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ruewritesoccasionally · 3 days ago

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Shades of Red | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Dark!Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Warnings: dark themes + smut 18+, breaking + entering, jealousy, possessiveness, toxic themes, slight power dynamics, rough sex, choking, light slapping, spitting, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), squirting, breeding kink } everything is consensual but read at your own risk !

Summary: Passion, anger, lust, jealousy—all woven together into one man. Terry is charming, entitled, enticing and dangerous. YN couldn’t have seen his latest move coming….

Word count: 4.7K

a/n: This is my first time writing anything remotely dark and I think I really stepped outside of my little box. I wanted to craft a toxic love letter of sorts and I'd love to hear your thoughts..

Terry Richmond wasn’t the kind of man who stayed anywhere too long. His life was like a shifting tide—here today, gone tomorrow, always pulling away just when you thought you had him figured out. The nomadic way he moved through life suited him. He’d had his fill of staying still, of people poking too closely at the layers of armour he’d carefully crafted. Shelby Springs was just another pit stop, a place he landed when the world got too loud. And it’s where he met YN.

They’d been introduced a couple of years back through a mutual friend who had the bright idea of setting them up. “You two would be perfect for each other,” the friend had said with entirely too much conviction. But what had started as a well-intentioned matchmaking attempt quickly took a detour.

From the jump, Terry and YN decided that dating wasn’t in the cards. He was too restless, too unpredictable. She had her own life, full and vibrant, with no room to babysit someone who disappeared for weeks at a time with no explanation. Still, their chemistry was undeniable, electric in a way neither could ignore. They both wanted something—each other. And so, they reached a compromise: friends with benefits. No strings, no expectations, no hard feelings.

For the most part, it worked. YN respected Terry’s need for space, and he appreciated that she didn’t cling or demand more than he was willing to give. She had her own thing going on—a career she loved, friends who kept her laughing, and a life that was full even without him in it. She’d grown used to his disappearing acts, the way he’d go rogue and vanish for weeks or months at a time. He always came back, though. And when he did, he always found his way to her.

He was good at that—finding her. A text here, a call there, a late-night knock on her door. She’d let him in every time because, for all his flaws, there was something about Terry that drew her in. Maybe it was his charm, that easy confidence that made her roll her eyes even as it made her pulse quicken. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered when he was near. Whatever it was, she couldn’t quite quit him. And truthfully, she didn’t want to.

But this time felt different.

His text came in the middle of the day while her phone was on silent. She didn’t see it until much later, after the rush of meetings and emails had finally died down.

“Be back in town tomorrow night. Clear your schedule for me.”

The audacity of it made her laugh out loud. Terry had never been one to ask—he told. It was part of his charm and part of what made her want to strangle him sometimes. Still, she wasn’t mad. She got as much out of their arrangement as he did, and she’d been known to hit him up with the same kind of energy when the mood struck. They were equals in that way, unapologetic about what they wanted from each other.

But tonight, she couldn’t clear her schedule for him.

She typed out her response quickly, a small smirk on her lips as she imagined his reaction.

“Can’t tomorrow. Got a date.”

The reply came faster than she expected.

“A date, huh?”

That was it. No teasing, no snide comments, no flirty jabs. Just three little words that carried a weight she couldn’t quite place.

She frowned at the screen, re-reading the message as if the meaning would suddenly reveal itself. It was unlike Terry not to have some kind of comeback, some witty remark designed to get under her skin. The lack of it left her unsettled. But she shrugged it off, chalking it up to him being busy or distracted.

On the other side of the phone, though, Terry wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

Sitting in a dingy motel room on the outskirts of God-knows-where, he stared at her message, his jaw tight. A date. Someone else was taking her out, sitting across from her, making her laugh, looking at her the way he looked at her. And worse, someone else might be touching her, staking a claim to what he’d quietly, possessively come to think of as his.

He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to calm the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. She wasn’t his. Not really. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. But the thought of someone else having her, even for one night, made his chest burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

Terry’s fingers hovered over the screen, itching to say something, to tell her to cancel, to remind her who always had her coming back. But he stopped himself. No, he’d let her have her little date. Let her laugh and flirt and pretend that whoever this guy was could give her what she needed. Because when it was all said and done, she’d come back to him.

And when she did, he’d make damn sure she remembered exactly who she belonged to.

Terry Richmond wasn’t an easy man to forget, and that much was evident as YN stood in her bathroom mirror, smoothing on her lipstick for the finishing touch. Tonight was a rare occasion for her—a date with someone who wasn’t him. She tilted her head slightly, assessing her reflection. The soft waves in her hair framed her face just right, the shimmer on her eyelids caught the light, and the dress she’d chosen fit like a second skin. She looked good. She felt good.

Still, a shadow lingered in the back of her mind, one with piercing eyes and an infuriatingly smug smirk. YN had spent the last two hours convincing herself this date was just what she needed: a change, something uncomplicated. Terry was Terry—a storm she willingly walked into time and time again. But tonight? Tonight was about something different, something quieter.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and her eyes flicked to the screen. A simple text from her date: “Looking forward to tonight. See you soon!”

She smiled faintly, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. YN tucked the phone into her clutch, grabbed her coat, and headed out. It was time to leave Terry Richmond out of her headspace—for now.

The restaurant was cozy and inviting, the kind of place that struck a balance between intimate and casual. Her date, Mark, had chosen well. He was polite, attentive, and easy on the eyes—a charming blend of confidence and warmth. They’d talked about work, travel, books, and even swapped a couple of funny anecdotes about their childhoods. By all accounts, it should’ve been perfect.

But halfway through Mark’s story about his latest hiking trip, YN caught herself tuning out. Not entirely—she was still nodding at the right moments, laughing softly where appropriate—but her mind drifted, unbidden, to another memory. One of Terry.

She could almost hear his voice, teasing and sharp. “Hiking, huh? Bet he’s one of those guys who carries a selfie stick to the summit just to post about it.” The thought was so vivid, so him, that YN nearly laughed aloud. She caught herself, her smile faltering for a moment before she refocused on Mark.

“So, what about you? Do you hike much?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not really,” YN replied smoothly, pushing the thought of Terry aside. “But it sounds like you’ve had some incredible adventures.”

Mark beamed, and the conversation continued. YN did her best to stay present, to enjoy the evening for what it was. By the time dessert came around, she’d almost succeeded in compartmentalizing the storm that was Terry Richmond.

Almost.

The date ended as expected—with polite goodbyes and the suggestion that they should “do this again sometime.” Mark walked her to her car like a gentleman, and she thanked him for the lovely evening. As she slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, YN let out a small sigh.

It hadn’t been a bad date—not by a long shot. Mark was sweet, thoughtful, and seemed genuinely interested in her. But he wasn’t...well, she refused to finish that thought.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she started the engine, the soft purr of the car filling the quiet night. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The lipstick was still perfectly intact, the curls still falling in place. By all accounts, the night had been a success. So why did it feel like something was missing?

Across town, Terry sat in his truck, parked a few blocks from YN’s apartment. His phone screen glowed faintly in the darkness as he scanned the messages she hadn’t yet responded to. His jaw tightened. The thought of her out with someone else wasn’t one he could swallow easily, no matter how cool and composed he pretended to be.

Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small black bag he’d brought with him. It contained exactly what he needed—what he’d planned for. With practiced ease, Terry slid out of the truck and moved through the shadows. The street was quiet, the kind of stillness that came late at night when most people were already home.

It didn’t take him long to reach her place. The familiarity of it was almost comforting. Almost. He worked quickly, his movements precise and deliberate, the product of years spent learning how to move unseen, unheard. Within moments, he was inside.

The scent of her perfume—light, floral, undeniably her—lingered in the air. Terry inhaled deeply, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He made his way to the living room, his boots barely making a sound against the hardwood floors.

There, on the coffee table, was the bottle of whiskey she kept for him. He chuckled softly, pouring himself a glass and settling into the armchair in the corner of the room. The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast long shadows across the walls, and Terry sat there, waiting.

She’d be home soon. And when she walked through that door, she’d find out exactly what happened when you tried to leave Terry Richmond behind.

The hum of her car engine faded into the quiet night as YN pulled into her driveway, the evening’s events still replaying in her mind. The date had been pleasant enough—a nice dinner, polite conversation, and a genuine, if not thrilling, connection. But as she turned off the ignition, an inexplicable sense of unease settled over her, clawing its way into her chest. It had been faint earlier, an odd niggling in the back of her mind, but now it was undeniable. Something was off.

Stepping out of the car, she adjusted her coat and approached her front door, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. As her hand reached for the keys in her bag, she froze. The door wasn’t locked. Her pulse quickened, and she stood there for a moment, staring at the slightly ajar entrance.

No. She distinctly remembered locking it before leaving. Didn’t she?

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, her mind racing. Maybe she had been distracted and forgotten in her rush to leave. But no matter how she tried to rationalise it, the unease only deepened. The air around her felt heavy, charged, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside cautiously, her senses on high alert. The room was unnervingly quiet, and yet something wasn’t right. There was an energy in the space that hadn’t been there before, a presence she couldn’t see but could feel. She paused in the doorway, her hand still gripping the doorknob as her eyes scanned the dimly lit room.

Then it hit her—the faintest trace of cologne lingering in the air, mingling with the rich, unmistakable scent of whiskey. Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. Could it?

Her voice cut through the silence, firm but edged with trepidation. "Terry?"

No answer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she took a tentative step further into the house. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum in her ears. "Terrance Richmond," she called again, louder this time, her tone sharper, more demanding. "If this is some kind of joke, I swear—"

Her words faltered as her eyes adjusted to the low light, finally spotting the shadowed figure seated in the corner of the room. The amber glow of a table lamp barely illuminated his silhouette, but she didn’t need to see his face to know. She would recognise his posture anywhere, relaxed yet commanding, his arm draped over the back of her chair as though he owned the place. The glass in his hand caught the light as he raised it to his lips, the sound of ice clinking faintly breaking the silence.

"Terry," she breathed, her voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

He set the glass down with deliberate slowness, leaning forward just enough for the light to catch his features—a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker. "Welcome home, Princess."

“You’re home late,” he said, his voice smooth and low.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins. “How did you even get in?”

He raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before answering. “You’re not the only one with a key, Princess.”

“I never gave you—”

“You didn’t have to,” he interrupted, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. “I’m a resourceful man.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, fury and confusion warring inside her. “You can’t just break into my house, Terry. That’s insane.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. “What’s insane is you thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You,” he said simply, his tone unnervingly even. “Trying to replace me. With him.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating and thick. YN stared at him, her mind racing to process what was happening. This wasn’t Terry—at least, not the Terry she thought she knew. The possessiveness in his voice, the casual way he’d invaded her space, it all screamed of something darker, something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

“This isn’t about you,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “I have a life outside of you, Terry. You don’t get to control that.”

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “I’m not here to control you, YN. Just to remind you who you belong to.”

Terry’s words lingered in the air, heavy with promise and warning, as he took a slow step closer. The air crackled between them, electric, suffocating and sinister. YN felt her pulse thunder in her ears, the thrum of anticipation coursing through her veins like wildfire. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, to retreat, to reclaim control of the situation, but her feet refused to move. It wasn’t fear that kept her rooted in place—it was him. The commanding weight of his presence, the way his eyes bore into her with a heat that made her knees tremble.

“Terry,” she began, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to steady it, “I—”

He cut her off with a single step, closing the distance between them until the barest whisper of air separated their bodies. His scent—whiskey, spice, and the faintest trace of cedar—enveloped her senses, dizzying and disarming.

“Don’t,” he growled, tilting his head slightly as if daring her to finish that sentence. “Don’t give me excuses. Don’t feed me lies about him or pretend he’s what you want.” His hand came up, fingers brushing against her jaw, and she flinched—not from fear, but from the raw, undeniable pull between them. “You and I both know that man doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but he moved faster. His hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping just firm enough to make her gasp. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice a rough rasp against her ear. “Say you thought about me tonight.”

YN’s breath hitched. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was delusional, but the truth burned hotter in her chest than any denial ever could. She had thought about him. His presence lingered in the back of her mind all night, the ghost of his touch, the memory of his voice. It had tainted every polite smile, every harmless laugh, every fleeting touch from a man who wasn’t him.

“I hate you,” she whispered instead, the words trembling with a mixture of fury and something far more dangerous.

Terry’s mouth twisted into a wolfish grin. “Hate me all you want, Princess,” he drawled, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. “But don’t forget who makes you feel alive.”

Before she could respond, his lips crashed against hers, rough and unyielding. It wasn’t a kiss born of tenderness; it was hunger and frustration, a collision of wills that neither of them intended to lose. YN’s hands pushed against his chest, but it only seemed to fuel him further. He growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before his tongue swept inside, claiming her in a way that made her knees buckle.

Her defiance melted into something impure, needier. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer even as she cursed herself for it. Terry’s hand slid down her back, gripping her waist and yanking her against him with a force that made her gasp into his mouth.

“You’re a piece of work,” she hissed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“And you love every second of it,” he shot back, his voice dripping with arrogance. His hands didn’t stop moving, sliding under the hem of her top to find bare skin. The heat of his touch burned against her, sending shivers cascading down her spine.

“Terry…” Her voice faltered as his fingers dipped lower, tracing the curve of her hip. She hated how easily he unravelled her, how her body betrayed her with every shiver, every hitch of her breath.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finding the curve of her neck. He bit down lightly, just enough to make her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. “I told you, I’m not here to control you. But you’re going to remember exactly who you belong to by the time I’m done.”

With one swift motion, he lifted her onto the counter, his hands gripping her thighs with bruising force. YN barely had time to protest before his mouth was on hers again, devouring her in a kiss that left no room for argument. His hands pushed her dress higher, exposing more of her skin to the cool air and his insatiable touch.

She moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid between her thighs, finding her already soaked through. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her lips. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “All night, you were mine. Even when you were with him.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of anger and arousal.

“Make me,” he challenged, his voice dripping with smug defiance.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration and longing into it. But Terry wasn’t content to let her take control for long. His hand slid further up, his fingers pressing against her with a skill that had her crying out despite herself.

“Say it,” he demanded again, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers worked her relentlessly. “Say you’re mine.”

“Terry,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as the tension in her body built to an unbearable crescendo.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice taking on an edge that sent a shiver of both fear and excitement racing through her.

“I—I’m yours,” she choked out, the admission torn from her lips as her body betrayed her completely.

He grinned wickedly, his fingers pushing her over the edge with ruthless precision. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as she shattered in his arms, her cries echoing through the room.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Terry’s grip on YN’s hips tightened, the pads of his fingers digging into her flesh as he hovered above her. His eyes burned into hers, dark and unrelenting, as if trying to burn every unspoken word into her very soul. He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from hers, his lips brushing against hers as he murmured, “You only ever say my name tonight. Nothing else. No one else.”

Before she could respond, his lips descended on hers with bruising intensity. The kiss was all-consuming, a searing mix of dominance and desperation, his tongue delving into her mouth as though he could taste every word she hadn’t yet spoken. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over her swollen lips, and he smirked like a predator.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with dark amusement. “Always trying to act tough. Always pretending like you don’t need me. But I’ll fix that.”

Without another word, he moved lower, kissing his way down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and between her breasts. His teeth scraped lightly against her skin, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. He paused for a moment, watching her with an almost sadistic level of patience, as if daring her to tell him to stop.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

His hands roamed lower, pushing her thighs apart with an ease that made her stomach twist with equal parts annoyance and anticipation. She was already dripping wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening in the low light. Terry groaned at the sight, a deep, primal sound that sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

“Look at you,” he said, almost to himself, as he trailed his fingers along her folds. “So fucking perfect. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Before she could muster any sort of response, he lowered his head between her thighs, his tongue swiping a deliberate, teasing stripe through her slickness. Her back arched involuntarily, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. Terry chuckled against her, the vibrations making her toes curl.

“That’s it,” he murmured, before diving in with a newfound ferocity. His tongue worked her clit in relentless circles, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks that had her gripping the sheets for dear life. He didn’t stop there, though. Two of his fingers slipped inside her, curling upward in a way that made her see stars.

“Oh, fuck—Terry,” she choked out, her voice raw with desperation.

He hummed in approval, his name falling from her lips like a melody he wanted to hear on repeat. Her thighs began to tremble, the pressure building so quickly it almost scared her. She tried to pull away, overwhelmed by the intensity, but his hands clamped down on her hips, anchoring her in place.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, his lips never leaving her clit. “You’re not running from this. You’re taking everything I give you.”

The overstimulation had her head spinning, tears welling up in her eyes as her orgasm tore through her. She screamed his name, her body shaking uncontrollably as she soaked his fingers, his mouth, everything. Terry groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop like a man possessed.

When her body finally went limp, he sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with something feral as he watched her struggle to catch her breath.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “See? You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Before she could recover, he was on her again, positioning himself between her legs. He leaned down, spitting directly into her mouth, his gaze daring her to defy him. She swallowed without hesitation, her body responding to his dominance in ways she couldn’t control.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, lining himself up at her entrance. He pushed into her slowly, making her feel every inch of him, until he was buried to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one designed to remind her of exactly who she belonged to. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by her cries and his grunts.

Her mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, the lines between the two blurring as he pushed her closer to the edge once more. When her responses began to falter, her head lolling to the side, he delivered a sharp slap to her cheek—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap her back into focus.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the fog. “I want to see you come undone for me.”

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his as her second orgasm ripped through her, even more intense than the first.

The final wave of his dominance surged as Terry pressed her deeper into the mattress, his thrusts growing slow but deliberate, each one hitting with a force that left her breathless. Her legs trembled uncontrollably around his waist, every overstimulated nerve in her body aflame, her cries breaking into fragmented whimpers.

His breathing grew heavier, ragged, the telltale signs of his release building. Still, he didn’t rush—he wanted her to feel it all. Every inch of his claim. His hand tightened around her throat as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a rough, guttural growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I’m going to cum deep inside you," he rasped, his words slow and deliberate, carrying the weight of his intent. "And you’re not going to let a single drop out. You need to feel me, baby—every part of me."

Her head flung back, her lips parted in a silent gasp, unable to do anything but nod as her body clung to him, every sensation amplified. She didn’t even have time to prepare as he thrust into her one final time, his release hitting her like a brand, searing and unrelenting.

The warmth of him filled her, explored her body like it belonged there, and Terry didn’t move—he stayed there, buried to the hilt, ensuring she took every ounce of him. His hand slid from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head up to meet his intense gaze. The raw satisfaction in his eyes mirrored the shattering chaos within her.

"Mine," he murmured, the word almost reverent, though it carried the weight of a command.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together in the aftermath, their breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Terry brushed a stray curl from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just transpired.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, almost tenderly, though the possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #terry richmond #dark!terry richmond x black!reader #ruewrites #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader

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f1cflcfic · 2 days ago

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The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) Part V

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy".

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons.

genre: social media au, angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

[A/N: I can't believe we're coming to an end of this! Just one part left to go... And then if you'd like, a whole bunch of 'deleted scenes' :)]

part i part ii part iii part iv

♥･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♥

post-race November, 2026

November 25-27, 2026

[Excerpt: BBC Radio 1 Interview with Lando Norris]

“And this morning we’ve got a very special guest on the show, it’s Lando Norris!”

“Hi Greg, how are ya?”

“Good, we’re very excited to have you here in the studio, especially since you’ve only just returned from the Las Vegas Grand Prix, where you won!”

There’s a lot of celebratory noise in the studio, with confetti poppers going off around Norris.

“Woohoo! We did!”

“Ah you know, I love that you still say “we” – even when it’s just you in the car seeing that chequered flag,” Greg continues.

“It’s a team effort, though. I love my McLaren team, and if it wasn’t for all the hard work from all the engineers, the data analysts, and other staff members – I wouldn’t be able to drive to victory.”

“Are you still in the post-win haze, or are you already focused on this weekend’s race in Qatar?”

“Not gonna lie, I’m definitely still riding that victory high, but I’m flying out for the next race tomorrow – that’s when I’ll have to flip the switch. So I’m giving myself today to still lean into the euphoria.”

“All around euphoria? Vegas is a city that can easily also lead you down the path of temptation and very bad, no good decisions,” Greg asks.

Lando smirks. “I would say that all my decisions were actually very great. No regrets.”

“No? I mean, just for that, I think we should play a true classic. We will be back with Formula One driver Lando Norris after this next song, “Waking Up in Vegas” by Katy Perry”

(…)

“And that was “No More Sad Songs” by Y/N L/N, followed by Justin Bieber’s latest return to pop music. Now, Lando – you are also a music fan yourself. Once even had a go at being somewhat of a DJ yourself.”

Lando turns bashful, shaking his head. “Nah, not really. I think it’s fun to experiment, but definitely leaving that to the professionals.”

“Hm you’d think being surrounded by people who’ve made music their career would definitely have somewhat of a trickle-down effect,” Greg muses, and Lando lets out a little giggle. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Well I think we should see how in-tune you really are with them - see what I did there? – in a game of Sit Down or Stand Up!”

Lando dutifully gets out his phone, then suddenly halts and asks, “can people see my phone like this, no right?” He then waves at the camera and turns away from it as he goes through his contact list.

“Okay so I’ll try Martin then – but he might not answer if he’s in the studio,” he cautions. “That’s alright. Do you think he’ll be standing up or sitting down?”

“Definitely sitting down,” Lando laughs. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Then gets forwarded to voicemail.

Greg makes a shocked face, then starts grinning. “I think we know now who did party too hard,” and Lando rolls his eyes. “He might be on a flight to Ibiza, actually. Well, what do we do now? I haven’t ruined the bit now, have I?

“We just try the next one! Surely there’s someone else you can call,” Greg encourages. Lando looks at his phone again, eyes focused on the screen as he scrolls in concentration.

“Not that one, definitely can’t call this one,” he mutters out loud, then seems to catch himself and turns a little red. “Okay, I’ll just call Osc. Let me call my teammate. I know for a fact,” he points his finger, “that he will stand up to answer the call. Because he’s polite like that.”

Greg squints in contemplation, then shrugs. “I think, just to be contrarian, that I’m gonna say he’ll be sitting down.”

“What are we betting on?”

“A papaya?”

Lando snorts. “Sure, let’s do it.” This time, it doesn’t take long at all for Oscar to answer.

“Hi?”

“Hi mate, listen, you’re live on Radio 1 and I have a very important question to ask you,” Lando says happily. Oscar groans over the phone, and it’s easy to picture him running a hand through his hair.

“Oh god, alright – lay it on me.”

“Are you, standing down or sitting up,” Lando asks, then bursts out in giggles as he realises what he's done after Greg starts cracking up. “Oh no! Oh no, wait – don’t answer yet. Let me try that again, aahh I said it wrong! Are you … standing up or sitting down?”

“Oh, is Greg James there?”

“I am,” Greg replies, “Hi Oscar! Please let us know if you’re indeed sitting down, or standing up.”

“Hello! I am … standing up, actually Lando called me in the middle of my workout. I’m jogging, so sorry if I’m breathing very loudly.”

Lando pulls a face. “Are you serious right now? You’re making me look bad, mate.”

“Motivation, is what it is – alright, I guess I now owe Lando a papaya?!”

November 28, 2026

[Excerpt: Hot or Not with Y/N L/N]

“Alright Y/N, we’ve got a bunch of statements here – and we want you to tell us if you think they’re hot or not.”

“Ready! Wait, I use this green one for hot right? And red for not, like a red flag?”

“Correct! Okay, let’s start then. First, we’ve got some statements that are related to your album. Sad songs – hot or not?”

“Oh my god, I thought you meant they’d be easier! Ugh, well I guess hot? My last single is called No More Sad Songs, but I love a good sad song, if I’m honest”

"I was wondering about that! Fans are hoping for a music video. Can you confirm or deny the rumours that you've been filming one the past few days?"

Y/N raises the green card. "It's been an absolute blast putting this video together with my friends, at a local bar. I can't wait for the fans to see it."

“Ohhh neither can I! It does bring me to the next topic, because this is how the rumours got started. Juice channels – hot or not?”

“Now that is an easy one. Not. I don’t mind fans wanting to speculate about which single is coming next, or what the tour is going to look like. But I don’t like the invasiveness of some of these pages like deuxmoi.”

“Noted. Have they ever been true, though? Their prophecies?”

“Of deuxmoi or the fans?”

“Either.”

“I mean, of course! If someone sees me eating in a restaurant they could very well be right. It just ruins my experience of existing out in the real world, so I’d rather not read about it the next morning, you know?”

“Speaking of food. How about people naming their pets after food items?”

“Oh like a dog named Taco? Or Kiwi? I think it can be fun! I also like human names for dogs. And I like dog names for dogs. You know, I think I just really like dogs. They’re all *baby* in my head, anyways.”

“Hmm so you like human names for pets. Do you enjoy pet names as a human?”

“Personally I don’t really tend to use them, except love. I find others a bit cringe, but I don’t mind if my partner wants to use them to refer to me. Darling, or baby. I guess what I find hot is someone who’s really open about expressing their appreciation and love for you.”

November 30, 2026

December 1st, 2026

December 3d, 2026

December 6, 2026

[Excerpt SkyNews]

FINAL F1 RACE IN ABU DHABI WILL DECIDE THE WINNER, NORRIS “CONFIDENT”

(…)

Norris arrived at the paddock with friends and family in tow. It’s an unusual sight for the driver who usually sticks closely to a tried and tested routine. Perhaps his crash just last weekend, and the resulting difficult grand prix ahead of him changed his mind. Or perhaps it’s the fact that singer Y/N L/N seems to have travelled with him for moral support.

She did not engage with press, and hurried inside while Norris fielded questions from various interviewers. “I’m eager, and hungry to win this weekend. I feel like I’ve proven myself this past year, and I want to make my team proud. It wouldn’t just be me winning for myself, but also for everyone who’s helped me realise that dream. So I’m not necessarily always the most confident guy, but I do feel confident going into this.”

The driver has a small lead in the championship, and had hoped to capitalise on it last weekend. However, due to a collision with Lewis Hamilton – one of his main challengers – in Qatar, it will all come down to the results of this season’s final race in Abu Dhabi.

Unlike some of his fellow drivers, Norris opted to fly back and forth throughout the final triple header of the season. While it remains unconfirmed, he was reportedly seen visiting his ex in both London last week (prior to Qatar), and New York just two days ago. It’ll remain to be seen whether or not the travelling will take its toll on his performance on track.

December 7th, 2026

♥･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♥

[a/n: we're so close to the end now!!]

You can read the previous parts by going here, part VI is available here.

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist (open) : @charlesgirl16, @linnygirl09, @hoeforsirius, @motorsportloverf1, @sarx164, @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff, @formulaal, @tvdtw4ever @sadiemack9 @seonghwaexile @screamingwines

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

Back For More

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped by Logan's anger. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Sequel to Cut Deep

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I’d especially appreciate some extra feedback

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You skip training for the third day in a row. You stay in your room. You haven’t come out since you scuttled in, battered and terrified.

You wear the same clothes as that day. Tinged in your blood and sweat, stained in his scent. Every time you close your eyes, you hear Logan’s growl, you feel him inside of you, an agonizing pounding in your guts.

The first day was shock. A grey blue haze that kept you paralysed. Then came the grief, a deeper slate shade with wisps of white, then anger; not as black as his, weak and scared, woven into a tapestry of yellow.

You feel Jean before she knocks. Her bliss permeates through your door and contrasts your own despair sharply. You wince in pain. It’s because of her... No, that’s not true. He did this.

“Hey, you coming?” She asks through the door.

You don’t move. “No. Sick.”

She sighs and taps again, “can I see you? I’m worried.”

“Go,” you hurl back and turn your back to the door.

The handle jiggles. Your skull and you cradle your skull. You can feel her.

“Stop it, Jean!” You sit up. “That’s not fair.”

The door shifts as she leans on it, “at least I know you’re training is working. I can’t figure you out. It won’t hold if you don’t keep working.”

“I said leave me alone,” you sneer. “I’m not feeling good.”

“But you would feel better if you talked about it--”

“No, I wouldn’t!” You snap and crumple back onto the bed. “You don’t know how I feel. How could you? You’re... you’re....” ...perfect.

She’s quiet as she prods again. Her attempt makes your ears burn. You bury your head under the pillow and growl. Why can’t she leave you be? Why does she have to ruin everything? If she wasn’t leading Logan on for so long, none of this would have happened to you.

“I know you’ll come out when you’re ready,” she says softly, her voice dampened by the pillow. “And I’ll still be here.”

Will she? She has a wedding to plan. She’ll be too busy for you. She’ll be picking her perfect little dress and her perfect pretty flowers.

If you were her, Logan never would’ve touched you. If you were her, you wouldn’t be hurting so bad. If you were her, you’d have people to protect you; people who care about you. You’re just another orphan with nowhere to go. You’re not here to be a part of the family, you’re here to be contained, to be another cog in Xavier’s institution.

You feel her absence. All the pink rose-scented happiness goes with her. You remain as you have. Alone, afraid, agonized.

It’s more than physical, more than the acid that sears your insides and the cuts in your side, the throbbing bruise in your nose. It’s that gut-scraping disgust. You’re weak. What does Jean know? You can’t be doing that well if you can’t defend yourself.

The world comes back into focus as you sit sideways against the wall. The house is quiet. Your vision speckles in the shadowing darkness. You’re hungry. Starving. So empty you’re woozy. It wouldn’t be so bad to let time take its course.

You make yourself get up. You listen at the door. Your scent is sickening. You reek of neglect and self-loathing.

You creep out into the hall. There are some in the mansion that never sleep, those that stay up all night and sleep all day. You keep an ear pricked for any disturbance.

You avoid the hallway where Mitzy hums and the lights pulse along to her melody. You veer around the longer route to the kitchen, thankful that it’s unoccupied. You take down a box of crackers and open it at the counter. You nibble without tasting, your stomach greedily and painfully churning with each crumb.

Your eyes focus on the counter as you chew in the dark. You blink as the darkness deepens and your heart spasms as a sudden shroud of rage consumes you. You look up at the silhouette that stands in the doorway. It’s him.

The lights flip on and cast their haze over the bloodied X-man. Logan, Wolverine, monster. He enters without a glance in your direction. He goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of beer.

You return the box of crackers to the cupboard and spin to flee around the other end of the island. The plume of his distaste curdles with a layer of nearly neon yellow. He’s amused.

“You could use one yourself, huh?” He growls.

You ignore him as you scurry around the corner of the counter. He reaches the door first; calm as he steps into your path. You lean back on your heel as he uncaps the bottle and tilts the neck toward you. He flicks away the metal lid.

You blink at him and your lip trembles. You feel him slapping you, wrenching you around, crushing you. He snorts and pushes the glass brim to your lip and you flinch away.

“You think you’re special?” He grits.

You shake your head and gulp. He pulls the bottle back and swigs from it. The lines around his mouth deepen as he wipes his mouth.

“You’re a dirty fucking weasel. Look at you.” He snarls and turns the bottle in his grip. “Disgusting.” You peek down at your clothes. The tear in your shirt gapes open where he cut you and your jeans are crooked on your hips. “What’s it, then? You like the feel of me so much, you had to keep me all over you?”

You flick your gaze back to him and glare. Your eyes gloss over and your nose flares. He’s supposed to help his fellow mutants, not hurt them.

“If you’re going to cry, better just get it over with,” he snips.

You focus on the black fog around him and twist it up like a noose. You stare at his throat and gnash your teeth as you draw it tight. As he goes to take another drink, he chokes and staggers back. He spits beer onto the floor and touches his throat, his face turning red.

His eyes bulge as he looks at you and he steadies himself enough to whip the bottle at you. It bounces off your arm as you lose control of his emotion and shield yourself. You stumble then catch yourself. You hurry past him for the door.

He drags you bag with and arm around your waist and flings you so you bounce of the corner of the island counter. You heap onto the floor, the wind knocked from your chest as a pang thumps between your shoulder blades. You cough as his footsteps stalk towards you.

“You really are a mongrel.” He sneers as he steps over you and kicks you onto your back. “Do you know what you are? You’re nothing but a toy.” He falls to his knees and straddles your torso. You bend your arms, pushing on his lower back without effect. “Jean isn’t training you to be one of us. She’s doing it to keep you busy. You let the weak ones out into the world, and they go around starting bullshit.”

You turn your head back and forth as he tries to get a grip on your chin. He clamps down and your tongue pinches between your teeth. You murmur and writhe, smacking his thighs frantically. No, please.

“You just can’t help yourself,” he lifts your head, only to slam it back down. Your vision spatters with silver stars and black blotches.

The world doubles before you and has you senseless. He moves up your body, pinning your shoulders with his knees. You squirm as your eyes roll back. He tugs at the front of his pants as he grunts. He holds your head down as he pulls his dick out with his other hand.

He leans on you so the tile presses into your skull. He bends and angles his tip along your lips. You seal your mouth and lock your jaw. He squeezes so his thumb jabs your temple and you whimper.

“Open up before I break your teeth,” he snarls.

You whine and shove his stomach. He’s immoveable. You can’t breath as he sits on your chest. You puff out, your lips peeling apart, and he jams himself inside. You twitch and gag as he thrusts down to your throat.

His hand slides down to your throat as his other lifts from your forehead. The metallic extension of his claw cuts the air and he rests the blade against your cheek. You tremble and squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to be still.

He rears back and slams down again. As he intrudes your throat, you gag, kicking as you claw at his jacket. He does it again and again and again. Your face smears with saliva and a sickening saltiness. Your breath clogs and your cheek swells until you’re sure your lungs will burst.

Your mind roils to a maelstrom of horror. Shades of putrid green and repugnant yellow, laced with black grey and oceanic blues. The fear radiates from you but he only laughs between his beastly grunts. He rams further and you wretch, bile flooding around his dick, dribbling out around your lips.

Your hand trails up his chest, pleading for mercy as you gulp and gag. He drags his claw down to your jaw and back up. You shake harder as the terror mounts with your nausea. You puff through your nose between his cruel thrusts.

When you think you might pass out, he slides free and you gasp. He raises himself on his knees and aims his claw down, hooking it under your shirt to slice open the fabric. He pumps his dick as he tenses and a warmth spurts onto your chest. You lay plastered to the floor as he cums overs you, ribbons stretching up your neck.

You heave in the balmy aftermath of his assault. He groans and hangs his head as he stills. He snarls then shifts. He stands, planting one foot at a time and nudges you with his toe and he steps away from you. He repels his claw and huffs.

He goes back to the fridge and glass clinks as he takes another beer.

“Clean up this mess,” he growls as he crushes the glass under his boots. “And yourself. The next time I find you, you better be clean.”

He pops the cap and flings it over his shoulder as he leaves you. You sit up slowly, convulsing as you fight the revulsion coursing up your throat. You cover your mouth as you bend over your lap and suppress another wretch.

You exhale and climb to your knees. The smell of beer hangs in the air along with the remnants of his wrath. The little black flecks like the ashes of a burnt house.

‘Next time...’

Those words echo in your head as you get to your feet. You stagger over the muddle of shards and liquid and out into the hall. You don’t care if Storm throws a fit about the mess, you don’t care about any of it. If you stay, it’s just going to happen again.

#logan howlett #wolverine #dark logan howlett #dark!logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #sequel #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #x men #marvel

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fangdokja · 2 days ago

Text

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where love feels like a cage and loyalty is a loaded weapon, you must navigate the suffocating grip of those who claim to care—because sometimes, the ones who love you most are the ones who break you.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 12,333

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying, love bombing, explicit domestic violence and realistic depictions of abuse in the family, mature language, crime, unhealthy coping mechanisms, gaslighting, victim blaming

♡ A/N. It's kind of hilarious that I get comments from "Are you okay?" to "Why do you romanticize sexual abuse in glamorous ways". Yes, in that wording too. The dichotomy of comments. Of course, already putting it out there, I'm not the type of person to chat and waste time in internet arguments. If one doesn't obey RULES, immediate block, no questions asked. It's also to make sure these people don't get bothered by my content that disturbs them. So, it's a win-win. But, to me, it's funny. Like "Wow, thank you. It's so good that it felt so realistic, huh?". That makes me happy. A big turn-off for me as a writer (but I don't mind it when other authors do it) is "inaccurate world building and logic." I get genuinely irritated at myself. It's why when it comes to fandom characters, I make sure it's as accurate as a Yandere character can get. Same goes with anything world building. I like worlds that still have systems and logic involved, even in fantasy settings. And, by default, this also includes, controversies and taboos. Yeah, I talk a lot in these notes. But, honestly? Considering how fast you long form readers go through my work. Might as well chat, since I hardly talk anyway. And, if you read these notes. Thank you. :)) Also, I was supposed to put the NSFW until I realized it was reaching 13k+ words already...

The first thing you felt was pain.

It wasn’t the kind that built slowly, easing its way into your senses—it was sharp, sudden, and all-consuming. A brutal yank at your scalp wrenched you out of the fragile limbo between consciousness and exhaustion. Your head snapped back, the roots of your hair screaming as you were dragged from the mattress by an iron grip.

You hit the floor hard, the side of your head smacking against the cold tile. The sting of impact shot through your temple, and for a moment, everything blurred—the light filtering through the curtains, the outline of the woman looming above you.

Your mother.

Her face was twisted in rage, but there was something worse in her eyes—a hunger, a satisfaction in your helplessness.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the soundproof room in its suffocating silence.

“You really thought you could hide from me?” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss, the kind of quiet that always preceded something worse. “You think I wouldn’t find you, huh? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You stumbled back, your body already trembling with an instinctive fear that seized your lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

“I—I wasn’t hiding—”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt and yanking you forward so violently your head snapped back. Her face was so close to yours you could smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on her breath, could see the bloodshot fury in her eyes.

“You haven’t come home in weeks,” she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. “You think you can just disappear? Just run away? I had to come all the way to this shithole because of you. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for me?”

She threw you down, and your back slammed into the edge of your desk. Pain radiated up your spine, sharp and paralyzing, but before you could catch your breath, her hand was on you again—this time in your hair, wrenching your head back so hard it felt like your scalp was on fire.

“Answer me, you little leech!” she screamed, shaking you violently. “Do you think I enjoy cleaning up your messes? Huh? Do you think I like chasing you down?”

She yanked you upward by your hair again, dragging you to your knees. Your scalp burned, and a whimper escaped your lips before you could swallow it down.

You whimpered, trying to pull away, but she yanked harder, the tendons in your neck straining painfully as you choked on a sob.

“I don’t have the money,” you gasped, the words spilling out in desperation. “I promise, I—”

The slap came so fast you didn’t even see it, just felt the explosive pain as her palm connected with your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

“Of course you don’t have the money,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve been too busy playing house here, haven’t you? Hiding away like a pathetic little coward, thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

Her hand released your hair, only to shove you backward. You hit the wall hard, the impact rattling your teeth, and before you could even think about moving, she was on you again.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice hoarse from the lack of sleep. “I—I’ll get the money. I just need more time—”

Another slap came fast, cracking across your cheek with enough force to whip your head to the side. The metallic tang of blood bloomed on your tongue, and your skin prickled with the sting of her hand.

“Time?” she barked, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Time doesn’t pay the fucking bills. Time doesn’t keep a roof over your head, you little parasite!”

Her words struck harder than the blow, each one carefully crafted to cut where it hurt most. You weren’t her child. You weren’t even a person in her eyes. Just a burden. A mistake.

She shoved you backward, and you scrambled to catch yourself, your palms scraping against the rough tile. The small, cramped dorm room felt even smaller, the walls closing in as her shadow loomed over you.

“I raised you,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “I fed you. Clothed you. And this is how you repay me? By acting like a selfish little bitch? By keeping what’s mine?”

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Crying would only make it worse.

“I don’t have it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I promise, I’ll—”

Her foot connected with your side, and pain exploded in your ribs. You crumpled, clutching your stomach as she kicked you again and again, each blow punctuated by her snarling words.

“You don’t have it? You don’t have it?” she repeated, mocking your desperate tone. “Then what the hell have you been doing all this time? Lying around, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I had to come all the way here,” she hissed, dragging you across the room and throwing you onto the bed. The back of your head slammed into the wall, and your vision blurred. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face me like a damn adult!”

You tried to sit up, but she was faster, straddling your chest and pinning your arms down with her knees. Her fingers closed around your throat, nails biting into your skin.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is?” she spat, leaning in so close that her spit flecked your face. “Do you know how humiliating it is to have to track down my own child like some fucking runaway dog?”

Your airways constricted, panic surging through you as you choked, your nails scrabbling uselessly at her hands. Her grip was too strong, her weight crushing the breath from your lungs.

Tears streamed down your face, and the corners of your vision darkened.

She released you suddenly, and you gasped, coughing violently as your lungs screamed for air. Before you could recover, she slapped you across the face again—once, twice, three times. Each strike was sharp and deliberate, her rings tearing into your skin.

“You’ve been hiding at this university,” she said, her voice cold and measured now, as if she were recounting a list of your crimes. “Pretending you’re some poor little victim. Do you think anyone here gives a shit about you except me?”

Her hand closed around your arm, nails digging into the soft flesh as she yanked you off the bed and threw you to the floor. You landed hard on your knees, pain shooting up your legs.

“Answer me!” she screamed, her booted foot colliding with your ribs.

The impact sent you sprawling, the air rushing from your lungs. You tried to crawl away, but her foot came down on your back, pressing you into the cold tile.

“You think you’re so clever,” she continued, her voice rising. “Hiding here, avoiding your responsibilities, avoiding me. But I know you, baby. I know every little secret, every little lie.”

She grabbed the back of your head, slamming your face into the floor. Blood spattered across the tile, warm and sticky as it seeped from your nose and split lip.

“You owe me,” she hissed, crouching beside you and grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at her. Her nails dug into your cheeks, her breath hot and foul against your skin.

“Do you understand?” she said, shaking you violently. “You owe me. I don’t care if you have to steal, cheat, or whore yourself out—you will get me that money. Do you hear me?”

Your voice cracked as you sobbed, nodding frantically. “Y-Yes—”

The next slap sent your head snapping to the side.

“Louder,” she demanded.

“Yes!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’ll do it! I’ll get the money!”

———

The hand in your hair yanked with ferocious strength, pulling at your scalp until the roots screamed in agony. Your head snapped back, the sharp crack of vertebrae forced into an unnatural angle resonating in your ears. Before you could cry out, a fist collided with your cheekbone, the impact sending shockwaves through your skull. Your vision blurred with stars, and the coppery tang of blood filled your mouth as your lip split open.

Her voice was low and cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you?” A sharp tug on your hair wrenched a pained gasp from your throat. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?”

You tried to stammer out a response, but her fist collided with your cheek, the force sending you sprawling. “Shut up!” she hissed, towering over your trembling form. “Do you think I’m stupid? Running off to your little school, acting like you’re too good to come home.”

Your body was dragged across the floor like a rag doll, the rough texture of the tile scraping the skin from your knees and elbows. A boot slammed into your stomach with brutal force, driving the air from your lungs. The sensation was hollow, a sickening vacuum where breath should have been, your diaphragm spasming as you choked on nothing.

A boot slammed into your ribs, the sickening crunch of bone making your breath hitch. “You don’t even deserve this education. What have you done to earn it? Nothing!” Another kick landed against your stomach, and you doubled over, clutching yourself as the air left your lungs.

“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for you?” Her voice rose, venom dripping from every word. “All the things I could’ve had if it weren’t for you? And you have the nerve to ignore me, to avoid your responsibilities?”

Before you could even attempt to rise, another kick landed squarely against your ribs, the crack unmistakable this time. A sharp, jagged pain bloomed in your chest, each shallow gasp of air accompanied by the fiery agony of bone grinding against bone. You curled in on yourself instinctively, arms shielding your head, but it offered no protection.

A hard-soled shoe came down against your forearm, the force bending it at an unnatural angle. A white-hot flash of pain exploded in your vision, your own muffled scream echoing in your ears as the limb gave way. You clutched it to your chest, trembling, only to feel fingers clawing at your shoulders, wrenching you upright.

You whimpered, curling into yourself, but she wasn’t done. She grabbed your arm, twisting it cruelly as you yelped in pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She dragged you upright, slamming you against the wall. Your head hit the plaster with a dull thud. “You think I’m blind? You think I don’t know about the money you owe me? About the favors you’re dodging?”

Her nails dug into your shoulders as she leaned in, her breath hot and acrid against your face. “I should’ve left you to rot,” she snarled. “Ungrateful little bitch.”

The shove against the wall was unrelenting, the back of your skull slamming into the unforgiving surface with enough force to make the plaster crack behind you. Your head swam, the room spinning violently as nausea roiled in your stomach. Her nails raked down your arm, leaving red welts in their wake, and the dull thud of another punch to your abdomen left your knees buckling beneath you.

She didn’t let you fall.

Your body was dragged upright again, only to be shoved forward. You crashed onto the floor, your face bouncing off the tiles. The sharp edge of your jaw hit first, sending another sharp stab of pain radiating through your skull. You tasted more blood, hot and metallic, as it spilled from your mouth, pooling beneath your chin.

You flinched as she slapped you across the face, the sting blooming into a sharp, fiery pain. “Do you think the world cares about you? Do you think anyone at that school will protect you when I’m done?”

You tried to pull away, desperation overtaking your fear. “Please, I—”

“Please?” She mocked your voice with a cruel sneer. “Please, please, please,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a punch to your side. “That’s all you ever do. Begging like a worthless rat.”

She pressed you to the ground, her foot pressing into the small of your back. “Get up,” she spat. When you didn’t move fast enough, she grabbed your hair again, yanking you upright. “I said get up!”

You sobbed, choking on the blood pooling in your mouth. “I’ll get the money, I promise. Just give me time—”

“Time?” she interrupted, laughing bitterly. “Time is for people who deserve it. You think you’re entitled to my patience?” She slammed your head down against the floor, the impact making you see stars. “You’re nothing but a burden. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

A foot pressed onto the small of your back, grinding down with her full weight. The force flattened you against the floor, your bruised ribs screaming in protest as you struggled for breath. The heel twisted, grinding into your flesh, and you bit down on your own lip to keep from screaming, the already tender flesh splitting further.

Your good arm instinctively reached out to crawl, but she stepped on your hand with calculated precision, the heel of her shoe crushing your knuckles into the hard tile. The popping sensation was sickening, each joint folding under the pressure, and the pain was enough to make your vision go black for a moment.

Her grip returned to your hair, yanking your head up and slamming it down once more. The impact jarred your entire body, the sound of your skull cracking against the floor echoing in the small room. Blood smeared the surface where your face had been, a sickening trail that blurred with your tears.

There was no reprieve. No pause between strikes. Each hit, each blow, felt calculated—designed to hurt, to maim, to leave a mark that would ache for days, weeks. Your body was a canvas for her violence, every bruise and laceration a testament to her fury.

The world faded in and out, each moment marked by a new wave of pain. When her hands finally released you, your body crumpled onto the cold, blood-slick tiles. Every breath was a struggle, every twitch of your limbs a reminder of the damage inflicted.

The room was silent now, save for the ragged sound of your own breathing and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.

———

After a while, the barrage stopped, and you dared to glance up, only to find her crouched in front of you. Her face was close—too close—and her breath reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

Her voice softened suddenly, a terrifying shift that sent chills down your spine. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet,” she murmured, crouching down to meet your tearful gaze. “But keep this up, and you’ll find yourself with nowhere to go. Understand?”

You nodded weakly, trembling beneath her cold, predatory stare. She patted your cheek almost mockingly, smearing your blood across your face. “Good girl,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “Now clean this mess up. I don’t want to see a single drop of blood when I get back.”

Her voice mellowed, sickly sweet, as she reached out to cup your bruised cheek.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, her tone dripping with soft tenderness. “You know I don’t want to hurt you. But you make me do this. You make me.”

You flinched as her thumb brushed over your split lip, and her smile widened.

“Don’t cry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel bad, okay? You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’ll fix this. You’ll find a way to make it right.”

Her other hand clamped down on your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

“You will, won’t you?” she pressed, her voice hardening just enough to make it clear that this wasn’t a question.

You nodded, the motion jerky and desperate. Anything to make it stop.

Her smile returned, and she stood, brushing her hands off as if you were nothing more than dirt she’d stepped in.

“That’s my girl,” she said, turning toward the door. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The sound of her calm, measured footsteps receding down the hall was worse than any explosion of anger. It meant she was satisfied—for now.

You lay there on the floor, the silence in the room broken only by your ragged breathing. Your body ached, your chest heaving as you struggled to hold back the sobs clawing their way up your throat.

The phone on your desk buzzed once, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. You didn’t need to look to know it was another message. Probably him. The bully. Or maybe someone else who wanted to mess with you.

It didn’t matter.

You were the weak link, and everyone knew it.

────────────

The lie came easily—too easily. It dripped from your lips like oil, slick and poisonous, just like the makeup covering your face, as you stared at Domo’s face on the screen. “She’s been gone for so long, you know? And she just… wants to spend time with me.” You hated yourself for the waver in your voice, the hesitance that made it sound true. Domo smiled, her usual warmth softening her features. “Of course. Family comes first. We can always reschedule.”

Her kindness twisted the knife in your chest, but you nodded anyway. “Thanks. I’ll text you.” And then you ended the call before you could hear more, before her care could claw any deeper into the fragile parts of you that you were barely holding together.

The truth? There was no family bonding. No heartfelt reunion. Just you, sitting alone in your dorm as the hours stretched long and suffocating. You stared at the laptop glowing before you, the dim blue light washing over your battered face. The bruises on your cheek and ribs throbbed in unison with your pulse, each beat a reminder of what waited if you didn’t produce the money fast enough.

You clenched your teeth, flexing your fingers before placing them on the keyboard. This was the part of yourself you never wanted anyone to see. The part you shoved into the shadows because it didn’t fit the quiet, awkward nothingness that defined you.

But it was the only thing you had.

The screen filled with lines of code, flashing in rapid succession as your fingers moved. You had always been good at this—too good. The exhilaration of bending firewalls to your will, of slipping through systems unnoticed, had once been a guilty thrill. Now, it was a survival mechanism.

You rationalized it as you worked, forcing the bile down in your throat. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. This isn’t stealing. It’s… repurposing. The rationalizations tumbled over themselves like dominoes, each lie shoring up the fragile structure of your conscience. You weren’t hacking major accounts or wiping people out. Just skimming from places that wouldn’t notice a few hundred dollars gone. Universities, minor corporate accounts, underused funds in bloated systems.

The screen flickered, the transfer confirmed. You leaned back, chest heaving as though you’d run a marathon. Two hundred dollars here, fifty there. It wasn’t much, but it would add up. It had to.

You glanced at the clock: 3:42 a.m. Only a few more hours until she comes back. The thought sent a fresh spike of panic through you, and you dove back in. Another account. Another breach. Every keystroke felt like a confession, a sin piling atop an already crumbling foundation.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done it. The bruises lining your arms and the faint scar under your lip reminded you of how long this had been your reality. She leaves. You buy time. She comes back. You pay her off. A cycle that never ended, no matter how desperately you wished it would.

When the hacking was done, you stared at the balances displayed on the screen. Enough. For now. Your head thudded against the back of the chair, exhaustion wrapping around you like chains. The room was cold, empty, suffocating in its silence. You wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything to break the hollow ache gnawing at your chest.

But instead, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from your side. You shuffled to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out into the quiet campus. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, and for a moment, you swore you saw movement. A flicker of something—someone—watching.

You yanked the curtain shut, heart pounding in your chest. Just your imagination. Nothing’s there. You repeated the words like a mantra, though the uneasy weight of a presence lingered, settling into the corners of your mind.

When morning came, you’d transfer the money to her. When she left, you’d breathe again—for a little while. But tonight, you had no time to think about Domo, or bullies, or the terrifying fragility of the life you’d cobbled together.

Tonight, survival was all that mattered.

────────────

The air in the dorm room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves anticipated her arrival. You’d barely slept, the dark circles under your eyes deep enough to make your hollow face look corpse-like. The money was ready, stacked in an envelope on the small table near the door. A meager offering to stave off her wrath.

It’s enough this time, isn’t it? It has to be.

When the knock came, sharp and deliberate, your stomach twisted into knots. The sound echoed through your chest, each rap like a nail driven into your ribcage. You didn’t hesitate. Hesitation would only make things worse.

Opening the door, you saw her—your mother, standing tall in the hallway, her tailored coat spotless, her hair perfectly styled. She looked out of place in the dingy dormitory, like a predator descending on prey. Her painted lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

“Sweetheart,” she greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The smell of her expensive perfume suffocated the room. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I-I have it,” you stammered, pointing to the envelope. She clicked her tongue, her heels sharp against the floor as she approached the table.

Picking up the envelope, she weighed it in her hand like a predator inspecting its meal. “All of it?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

“Yes. I promise.”

Her nails were painted crimson, as though dipped in fresh blood, and they grazed the edge of the envelope as she opened it. Her eyes scanned the money, the movements slow and deliberate. “Hmm. This isn’t as much as I expected.”

“It’s everything I could—”

The slap came so fast, so sudden, you barely registered the sting on your cheek until you were stumbling back, your head snapping to the side. Her handprint burned into your skin, but you didn’t dare cry out.

Her voice was cold, the venom behind it more terrifying than her strike. “You think this is enough? Do you think I go through all this trouble for crumbs?”

“I—I can get more!” you blurted, your chest heaving as panic clawed at your throat. “Just give me a little more time!”

She closed the envelope, tucking it into her purse with an air of calm so calculated it made your blood run cold. Then, without warning, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You screamed, but the sound barely escaped before she yanked you down, dragging you toward the center of the room. Pain exploded across your scalp, blinding and raw.

“Do you think I have time for your excuses?” she hissed, her grip tightening. “You’ve always been pathetic. Always needing someone to clean up your messes.”

Her knee collided with your stomach, and the air rushed from your lungs in a broken wheeze. She released your hair, letting you crumple to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

“I should’ve known you’d be useless.” Her voice was low, deliberate, and each word sliced through you like a scalpel. “It’s embarrassing, really. How you can’t even manage something as simple as this.”

You tried to push yourself up, but her foot slammed down on your back, forcing you flat against the floor. “Stay down,” she ordered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. Crying would only make it worse.

“Do you know how humiliating it is for me to come here?” she continued, pressing harder until your ribs screamed in protest. “To see the pathetic little hole you’ve buried yourself in? You’re lucky I even bother with you.”

She released you, and you gasped, curling into yourself on the cold floor. Her heels clicked as she walked to the door, her purse swinging at her side.

“Don’t make me come back for this again,” she warned, her tone sickeningly sweet once more. “You wouldn’t like what happens if I do.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. You didn’t move for a long time, your body trembling with the aftermath of pain and fear. The room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of your laptop.

You stared at it, the temptation gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Just one more time. I’ll take a little more. I’ll make it back somehow.

It was the only way to survive.

────────────

The room was dimly lit by the pale glow of your computer screen, the soft hum of the CPU your only companion through the relentless hours. Your fingers ached, stiff from the endless tapping and coding, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you moving. You’d done it. After days of sleepless nights, tense calculations, and hacking sessions that pushed the boundaries of legality, the number on the screen made your chest swell with something foreign: triumph.

It was the largest sum you’d ever seen in your life. Enough to keep your mother at bay for a long time, maybe even the rest of the year if you played it smart.

You leaned back in your chair, your head lolling against the worn cushion. Exhaustion clawed at you, but a smile—real, genuine—curved your lips. For once, there was no immediate shadow of fear, no sharp pang of dread in your stomach. You felt... safe.

Your gaze drifted to the photo frame sitting on the cluttered desk, the only piece of decoration in your otherwise bleak dorm. It was your high school graduation photo. Your father, with his immaculate suit and confident smile, stood tall beside your mother, who clung to his arm, her makeup flawless, her pride radiating through the glass. And there you were, sandwiched between them, holding your diploma with trembling hands.

Back then, you thought things would stay like that forever. A perfect picture. A perfect family.

Your smile faltered as your eyes lingered on your mother’s face in the photo. She looked happy then—truly happy. Not the brittle, strained version of her that had emerged after your father’s departure. The moment he left, everything broke.

You closed your eyes, memories creeping in like unwelcome guests. The screaming matches, the shattered glass, her tear-streaked face twisted in anguish as she begged him to stay. And then the silence, the unbearable silence that followed his departure, her love curdling into something sharp and possessive, clinging to you like a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“She only has me,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in the quiet room. The words felt like a mantra, a justification for everything you endured. “She needs me.”

The screen in front of you flickered as you finalized the transfer. The money was secure, broken into portions just as you’d planned. You wouldn’t give it to her all at once—that would only end in disaster. No, you’d ration it out, let it trickle through her fingers slowly. Enough to keep her satisfied, to keep her from asking questions, from demanding more.

A wave of relief washed over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were ahead of the game. You could breathe.

The thought of handing over the first envelope filled you with a strange kind of hope. Maybe this time, she’d smile like she did in the photo. Maybe she’d thank you, even hug you. Maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs, and crossed the room to the mirror. Your reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and pale, but there was a spark of pride in your gaze. You’d done something good—for her, for yourself. It wasn’t legal, no, but it was necessary.

Your fingers brushed against the photo frame as you returned to the desk, the cold glass grounding you. No matter how much she hurt you, no matter how much fear she instilled, you still loved her. She was your mother.

And you’d do anything to keep her happy.

———

The knock on the door was soft, almost tentative, but it still sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system. You clutched the envelope tightly in your hand, its weight heavier than the sum it carried. This was it. You smoothed your hair, tried to compose yourself, and opened the door.

She stood there, a vision of maternal grace, her sharp edges carefully filed away. Her lips curled into a warm smile, one that lit her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, she looked just like the mother in the graduation photo—loving, proud, whole.

“There you are, sweetheart,” she said, stepping inside and brushing a hand over your hair. Her touch was light, affectionate, as if the hands that had dragged you out of bed days ago had never known violence.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, she guided you to the small couch in your dorm room and sat down beside you, her perfume a familiar cloud of roses and nostalgia.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she said, her voice tender. “I’ve been so worried about you. You look tired, baby.” Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the dark circles under your eyes. “Have you been eating enough? Sleeping?”

You nodded, unsure of what else to do. The words caught in your throat, tangled in the weight of her presence.

“I brought your favorite,” she said, producing a neatly packed box from her bag. Inside were homemade cookies, perfectly golden, still warm as if she’d baked them just for you. She broke one in half and held it to your lips, her eyes soft with an affection that made your chest ache. “Here, eat. You need your strength.”

You bit into the cookie, its sweetness almost overwhelming. She watched you with such intensity, as though every crumb you swallowed was a testament to your gratitude, your obedience.

Finally, you held out the envelope. “I—uh—I managed to save some money,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For you.”

Her eyes widened, shimmering with what looked like genuine pride. She took the envelope delicately, as though it were a fragile gift. Opening it, she flipped through the bills, her expression melting into something softer, more radiant.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a sudden, crushing hug. “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Her words were honeyed, dripping with adoration, and yet they stung. You closed your eyes, leaning into her embrace, the warmth of her body erasing the bruises she’d left days before.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, her hand stroking your hair. “You’re all I have, you know that? Just you and me against the world.”

Her grip tightened, just for a moment, but then she pulled back, holding your face in her hands. “Promise me you’ll always take care of yourself, for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

The tears in her eyes looked so real, so heartbreakingly sincere, that for a moment, you believed her. You wanted to believe her.

“I promise,” you said, the words feeling like a chain coiling tighter around your chest.

“Good girl.” She kissed your forehead, a gesture so tender it left you dizzy. “I love you, you know that?”

You nodded, your throat burning with unspoken words.

The rest of the evening passed in a surreal haze of domestic bliss. She stayed for hours, tidying your dorm, chatting about mundane things, laughing at old memories as though nothing had ever been wrong. It felt like stepping back in time, to when your world was still intact, when her love wasn’t a weapon but a shield.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A shadow of doubt, a whisper of fear. Because you knew—deep down—that this wasn’t love. It was something darker, something that wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe.

But for tonight, you let it happen. You let her smile and laugh and hold you close. You let yourself believe, just for a little while, that everything could be okay.

———

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, a biting reminder of the wounds she was carefully tending. Her touch was impossibly gentle, almost reverent, as though the same hands hadn’t carved those injuries into your skin just hours ago. She hummed softly, a melody you vaguely recognized from childhood, her voice smooth and warm like a lullaby meant to soothe your fears.

“Hold still, sweetheart,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your cheek as she dabbed at a cut near your temple. “This might sting a little.”

It did. The pain flared, bright and hot, but her other hand stroked your hair, grounding you in the surreal tenderness of the moment.

“You’ve always been so brave,” she said, her eyes meeting yours with a depth of sincerity that made your stomach churn. “Taking everything life throws at you with your head held high. I don’t know how you do it, baby.”

Her smile was soft, motherly, and the juxtaposition of her words against the still-healing bruises on your arms made your throat tighten.

She leaned closer, inspecting her work, her breath warm against your skin. “There. Good as new,” she said, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Her hand lingered on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You really scared me, you know. You’ve been so distant lately.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and small.

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated concern. “Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t need to apologize. You’ve just… been through so much, haven’t you?” Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with an intimacy that felt suffocating.

“I’ve been so hard on you,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly as though she might cry. “I hate seeing you like this, so beaten down. You deserve so much better.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of confusion and unease tangling with the faint, desperate hope that this time—this time—she meant it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my baby, my whole world. I just want to see you happy.”

She stood and moved to the kitchen, her movements fluid, almost cheerful. “You must be starving,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make your favorite. Just sit there and relax, okay? You need to rest.”

Her back was to you now, and for a moment, you could almost pretend this was normal. The hum of the stove, the faint sizzle as she prepared the food—it all felt so mundane, so safe.

But the memory of her voice—razor-sharp and dripping with venom—echoed in the back of your mind.

"Don’t make me come back here for nothing, you useless little brat."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. She was different now. She was kind. Loving. She hadn’t been like this in years, not since before everything fell apart.

The meal she placed before you was perfect, a careful recreation of a childhood favorite. She watched you with expectant eyes as you took the first bite, her smile widening when you nodded in approval.

“See? Mommy knows what you need,” she said, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your knee. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? As long as we have each other.”

You forced a smile, the words catching in your throat.

The warmth of her affection was almost worse than her anger. It wrapped around you like a blanket, smothering you under the weight of its expectations. But you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t risk breaking this fragile illusion, not when the alternative was so much worse.

So you nodded, swallowing down the fear and confusion and guilt. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, you could almost believe it.

────────────

The halls were quiet, the chaotic din of the usual school day replaced by an unusual calm. It was as though the entire campus had been wrapped in a fragile layer of peace, everyone too preoccupied with the looming end-of-year celebrations to pay you any mind. You walked alone, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering faintly, your shadow stretching and shrinking against the scuffed linoleum floor.

For the first time in what felt like ages, your chest felt lighter. The suffocating weight of constant vigilance had lifted, even if only for a moment. Domo was away, too busy with her responsibilities to hover protectively over you, but her absence didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.

You passed clusters of students bustling about, their faces flushed with excitement and stress as they carried props and decorations for the Christmas program. No one spared you a glance, not even the cliques that usually whispered behind your back or the bullies who made a sport of finding new ways to humiliate you. They were too wrapped up in their own lives, their own dramas.

The solitude was soothing.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you stepped out into the courtyard. The winter air was crisp, biting gently at your cheeks and nose. The skeletal trees stood silent, their barren branches reaching towards the pale gray sky. You sat on one of the cold metal benches, pulling your coat tighter around you, and watched the world move on without you.

It was better this way.

The distant sound of carols drifted through the air, mingling with the faint chatter of students. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and soak it in—the peace, the simplicity. No shouting. No biting words. No stifling fear clawing at your throat.

For the first time in months, you felt something like happiness. At least for a while.

———

The air was crisp and still as you crept through the dimly lit campus grounds, the cold biting at your exposed skin. Every step felt heavier than the last, your stomach knotting tighter with each reluctant movement. The text from him sat unread but seared into your mind, its bluntness coiled around your thoughts like barbed wire: "My dorm. Tonight. Don’t make me wait."

It wasn’t the first time. His demands always came with the same suffocating inevitability, a choice between the humiliations he’d orchestrate and the unspeakable consequences of defying him.

You kept your head low, your heart pounding as you slipped into the shadows, avoiding the few lingering students rushing to finish end-of-year preparations. The warmth of the day had been fleeting—Domo’s absence notwithstanding. You’d almost dared to hope the universe might grant you a reprieve. But he’d reminded you, as always, that peace wasn’t for people like you.

His dorm building loomed ahead, its sharp, modern edges cutting against the pale moonlight. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the door, the sterile chill of the metal handle grounding you in the moment. Inside, the fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly, the hallways deserted and eerily quiet.

Room 312. You knew it by heart. You had never asked to learn this intimately, but circumstance—and his persistence—left you with little choice.

The door was ajar when you arrived, as though he’d been expecting you.

“Come in,” his voice called, low and casual, from somewhere inside. It grated against your nerves, setting off alarm bells in the recesses of your mind.

You stepped inside, the warmth of his room almost suffocating after the cold outside. He was seated at his desk, leaning back lazily in his chair, his posture deceptively relaxed. His gaze met yours, sharp and assessing, and the faint smirk playing at his lips sent a chill down your spine.

“Right on time,” he drawled, gesturing for you to close the door. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You said nothing, your throat dry as you complied.

The tension in the room was palpable as he stood, his movements unhurried, his towering presence swallowing the space between you. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with something darker. “Almost like you thought you could avoid me.”

“I wasn’t—” you began, your voice shaky, but he silenced you with a sharp laugh.

“Save it,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the oppressive heat radiating off him. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve been telling yourself. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

His hand shot out, gripping your chin with bruising force as he tilted your face upward. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning you like you were something to be dissected. “You look happy,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “What’s got you in such a good mood, huh?”

The question was rhetorical, his fingers tightening painfully as he leaned in closer. “You know,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your cheek, “I don’t like it when you forget your place.”

You swallowed hard, the fear clawing its way up your throat as his grip shifted to your shoulder, shoving you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your limbs stiff and trembling.

He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the harsh light. “We’re going to play a little game,” he said, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You’re going to listen very carefully, and if you’re good—well, let’s see if you remember what happens when you’re not.”

The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. You didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, as his gaze pinned you in place.

And just like that, the fleeting warmth of the day was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding reality you couldn’t escape.

———

He leaned against the desk in his dorm, his expression dripping with smug satisfaction, as if he had already won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. His phone rested in his hand, the glow from the screen casting shadows on his face.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His tone was light, almost amused, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “All this time, I thought you were just pathetic. Turns out, you’re also a little criminal. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Your stomach dropped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he sneered, tilting his head as he studied your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? That you could just go around doing… that and no one would notice?”

He held up his phone, the screen flashing with what could only be described as evidence—screenshots, transaction logs, even security footage. Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening rhythm that drowned out everything else.

“You’re so damn stupid,” he said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Leaving a digital trail like that? Rookie mistake. But I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from someone like you. After all, you’ve never been anything but a useless, desperate little nothing, right?”

The insult stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His grin widened at your silence, his enjoyment of your fear palpable.

“Let me spell it out for you,” he said, stepping even closer until you were forced to back up against the wall. “I’ve got everything I need to ruin you. Everything. Those little stunts you pulled to get your precious mommy her money? Yeah, I’ve got it all. And trust me, it’s enough to get you expelled, arrested… maybe even worse.”

You shook your head frantically, your voice trembling as you tried to protest. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, save it,” he snapped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t give a shit about your sob story. You think anyone else will? You’re nothing, sweetheart. Just a sad little loser with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes, frustration from everything welling up as if ready to pour out; but you blinked them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. He noticed, of course, and his smirk turned cruel.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he mocked, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You wouldn’t want Mommy Dearest to find out, would you? Imagine how disappointed she’d be. Or worse—imagine what she’d do if she found out her little cash cow has been hiding things from her.”

His words were a dagger to your chest, twisting with every syllable. He knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to exploit your deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

“But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost sweet. “I’m not a monster. I’m willing to keep this between us… for a price.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. “W-What do you want?”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Oh, nothing too crazy,” he said, leaning in until his face was inches from yours. “Just a little obedience. A little gratitude. Maybe even a little fun. After all, we’ve got such a good thing going, don’t we?”

His hand reached up to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Or, you can try to run. Try to fight. But let’s be real—you don’t have the guts. You’ve never had the guts. So why don’t you just be a good little slave and play along? It’ll be so much easier for both of us.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every passing second. There was no escape, no way out. He had you, and he knew it.

———

The air in the room felt oppressive, suffocating, as his words dripped into your ears like poison. His grin was wide, vicious, a predator toying with its prey, knowing there was no escape. He perched on the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming even as he leaned in casually, as though you were equals in this twisted game.

“You really think she doesn’t know?” he murmured, his voice a low, mocking purr. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting your panic like a mirror. “Domo. Your precious, perfect Domo. She’s not stupid, you know. I mean, come on, you’ve been sloppy, haven’t you? Or did you think you could actually hide all this?”

You flinched at his words, the knot of anxiety in your chest tightening. You had been careful. Meticulous, even. But now, doubt began to claw its way into your mind. His smirk widened at the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“That’s the thing about people like her,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “She’s got this shiny, righteous exterior. Strong sense of justice, doesn’t she? Loves tearing people like you apart. The frauds, the liars, the criminals. Do you even know what she’d do if she found out?”

Your stomach churned. You’d seen it yourself—how Domo could rip someone’s reputation to shreds with a single exposé, how her ruthless sense of morality left no room for gray areas. And you, with your secrets, your crimes…

────────────

The first time you saw Domo’s sense of justice in action, it left a deep impression—one that you didn’t know whether to admire or fear. It was a cold, rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky seemed to weep with an intensity that felt personal. Most students had already gone home, but you stayed late in the library, hunched over a stack of outdated textbooks you couldn’t afford to replace.

That was when you heard it—low, vicious laughter echoing from the stairwell. Curious, you crept closer, peeking from behind a bookshelf.

There she was. Domo.

And in front of her, trembling like a trapped animal, was a senior. He was taller, broader, someone who carried himself like he owned the place—until that moment. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he stammered, his hands raised as if to shield himself from her words. “I was just messing around—”

“Messing around?” Domo’s voice was calm, almost too calm. It carried no heat, no anger, only an icy precision that made your blood run cold. “So stealing exam papers and selling them to desperate students counts as ‘messing around’ now?”

She took a step closer, her shadow looming over him despite her slightly smaller frame. The rain continued to pour outside, its rhythm punctuating her words.

“I have the screenshots, the emails, the recordings. Every lie you told, every bribe you took—it’s all here.” She held up her phone, her finger hovering over the screen. “It would only take one click for this to reach the dean’s office.”

The senior’s face paled. He stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling into a pitiful mess. “Please, Domo. Don’t ruin me. I’ll do anything—just don’t—”

“Ruin you?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You ruined yourself the moment you decided your greed was worth more than the futures of those you exploited.”

There was no room for argument in her tone, no opening for negotiation. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t emotional. She was just. And that made it worse.

When the senior finally broke down into sobs, begging on his knees, Domo didn’t gloat. She didn’t smile. She simply pressed send.

You didn’t need to stick around to know what happened next. The senior was expelled within a week, his disgrace plastered across every whispering clique in the halls.

———

Another time, you saw her in action during a group project. It was supposed to be simple—divide the workload evenly, finish on time, get a decent grade. But one of your teammates, a quiet girl with a perpetually nervous expression, confessed to Domo that someone had been stealing her ideas and presenting them as his own in front of the professor.

Domo didn’t hesitate.

She called the guy out during the next class, her voice ringing clear across the room. “I think it’s only fair to credit the person who actually did the work, don’t you?”

The guy laughed nervously, brushing her off. “What are you talking about, Domo? We all worked on it together.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes glittered like shards of broken glass. “Because I have the timestamps on her drafts and the plagiarism report showing your presentation is word-for-word identical. Care to explain how that’s a coincidence?”

The classroom went silent. The professor frowned, leaning forward in his chair.

“Domo, I—” the guy started, but she cut him off with a single, raised hand.

“I don’t want your excuses,” she said firmly. “I want you to admit what you did, apologize to her, and redo the work properly. Or we can take this up with the academic board. Your choice.”

You could almost hear the sound of his pride shattering. He mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and spent the rest of the term walking on eggshells around her.

———

Domo’s sense of justice wasn’t loud or flashy. It didn’t rely on intimidation or physical strength. It was quiet, methodical, and utterly terrifying.

She didn’t give second chances. She didn’t forgive dishonesty.

And that was why you could never let her find out. Not about your hacking. Not about the money. Not about how you had initially planned to use her kindness for your own survival.

Because if she ever did…

She wouldn’t just hate you.

She’d destroy you.

────────────

“I mean, it’s almost funny,” he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Here you are, pretending to be this innocent little thing, latching onto her like a leech. But let’s be real—this friendship of yours? It’s built on lies. You used her.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice trembling. “That’s not true. I—”

“Oh, but it is,” he cut you off, his tone sharp and biting. “You needed her, didn’t you? Not for who she is, but for what she could give you. Money. Protection. A shield to hide behind. You’re pathetic.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I care about her,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Care about her? Don’t make me laugh. If you really cared, you’d have told her the truth by now. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know she’d drop you in a heartbeat. She’d see you for what you really are—a selfish, manipulative little rat.”

The words hit like a slap, and you recoiled, your heart pounding. “I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he sneered, cutting you off again. “You think she’s going to believe you over me? I’ve got proof, sweetheart. I’ve seen what you do. All those late nights, the hacking, the money you’ve been funneling. You really thought you’d get away with it?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t bother,” he said, his tone softening to something almost tender. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to tell her… yet. But imagine how she’d look at you if I did. Imagine the betrayal in her eyes when she realizes her best friend is nothing but a criminal.”

His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of affection. You flinched but didn’t pull away, too frozen by fear. “But I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m giving you a chance. A way out. All you have to do is listen to me. Do what I say. It’s not that hard, is it?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you tried to stand your ground. “I won’t let you manipulate me.”

His grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to manipulate you. I just have to tell the truth. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? You’ve already done all the hard work for me. All I have to do is hand her the evidence, and you’re done.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince. “So here’s the deal,” he said, his tone cold and commanding. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions, no hesitation. Because if you don’t…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll make sure she knows everything. And when she does, she’ll hate you. She’ll destroy you. And I’ll be right here to watch.”

You shuddered, the weight of his words crushing down on you. He pulled back, his grin as smug as ever. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Are you going to be a good little girl and play along? Or do I need to make a few phone calls?”

The silence stretched between you, suffocating, as he waited for your answer. And in that moment, you realized there was no way out. Not without losing everything.

———

His lips crashed against yours again, rough and demanding, his fingers curling into the nape of your neck with enough pressure to make your scalp burn. You didn’t resist—not because you wanted this, but because resisting would only escalate things. His breath was hot and suffocating, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to punish you for every shudder of disgust you couldn’t suppress.

Your mind spun in chaotic circles, desperately searching for an escape even as his body pressed you further into the mattress. His weight pinned you down, his hands wandering in a way that felt more like a claim than an embrace.

You closed your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only made your thoughts louder. They roared with a single name: Domo.

Domo, who would never forgive you. Domo, who could never know.

The thought of her was a knife in your chest, sharp and twisting. You didn’t fear her anger—you feared her disappointment. Domo wasn’t just a friend. She was the only light you had, the only one who ever made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely worthless. But Domo had a sense of justice as unforgiving as the universe itself.

You had seen her at her most ruthless. She wasn’t the type to scream or cry when betrayed. No, Domo dissected you with precision, unraveling every thread of your lies until you were nothing but a tangle of shame and regret. You had watched her dismantle people who thought they could outwit her, her sharp words leaving them gutted in ways they never recovered from.

If she found out about the hacking… the money…

Your stomach twisted. You’d seen it happen before. The way her eyes hardened, the way her voice turned cold, like steel slicing through flesh. Domo didn’t just destroy people—she erased them, made them into cautionary tales.

And she’d do the same to you.

But more than that, you’d lose her. She wouldn’t see the circumstances. She wouldn’t see your desperation, your mother, your empty dorm room filled with shadows. She’d only see the crime, the betrayal, the weakness.

The bully’s lips moved to your neck, and you bit your tongue to suppress a gasp. His hands slid lower, possessive and mocking, as if to remind you of the power he held over you.

“Thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and cruel. “Your precious Domo. Wondering what she’d say if she saw you like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you couldn’t let her see. You couldn’t let her know how far you’d fallen, how much you’d compromised. If she knew—if she even suspected—she’d leave you.

And your mother…

The thought of her sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. If Domo’s judgment was cold and calculated, your mother’s was visceral and brutal. She wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d punish you, grind you down until there was nothing left. You’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her fingers curled into fists, in the way her voice dropped to a low, venomous growl when she was angry.

The money wasn’t just a lifeline—it was the leash she held you on. It was the only thing keeping her rage at bay.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not even here, are you? Too busy thinking about how to keep all your little secrets.”

He kissed you again, his hands tightening their grip, and your mind screamed at you to focus. But all you could think about was Domo’s face—her sharp, piercing eyes, her unwavering sense of right and wrong.

And the cold, hard truth that if she ever knew the real you, she wouldn’t just walk away. She’d destroy you.

Just like he would.

“Go ahead,” he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His smirk was razor-sharp, his gaze dark with amusement. “Keep pretending you’re innocent. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You’re just as dirty as the rest of us. And the best part? No one’s going to save you.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

———

Your head swam with the weight of his words, the dark intensity behind them burrowing under your skin like thorns. His breath was hot against your lips as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with an almost tender care, a stark contrast to the bruises you knew he’d left on your body before. The room spun with his presence, suffocating, inescapable, and yet something in you was too tired to resist.

“You think anyone else could love you like this?” he whispered, his voice low and raw, each word an anchor pulling you deeper into his orbit. His lips found the corner of your mouth, teasing, brushing, and when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a surrender.

“I see you,” he murmured, his hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “The real you. The one who’s scared, pathetic, desperate. I see it, and I still love you for it. No one else does. Not Domo, not your mother, no one. They only see what you pretend to be.”

He kissed you hard then, his mouth consuming yours, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The edge of his teeth scraped against your lower lip as he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes sharp and burning with something primal.

“It’s always been the two of us,” he growled, his voice thick with possession as he gripped your hips, grinding against you in slow, deliberate movements that left no room for misinterpretation. “Even when you ran to Domo, even when you tried to leave me behind, you always came back. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your chest tightened as his words drilled into you, his logic cutting through every feeble protest you might have had. No one else cared. Not like this. Not with this twisted, obsessive devotion that terrified you as much as it made you feel alive.

“You think Domo will stay if she finds out who you really are?” he sneered, his lips ghosting over your jawline before nipping at your ear. “She’ll throw you away like everyone else. But me?” His voice softened, his tone almost reverent. “I don’t care what you do. Cheat, lie, betray me—hell, run back to her if you want. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your lips pressed against his, hesitant, shy, but it was enough to spark something dangerous in him. He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, his movements aggressive but laced with a desperate kind of love.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming, gripping, owning. “You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you? You’re mine. No one else gives a shit about you like I do. No one else knows you like I do. And no one else ever will.”

His words were a mantra, a binding spell, as he kissed you again, his love a suffocating force, overwhelming and inescapable. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t kind, but it was real in a way that twisted something deep inside you.

“You and me, baby,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat all at once. “Always.”

———

The hesitation lingered in your body, a faint tremor in your hands, a fleeting flicker in your gaze that he picked up on like a predator scenting blood. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips hovered over yours, smirking just slightly at the way you tensed under his touch.

“Still fighting me, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and rich with amusement, a dangerous edge beneath his tone. “You don’t have to say anything. I know that little head of yours is spinning, trying to figure out what to do. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You can’t afford to push me away.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate and suffocating, drawing out every second as if savoring his victory. “Not like this is new for us,” he whispered against your lips, his tone almost tender, like a lover’s. “You remember, don’t you? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t? It’s been a while, sure—probably because you’ve been too busy drooling over that bitch Domo. But this? This has always been us.”

The words landed like blows, each one calculated to chip away at your defenses. You stiffened at the mention of Domo, your mind spiraling into the familiar maze of fear and guilt. He laughed softly, sensing your weakness, and tilted your chin up so your eyes met his.

“There it is,” he said, his grin widening as his fingers brushed your cheek with mock tenderness. “That little look of guilt. You don’t want her to know, do you? Don’t want her to see the real you. The one who cheats and lies and does whatever it takes to survive. Guess what? I already know all of that, and I’m still here. Isn’t that funny?”

You stayed silent, your breath shaky as his hands roamed with purpose, drawing you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of his control. “She’d never forgive you,” he continued, his voice a soft hum of poison. “If she found out, she’d drop you like you were nothing. And your mom? Oh, let’s not even start on her.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it sinking into your chest. “But me?” he murmured, brushing his lips against the corner of your mouth before stealing another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you are. I’ve always loved you for it. Your pathetic, broken little self is mine.”

You knew he was pushing you, pressing all the right buttons to ensure you bent to his will. Your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight, but the weight of everything he had over you—the photos, the proof, the cruel knowledge of your worst secrets—held you firmly in place.

“That’s right,” he whispered as you finally stopped resisting, your body going limp under his hold. He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, possessive and firm. “You’re getting it now. This is where you belong. With me. Submitting to me, just like you always have, just like you always will.”

He didn’t stop, even as your compliance became evident. Instead, he pressed harder, his kisses more demanding, his touch bolder, his words laced with a dangerous, almost intoxicating affection.

“I don’t just own your body,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pulled you even closer. “I own your heart, your mind, your fucking soul. Domo doesn’t get that, and she never will. This? This is ours. Always has been.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight as the reality of his hold on you settled like chains around your chest.

Every word, every touch, every calculated smile of his reminded you of the truth—you were his, and fighting back only tightened his grip.

———

His hands moved with an infuriating blend of precision and fervor, peeling away layers of your clothing as if removing barriers to what he believed was already his. Each brush of his fingers was rough, each kiss an assault, his lips crushing against yours like he was trying to consume you entirely. He growled low in his throat, a predatory sound that sent a shiver of both fear and shameful heat down your spine.

"That’s it," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils blown wide with a dangerous mix of lust and obsession. His breath fanned hot against your skin as his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer. “My little masochist. You like this, don’t you? Pretending to fight me, pretending you have some kind of choice. But deep down, you love it. You love me.”

The words dripped with mockery, but underneath the venom, there was something softer—something that felt almost genuine in its twisted way. He leaned down, his teeth grazing your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “Yeah, that’s the sound I want. None of that quiet, boring little act you pull for everyone else. Show me what you really are, hmm? Weak, needy, desperate. Mine.”

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to pull away. He noticed, of course he noticed, and his smirk widened, his movements growing bolder. His hands roamed over you with a hunger that bordered on savage, but there was a calculated restraint in his grip, like he was savoring every moment of your submission.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky as his fingers slipped beneath the last layer of fabric, “I could ruin you, completely destroy that pathetic little life of yours. But I don’t. You know why?” He kissed you hard, swallowing your unsteady breaths before pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. “Because I love you. No one else gives a damn about you, not your saintly Domo, not even your precious mother. Just me.”

His movements grew rougher, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pushed you back onto the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze dark and feral, his smirk curling into something more primal. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he said, his voice almost a growl as he pressed his body against yours. “Careless, weak, a complete mess. But you’re my mess. And no matter how much you screw up, no matter how much you betray me, I’m the one who’s always going to pick you up, fix you, keep you safe.”

Each word came with another bruising kiss, another searing touch that left you reeling. He whispered sweet poison into your ear, promises wrapped in degradation, affection laced with humiliation. “You’ll never find anyone else who loves you like this,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Who knows you like this. You’d be nothing without me, and you know it.”

His real personality was fully unleashed now—raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly familiar. The mask of control slipped just enough to reveal the primal, obsessive hunger beneath. Every movement, every word, every calculated act was designed to remind you of one thing: he owned you. Body, mind, and soul.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach

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maidenimage · 2 days ago

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First of all, I'm so sorry for what happened to you. No, what someone did to you. It's reprehensible and wrong and I wish I could take it away from everyone who has experienced something like that.

Second, I appreciate you sharing this with all of us. I can't imagine it was easy, and it's even harder when we're struggling to understand our own emotions and where they're coming from and why.

I recognize a lot of your internal conflicts in my own. I had the same experience with JKR and the IP -- it meant a lot to me growing up, but it was so easy for me to cut ties with it in the face of her transphobia. But like you, I don't feel the same compulsion to cut myself off from the Good Omens IP or its fandom or community. I struggled at first, but it didn't take me long to unpack and understand why the two situations are different.

Supporting JKR and her IP isn't just a matter of whether or not she directly benefits from it, monetarily. Keeping her relevant, through cosplay, through art, through fanfiction, through independent artists on Etsy or at conventions, through film and game adaptations, all of it -- it keeps her relevant to book publishers, game developers, media distributors, etc. She continues to leverage her fame, her platform, her audience to make more content, more IPs, more revenue streams, and people keep letting her -- because there's no such thing as bad publicity. She has garnered a HUGE following of transphobic supporters who love how vocal she is with her transphobia, and will continue to boost her harmful rhetoric and support her projects. This makes her lucrative. Regardless of the controversy, if she makes a company money, they will publish her book, turn her IP into a game, program the film adaptations of her books during the holidays and every other time of the year. Supporting the IP whether you support JKR or not is still making her a hefty profit, and it continues to perpetuate harmful stereotypes and ideas against the queer community.

But more than just that -- and compounded by that -- the money that she continues to make from all the attention is going directly to lobbying for policy that hurts trans people. I'll say that again. If you still engage with HP in ANY public way, you are funneling money directly into policies that can permanently harm trans people. This is why it is SO important for us to disengage. Because the more JKR tweets, the more she gets attention, articles written about her, followers on her platforms, etc, the more money she makes -- and the more she's able to lobby for these policies.

There's also the fact that JKR's seven-part IP is full of the anti-Semitic, anti-women, racist, and queerphobic values that she herself holds. So supporting the IP is still excusing those parts of it.

With Good Omens, none of this is the case.

When the allegations against NG first surfaced last July, he immediately disappeared. From all of his social media (where he had been very visible and received a lot of positive attention), from the press, from everything. He stopped doing events, he didn't promote any of his work. Nobody did. In fact, all of his projects in development in the way of film and television adaptations were halted, shut down, or altogether canceled.

To be clear, NG's disappearance from the public eye does not make him a better person than JKR. Whether he did it out of shame or a desire to avoid backlash, it doesn't really matter. The reality is, the scandal didn't make him more popular the way it did with JKR. It didn't drive more attention toward his properties, it didn't accelerate his financial gain. It did the opposite.

Furthermore, NG has been publicly and financially castrated from Good Omens. He's been removed as writer, executive producer, and his production company has been removed as well. He is no longer profiting off of the series finale. And he did so in order for the project to see its end in honor of Terry Pratchett, who people often forget or ignore was also responsible for authoring the IP.

Again, this is in no way a defense of NG, it's not meant to humanize him, nor is it absolution for his crimes. My point is simply that continuing to engage with Good Omens doesn't have the same social impact as with JKR's IP. There's no financial benefit to NG for the success of the show. He doesn't use the scandal and take any previous profits and lobby for policies that harm women. He doesn't get on social media and encourage people to go out and SA people, he doesn't espouse harmful rhetoric about how great SA is. If he did any of this, I'd drop Good Omens like a hot rock.

But simply, the two situations are not the same. So please don't feel bad about still loving the show, or the book, or continuing to engage with the community. You deserve to heal however you need to. If that means clinging to Good Omens more than before, then cling, baby, cling. It doesn't mean that you don't support the victims who have come forward. It doesn't make a single impact on their lives. What does make an impact is how vocal we have been in renouncing our support of NG, and how we've used the fandom to rally together to raise money for charitable causes that help victims of SA. And if anyone tries to tell you differently or make you feel bad about it, they can fuck right the hell off.

Anyway, I leave you all with what I hope with be a cathartic anthem for victims of SA everywhere.

youtube

Kill 'em dead, kill 'em dead (x2) F**kin' bodies in the hallway Kill 'em dead, kill 'em dead (x2) I got rage with it Kill 'em dead, kill 'em dead (x2) Run, you can run, but you can't hide

Don't let anyone steal your peace. Stay strong.

I want to talk about Neil Gaiman from the perspective of a survivor of SA.

I am a trans/ gender fluid person, a survivor of R*pe, and a diehard Good Omens fan. And I have been struggling to cope with and process the horrific things that Neil Gaiman has done. I don’t get a lot of engagement from the Good Omens fandom. I’m mostly a lurker here, TikTok, Twitter, and BlueSky and AO3. But I feel like I need to say something, and Im saying it here so I can share without a character limit. And then I’m going to take a break for a while because my mental health can’t handle the chaos anymore.

I read the Vulture article and I was of course horrified and disgusted and repulsed. The things he did to those women made me absolutely sick. But I’ll tell you what, as a survivor, I have been way more triggered by the online reaction to these allegations than I ever expected to be.

I am struggling, because while I unquestioningly stand with his victims and hope they get the full weight of justice they deserve, I am grieving. I am not reacting the way I would have expected myself to react to this news, and I haven’t since July when the story first broke. I would have expected to react the same way I did when JK Rowling exposed her horrific transphobia. I took a pretty hardline stance that any engagement with Harry Potter, even through fandom and etsy purchases, kept her relevant and sent the message that you too were transphobic. As a gender queer person, I now have an extremely hard time enjoying Harry Potter anymore even thought it was overwhelmingly influential on my life. I would not have met my husband without HP!

So why don’t I feel the same way about Good Omens? I am a victim of R*pe, myself, so why haven’t these allegations made it difficult to enjoy this story? In fact, all I want to do right now is actually watch the show! Or read the book, or fanfiction, or watch my favorite fan edits. I’m actually reaching out to it more. My instinct ever since July has been to clutch the story to my chest, white knuckled, and crying to myself in the shower, “No, no, no, no. Please, please, please. Not this. Not this too. Please don’t go.”

The answer is I don’t know. I… I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It is something I will have to work through with my therapist for sure. And I feel absolutely horrible for it. But I do know that folks on Twitter and TikTok telling me that nobody cares about my feeling and saying that nothing matters at all except his victims has been extremely triggering - more so than any discussion of his acts. And I know that I will need a long time to work through it, and that I may never get over it.

I also know that two things can be true at once. We can be supportive of his victims and understand that what Neil Gaiman’s fans are going through is ALSO a collective trauma that deserves time and space to process. Because he violated us too. He violated our trust and our perceptions of reality, and that is much more traumatic than people give it credit for. Demanding that his fans just give up the stories and communities that may have been the only thing keeping some of these people alive at one point completely cold turkey is cruel and heartless. Some people may be able to do that. They may be able to not care for a while and may even need that. People deserve time and grace to grieve and come to terms with what is going on in their own ways.

I know that some of these folks mean well, but the argument that nobody cares about fans feelings is not looking at the whole picture and feels like just a way to discredit and belittle fandoms in a new way. Because this is NOT breaking news! This story originally broke back in July, and the fandom rallied behind his victims en mass! They have recently raised thousands of dollars to donate to Take Back The Night, which is amazing! This most recent article and fandom meltdown is just rehashing everything that we said last summer. So my then questions are:

When CAN we grieve? When CAN we talk about how we are feeling? When CAN we reach out to our community and collectively heal from the trauma that we are facing as well? And not fear that some self righteous ass hole on the internet is going to bully them for not being a good enough feminist. And do NOT sit there on your performative high horse and tell us that what we are going through is not as bad as R*pe. We fucking know that. I certainly fucking know that. But it is still bad, and it does deserve recognition too. It is extremely unhealthy to pretend that this news is not also a noteworthy trauma to his fans. And gaslighting them by telling them that their heartbreak and grief is problematic is just fucking mean.

Neil’s fans deserve grace and compassion too.

#good omens #discourse #Youtube

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capitanooos · 2 days ago

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the voice of an angel // dmitri kravinoff x reader

-`♡´- pairing : dmitri kravinoff x reader

-`♡´- summary : when dmitri sees reader up on stage of a local restaurant, its love at first sight. he’s captivated by her and invites her to sing at his club…

-`♡´- warnings : alcohol consumption. nsfw. p in v, oral (male receiving), slight overstim, slight age gab, petnames, idk what else lmk if i should add something

-`♡´- notes : sorry this took so long!! kind of got overwhelmed w projects, one part and uhh the last bit was written in kind of a rush so its not really proofread. also havent written filth like this in a while. DMITRI MY BABY UGGHHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

-`♡´- word count : 5400

dont translate, modify or repost my work. you do not have permission. not my gif

As the lights shone on the stage and the music slowly started one last time, the audience cheered. Up on the stage stood a young woman, no older than twenty as she shyly approached the microphone again. It wouldn’t matter how often she stood on this, or any stage really, it would always be a little intimidating. Having all the people listen, some look at her as she sung.

Eventually, once she’d get lost in her element, she’d loosen up. Her voice ringing through the room quietly as the guests of the local pub or restaurant had their drinks or dinner.

Today she stood on the stage at the fine-dining restaurant that belonged to one of her fathers best friends. It was a busy Friday night and the place was stacked, filled with low conversation as couples had dinners, businessmen held meetings, and families celebrated birthdays.

The Ledbury had a high reputation here in London, and with the Christmas days coming up, the place was decorated to cozy up for the holidays.

The lyrics slowly came from her mouth as she held her hands on top of the microphone, eyes scanning the crowd and smiling brightly.

“It’s not right, ‘cause I’m so over being lonely.”

She noticed her fathers best friend at the bar and nodded at him. Her eyes once more looking over the guests that all had their conversations going on, or at least busing themselves with something.

“Make you mine, I need a virtual connection, take our time, be my video obsession.”

That’s when she locked eyes with a young gentleman. He was sitting in one of the booths with two other men but he paid no mind to them as he stared at her with big eyes, lips slightly parted as he tilted his head in adoration.

“Come on, don’t leave me, it can’t be that easy, babe. If you believe me, I guess I’ll get on a plane.”

His blonde hair seemed to glow a bit orange under the lights as he shifted his body to face her more. He let his gaze fall over her form, from the jewelry around her neck, to her dark blue velvet dress that fit her like a glove, to the bell sleeves that fell back on her arms as she shyly held on to the microphone, never breaking eye contact as she continued to sing.

“Fly to your city, excited to see your face. Hold me, console me, and then I’ll leave without a trace.”

The lyrics repeated themselves and she finally broke eye contact after offering him a shy smile, which he returned after she looked away. His brother shoved his shoulder in a playful manner, pulling his attention away from the singing girl and back to the important business meeting at hand.

Disappointment was evident all over Dmitri’s face when he looked back to see you gone. He had never heard a voice so angelic before, and that was a lot coming from someone who could mimic anyone. From your soft voice, to your sweet smile to the shy look in your eyes as you had held his gaze. His brother, Sergei, seemed to almost smell his disappointment as he sat back down after seeing their new business partner off.

“She’s at the bar.” That was all Dmitri needed to jump up from his seat and move towards said bar.

[Name] sat at the bar, taking small sips of her drink as she looked out the window. Snow was falling slowly on the already white streets of London. Louis, her fathers friend, had just handed her the envelope with her money and the tips customers had left her. It would always be insane to her how people left her tips, left her anything at all, just because they loved her singing so much. She was honoured and always made sure to thank the people would she see them again, most she did, seeing they were regulars.

She looked over to where that gentleman had sat before, seeing him nowhere in sight as she took another sip of her drink. The sweetness of it had her close her eyes as she savoured the drink.

“Excuse me, miss.” A voice besides her spoke up as she opened her eyes, smiling when she saw the handsome man before her. “Hi, I’m Dmitri Kravinoff.” he returned her smile as he held out his hand.

“[Name]. What can I help you with, mister Kravinoff?” he took her hand and to her surprise he didn’t shake it, no, he brought it up to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles.

Dmitri his mind went a hundred miles an hour as he heard her say his name, smiling at him politely as she set down her drink on the bar. She was an angel sent down from heaven, he swore.

“I had a question, if you have the time.” he smiled as he shook his head, trying to get back to reality. She was even more beautiful up close, her voice even purer without the microphone.

He swore he could feel his knees get weak when he heard her giggle, such a beautiful and honest sound. Never before had he felt this feeling that he was feeling right now. It spread all across his body, from the tips of his ears to the tip of his dick as he felt his pants tighten.

“You have my full attention, mister Kravinoff.” she smiled at him, turning her body to face him as he smiled a toothy smile.

“You have an amazing voice, unlike anything I have ever heard before. I, um, I run a club, and I was wondering if you’d like to perform. I’d- the people would love you. Of course you’d be well compensated.” he was rambling as he looked her in the eye, hoping she’d accept his offer.

She tilted her head with a small frown before it turned into a smile, as if to think about it. Dmitri was staring at her with no shame as he watched her every move, never had he thought love at first sight was a real thing, until he laid eyes on this woman, [Name].

“Alright, what price are we talking?” she said, grinning at him as she caught him staring. She watched him stumble over his words as an assortment of random words fell out of his mouth. “I’m kidding, mister Kravinoff, for someone like you I’d do it for free.”

Dmitri stared at her with his eyes wide and mouth agape before the corners of his lips twisted upwards. He smiled so brightly his cheeks hurt as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. She took it from him and quickly took in the words.

Chameleon and the Hunter.

She swallowed. That was the most well known, most difficult to get into club in possibly all of Europe. She didn’t know the boss was such a young man.

He watched her reaction as she read the card. He watched her bite her lip as she swallowed before looking back up to meet his eyes and smiling.

“It would be an honor to perform at your club, mister Kravinoff.”

He grabbed her free hand again, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it again. A sign of respect, a thank you, a promise.

She’d call him tomorrow, she said and he nodded before bidding her farewell and returning to the table he was at before, this time with a slight jump in his step as his brother grinned at him, having seen the entire interaction.

It was two weeks later when the day finally rolled around. [Name] entered the club and was immediately met with the man she saw at the table with Dmitri two weeks prior.

“Sergei Kravinoff.” he introduced himself as he shook her hand. He was one unit of a man and he towered over her as she nodded and followed him to the stage. She’d have given Dmitri a list of songs a week prior once they had set a date. “The stage is yours whenever you’re ready.” Sergei said as the pianist came up to her with a smile. She quickly discussed what to start with, having a small conversation as she took off her coat before rushing to the restroom to make sure she appeared well and not like she just came out of the snowstorm outside.

Thankfully it wasn't too bad and before she knew it she was up on the stage of the club. It was busy and her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the handsome face she couldn’t wait to see again. It was filled with rich looking people, sipping their drinks and wearing clothes that cost more than her rent.

“I’m heavy. I’m by your side. Forget me. ‘Cause I know what I need. Like a loser like me could be fine.”

As she started singing, she noticed a few people turn their heads, smiling as her voice reached their ears.

“Is someone telling me don’t get in the water? What have I done? I don’t wanna get lost inside the color under my tongue.”

Her gaze continued to sweep over the many faces, some looking back at her, some swaying their heads to the beat of the music, some completely endorsed in conversation, too busy to hear her sing. Still no sign of Dmitri. Maybe he wasn’t even here, but she wasn’t about to let his absence ruin this magnificent chance at performing at this establishment.

“Cause I don’t wanna be in love with another, even in another life.”

As she continued to sing, she captured the eyes and ears of more and more people. Receiving the occasional cheer as she finished song after song. It had been nearly an hour since she got up on stage, and once a gentleman put up his hat in front of the stage and tossing money in it, it didn’t stop. Men and women threw in more and more bills and coins worth more than she would make in a week. She smiled brightly everytime someone new came up to the stage, she felt like she was dreaming.

Eventually she stopped, taking a break and resting her voice as the pianist took over again. He smiled at her as she made her way down the bar.

The bartender offered her a smile to match her own as he complimented her singing before taking her order.

“My brother sure has an eye for talent, you are magnificent.” Sergei Kravinoff stood beside her as she quietly sipped at her drink, feeling the welcome cold drink drip down her throat.

“Thank you, mister Kravinoff. It is truly an honor and a dream come true to perform on your stage.” [Name] stated as she cracked her neck to look at the older man. She’d have to guess him in his late twenties, incredibly handsome, immensely tall too. “Speaking of your brother, I haven’t seen him tonight.”

Sergei laughed softly as he dipped his head. “Ah, Dima had some business to take care of, had him on the phone a minute ago so he should be here in about ten minutes or so. He has been looking forward to seeing you up on that stage.”

“I’ll be your baby. There’s nothing better I’d rather do.”

Those were the first Dmitri heard when he entered his club. His eyes darted to the stage where you stood, eyes closed as you sang, hips slowly swaying with the music as you were concentrating on the words coming out of your mouth.

The dark red dress that adored your figure made you look beautiful as the warm lights shone down on you.

“This momentary ride, this fire by my side. Are you gonna be here with me? You know that I’ll be your baby.”

Dmitri ignored the stare of his brother as he moved to take a seat at the bar, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the hat that sat in front of the stage, nearly spilling over with cash and he smiled. Well deserved, he thought.

“There’s nothing better I’d rather do. I’m lost completely.”

Your eyes opened and he watched as you searched the crowds eagerly. It took you a second but when your beautiful eyes met his own, a smile brighter than any he’d seen on you before spread over your face.

“I might as well be over the moon.”

A smile danced on his own features as you once again held his gaze like that one night. Seeing you here, in his club, smiling brightly and having the crowd, including himself, wrapped around your finger, Dmitri couldn’t help but fall in love with you more.

He knew his brother would call him silly, he barely knew you, if he knew anything about you at all besides your name that was. But gods, you looked like an angel, so beautiful and so at home on that stage. It made Dmitri lose his mind a little. A woman so beautiful, so talented, who’d accepted his offer without hesitation and question, before even knowing exactly who he was.

“For someone like you, I’d do it for free.” Those words had followed him for the last two weeks, along with the way his name fell off your lips. Someone like him, whatever you had meant with that.

Not for a second did he take his gaze off you. He remained fixated on you, a look in his eyes that even his brother had never seen before. You really had him wrapped around your finger, and he loved it. Dmitri couldn’t get enough of you, and when you finished your final song of the night, he stood up and clapped loudly, the crowd following suit as you smiled brightly, bowing a little before making your way down the stage.

Dmitri was in front of you before you realized, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he looked you in the eyes.

“Thank you, mister Kravinoff.” you said as you took him in from up close. The top buttons of his black dress shirt unbuttoned, the black suit jacket also unbuttoned and his hair slightly messy by the rough weather conditions outside. He looked so incredibly handsome it actually had you at a loss for words as you let him guide you towards the bar.

“It’s an honor to have you here, I should be thanking you, [Name].” he smiled as he gestured towards the bartender. “I am truly so happy you could make it.”

He looked like a little boy who just met his favorite superhero in a theme park as he looked at you.

You shook your head. You’d had many men and women in awe of your singing in the last few years, many offering you compliments, some giving you chances that you could only dream of but Dmitri? Dmitri was different. He was more than in awe, he was enthralled by you, he looked at you with such adoration that made your heart melt. Along with that he was a very handsome man, it was undeniable, it was a fact.

“I thank you for having me.” you said as you grabbed your drink, he did the same and he looked at you again.

“A toast, to you, and your magnificence.”

You giggled as you toasted with him, he was special, he had something that had you longing for more and so the start of a very long night began.

The two of you talked until deep in the night, about anything that came to mind, from schooldays to everyday life, from favorite foods to biggest fears. Eventually the club ran dry and you stood up from your chair, the clock had struck past three and it would be about time you headed home.

“I should get home, it’s late and I kind of have work tomorrow.” you smiled at Dmitri as he also stood up, helping you put on her coat with a boyish grin on his face.

He nodded at you, it was late indeed, and time seemed to have flown by. He watched you as you zipped up your coat, pulling your hair out of the back before throwing on your scarf. You looked adorable.

“Let me take you home, I wouldn’t want you wandering London at this time of the night and in this weather. I’d blame myself if something were to happen to you.” Dmitri offered, his driver had been waiting outside all this time for him, and the last thing he wanted was for you to walk through the snowstorm outside and get sick, or worse. London wasn’t safe at night.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. It’s only a twenty minute walk home, it’s fine, mister Kravinoff.” you began to decline his offer, genuinely not wanting to be a burden to the man.

You’d found out he turned twenty-six not too long ago, twenty-six and already having succeeded so much in life. You admired that, envied it even. You were right to assume that his brother, Sergei, was three years older than him, and the co-owner of the establishment. Somehow you also discovered he was oddly good at doing impressions, it was almost scary how spot on they were and it brought tears to your eyes from laughter as the two of you goofed around.

“Please, it wouldn’t be a bother. Count it as a thank you, for tonight.” you couldn’t explain the look in his eyes as anything other than hot as he awaited your reply.

Dmitri simply couldn’t get enough of you, the more the two of you talked the more enthralled he became. As you talked about your past and present, your dreams, everything that came out of your mouth made him want you more. He couldn’t give a damn about the people around him, for once he didn’t even seem to notice his brother's stares, he was so focused on you that everything else fell away.

Finally you nodded, agreeing and Dmitri’s excitement nearly shot through the sky as he told you to wait here for a minute before disappearing into a back door of the club. You’d expected him to come out with a jacket or something but nope, nothing seemed to be different as he came back out and wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you out into the cold winds. Once he sat down next to you in the car you turned to face him, he turned his head to look back at you and grinned.

“Didn’t know gentlemen still existed here in London.” you said, eyes falling over his figure with no shame, taking in what sat in front of you. From the gold chain peeking out from around his neck, to the way his hands laid idly in his lap as they fidgeted with his rings, to the way you noticed the bulge in his pants. You smirked and looked back up to meet his eyes.

“Rare sight to get a man to treat you well these days, huh?” one of his arms moved to rest on the back part of the chairs and you felt his fingers entangle in your hair, playfully testing the waters as he softly tugged on a lock of hair. Dmitri watched as your eyes closed, breath hitching in your throat as you let him pull your head backwards in the slightest.

“Yeah…” your words came out in a breath, more high pitched than you initially realized. You bit your lip when you looked at him again, eyes dropping down to his lips and lingering there before meeting his blue eyes again. You swallowed thickly as you felt his grip on your hair tighten.

Before you knew it you were straddling his lap and your lips were on his. His hands gripped your hips as he kissed you like a man who’d been starved. You felt the bulge in his pants grow more as you grinded your hips down on him, the only thing separating your core and his hard cock being the fabric of his pants and your panties, which you were sure were soaked in your juices already. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers lost in his hair as he pulled your hips closer.

“Gods,” He whispered as you leaned your forehead against his, pupils dilated, lips puffy as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he brushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear before slowly kissing along your jaw, down your neck, finding that sweet spot that had you moaning softly. Slowly more and more lovebites and marks made its way onto your skin.

Your head was reeling by the time the car stopped in front of your apartment. Quickly looking out of the window before letting your eyes search Dmitri’s, you gave him a look, as if to ask him if he wanted to continue this. He caught on and brought his lips back to yours while he threw your coat back around your shoulders before opening the car door.

You fiddled with your keys, unable to stop them from shaking due to the cold and anticipation of what was about to happen. Dmitri’s hand closed around yours as he helped you unlock the door before the two of you rushed in, not sparing a moment before you were all over each other again. Your coat fell onto the floor of the hall and your heels and his shoes were discarded on the way as you made your way to your bedroom.

Before you could enter the room however, Dmitri had you pinned up against the door, hands groping at your breasts as he buried his face in your neck. “You sure you want to do this?” he mumbled, placing soft kisses on your warm skin.

“Wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want this.” you moaned softly as he sucked on your skin, his hands moving to your back to find the zipper of your dress. Your hands were reaching for anything you could find, his chest, biceps, eventually ending back up in his curls.

“That’s my girl,” he said as you opened the bedroom door, stumbling in and taking him towards the bed. He finally managed to get your dress off and he watched in awe as it fell to the ground, smiling like crazy as he took in your body. Time seemed to slow down as you manoeuvred your hands into his suit jacket and took it off his shoulders, followed by your hands eagerly messing with the buttons of his dress shirt.

Once you had him shirtless you turned the both of you around as you pushed him down on the bed carefully, smirking at the surprise on his face by you taking the lead. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched you unbuckle his belt, fidgeting with the button of his pants and his zipper before looking into his eyes as you took off his pants and boxers in one go. His eyes were hungry as he watched you lick your lips, eyeing his rock hard cock in front of you.

You gave him a devilish smile as you wrapped one of your hands around his length, slowly stroking him, watching as he already threw his head back at the feeling. He had dreamt of this ever since he first saw you, you had plagued his dreams and his waking life, you had him thinking of the filthiest things imaginable on the work floor but nothing he had imagined compared to the real thing.

Low whimpers changed to moans as you started sucking on his tip. Dmitri swore that he was in heaven when he felt your lips around his cock, all the while still stroking him with your hand. Almost out of reflex he brought his hand to your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair as your head bopped down on his length, tasting his precum on your tongue. You moaned at the feeling of him slightly pushing your mouth back onto his cock while he cursed under his breath. If your mouth alone already felt this heavenly, Dmitri couldn’t even begin to imagine how your cunt would feel.

“F-fuck,” Dmitri cursed as he watched you take his cock into your mouth, down to his base. You were a sight to look at, holding eye contact with him as you sucked his dick. The closer he got, the less control he had over his body, eventually his hips buckled, bringing tears to your eyes as your gag reflex was tested. “Jesus.” Dmitri was so lost in it, and seeing you there, tears mixed with your eye makeup dripping down your cheeks, it did things to him.

“Baby, f-fuck, I’m gonna-” Dmitri’s sentence was cut short as you suddenly pulled off, drool dripping down your chin, saliva strands hanging between you and his still very hard cock as you grinned at him. “You wanna kill me, pretty girl?” The giggle you let out had his dick twitching as he pulled you up on the bed between his legs, hands moving to undo your bra as you leaned your head against his shoulder, looking at him with those eyes that drove him absolutely crazy.

“Dmitri!” you gasped as he quite literally ripped off your panties, throwing them to the side before his fingers found their way to your clit. You didn’t have much time to protest more because before you knew it he had you moaning on his fingers. His head dipped back down to the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as his fingers absolutely destroyed your cunt.

“Say that again, pretty, say my name.” It drove him crazy. The way his name fell off your lips might be his new favorite sound. His thumb came up to draw circles on your clit and you moaned loudly. “Thaaat’s it, sing for me, baby.” he spoke in such a tone that had you clenching your walls around his fingers, he grinned at the feeling, picking up his pace as he watched your face, scrunched up in pleasure as you made the prettiest sounds for him.

“So wet for me, doing so good for me, baby, such a good girl.” you moaned at his words, throwing your head back against his shoulder as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Dmi- Dmitri I’m- Please,” you gasped, not being able to think straight and form coherent sentences.

“I know, pretty girl. You wanna cum?” You nodded at his words, he had you at his mercy completely. “Go on then, let go for me.”

That was all you needed to hear as your orgasm washed over you, Dmitri’s pace never slowing down as he rode you through your orgasm. His fingers reached places that had your toes curling in pleasure as he curled them up in your velvety walls.

“Dmitri, god-” you hiccuped as he continued to finger your cunt, the overstimulation was building up as you gripped his wrist, trying to get him to slow down. You heard him laugh slowly before retracting his hand. “N-not nice.” you leaned your head against his shoulder, watching his face as he brought his hand up to his face and licking his fingers clean off your juices.

God that’s hot.

You turned around, bringing your lips back to his, moaning softly as you tasted yourself on his lips.

“I need you, Dmitri.” You said, your kisses going down to his jaw, gently sucking and biting here and there as you went, feeling him grip at your hips, moving you to lay down.

Your head rested on your pillows as you watched him settle between your legs, smiling when he leaned over to press a kiss to your lips.

“You ready, baby?” his voice was low, and soft and he was oh so gentle as he guided his dick towards your clit. You heard him sigh in contentment once he bottomed out inside of you, and your fingers moved to intertwine into his hair.

You moaned when you felt him move slightly. “Please, please, please, Dima please.” you buried your face in his neck, feeling a soft laugh run through him.

“Begging already, are we pretty girl?” you nodded shamelessly. Your previous orgasm had you sensitive yet you couldn’t help but want more. Want him. “Whatever you wish.” he said with a kiss to the side of your head.

You moaned loudly as you felt him pull out and immediately thrust back in, setting a comfortable pace as he placed soft kisses on your shoulder while you scratched up his with your nails.

Dmitri was engulfed by it all, he was surrounded by you fully. Your moans, whimpers, your still slightly teary eyes, the look you gave him before kissing him with such passion he didn’t know was possible.

“You feel so good, baby. So so good.” he muttered against your lips as he pulled back from the kiss. He felt you slightly nod, looking at him with adoration when his hand groped at your breast again. It was so overwhelming, it was so good.

His hands slowly moved lower, and lower, reaching between the two of you to draw circles on your clit, watching how your eyes immediately rolled back in pleasure as your back arched.

“Dima, oh. You,” There wasn’t a single right word coming out of your mouth as you looked at the smiling man above you. “So handsome.” you managed between heavy breaths, looking how his smile somehow got even brighter as you reached up and held his face with one of your hands, adoring him.

You felt him picking up the pace as he lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, your hand falling back on the duvet cover, which you gripped tightly. He reached so much deeper inside of you now. Dmitri felt it too, how your walls clenched around him and how you pressed your eyes closed in pleasure. A string of words came out of you, and neither of you could tell you what you said. The only clear thing being his name.

He reached places inside of you that you were sure of no one had ever touched before.

“Dima. I- Close-” your words were cut short as his fingers came back to your clit, rubbing circles as he groaned.

“I know, baby, me too.” he breathed out, his face scrunched up in pleasure. “Are you on anything?”

You nodded, “Y-yeah, pill. Ah. Please, Dima. Please.”

He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you a small smile.

“Gonna cum, pretty girl?” he watched you nod, “C’mon then, let go for me.”

That was all you needed to hear before your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, moaning out his name as you did. You felt him put your leg down as he leaned over, gently kissing you as he chased his own high.

“Dima, oh god, Dima, please inside,”

You definitely knew how to kill him, Dmitri thought, those two words drove him crazy.

“Thank you- Fuck fuck fuck, [Name]” he cursed before you heard him moan and letting his head fall on your shoulder. “Gods, my, so good.” You moaned softly as you felt him fill you up, painting your walls white.

He softly lowered himself on top of you, catching his breath as he rested for a second.

“That was…”

“Perfect.” You finished for him before he could say something else and you felt him nod against your chest, his soft curls tickling your chin. One of your hands moved to them, gently swiping some of the curls away from his sweaty forehead.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep right there and then, but you did and Dmitri noticed as soon as your fingers stilled in his hair, so he looked up to you, only to see your eyes closed and lips slightly parted, indicating your sleeping state.

Slowly but surely he pulled out of you, slightly aweing at the way his seed dripped out of your pussy before looking around the room. He spotted the bathroom and walked over as quietly as he could to not wake you. He came back with a glass of water and a towel to clean you up.

You looked so soft, so adorable as you slept, and Dmitri couldn’t help himself to gently kiss your forehead as he pulled the blanket over you.

“Mmh…?” you stirred from your sleep and your eyes met Dmitri’s blue ones once again. “Come, please.” You murmured as you opened your arms, welcoming him back.

Dmitri smiled as he got under the blanket with you. wrapping his arms around you and gently caressing your back as you cuddled up to him.

“Dmitri?” you questioned, cracking your neck to look at him. You heard him hum in reply, “I think I might start to like you a lot.”

He laughed, smiling at you and your complete honesty. “Oh, baby.” he brought his lips down to yours before speaking softly “I know I loved you ever since you got up on that stage in The Ledbury.”

You giggled and buried your face back into his chest, feeling it vibrate with laughter before his adorable laugh echoed through the room.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

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taglist : @bel0ved-heretic @ange-olras

#dmitri kravinoff #dmitri smerdyakov #dmitri kravinoff x reader #dmitri kravinoff x you #dmitri smerdyakov x reader #kraven the hunter #kraven movie #kraven #the chameleon #chameleon x reader #fred hechinger #fred hechinger character #fred hechinger x reader #fred hechinger x you

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meadowfics · 22 hours ago

Text

imposter

kang sae-byeok x smallbusinessowner!f!reader

you catch feelings for a girl who stole from you (dammit empathy)

you run a cozy little boutique that’s become your pride and joy.

it’s small but successful, bringing in enough to let you live comfortably.

you love the job with the regulars who visit your shop brighten your days.

however, you never expected your world to shift because of one quiet stranger.

the day she walks in, you notice her right away. she’s tall, lean, and moves with a kind of cautious grace that catches your attention.

she doesn’t say much, just browses the shelves, her sharp eyes scanning everything like she’s committing it to memory.

you smile at her, trying to make her feel welcome, but she doesn’t return it. instead, she nods briefly before turning back to the display.

something about her intrigues you, but you brush it off, focusing on other customers.

it isn’t until later, when you’re counting the day’s earnings, that you notice something’s wrong. you count the cash again, heart sinking as the realization hits you.

$1000 is missing.

you check the security cameras, and there she is. the quiet girl from earlier, her hand darting into the till while you were in the back.

your stomach twists, not with anger, but with confusion and disappointment.

the next day, you spot her near the boutique, standing by a food cart.

part of you wants to let it go, to just write it off and move on, but you can’t.

so you approach her, calling out softly. when she turns to face you, her expression hardens, her guard going up instantly.

“i think we need to talk,”

you say, keeping your voice calm.

she hesitates but doesn’t run. you gesture toward a nearby bench, and to your surprise, she follows. for a moment, there’s silence between you, her eyes darting around like she’s preparing for an escape.

finally, you ask,

“why did you take it?”

“i needed it.”

you don’t push, just wait. eventually, she sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“shit.. it's for my brother… he’s all i have. we’ve been through a lot. north korea, the border, everything. i’ve been trying to keep us afloat, but it’s… it’s hard.”

her voice cracks just a little on the last word, and something in your chest aches.

you can tell she does not talk about this a lot.. holding back in some way.

you could be furious, you could demand the money back or threaten to call the police, but instead, you ask,

“why didn’t you just ask for help?”

“because no one helps people like us.”

“what if i could help you?”

“not with a handout, but with a job.”

“a job?”

you nod.

“i need someone to help out at the boutique. it’s honest work, and I will pay you more than enough for you to take care of your brother.. and yourself. you wouldn’t have to…”

you trail off, not wanting to say the word “steal.”

she stares at you.

“why would you do that? after what i did?”

“because i believe in second chances, somewhat”

“and because i can see how much you care about your brother. you’re doing everything you can for him, even if it’s not the morally right way.”

she doesn’t answer right away, her gaze dropping to her hands. for a long moment, the two of you sit in silence. then, finally, she nods.

“okay,” she says quietly.

“i’ll take the job.��

the first few weeks are tense. she’s reserved, her walls firmly in place, and you give her the space she needs.

she’s a quick learner, though, and her work ethic is undeniable. slowly but surely, she starts to open up, sharing small glimpses of her life.

you learn her name..sae byeok.. and about her brother, whom she adores more than anything.

the both of you are the only workers there, which is nice to sae byeok.. meaning that she does not have to be known as the one coworker who got the job by stealing.

one day, you catch her slightly smiling as she helps a customer pick out a scarf. its a young boy. she's smile is small, barely there, but it makes your heart swell.

"who is that?"

you smile, seeing sae bye looking a little happier with the boy than usual.

"that's my little brother, cheol."

she leans against one of the clothing racks.

she’s starting to trust you, you can tell.

when her brother gets sick a few months later, she shows up to work with red-rimmed eyes and an unsteady voice.

you don’t ask questions; instead, you tell her to take the day off and slide a little extra into her paycheck that week.

she tries to refuse when she noticed it on her paystubs, but you insist, and for the first time, she hugs you.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me,”

“just promise me you’ll keep moving forward.”

and she does. little by little.

the boutique becomes more than just a job for her...it’s a place of stability, safety, and even joy.

sae believed that her life would have been filled with torture in order to get her brother out of the orphanage and in her care.

she still needs to get her mother out of north korea, which she is saving the money she is working for, slowly, for the broker.

weeks turn into months, you notice small changes in sae byeok.

the way her gaze lingers on you a little longer than necessary, the faint smile she gives when you laugh at something that really was not that funny

plus the way she quietly checks on you during slow moments in the shop.

sae is careful, guarded, but there’s something unmistakable in the way she looks at you now.

you try to ignore it at first, chalking it up to her growing comfort with you, but then you start noticing things about yourself.

for example, how the shop feels a little emptier on her days off, or how you find yourself looking forward to seeing her first thing in the morning.

when she’s gone, it feels like the air is missing something...a quiet, grounding presence that’s become more important than you realized.

one evening, as you’re closing up, sae lingers by the counter, her usual brisk goodnight slower than usual.

she hesitates, her hands brushing the fabric of her jacket, before finally saying,

“i.. i like working here. it’s different.”

you look up from the register, her words catching you off guard.

“different how?”

she shrugs, but there’s a softness in her expression.

“it feels… safe.”

your heart stumbles over itself at the quiet vulnerability in her voice.

“i’m glad,” you say, smiling at her.

“you deserve that reassurance, sae, and I am glad that I am giving it to you.”

for a moment, she just looks at you, like she’s trying to memorize the way you said her name.

she nods, mutters a quiet “goodnight,” and heads out the door.

you find yourself standing there long after she’s gone, the warmth of her presence lingering even in her absence.

when sae helps you restock shelves or rearrange displays, her hands brush against yours more often than coincidence can explain.

you tell yourself it’s nothing, but your heart betrays you every time she’s near.

one day, you’re alone in the shop during a rare quiet afternoon.

she’s organizing a rack of scarves, her focus entirely on the task at hand, and you find yourself watching her, the sunlight catching in her dark hair.

she looks so calm, so at peace.

“what?”

she asks, catching your gaze.

“nothing. you’re just… good at this.”

she raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

“folding scarves?”

“everything,” you admit softly, and the words slip out before you can stop them.

sae's hands still, and for a moment, you think you’ve said too much.

“you mean that?” she asks, her voice quiet, almost uncertain.

you nod, your throat suddenly dry.

“yeah, i do.”

“i think about you a lot,”

she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “even when i’m not here.”

your heart races at her words, a warmth spreading through your chest.

“me too,” you confess, the words coming easier than you expected.

“i miss you when you’re not around.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

slowly, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours in a hesitant, tender gesture. it’s small, but it feels like the most significant thing in the world.

you don’t pull away.

instead, you let your fingers curl around hers as you hug her in your embrace, happy that she is here with you.. and safe.

#kang sae byeok #sae byeok #sae byeok x reader #player 067 #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game s1 #squid game season 1 #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #meadowfics #multifandom account

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violasghost · 3 days ago

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Adding to the discussion about why the Chenford breakup has apparently been swept under the rug (for now), Rookie episode 7x02 discussion.

Have been reading some thoughts recently about how some think the reason Tim and Lucy are so amicable post breakup is because they are over one another, or the writers have decided to gloss over everything and ignore their chemistry and just let them stay friends instead, or simply cheapen their relationship. But I think this is where we as the fans have to pay closer attention to the actors who are showing us just as much if not more in the moments when they are not saying anything to one another, versus the moments when there is dialogue. The banter, the competition, that is where they are comfortable, but its also when they fall back in to old habits. Despite Lucy's character being pro-therapy, neither she nor Tim have ever been good at expressing their own emotions and when they were together they stumbled through most serious conversations about feelings. So that said, they likely didn't have that talk-yet.

From a personal perspective, I've had some awful coworkers over time (one or two that started out as friends) who I would have loved to poof away into oblivion, but because I like my job, I had to take the high road simply to be able to do my work well and play nice with peers, and the fact that sometimes you have to coexist with people that you don't always like or respect. So you do your job and work with those individuals when necessary, but nothing more. Not that I'm saying they cant stand one another, but more that they are simply...coping.

I think when it gets down to it, they are avoiding the BIG elephant in the room because its easier to just go with the flow for now. And they are afraid of going down that road because perhaps there may be some doubt, on Lucy's side about Tim's motivations for the breakup in the first place. And maybe on Tim's side about realizing how he hurt Lucy and worrying about how she might never forgive him. So the friendship thing is a safe crutch for both of them. They know at least this way they still have each other as a safety net. I still think its coming. The longing looks, the playful banter. Tim is trying every trick in his book to stay close to Lucy, and Lucy is taking his bait, hook, line, and sinker. And she's flirting with him too, whether she knows it or not. They just cant help themselves. Anyone who couldn't see it would likely have to be blind. Heck the whole first few minutes of the episode with the ladies in the locker room, Lopez, Harper, and Juarez tease Lucy about it so-yeah they know, and they are teasing/baiting our dear Lucy and the audience with this knowledge.

That last scene with the three TO's, Nolan, Tim, and Lucy hanging out after work for drinks and then Nolan confesses how he really respects Nyla and wants to send her more gifts of thanks and Lucy simply tosses her eyes and glances at Tim for a moment. You can see a twinkle in both their eyes and even Nolan recognizes in this moment that he's the third wheel, so he excuses himself, but Tim and Lucy don't yet want to admit that there is anything more, even though there is a long pause between them before either one speaks. I'm telling you, its about the moments 'in between.' Watch Eric and Melissa's faces. They always knock it out of the park.

Needless to say, looking forward to the long slow burn this season. I'm hoping for many more angsty, flirty, cute, hot, steamy, action-packed, sexy, and loving Chenford scenes in our future. <3

#chenford #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy x tim #tim and lucy #tim x lucy

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ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen · 3 days ago

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Award Ceremony (2)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ʙᴜᴛʟᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: 🇨🇴🇺🇱🇩 🇧🇪 🇪🇽🇹🇷🇪🇲🇪🇱🇾 🇨🇷🇮🇳🇬🇪🇾, 🇮🇩🇰

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ʏ/ɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴜꜱɪɴ, ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡʜᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.

a/n - this is kinda like another version of the second ab story i posted. i wrote two versions cause two people can be down bad for each other!!

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。

The spotlight hit Austin the moment his name was called, and as the crowd erupted into applause, he stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding. He glanced over at Y/N, seated in the audience beside Timothee and Florence. She smiled softly at him, her eyes warm, but there was something in her gaze—something filled with quiet uncertainty. Austin knew her well enough to read her unspoken thoughts.

He’d overheard her talking to her cousin earlier that evening—how she still worried, even after everything they’d been through, that being with him could bring her unwanted attention. He could sense how conflicted she was, especially with the whispers in her head telling her she didn’t deserve him, or that their love would bring him unnecessary pain.

But that wasn’t true. He knew that, and he wanted to make sure she knew it too.

With a deep breath, Austin walked up to the stage, the weight of the award feeling heavy in his hands—not because he didn’t deserve it, but because he knew this moment could be bigger than just a trophy. This could be his chance to say everything he’d kept buried.

Standing at the podium, he smiled at the audience, the applause still ringing in his ears. He looked down at the award, then back at the crowd, before his gaze found Y/N once more.

“I… honestly don’t know where to start,” Austin said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “This award—it’s incredible. But I think it means more to me than just a recognition for my work. I’ve been in this industry for a long time, and I’ve learned that the roles you play, the stories you tell, can only be as good as the people who support you behind the scenes.”

He paused, his eyes now focused solely on Y/N, who was staring at him with wide eyes, her breath held in suspense.

“There’s one person in my life who has always been there for me. She’s been my anchor when the world felt like it was spinning out of control. She’s been the one to remind me that I’m capable of far more than I ever thought possible.”

Y/N' s chest tightened, the words sinking into her like a warm embrace. Austin’s gaze softened, and he didn’t break eye contact as he continued.

“I’ve never been the type to shy away from showing my feelings, but I’ve also learned that some things are worth keeping close—worth cherishing in private. But tonight, I can’t keep this in any longer.”

The crowd fell into a hushed silence, everyone hanging on his every word.

“I dedicate this award to the love of my life, Y/N.” His voice was full of conviction, raw and unapologetic. “The one person who’s always believed in me—even when I couldn’t see it myself. The one person who has helped me grow, not just as an actor, but as a man.”

Y/N's breath caught, her heart racing as her eyes filled with emotion. Austin took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I don’t care about the opinions of the world,” he said softly, his voice thick with sincerity. “What matters to me is the love we share. The kind of love that doesn’t need to be broadcasted to the world to be real. But, Y/N, I’m telling you now, no matter what we face—no matter the obstacles that come our way—nothing will ever tear me away from you again.”

The room went quiet, the weight of his words hanging in the air. It was a confession, a vow, a promise. And Y/N, in that moment, felt a wave of relief wash over her. All the doubts, all the worries she’d had over their love, seemed to vanish in the light of his words.

The audience remained in stunned silence for a beat before erupting into applause. Y/N could hardly breathe, but her eyes never left Austin as he stood there on stage, smiling at her with so much love in his gaze.

As he made his way down from the stage, Austin didn’t wait for the crowd to settle. He moved through the throngs of people until he reached Y/N, who stood frozen in her seat, her eyes still wide. He pulled her into his arms without a word, his hands resting gently on her back.

“You heard that, right?” he whispered into her ear, his voice tender.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, “I heard you.”

Austin pulled back slightly to look at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Y/N. I meant every word.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his love settle in her chest. “I don’t deserve you,” she muttered, her insecurity creeping in again.

Austin cupped her face, gently lifting her chin so that their eyes met. “No, Y/N. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

She felt herself melt into his touch, the tension that had been coiled in her for so long finally releasing. She smiled up at him, the weight of her worries lifted for the first time in a long while.

“I love you,” she whispered, finally allowing herself to say it, and Austin smiled back, his heart full.

“I love you too,” he whispered, before pulling her into a kiss that sealed their promise to each other.

#austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler #x reader #female insert

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justmeinadaze · 15 hours ago

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Don't Be So Hard (Part 6)(Steddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I have one more chapter I think :) Enjoy the angst!

Warnings: Older Dom (30s) Coach Steve Harrington/Older Dom (30s) Professor Eddie Munson & Young (20s) Fem Plus size Sub Student Y/N, SMUT, Steve becomes a bit subby in this chapter, light dirty talk, etc. Nothing too traumatic with this one in the smut department. FLUFF, they love each other

ANGST *directs angsty traffic with an angsty outfit with angsty batons*, boys met Y/N's mom, Mr. Harrington makes a brief cameo as well as Martin's father, boys have PTSD nightmares involving Eddie being hospitalized and the same events that happened with Chrissy. Cliffhanger ending!

Word Count: 4816

Series Here/Donate to Me

You hated this.

More than anything you hated their reactions.

It had been about a week since you told Eddie and Steve about your acceptance into the university in New York and since that time, they had kept their distance.

You understood.

After everything they had been through, of course they needed time think it over and work through their feelings but there was a part of you that was a bit heartbroken that they didn’t immediately wrap you in their arms and tell you they’d follow you anywhere.

Theo was a great friend and the perfect soundboard for your nightly vent sessions.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t…I feel selfish always talking your ear off about my problems. How are you tonight?”

“Y/N, it’s total fine. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t listen to my fake girlfriend’s woos with her actual boyfriends?”

Eddie barely looked at you during class and Steve seemed to dive into focusing on his team. You could hear his shouts from the parking lot as he screamed at his players.

Today was parent’s day which the dean coveted but both boys had told you once before they hated especially the metalhead. Parents rarely came by his classroom and if they did it was to threaten him to make sure he didn’t “harm” their child.

Your mother usually never came but for whatever reason insisted this time around.

“I remember when I came here—”

“Everything was different?”, you grin as you cut her off. “Come on, mom. No need to be an old lady and remanence.”

She beams your way as she pulls you into a hug, distracting you long enough that you don’t realize where she’s leading you till you hear their soft whispers.

“I don’t know why I still appear for this fucking thing. She was right. Most of these fucking people hate me.”

“Baby, everything’s going to be alright. Do you want me to stay with you--?”

Your mother clearing her throat grabs their attention as both men hastily straighten when they see your face.

“Which one of you is Mr. Munson?”

“That, uh, that would be me, ma’am.”, Eddie stumbles over his words as he walks around his desk to shake her extended hand.

“I know. I just thought it would make me more comfortable if I pretended I didn’t know you.”, she murmurs as she smiles kindly and the metalhead’s eyes flick to you before doing the same. “Which makes you Steve Harrington.”

Nodding, he shakes her hand as well while you stand off to the side taking them in. As always they both looked delicious even with Eddie in his “formal” teacher attire (a button up shirt, slacks, and his hair pulled back) and Steve in a track suit but even you could see they were falling apart.

Both men had rings around their eyes like they hadn’t slept in days and your professor’s nails had the underlining stains of chain smoking cigarettes.

“I wanted to thank you both for protecting my daughter that night outside of the diner.”

“Of course. She’s, um, she’s a really sweet young lady. I’ve enjoyed having her in my class.” Eddie tosses a smile your way as your heart breaks at the sadness in his tone. “And I know Steve has enjoyed having a running partner. I can barely keep up walking since my lungs are filled with many years of smoke.”

“She picked that up from her father. He would run every morning and sometimes take her along. After he died, she kind of…picked up where he left off.”

“I, uh, I’m so sorry about…your husband. We read what he did…saving those people.”

“Oh, no need to apologize, Mr. Harrington. You did nothing wrong.” Steve eyes shift to yours as you see the internal blame swim through them before grinning down at her beaming features. “Thank you though. I’m glad you’re able to keep her company. Maybe I can take up running after she abandons me.”

“Mom.”, you playfully whine. “Now you see where I get my overdramatic acting talent from.”

“I’m just teasing.”, she jokes as she reaches out to pull you to her side. “I’m so proud of her for getting into that school but I’m going to hate her being so far away.”

“So you are leaving then?”, Eddie asks sullenly, trying to hide it behind a lightness that doesn’t fool you.

“Um, yeah. I think…what’s best for me is to…focus on my future…”

“What about your boyfriend? Theo is a pretty good actor to. I know he’d flourish in a city like New York.”, Steve replies with an edge of jealousy that has your head tilt.

“He IS a good actor but unfortunately, Mr. Harrington, Theo will be staying here so you’ll still have your quarterback while I’ll be all alone it seems.”

“Y/N, baby, can you give me a minute alone with these two? Why don’t you run down the hall and get us a water from that vending machine I saw.”

After giving you some dollar bills, you head out into the hallway and they watch as your mom’s entire demeanor changes.

“You both are fucking stupid, you know that?”

“Ex-Excuse me?”, Eddie asks completely thrown off guard.

“I’ll excuse the fact that the risk the three of you took could have gotten her expelled but I can’t excuse the fact that you’re hurting my kid. Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m old not stupid.”, you mother scoffs as they exchange a wide-eyed glance. “You should hear the way she talks about you both. She’s a great actress but as a mom you can always tell. When she told me she was leaving for New York by herself I was surprised.

I kept waiting for her to follow it with something like ‘Coach Harrington will be training a team up there’ or ‘Professor Munson found a new school to teach in’ but nothing. Are you REALLY letting her go up there alone?”

“I…we…we have to stay here.”, Steve sighs.

“No, sweetie. You CHOOSE to stay here. No matter how you sugar coat it, that’s the truth and I know you know that!”, she shouts behind her, confusing them before you turn into the doorframe and roll your eyes. “I told you. I’m old not stupid.”, she winks, collecting you before leaving the classroom.

#################

Steve slowly walked down the dark hospital hallway as he listened to the deafening sound of monitors beeping around him. A door at the end caught his attention; he knew that room number.

“Eddie.”

Hastily, he pushed the door open searching for the man he loved but was shocked when he found you in the hospital bed before him. You were wearing the clothes Eddie had worn that night in the Upside Down, down to the black bandana around your head. Blood stained your Hellfire shirt and a cry left his throat when he noticed the same red lacerations around your neck and wrists.

“Y/N?”

Steve’s shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he stepped forward and his shaky fingers reached out to touch your palm.

He broke then as his hand cupped your face, careful not to move the mouthpiece helping you breathe.

“Please…please, baby, don’t leave me. I’m so sorry. Wake up, honey…WAKE UP!”, he screamed to no avail as his tears fell.

“Where were you?”

At the sound of Eddie’s voice, he jumped up and wiped his eyes. As he stepped forward to embrace him, the metalhead extended his arms out pushing Steve hard away from him.

“Where WERE you? We needed you, asshole, and you weren’t there!”

“I-I-I didn’t…I didn’t know…what happened?”

“Because of you she’s in pain. Because of you, we may die!”

“We?”

It was only then that Steve realized Eddie was bleeding from his chest.

“This is your fault, sweetheart.”, he said with distain before collapsing to the ground.

Steve shot up in bed, grabbing his own chest as he tried to catch his breath, quickly turning to place his hand on his partner who was still fast asleep. After leaning down to kiss his cheek, he threw back the covers and got dressed.

***

Eddie’s eyes flew open as sweat covered his face and bare chest.

Glancing around him, he realized he was back in his room at the trailer where he lived with his uncle before…

Throwing off his blanket, he ran to his mirror against the wall and his eyes widened as he realized the scars along his body were now gone. His hands shook as he reached for a magazine near his bed and read the date along the top.

“March 1986.”

“Fuck me.”, he murmured as he pressed his palms into his eyes.

“Do you have it?”

A voice from the living room called as fear flowed through him. He knew that voice…he heard it many nights in his dreams.

“Chrissy?”

She giggled but her light nervous tone suddenly mixed with another voice that had him concerned as he walked down the hall.

“No, dork. Someone’s been smoking his own stash.”, you beam as he visually takes you in.

You were dressed just like her; the cheerleading uniform down to the green scrunchie in your hair.

“So do you have it? Steve’s waiting for me.”

“Steve?”, he repeats.

“Yeah? Steve Harrington, my boyfriend and captain of the basketball team? Seriously are you alright?”

“Y/N…I…this is dream. It has to be a dream. Wake up, Ed. Wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he smacks his forehead as he commands his brain to do what he wants but when they land on you again you’ve changed. Your eyes were vacant white as you stood there in his living room.

“No, no, no, no…STEVE! HELP!”

Your feet started levitating off the ground and he began to slowly back away before he heard your voice.

“Eddie? Wh-What’s happening? I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me. I love you so much.”

“Stop…please…wake up…”

“Eddie, please.”

“It’s not you. It’s not you. It’s not you…”

“EDDIE, HELP ME!”

He covers his ears, falling to the floor as history replays itself and he screams so loud he hopes his real self would hear his cries to wake up.

The trailer door smashed open, startling him as he watched Steve and his jock friends run inside.

“Honey? No, baby. No…”, the man sobs as Eddie cringes at the sound, hating hearing the man he loves in pain. “You killed her you fucking freak!”

Steve rose to his full height and pointed the end of his bat towards the metalhead.

“You couldn’t just leave her the fuck alone!”

“I love her! I would never hurt her or you!”

“Pfft damn right you won’t. You’re never going to hurt anyone ever again.”, the man hissed, raising his weapon and swinging down.

Eddie bolts awake as he pants, preparing for his partner to soothe him like he always does. When hands and a soft tone don’t comfort him, he turns to find himself alone in his bed.

“S-Steve?”

Running through the small house, he searches but doesn’t find his boyfriend anywhere. Taking a seat on his mattress again, paper grazes his knee as he notices a note on his end table.

“Baby,

Needed some time to think.

I’ll be home later.

Love you,

Steve”

################

A repetitive knock on your door grabbed your attention as you placed the book you had been reading down and opened your dorm door to a wild-eyed Eddie.

“Hey, hey, hey, um…I’m sorry…I hope—hope I didn’t wake you…I, um, I’m just…I can’t find Steve and—”

“What? Hey, hang on. Come in.”, you usher as you close the door and guide him to your bed. “Everything’s ok, baby. Just breathe.”

At your soft tone, his gaze shifts your way as he tries to deliver you a comforting smile even as his whole body vibrates with agitated energy.

“T-Thank you. I just…I’m sorry I woke you up—”

“No, no. You didn’t wake me up. I couldn’t sleep so I was reading a book.”

“What book?” When you flash him the cover of a self-titled Dungeons & Dragons fantasy novel, he chokes a bit on a laugh coming from his throat as a tear involuntarily falls from his eye. “I read that…when it came out…during my first try at my senior year…”

“Yeah. Steve told me one time it was one of the few novels he could follow and understand.” When you giggle, he laughs with you as his palms reach up to wipe his eyes. “What’s going on, Eddie? Did you have another nightmare?”

You watch as his eyes fleet rapidly around the room but you know he’s not looking at your space but the dream he had experienced.

“It was 86 and I was in my uncle’s trailer. I h-heard her voice but when I went into the living room, you were there…dressed just as like she had been…Chrissy…when she died.” As his voice cracked your heart broke as you scooted closer to his side and ran your hand down his back. “You kept begging me to help…but I couldn’t…Afterward…Steve came in sounding how…how he used to before…he said it was my fault…I should have left you alone.”

“Eddie.”, you coo as you lean against his shoulder. “Everything’s ok, sweetie. I’m right here and no one is going to hurt me.”

“Except us.”, he whispered so low you barely heard him before he abruptly turned and cupped your face in his hands. “We love you, Y/N, so much. I hope you know that.”

You nod silently as you try to control your own tears, ignoring your pain to deliver him a gentle smile.

“You, uh, you said you couldn’t find Steve?”

“Oh, um, yeah. He left me a…a note saying he needed t-to think but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Then where would he go that he knows you wouldn’t come looking?”

At your question, his eyes snap to meet yours as he curses under his breath.

“God, I hope he didn’t go there…”

“Let me put on my jeans and—”

“NO! No…sweetheart…”, you snapped before sighing when you jumped slightly. “You don’t want to go here, trust me.”

Shaking your head, you ignore him as you find your pants and shimmy them up your hips.

“That’s what you don’t seem to understand, Eddie. I’d follow you both anywhere…what hurts is you won’t follow me.”

***

Steve smirks from his place on his mattress in his old room back at his parent’s place. It had been almost 10 years since he had been here and he couldn’t help but be surprised that his parents left everything as is.

To be fair, he never really had much, usually having the whole house to himself the bulk of his youth. He had so many memories of girls that had come and gone including Nancy who broke his heart.

People who he had considered his friends, swimming around in his pool, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer.

Try as hard as he might, he couldn’t remember Eddie at this time. Of course, he knew of him; the freak of Hawkins but he couldn’t genuinely remember seeing his face throughout the halls or the small town he grew up in.

Grabbing one of his random middle school year books, he browsed the pages, skimming through the M’s until he found what he was looking for.

There he was; Eddie Munson with his buzzed hair and devilish smirk as he bit his bottom lip towards the camera. Steve laughed to himself as his fingers traced the image.

He wished he knew him then but even he knew Eddie would have hated him.

Hell, he hated himself.

Another memory flashed through his mind as he laid back against the covers and hugged the book to his chest; the night he came home after the mall burned down to an empty house all alone. Silently he had climbed the stairs and took a long shower as he hissed at the burning sensation of the cuts along his face.

Steve had cleaned his wounds, flinching at the flashes of pain as he remembered the fist that constantly hit his face. After bandaging himself, he turned off the lights and laid in his bed as he sobbed, allowing his pain to overcome him now that he didn’t need to be strong for anyone.

Steve knew Eddie would have taken care of him… Made him laugh and probably scold him for being too independent. As he fell into his memory, he closed his eyes as his lip quivered and he imagined a different reality of that night.

“Hey, sweetheart, everything’s ok.”, Eddie would coo as he pets Steve’s hair behind his ear before wrapping his arm around his waist to pull him closer. “I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

“It hurt so bad…I thought I was going to die…”

“I know. I know but you didn’t. You helped save Erica and that little butthead so they could save you and Robin.” The pretty boy chuckled at the name making his partner smile at the sound. “You helped save the town, Steve, and me. Thank you, baby.”

“Look, I just need to know if he’s fucking here!”

The sound of Eddie’s agitated voice cut through the fog as his protective instinct kicked in and he headed for the stairs.

“I haven’t seen my son in over 10 years! Why would you think he would be here?!”, his father yelled causing him to hasten his pace.

“I’m here. I’m here. Sorry, I didn’t know you even home, Dad—" The image of you behind his boyfriend at the front door had Steve freezing in place. “Y/N? What…what are you doing here?”

“Y/N? So this is the girl that ruined a young man’s life? Why are you even here, young lady? You shouldn’t be with these grown men let alone this murderous freak.”

“Last time I checked, I’m a fucking grown up as well who doesn’t judge people based on idle gossip.”

“So disrespectful.”, he spits as Mr. Harrington turns to face his son. “Why are you here? Last I heard you were punching prominent members of society.”

“I needed a place to think.”

“Hm, well, if you want to come back home, you’d have a lot to make up for, son, before you get anything from your mother and I.”

“I’m not coming back home.”, Steve declares as he pushes his father aside to grab Eddie’s face and forcefully bring his lips to his own. The metalhead was taken off guard only for a moment before cupping his partner’s cheeks to hold him closer. “I’m leaving Hawkins with the man I’ve been in love with for the past ten years and the woman who changed our lives for the better. I’m tired of hiding them—”

In the middle of his speech, his dad went inside and slammed the door loudly cutting him off.

Steve chuckled breathily as he focused on Eddie who was clinging to the man’s wrists.

“I almost lost you once, baby, and I won’t do it again…with you or her. Let’s get the fuck out of here and be fucking happy.”

Wrapping his arms around him, they passionately kissed as the metalhead nodded. It wasn’t until your sniffle caught their attention that they remembered you were there.

“Hey, look at me.”, Steve softly instructed as he let his partner go to tilt your chin up as your head hung. “We know we put you through a lot, Y/N, but if you’ll still have us—”

You jumped into his arms and he smiled as you kissed his lips.

“You’re never going to let me finish a sentence are you?”

“No, you idiot.”, you laugh as he puts you down so you can kiss Eddie who wraps you up in his limbs and twirls you as you both grin.

#################

This was new for you.

Usually, of course, both men carried that dominate energy but as you watched Steve bouncing on Eddie’s cock while his hands balanced on his tattooed chest he seemed so…vulnerable.

Laying by the metalhead’s side, you tenderly kissed his shoulder and neck as you watched his eyes struggle to remain open as he continued to pant.

“Just like that, baby, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

The man above him threw his head back as he increased his rhythm, lazily stroking his length as he mewled.

Eddie hastily sat up and clung to Steve’s lower back as he guided his movements. Their noses touched and the coach held on to his boyfriend’s neck just below his ears with his large hands.

“I love you so much, Steve. Thank you for everything you do to keep us safe.”

His movements stalled as he leaned his forehead against his partners and even as his hair blocked his eyes, you could see the tears that fell as his bottom lip shook.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“We hid because of me—”

“No, no, baby. We hid because of this stupid fucking town and your ignorant father but not anymore. We’re going somewhere else where we can be ourselves with someone who loves us.”

Steve’s head turns slightly to meet your gaze as his head leans against Eddie’s who tenderly kisses along his chest. As his fingers reach out to touch your cheek, the metalhead grips him tightly as he starts thrusting upwards.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

Your heart breaks at his whispered words as you kiss his palm.

“I forgive you. I’m so happy you’ll both be with me.”

They smirk as Steve whimpers, returning his limbs around Eddie’s neck as he met each pump of his hips with a bounce of his own.

“That’s my good boy. Cum, baby. Cum for me.” At his boyfriend’s breathy command, the coach trembled as he whined his name and his release hit their stomachs between them. “Good…God, you look so sexy when you cum.”

Eddie smiles as Steve giggles, placing a light kiss on his lips while he continued to praise him.

“Can you let me take care of our girl now?”

Nodding, he backed out of the way as the metalhead tackled his arms around you making you laugh as he kissed you before flipping you over to place you on all fours. A heavy sigh of pleasure left you as he tenderly kissed along your spine till his chest was flat against your back.

“I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you to, baby. I can’t wait to start our new life with you.”

After reaching between your bodies, you both moan as he guides himself into your core and your head hangs as he gradually thrusts his cock deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so wet. Did you like watching him ride my dick?”

“Yes, Sir…s-so handsome.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Thick fingers slide underneath you and you can’t help but smile when you open your eyes to see Steve in front of you as he plays with one of your tits. Eddie tilted back on his knees and the other boy took the opportunity to grip your sides and guide you upwards till your back was against his boyfriend once more.

While your professor circled his palm around your throat to keep you steady, the coach leaned towards you to wrap his lips around your nipple as your own fingers threaded through his hair.

“Oh my god.”

His tongue flicked and sucked at the erect nub while his digits blindly found their way to your clit, pressing circles against it matching his partner’s pace.

“H-Harder, Mr. Munson, please.”

The sound of skin smacking skin echoed through the room mixing with the obscene sounds of Steve’s tongue sucking marks into your chest and up to your neck.

“Cum, Y/N. Cum all over his cock.”, he practically begged as your face fell against his shoulder.

While Steve hugged your head to him, he reached around you to grab Eddie’s jaw and bring his lips to his own. Your body trembled as you came and the metalhead’s grunts of pleasure filled your ears as he sloppily thrust his spend within your tight walls.

Their kisses traveled to your own body as you three toppled to your sides in each other’s embrace.

##################

Your eyes fluttered open to both men in their boxers at the desk in their bedroom. Even with their backs to you, you could tell Steve was annoyed.

“Steve Harrington, at some point you are going to need to learn how to use a computer.”

“Eddie, the words are so small!”, he whispers in agitation.

“Ok, grandpa, but they’d be the same size on a newspaper.”, Eddie teases as he chuckles through his teeth.

“What are you two doing?”, you ask as you sit up and lean over the bed to grab one of their discarded shirts from last night.

“Well, I’m teaching granddad here how to navigate technology.” Steve narrows his eyes at his boyfriend as you come around to sit on the metalhead’s lap. “Then once he calms down enough and stops bitching…we were going to see if any universities in New York were hiring.”

“We probably also need to look for apartments or houses. Once the semester ends, we can fly up there and see what they have so we’ll be ready by January. We want you settled before the new semester so you’re not panicking or worried about anything.”

“So…this is really happening? You’re really coming with me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, we are. You were right; it’s time for us to move on and live our lives.”

“I had dream the other night that you were hurt in our battle ten years ago.” As Steve spoke, you both turned to face him as he stared into the void in front of him. “You were dressed just like him, Y/N, you were even in the same hospital room… That image of him…it stays with me. Mostly because I almost lost him.” His gaze shifts to meet yours. “I know it’s a bit dramatic but thinking of you going to New York…losing you… it feels almost the same. I can’t lose him or you, honey.”

Grinning softly, you climb into his lap and hug him tightly to you.

***

You knock on the dean’s door that Monday morning having gotten a letter from him (or most likely his secretary) taped to your dorm door.

“You asked to see me, Dean Gillman?”

“Uh, yes, Miss Y/L/N, please come in.”

After placing your backpack down, you take a seat realizing then that there are three chairs in front of his desk compared to the usual one.

“I heard you’re leaving us to go to NYU. Are you all set?”, he asked light-heartedly as he smiled your way.

“Um, yeah, I got my transfer credits approved and everything.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.”

Another gentle knock startles you slightly but not as much as the two men who walkthrough.

“You asked for us?”, Steve inquired cautiously as his eyes surveyed the room.

“Yes, please come in and have a seat. I assume Mr. Munson is with you?” Eddie appears just as apprehensive as they both take a seat on either side of you. “Good, everyone is here. I wanted to have a calm discussion about this because this is a sensitive matter and—”

A male voice shouting at the dean’s secretary grabbed everyone’s attention as he sighed behind his desk before the door burst open and Martin’s father flew through.

“Have you fired them and expelled her yet? I didn’t want to miss that.”, Jared announced with malice dripping from his demeanor.

“Mr. Click, this doesn’t concern you—”

“Like hell it doesn’t! My son was expelled because of this lying whore and now I have proof!”

Eddie rose first, prepared to fight for your honor before you placed your hand on his chest to stop him.

“You have proof of a professor and coach fraternizing with a student. NOT what happened between the younger Mr. Click and Miss Y/L/N.”

“Jesus, are you fucking kidding me?!” Security appears and the dean immediately points towards the man commanding they take him away. “What the fuck?!”

After slamming the door, Dean Gilman huffs as he places himself behind his desk once more.

“Miss Y/L/N, are you alright?”

While they had carried Jared away, you hid behind the metalhead with your body pressed against his back and your fingers clinging to his shirt.

“Hey. Come on, honey, everything’s ok.”, Steve coos as he reaches for your biceps to lightly guide you forward and into the chair. He knew they were caught and there was no reason to hide it any longer. “There you go. Are you ok, baby?”, he asked Eddie as he cupped his face in his palms.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”, he grumbles as they both take their own seats.

##############

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @myherometalhead @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @too-efn-old-to-be-here @eddiexmunsonlover @strangerthingsfangirling

@1deverland @checosbluespring @twirls827

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 22 hours ago

Note

Plsplsplsplspskspsls do that dc hyper sexual reader but with more dom reader I will owe you my life 😭😭🙏🙏🫡🫡

𝐃𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑…

!!! 18+ THEMES, GN reader, masochistic themes, Clark has a breeding kink fosho, bratty behaviors, daddy/mommy kink mentioned, Jaime getting trapped in a sexually toxic relationship, obligatory freaky Tim warning.

HEEEHEEEHEEEEEEEE. Lowkey, this was actually a really interesting thought exercise. I think I learned today that I view (most of) my DC men as doms while (most of) my Marvel men are submissive and breedable. Dick’s part was especially hard for me because he’s my comfort dom… if that makes sense. But I think I pulled through with a little bit of imagination. Had lots of fun with this!

Again, this is operating under the assumption that you’ll at least let them help you out when you need it. Like… even if you absolutely hate their guts, you’ll at least call a truce when you need it. A necessary evil kind of thing.

Bruce Wayne: Definitely has a love-hate relationship with your hypersexuality. The chances of him getting his work done have plummeted to, like, -3,000% when there’s a spike in your sex drive. But, you know, that’s not for a lack of trying; Bruce is a stubborn man, and despite his focus rapidly devolving from how good you’re making him feel, he’ll still try to remain productive. It’s actually kind of cute to see his eyes cross while he rereads some random document over and over again. Hey, here’s a tip: want to get yan Bruce in the mood? Smack him around a bit. This man will instantly fold and let you do whatever the hell you want until you’re satisfied. This is honestly a good thing to know about subby yan Bruce in general, just so you can maintain control.

Clark Kent: My certified house-husband hunk. He loves when he gets home from work and you pounce on him like a hungry lion. If darling pookie pie needs to release some sexual frustrations, he’ll instantly drop to his knees and get to work. Take him however the hell you want, as long as he can stare at you with that same dopey grin he always gets when he’s near you. Really good at following orders. Can’t disobey you if he tried. Now, even if you aren’t fully accepting of his love, y’all already know his delusional ass thinks you’re finally madly in love with him. Why else would you have your hands all over him? You obviously want to marry him now! This man would get pregnant for you if he had the means to. I’m a breeding kink Clark truther, so… breed that man.

Dick Grayson: Bro is a certified brat. He’ll play mind games with you, wearing certain clothes and touching you ever so slightly, just to get you riled up enough so you finally fuck him. Whenever he’s horny, you bet your ass he’s taking advantage of your heightened sexuality, and might honestly be subtle about it enough so you never realize you’re falling into his trap. Yes, he’s playing you like a fiddle, but does it really matter when he’s the one whimpering in the end? Yeah, didn’t think so. Count your blessing, y’all. Don’t worry, he’ll still let you hit even if he didn’t wake up in the mood. Just the thought of you yearning for him is enough to get him bricked up (what a perfectly pathetic man). You better fucking cuddle with him afterwards. That’s not up for negotiation.

Hal Jordan: Horny bottom bitch Hal Jordan, save me. Save me, horny sub Hal Jordan. Bro is desperate for you. He’ll do anything to get your attention, and if that means acting like the biggest brat known to man, then so be it. You’ll probably have to punish him so often. Does he ever learn? No. But, hey, it’s worth a shot. His inherent neediness will do your hypersexuality no favors. Y’all gonna be fucking like rabbits 24/7. Sorry not sorry. And if I say sub Hal Jordan has a daddy/mommy kink— PUT YOUR GUNS DOWN. LET ME TALK. He’s definitely gonna be calling you that shit in public. Doesn’t matter who’s around, he likes letting other people know he’s yours. Still definitely a biter, so if you don’t like that, you’re gonna have to have a strong grip on his jaw or throat while y’all go at it. Just some friendly advice!

Harvey Dent: Poor Two Face does not want anything to do with you and Harvey’s sex life. He’d be absolutely appalled by the idea of you turning Harvey into your little bitch. Harvey, on the other hand? I can definitely see him secretly yearning for someone to take control. Your heightened sexuality would probably be the escape he needs, so it totally works for him! Loves to get on his knees for you. Want him to go down on you for hours? Whatever you want! Insert meme about lawyer doing his work lying on his bed like a school girl here. And here you have Two Face muttering shit like, “dawg… have some dignity.” Shut that side of Dent up by grabbing his titties, you won’t regret it. If you think it’s weird that a notorious criminal will easily melt in the hands of his obsession, then you’ve clearly never been to Gotham.

Jaime Reyes: MY PUPPY. MY SWEET LITTLE PUPPY. Even if sex-stuff makes him nervous, he’s so eager to please you. The thought of you actually needing him makes him want to cry… he might be a freak with a murderous Jiminy Cricket attached to his spine, but at least he can be of some use to you!! Expect him to form an unhealthy relationship with sex. Because it’s the only time he feels truly desired, he’ll let you do whatever the fuck you want to him, even if it means losing his own sense of agency. I’d say it couples nicely with his uphill battle against Khaji Da. Now there are two opposing sides vying for control over his brain: the crazy bug and his innate desire to belong to something (or someone). Play your cards right and you’ll reduce Jaime to nothing more than a dumb little puppy who just wants to please you!

Tim Drake: I basically already summed up this creep’s deal in the general version. I’m sorry, but no one can convince me Tim Drake has an ounce of dominance in his system. He’s just way too whiny and desperate to have any sexual control over his darling. Also, keep in mind that bro is 100% out freaking-you in the freak-off. Don’t you fucking dare feel ashamed about your hypersexuality because Tim is way worse than you could ever dream be. Did you accidentally slam his foot in a car door? Bricked up. Looked at him with a neutral expression? He’s about to bust. Pointed at something while you were talking? Please let him lick your fingers. He’s been a nasty girl, except nobody gonna match his freak. Good luck trying.

Wally West: Another example of a yandere who’s lowkey in control of your spikes in horniness, but you’re still the one calling the shots in the bedroom. Surprisingly kind of sweet? Like, you’d think he’d tease you about it, but here he is saying shit like, “it’s okay to touch me when you need it, you know.” Of course, this is him obviously pretending to be some sort of martyr when he’s inwardly over the fucking moon. I just want you to quickly imagine him gently taking your hand into his, giving it a chaste kiss and then planting it around his neck as he looks at you with hooded eyes. You know, for science. It’s very important to me that everyone knows how sensual he would be while he tries to convince you to fuck him silly. Totally normal behavior!

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ ROMANTIC(?) YANDERE #❥ SUB YANDERE #❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE #❥ YANDERE CLARK KENT #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE HAL JORDAN #❥ YANDERE HARVEY DENT #❥ YANDERE JAIME REYES #❥ YANDERE TIM DRAKE #❥ YANDERE WALLY WEST #❥ GN READER #❥ DOM READER

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silverbrain · 24 hours ago

Text

Two Sides

Summary- The first time Caleb meets MC when he's 'back', the first time he interrogates her. He's sweet, but he's also a little scary. Especially when others are watching.

You’re walking home in the rain, boots splashing the thin layer of water on the ground. It had been a tough day. You’d been to Linkon Hall to finalize the documents. It was real. It had been, for the past few months, but the moment you saw the message, it all came back to you. Caleb was gone. So was grandma. There really was no going back.

You walk to the bus stop. The buses are delayed. You sit heavily on a nearby bench, not caring enough if the water soaked through your clothes. At the moment, it seemed easier than standing. The day’s emotions had been weighing you down like a physical burden. Gone, gone, gone. They’re gone. Your childhood friend, your best friend, he wasn’t even twenty-five. And grandma…

In the darkness a few feet away, a man in a dark uniform watches you. Heavy drops of rain hit his dark suit. His dark hair plasters to his forehead as he watches you. He doesn’t care. All he could see was her. It had been so long since he’d seen her.

He wanted to step forward. It was time, after all but something left him rooted to the floor as if he'd grown roots in a matter of seconds when he saw her. Her hair was longer than he remembered it, she was older than the last time he’d seen her. It had only been a year, but it had been a year too long for his longing heart.

Finally, he does it. Every step makes his body tremble as he moves closer to her.

He stops right before her. She’s holding up an umbrella, and she only sees his boots stop. The pair of eyes he’s seen a hundred times before peek out from under.

“It’s me”, he says. He nearly mentally slaps himself as he hears his voice say it. Great, just great. He thinks he sounds foolish. A second thought- he’s rather surprised his voice works.

You look at him like you’re tired, like the day’s exhaustion had finally got to you and you were seeing hallucinations. It couldn’t be him. Caleb was gone.

A moment passes.

Another does.

“I’m back”, he says, when it seems rather apparent that your brain isn’t going to do the catching up any time soon.

“What?”, you ask. It’s a question, but it’s also an exclamation and a whisper and a prayer. Please be real, and not a figment of my imagination. Please be real, or I couldn’t take it. Please be real.

“It’s me!”, he says, injecting a little bit of enthusiasm in his voice, trying to hide how he feels his throat constrict at the way she’s looking at him, like he’s a stranger, like he didn’t know her favorite ice cream flavor, like he hadn’t spent months missing, remembering, reminiscing.

“I can see that”, you reply. Your voice is cold. The world had turned cold for you that day, when the flames enveloped your house and the two people you loved the most. Day by day, it had thawed a little, but seeing the man in front of you made it seem like you were drowning in a bucket of ice.

Caleb just stands there. He knows what’s coming. She’s still the girl he knows.

You give him a slight shove. He stumbles back a step. “You…”

The umbrella drops from your hand as you bring your hands up to grab him by the collar. You look a little bit crazy right now, but you don’t know it. Caleb’s hand comes up to rest on yours.

“You let me think you were DEAD!”, you scream. A few people are looking. You don’t care. Your hands don’t let up on his collar, your grip tightening and loosening as you jostle him.

“It was the only way to keep me alive”, he says,” to keep you alive…”. He takes both your hands in his. They’re warm and your mind marvels at how his hands are warm when the world around you is so, so cold.

“Listen to me”, he says urgently, “The game they’re playing is bigger than you think. But I’m here for you. I’m sorry I had to leave…I’m so sorry”

Tears cloud your vision quicker than your brain can catch up. they slowly leave your eyes, making two tracks down your face. They mingle with the gentle rain falling from the sky. He breathes unsteadily. There was so much to tell…he doesn’t know where to start. He brings up a gloved hand to wipe at your face.

“I want to keep you in a world where it’s just the two of us”, he breathes. His breath is ragged, his chest heaves. You can hardly believe he hasn’t run his way there, the way he’s panting. Your eyes focus on his face, on his lips, as he speaks. “None of them”, he spits. “None of them vermin and then…you won’t have to be scared”, his voice catches and your eyes widen. “I wouldn’t have to be scared.”, he adds. He doesn’t say that losing you would be a fate worse than death to him.

He brings up his arms to wrap them around you, and you find yourself nuzzling into his chest, the realization hitting once again. It’s him. He’s back.

“They’re planning to bring you in for an investigation”, he whispers quietly. “What…?”, you ask.

“It’s a long story…I’m…”, he swallows, “I’m supposed to lead this investigation.”

“I’m being investigated?”, you ask.

He nods. “I’ll tell you everything, but first, we need to get out of this rain”

You nod, suddenly becoming acutely aware of your cold wet clothes clinging to your skin. “Let’s go to my place”

He quietly picks up the umbrella you’d dropped.

“Grandma…”, you dare to ask. After carrying it everywhere for so long, when you had finally convinced yourself that you’d have to carry it all your life, he had come back. He was right there. So alive. You dared to ask, you dared to hope.

“Grandma’s gone”, he says, “I’m sorry”

“If you understand the situation, then let's go ahead and have a nice chat”

You move your hands first, holding the handles of a shitty office chair you’re sprawled on. You’d received a letter of investigation from the Farspace Fleet earlier in the week, and the words were professionally threatening. It seemed like they were ‘cordially inviting’ you, but you knew better. Caleb is, as he had explained, leading this investigation. He's dressed in his uniform, and you think he looks...professional.

“There's more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room”, he begins. This is a warning. Try anything funny, and you’re going to be in trouble. You can’t help your eyes from darting left and right. Mirrors. Right. Bright lights illuminate the room, and everything looks impersonal, clinical. It’s even colder than a hospital, you think.

“Cooperate, and it will be over before you know it”, he continues. The glass wall behind him is shiny clean and it reflects the back of his head. Your eyes trace the reflection, landing on his collar. A silver chain shines against his skin.

“Do what you're told and don't cause any trouble. You won't get hurt then”

Hurt? Were you supposed to worry about getting hurt? You weren’t exactly familiar with how things operated within the Farspace Fleet, but Caleb’s words were quickly giving you an idea of the kind of act you were supposed to put on.

“I understand”, you say, levelling your gaze.

“What do you know about the Aether core?”, he poses his first question. Right, he was getting right into it, then.

You spend the next thirty minutes lying and revealing information like a finely arranged lasagna, truth and lies so intertwined that the lies would be indiscernible. You and Caleb had spoken about this at length, after all. ‘Give information, but only just enough to avoid suspicion’, he had said.

You steer your way through the questions carefully. It’s almost over. There’s a question you avoid. That’s when he deviates from the script.

“Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home?”, he asks casually. Yes, you remember. No, you aren’t going to say so. “Back when we were kids.”, he continues. He gets up from the chair he had been sitting in to lazily stroll around the room. His shiny shoes click against the shiny tile of the room. “Do you remember what happened next?”, he asks, leaning in. You nearly flinch, but he grabs your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him. “I got a collar with a bell. That way it could never escape without being noisy”. Chills run down your spine at his words.

“I want to keep you in a world where it’s just the two of us”, he growls, his voice is low, his hand is still on your chin but you wouldn’t have looked away even if could move your head. You couldn’t. it feels like déjà vu. “I’d love to watch the realization in your eyes. The way you’d search for others, the way you’d realize you’re all alone…with me.”

Bile rises rapidly to your throat. What was wrong with him? Who was this man? There was no sign of the boy in the sun, the man in the rain. This was something else. He was something else.

“What would you do then, apple?” Syrup is what you think of. Thick, sweet, apple syrup. Like childhood. But also, like now. Some poisons are sweet, you think back to a particular class you’d taken at the Hunter’s Association.

Caleb finally let go of your chin to saunter back to his table and sit on the chair elegantly.

“Would you still keep trying to escape, like that cat? Would you give up?” You swallow.

“You don’t seem like the type to give up easily…tell me. How long would you struggle for?” Time seems to slow. The lights in the room seem too bright to you. Deep inside, a tendril curls. Was it fear? Was it…something else altogether?

“Answer me”, he says, lowly. The hair rises on the back of your neck, and then at the back of your arms as a flood of something pulses through your body.

“I won’t…”, you manage to speak.

“Oh, but you will…”, he leans back in that chair again, the leather squeaking a little as it bears his weight. It makes you sick. Some poisons are sweet.

He sighs. Then, he smiles. “I’m imagining the sweet jingles of the bell I’ll tie around your neck as the same music poisons your ears. Wouldn’t that be…fun?”

Bile, fear, danger. That was him now. No more sunshine, apples and childhood. Yet, the glint of the chain he wore on his neck reminded you that this was just an act. But it was a damn good one. His eyes rake over your form in the chair for a moment. Your eyes watch his. What even was going on? You weren’t sure anymore. When had this happened?

“You passed”, he says suddenly as he gets up and turns to leave. “My colleague will be here soon. Finish some paperwork. Then you can go.”

Then, he was gone.

Hehehe i refuse to believe he's all sweet boy, no evil.

#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #xia yizhou #lads fanfiction #lads fanfic #it's been silver #silver writes

36 notes · View notes

wwilloww · 2 days ago

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Tazzi, every time i see your name in my notifs it makes me smile! I still think about that drive we took in Chicago right after we met for the first time. (It's amazing how a little blue site can bring strangers together)

I am also living for this note you've left me--I know I say it a lot but getting to see the story through other people's eyes is one of the biggest gifts of sharing this work on this platform. I love how you described Jin, you're so right. And yeS! aftercare is so important, even for doms/people leading scenes. Everyone deserves that.

And not to fret--the next chapter is well underway. I just have to decide how it ends--and how the rest of the story will proceed from there.

sh. | chapter twenty four | pjm

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 5.8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS semi-public sex. penetrative sex. aftercare. angst.

AN hey ;) missed you. thank you to @sugalaritae for helping me with this chapter. thank you to each of you for the continued support.

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: THE SHADES ARE DRAWN

When you think of joy, you think of the color purple.

For a long time, you didn’t like the color purple. You found it garish. Didn’t love the associations with royalty, that a color could belong to a class of people defined by something as fickle as wealth or birth.

But like many things in your adulthood, the color purple eventually grew on you. You had to admit: the soft gentle violet of a sunset—the color that dances between other colors, here a moment, gone the next—it was thrilling to chase it through the sky as the light sank low on the horizon. And you also had to admit that baby-soft lilac color, doting on the first flowers that pressed up through the tough winter grounds in early springtime, reminded you that winter does end. Warmer days do come. And finally, when you realized purple felt like a memory visiting you again, sweet and warm, you simply couldn’t withhold your affection for the color any longer.

Purple reminded you of the flickering feeling of life beneath Hoseok’s skin as his hand clamped down on yours above your head as you touched each other in the early hours of the morning all those days ago, a bead of sweat perched on the bridge of his nose as he thrust into you, the quiet sounds of sleep rising from the friends sprawled around you in the living room—

You shake yourself back to reality.

For someone who’s getting fucked pretty much everyday, you sure do daydream a lot about getting fucked.

But joy—purple—lilac, whatever: that color has been flirting at the edges of your reality these past few days. After your conversation with your friends about the difficulty of the early days of quarantine, a weight feels lifted off your shoulders. It had felt like you were hiding some kind of secret—or even yourself—away from the people who loved you most. You hadn’t realized how guilty you felt about that until the truth had been revealed. And since telling them about your struggles with mental health, not a single member of the household had treated you any differently, like you were broken or wounded. Instead, you noticed them coming to sit with you and talk with you about what happened, how they can help. They asked you questions, they wanted to know what it was like. But that you don’t mind.

On top of that, things with Hobi have been so easy.

Things have been easy with everyone.

Since your time spent with Jimin the night after the bonfire, you had felt a kind of kinship with him. Shared glances across the dinner table, even when Hoseok’s hand is wrapped around yours beneath the table. Jimin seemed to hover closer, gifting you with little touches, his hand on your lower back while you wash the dishes, plucking a hair off your lip before dinner with a small smile. Small moments of laughter, an inside joke about underwear, shared with a whisper in your ear when no one else can hear.

But despite that proximity, you also can’t help but notice that despite your new casual ease with him, since the bonfire, he has seemingly pulled back from the others. At the dinner table, he’s quieter. When you all are cleaning or taking care of household chores, he’s much less directive than he usually is. He had even forgotten about his promise to make you come the day after your last romp. But when you remind him , a cheeky smile on your face when he comes in after a hike (and fail to mention that Hoseok had made you come several times in the wee hours of the morning), he grins and pulls you deeper into the house, away from the prying eyes of your six shared housemates.

Jimin is kissing down your neck in the hallway after dinner one night—you make a mental note about how he loves to kiss you where anyone can stumble upon your intertwined forms—his hands slipping under your shirt, down your leggings. You gasp when his fingers tease at your folds. You can tell he’s going to take his sweet time with you.

“Jesus, can we just fuck for once?” you gasp into his mouth as his index finger slides inside you. You don’t even bother to lower your voice. “I’m wet enough, I need you. No more games.” You give him your best doe-eyed plea.

He hesitates, deciding if he wants to drag things out for his own fun or give you what you want. “Is that what you want? No games, no waiting, just me?”

“It is,” you say, trying to keep the sexual frustration from making you sound too whine-y.

“Then that’s what you’ll have.”

He doesn’t even bother to take you to his bedroom. There, in the hallway, where anyone might find you, it’s fast and hasty work, pulling your top off, shimmying your pants to the floor. Jimin too, makes quick work of his button-down, while your gaze traces over his torso, the tattoo right above his ribs, and the little happy trail that leads exactly where you want to go.

“See something you like?” Jimin asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Always,” you say, capturing his lips for a kiss that, after the fact, feels wonderfully—wonderfully?—domestic. Slow and gentle and warm. Time slows. The air stills. Then, the pace shifts again and your mutual clothes are tossed hither and thither across the hardwood floors of the hallway and your greedy hands reach for one another once more.

Undressed now, Jimin flips you so you face the wall, your hands pressed against the cool plaster, your back to him. He steps between your legs, using his foot to push them a little further apart so he can fit between them. His hand comes down to your lower back, pressing ever so slightly so that you arch into him, pressing your ass back just enough to meet the hard flesh of his cock.

You gasp as it meets the slickness of your center, the burning warmth of him sending shivers down your spine.

Does this ever get old?

He doesn’t tease you much this time, just glides his cock through your folds to collect the moisture there, uses one hand to spread it across his dick, and begins to press in.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asks. “Me inside of you? Filling you?”

“Yes, Jimin, god yes.”

He slides home, his cock spearing through you, the head of it tugging at your walls, which tighten around him. He grunts, and you drink up the sound. Jimin, to your previous surprise, wasn’t the most vocal in bed, but today something seems like it’s loosened inside of him, and sounds of pleasure begin to fall from his lips as he fucks you.

He’s thick inside of you, and your fingernails dig into the wall as you search for something to hang onto as he rams into you at a quick and desperate pace.

“I knew you’d like it,” he says. “Fucking where anyone can see you, anyone can walk in and find you writhing on my cock, calling out my name.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant.

It’s true.

There’s something about the risk of it all. The thrill of not knowing. The high of being fucked by one man only to have another walk by and want you just as much.

“Op!”

The note sounds from the end of the hallway, and you tilt your head just enough to see Jin standing at the entrance, a pan of steaming muffins gripped between two large oven mitts. He seems to be on his way to do a round through the house, offering baked goods like a trolly cart lady.

What timing.

His gaze roves over your joined bodies, drifting downward to where Jimin’s cock is plunging into you. He lets his stare linger. You warm beneath the blatant attention, his obvious interest in what’s happening before him. You can see him hardening through his jeans.

Then, he clears his throat, stands a little straighter.

“I’m going to assume you two don’t want muffins.” His voice is low, smooth, and sweet like pastries. There’s a kind of even-tempered curiosity, backed by his usual confidence.

Jimin’s pace doesn’t cease, doesn’t falter, despite the intrusion. It’s like his movements are saying, you’re all his, and no one else’s. And not even the temptation of a fresh-out-of-the-oven blueberry muffin or a very broad shouldered friend of yours can take that away from him.

“Maybe later,” Jimin grunts.

“Later, yeah,” you gasp as Jimin grinds into you from behind.

Your cheeks are warming from the mix of Jimin’s ministrations and Jin’s near-casual but definitive interest in your coupling. Jin watches like he’s taking you in, and behind his calculated gaze, you can see his mind spinning, figuring. Perhaps he’s imagining himself joining your pairing, but more likely than not, you think he’s thinking up a new way to tease you later—with a laugh at the end of the sentence or with his fingers inside you.

You’re trying to hold back a whine and simultaneously hold onto any last bit of dignity you might have remaining. Though, when you think of it, every day that goes by you believe you might have less and less. But who is chasing dignity these days anyways? When the world has stopped spinning entirely?

Jin catches the small sound of pleasure that finally eeks out of you and he smirks, his eyes flicking from where yours and Jimin’s body’s join up to your eyes. He says nothing. He doesn’t have to. But you understand. He doesn’t want you to look away. There’s something even more indulgent in this gaze, his eyes meeting yours. Though he’s no longer looking at your sex, you somehow feel even more naked: your pleasure, bared to him, and his pleasure, taken in yours.

Though the small gesture has dropped your mouth open as new sounds of pleasure emerge, though you’re now gasping in surprise as Jimin pushes deeper and Jin holds your gaze—you feel more present than ever. Alive—like your lungs are full, like you’re breathing fresh air.

As Jin reached down to adjust his belt—it’s just a flicker of movement as he adjusts his now hard cock—you understand the promise in Jin’s eyes. You. Me. Soon.

“I’d ask to join you all,” Jin says, again, even-toned. You clench around Jimin, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed, as he chuckles from behind you. “But I have more pressing matters to attend to: Taehyung is hangry.”

Jimin nods behind you, his hips still hammering into you.

“‘Course.”

“Well. It was lovely chatting. I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll catch up with you again later.” He sends you a directed wink.

Your heart skips a beat at the thought. Since the orgy, you still hadn’t spent any one on one time with Jin. Or Taehyung, for that matter. You wonder if there’s meaning in the distance between you three—or if you’ve merely been distracted. After all, how are you supposed to reasonably split your time between seven very horny, very lovely men?

“Uh—uh—y—eah.” Your voice is jolted from you in time with Jimin’s thrusts. “Please.”

As he turns, he refuses to take his eyes from yours, a pleased smile lighting on his lips. For a moment the shared gaze reminds you of something far off, yet familiar: something from the world that has come to pass you by. Perhaps it reminds you of the feeling of meeting a stranger on the street or in a crowded bar. The spark of recognition, of seeing someone new light up with something old: desire. He wants you. And now, more than ever, you want him. He knows this, and it’s what makes him smile. Jin disappears again, and you’re left with nothing but Jimin’s hard cock pounding into you. He leans closer, pressing his pouty lips against your ear to whisper, just to you:

“You were so good, baby, you didn’t even ask me to stop when he came by,” Jimin grunts. “You just took it like a good little kitten. Did that feel good? Having him watch me fuck you?”

You don’t say anything, just whine as he continues to fuck you, harder now, his balls slapping against your clit. With each hit you feel a spike of pleasure flood through you. It’s enough to make you, somehow, even more needy than you already are, but not enough to satisfy you fully.

“I watched the way his eyes went down to where I’m fucking you. I know he was imagining himself inside you. How does that feel? Knowing he wants what I have?”

You moan.

“Answer me,” he says, one of his hands winding around your throat. He pulls you up so your back is pressed to his front, and he’s squatted slightly between your legs, thrusting up into you. It’s an animalistic, needy positioning, and you feel lightheaded with it all.

There’s a kind of possessiveness in Jimin’s language that feels brand new. He’s hitting that soft spot inside you with each thrust and it feels so good it almost hurts. As the ache and pleasure melt together, you can’t help the burning building in your belly, flashing with white light with each of his thrusts. He slips his hand around your front, fingers toying with your clit.

“Fuck—It feels so good, Jimin.”

“You’re in a house full of men who want you, who would fuck you like I’m fucking you in the middle of the hallway, in the kitchen, in the pool—wherever they could get you if they got the chance. How does that make you feel?”

It makes you feel a thousand things. But all you manage to speak is:

“Wanted.”

“Good. Because you are.”

There’s something about those words that hit an entirely different soft spot—one in your chest. Your heart aches, but your attention is quickly pulled away. You clench around him and he moans in your ear. His pace quickens, grows harder. There’s a desperation to him you haven’t seen before. Like he needs this. Like he needs you.

The thought is enough to push you over the edge and, hands falling forward to brace your fall against the wall, you suck in quick gasps as your orgasm rockets through you. Knees wobbling, you clench tightly around Jimin, a movement which prompts a growl and a moan from him as his pace stutters.

“You want my come? I know you do, I know you do—“

He presses himself against you, filling you from the inside. He holds himself there, his grip tightening around you. You’re coming down from the height of your orgasm, your body warm and ringing in sensation as he fills you up, hips pumping ever so slightly.

He murmurs against your neck, slumping forward.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, his front pressing to your back, sweat mingling, breaths synching—the only sound in the long hallway. You hum as your skin cools from hot to warm against his, as his hands trace over your body. Finally, he pulls out. You can feel his come shift inside of you.

“I like when you’re full of me,” he pants, slouching against the wall next to you. “Keep me inside.” He pats your pussy, where his come is beginning to slip out and down your thigh.

“That’s what all of you say,” you giggle, but in reality: you like it too. It makes you feel marked. Wanted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Jimin says, pulling his pants on, and, throwing his shirt at you to cover up (as if now, of all times, is the proper time to dress yourself). He leads you through the house back to his room after scooping up your belongings. You hastily button the shirt—well, two of the buttons—and follow after him. Without looking behind at you, he reaches behind him, his palm opening, fingers spread wide: an invitation for you to hold his hand. You take it.

You pass Yoongi in his studio. He glances up at you from his work, his hand half lifting to say hello before he realizes the state of you and Jimin: sweat-studded, warm, and marked all over by sex. His hand freezes. His eyes lock on Jimin. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you see Jimin falter for half a second, before leading you on. No words are exchanged, just that long, long glance.

When you arrive in Jimin’s room, all the blinds are shuttered and the bed is unmade. It’s a little unlike Jimin, you think. But while he struts to the ensuite bathroom, you tread toward the windows, tugging on the blinds so that the windows pop open to reveal the mountains washed in nightfall. As you watch the moonlight shift over the rolling terrain, something in your chest shifts, opens. This view never ceases to make you feel at peace, you think, as your breathing slows and your body relaxes. There’s not a place on this earth that you’ve visited that makes you feel the way looking at the mountains does.

Jimin announces his return with a slight cough and holds out a washcloth to you.

“Want me to do it?” he asks.

“S’ okay,” you reply and take the washcloth from him, reaching between your legs and wiping yourself down. “I thought you wanted me to ‘keep you inside.’”

“Sometimes I say things just because they’re hot,” Jimin says, as he makes his way to the bed and flops down. “And sometimes I say things because it’s important to be hygienic.”

You watch him for a moment. Your gaze catching on his movement, off somehow: his weary eyes, his tired limbs.

Since you initially arrived at the house, you had been the receiver of the most delightful aftercare you’d ever been privy to, even with your more experienced sexual partners of previous years. There was something about a friend who knew you, really knew you, that added a personal and knowing touch to satisfy the physical and emotional aches that followed sex.

But as you look at Jimin, you realize: when had he ever received that kind of aftercare? You were so wrapped up in your own experience, that you had forgotten to check in with him. He opens his arms, inviting you into bed with him, inviting you into his embrace.

“Hold on,” You say, holding up a hand. “I have to take care of something. Just give me ten minutes and I’ll be back—In the meantime, close your eyes a little?”

Jimin nods. A little smile flickers at the corner of his lips. But he lets his head fall back onto the pillow and his eyes flutter shut. You can’t help but stare for a moment too long before you’re turning on your heel and skidding through the hallways, past Yoongi’s studio—empty now—past the spot where just minutes ago, you’d been fucked against the wall. You don’t pause.

You’re on a mission.

You stop by the kitchen first, surprising a closely pressed Namjoon and Yoongi, who break apart when they notice you entering.

“Oh, sorry—” Namjoon hastily apologizes. “I mean, I’m not sorry—I mean, welcome.”

“Welcome?” Yoongi raises a questioning eye.

“Yes. Welcome to the kitchen.” Namjoon answers, opening his arms wide in an awkward reception.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say, grinning. “Proceed.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Namjoon says, perhaps a little too quickly. You look between the two. You notice how Yoongi’s hand is immediately next to Namjoon’s, his fingers flickering, as if yearning for touch. And Namjoon’s foot is halfway between both of Yoongi’s. Perhaps they weren’t doing anything, but it’s clear that that statement wouldn’t be true for long.

But you just smile and gather your intended materials and set off, knowing they’re both watching you and your half-covered ass as you leave the kitchen.

Next, you head to the master bedroom, the room where Hobi (and sometimes you) have been sleeping. You traipse into the bathroom, rifle through the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” a voice calls from behind you.

“Hobi.” You smile, turn, and step towards him, pressing a kiss to his surprised features.

“Are you staying here tonight?” There’s a bright light of hope dancing in Hoseok’s eyes.

“Ah, I dunno,” you say truthfully. “Probably not. I’m just getting some things for Jimin.”

“Oh. I see.” You can’t help but notice the little note of disappointment in his voice. “Tomorrow? Can I have you tomorrow?”

You grimace at his choice of words.

“Sorry—can I steal you away tomorrow?”

You nod, pecking his cheek and gathering your materials into your arms.

“Tomorrow.”

You leave Hoseok in the bathroom with your second set of materials and hurry back to Jimin’s room.

“Okay, okay! I’m back!” You call from outside the door. “But close your eyes! Don’t look!”

You can hear the peals of Jimin’s light, sleepy laughter echoing out from the bedroom.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s a surprise! Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes!”

With your foot, you push open the door and creep inside, slipping quickly into the bathroom where you deposit all of your goodies. You quickly set it up, but Jimin is impatient, calling every other minute from the bedroom, checking if you’re ready yet. You shoo him off enough times, until finally you’re ready. You give your project one final look-over, and with a satisfied nod, open the door.

You slide into the bedroom and pull him from the bed, pressing your hands over his eyes as you shuffle him to the bathroom door.

“Okay… now, open!”

You release Jimin from your grasp and let him take in the scene of the bathroom. For a moment, he’s entirely silent. Then he says:

“What is all this?”

“It’s for you.”

Before him waits a steaming bubble bath and a little tray filled with snacks and a hot mug of tea. Soothing, spa-like music croons from a small speaker. You’ve laid a freshly laundered bathrobe near the tub too, but it’s just then that you notice he has his own, hanging on the door behind you.

“I mean I hope so,” he chuckles. “But really, what is it?”

“Aftercare,” you say. “You’ve been so good about checking in and taking care of us, and I wondered—I didn’t know if anyone was doing that for you. I wanted to do that for you.”

Jimin grins and turns back towards you. He wraps you up in a hug, before pulling back enough to kiss you.

“Thank you.”

There’s a softness in his eyes you’re not used to seeing.

When you undress Jimin this time around, there’s nothing sexual in the act. And that kind of scares you. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you undo his pants and slip them off, and is silent as you help him into the bath, though he groans indulgently at the feeling of the steaming water meeting his skin. He sinks in, up to his shoulders in the deep tub filled with bubbles and bath perfumes.

“This is perfect.”

You settle behind him, on the outside of the tub. “Can I wash your hair?”

“Really? You want to?”

“Yeah.”

“No one’s done that since I was a kid.”

You smile. “Really? Then it’ll be my little gift to you.”

“This is more than a little gift,” Jimin says, swishing his hand through the water to point to everything all around him that you’ve set up. And then more quietly, “It’s almost… romantic,” he muses. You stiffen at the words, and if he can sense your discomfort, he continues, “It’s just… nice. Kind. Good. Thank you.” He twists towards you, grabbing your dry hands in his wet ones. “Thank you. Really.”

You smile at him and twist his shoulders back so he’s facing forward once more.

“Now. Let me take care of you.”

You settle behind him and roll up your sleeves, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and squeezing some into your hand. You lather it up, enjoying the silky smooth glide of the liquid between your palms before massaging some into his hair. You’re careful, gentle, with your movements, fingertips circling on his scalp. His inky black hair parts like a dark sea between your fingers, and you soon get lost, mesmerized in the repetitive action. When he groans softly, the utterance pulls you back to the present, and you can’t help but think it’s one of the sexiest sounds he’s made.

When you’re done lathering up his hair, you reach for a cup, dipping it in the water.

“Tilt your head back,” you guide, and he does, exposing his neck and the round bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. You see the strain, so you reach with your hand behind his head, tangling fingers in hair, and hold him firm. Carefully, you pour the water over his hair. A steam of suds run and sink into the field of pinkish bubbles.

“Hmmmm,” he hums as you repeat the action, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut and his shoulders loosen, dropping. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this relaxed. It makes you smile, thinking that you’re the one doing all this. Maybe you do enjoy being in control more than you thought.

When you’re done with his hair, you stand and wipe your hands on a towel.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your bath—“

A hand wraps around your wrist.

“Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go. I’d pull you in right about now if I wasn’t worried about you slipping and getting a concussion.”

You laugh.

“Join me,” Jimin says. “There’s plenty of space for both of us. And I bet you need it as much as I do.”

You eye the bathtub. He’s right in both regards. The bathtub is huge, still steaming, and your body is yearning for a nice long soak right about now.

“But I want this to be about you,” you say.

“It can be about me. And what I want right now is for you to join me.”

“Ha, fine.” You nod, and begin to unbutton the shirt he’d given you. Carefully, you slip into the bath, settling at the other side of the tub, directly across from him.

He presses his toes to yours. Smiles at you.

“Thank you for this. Really.” His foot pushes against yours, almost playfully.

You sit in silence for a long moment. His head lolls back against the wall of the tub, and you watch him. He’s so beautiful like this: resting, relaxing. When you reach out towards him to run a hand across his leg, inching higher, he grabs your hand and stops your movements. He intertwines your fingers together, and there’s a small bolt of panic when you realize this moment isn’t intended to be sexy. It’s just supposed to be the two of you. You ease your thoughts by reminding yourself that this is just your friend. Your friend, naked in a bubble bath with you, his hand caught in yours. So you shift your attention to him, instead.

There’s an ease around him that you haven’t seen in a couple of days. On one hand, you don’t want to spoil the moment, but at the same time, you can’t help but speak up.

“You know, I can’t help but wonder,” you begin, swirling a hand through the bubbles. “When we were having that discussion the other night, around the fire. When I shared—That there was a time when I, um, didn’t want to be here anymore.” You’re not sure why the words are suddenly heavy, difficult to get out. But you continue. “And you were there, and you looked so incredibly sad, like what I was saying meant something more to you. More—like—” You brush your hand across your face. “Goddamnit, I don’t wanna assume—and I can’t get the words right. Like it meant what it meant to me.” None of your words are making sense. You try again. “That it meant something personal to you. But then you never said anything. During the conversation, you never said anything at all.”

Jimin looks down. Blinks. He lets go of your hand. His mouth twitches like he’s going to say something, but then he presses his lips together.

“I, um.” He trails off.

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly. “We really don’t have to talk about it. I’ve just been noticing you pulling away a little more since then. How quiet you’ve been. And the shades in your bedroom. They were drawn.”

“The shades?” Jimin’s brow presses in confusion. “What do the shades have to do with anything?”

“When I walked into your room there was something off. The room was so dark. Maybe it’s silly. Maybe I’m just making assumptions though—”

“What?”

You take a breath and steel yourself. Out with it.

“It feels like you’re pulling away.”

Then, you hold your breath as you wait for him to reply. There is a long moment where you fear everything will shatter. And then he laughs, but there’s an edge of tension, like a chord pulled taut, ringing through the usually twinkling sound.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” you say quickly.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I should, I mean, I probably should talk about it. It’d probably be good for me. But I don’t want to just unload on you. I don’t just want to leave you with all… this.” He motions to himself with a circular motion.

You reach forward, and grab his hand again. Give him a little squeeze.

“All this—“ You motion to him in the same manner. “Is exactly everything I want to deal with.”

“It’s too much,” he smiles sadly, splashing his hands in the water, not looking at you.

“You’re not too much, Jimin. Your feelings aren’t too much.”

He sighs.

“Thank you. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way—but, thank you.” You two share a long gaze before his shoulders slump and he leans forward, resting his head in his hands. The water stirs around him. “Where do I even begin?”

“I dunno. At the beginning?”

He nods, and you watch as his gaze shifts and he seems to go somewhere far away.

“I guess the beginning was alright. Of quarantine, I mean. I thought there was a sense of freedom to it all. Not having to go into the office. A disruption in the routine. All expectations and plans and requirements taken off the table. Which felt like freedom. It was like suddenly no one was looking at me any more, no one was expecting anything from me except to just live, day by day. But then there was this anxiety that set in.”

You nod and he looks to you for validation before continuing. “Like I felt like I needed those things to be a person. The expectations, the shoulds, the pressure to go where, when, with who. I think I needed them feel like a person, or to feel like I knew where I was going. All of a sudden, all of the places and people and ideas and expectations that had shown me where I needed—where I should go—were gone. I was wandering my apartment in circles, going crazy, missing everyone, feeling like I was missing out on everything, even when there was nothing going on. And I knew the whole time that what I was feeling wasn’t real—but I couldn’t shake it.”

You nod sagely.

“I understand that. That sounds really difficult.”

He nods blankly, and you can tell that it’s about to pour out.

“And it sounds so stupid, but I missed sex. I missed sex so much.”

“That’s not stupid, Jimin.”

“It felt like a part of me was taken away. Like a huge part of the way that I communicate— it just disappeared. And I was left with nothing. I thought you guys would laugh if while you all were baring your hearts to each other, I was just sat there like, ‘I missed fucking.’ That it would be offensive to compare it to what all of you were going through.”

“Jimin, whatever you were going through, we want to hear. We wouldn’t have laughed.”

“Maybe you should have though.”

“C’mon. You can’t just sit here and say that being stripped of your entire social life, the way you connect to people, to the world, you can’t say that loss is worth laughing at.”

Jimin is silent for a long moment. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I mean, everything, everything disappeared. I feel like what you’re describing isn’t just about sexual gratification or getting your rocks off. It’s everything. We went from this world where, living in the city, every day is full of these little bumps with strangers, right? You go to the grocery store and flirt with the girl by the oranges. You go to the bar and you hear about someone’s breakup, and then you make out with them in the bathroom.” You get Jimin to crack a smile at that—remembering together. “We lost so much. The sex. The flirting, sure. But there was something else, too. The connecting with strangers. The connecting with people we loved.”

“Yeah.”

“Sex is important, but what you’re describing is connection. Direction. Your whole world changed. How can you say that that’s not a huge loss?”

Jimin finally looks at you. He blinks. He stays silent. Then: “It was so lonely. I was so lonely.”

“Of course you were.”

“I think I didn’t know who I was without sex.”

“Don’t you think it goes a little deeper than that?”

“I didn’t know who I was without all the relationships in my life.”

You nod. You understand. What you say next almost surprises you. “I don’t think we’re meant to know that kind of thing. I don’t think we’re meant to be so distant from everyone.”

He nods, then says, “Then why do you make yourself so distant?”

Oh.

Fuck.

“We’re talking about you, Jimin,” you say quickly.

“We’ve talked about me. We can talk about you too.”

“I don’t want to—“

When Jimin says your name, it rings right through you. It quiets you. It sends you somewhere soft and silent. You sink down in the water, letting it come up, just above your nose. You look at him from that level, that quiet piercing gaze going right through you. He just waits. And waits. When you can’t hold your breath any more, you push up, letting the water glide off you.

“I don’t know, Jimin,” you say, finally. “But whatever it is, I don’t know what to do with it.”

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