling?" A familiar, warm voice poked at your ears. You blinked as your eyes followed the source of the sound, a blanket of relief encasing you as you saw Professor Lupin perched on a chair beside where you laid.

"Erm," You croaked, sitting up on your elbows in a leisurely manner. "What the hell happened?" You asked quietly, confused. Glancing about the room with squinted eyes, you noticed that you were in the hospital wing, sat in a bed, neatly wrapped up like a cocooned caterpillar in blankets.

"You were attacked by a dementor." Lupin put it simply, though he kept his tone soft, a hint of concern laced beneath. "Do you remember anything?" He further questioned you, curious. You looked back to him, letting yourself fall back into the bed. "Here," Lupin reached into his pocket, pulling out a chocolate bar. "It'll help." He said, offering it to you.

You took it gratefully, unwrapping the crackly plastic covering slowly, feeling your mouth suddenly salivate at the sight of the sugary treat. "Thank you, Remus." You smiled weakly at him whilst trying to wrack your brain for any remaining memories of the attack, taking a bite out of the chocolate. You sat there for a moment, staring down at your lap as you sifted through your memories, chewing at a slow pace. You remembered leaving Ben, then the cold... that was it... "No, I'm sorry." You mumbled, feeling a little useless.

"Don't apologise, we're all just very glad you're okay." Remus smiled at you, his moustache twitching. You nodded in agreement with him, keeping quiet. "You were lucky that Severus was there to save you that night." Your eyes instantly snapped to Lupin's, widening in surprise.

"Wait, what?" You choked out. It felt like someone had just punched your chest. Snape saved you? How did he...? Remus seemed a little concerned at your reaction as his brows knitted together in slight curiosity. "Sna... Severus was the one...?" You breathed out, shock stiffening your body, your throat tightening as your lips spoke his name.

"He was." Remus tilted his head at you, inquisitive blue eyes studying you. "He was on duty that night and heard your screams."

You couldn't believe what was coming out of Remus's mouth. Were you dreaming? Were you in some horrible, twisted nightmare? You had so many questions running through your mind that you couldn't keep up.

"Also, you keep saying 'that night', how long have I been... here?" You questioned Lupin, your voice weakening as you glanced around the hospital wing, noticing how empty it was. Only one other person was here and it was a student dressed in a Quidditch outfit with an icepack resting on his forehead. You deduced that he had probably fallen off of his broom during a match.

"Just over two days, Y/N." Remus replied slowly, continuing to observe you for any possible ailments. You blinked.

"What day is it?"

"Sunday," The professor replied before twisting his arm to check his watch. "Six fifty-two in the evening, to be exact."

"Right," You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling, becoming lost in your thoughts. You thought you were alone outside. Why did- how did Snape know you were there? Did this mean something? Was this his way of- no, don't be silly, for Merlin's sake.

It's merely a coincidence, you chastised yourself. I should be glad he was there, I wouldn't be sat here right now if he wasn't, you thought, sighing frustratedly through your nostrils.

"I need to talk to him." You said quickly, beginning to sit up but Lupin quickly pushed you back down into the bed, his mouth flattening into a straight line.

"You need to rest." He replied sternly, his hand resting firmly against your shoulder as he forced you back down.

"I feel perfectly fine, Remus. I appreciate your concern but-"

"I'm sorry, but it's Madam Pomfrey's orders." He cut you off, an apologetic look softening his features. You sighed at him, a little irritated, but you understood where he was coming from. You did need to rest up, you didn't feel like you were in the best of headspaces. You still felt a little disorientated.

There was a moment of silence before you reluctantly gave in, giving Lupin a soft nod, avoiding his eyes. "Fine." You settled into the hospital bed, glancing out at the window to your right, watching quietly as beads of rain dripped down the glass pane.

"If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me." Lupin smiled warmly at you. You hummed quietly, returning his smile.

"Actually, Remus, erm," You cleared your throat, shuffling under the pale white sheets. "I was hoping to ask you if you could mentor me? To produce a patronus charm?" You asked, fidgeting with your fingers. Lupin's brow quirked at your proposal.

"Of course," Remus nodded as the surprised expression that had slipped onto his face clearly showed that he wasn't expecting you to ask him such a question. "We can start on Tuesday, seven o'clock. My classroom."

You felt your body relax at his answer. "Thank you so much." You said, your smile widening.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N, now please, get some rest." A gentle chuckle rumbled within Lupin's chest as he tilted his head at you like a parent would at their child. You scrunched your nose up at him jokingly and rolled over onto your side, tugging the blanket up and over your shoulders.

"Goodnight, Remus." You said quietly with a hint of amusement in your tone, closing your eyes. As the echo of his receding footsteps began to grow quieter and quieter as he left, you let your body finally rest, gradually dozing off.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Snape's deep, languid voice echoed from behind his door, sending a nervous shiver down your spine. You'd slipped out of your hospital bed once you had woken up, determined to pay Snape a visit, despite the storm of butterflies swirling in your stomach. When you checked the clock before leaving, it had struck almost eleven-thirty at night.

You pursed your lips, slipping inside his office and leaning against the back of the door as it clicked shut. "How did you know it was me?" You asked a little awkwardly as your eyes flicked to Snape who still had his nose buried in a pile of assignments atop of his neatly-arranged desk. A flutter of envy flew through your chest as you silently admired how organised the man was. Your desk was a mess, you barely had enough time to keep it clean, let alone organised.

"Few people opt to bother me at such an... ungodly hour." Snape sighed, rather exhaustedly, not bothering to glance at up you. Usually you'd chastise him for ignoring you, but you felt like you owed him your life from the whole ordeal a couple days ago, so you chose to brush past the bitterness in his voice. Snape spoke again after several seconds of silence. "Speaking of, what is it that you need from me?"

"Erm," you choked, eyes falling anxiously to the floor, "I just wanted to... say thanks." You said, silently dreading Snape's reply as you looked back up to find him staring at you. Your body ignited at the sight, and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn. Nothing has changed then, you thought, a little embarrassed and somewhat disappointed in yourself.

"I believe we spoke about saying 'thanks'." Snape quirked a brow at you, his dark eyes scrutinising you as you leant against his office door. You huffed at him. He paused for a moment, studying your weak, pale-looking body. "Nevertheless, you're welcome. I suppose such a situation... warrants a thank you." He added, tone flat.

There was another blanket of awkward silence. "Who were you with?" He asked. Your blood ran cold. Here we go, you thought.

"Remember a year ago, when we were brewing the Mandrake Draught?" You spoke hesitantly, avoiding Snape's intense gaze. He hummed, as if to encourage you to continue. "Remember when we spoke about Benjamin Bluewater?" You added, voice going quiet at the end. You braved a glance at the Potions Master, who now looked very disappointed. Fuck.

"You were with... Bluewater?" Snape tried to hide the jealousy in his voice. "Why were you with such a scoundrel so late at night?" You flinched at his harsh tone.

"He's changed, Snape, he's not the same troublemaker as he was in school," you sighed, "he's working at the Ministry of Magic, for Merlin's sake."

"I highly doubt a boy such as him can 'change', Y/N." Snape hissed, averting his eyes back to the parchment in front of him. He felt his skin burning with anger as you spoke about Bluewater so casually. Your heart leapt at the sound of your name leaving his lips.

"And how do you know that, Severus?" You scoffed at him. Snape's hardened eyes snapped up to yours, your harsh tone obviously hitting a nerve in him.

"Boys like him do not change, Y/N, they merely manipulate you to think so." He sneered at you. "And a woman like you is an easy target." He added, igniting a once-extinguished rage within you.

"Excuse me?" Your brows furrowed together furiously. Snape stared at you, an icy glare plastered on his pale face. "A woman like me?"

"You are far too trusting, Y/N," Snape bit, baring his teeth as he rose from his desk, "you are a true Hufflepuff. You have no respect for yourself; you struggle with the prospect of being alone so you reduce yourself to be with a lowlife such as Bluewater." The booming of your heart began to deafen you as you listened to Snape's ruthless words, each syllable digging a knife deeper into your chest. "Are you so afraid of the idea of loneliness that you really think you belong with a miscreant such as him?" He spat at you as you spun on your heels, rushing towards his door, the reality of his words becoming too hard for you to handle. You were breathing so heavily that each breath you took was starting to burn your throat, like you had swallowed the thorny stem of a rose.

Your shaking hand hovered over the handle of his office-door, lingering as you debated between running away like you always did, or confronting your fears.

You turned around, facing Snape with glossy eyes and red cheeks, unafraid. "You have no idea what you're talking about." You hissed at him furiously, stalking towards the raven-haired man with such determination that it made him flinch out of surprise.

"Don't I?" Snape mused, returning to his usual stoic and cold demeanour. He stood tall, towering over your shorter figure, his lips curling up into a sneer as he bent down to look at you in your teary eyes. "I taught the boy for seven years, Y/N. You think I do not know him better than you do?"

"I..." You stuttered, snapping your jaw shut as you tipped your chin down, submitting to Snape's cruel tone.

"You deserve better than him." Snape said quietly, softening his tone as he noticed your form trembling with bottled rage and frustration. He pitied you in this moment, in fact, he wished he could save you from such heartache, but it wasn't his place. Not now, not ever.

"You don't know what I deserve, Severus." You bit back in a harsh whisper. Snape's jaw ticked and your chest tightened as his name fell from your lips for the first time in months. He swiftly moved from behind his desk in a sweep, his long, billowing cloak trailing behind him as he stood in front of you; an unusually calm expression softening the cold, unfeeling glare that once laid upon his features.

Snape parted his lips, staring down at you, mulling over his words for a brief moment. "No, I don't," He said quietly, tilting his head at you, studying your distraught eyes. "However, that does not mean I can't usher you in the right direction." He added, clasping his hands behind his back. "It... pains me to see you so... unhappy." You looked up at him, a stray tear embarrassing you as it rolled down your cheek. You quickly swiped it away, and looked away from him, staring at the record player that you had accidentally triggered all that time ago. You felt another bout of tears brim your eyes again as your mind replayed the tender memory of you and Snape sharing such an intimate moment together.

"How did you know where I was that night?" You questioned him quietly, ignoring his previous comment, desperate not to break down in tears in front of the man you had grown to adore.

"It wasn't hard to pinpoint your location when you were screaming bloody murder." Snape replied, a hint of faint amusement lingering in his tone. You huffed at his words, prompting him to quirk at brow at you questioningly.

"Yeah, well," You swallowed thickly, glancing back up at him through your wet lashes. If you asked him any more questions you were certain you'd start hysterically sobbing. "Thanks. Again." You choked out, nodding gently.

Severus hummed at you. He felt unusually warm as the two of you were silent, quietly savouring the rare, peaceful moment.

Your cheeks had pinkened again as you studied his face, your stomach going bananas as your eyes became glued to his. You felt yourself subconsciously leaning towards him, slowly, like the pull of two magnets. Snape's breath hitched in his throat as he watched your eyes drop to his lips, eyeing them hungrily. He hesitated slightly, his mind beginning to race with plentiful amounts of reason as to why he should stop what was about to happen, however, he found himself tossing them to the side, carelessly.

The way the soft, amber hue of the candles illuminated your wet cheeks made you look so fragile, he just wanted to cradle you indefinitely; an aching urge protect you from the outside world. You felt Severus nudge his prominent nose against yours in a gentle, tender gesture; your eyes fluttering at the intimacy. His hot breath was dancing across your face as the two of you grew closer, noses grazing.

Though, before your lips could meet, Snape's office door swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall clutching a candle dressed in her nightgown.

"Severu- oh!" She gasped, watching as the two of you quickly dispersed from each other. "Am I interrupting something?" McGonagall eyed the two of you inquisitively, her lips pouting together. You cleared your throat and clasped your hands together in front of you, blinking quickly. Your cheeks were still scorching hot.

"No." Severus quickly answered, broadening his shoulders as he dared to glance at you. He straightened his posture and averted his attention to his older colleague, staring at her expectantly. "What's the matter, Minerva?" He asked, an underlying tone of irritation in his voice. Your heart fluttered as you looked to Severus, noticing his usually pale face had a tinge of pink to it.

"Black is in the castle." She said with a worried voice, prompting you to snap your head up at Minerva. What? Sirius Black is inside Hogwarts?

Part 10!

oooooo THEY ALMOST KISSED? mcgonagall the cockblock, whoops. i hope you enjoyed another long chapter, please let me know what you thought!! <3 have a great day/night, im about to get some much needed rest :) im so excited to write the next part tomorrow oh my lordddd

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deviousdeliciousness · 12 days

Text

Jarred Pt. 2

Due to popular demand, this now has multiple parts!!

Previous: Pt. 1

-----------

Jack made himself wait thirty seconds, biting his lip in anticipation as he tapped his foot against the ground. Honestly, his spark of anger at Tee had more or less died as quickly as it'd come, settling into a familiar level of annoyance, but he'd kept the act up anyways so he could rightfully get back at the tiny for the unwarranted jab.

Still, now, he couldn't help the feeling of a sort of almost... curl of something that seemed to settle heavier in his stomach as each second ticked by.

Tee's face right before Jack had closed the cupboard...

Jack swallowed, shaking his head and the thought away. The notion refused to settle, though, the image of Tee's panicked face swimming back to the forefront of his mind.

Jack almost thought he'd seen... a tear, going down the tiny's cheek, but it had to have been a trick of the light - a distortion of the jar. There was no way Tee would cry over something like this.

The more Jack thought about it, the more convinced he was, and his victorious anticipation bolstered from where it'd hesitantly fallen to the wayside.

Yeah, Tee was a stubborn little guy - had the personality of a mule and the attitude of someone, well, someone twenty times his size.

There was no way the tiny was genuinely as panicked as he'd seemed over being put in time-out.

Still, it would be actually mean to keep him in there for much longer.

That in mind, Jack grabbed back onto the cupboard's handle and swung it open again, smugly teasing with an already growing smirk, "Well? You learned your lesson?"

His smirk withered and died off his lips as he looked down at Tee in the jar.

His heartbeat began to pound against his chest even as everything seemed to grow muted in his ears. "... Tee?" he called softly, slowly reaching for the jar.

The tiny was curled up at the bottom of the glass, tucked into a ball with his face pressed against his knees as he laid limply on his side.

A suddenly desperate, screaming part of Jack reasoned that Tee was just playing a trick on him. That he was trying to get one over on Jack in revenge. That the tiny couldn't really be passed out, trapped in the bottom of a sealed jar after being forced inside of it and shoved into a dusty old cupboard.

Jack's stomach sank, and he couldn't stop the faint shake to his hand as he reached forward to carefully take hold of the jar.

Tee didn't even twitch from his prone position, not even when Jack lifted the jar - the cage (and oh, how the comparison had nausea crawling up his throat) - and slowly carried it over to the table nearby, ever so gently placing it on the surface before slumping into the seat before it.

With rote motions, Jack untwisted the lid of the jar, grimacing as the noise grated against his ears and setting the top to the side.

Still, Tee didn't show any sign of consciousness, limp as a doll.

Jack would have worried if he was even alive if not for the barely visible rise and falls of his little chest.

"Tee," he whisper-called, quietly trying to rouse his friend.

Not even a twitch.

Jack licked his lips and swallowed, trying again. "Tee."

Nothing.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands together hard enough that his nails dug into his knuckles, whitening them.

Think, he told himself. Think. Tee wasn't waking up, and Jack had no way of knowing why.

Of course, the most obvious - and likely - cause glared accusingly at him, stabbing viciously at his chest.

Every one of Tee's actions leading up to this moment seemed to flash across Jack's eyes on replay, freed of any filters the giant had so easily let himself use to distort the tiny's behavior into a lens he felt comfortable with.

No longer did Tee's struggles to get away from his hand seem playful or exaggerated. No longer did Tee's shout seem like he was just playing along. No longer did Tee's fear seem anything but genuine and horrifying and sickening in its truth.

Because Jack had done that. Jack had scared his friend - terrified him - even before he'd forced the tiny into a jar he wouldn't be able to escape from. Hell, Jack had sealed him in.

For all Tee knew, Jack could've been planning on keeping the tiny in there indefinitely, leaving it up to chance whether Tee suffocated to death or not all alone in a cold, glass prison in the dark.

Jack pressed his palm tight against the mouth, swallowing back the sudden surge of bile that crawled up his throat.

He couldn't even protest his own accusations. He couldn't even reason that of course Tee should've known that Jack would never do something like that to him.

How could Jack reason such a thing after having so blatantly ignored the tiny's absolute terror to that point and on?

"Fuck," he whispered, scrubbing his hand up harshly through his hair and tugging painfully at the strands. God, he must've looked like a monster to Tee.

He'd acted like one.

Of course Tee had passed out in the face of everything, if only from the stress alone. Had he hyperventilated in those cruel, long moments Jack had so one-sidedly decided to keep the tiny locked away and alone for? Had the shock and terror of a giant so completely taking control of his actions sent him out like a light?

The only other reason Jack could think of for why Tee was unconscious was that something was physically wrong (physically wrong too, because there was no argument Jack could make that he hadn't mentally affected his friend - that he'd in all likeliness traumatized him with his callous, careless actions).

The thought that Tee might also be physically hurt had another sickening jolt of dread racing down Jack's spine, a feeling that did nothing to mitigate the lead stone of guilt that'd long since sunk into the pit of his stomach and instead worsened it.

What if Tee really was hurt?

What if Jack had been rougher than he'd realized, and the tiny had gotten his head knocked against the glass? What if the blow had eventually made the tiny pass out, or given him a concussion, or worse?

"Shit," Jack hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and barely restraining from burying his face in his hands. He took a deep breath and leaned in closer to the jar Tee was still stuck in the bottom of, ignoring the sick feeling seeing it now brought him, to take a closer look at the tiny.

He didn't - Tee didn't look hurt, but that was hardly saying much. The tiny's face was hidden by his knees, and his full, dark hair would hide any potential bumps or even small lesions against his scalp.

Jack swallowed heavily, a thick thread of unease winding through him. With Tee not waking up, he would have to take the tiny out of the jar himself to check him over.

He didn't want to.

He didn't want to be anywhere close to the tiny anymore.

He didn't deserve to be, not after what he'd done.

The thought of touching Tee (frail, so frail, so small, slight, defenseless against Jack except for in words, and even those had done nothing to stop the giant this time, to keep the tiny safe, respected, unfearing-) right now (at all, anytime soon, ever), of feeling the tiny's limp form in his palm (his fault, Jack's fault, all his fault)...

Jack's chest felt like it was compressing in on him, but he breathed around the strain, shakily bringing his hand to the opening of the jar. This wasn't for his sake. His feelings didn't matter in this.

What mattered was that Tee was unconscious, and Jack would be even worse of a person than he already was if he didn't at least ensure that the tiny was physically alright.

It was unlikely that knocking against the jar would've left more than a bump if it happened (which was already bad enough), but there was a small chance that the skin on Tee's scalp could've split open upon contact. And everyone knew that head wounds tended to bleed.

Jack's desire to get away and leave Tee to wake up on his own (with the jar carefully tilted to the side so he could leave and not be trapped or worry about a monstrous, horrible giant keeping him there-) was even crueler selfishness if it meant risking leaving the tiny to bleed out concussed and alone in a cold glass jar.

So Jack swallowed his nerves and finally squeezed his hand into the thankfully wide opening to the jar, his fingers twitching and flaring wide so that he would be able to carefully lift the tiny free, not unlike the hooks of a claw machine.

In the same moment, Tee bolted upright with a heaving gasp, and they both froze as they took each other in - Jack, looking at Tee's whole form, Tee, staring up at Jack's twitching, giant hand looming above him.

A fraction of a second later, Tee was slamming his back against the glass, crouching as low as he could and throwing up his trembling arms as if to ward off Jack's encroaching hand, and a horrible, sickeningly heart-rending scream that would undoubtedly haunt Jack's nightmares tore free from the tiny's throat.

~~~~~~~~~~

.... teehee :333

So~~ at least Jack wasn't at all malicious, right ;D poor sods, the both of them

Cliffhanger who? :DDDD

#g/t #g/t community #giant tiny #giant/tiny #gt writing #fear play #g/t fearplay #mason jar #trapping #g/t angst #regret #borrowers #unintentional fearplay

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miasmaghoul · 9 months

Note

since phantom apparently gets on his knees *a lot*, have you thought about him getting on his knees for mountain? how much smaller he'd look? how mount would be SO pleased with it??

perhaps........boots..............

It's not that Aeon is small, exactly.

He's...slight. Lanky like Rain, but narrow like Dew. Doesn't take up much space, visually speaking. Or physically. Not with the way he can bend and contort himself.

He can usually be found in the most awkward positions possible in the common room; scrunched up against the arm of a couch, or curled around himself like a pillbug in one of the armchairs. Not to isolate, it's just how he's comfy.

Mountain doesn't understand it. Has no idea how anyone could be comfortable wrapped up into a ball of their own limbs, not when something as simple as crossing his own legs can make him feel claustrophobic. He does find it endearing in Aeon though, a little quirk that he can bundle up and keep in a water-spotted mason jar in the back of his mind.

Aeon isn't exactly small, but he enjoys making himself look that way.

Between Mountain's legs, he looks the smallest.

It's been a while since Aeon knocked on his door, interrupting his thrilling evening activity of dozing off in front of the fireplace. Most of that time has been spent on his knees, though not in the way Mountain is used to.

The room is quiet, save for the crackle of dying logs and the dull rasp of horsehair on leather. Aeon's hardly spoken the whole time he's been working, now well on his way to getting Mountain's boots to a mirror shine. Mountain's fingers glide through Aeon's soft waves while he watches his shoulder work, blending the shock of brilliant white near his horn into a sea of black for something to do.

Aeon hasn't spoken a word since he cracked open his tin of polish. Hell, he'd barely explained himself in the first place, slotting himself between Mountain's knees and asking where his boots were. Mountain hadn't woken up quite enough yet to do more than gesture towards the closet.

He's awake now, though. Has been since Aeon shoved the awful things onto his feet and laced them tight. Mountain can't stand his uniform boots under normal circumstances; they cut him off from the song of the earth and their slight heels make his ass sore. They're relegated to the depths of the closet between tours, wearing them an inconvenience at best and a nuisance at worst.

And yet he'd let Aeon put them on him. Let the other ghoul brush them, scrub them, apply some sort of cream to them and start the cycle all over again. It's a process Mountain never bothered familiarizing himself with - Rain has always polished his boots for him - but seeing the meticulous way Aeon works is fascinating.

As is the not-small tent in his pants.

It's obvious with the way he's kneeling, legs tucked tight under him with the sole of Mountain's second boot on his thigh, just to the left of that flannel-covered bulge. The first has already been polished glossy, firelight reflected in its gleam. Aeon's posture is tight, strained, but his hands move with the same relaxed precision as they do on his guitar.

"You really like doing this, huh?"

Mountain rubs at the base of one horn and Aeon gasps through his nose. He nods slowly so as not to dislodge the hand on his scalp, but doesn't answer. It's a shame not to hear that shake Mountain knows will be in his voice, but it's graced his ears enough to be easily imagined.

Aeon looks up as he swipes his brush over the toe of the boot, leaves shine in its wake.

Mountain thinks his eyes shine brighter.

They're heavy lidded and blown nearly black, pupils ringed with shimmering violet. His long, dark lashes flutter over flushed cheeks, a light dusting of color painted over the bridge of his nose. Spit-slick lips sit parted, exposing just the tips of his fangs. He looks like he's been ravished despite the fact that Mountain hasn't so much as kissed him yet.

It's lovely.

"Pretty little thing," Mountain coos, dragging gentle knuckles along the hollow of Aeon's cheek. He sighs and leans into it, nuzzles the back of his hand like an affectionate cat. His tail supports that imagery, wrapped around Mountain's forearm and squeezing gently. "You almost done down there, moondrop?"

Aeon nods again, the pink tip of his tongue flicking out between his fangs as he refocuses. It's not that he's rushing the other ghoul to finish, but Mountain wants to hear his voice. Wants to know why, exactly, Aeon shuffled his way here in his pajamas with his leather care caddy and decided to give his boots the royal treatment.

Mountain scratches at his scalp, Aeon shivers, and a sweet little wet spot soaks into his flannels.

Mountain's own cock twitches against his thigh at the sight. He's remained mostly soft for the duration of this, despite the effect it's clearly having on the other ghoul, but the reveal of Aeon's lust-slacked face was enough to have him chubbing up. He rubs at the ridge of the head through his jeans, noting with a smirk the way Aeon's brushing hand stutters.

Mountain massages himself with a lazy hand, rests the other on Aeon's downturned face, caresses his cheek. Drags his thumb along a fang-swollen lip and makes a pleased sound at the way Aeon licks at the tip of it. Mountain stares at the other ghoul's clothed stiffy while he plays, watching it strain against the seam of his pants. He'd like to reach down and give it a good squeeze, but he resists. Wouldn't want to interrupt.

He sticks his thumb into Aeon's mouth instead, and the groan it earns him is well worth the silence he's endured.

The scratch of the brush stops soon enough. Aeon picks up a discarded chamois for one last bit of polish, a few swipes over the calf and along the zipper, finishing his self-imposed task with a pleased sigh. He doesn't move Mountain's foot, leaving it resting heavy on his thigh while he sets his supplies back in their places. Mountain watches him with a smile curling at the corners of his mouth - Aeon sucks at his thumb the whole time, drool slipping out around the invading digit to wet his hand.

"If I take this away," he murmurs, hooking his thumb behind Aeon's lower fangs, "will you tell me what's gotten into you?"

Mountain hooks a finger under his chin and drags Aeon's gaze upwards. He's flushed darker now, sweaty along his hairline, stunning eyes nearly closed. Mountain grips tighter, gives his head a shake, and he swears he can hear Aeon's brain rolling loose in his head.

He gurgles out an uh huh and Mountain chuckles, pulling his hand away. He wipes Aeon's drool off on the other ghoul's shirt and Aeon bites his lip, quivering hands sliding up to rest on Mountain's knees. They'd started shaking the moment he'd finished his work. Mountain watches his throat work as he swallows, still palming his head through rough denim.

At length, sounding drunk on something Mountain is intimately familiar with, Aeon speaks.

"Wanted to...for a while now," he murmurs, idly squeezing at Mountain's legs.

"Wanted to polish my boots?"

Aeon's eyes flick between the place Mountain works his cock and the shine of the leather. He chews his lips and nods again, narrow chest heaving more and more as the minutes pass.

"You don't take very good care of them," he chides, a surprisingly stern tilt to his voice. Mountain raises an eyebrow. "It's a shame," Aeon continues, tilting his head to further admire his work.

"Didn't realize you were such a stickler for uniform maintenance," Mountain teases, tapping Aeon's other leg with his toe. "I hardly wear the things anyway, I don't -"

"You should," Aeon interrupts, eager and a bit breathless. "They suit you." His slim hips move of their own accord, a quick, pointless little hump and Mountain could not possibly mistake for anything else.

"Is that so?"

Aeon nods, lithe fingers drifting from Mountain's knee to ghost over supple leather. He can see the pale reflection of the other ghoul's hand in it - he really did do an incredible job.

"They're hard to play in," Mountain complains, flexing his ankle. It pushes the sole of his boot into Aeon's thigh and the kneeling ghoul sucks air though his teeth. "Not flexible enough."

"Just gotta break 'em in," Aeon offers, and there's that shake Mountain wanted to hear. His smile morphs into something devious when Aeon shifts enough to spread his knees, looking up at him with frank desire. Couldn't be more obvious if he tried.

"And how would you suggest I do that, little star?"

Aeon sighs, grips his ankle, and guides Mountain's foot to rest against his crotch. He hisses, brow furrowing at the first hint of contact, and the ghoul leans forward to rest his cheek on Mountain's knee. He reaches an elegant hand up to fondle Mountain's visible tip, rubs it with two fingers, and with a groan Mountain presses the toe of his boot into Aeon's stiffness.

"Fuck, just like that," Aeon gasps, hips hitching forward immediately. "Don't hold back," he encourages, peering up at Mountain through those thick lashes, "treat me like your kick drum."

Aeon gives him a squeeze, and Mountain does.

#miasma's work #the band ghost fic #oh look another one that got away from me #mountain ghoul #aeon ghoul #mountain/aeon #mountain x aeon #im not rereading this one before posting so if you see mistakes #no you dont

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levmada · 17 days

Text

Bad Boy week Day 5

Theme: underground Prompt: stray cats/dogs

wc: 0.7k c/w: character study, angsty

Levi wants to be one of them.

Swift. They can cover a distance twice or even thrice the length of their bodies in a single lunge. Even if he was snuck up on, he wants to look like nothing but thin air the next thing his attacker knows. Get away, get ahead.

Agile. Balanced, perfected. They—and he's seen it—can cross clotheslines suspended between roofs, allowing them to traverse the most cramped and most dangerous halls of the Underground gracefully. He would never fall, but in the nightmarish scenario that he did, it wouldn't mean a thing because he'd always land properly on his feet. That's how they all are.

He wants to be a warrior. Lethal, sharp. It's impossible to be infallible, but he'd make everyone think that of him. A hunter, with terrifying efficiency who'd never hesitate. He'd fell would-be threats before they even got the inkling they were being followed. His strength would be unassuming, and he wouldn't play pretend about his friendliness (of which there'd be none). Like them, small, but mighty.

Not for the thrill, though. To eat, he thinks, for comparison's sake...

He once witnessed it, as he was deliberating whether to smash a jar of corn kernels open or find a way to open it, because his hand was too small to grip the tin lid. A cat, crouched low at the top of some wood stairs. The mouse had lingered below. He watched, willing the skinny thing's focus to break.

It didn't. The cat fell upon it from fifteen feet. The next thing he (or the mouse) knew, it was trapped in its jaws. The mouse squeaked, how a person would scream then its neck cracked, and it died instantly.

He didn't look into the cat's vacant, expressionless dark eyes as it ripped into the mouse with razor-like teeth, and ate heartily.

He once saw a cat poke its head throw a jagged gap in a fence no wider than Levi's little finger, and slip the rest of its lanky body through.

He can fit into little cramped spaces, at least. The spaces between walls, and the crawlspaces underneath porches, inside covered wheelbarrows (if he needed to get someplace he shouldn't be seen). He can hide, at least.

But that's nothing. That's like being dead. For as silent as he could be, as much that he had to strain to hear himself take sips of air, sometimes a scream appeared in his chest, the way things disappear into your peripheral vision until you remember they're there do. It was fine in the beginning, but sometimes all he wants to do is breathe in everything terrible—all the air the Underground has—and explode his lungs. He's nervous about the day that might arrive in which screaming would be all he can do.

Hiding in silence... That's what he's doing now. Among spiderwebs and crusty wood-dust in darkness as encompassing as his spot is small: a tiny crevice between the top of a wall and where the slant of the roof begins.

He curls up as small as he can, tucked into a ball, thinking of them again despite the primal need to sleep muddying said thoughts.

Death would be easier, he knows that's an objective fact. So surviving... Why should he? Why does he?

The same conclusion never fails to infuse in him infallible strength.

Because Mama brought him into this world. And what strength that took... To be kind in a place that would rape and take that from you because it sees it inside of you. She was a shimmery ember in a cave of darkness, which to him shown like the light of a thousand suns. He doesn't need to see the sun to know that she was brighter.

Because of her it once, later on occurred to him that fighting and dancing are almost the same thing. He'd never stopped to wonder stupid things like that, but Mama sometimes swayed.

Who is he to be ungrateful to her sacrifices, or to Kenny's vehement efforts for that matter?

He wants to survive.

In an unfair advantage, cats have nine lives (or that's what he's heard). Humans only get one.

He'll become so strong that he might as well, too.

#levi ackerman #levi aot #snk levi #levi heichou #aot levi #captain levi #snk levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi rivaille #rivaille ackerman #rivaille heichou

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starlightsearches · 2 years

Note

Your headcanon about Eddie actually wanting to be babied a bit is SO good you’re so damn smart! Just letting him rest his pretty head on your tits and stroking him off real slow, going ‘good boy’ and ‘that’s it, honey’. The pleasure combined with feeling so safe and loved hits him like a truck and-I’m broken. My brain is a slushie over this. Need to take care of man need to put him in jar with holes poked in the lid like a firefly

Let Me Be Good to You

My love, the inspiration you have provided for me is simply *chef's kiss* 🤌 I've thought about it every day since you've shared it with me, and I hope you enjoy this little blurb I've written in response 💖

Please let me know if you liked this—comments always make my week! Requests are open if you'd like to send something in or scream your thoughts about this perfect boy 🥰

Eddie x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: no spoilers, 18+ only!, hand job (m recieving), spit as lube, cum eating, eddie is self-deprecating, PRAISE KINK, pet names, veeeeeeeeerrrrrry soft dom/sub dynamics if you're looking for it, idk if it's good or not I'm just horny lol

Eddie flops down on the mattress beside you with a dramatic sigh, burying his face in your stuffed ewok. He made fun of you for buying it in the moment, but you know it's his favorite—always in his arms whenever he's stretched long across your bed. Out of habit, your fingers stroke through his hair, scratching your nails at the scalp the way you know he likes.

"Rough day?"

Eddie nods, his big eyes finding yours over the horizon of your pillows, tough exterior discarded along with his jacket on your floor.

You lay back so you're at his level, pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Wanna talk about it?"

He pauses, chewing on the words. It doesn't surprise you—Eddie lets most things roll off his shoulders, but when he gets hit by something, it hits hard.

"It's nothing, just, uh,"—he flips onto his back, posed like a corpse with the ewok trapped under his arms— "I'm probably gonna flunk Mrs. O'Donnell's class again, 'cause I . . . I failed her last test."

"What?"

It's literally the last thing you'd ever expected him to say. You'd helped him study for that test yourself, gone over the practice problems with until you were sure he could could do them blind-folded, underwater, and half-dead. The stupidest thing was that you didn't really need to do that much prep; Eddie was good at math. He was good at a lot of things when it came to school . . . he just had a hard time getting himself to focus.

His big, brown eyes are glassy with tears, pointed at the ceiling, unblinking, so they won't stain his cheeks. "She wouldn't even grade it. Said I cheated."

His voice is soft, and small—quieter than you're used to. You, on the other hand, are ready to explode.

"Are you shitting me?"

You're off the bed—leaping over him—grabbing your keys, balling up a jacket in your hand, about to march to the door before he grabs at your wrist, pulling you back to him with a few stumbling steps.

"Babe, where are you going?"

"To the school. I'm gonna give that raggedy bitch a piece of my mind."

He pulls you back down against the mattress, slipping your keys from your hand and tossing them onto your bedside table. You're still thinking about escape—until he pulls you tight against his chest, bodies curled around each other, legs intertwined. You've always been a little helpless when you're trapped in Eddie's arms.

"You don't have to do that, honey. My counselor said she'd talk to Mrs. O'Donnell, at least convince her to let me retake it."

"That's so unfair," you sigh, limply punching at one of the pillows. Against your best attempts, he's kneaded the anger right out of you, the rings on his fingers catching along your shoulder blade with every stroke of his hand.

"It's whatever," Eddie shrugs, like the action could make him care less, "she's always hated me. And it's not like she's wrong. I'd think I was too stupid to do it on my own, if I were her."

Stupid. God, you couldn't hate that fucking word more. You shift onto your hip, sick to your stomach that he could even think that way.

"Don't say that."

He's still not looking at you, chewing at his bottom lip, fiddling with the hem of your top. "Why not? It's true."

"No it isn't, Eddie." You've got his face sandwiched in both of your hands, begging him to look you in the eyes, even if he doesn't want you to see him cry. "You're smart, Eddie. You are. I don't give a fuck what Mrs. O'Donnell thinks."

The tears are there, pooling against the junctions of your thumbs. It breaks your fucking heart to think how little he hears those words—not from teachers, not from people in his classes, probably not even from his friends. Wayne was a good guy, but school had never really been all that great for him either. He wouldn't even think a worry like that would be on Eddie's mind.

Eddie's voice is wet, lips trembling around the word. "Really?"

"Yes, really,"—you're getting a little enthusiastic, but you mean it, and you can't temper your praise when he needs it so badly—"of course you're smart. You're so, so, so smart, Eddie."

He laughs weakly, pushing at your shoulder when you start to pepper him with kisses, but you know his heart's not in it, petting along the side of your face, warm fingers cupped around the back of your neck.

Big eyes locked onto yours, he couldn't hide from you if he tried. "Say it again."

You press your lips against his temple, punctuating each compliment with another gentle kiss. "You are smart. And you're fucking talented. And kind. And so, so good to me."

Your path leads you to his lips, capturing them against yours, pressing him so far back into the pillows that strands of his hair are tickling at your cheeks. His hand comes to rest at your jaw, the bottom of his palm just barely brushing against your skin, like he's still not sure if he should be allowed to touch you. You lean in to his hand.

Eddie kisses you the way he knows you like, darting the tip of his tongue against your lips before upping the pressure, moaning against your skin. His free hand travels along your spine, fingers striking up a melody that only he can hear.

And then he grips tight at your waist, and things are decidedly less sweet, fingers carving indents in your side as you shift more of your weight on top of him, chest to chest, the top of your thigh dragging along his crotch.

Eddie groans at the feeling, a twitch in his hips, looking for a little more friction.

You're gonna give him more than a little.

Petting a hand over his thigh, you slide closer to the distended fabric of his jeans, just barely stroking the edge of your thumb across the shape of him, feeling his cock throb for you through the thick fabric.

Spit spreads across his chin as you whisper, his head pressed back and eyes clenched tight. "Let me take care of you, baby."

Eddie nods—your teasing has taken the words out of his mouth, but he's putty in your hands, compliant as you get comfortable against your headboard, pulling him into the space between your legs.

Gentle fingers brush a few strands of his hair away from your face as his head comes to rest against your shoulder, his wet breaths at your neck. Eddie stares at the soft patch of skin just below your earlobe, vision going dark at the edges when you slip your hand inside his unbuttoned pants.

He sighs, lifting his back as he shifts into your grip, coming back down to rest with his head pillowed against your chest.

"Comfortable?" you ask, meeting his eyes with a sly smile. He's got a pretty little flush in his cheeks, dark eyelashes framing his big doe-eyes, looking up at you with a kind of disbelief you'd never understand.

He nods, flushing darker when you press a kiss to the top of his head.

Eddie's cock is pretty, and thick—dark red when you slip it from the confines of his boxers and bring it into the light. He whines when you let go, but the sound is cut off in his throat when he hears your spit meet the palm of your hand.

"How does that feel?"

You're coating the base of him, stroking higher, further over his hot skin—always gentle with him—rolling the tip of his cock in your palm until it's all shiny and slick, your spit mixing with the first drops of pre-cum he's leaking.

The groan he answers with rumbles through your own chest, hair tickling at your chin as he nods. "Feels good—real good, baby, please don't stop."

There's no need to worry about that. Heat builds at your own core just watching him squirm, his lips parted and glistening and eyes shut tight.

You feel his fingers wrap tight around your thigh, the softness of hands contrasted with the bite of his rings, and he struggles in vain to get at your core, trying to give back some of the pleasure he's getting. You kick his hand down to the sheets with a gentle nudge of your leg. His knuckles turn white with the grip he's got on the fabric.

"Don't worry about me, baby. This is about you."

Eddie nods, lips pressed tight, trying to stopper the little moans slipping through. You don't want him to hold back.

Kissing across his temples, you pepper praises into his ear, listening closely to the sounds he makes in response.

"You're such a good boy, Eddie. So good for me. Such a smart, pretty boy. God you're pretty, Eddie. Did you know that?"

He's having a hard time responding, his cock pulsing in your hand. Your fingers travel easier over his skin with the slick he's beginning to spill. Eddie's head falls back, eyes blown wide, when you play with his slit, massaging the sensitive skin with the pad of your thumb.

"Baby," he calls out, his sweat-slicked t-shirt riding up a little over his hips with the way he writhes, revealing the thin stretch of skin above his belt, and the dark little hairs that grow there, "m'gonna cum."

You just tighten the circle of your fingers, speeding the pace of your hand over his taut skin.

"Go ahead, baby," you tell him, your own breathing heavy, "I want you to."

He spills, thick white ropes of cum staining his black t-shirt, and his body curves around the sound he makes, a deep, satisfied groan coursing from his lungs.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, big eyes meeting yours, going wider when you clean some of the cum off his shirt with your thumb, popping it between your lips.

He mashes his face against yours, kissing the taste of him from your mouth, his tongue licking at yours.

You laugh at the dopey grin on his face when you part from the kiss. "Feeling better?"

"Uh, yeah," Eddie chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants, a little self-conscious. You take his hands in your own, twining your fingers together. His tongue darts over dark pink lips, eyes locked on yours.

"Good," —you give him a soft peck, and then another—" 'cause you deserve it, Eddie. You deserve the whole goddamn world."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #my writing #requests #minors dni

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