#like how on earth do you twist that against her? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohproserpine · 3 months

Text

v. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder

"THAT SLAG!"

Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.

"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.

In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.

"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"

He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"

Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.

"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.

"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.

Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."

"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"

Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."

"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"

"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"

"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.

"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."

"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.

Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.

"Who's this?" she quipped.

"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."

Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.

"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"

"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.

"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."

"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.

A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."

"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.

Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."

"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.

Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.

"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.

Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.

Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.

"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.

The radio rumbled with delight at your response.

"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.

"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.

"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.

"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.

"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"

"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

"Ah, but that's why you love me."

Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.

I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?

As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.

"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.

For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through

Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.

I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new

Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.

With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.

"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."

"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."

In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.

As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.

Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.

"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.

"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.

"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.

"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.

"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.

"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.

"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.

And there it was.

"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."

"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."

"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"

Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.

"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.

Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.

No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape.

Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.

With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.

Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.

Your matchbox wasn't there.

Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.

"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.

You eyed him skeptically for a moment.

In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.

Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.

Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.

"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.

"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.

"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"

"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."

Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.

"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."

"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.

Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.

"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."

"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."

"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.

"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."

A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.

"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."

Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.

"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."

Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the park in hues of golden warmth.

A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.

"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."

You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."

"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.

As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.

Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.

A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.

"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.

"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.

"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."

You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.

Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver.

Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.

"Oh, you cheese…"

With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.

Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.

Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.

Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.

What in hell was that?

Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.

Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.

Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.

But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.

The TV Demon, Vox.

His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.

"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"

Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.

"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.

"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.

Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.

"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.

"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.

"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.

"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.

"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."

"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"

"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"

Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"

"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"

"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"

Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"

Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"

"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"

The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.

"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.

"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"

As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.

Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating.

Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.

With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.

Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.

If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.

"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.

"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.

Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.

"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.

"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.

"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."

You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.

"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"

Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.

Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.

Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.

As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality

Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.

Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.

"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."

The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.

"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."

Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.

"Please let me kill for you."

Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.

A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.

A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.

"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.

There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."

Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.

A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?

A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.

It must be love.

With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.

"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."

Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.

"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.

With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.

The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"

You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.

A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.

With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.

"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."

"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."

"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.

Pretty Dolly Heart.

Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.

The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.

"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"

Your blood ran cold with fear.

"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.

Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.

"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.

With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.

A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.

"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.

With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.

Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.

Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."

#next chapter will explain all of their background :DD #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

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svuguru · 8 days

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step dad nanami fucking his step daughter in her school uniform >o<

Tags: stepcest!!! Antis and minors DNI! Unprotected and it’s implied (heavily) he finishes inside <3 I tried to be more inclusive of the uniform :( fucking in front of the mirror ^^ I don’t remember which position it was but I think it was doggy?? 😭

Kento’s hands hold a firm grip on your hips, thrusting his hips back and forth as gasps fall from your pretty glossed lips. Your little school skirt is thrown over your waist, but it’s just a bit too short he was sure you must have gotten dress coded… it barely reached just above your knees, there’s no way no one called it out.

The moment you walked through the door after coming home from school, Kento’s pants grew tighter for whatever reason. Just the way your skirt would flow along with your legs, when you would bend over and teasing him with that slight peek of your cute pink panties… it was too much for your poor stepdad, how could you tease him so much?

“Wah, Daddy!” You cry, clenching onto the messed up bedsheets underneath you. Kento’s thankful your mother is still at work, blissfully unaware of the way his thick cock is stuffing your tiny hole full, so deep in front of the mirror so he could watch the way your little body moves in your school uniform.

“Shh, sweet girl, I know,” he murmurs softly, looking down at your back hidden by your uniform shirt. You’re just too cute in your uniform, so irresistible, and the way your lips stuck in a pout, whining about needing him and all… how could he deny his pretty little stepdaughter of something he knows they both want?

“S’deep, daddy…” you mumble dumbly, stupid on his cock as your juices coat his dick. You look so cute full of his girth, tears in your eyes, crying incoherent sentences.

“Yeah?” Kento laughs, “look, you’re so tiny,” he says affectionately, his hand carefully trailing up to your chest, his fingers teasing your hardened nipples, pulling and twisting at them which elicits moans and whimpers from your throat.

Your tits jiggle at the way he’s fucking his cock into you, one big hand cupping your boob, the other keeping its hold on your hips, moving you back and forth along with him.

“‘M not that small…” you pout before feeling his tip tease your sweet spot. Your jaw goes slack, your eyes roll to the back of your head before the squeeze shut. “S’much, daddy, too much!” You cry and squirm, feeling knots tie in your poor tummy, your legs twitching.

Kento’s hand moves from your tit to your ass, rubbing it gently before landing an unexpected slap to it, his eyes glued to the way you jump slightly from it.

“Poor baby,” he grins, “you can take it, yeah? I know you can, be a big girl,” eager to please your step daddy, you nod, biting back a sob, tears falling from your lash line, down the flushed apple of your cheeks.

His hips are slamming harshly against your ass, bouncing at the impact. Your skirt falls from the waistband back down to its original place, which earns a grunt from Kento.

“Shit… such a pretty girl,” his voice is deep and low, your walls clenching his dick, feelings his veins throb against your warmth.

“Daddy, think ‘m gonna cum!” Your fingers squeeze the bedsheets, grounding yourself to earth. In response to your whine, Kento groans and nods his head.

“Come on, you can do it,” he encourages you, “do it f’me, like a good girl,” and suddenly the knot in your stomach unties itself, all you see is stars everywhere you look, all around the room. Kento’s hips don’t stop even as you’re coming undone, painting his dick in your juices. “That’s my baby, hm?”

It’s only a few more thrusts before Kento’s hips begin to stutter, his breath gradually growing uneven. “Princess,” he sighs, “‘m gonna stuff you full, ‘Kay? Is that alright?” So dumb on your stepdad’s cock, you nod your head, mumbling a barely coherent “mkay, daddy,” as your head buried itself in the sheets.

Kento knows it’s wrong as he fucks harder into you, he knows it’s awful to do this with his stepdaughter, but you’re just too cute to resist..

#jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #Kento Nanami x reader #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento smut #Kento Nanami smut #Nanami smut #Nanami x reader smut #Nanami Kento x reader smut #Kento Nanami x reader smut

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tinyowlthoughts · 2 months

Text

Humans are Space Orcs - Chocolate

"Ugh, I would kill for some chocolate right now."

Gorvan fumbled the holopad he'd been typing on, all four hands brushing against the screen as he tried to keep it from hitting the ship floor. He failed and it bounced off the tiles - thankfully neither breaking, nor denting the flooring. Grimacing, he swept it up with his tail and checked over the casing, before the alarming words registered in his head. A glance at the couch showed the human - Max - hadn't moved - still twisted up in their weird, pretzely way, chin in their weird five-fingered hand as they peered at the passing stars with a far-away look in their eyes.

"You, uh, want...chocolate?" He asked, certain he'd misheard.

"Oh my god, yes." Max heaved a sigh, shoulders rising to their weird, inefficient ears before dropping back down. "Jesus, I'd even eat a Hershey's Bar right now."

Gorvan gripped his tablet with two of his hands, hard enough to crack the casing. "Oh, um - what is a 'Hershey'?"

Max didn't look away from the window, still lost gazing into the galaxy. "It's a type of chocolate bar from Earth. Maybe a Mars Bar or a Milky Way would be better..."

Gorvan huffed through his nostrils, tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Oh. Um. I - er, I forgot I have a meeting with Captain! I have to go." Without waiting for an answer he turned and fled the recreation room, hooved feet clattering against the floor, desperate to report what he had heard. He missed the bemused look Max gave him before returning to his star gazing.

🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫

"Max."

The human paused upon entering the meeting room, seeing the rest of the C7H8N4O2 Star Explorer gathered around the table. All eight were tense in their seats, and the moth-like Elaana looked like she'd been crying. (Well, the species equivalent, which appeared as a dusting of pollen along her sharp cheekbones.)

Taurvin, the captain, was sitting in the largest seat at the head of the table, his considerable bulk looming over the rest of them. Oddly, the first-mate seat to his left was empty. Gorvan was instead sitting in Max's own.

"Uh, hey all. We playing musical chairs?" Max glanced between the empty chair and Gorvan, but when nobody asked for an explanation to their odd human reference (a common occurrence), they figured it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Have a seat, Max." Taurvin motioned to the first mate seat and, with a bit of hesitation, Max moved to take it. Luckily Gorvan, despite being bulky himself, wasn't too much larger than a standard human and the chair was comfortable enough. "We have something important to address."

Oh god above, what had they done this time? Max tried to think back to all the interactions he'd had onboard the last few weeks, but couldn't come up with anything too egregious. Sure, there was the whole joke with 'human snot is acidic' thing but that had been more of a gross-out joke for Elaana, the ships medic, who hadn't seemed to upset when he accidentally sneezed on her a few days later and dropped the act. Epitak, the ships engineer, had been pretty pissed when ze found out Max had taken apart the air filtration unit in their quarters to try and understand how it worked, but ze had also walked him through repairing it, so they thought it was all forgiven.

Oh jeeze, had they found the plans to get a kitten onboard under the 'emotional assistance animal' loophole?

"Max." Taurvin's normally jolly voice was grave, and all the crews eyes were on them as he spoke. "It has come to my attention that you have been expressing some...troubling thoughts."

Okay, definitely the kitten thing then. "Look, I can explain," they started, but Taurvin held up a large, three-fingered hand and stopped them.

"I do not want you to feel pressured to speak to us if you do not wish to. As a member of the Intergalactic Exploration Society, you have access to mental health resources at no cost, any time, anywhere. I will be more than happy to assist you in setting up a link to a therapist through HR and, if required, will grant you time off the ship if you need it. You are the best navigator I have ever seen, and I do not want to lose you."

"Well, thanks, but uh, what do you mean?" Max glanced around the table and noticed that their normally upbeat crew were all showing signs of distress (Elaana was brushing away newly fallen pollen from her compound eyes).

"Max, you requested chocolate." Gorvan reminded them. "This morning, you said you would even eat a substance known as a Hershey Bar from your home planet." The human had never heard the first mate sound so distressed. When Max just blinked, Epitak took over, beak clacking anxiously as ze spoke.

"We understand that many planets have government programs in place for self euthanasia," ze explained, technical as always in his word choice, "but we aboard this ship would much rather assist you in healing rather than lose you, despite what you may feel is best for you. Suicide by theobromine is not the way forward."

"...what."

"It's okay, love!" The pollen was flowing freely from Elaana's eyes now, and she blinked it away with her long lashes. If there weren't a table between them, Max was sure she would have bundled them up in a full-wing hug and refused to let them go. "We'll support you through it all, we promise. You're part of our crew - our family, and we never want you to feel otherwise!"

"Well, uh, thanks. I see you all as family too...?" Max glanced at the four remaining crew members. Dhaca and Lenzoill were quiet but obviously upset, Qhals was staring at the ceiling with their fanged muzzle pulled into a tight grimace, and Ir'ith was -

Ir'ith was smirking.

Max narrowed their eyes at the inventory manager who also served as the ships cook (for the simple fact that he was the only one onboard who could cook). The zad merely shrugged when their eyes met, though his grin was growing.

"I think I'm missing something here." Max admitted, looking between Gorvan and Taurvin. "This is all because I got a chocolate craving?"

"A craving?" Elaana almost lunged across the table at the word, the only thing holder her back Ir'ith's hand on her shoulder. "You mean you've had chocolate before?"

"Well, yeah? All the time." Max was not expecting the horrified expressions they received.

"So humans treat theobromine as a drug?" Epitak asked, aghast.

"Noooo...? It's a dessert. Like, a sweet treat." Max had no idea what was going on now, but by the way Ir'ith's shoulders were shaking, he did. "Hershey's is a candy bar."

"Wait," Dhaca finally spoke up, leaning forward and shoving his glasses (well, glass - one lens for one eye and all) to the top of his head, "theobromine is not toxic to humans?"

"I'm assuming that theo-stuff is chocolate?" When Dhaca nodded, Max nodded in return. "Yeah, no, chocolate isn't toxic to humans. I ate it all the time on Earth."

Ir'ith gave up and cackled, sounding a bit like the grackles Max used to watch in their back garden on Earth. The avian's wings flapped a few times as he laughed, having to lean forward and grasp his stomach with taloned claws to keep himself from falling out of his chair. When he finally glanced up at Max, it was to the flattest look the human could manage, which only sent him into another gale of laughter.

Taurvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his boar-like snout. "I believe this has all been a misunderstanding," he spoke over the cooks laughter, which had turned into squeaky gasps. "Dismissed."

A few befuddled glances were thrown Max's way, but the rest of the crew were quick to leave, avoiding Ir'ith's flapping wings as they squeezed out of the room. Soon only the cook, first mate, captain, and navigator were left.

"Sorry, kid." Ir'ith finally came up for breath, wiping at his eyes as he regained his composure. He fished into one of the many pockets that adorned his poncho and produced a bar wrapped in purple foil, which he tossed to Max. The human caught it and felt their whole face light up. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None at all, dude!" Max tore open the wrapping and took a big bite of the Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar, nearly melting at the familiar, sweet flavor exploding on their tongue.

"For the record," Ir'ith said as he stood, cracking his back, "Zad's can eat chocolate to. Let me know next time you have a craving." He sauntered out of the room, humming happily.

The three sat in silence for a moment, other than the crinkle of the chocolate bar wrapper. Finally, Taurvin cleared his throat.

"Max, I apologize for not conferring with you in private beforehand." The captain sighed. "I did not wish to embarrass you, but an intervention was suggested and I believed that comfort from your crew would be the best way to show the seriousness of our support were you truly entertaining the thought of self euthanasia."

The human shrugged. "It was nice to hear you all care about me, even though I've only been on board a few months," they admitted. "And I got chocolate out of it." He wiggled the remains of the bar.

"Still, if you ever feel the need for mental health services, they are available to you. And if there is ever anything I or the rest of the crew can do to assist you in that way, please don't hesitate to ask." Taurvin placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head, a show of sincerity for his people.

"Well," Max tapped the chocolate against their chin in thought, "there may be one thing. Have you ever heard of cats?"

Next: Bluffing

Original Reddit Prompt:

#humans are space orcs #writing #blurb #The EC Theobromine

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outpastthemoat · 2 months

Text

fathers.

Sometimes Aang and his friends take turns guessing at how Zuko got the scar that covers half his face, at night when they are wrapped up in their blankets and curled up sleepily next to the fire, or during the long monotonous hours they spend leaning against the side of Appa’s saddle as they follow along the rugged coastline of the Mo Ce Sea.

A freak training accident—an ugly street brawl—bested in a duel (surely not difficult to do, sniffs Katara)—insulted the wrong person at the wrong time—Agni himself decided to teach him a lesson. Katara thinks the first explanation is the most likely. Aang himself can't decide.

"Tripped over his own stupid pointy boots during a battle," Sokka says scornfully, "and fell flat on his face. Idiot."

They’ve heard all kinds of rumors, from idle gossip among bored fishmongers and spice traders to irreverent speculation by Fire Nation soldiers and guards. None of the explanations ever match up, and some of the theories are ridiculously far-fetched, but the sound of Zuko’s name always makes them freeze, as though the word might conjure up the prince himself. But none of these theories are anything like the truth.

They find out in the market of an Earth Kingdom village. Katara is filling her basket up with fruits, melon-cumbers and appleberries and mango-pears, while Sokka bargains for fresh filleted elephant-koi. Aang is happily browsing a selection of colorful glass beads, combing his fingers through the bright greens and yellows, when he overhears Zuko's name.

“Have you heard about the banished prince caught sailing in Archipelago waters?” one elderly man says to another over their game of pai sho, and Aang stops in his tracks. “Seems like he’s now displeased his father even more than he already has. Think the Fire Lord will finish what he started and scorch off the rest of the brat's face this time?”

The old men laugh heartily, and bend back over their game. Aang goes on standing there, frozen in confusion and a steadily growing dismay. But that means, he thinks. That means... He shakes his head. No, it couldn’t mean what he thinks. He must have misunderstood. But a quick glance around at the stunned faces of his friends tells him that he hadn’t.

Quietly they gather up their purchases and walk back to camp. No one says a word, not even Katara.

“It doesn't make a difference,” Sokka says suddenly that night, hunched over their fire. He doesn't have to specify what he’s talking about. They’ve all been thinking it. “He’s still a jerk who wants to capture Aang. He’s still the enemy.”

But it does, Aang thinks. And the next time Zuko catches up to them, he finds himself looking closer at the scar that twists one side of Zuko’s face into an unnatural grimace, imagining that he can see the shape of a man’s hand in the dark, mottled skin and the blistered remnant of ear. And maybe that’s why he goes easy on Zuko this time, doesn’t spin his staff and and send the sharp blast of air that would have sent Zuko slamming against the stone wall behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aang can’t help thinking that maybe Zuko’s been hurt enough.

You don't understand about fathers, Zuko had said to him the first time Aang had met him. Back then, Aang had thought it was an insult, to show off the power and prestige that comes with inheriting such a title, a boast about everything that Zuko had and that Aang did not.

Now he thinks Zuko might have meant something quite different. That Zuko had been talking about what a father might do to their son, as a punishment for disobedience.

Aang closes his eyes and takes himself back to that moment in the South Pole, and hears Zuko's grave, quiet voice saying those words again. Maybe, he thinks, maybe it was as close as Zuko could ever come to an apology, for doing what he thought he had to do.

Late that night, when he's warm and sleepy and curled up against Appa’s furry side, Aang tries to picture Gyatso, the closest thing he’d ever had to a father, ever striking him—even just a light, stinging slap across the face. But he just can’t do it.

And Aang knows then Zuko had been right about him. He doesn’t understand about fathers after all.

#aang #zuko #atla #outpastthemoat fics

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bambiesfics · 6 months

Text

⊹ Tag! you’re it. ⊹

(5k wc!)

| SNEAK PEEK: “Fuck me. Almost forgot about her.” The brunette unslung the rifle over her shoulder and head. She threw it a small distance away from you two. The black Nula rifle skidded amongst the twigs, then stopped. You breathed a small sigh of relief amidst your mounting panic. Releasing the terror that it could go off while she fucked herself into you.

⊹ SUMMARY: The concept was simple really. It’s quite literally in the title of this fic. I’m sure you’re smart, reader. So I’m also sure you can deduce what she’s going to make you do. But in the rare chance you’re not that bright, I’ll help and spell it out for you.

You…need…to…run.

⊹ WARNINGS: Predator/prey kink. Strap-on use (reader receiving). Outdoor sex, very rough sex, mean as fuck!Dom Ellie, dacryphilia, ass-smacking, black-out, use of “cock” and “dick” and is referred to as Ellie’s, and other things you’ll have to read to see.

⊹ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Minors & puritans this is not the fic for you. Everyone else: make sure you read this at home. This is genuinely, not safe for work (or school!)

The truck skidded to a stop.

The acridness of burnt rubber twisted its way up your nose, reflexively making you scrunch. The russet haired brunette pulled the keys out of the ignition and slammed the truck's door shut. Her black converses made imprints onto the soft earth.

They were just a few of the many tracks to come.

The slam of the GMC door was like a boom in your head, yelling ‘WAKE UP!’

Laid beyond the car window was a terrifying picture of nature. The forest seemed like rows of shark’s teeth; jagged and everlong. Up along the bank, a crowded family of dark green spruce trees were huddled. Mottled like flecks against the horizon. Nothing could be seen but the green overlaid on top of the clear sky. The trees circumferenced along the bank like a protective dome, surrounding the truck.

This was her idea.

The brunette circled the clearing, her bangs blew softly in the wind. She fixed the M-11 sniper across her back, pulling the dual tabs of her corset webbing to tighten it to her torso. The NULA sniper was heavy. A matte black gun with a wide eyed scope. It was Ellie’s favorite. For hunting; both people and game.

Your girlfriend had known for several years that she’d never be a fan of small firearms. She reveled in the kickback of a sniper.

Firearms.

Running.

Rifle.

Chasing.

Polaroids of memory flooded your thoughts. Snapshots of Ellie pleading relentlessly to convince you to let her use you. Use your adrenaline and terror to scratch a deep deep itch within her. Like a flea ridden dog, your girlfriend had a parasite. And the parasite was the chase. It was a primal itch. One that’d been there since she was a younger girl. It teased along the blurred edges of sociopathy and sexuality.

If you’d really paid attention, you would’ve noticed that Ellie was a little…off. There was an aggression that ran congruent with her boyish teasing and fighting. An intuitive itch at the back of your brain often concluded that Ellie had always wanted to bend your arm back a little bit deeper during play fights. Because she too often enjoyed how quickly your laugh crumpled into yelps.

She’d let out a sudden chuckle during really tense moments, but you were subtly aware that Ellie could, and slyly tried, to get a bit more intense with the floor pinning, with the wall traps, with her power plays. And you suspected she liked it.

Ellie was an awe-inspiring girlfriend, so caring and so sweet; so tender. But you still couldn’t gauge where that hidden characteristic in her temperament came from.

Just how far would she really want to take it?

The surface tension of those memories rippled into obscurity like disturbed water. Leaving you to face the bitter nip of the cool air, and the earthy pine notes that carried itself on the wind.

Ellie had been spending her time studying you from across the distance. Trying to pick apart your thoughts from your micro-expressions. She debated on if the little crease between your brow was tense fear, or if it was exhaustion. Common sense advised her that it was exhaustion; you two had only come out here just an hour after dawn, naturally you’d feel drowsy or irate.

And that pleased her.

Tired would work in her favor. Tired would make you sloppy.

Ellie stepped deeper into the clearing. From your position in the passenger seat, you could see her attempt to feel for the direction of the wind, noting which direction it was blowing her hair. She used the sweep of the wind’s blow on her hair to navigate the direction of which path, in the dense forest, would give her the least resistance.

She planned to avoid that path.

She didn’t want this to be easy.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have too. Ellie turned around slowly and rooted her feet into the soil. In spite of the distance, her gaze was piercing. She didn’t need to shout, but it was finally time to remove yourself from the safety of the truck.

You steadied yourself on the inside of the door, and used the pane to brace your knees before you dropped from out of the truck.

The sun was a high, white gold. Planting an opalescent sheen on the forest underbrush. It grew brighter and warmer the further behind you left the truck.

Towering above the underbrush, were thick alpine trees; the young and the old. Some of them were beyond being old, and were solidly antiquated. Likely as old as the entire forest itself.

Those alpines were the type of old that’d existed in that forest longer than Jackson town. The type of trees that had seen things not a soul nor an eye would have witnessed. Things, no history book had dared to make a record of.

And today, they saw you.

The sun was shining in her eyes. And she returned back to it her own venomous gaze.

Ellie’s ink moth tattoo moved each time her fingers steadied themselves on the bony juts of her hips. Her evergreen eyes blinked back down to study you once more.

In your timid mannerisms she microdosed on the pleasure of the run to come.

Your back straightened at her voice.

“To set this off, I ran the path six times since last sunday. Shouldn’t take you no longer than ten minutes, fifteen at your slowest. You take twenty minutes, and I come looking for you. Got that?”

Her eyes thinned, then relaxed.

“We’ve done similar patrols around the west wing of Jackson.”

“Like the group patrols and stuff right?”

Your answer was less than stellar.

She itched to grin at your reply, but killed it. Schooling her features back into a placid poker face. “Yeah sure. Those’ll definitely prepare you for today.”

Ellie started stalking behind you now. Eyeing the shoes you chose, how you shifted your weight from leg to leg, how your sleeves were longer than your fingers, and how your fingers fidgeted with its hem.

She pulled back from you. She pressed herself deeper into the gray and dull overcast from the trees. Shadowed by their height and mass, she shouted.

“You get a 120 second head start!”

The air was electric, like power lines running above you. Your fingers twitched, and your stomach tightened. And like a firing gun shooting into the air, she growled.

“RUN!”

Your feet pounded at the earth as your skin braced the whipping wind. Jackson’s forest was miles upon piles of jade. It was a claustrophobic cornucopia of trees. The underbrush scraped your legs with each step you took on the illuminated path of the forest floor. Light speckled from the patterned leaves above you, it looked like a kaleidoscopic.

The earth beneath your shoes was beaten flat from the steps of hikers and runners long before you ever came sprinting down. You’d hiked this path, but hiking and sprinting were light years apart. And the staggering imbalance of the terrain was sending shock waves up your legs. You braced it, a mantra looping in your head like your very life depended on.

Just run.

Your breaths were starting to sound heavier and heavier. Worsened by the regret that was creeping up all the same. Jackson had a system of 5am running patrols that were outlined by Maria on the town’s bulletin. Patrols that you could’ve put your name down for. Ellie did them often, just a short lap around Jacksons gates. She always told you it was only “15 minutes tops”, yet you always regarded that time as an extra 15 minutes to sleep in. Realization dawned on you just as quick as your feet turned around a large spruce tree.

That 15 minutes of running truly did add up.

Just run.

A climbing crescendo of snapped twigs and rustling leaves was all that could be heard whipping about. Louder and louder. Heavier and heavier. An orchestra of sounds; of your heartbeat. Of a burning pain from a persons forceful sprint. Someone was panting, fighting, clawing their way out of Jackson’s forest. You were the someone, but your legs were growing tired.

Your calves were burning as your pace increased, the ache was clawing into the muscles in your lower legs like hot iron. The pain bloomed into your thighs and coiled itself into the pit of your lower belly. It left your breath wheezing and dry.

Sweat broke out on your hairline. Perspiration that would drip down to sting your eyes if you didn’t get home in time. You needed to get home fast. Just as long as you got there before her. Just as long as you beat Ellie to Jackson’s gates, you’d be fine.

All you could do was just run.

You slowed to a stop and cleared a log, you straddled it, holding the large body to steady yourself, before swinging your leg off and hopping back onto the ground. You weren’t nimble. Your girlfriend would’ve cleared the trunk with just the push of her left arm. But you were desperate, anything to not be her prey.

Just run.

Your ears picked up on it, before your brain could process it. The sound was unmistakable. Those were Ellie’s footsteps.

Clearing the log had closed the space between you. This chase was a burning thread. Growing shorter as the distance between you two also grew shorter. Ellies footsteps sounded heavier, more hurried. She could finally hear you too.

You pushed past the haze of pain and ran out of the forest, onto the rocky asphalt in front of the abandoned highway. You slid down the ditch, scraping your palms along before tumbling into a shaky sprint. The abandoned cars in the ditch were as much obstacles as they were protection. But up ahead, growing bigger with every step, were the gates; pillars of protection and strength.

The same voice whispered sharply into your concious, reminding you to

just run.

The only caveat was that Ellie’s conscience was telling her the

exact same thing.

She was behind you. But you couldn’t care where or how far Ellie was. You’d deduced that the strewn jagged pebbles had slowed her down. Converses didn’t work nearly as well on rocky terrain. The rhombus sole could tightly pack gravel and pebbles inside of it, which made for an uneven run.

Jackson’s steep wood gates appeared even larger. A good — no — a great thing. To be dwarfed by Jackson’s gates meant that you were near them. Nearer to the town than you had been a mere minute ago; yet again, still with no Ellie in tow.

You relaxed your sprint into a cursory jog. The relief that coursed through you was electrifying. A tired grin threatened to leap off your face. You were burning, but the chase wasn’t nearly as hard as you had suspected it to be, and for that your nervous system was flooded with relief.

You were so close. Just a few more steps and the lap would be cleared.

Ellie shouldn’t have given you that head start. Jesus, that girl could be so arrogant.

The dual gates were close enough to feel their shade. You took another deep breath, and stretched your arms out. The breeze cooled your skin. The relief from the concluded chase blew a spirit of new life into you. You were done! you had won Ellie’s sick little game of tag.

Now, what you would give to head down to the tavern and ask for a mug of sweet tea and some soft brea—

—Ellie slammed into you, crumpling you to the ground. A tiny yelp ripped out of you like a pathetic puppy. She dug her elbow into the small of your back to put you down, before switching tactics. She instead chose to slide her hand up and grip the back of your neck. She shoved your face into the ground. Holding you down in submission.

“Tag. you’re it.” She giggled.

Your shocked scream was muffled by the ground. Like some hunted doe, only your eyes could communicate. And they strained painfully to the right, hoping to see what the hunter was doing. The pain in the base of your spine ebbed as Ellie removed the puncture of her left knee from your back. She dropped into a crouch. But her hands slid down your back, then down your thighs, then to your knees where she gripped the sides of the joints and forcefully shoved them apart.

In the quiet of the dawn, you were more than a sight to see. You were a picture of desire to drink in, and a terrifying desperation possessed Ellie.

You should’ve ran faster.

Ellie inched all ten knuckles under the band of your jeans, she struggled to shove down your pants and underwear, grunting curses under her breath.

“No way in hell you were convinced you actually had a chance to win against me. I don’t think you realize how much I had to hold myself back. Couldn't let it be that easy for myself.”

Your breath came out ragged.

Ellie loved that.

She barely managed to shove the waist of your pants underneath the crease of your ass cheeks. But seeing as what she managed left her with just the necessary amount of space she needed to work with, it was certainly good enough.

“Honest question.” She paused for a moment and surveyed you. Her hand curled in the air “just to get this straight, were you jogging the entire lap or were you actually sprinting it? I just couldn’t tell.” She mocked.

The sneer her lips curled into was wicked.

But her violence even moreso.

Ellie slapped your ass harshly, intently drinking in the recoil. You yelped and jerked across the dirt. She lunged across to clamp the back of your neck, eyes piercing.

“Stay.”

The sound of a zipper being pulled down made you struggle in her grasp. Your head was scrambling from side to side to better see her. Picking up strewn leaves to tickle the bottom of your lips.

Ellie was having none of it. The fist on your neck squeezed tighter.

She tsk’d next to your ear, your first and now your final warning. She refused to repeat herself a second time.

If only you could’ve seen what she saw. Ass up, face down, bent like some bitch in heat. You were presenting yourself. Your left cheek was squished against the grass and leaves. And your ass was tempting and teasing itself in her face, globes split apart.

God, you didn’t know, but you’d looked so pathetic. Like you were just waiting to be topped. And if that was what you really wanted, then who was Ellie to deny you that?

A wicked grin bloomed onto her face, replacing the sneer.

One phrase boomed in her head.

…my bitch.

Ellie’s.

You were made to be Ellie’s bitch.

Ellie pulled out the harnessed cock, it had a real fat, girthy shaft. With a long vein running along the underside. She drooled at the fantasy of how it’d tug against your tight rim. She slid the dick atop the split of your ass cheeks. Rutting it up and down. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she swore she saw you roll your hips onto it.

“Fuck me. Almost forgot about her.” The brunette unslung the rifle over her shoulder and head. She threw it a small distance away from you two. The black rifle skidded amongst the twigs, then stopped. You breathed a small sigh of relief amidst your mounting panic. Releasing the terror that it could go off while she fucked herself into you.

Holding her dick against your ass really let her hips take a break from the weight of it. You were such a good doe, letting her warm it between the globes of your ass cheeks. Taking her thumb and forefinger, Ellie angled her tip down, She gave shallow thrusts, reveling in the wet slide of her cock against your labia. She just needed a few more ruts against the slick, to get it as wet as she wanted.

Nimble as ever, the hunter slightly leaned back onto her calves. The bulbous tip of her cock inched back and dragged itself down the expanse of your labia, from clit to hole. Until it caught against the rim of your hole. It barely nudged inside. But the feeling of the tip pressing against it, reflexively made your hole clench a kiss on its head. Ellie whistled at the scene.

Heaven on earth is what this was to her.

“Would you look at that? You want it huh? Can tell by how you’re sucking it in.”

It turned Ellie on so much, seeing her dick just barely touch your hole, just prolonging what you both knew was to come. She was feeling a little violent again, so Ellie cracked another sharp slap on the meat of your ass. The heat and twinge from it, made your eyes widen. A blistering handprint was left where she slapped you. Tears started burning at the back of your eyes and you gasped in a panic. Your reactive jerk from her smack, involuntarily slipped the first inch of her cock into your hole. Your slick coated just the head. Wetness was slowly starting to slip down your walls. And it dripped past the seal of your vagina and coated the top of Ellie’s tip.

Not even pornography could compare; because to the eyes of anyone who could see, the scene between you and her was in every sense of the word: obscene.

You struggled against the grass again. Giving her a beautiful performance of a hunt gone well. Doe-eyed prey shaking fitfully against the grass. Ellie’s intimidating presence dwarfed everything in its path like a dark shadow.

She draped her chest over your back and laid her cheek to rest atop your planted head. Ellie slowly lined up her freckled lips with your ears. It could’ve almost looked like a caress; a sleepy embrace between two lovers. Where one whispered ‘good morning, you up honey?’, and the other grumbled lowly ‘mhm. Just 5 more minutes my love.’

But nothing that came out of her mouth was sweet.

Ellie whispered very lowly.

“I’m begging you—to try to fight me off.”

And with that, and a ghost of a kiss to the shell of your ear; Ellie thrusted the shaft inside, groaning her own pleasure over the shout you yelped into the ground. A sudden intrusion, as alarming as that was, could only be described as malice.

She slowly pumped in more inches of her cock until she felt a strong resistance. She kept testing it, pounding sharp pumps to see if there would be any further give. Each attempt pulled a muffled “n’moh it won’ fit phleese” out of you.

You dug into the grass.

Ellie’s beautiful features transformed into a quizzical frown. Her bushy eyebrows, her full pink lips, and her usually cherubic cheeks, wrinkled in to display a strong feeling of ... .disappointment. There were at least a few inches left of her hungry cock that weren’t warmed inside that slick tight pussy hole.

Why couldn’t you take all of it?

She furrowed her brows, dug her nails tightly into the fat of your hips, and hurriedly bullied her girthy cock into you. She couldn’t help but revel in the way each thrust pulled a yelp out of you like a kicked bitch.

Maybe those weren’t yelps from your lips, but instead muffled moans….

Ellie couldn’t really tell, and regardless, she definitely didn’t care.

Her thrusts were heavy, punchy. There was no space to spare inside of you. Her shaft was molding your hole to fit around its thickness. The cockhead squished against your cervix, pulling a new type of soreness with each pull of it.

“Uhn! Uhn! Uhn! Uhn!”

You drooled on the grass. You took the rhythmic pounding up your abused cunt. Your puffy cervix was leaving wet kisses on the tip of Ellie’s dick, which pulled even more slick from the tiny donut.

“That’s right. Uhn! Uhn! Uhnn! for me baby. Cry just like that. You like being tackled and fucked rough don’t you? Sloppy cunt.”

She mocked.

She was right, it was so sloppy. Your walls were practically drooling along her shaft; and trust her, she could feel it.

Ellie slowly pulled her cock out, only to marvel upon the gorgeous coating of slick that sparkled in the early sunlight. Your milk had pooled along the veins and ridges of her shaft.

There was a creamy mousse ring that wrapped around the base of her balls, frothing from the thrusts.

Ellie had a perverted temptation to taste a bit of that milky coating. The thing was, it wasn’t new to her, she’d gotten a taste of it many times before.

Chuckling to herself, she slid it back in. But with complete knowledge of how intensely full you’d feel, Ellie leaned down to drape her chest across your back once more.

She positioned her torso atop yours, digging her fingers into the dirt on either side of your head to get a solid grip. Dried leaves and grit collected under her fingernails and painted them specks of amber and brown. Her sweaty bangs were sticking to her face now. And they curved around her hairline as she barked a laugh at each rough pounding you took, like her sweet girl.

“So fucking—”

Thrust.

“Fun”

Thrust.

“Watc-hing you—”

Thrust.

Her voice cracked, pounding you was bumping her swollen clit just right.

“Run like.”

Thrust.

“Some weak little prey.”

She replaced her grip in the dirt with finding purchase on top of your hands. She slid her fingers in between yours and interlocked them. She squeezed your fingers between her own, you weakly squeezed hers back. The hunter above you, found just the right footing to put her full body weight into fucking you, and now you felt the stretch and fullness everywhere, everywhere.

No space inside of you was spared.

Who knew hunters could be so mean?

“You feel that? Is it stretching? I wanna know if it burns.” She gruffed.

Yes, yes, and yes. A weepy eyed ‘yes’ to all three.

All you could feel was her. Her cock was nudging past the sensitive swell of your g-spot, bruising the area with her pounding.

How could you not feel it?

Every ridge of her dick pulled muted squeals out of you. And despite how much your neglected clit cried for attention and touch from between its sloppy lips, there was a fiercely intense pleasure that radiated around your body. And the evidence was the strings of glossy slick drooled onto the grass patch below you two. The same slick ran down the underhaft of her cock as she pumped inside you, and collected at the base of her heavy balls. Balls that were building a bruise on your ass, with each stinging connect of her hips to your butt.

Ellie’s sighs and moans were pitching a variation of high and low tones. Huffing like a dog in heat because of how good it felt to be inside of you.

God, the strap was fucking her back. Her brain was growing fuzzy, heavy, needy.

Catching her prey to fuck it, had her mind unraveling.

Who was the bitch now?

“H-hey.” She breathed out

“Your sloppy hole feels s’good. Tiny, tiny pussy clamping on my cock. You making me work for it baby? Work hard to fu— fuck inside of you.”

She screwed her eyes shut. The intensity grew stronger.

“I’ll work as hard as I need to stu-stuff your sloppy holes” she slurred. Her green irises rolled to the back of her head.

Ellie’s grip on top of your hand considerably tightened, which had seemed almost impossible, given their already iron lock.

Ellie rolled her pale hips in shallow circles, grinding inside of you. The friction against your g-spot was dizzying, and from where your nose was shoved in the grass, you grew lightheaded.

As Ellie’s cock made your walls plump and swell, Your vision was slowly growing spotty. Little black dots were dancing across the expanse of your vision. It was unfortunate how little you could breathe, because the barks of pain and whimpers of pleasure that you wanted to release would’ve made Ellie cum on the spot right then.

“Love your pretty pussy. It’s pretty, it’s all mine. All for me. Tiny hole that I get to stuff full of dick—wanna chase and stuff you every day. I wanna be the only one in-inside you. Does my dick hurt your tummy? Want it to hurt you so good. Sorry, m’sorry, but I-I want it to hurt so good.”

Ellie was frantic and erratic. Fever brained and pussy drunk beyond the horizon. She sloppily slurred all her little fantasies in your ear.

The edges of your vision were graying out, your eyes glazed. If Ellie had noticed, she didn’t care.

Instead she obsessed herself with the way she was molding a home for her thick cock in your puffy walls. The same walls were puffy and deep pink inside.

Each thrust from her slender hips was like a zing that dragged pleasure down the ribbed walls. Pressure was building up severely in your tummy, and you were overcome with a strong urge to clamp.

You choked your last whimpering moan into the dirt, and finally let the tension go. Slick milky cum seeped from the seal of your sensitive hole and burst onto the base of her dick. It was frothing and glossy.

Your eyelids grew suddenly heavy. Your vision was tunneling, there was a gray and fuzzy halo around it that obstructed its clarity. You could only make out blurry shapes and colors, only the soft light of the day, just before you relaxed and sleepily went limp.

You had been fucked into a heavy slumber, yet your lower half was still being held up by the girl with the cock inside of you.

She didn’t let up.

Ellie kept fucking you. Frantic and greedy for her own orgasm in your pussy. She needed to be inside of it just a little longer.

She picked up her pace, relishing in the sweet feel of the cockbase smacking her clit. Ellie felt the same pressure in her own vagina rising. Her clit was just as swollen, just as puffy, just as wet and glossy as your hole was on the inside. And Ellie sought a few more angry thrusts to get her over the edge. She snapped her hips forward, and each time you jerked forward in the grass, with your lips forming an “o” and your eyes gently closed.

Thrust.

“Fuck!”

Thrust.

“Please please please.”

Thrust.

“—Prett-pretty my pretty pussy all mine.”

Thrust.

“Sososo tight.”

Thrust.

“Ughhhh!…”

A groan grizzled from her throat.

Ellie squirted spurts of her release down her thighs. Her eyeballs rolled backwards until they were white and veiny, and her hips stuttered with each squirt.

She came all over her skinny jeans.

Her chest rose and fell dramatically as she sucked in deep gulps of air. Ellie’s toned abs contracted with her breathing, clenching and relaxing. Over and over did the muscles dance until her breathing slowly steadied itself.

The hunter pulled out of you and tucked herself back inside her jeans. She barely zipped her pants up, leaving the slick base of her veiny dick still visible to the world’s eyes. She couldn't find it within herself to care, not even a tiny bit.

The NULA rifle was strewn amongst the grass, and its owner walked the short distance to pick it up from the grass. She picked it clean. Wiping the dirt off of it, and blowing off the stuck grass. She stationed the NULA by her hip again, and walked back towards your limp body.

Crescent moon sharpie doodles were scribbled onto the dirty toe box of her converses. The doodles you’d drawn for her one frigid October evening, an entire calendar year ago.

Ellie had found that so endearing, but even then she had been too shy to admit it at the time.

She surely wasn’t shy now.

Despite the fact that her preferred celestial body was still stars, she still held your insistence on decorating her shoes, near and dear to her heart. It had been one of those slow and scary, ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’ moments, that had pivoted the direction of your relationship, unbeknownst to either of you.

Ellie took those same converses and nudged your shoulder. Several times in fact.

In your deep slumber, your body had only moved with the motion of her foot.

A whistle twinkled from her pout.

“….And you’re out cold.”

She reached for your arm “okay come on—get up.” And slung you over her shoulder. It was awkward, it wasn’t easy. The sniper wanted about as much space on Ellie’s slender frame as you did. But she had to make it work. Better than patrollers finding you in the grass with your ass split wide open and your pussy dripping slick like a snail. So she dragged her feet as she carried you, and held the gun parallel to her body.

But she managed to make it work.

She managed all the way to the gates. where she slipped through the back. Your privacy was something she could never risk, no matter how much she reveled in this game.

She managed into Jackson town.

And then into her house, and then into her room, and then into her bed where she tucked you under the covers, so you could sleep the adrenaline and full body orgasm off.

The lull in her messy room was quiet.

It felt like no more than a warm hub, for you and your bold lover. Ellie was tired to her bones, but she worked on the keys of her guitar as you slept.

You’d mewled in your sleep from time to time. And she felt slightly guilty, slightly. She knew you’d wake up just fine. With a bad limp and maybe an attitude to last the day, but still mostly fine.

Ellie dropped her chin onto the guitar, and rolled herself back and forth in her chair.

She mulled over it in her mind, how it’d be kinder of her to just…pull back from time to time. Just so you weren’t wincing in your sleep from the ache. But then she pouted; unsure of herself.

Didn’t you like it when she was mean?

She plucked a key, F major, then B minor. A momentary pause, before her nails hesitantly strummed the strings. They still didn’t sound right. So she tuned them again.

She broke her gaze away from the strings to briefly check on you. You were a sniffling lump underneath her sky blue sheets.

Her chest squeezed at the image.

She knew it was sappy, it was lame. It was the feeling of impassioned affection; of love.

“I know you’ll love this one, whenever you decide to wake up…dork.” She teased.

Ellie strummed the string once again, meditating on the key. She cleared her throat, and whisper-sung her favorite part.

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can’t help…” she sucked in a breath, and her cheeks dusted pink. Embarrassed even with no one to bare witness. But this song had best encompassed the ocean of her feelings.

“…Falling in love with you.”

She dropped her head against the body of her guitar.

And smiled into it.

-fin-

1K notes · View notes

xxblairexxss · 8 months

Text

Who are you?

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff, I think?

Word count : 2.4k

Requested!

Part 2 Part 3

You got into an accident on your way to work with a guy who drove Ferrari Pista 488 with the number 16. Weird thing was that everyone kept calling his name as if he was a celebrity.

Just a light one. Haven’t proofread!

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"The audacity of him! And then what did you say?"

Your mom thought your decision to accept an internship in Monaco out of all countries was solely because you could talk to your best friend, Linda, without having a problem with the time difference. It just happened to be on your side, though. Instead of listening to her story about her stupid ex before you went to bed, you had to get ready, so she had become your favourite podcast to listen to on your way to work.

"I said nothing." She winced, even before you screamed.

"What?! You let him disrespected you like that! Oh my God! Why?! I would have punched —“ The sound of a car horn kicked through your AirPods, taking over the voice of your friend. There wasn’t enough time for you to react when the black car came approaching so fast, cringing along the sound of a car honk that seemed to be echoing within the small town that you would have thought it would send you straight to heaven. It turned out your mind wasn’t ready for today to be your last day on earth, so you tried to run across the road and fell flat against the friction.

You were expecting to wake up surrounded by clouds, just like how the cartoons pictured the afterlife, until you felt a touch on your shoulder. "Fuck! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you—"

"I would have punched you in the face." You muttered, what was supposed to be something directed towards Linda’s ex boyfriend.

"Woah, okay. I’m really sorry. Here," He offered a hand and pulled you up; that was when the pain hit your nerves, making you bend over and wince.

"Ow! What is wrong with you?!" The man was pushed away and staggered at the outburst. "It was a red light. Are you blind?"

"Okay, I’m really sorry; that was totally my fault. Let me take you to the hospital."

You retracted your arm from his hand relentlessly, limping your way to the roadside. "Leave me alone."

"You are bleeding!" He argued and tried to offer his hand for you to hold as he was you struggled to walk.

"I know! I have eyes."

"You need to treat those cuts. Just let me take you to the hospital."

You tried to hobble away from the man, but the pain had set a limit to your pace. "I don’t even know you. Go away."

"Okay, my name is—"

"Charles! Everything good?" He looked up, surprised to hear his name being called out so sudden, and gave a thumbs up back to the waiter of the restaurant.

"You heard him. I’m Charles. You have a witness there," You looked back at the direction he pointed with his chin. “if I do something bad to you. Can you get in my car so I can take you to the hospital now? I’m kinda in a rush."

"If you are rushing, then you can just go. Don’t let me hold you up." Charles shut his eyes, tilting his head back. He knew he had misspoken because you were going to say yes before he mentioned about time. "Okay, okay! I’m not. I’m not in a rush at all. So, please, get in the car."

"Are you sure? Cause I can just —“

"No. I mean, yes. I’m very sure." He extended his hand, which you finally held while you limped your way to the car.

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This was your second tissue, which you had been pressing on your cuts. You just found out your chin was bleeding as well when you saw the reflection on his window.

"Do you need water?" He twisted open the mineral water bottle and offered it to you. You were so quiet, it made him feel restless. He would rather hear you curse him out than this eerily silent. "The hospital is 5 minutes away. Does it hurt a lot?"

"It’s not that serious. Don’t worry." You turned from looking out the window, eyes scanning through the buildings of the city, towards him, frowning in suspicion. "How did he know you? The waiter."

"He has seen me a lot. It’s a small town, after all. Are you a student?" He saw you were carrying a bag of laptop with a few files, which he had placed at the back of the car, so you were obviously not a tourist. It left him with two answers. Either you were a student or you just moved here, because if you had been living here for a while, you wouldn’t ask the question. He wasn’t saying everyone would know him, but they would at least aware of who he was.

"No, I’m doing my internship."

"How long has it been?" He queried.

"2 weeks, I think." You looked out the window as he drove into the hospital area. "You can just drop me here. I’ll be fine."

"No, it’s okay. You need help from a local, so that would be me. Can you walk?" His seatbelt retracted as he clicked on the unhook button and helped you register your name and details at the registration counter while you were asked to just sit and wait.

"Hi, Charles!"

"Oh my God! It’s Charles!"

"Are you Charles Leclerc? What are you doing here?"

It felt like you must have had a permanent wrinkles in between your brows, as you had been frowning for minutes whenever people called out his name. Sure, it was a small town, but did that mean everyone knew everyone to this point?

"Are they your friends?" He leaned in, moving his ear closer to hear your question.

"No, they are not my friends. They have seen me a lot too." The way he replied was so nonchalant, but it still didn’t make any sense to you.

"That doesn’t really make any sense." You commented, still frowning.

"It makes sense in Monaco." He looked away and bit his lips, trying to hold his chuckle.

The medical staff explained to you every cream and medicine you needed to take and when it was needed, while Charles joined in as well, listening as if it had anything to do with him.

"Can we get your phone number so we can call for a follow-up treatment on your sprained wrist?"

"Oh, my Monaco phone number? Give me a second." You just happened to find out that your phone was badly damaged in the accident right when you tried to turn it on. It probably had to do with you trying to stop your fall without realising it was in your hand, so the screen was cracked and it was just a black screen. You were forgetful and had written your new phone number in your notes so you wouldn’t get charged for accepting calls from a foreign country, but it was impossible to check your notes if your phone couldn’t even turn on.

"Use mine. If anything, just call me." Charles stepped in and wrote down his phone number, leaving you stunned. "And here’s my card. I’ll pay for everything."

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"Thank you for sending me home. Oh, my phone!" He had helped you bring your stuff all the way to your apartment, though you had assured him that you could carry your own things. Just when you were about to take the last thing of yours in his possession, he moved his hand away before you could take it. "I need my phone back?"

"It doesn’t even work."

"Okay? But that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw it away." Charles brought the phone higher when you tried to snatch it, smiling like an idiot when he saw you were glaring at him.

"I’ll get it fixed and give it back to you."

"I don’t need your help anymore. Give it back! I’ll get it fixed myself." You disagreed, refusing to owe him even more, but he stepped back and slipped the phone into his back pocket.

"You still need me for your follow-up treatment. You used my phone number, remember? I’ll see you in a few days once it’s fixed. Don’t forget to put the cream and your medicine." He walked away after giving you a nod out of curtesy.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Was he hot?"

Though your phone was broken, you still wouldn’t miss a daily update from your best friends. After explaining everything, including every single detail of what happened earlier, Linda’s main focus was to ask that. Not your sprained wrist, not your cuts—nothing about you, but all about the man you had told her about.

You rolled your eyes and continued to spread the cream on the cut on your leg, still engaging in the conversation from the video call on your Macbook. "He was cute. You know, apparently everyone here knows everyone. Crazy, isn’t it? Everyone kept on calling his name ‘Charles! Charles!’ as if he were some kind of celebrity, but it was actually very common. I was shook because—"

"Wait, what did you say?" She intervened.

"I said I was shook."

"No, before that. What was his name?" Linda asked, seemingly typing something on her laptop.

"Charles? Charles Lec something?"

"Oh my God! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" She shrieked, making you jump and scream along.

"What the heck?" You bawled as she started talking nonsense. "Slow down! What are you trying to say?"

"Is this the guy that helped you?" She brought the phone and switched to the back camera so you could see the picture on her laptop.

"Yeah? Why is his face everywhere in the Google images?" That was weird. Though you were treated like a celebrity in Monaco, why would you put out your pictures on the Internet in public, with not just one but more than what seemed to be normal for someone who just lived in Monaco?

"He’s a fucking F1 driver, you idiot! Oh my God, you are so dumb, Y/N!" Linda called out, feeling frustrated for her friend, who had to be the smartest in class but not street-smart.

"What?! But he told me that everyone knew him because they just saw him a lot." You argued back and tried to make it make sense to your friend, who seemed to be so disappointed.

"Yeah? Because he’s driving for Ferrari and he’s a Monegasque? Obviously, everyone has seen him a lot. You are so dumb."

"2 weeks in this new country, and I have already humiliated myself. I’m just going to ask him to leave my phone in front of the door so I don’t have to see him again, right?" You don’t think you could look at him in the eye anymore because you were so embarrassed that you might need 2 to 3 months to move on.

"I don’t know. To me, it sounds like he wanted to get to know you."

"Cut the crap, Linda."

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"I can’t just leave your phone out here." Charles came and rang your doorbell a few days later. You had been yelling behind the door, trying to make him go so you wouldn’t have to see him again, but he just wouldn’t let it pass.

"Just leave it there!" You replied back the other side of the wood door.

"Are you hurt?" He replied back, knocking on your door this time.

"No!"

"Okay, then why can’t you come out?" Charles could have just done what you asked him to do, but he wanted to see how your cuts were doing, if they were still bleeding.

And he also wanted to see you because he just felt so.

"Fine, I’m leaving it here. Make sure to not leave it outside for too long. Someone might steal it away." He remarked before walking away, knowing you had been peeking from the peep hole.

"Finally!" The door pulled open after you waited for two minutes, giving him enough time to take the elevator and left.

Until you saw him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He had this smirk on his face, as if he expected you to be dumb enough and fell in his trick, which you actually did.

"Finally what?" He strode closer, arms still crossed, as he looked down on your legs to see the cut had started to heal. "Hm?" Charles carefully tilted your face up to see your chin and nodded when it wasn’t as red and bleeding as it was a few days ago. "Did I do something wrong? Why can’t you just come out?"

You grinned and walked back into your apartment, pushing the door shut with your body. "Okay, you can go home now. I’ll call the hospital to ask them to change the phone number back to mine. Thank you!”

"Wait! Why are you acting so weird?" He blocked the door and tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes because you had been looking everywhere but at him.

"Why didn’t you tell me who you are? Here I thought everyone in Monaco would call out people’s names as if they were celebrities, and you actually turned out to be one?" Your tone went higher while you pointed your hand at him, as if he were an artefact in a museum and you were a museum guide.

"I’m not exactly a celebrity. Just an athlete. How did you know?" He asked in a very light way, like this whole situation was fun for him.

"My friend showed me your picture, and I still didn’t trust her, so I went on Google myself and typed…" You pressed your lips, squeezing your eyes shut, because you knew you were just going to humiliate yourself even more if he found out about this.

"And typed in what?" Charles repeated your last sentence.

"Charles Monaco." Your hand covered your eyes instantly while he burst out laughing. He would have left with a bruised nose if only you could slam the door in his face right now, but you wouldn’t want to be charge with assaulting the famous guy in this town. "Yeah, whatever. Can you step back because I’m trying to close the door?"

"So, that’s it?" I nearly hit you with my car, sent you to the hospital, fixed your phone, and that’s it?"

You furrowed your brows. "What else do you want?"

"How about I give you a tour around the town? I’ve lived here all my life. No one knows every corner of this town except me." He rested his hand on the door when he saw you try to close it again. "Are you sure you want to miss this one chance to be with Charles Monaco?"

"You are so annoying!"

“Your next appointment is in two days. I’ll pick you up at 10 a.m." He walked away, still wearing the cocky smile that made you want to punch him so bad.

"I can go on my own. I’m not going to open the door for you next time!" You stood outside the hallway, shouting back as he went even further.

"Then I’m gonna barge into your apartment. I’m Charles Monaco; I can do whatever I want."

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months

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Danny and the Fan Blog part 2

Danny is trying to get a picture from the Gotham Bridge of its sister city, Bludhaven. He has dropped his invisibly, sure that being on the edge of a dangerous out-of-the-way ledge will keep unwanted mugging away.

He had flown down to the bottom metal part of the arch right smack in the middle- still far from the water but lower than where the cars and people were.

He sinks to his knees, hoping the bridge's light can get his shadow against the waves for an epic piece. Danny aims his lens, adjusting the focus again, and then presses the button.

At the exact moment, he does, a boat out rushes from underneath the arch of the bridge, and a body flings itself off the bridge's edge above him. The person twists masterfully midair, landing on the boat's deck with a soft thump and not a wasted movement.

Danny's mouth drops open, watching the boot disappear into the horizon before scrambling to see the photo.

It's gorgeous.

The water is highlighted by the golden glow of the street lanterns, and they bounce off the sleek black boat, with the skyscrapers of Bludhaven painting the perfect drop back. But what ties the picture together is Red Robin mid-fall, half twisted and arms above his head that its hard to tell if hes a fallen angel or a rising one.

He's got a half smile on his face, black hair blowing in the wind and Danny breath catches.

It's the best picture he's ever taken.

He stares at the screen of his camera, wondering how he could have been so lucky to have captured the perfect moment. Danny won't even have to do too much editing. It's ready to be posted right now.

He was so excited to share it that Danny abandoned his place, turning invisible and flying back to his apartment. He arrives to find Jazz working on her homework on the kitchen table, but her hand rests on a ghost gun until he drops his powers and becomes invisible.

Her face lights up at once, and her hand lifts from her weapon. "Danny! How was the photos tonight?"

"Only got one." He admits, sprinting forward to show her, "But look at which one!"

He brings up the image from the memory card, displaying it proudly. Jazz mouth slacks. "Woah, Danny, that's amazing! He looks so good in it! How on earth did you manage to get this?"

"Luck, really." He grins, reaching for a plate with apple slices and peanut butter that Jazz likely set out for him. It is his favorite snake.. "I was at the right place at the right time."

"And where exactly was this place?" He winces at the tone, he knows she doesn't like him taking too many risks, but it's not like he's in any real danger. Even the Meta collars that canceled people's powers would never work on him. Danny is a ghost, and no one has the technology for that unless someone finally starts taking his parents seriously.

Vlad has been fine since Jazz convinced him to see a therapist. He is currently in the ghost zone at some mental hospital retreat that has been doing wonders for him. They visit whenever chance they get.

"I may have been under the Gotham Bridge."

"Trigate Bridge or Brown Bridge?"

"There is more then one bridge?"

"Danny," Jazz sighs. "There are four bridges."

Danny shrugs, taking a bit from his snack, and starts his laptop. He's sending the photo onto his blog from his camera, watching the photo download with anticipation. "I don't know Jazz. I ignore stuff like that."

"Well, maybe you should. You have yet to learn how important it is to pay attention to the things around you in this city. Danger is around every corner. Just this afternoon, someone tried to steal my phone!"

Danny's head jerks up. "They what?"

"I know! I was just minding my business reading a fascinating article on child development in the tablet era when some thug walked right up to me with a gun. I would have handled it trust me, his stance was pathetic at best, but Red Hood came to my rescue." Here Jazz's face reddness and Danny has a moment to wonder if he could take Red Hood in a fight. Maybe. He's sure he would win but it would be a close call.

He would do it, too, anything to keep no good punks away from his sister.

Jazz sees the face his making and rolls her eyes. "What? I'm allowed to drool over boys every once in a while. Just like you do."

"I do not droll!" Danny shouts offended.

Jazz gestures to the laptop screen, uploading the photo onto his blog. "Sure. And you just happen to stare at Red Robin's photos for the artistic application."

"I-I do! I took them!" Danny shutters, watching his sister's face break into a teasing smile. He feels his own lips pull upwards against his will and suddenly, they are laughing. It's strange, how at ease they both feel here.

They were never this carefree back at their parent's home. The realization makes Danny feel slightly guilty for noticing- because it wasn't like his parents didn't love him- but there was always tension at home. Even before the accident, he knows now that it wasn't healthy.

Jazz must have felt the change too, because before while she was racing towards adulthood- always strung so tight and nervous- she missed out on being a typical teen. Danny never had a chance to sit down with her and gush about boys, nor had she ever prioritized making friends.

Sure, Jazz was pretty, brilliant, and basically the pride of Casper High, but Danny never noticed she had no friends. She never hung out with people at the mall, she never got invited to go out, and she never texted funny memes to others back home.

In Amity, people knew of and respected her, but no one was close to Jazz. Maybe that's why she got so excited to be part of Team Phantom when she first found out.

Jazz Fenton may have been the intelligent sibling, but Danny Fenton was the social one, leaving her feeling crippling lonely while he had his two best friends.

He knows that now.

"Speaking about drolling over boys- how's Jason?" Danny teases just as Jazz's phone buzzes with a new message. The notification displays Jason's shy smile before Jazz yanks it protectively close to her face.

Jason Peter is someone Danny can approve of instead of that thug Red Hood. Jason and Jazz met at one of their classes at the beginning of the semester when Jazz was still unused to the city. She always went to class ten minutes before it started and read to pass the time instead of speaking to her college mates.

She had been reading Pride and Prejudice- one of the fancy covers kind Vlad had gotten her- and Jason had practically teleported to her table gushing about the artwork. Then, when he sat down, the two broke into a healthy debate about the characters.

Jazz admitted to him later that she was surprised by a man in a leather jacket with a white streak in his hair and multiple piercings in his ear having such in-depth character analysis of her beloved novel.

They've been hanging out ever since.

"He is fine, thank you." She huffs, typing a response to the text. Danny places his chin on his hand, smiling as her eyes soften. "He asked me to see a play this Friday. Or, well, he said he was going to one and wanted to know if I wanted to come along."

Danny perks up. "Like a date?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" Jazz nervously plays with her hair. "He made it sound like we were just hanging out. Do you think he meant it like a date?"

"It could be either way if he didn't clarify," Danny admits, then smiles to settle her sudden anxiety. She always doubted herself about spending time with people outside the family or Team Phantom. Doubts that were the result of her upbringing. "But why don't we go shopping tomorrow? Get you a nice dress, and I'll do your make-up. Once we're done, he'll wish it was a date!"

Jazz's smile may be wobbly, but it was there, and it was real. They chat more about the play and what she should wear. Danny forgoes any black, claiming it's too fancy for a first date, and trades ideas for her outfit.

Neither notices that the photo has finished uploading or that people are already commenting and losing their minds.

Nor did they notice a particular hacker with the handle- Oracle- attempting to break into his computer only to be booted out by Technus' system. It flings Oracle to the closest computer system that is close to his.

Somewhere deep underground under a particular mansion. Oracle panics, thinking that Phantom piggyback rides her signal to the cave and quickly shuts everything down. She bites her lip before picking up her personal phone and calling Bruce.

"We have a problem."

Else where Tim is helping Dick with an out-of-control gang. He isn't aware that a photo of him has just circulated through Gotham nor of the sudden new simps awaiting him.

(Lady Gotham laughs)

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Danny and The Fan Blog #Part 2 #Dead tired #anger management #Danny is unware of anything always #Also he scared Babs into thinking he knows about the cave #He's just vibing with sister #Jason is unaware the pretty red head is part of the Blog

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randomdragonfires · 1 month

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If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 | To See You Again

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY

WORD COUNT | 2k

Text Divider by @saradika

They had been running for three days now.

Slivers of moonlight pierced through the dense canopy above. The twisted and gnarled branches of trees, like skeletal fingers grasping for the Seven Heavens, cast their eerie shadows across the forest floor. The tangled roots snaked across the damp earth and moss clung to the ancient trunks like a dark shroud.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingling with the sweet aroma of wildflowers that dared to bloom amidst the darkness. Faint whispers seemed to echo through the tangled undergrowth, as if the very forest itself held secrets long forgotten.

As they ascended the hill, the terrain grew steeper, the path narrow and treacherous. Each step was a struggle against the relentless pull of gravity, the earth slick with dew beneath their feet. Aemond held onto her hand as tightly as she could - she hadn’t allowed him to touch her initially, having been in shock at being abducted from the arms of her betrothed - but there was only so much a defeated, tired princess could do on her own.

She panted from exertion. The blood on her face was dry now – he’d needed to hurt her to get her to comply. She looked at him with all the anger that he knew she was never capable of, and a forgotten corner of his mind yearned for an easier time when she’d held different feelings for him.

In an ideal world, there would have been no war. He could have married her, just as he’d promised in the protected darkness of the nights in hidden chambers and intimate correspondences. They could have been happy.

Though his thirst for vengeance was screaming at him, a small part of his mind wished for a quieter time; a time that would never come.

His family was dead, and he needed her to balance the scales. He owed Helaena that much. He owed Aegon that much. Mother, Daeron, Criston, sweet Jaehaerys, and Maelor - all his kith and kin. He had failed them all.

He would be damned to all Seven Hells before letting their deaths mean nothing.

At the hill's summit, the forest parted, revealing a precipice that loomed over the land below. The distant glimmer of moonlight danced upon the surface of a winding river, its waters black as night. He let go of her, and she fell to her knees, relishing the feeling of a flat surface and slower breaths as she bid her heart to slow down. He watched her ears perk up as she heard the crunch of his boots over the dry leaves, stalking towards her in that catlike stealth that he had taught himself to have.

He took her by surprise as he tightened his arm around her chest and grabbed her by the neck, making her body twitch in fear as she rose involuntarily. At the edge of the abyss, he turned her around to face him as he let the cold steel of his blade kiss her skin and travel over her frayed white dress from neck to navel.

How did we come to this?

She did not recognize the man in front of her.

He was the boy who had brought her books when her brothers teased her to the point of crying; who had kept her company in her grief of being a dragonless Targaryen; who had held her hand and promised that he would marry her; the one who had come rushing to her the night he claimed Vhagar, promising to take her on a ride.

He was the man who had taunted her and her brothers' parentage at a family supper; who had kissed her senseless in a lone passageway the very same night when he found out that Rhaenrya had no intention of letting him have her. He was the man who had killed sweet, mischievous Luke; the one whom she had left behind when she had been sent to the North; the one whom she had hoped would come and take her away, against all odds.

So many memories tied to him, inexplicably. And yet, she did not recognize the man in front of her.

As a boy, he had had such striking eyes - in color, but more so in the volatility of their regard. Always flitting about, looking for things to imbibe, to brand into his memory. His functional eye had grown different since she had last seen him - distant, devoid of the charming curiosity that would shine in his violet orb.

The eye of a war-worn murderer. He had probably brought her here because he wanted to kill her too.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered the words, almost uncertain. The coldness of his Valyrian steel dagger made goosebumps rise up on the planes of her skin, and yet, she surprisingly found that she was scared, not in the least.

He smirked and leaned in close to her, the leather strap of his eyepatch grazing her temple as she let the warmth of his breath bloom over her face. He raised the blade to her neck and teased her, being so bold as to let out a throaty, exhausted laugh that sounded more maniacal than anything else. She shut her eyes closed, hoping that if she could keep her world dark, she could pretend that this was all a nightmare.

She had often dreamt that he would take her away. She had hoped and hoped and hoped, and now that he was here, she couldn’t fathom how wrong she had been to wish for it.

Silly little fool.

“Sharp, sweet niece.”

His tone made her flinch. His voice was rough and predatory - so much so that she couldn’t tell if it was him or the situation itself that made her feel that way. “You’re supposed to be dead. Daemon….”

Her voice was lost in the air as he raised his eyebrow, a menacing smile in place as he pressed the blade into her skin - just enough to make a few blood red spots bloom. “I killed him. He thought he was better than me, the old fool. I stabbed him in his right eye, the very one that I lost. Vengeance, dear niece…” His thumb collected the first drop of blood that dripped from where he had made his mark, “... makes for the sweetest of spoils. And I intend to taste more of this victory…”

It happened on instinct, her reaching out to hold his wrist tight through his shirt. The irony of taking the hand of the man who wanted to hurt her and counting on him to not let her fall was not lost on her; but if she didn’t, she was sure she would faint.

“...With you.”

The last words confused her, having her mind scrabbling to piece the puzzle and figure out his intent. “Me?” She leaned her head back to breathe and put some space between her and his blade, but that only spurned him more as he pulled her to him by the back of her neck.

“Aegon, Helaena, Criston, Jaeherys, Maelor, mother…vengeance for them all. When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him, and then I’ll kill the little boy that you call a King. Take what is rightfully mine and avenge them.”

The Aemond she had known was too calculated, too weary to tell anyone anything at all. But this, this wasn’t her Aemond. This was a different man - a mad killer, a stranger; one that intended to use her in his rage-filled path to regicide and revenge.

When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him.

She could only think of one man who would come looking for her. Her betrothed, Cregan Stark - the same man who had shown her Northern hospitality and shared his home and hearth so she could be kept safe away from the bloodshed of the war.

And Aemond wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill them all and take the Iron Throne.

“Gods…”

She had always felt compelled to help during the war. She wasn’t a skilled warrior, nor was she a bold woman. Dainty little sweetheart, her mother used to call her. How can I manage to keep you safe and sound?

She had always wanted to help her mother - be a good daughter and play her part in helping her sit the Throne, as was her birthright. When she had been sent to the North as Cregan Stark’s betrothed, Rhaenyra Targaryen had told her that this was her duty, her contribution to the Blacks’ victory.

You will help me win by keeping my mind at ease about you, child, she had said. You will help me win by staying safe and bringing the Northerners’ allegiance to our cause.

That had been her contribution, but it hadn’t been enough. Daemon, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Rhaenys… they’re all dead. She had done what she could, and it was not enough.

And now, Aemond wanted to kill sweet Aegon. Her beloved brother, the little one who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would make a fine king, she knew - but not if Aemond was going to lure Cregan out to fight and make him vulnerable to attacks.

She’d be damned to all Seven Hells if she let him win.

He had been observing her, it seemed. As she let her thoughts sweep her away, he had taken to watching her, reminding himself of every inch of her. She raised her hand to his warm dry cheek, bony from what could have only been a lack of proper food. How long has he been staying here, amidst the trees?

“You don’t have to do this, uncle. Let me go now, and it’ll be like it never happened. There’s been enough bloodshed.”

She thought she imagined it, but she knew it was true when she felt his grip on the blade falter for just a moment. She made good on his momentary lapse and kicked his knee to fold under him with all her might. He fell, and she took hurried steps away from him as he grunted in pain.

Her skirts swirled as she turned just slightly, sneaking a peek off the edge of the hill. If she jumped, she would fall into the waters that ran below - but would that be enough? She’d have to die. She had to. She would not let him use her; she would not let him kill them.

This was her contribution to the war. Her deceased mother’s victory lay in her daughter’s ability to keep the rightful king alive. This was her chance, and she was not going to fail her. He stood up with panting breaths, and she looked him in the eye as boldly as she could, knowing very well that she might as well be living her last and final moments.

She had always wanted to fly - and if she wasn’t going to do it now, then when would she?

She closed her eyes and threw herself over the edge, seeing the sky become a fading memory as she made the steep drop. Halfway through, she opened her eyes and saw him leaning over the edge, panicked, watching her free-falling figure from the hilltop as she flew, flew, flew.

She fell into the water, making contact with sharp tree branches and thorns on the way down in her descent. The blood on her face and body mixed with the water that surrounded her, and blood-red ripples muddled her vision as she closed her eyes.

Water filled her nostrils, and her vision went dark in a matter of mere moments.

NO TAG LIST. Follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifs for fic updates!

Next Chapter

A/N: Got so inspired by the S2 poster, I managed to finish this damn thing hehe. This was a lot more fast paced than my usual writing style, and I'd love to hear what you guys think! I've been really out of touch with fic writing, and feedback is always welcome :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

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cammys-imagines24 · 4 months

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°•Mizu Being Jealous•°

Mizu isn't naturally a possessive person by any means. She knows the shit women have to go through, being controlled by others and the world.

So, she'd never be dominating towards you or think she has any say in what you do.

That being said, while she trusts you wholeheartedly... she doesn't trust other people. Particularly other men.

Men who view you as just a pretty face. A prize they'd want nothing more than to steal away from her.

Now that just won't do.

See, if it's an easy matter such as someone touching you or groping you without your consent, say no more.

Their fingers? Gone. Their arms? Sliced clean from their body.

If some sleazy flesh trader sets their eyes on you and begins chatting you up, their hand sneaking to places on your body only meant for her touch alone, well...

They're dead. Plain as that. She'll waste no time in tearing them to shreds with her sword, their viscera painting the walls.

And, with blood stained hands she'll cradle your face, her cold demon exterior vanished.

She'll look at you like you're her whole world, which you are. She will protect you to the ends of the earth.

When it's a lascivious man vying for your attention, Mizu doesn't get jealous. She gets protective.

But, when it's not? Well that's another story.

Sometimes it's a girl at a brothel and she takes a liking to you.

The girl will be sweet where most men aren't. She'll smile at you and gingerly slip her kimono off her shoulder.

The sex worker will talk with you, with the hope of something more. Her eyes shining and all the while you seem to be enjoying yourself.

That sets Mizu on edge. Leaves her feeling twisted inside.

Because you should be with someone else.

Someone not hellbent on revenge. An impure demon with a vengeful, angry soul.

The girl would be a better match maybe or someone like her.

Perhaps not a sex worker but someone who can take care of you better than the blue eyed Samurai. Give you a normal life in ways she cannot, at least not until her revenge is complete.

Mizu won't rescue you from the girl because you're smiling and content. Instead she will let you be, never mind the hollow ache in her chest when she sees you start to laugh.

You were just chatting with the sex worker, conversing on friendly terms, regardless of the girls intentions. But, how could your beloved Samurai know that from a distance?

Like an internal echo in your body, you'll feel Mizu's absence immediately and you'll go out into the snow capped village to find her.

She'll be alone beside a natural hot springs, sapphire eyes sad behind her orange lenses.

You'll curl up at her side as if she were your shelter, your blanket.

You'll know right away how she feels. Having learned how to read her slight expressions like the back of your hand.

Mizu is jealous but more than that. She's feeling like she's not good enough for you.

A ridiculous thought really. She couldn't be more wrong.

You'll reach out to take off her glasses and thread your fingers through her hair, undoing her up-do.

"I love you, Mizu. Only you. It will only ever be you who holds my heart."

Her gaze softens from your tender touch. She'll take your hands in hers and kiss every knuckle.

Her mouth, warm against your skin, travelling up your arm until her tongue reaches the moonlit column of your throat and she plants a wet kiss along your necks pulse.

Mizu doesn't deserve you, she thinks. Still, with you in her arms, open to her, your pupils blown wide with sudden lust... who is she to disagree with your choice?

Perhaps the gods gave you to her. A gift for her cursed existence.

"Say it again." She'll whisper against your flesh, hot to the touch despite the winter. Hot from her.

Her fingers deftly untying your kimono, her hands grabbing at your hips as she pulls into her lap.

Her calloused digits digging into your thighs to spread them for her, your chest pressed against hers...

Her fingers tracing your hipbones, making you shudder...

You gasp when they ghost over your navel and down... and further.

To in between your legs. The spot that craves her and is glistening like the hot springs rippling surface beneath the moon.

"I love you, Mizu." You'll moan.

She can't get enough of the sounds you make. Just for her.

"I belong to you." You'll whimper.

Ah, like music to her ears.

Despite Mizu's feeling of jealousy and her worry of being an undeserving partner, she believes you above all else.

You chose her, a miracle really, so she'll do anything to make you happy.

"You're only mine, huh?" She'll rasp, seeking reassurance, between kisses and gentle bites along your skin.

"Y-Yes. Only yours." You'll pant, her expert fingers bringing you to the edge.

Mizu smirks and holds you even closer. She could tease you longer, draw it out like usual but she wants to be good for you. Give you what you need.

In a moment of softness she brushes her lips against your collarbones...

"I love you. You are my life." She'll say to you before making you come.

#blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai mizu #bes mizu x reader #mizu x reader #mizu imagine #mizu imagines #mizu headcanon #mizu headcanons #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #blue eye samurai headcanon #bes x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic

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avaf00rdxx · 4 months

Text

Fridge

Little shits pt 2

Kyra Cooney cross x teen!reader (platonic)

actually finished this shockingly quick. (Not proof read). Submitting it now and going to sleep. So it’s bad.

I had a Leah fic that was pretty good but then half didn’t save in the draft. And rewriting is the worst. I’ll try to get back into it tomorrow if I can promise.

Enjoy bbys

——————————————-

“shit.” Kyra blankly said as she made a huge dent in the mcfoord new fridge. Don’t ask how.

“How the fuck did you manage that!” You exclaimed checking out the massive mark left right in the middle of the fridge.

You and Kyra had been in Baylor against Katie and Caitlin for a few weeks now. It was hilarious to all of you. You were also all getting great content for the Arsenal new YouTube channel where different players would do vlogs of game days and other activities.

“Ok everyone Kyra just broke the fridge” you sighed running your palm over your forehead looking back into the camera

“It’s not definitely broken. We can just undo it” she said. You grabbed the camera to point it towards her raising one eyebrow.

“It’s as big as a bowling ball” you said. Kyra turned to you and the camera with a blank expression.

“I say we grab the toilet plunger.” Before quickly getting up to find it.

“If I were Katie I would rather have massive dent on my fridge then have the fridge smell like my own shit.” You sighed as u sat down on the stool. You two were truly truly fucked this time. Some of your pranks included putting pictures of drunk Caitlin all around every second cubby at the training grounds. This round it was slightly lighter by super gluing the lids to their foods in the fridge. Lame right? Kyra somehow managed to pick up a random pot and accidentally charge it straight into the fridge. You forgot about the camera as you were lost in thought thinking about how badly you fucked up this time. Brand new fridge for their brand new place. It was over.

“Ok no plunge but I did some googling. We just need an ice cube” you guys were the definition of blind leading the blind. So of course you grabbed an ice cube and placed it on the large dent 10 times its size. “Is it working” Kyra asked holding the camera towards you and the ice cube. You slowly turned your head around to face her wiht a blank expression reading no you fucking idiot.

A knock on the door made you both share a look of panic. “The pantry” Kyra pointed intending that you just run away from this problem.

“No dumb ass” you said before getting up and walking to the door. You were nearly 100% it wasn’t Caitlin and Katie as you walked the hallway before twisting the handle.

“Hey tiny” Leah said in surprise to find you here.

“Hey Leah”

“What on earth are you doing here” she questioned

“We need your help” you said hopefully. Kyra peaking around the corner to be seen with a sad smile and a nod. Leah slightly chuckled before following you down the hall. Where you stood from afar with Kyra pointing to the fridge. Leah just bursted out laughing.

“Shit you did this” she chuckled checking it out.

“Yes what do we do!” You slightly yelled. Kyra still in shock from what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. They might be mad but Katie was telling me a new fridge and oven was arriving so it doesn’t really matter-“

“This is the new fridge!” Kyra exclaimed

Leah jaw slightly fell “you’ve truly done it again children”

“Leah please answer. What do we do?” You asked desperate for help.

“We wait until they get home” she said softly before filling up a cup of water for herself and sitting at the dining room table on her phone.

You waited around 20 minutes doing nothing. Kyra on her phone, probably researching how to fix it. And you now just sitting next to Leah looking out the window. It might not seem like a big deal. But a brand new expensive fridge, with a possible non-fixable problem was defiantly a big deal to your young minds. You just had a plan in your mind. Offer to pay to fix it. If you can’t fix it. You and Kyra will go halves on a replacement. Kyra tried to rebuttal when you brought up that plan, but quickly shut up when she realised it was the only option.

This was amusing to Leah. The panic in your faces made her laugh. The whole team was just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

“Let me get this straight you were trying to superglue all of their food? Aha! That’s good” Leah exclaimed with a goofiness in her voice. You and Kyra just sat their blankly. Kyra soon chuckling at the thought of how this whole situation is kind of funny.

A rattle of keys on the front door made your heart completely stop. “Oh hey Leah. And girls. Oh shit what did you do” Caitlin asked with a smirk on her face kind of ready to see the next prank. Just so she could then plot her next one.

“Ok ok so” you put your hands on both their chests before they could walk much further. “We were doing a light hearted prank right. Then we made a mistake. Dear Kyra here-“

“-we both made a mistake ok! We are very very sorry and we will pay for this.” Kyra said. You both stood in front of the three older girls with your hands behind your backs. Apologising like a five year old who just stole lollies.

“Huh” Katie said confused towards the girls, while Caitlin walked into the kitchen to put her bags down.

“Kyra Cooney cross!” There was a yell across the flat. A somewhat fuming Caitlin voice coming from the source. Katie quickly following to see.

“It wasn’t just me!” Kyra quickly defended in panic.

“You did this!” You said to Kyra . Then looking at the two other girls

“I’m gonna head” Leah waved before leaving behind all of you.

“I’ll pay to get it fixed. Even though I didn’t do it” you said to them. Mumbling the last part, targeted towards Kyra.

“Bet your ass you guys will” Katie said

“This is new” Caitlin said looking at the fridge

“That we both know. And we are very very very very sorry a million times” Kyra said pointing between the two of you. You just nodded next to her.

“Sleep with one eye open. Next one will be serious” Katie said smirking. Plotting her next prank.

“You two can go” Caitlin waved you and the 21 year old off. Kyra nodded quickly zooming down the halls.

“Send me your bank details!” You said before walking out. Forgetting the camera on the bench. You went to grab it before heading out again.

“Bye gooners!” You said. Before turning the camera to Kyra who was waiting for the elevator next to you. Who turned around and poking her tongue out.

#kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #Kyra Cooney cross imagine #Katie McCabe x Reader #caitlin foord x reader #arsenal wfc #wsl #woso x reader #woso x Teen reader #Arsenal wfc x teen #Arsenal #ausenal

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junkdrawerfics · 10 months

Text

Game On

(one of my favorite clips, lowkey)

Jasper X Reader

Summary: A little snippet of wolf!reader playing baseball with the Cullens. You and Emmett have a little rivalry going, and you'll do anything for some Jasper scratches.

Word Count: 1021

---

“You sure you can keep up with us, wolfie?” Emmet calls from the batter’s box with an absolutely snarky grin.

You cock a brow at him, settling into a crouch with an equally vicious smile, “Just you watch me, Em, you won’t make it to first base.”

“I’d like to see that,” he taunts back, twisting his grip on the bat and posing it over his shoulder.

Jasper chuckles from across the field, the sound easily reaching your sensitive ears, “Take it easy on him, darlin’.”

“No can do, Jas.” Your friendly rivalry with Emmett started as soon as you and Jasper got together, only made worse by you being a shifter. Competitiveness runs deep in your blood. “Someone has to put him in his place, and you pansies sure aren’t going to.”

“Ooh-” Emmett hisses through his teeth dramatically. “-you gonna let her talk to you like that?”

“I’m not one to get offended by a few words,” Jasper shoots back, smirk all too cocky, “Not like when you whined a full week when she called you a cream puff.”

“Hey-”

“It’s time!” Alice chimes before Emmett can stand up for himself.

You snicker and he throws a glare your way.

Game on.

With your enhanced speed and strength, you put up a good fight against the vampires. It’s almost unfair, you and Jasper working perfectly in sync, getting them out one at a time. On your turn to bat, the feeling of smashing the ball, brutal and unrestrained, makes your whole body spark to life, driving you through the plates like a flash of lightning. It’s exhilarating.

Nearing the end of the thunderstorm, the game is close, your team up by one run. Emmett is back up to bat. Chest heaving, heart pounding, you make eye contact with him and, with the most wolfish smile, mouth a silent, ‘Bring it.’

Emmett scowls, eyes focusing back on Alice, and you hear Jasper chuckle softly.

Alice winds up, moving with practiced ease, and launches the baseball straight down the line. A crack of thunder overlaps the loud ring of the bat slamming into it, and it goes flying. You go flying after it.

You tear through the trees, eyes bright with glee as you follow the ball. The wind whips your hair around wildly, the damp ground giving way under your feet. You feel free. Out of breath, every muscle aching, but free. The moment right before your feet leave the ground, adrenaline surges through every cell of your body and you explode into a mess of fur and snapping teeth.

You jump, far too high, far too fast. But your teeth clamp down on the baseball, practically ripping through the leather, before you go crashing to the ground in a flurry of dirt and grass. The earth shakes at your impact, the sound louder than the storm’s thunder.

“(Y/n)!”

The family of vampires freeze, eyes wide. Jasper races after you. Worry burns through his veins as he comes to a stop at the crater’s edge. Gold eyes narrowed, he desperately searches through the haze of dirt for a sign that you’re okay.

Then you pop back up, and all his concern dissipates. You, in wolf form, look up at him with happy, squinted eyes, the ball still clamped firmly in your jaws. Your whole body practically shakes with how hard your tail is wagging.

“Well look at you,” the blond sighs, shaking his head, “I didn’t know wolves could fly, darlin’.”

Shaking off the dirt clinging to your fur, you scramble out of the hole you created. Without hesitation, you push into Jasper’s open arms. He chuckles as you wiggle in his grip, letting out little happy huffs as he scratches your head. You love it when he gives you scratches in wolf form, it’s like getting a massage in human form.

“You know-” You perk your ears and pause to look up at his slanted, mischievous grin. “-Emmett won’t like this.”

You let out a muffled ‘woof’. He better not like it, because he just signed his defeat. You won. The thought makes you growl happily as you adjust the ball in your mouth. Time to show off your victory.

Jasper sticks by your side and you trot back to the field. The moment you reach the tree line, Emmett lets out a loud, rumbling groan.

“That has to be cheating!”

“Umpire?”

Everyone turns to Esme. Emmett looks so hopeful, but then she looks at you and winks. You’ve never been so happy to see someone’s face plummet.

“You’re out, Emmett.”

You drop the ball and let out a small victorious howl. The man glares at you playfully, but you catch the smallest glimpse of a smile when you do a few happy stomps and throw yourself at Jasper. The blond grunts as your full weight takes you both to the ground.

“Darlin’,” he wheezes out a bright laugh, “you’re crushing me.”

You huff, not caring even a bit as you drop your head on top of his chest. More scratches. You deserve more scratches, you won the game! Jasper can feel your insistence, having grown accustomed to reading your more chaotic emotions in this form, and gives in when you nudge him with your nose, licking his face. He curls his fingers through your thick fur, earning a happy grumble from you.

“We’re going to head back to the house,” Carlisle announces, voice ringing with amusement, “Feel free to join us when you would like to.”

Which ends up being far later in the night because there is something so lovely about just curling up with your vampire and watching the stars come out. He eventually goes and retrieves your extra clothes (he started keeping some with him after several phasing accidents) and you return to the Cullen household, where you mercilessly mock Emmett.

“How does it feel to lose to a wolf, cream puff?”

“(Y/n), I swear to God I’m gonna-”

You dash up the stairs, giggling wildly. Jasper follows behind slowly, tossing the bigger vampire a smug grin.

“Next time, you shouldn’t underestimate her.”

---

This idea came to me at like midnight and I wrote down the idea and I love it. I hope you guys enjoyed it too!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #wolf reader #baseball scene #wrote this listening to super massive blackhole

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avis-writeshq · 5 months

Text

06 — untouchable

summary: “come on, come on, say that we’ll be together/”i’m caught up in you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: rated 16+ for two mentions of nakedness, short blood mention, brief mention of dead things, mostly canon compliant (s4 e23 ‘amplification’), wc: 4.3k a/n: thank you again to the lovely @astrophileous for beta-reading <3 good luck on your thesis babes MWAH SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

38 Hours Before the Phone Call – Monday, 8:42AM, BAU Office

Spencer arrives at the office with a stupidly giddy smile on his face. His cheeks are flushed as he grips a hot takeaway cup of coffee in his hands. He taps the cup idly with his fingers, bouncing on the heels of his feet as he steps out of the elevator unable to shake the smile off his face. It’s ridiculous and insane and borderline delusional but he knows it’s far from that. After all, he has a perfectly good reason as to why he is in such high spirits and that reason is you. After years of pining and psyching himself up (only to psych himself out) he managed to actually ask you out on a date. And, he reminds himself with a silly smile, he actually kissed you. And it wasn’t one of those platonic kisses, no, this was an actual kiss to the lips and he couldn’t be happier.

He thinks back to the previous night, visualising the way your cheeks grew warm and the way your lips felt against his. His own cheeks flush at the thoughts and he remembers committing that version of you to memory. How on earth are you so beautiful? Even while sleep deprived with dark bags under your eyes or unruly hair, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Pretty boy,” Derek comments in a teasing sing-songy voice as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant. “Ooh, I know that look.”

Spencer chokes a little, wiping his mouth with a tissue in his bag. “What look?”

“Someone got lucky last night,” Derek responds with a grin. “It must be the hair. I heard that long hair gets all the ladies nowadays.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Spencer is quick to deny, walking through the big glass doors of the office.

“Who got lucky last night?” Emily asks, poking her head out of her little stall. Her eyes flit to Spencer and she grins. “Oh… I see how it is.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Spencer says adamantly, swiping a hand over his face. “It isn’t like that. Whatever we have is good. It doesn’t need to be–” He coughs quietly as blood rushes to his ears– “to be sexual. I like her. More than physically.”

Emily coos at his confession, twisting around her desk to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a gentleman, Reid.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says through a laugh, swatting Emily’s hands away. “Being a gentleman. Some women prefer it over the whole macho act.”

“Hey, I am plenty gentleman,” Derek says swiftly, holding a finger out. “And chicks dig the macho thing.”

***

14 Hours Before the Phone Call – Tuesday, 7:09AM, BAU Office

It was supposed to be a normal morning. It was supposed to be an average Tuesday with your average, run-of-the-mill serial killer with daddy issues but instead, JJ called the entire team in the early hours of the morning, saying to get to the BAU as quickly as possible.

“Case must be local. JJ said not to bring a go-bag,” Spencer says as they enter the office.

In moments they were met with a complete arsenal of military personnel, bustling around their desks and storming throughout the office. Others were answering and sending phone calls, demanding for processes to be sped up as Hotch speaks to a group of people in his own personal office, Rossi beside him.

“What’s the army doing here?” Derek asks, his brows furrowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Emily demands, eyeing the uniformed professionals as they splay casefiles across their desks.

They all enter the conference room where JJ was waiting for them, along with a neatly dressed Asian woman with her hair tied up in a ponytail and out of her face.

“Guys, this is Dr Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ introduces, filling up styrofoam cups with water and placing them around the round table.

“Hello. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” she says as she places pills on a shiny metal tray.

Spencer frowns at that. “What circumstances?”

Hotch enters the room instantly, gripping a case file in his iron fist. “We need to get started.”

“Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after 2PM yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It’s now just past 7AM the next day, we have twelve people dead,” JJ explains as the rest of team look through the manilla files.

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Derek murmurs thoughtfully. “Anthrax?”

Spencer flicks through the papers, scanning the tox screen. “Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast.”

“This strain does,” Kimura says, an edge of fear in her tone.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets– airports, malls, trains?” Emily asks, turning to Hotch who shakes his head.

“There’s a media blackout.”

“We’re not telling the public?”

Derek looks over at Emily. “We’d have a mass exodus.”

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi explains.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer says as he sifts through the papers.

“Or if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again. Doesn’t the public have the right know that?”

“If there is another attack, there’s no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet,” Hotch says urgently. “Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”

Spencer wets his bottom lip nervously, his thoughts drifting to you. You work indoors all day. You’ll be fine, you have to be. “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized,” Kimura explains, “reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. Odourless and invisible.”

Rossi nods, almost as if he wasn’t surprised at all upon hearing the news. “A sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Derek points out, gesturing to the less than positive crime photos in their files.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Kimura begins, taking an ultrasound scan of a patient’s lungs and presenting it to the team. “Its the lungs. We don’t know how to com2bat the toxins once they’re inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. Our offices will become a small command centre,” JJ tells them.

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch adds on.

“General Whitworth is coming here?” Rossi asks.

Hotch nods in the affirmative. “He’s in charge of sit containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Kimura goes on to tell the team, looking at each person.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch says, dishing out responsibilities. “Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene. There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

Linda hands a small plastic container, each one having two round tablets resting inside. “We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something.”

Emily lets out a nervous breath as she toys with the rim of the container. “This… is really happening?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch says as reassuringly as possible before knocking his head back and taking the two Cipro tablets.

“Cent’anni,” Rossi toasts, holding the little container out. “May you live one hundred years.”

***

Everyone rushes about, gathering files and resources before the head off to complete their allocated assignments. Regardless of how much is at stake in this certain situation, Spencer feels his heart spike with anxiety. It’s against protocol, sure, but shouldn’t he call you? Tell you to take a sick day and stay at home, or to just stay indoors the entire time you’re at work. Maybe if he’s lucky he could get you into witness protection.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch says slowly, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind him.

Spencer freezes, his hands pausing as they rummage through his bag in search of his cell. “I’m not.”

“You’re not thinking?” Hotch asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know what you want to do.”

“I can’t just– I can’t just keep her in the dark, Hotch,” Spencer insists, continuing to feel for his cell phone. “She could get infected and–” His mouth runs dry at the idea and he swallows thickly. “If I can protect her, then why shouldn’t I?

Aaron sighs, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knit together. “I know you care about her and I know you’re worried, but she isn’t on this team anymore. If we all called home and used this information to give them the advantage that other people don’t have… is that really the right thing to do?”

“Don’t give me a moral dilemma, Hotch. This isn’t a hypothetical,” Spencer counters, finally finding the little device buried at the bottom of his satchel. “When I– when the incident with Tobias Hankel happened, she never gave up on me. She went out on a limb for me. I’m returning the favour.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment before finally, “What about the guilt?”

Spencer balks. “What?”

“If she is saved because of the information you gave her… can you imagine the guilt she would feel? She’s a selfless person, Spencer, and knowing her… well, you can guess what she would do,” Aaron says, glancing back to his office where Rossi is waving him over. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Kimura is waiting for you.”

Hotch is gone before Spencer could say anything. He huffs quietly, guilty after hearing Hotch’s words. Even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he has to accept that his boss is right. The best way to keep you safe is by finding this UnSub before he could hurt any more people. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, stalking out of the BAU offices. Hopefully you’ll forgive him.

***

“Dr. Lawrence Nichols? Yeah, I read about him. He was highly respected doctor who studied anthrax prior to the attacks in 2001,” Spencer says as he gets into the passenger seat of Derek’s SUV. He rolls up the sleeves of his dark purple shirt, brushing some sweat from his forehead. “They think that he’s behind it?”

“There was a video of him at a conference with the with the National Defense Committee. He was paranoid after the Amerithrax attacks in 2001, proposing some crazy high budget to ‘protect the people of America’,” Derek explains. “He matches the profile exactly. Prentiss and Rossi are heading to his work. Apparently he got demoted into working with influenza.”

Spencer grimaces as he stares at the overgrowing rose bushes at the front of Dr. Nichols’s house, his nose scrunching up in distaste. Do people not hire gardeners anymore? He squeezes past a few bushes to follow Derek closer to the house, hissing when his hand gets caught on one of the thorns. He shakes his hand out, a scratch already blooming on the back of his hand with small droplets ot blood already emerging.

He continues to walk into the house as Derek’s phone rings, entering the house through a glass sliding door. The whirring of the fan above him grabs his attention and he frowns. The fan is on but the door is open… someone must have left in a hurry. He takes another step forward, jolting when he hears the sound of glass being crushed under his feet. Shit.

“Reid?” Derek yells, and Spencer jumps.

“Morgan, get– get back!” Spencer yells, slamming the sliding door shut so hard that the glass shakes. “Get back! Get out of here!”

Derek frowns, tugging at the handle. ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“No, don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks again, tugging once more at the handle; Spencer is a lot stronger than he expected.

“What’s wrong?”

Spencer pushes his hair out of his face in frustration as he locks the door, turning back to his friend. “I’m sorry.”

It is in that moment that Derek’s eyes turn to the ground, his eyes widening in disbelief as he sees the white powder in the room leaking from a broken test tube with a bright yellow symbol for ‘biological hazard’.

It feels like hours before Hotch and the military arrive at the house, along with an ambulance and a hazmat team. The stench of Dr. Nichols’s dead body lingers in the air even though the air-con is blasting and the air is circulating through the room. He doesn’t even want to think about the dead animals and test subjects in the cages, his stomach churning at the mere thought. From what he could tell, the doctor was dead three days ago, meaning that he couldn’t have been the one to infect those people at the park. His head is pounding and his throat itches and all of a sudden he can’t breathe. He tells himself to relax but how can he when he very well could die in here? He knows the statistics; only 55% of those who receive aggressive treatment survive. He doesn’t like those odds.

“Hotch, I really messed up this time,” he says hoarsely into the phone, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.

“Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch says firmly, and Spencer watches as he puts the call on speaker.

“What– no, I’m staying right here,” Spencer insists, frowning.

Derek interrupts swiftly, “No, you’re not, Reid.”

“I’m already exposed,” Spencer says, his voice straining as he turns back into Dr. Nichols’s makeshift lab. “It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”

General Whitworth grimaces in response. “He’s already infected. Now, if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”

“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols,” Spencer insists as he searches through the lab for what seems like the millionth time.

Test tubes, files, and text books litter the lab, a flurry of papers splayed across the floor. The sight of them remind him of the first time he met you when you had ran into him on his first official day at the BAU. You were a swirling rainstorm as you practically slammed your head against his chest, the paperwork you were carrying flying into the air as you toppled over like a house of cards. In that moment, Spencer could have sworn that you were untouchable. You were like a fire, burning brighter than the sun, and he would be damned if he ever made that flame flicker away.

“Come on, Hotch, say something to him,” Derek tries again, worry laced in his tone.

Aaron hesitates as he considers his options before sighing. “He’s right. His best chase is inside. We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, it’s not going to do me any good. I’m already infected.” Spencer knows that if you were still part of the team that you would be scolding him about being so stubborn. Hell, you’re not even on the team anymore and you still scold him about it.

As he continues to try and search for more clues and filtering the information he finds through to Derek, his thoughts continuously drift back to you. You and your blissfully unaware state. He thinks of the way you smile and the way you felt in his arms that day. He is sure that the universe is playing tricks with him because the one moment he finally has you, you’re ripped away from him. His mind wanders back to the way your eyes lit up and the way your lips felt against his and in that moment he’s begging. He’s begging whatever higher power there is that he is part of the 55% of people who survive an anthrax attack after treatment.

“Hey, Reid,” Penelope’s voice echoes through the phone, sad and mopey. It’s unlike her, incredibly uncharacteristic and Spencer chokes out a quiet laugh.

“Reid? Wow, no, uh… no witty Garcia greeting for me?” He asks, running his fingers through his damp sweaty hair. It’s disgusting and gross and he hates it because he knows that it’s a symptom of the disease.

Penelope chuckles weakly from the other side of the line. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that so instead he asks, “Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I… I know I can’t call… I know I can’t call (Y/N) or my mother without, uh–” he coughs, wiping his face with the palm of his hand and feeling his clammy skin– “without alerting everyone.”

“What do you need?”

“I– uh– I need you to record a message. Two messages. One for my mother and the other for… for (Y/N). In case anything happens to me.” His voice cracks as he speaks, his hand trembling because oh God, this really could be the end. After everything he went through going to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings, getting clean, going to therapy… this is how it ends?

“Oh, nothing is gonna happen to you,” Garcia says, wholeheartedly believing it. “You’re gonna brilliantly find ut who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

Spencer lets out a nervous breath. “I hope you’re right. But if you’re not, I just… I really want to make sure that they hear my voice. Both of them.”

“Okay. Just– just give me a second,” Penelope mumbles, clicking away on her keyboard.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“This– um, it’s for my mum first…” He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “Hi, mum. This is Spencer. I just– I just really want you to know that I love you, and– and I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

Penelope presses pause on that message, murmuring, “Okay. And– and for (Y/N)?”

“Is it on?” He asks quietly, coughing as the itchiness in his throat refuses to relent. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter.” His voice catches in his throat as he speaks, tears slipping past his eyes as he tries to choke out the words. “If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

“Reid?”

Dr. Kimura enters the room through the sliding door, clad in a bright red hazmat suit. “Prep the victim for transfer.”

“I gotta go,” Spencer says quickly, hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.

“Dr. Reid,” Kimura says, walking over to him.

“You look nice,” he says drily, staring at the uniform. It looks very similar to an astronaut costume and if he were in any other situation, he would have started to laugh.

Kimura chuckles quietly. “I haven’t been in this outfit for a while.”

“How… how are the patients doing?” Spencer manages to ask, and suddenly it feels as if all the air is kicked out of his lungs. His head throbs with each attempt he makes to take in a breath and sweat pools at the top of his lip.

“Let’s worry about you.”

“I actually… I feel fine,” Spencer lies through gritted teeth, the muscles in his shoulders aching with each heave of his chest.

Kimura nods, her concern palpable. “Okay, if you feel any pain, I can give you something.”

In an instant, the fear of losing all the progress he has made in the past year pools to his stomach and he shakes his head adamantly, ignoring the way the room spins. “No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.”

“We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable and I don’t want to take any narcotics!” Spencer says firmly, and he can see the realisation dawn in Kimura’s eyes.

“Okay… tell me how I can help.”

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says through heavy breaths, sucking in a mouthful of air with every sentence.

It isn’t long before the hazmat team has Spencer in a decontamination tent, the smell of sterile plastic filling his nose. They’re hosing him down behind a clear plastic curtain, Derek standing in front of him. The feeling of the cold water splashing against his back is uncomfortable, and Spencer grimaces at the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin. It’s gross and his work shirt is growing heavy from the waterweight, sagging down on his shoulders. The anthrax isn’t helping either. It’s too hot and too cold all at once, it’s too hard to breathe and it’s like his head weighs a million pounds.

“Go help Hotch,” Spencer croaks out to Derek, shivering as they continue to spray water on his back and front.

“Hotch has plenty of people helping him,” Derek dismisses.

Spencer shakes his head and regrets it immediately, his head starting to spin. “He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.”

“I’m about to get naked so that they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” Spencer deadpans.

Derek grimaces before finally saying, “What if (Y/N) were here? Would you tell her to go?”

“(Y/N) wouldn’t mind seeing me naked.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot upwards at Spencer’s less than innocent words, immediately turning away. “We are having a conversation about this later. Take good care of him, please.”

The ambulance is stuffy and cramped, and the scrubs that he has to wear is itchy and uncomfortable. They’re menial thoughts that don’t even matter considering the severity of the situation, and Spencer wheezes out of a cough; a reminder that he might not even live to see the next day. The nasal cannula that is attached to Spencer’s nose isn’t doing much to assist him to breathe, and he coughs again.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Kimura asks as she checks his vitals.

“My throats a little dry, but other than that I feel– I flee– feel…” He blanks. His mind knows the words but they get stuck on his tongue and he panics. It can’t end like this. He refuses for it to end like this. “Flee– fleel– I–”

Kimura nods in understanding, a sense of urgency behind her words. “Okay. Okay, you’re doing okay. Driver, faster!”

“Call–” Spencer tries again, the words spinning in his head. “Pelen– Penel… low… len…”

Call Penelope, he tries to say, the lights in the ambulance growing brighter and brighter. She needs to give (Y/N) the message, she needs to… she needs to…

All he sees is white.

***

The first thing Spencer notices when he regains consciousness is the smell of lavender and oranges overpowering the sterile scent of antibacterial wipes. It’s comforting and familiar and he wracks his brain as he tries to remember where he remembers it from. He doesn’t remember much; only getting into the ambulance and Kimura asking him questions. He shuffles around in his hospital bed, stretching his aching muscles. He forces his eyes open little by little, and he quints at the woman at the end of his hospital bed.

“(Y/N)?”

“You ass,” you respond tearfully, your voice cracking as you swat him lightly on the arm. “You refused treatment?”

He smiles a little, sitting up on the bed. “Hey, angel.”

“Don’t ‘hey angel’ me,” you sniffle, taking hold of his hand and stroking his palm with your thumb. “You scared me.”

Spencer hums softly in acknowledgement, squeezing your hand back. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. Kimura said that you should be free to go in a couple of days but you need rest afterwards,” you tell him, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You owe me a date.”

“I do,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed and a giddy smile on his face despite where he is. He looks at you, you and his oversized CalTech hoodie. The hoodie in itself is ugly; a muted grey with a half-assed logo slapped to the front and Spencer has hated it ever since he bought it with what little funds he had back in college. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t hate it so much when you wear it. “You look beautiful.”

You roll your pretty eyes at him, moving your chair closer to him. “Liar.”

“Never,” he whispers. “Never to you.”

You smile at him again, bringing your lips to the back of his hand. “You told me you loved me. Is that true, too?”

“Love,” he corrects you quietly, “and I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Heat rushes up your neck at his words and you beam at him, kissing his cheeks. “I love you.”

He reaches a hand out to hold the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the line from your ear to your jaw. “I love you,” he says into the space between you, before kissing you again.

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dmwrites · 5 months

Text

The site of Jimmy’s grave was a bit more damaged then it had been before. There were craters all over the land from the wither- a damn wither, really Grian and Etho?

Cleo opened the chest that had been Jimmy’s makeshift coffin, pulled out the bit of rotten flesh she’d put in to represent him. She brushed the squishy lump off and lifted her shirt slightly, slapping the flesh back onto her torso. It was a wet sound, and she was kind of disappointed that no one else was around to be disgusted by that.

Cleo wondered how long after Jimmy’s death could she start calling herself a psychic for having him attend his own funeral on the same day that he did, in fact, die. She put a hand on the gravestone she’d made- poor bastard, she thought to herself.

There were footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Joel approaching her.

“Hello, Cleo.”

“Hi Joel.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just cleaning up from the funeral.”

A silence fell between them. Cleo shot a look at Joel. He held his bow loosely in his grip, staring at the gravestone. Cleo did some quick mental math. Of everyone on the server, it really must have been Joel that had lost the most. His wife. His ally. Whatever odd homoerotic thing Jimmy and Joel had going on all the time. She had heard his screams of Jimmy and Mumbo’s names as they’d perished- they’d both died right in front of everyone. Anguished cries that no one even had the time to acknowledge in the chaos.

Cleo wanted to walk away. She really did- hell, she and Joel were on opposite sides of the spectrum at this point- he’d lost so many, and Cleo had her two idiot allies back at home, green and happy and alive. Why on earth would she possibly care about anyone other than her own allies?

She sighed. She didn’t walk away.

“I’m sorry, Joel, for your losses today.”

“Doesn’t matter- was bound to happen anyway.” Joel spoke in a deeply bitter tone, like he was trying and failing to spit acid.

“Alright, play the emotionally unavailable guy, see if I care.” Cleo did make to move away, but Joel spoke again, softer now.

“Why did they have to die, Cleo?”

“We all will, probably sooner rather than later, Joel.”

“But why them? Mumbo and Jimmy and… Lizzie.” Joel’s name caught on the word Lizzie, and his face crumbled. Cleo watched him as he stepped forward, putting a hand on the gravestone. “Could you leave this up, Cleo? It would be nice for… some people on the server to be able to visit every once in a while.”

Cleo decided not to tell Joel that she’d planned on leaving the gravestone up so she could gloat about guessing that Jimmy would die.

“Sure, Joel.” Cleo said, and her heart felt like it was twisting horribly as she watched Joel sag against the cold stone, hand pressed to the sign with Jimmy’s name. She walked forward, softly, and etched Lizzie and Mumbo’s names into the wooden sign.

“You… take all the time you need. Or anyone else who needs to… mourn.”

She took a few steps away, then stopped and turned around again. Joel was tracing the letters of Lizzie’s name now, over and over again. Cleo lowered her gaze and continued walking away- it felt indecent to watch.

#aaand another one #lol #secret life smp #zombiecleo #smallishbeans

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romanoffsbish · 5 months

Text

The Ultimate Prize

Wanda Maximoff x Reader (No pronouns or gender specific body parts used)

Prompt Request (done backwards 😳🙃) | Wanda decides to challenge your resolve | WC: 2,416

18+ | Minors DNI

"I'm bored," Wanda bemoaned, you didn't even spare her a glance so she raised the stakes, "Wanna play?"

You hummed, the only answer she'd get so early in the morning. Wanda practically squealed at your attention, but she didn't, instead she somehow kept her cool, sliding into your lap as she seductively dropped her tone, "First person to become turned on loses."

——

You ruminated on her taunting words for a few moments, waking up the rest of the way for the sake of the proposition at hand, you could already feel her heat. You leaned in closer, lips softly brushing as you chuckled, "Wouldn't you be winning though?" Wanda tilted her head, amusing you further. "If you so much as smell needy, I'll devour you whole pretty girl."

Wanda whined, she'd already failed before the game even began, she felt her panties sticking to her core. She'd had quite the dream about you, and the thoughts had yet to cease to flow through her conscious mind. It was something you'd picked up on, actually, it was her prior squirming that roused you into consciousness.

You kissed her right then, with so much force that you had to wrap your arms around her curvy figure to keep her from falling. Wanda gasped in fear at the sway of her body, allowing you to slip your tongue right over hers before it caressed the back of her teeth. You let her suckle on your muscle as you laid her flat on the mattress and slid your knee between her silky thighs.

"How bad do you want me, my love?" Wanda couldn't speak, she sinfully whimpered, pressing her core into your knee as she did, like a desperate whore. You chuckled devilishly in reply, "I'm gonna do the type of things that happen in your dreams."

The witch gulped as she saw the intensity in your eyes, a spark of fear shot throughout her body and she was squirming on the bed. The need was palpable, and you almost wanted to tease her, but you were just as horny, so you chose to jump straight into action instead. The redhead gazed up at you in wonder, eyes tracking the way your tongue wet your upturned lips. You were so cocky sometimes that it made her feel embarrassed.

This effect you had on her was borderline sinister, but fuck if it wasn't everything she needed, you were her addiction, and you very well knew it. "Open your legs wide for me darling," you purred and they instantly fell slack against the mattress, her hips stopped gyrating down and she waited for instruction. "What a good girl, who could've guessed you'd also be such a slut."

There were no more words, only direct action from you. Wanda cried out as you folded her body like a pretzel, her lower spine curved off of the mattress, her knees now settled on either side of her head and your tongue dove as deeply as it could into her warmth.

The sounds you made as you moved your head about while sucking and licking were lewd, and profitable. You couldn't help it, it was a purely carnal response. It was like heaven on earth, no one could ever compare to your beautiful, sweet witch. The one that would cook you a five star meal, and when you'd let her she'd feed it to you, but truthfully you always preferred dessert, usually before the entree; she never seemed to mind.

Your girlfriend was insatiable, just the same as you. Most mornings, if she actually made it to the kitchen, you'd find her cooking breakfast, in nothing but panties and an apron that read—Kiss the Chef, with an arrow that pointed down, an open invitation of sorts.

One that you dutifully accepted every single time.

Even with her body twisted, ankles crossed over one another behind your neck, Wanda was meeting your tongue with thrusts of her own, proving her strength went beyond her powers, her abs were well toned.

Wetness smeared all over your face, and you prayed that your pores would hold onto her scent for a while. People ask you for your skincare routine all the time, but nobody ever believes you when you say Wanda. They usually laugh it off, and you would just follow as it saved you the trouble of any forging competition.

You weren't exactly worried, listening to the way your girlfriend moaned your name was enough reassurance, but it was nice to know no one was trying to take her.

Wanda was too lost in the pleasure to feel the way you possessively gripped her thighs as your thoughts ran, holding her open so that you could devour her wholly. Nobody else could ever match your efficiency as you had her crying out, that gorgeous body of hers writhing in the air as her pussy creamed in mere minutes.

The witch wasn't ever going to leave, she found solace in your eyes, and unbound pleasure on your tongue. It truly was, as the people say, the best of both worlds.

As your lovers back curved in a downwards slump you knew it was time to offer her strained spine reprieve. So, with a far more gentle touch you lowered her onto the mattress, allowing her legs to unravel, milky thighs touched base with the sheets and she sighed in thanks as your lips continued to make out with her lower set.

A hum of satisfaction left you as her arousal continued to seep from her, the sticky remnants dribbled down your chin and soaked into the fabric of your nightshirt, which felt uncomfortable against your skin now, but you couldn't be bothered to stop what you were doing. Far too engrossed in the feeling of her walls trying to suck your tongue back inside, Wanda whined in unison, shamelessly expressing her need. You met her frustrated cries with two fingers that entered her and you immediately scissored them, stretching out the walls that worked overtime to keep them restrained.

With every thrust into her she became increasingly mindless, the most powerful, feared being on any Earth, and yet she crumbled so easily for you. You chuckled at the endearing thought, adding to her pleasure as your lips were wrapped around her clit.

Your free hand had been groping her breasts, deft fingers pinched at her nipples, your eyes peered up to see the fruits of your labor unfold; she looked ethereal, her mouth permanently agape, eyes crossed with beads of sweat illuminated beneath the early morning rays.

This unrelenting urge to be closer to her overtook you, even with your fingers buried deep inside her it wasn't enough, it never was. You briefly paused, ignoring her groans as you tore your own shirt off, and found that alone calmed the witch. Her glossy eyes ran over the nudity she'd been yet to see, and she smiled tiredly. You winked, enjoying the way her cheeks somehow managed to darken, as if being caught was a crime.

Wanda was always shy like this, even in the midst of passionate moments, she never lost the bashfulness. It was overall adorable, sometimes distracting, but not in this case because just as quickly as you'd pulled away you were back on her. Entering her with the addition of two more fingers, and with wet, plump lips that were more than prepared to catch her moans as they were violently ripped from her constricted throat. You felt the way the muscle bobbed beneath your hand and couldn't help but to grin against her lips and cheek.

The redhead had casually mentioned wanting to be choked a few months back, but up until now you'd only ever teased her. Whether that be when she asked you to help her with her necklace before a party, and you jokingly placed your hand there instead, or when you two would make love, your fingers would wrap around her throat, but never offered the pressure she craved.

Until today, when you made all her dreams come true.

Wanda came with a choked down scream, no sound left her but you felt the pleasure against your palms. There were no aftershocks, only continued writhing as you sought to overstimulate her, she whined, and weakly pushed at your chest, but you were determined.

"You asked for this baby, so take it like a good girl," you purred against the side of her neck, kissing over the red lines you'd left behind. Your lips trailed over her perfect jawline until they were back against hers where she sloppily kissed you. Her fingers dug into your shoulder blades as another wave of warm arousal gushed out of her, and pooled in your palm.

Wanda was panting wildly, in need of a minute, so you softly kissed all over her face to give her one. Without much effort you reached beside your marital bed and into a mini fridge, designated only for a variety of toys and mini waters. You pulled a bottle out, and took a long swig down before giving her the remaining sip. Wanda groaned in satisfaction, the cool liquid helping to ease her parched throat, but it dried up once more. Tired green eyes had found yours, and she knew it wasn't time for a nap, the darkness that enveloped your orbs meant she unlocked your true potential.

Then she felt it—a chilled tip against her warm hole. For a moment she wondered if it was you who could read minds, because her wet dream was unfolding in perfect harmony. You'd yet to tell her that she talks in her sleep... The way she moaned was a distinct praise.

The chilled glass dildo you used was unlike any other you two had used before, Wanda could tell you'd updated your inventory. This one was crafted with red and white swirls, almost like a candy cane but without the curve. It was undeniably thick too, you struggled to enter her, pushing beyond the resistance, which meant she felt every groove as it prodded against her used walls. Even with her slick, it got caught on her entrance as the icy layer offered further resistance to your harsh push. Wanda had to wait for reprieve, she needed you to pull out and ruthlessly ram it back inside repeatedly, but you were making her wait for the toy to warm up.

Every time she's complained before you just go slower, so she just took this time to breathe, especially since you've already given her three toe curling orgasms.

Her slow breathing actually helped in allowing a few inches of the glass to slip in with ease, Wanda shivered, from the cold or pleasure you weren't too sure, until a soft whimper left her cracked lips to insinuate both.

"Does it feel good baby?" Your voice was silky smooth, and sensual enough to make her cunt swallow the rest of the dildo up. Wanda swore in Sokovian under her breath as soon as she felt the fullness, her mind was too hazy to actually register your words cognitively. "Answer me, or I won't move." That she did hear, and she wracked her brain for the prior sentence, offering you a meek, "So good," just to get you to make it better.

You chuckled, "there's my good girl," a deep raspiness enveloped your words and made her walls flutter as you began to pick up a steady pace. In, out—in, out that's the way you did it until she was too used to the pattern. Her body was engaged, her slick seeping into the sheets beneath her proof enough, but it wasn't thrilled, so you swirled the dildo every few entries.

Her hips would jolt up with each swirl against her spot, just for you to press them back down to make sure she took it only as you intended. Wanda began to scream out her Sokovian expletives the more you gave, her eyes crossed and blurred whenever you bottomed out.

"Oh fuck," she cried out, hands clawing into your sides as she needed something to ground her. "You're doing so good for me baby, your pretty pussy's loving this." You winced against the skin of her neck, and bit down into it as her nails dragged down your sides, it was too much, your teasing words, and the mix of sensations.

It was jarring, really, the way that everything was contradicting, one second her body was frozen as the frigid cold encapsulated her senses, then it was like fire was blooming throughout her body with the friction. Wanda mewled as your tongue hotly slid up her throat, collecting the drops of sweat that began to roll, her skin so hot that the action actually cooled her down.

The pleasure that came from such a mix of feeling pushed her over the edge, hard. Her cunt sounded off, warm slick sloshed all over your exposed abdomen and you both groaned at the feeling. Everything went dark for the witch, her body all but shutting down as yours became more lively. You peered down to watch her arousal pour out of her aggravated hole, it had pulled the dildo in further before repelling it back out.

"You are just perfect," you keened while kissing her roughly. You tossed the glass piece onto the sheets somewhere while your lips moved with hers. It was a slow, sensual process the way you kissed her down from her high. Your hips softly ground into her pelvis, but you were careful not to push her too far, just moving enough to finally relieve your own aching sex.

It was subtle until you moaned into her mouth, the way your body shivered atop of hers enough of a sign. It was hot, and Wanda wanted to flip you over, but she was too tired. There was however a tease on the tip of her tongue, but you cut her off with your own as you laughed, "Looks like you failed." Wanda blinked harshly in disbelief, she truly thought she could hold up the illusion for a bit of teasing, yet she didn't even kiss you into mutual desperation. "What's my prize?"

"You can do whatever you want to me Y/N," Wanda gave up her illusionary grip on control, even if the truth was clear that you both lost. "Whenever I want?" She nodded rather enthusiastically, you grinned and softly pecked her lips. "Oh, you beautiful fool..."

——

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