#I don’t want to about what would have happened if they didn’t reach out. I would be in a much worse place now I imagine.

[soxcietyy]

Star 18+

Gojo x reader

A trouble maker pop star who was planning on meeting an influencer gets caught by her annoyingly smart bodyguard.

You walk off the stage panting from the Philippines heat wave. You were currently going on tour in Asia having back to back dates in different cities. You thought it was going to be hard but thankfully you had your trusty crew touring with you.

Handing your microphone to a staff member you walk to your changing room to take off all the makeup and clothes you were wearing. As much as you loved it and looked great in it you couldn’t help but want to feel free from them. If someone had warned you about how hot it got here you would have probably had better costumes and clothes suited for the weather.

You began by taking your jewelry off, that being rings, bracelets and necklaces. It wasn’t a bad process but on exhausting days you would dread it. It had happened too many times but once you fell asleep in the corner after a show and everyone had been looking for you frantically. They thought you had gotten kidnapped or worst. After a few hours you were found and scolded for it. That is why you had a bodyguard keeping an eye out for you now.

"Gojo, you don’t have to stay in here, you can wait outside." You say as you look in the mirror to see him standing right behind you. It was hard to notice his presence at first but now you could tell when he was there or not.

"No can do siren I have to keep a hard eye on you. Don’t you remember what happened last time?"

"Would you quit with that nickname?"

Last time you tried to go to a club after a show by climbing through a window. Unfortunately he had caught you when half of your body was out. He’d grabbed you by the leg and yanked you back inside. You weren’t allowed to go to such places because of the risk of getting seen and dragged into a scandal. Your PR team would hate if that happened again. So there was a rule of only being allowed to go to the hotel and stadium.

That was fine though, the rule was that you had to only be at those two locations . Nothing about when and with who. Recently you’ve been sneaking guys into the back so you could hook up with them. Nothing wrong with a bit of after relaxation.

"No can do Siren, hurry up so I can go home." He said.

You roll you eyes and make him turn around as you dress into a skirt, baby tee, and some chunky sneakers. You made sure to put a hat on before leaving the room with Gojo.

"Alright I’ll be on my way, see you tomorrow night." You glance at him before walking down the hall. You watched from the corner of your eye as he stood there watching you walk away.

By the time you made it down stairs you went into a stairwell where a guy in all black sat waiting for you. You didn’t really have a type, all they needed was to be was attractive. They were quite easy to find on the internet. Especially if they were influencers because they could not afford to have there reputation tainted. You could always build yourself back up with your talent. They couldn’t. Today you got lucky enough to get with one of the Philippines most popular vlogger.

Had over 160 million followers, was rich, had such a nice body and was a real looker.

You made sure to take your time back up to the dressing room. He should definitely be gone by now so that gave you the chance to use this room to let of some stea-

"Leave before I slam you to the ground." Gojo said as he leaned on the makeup table.

You looked at him in disbelief until the guy behind you quickly ran away. How did he know? Did he never leave? Has he known about this? You weren’t able to see his facial expression’s clearly due to him wearing those stupid sunglasses inside. You just wanted to tear them off and slap the smug smirk off his face.

Letting out a heavy sigh you turn around to leave but his voice stopped you from taking any further action.

"Not you"

Your heels turn once more to see him approaching you. It took him two strides to reach your personal space. You tilted your head up to look at those glossy sunglasses peering over you.

"Pull your skirt up and bend over the table."

Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?! What the hell are you telling me to do?! You think you can get me to do anything because you’re my body guard?! Well I have news for you! Your fi-"

"A new rule was established Siren, they caught up with your little sneak ins and now have me making sure you don’t meet up with anyone outside the stadium or hotel. They don’t want you having relations with anyone they don’t have investigated." He smiled.

"Fine, just let me go I haven’t even done anything with him yet." You cross your arms.

"Sorry but you took a while to get back here, from all I know you guys already have done it." He says before taunting his head at the table.

You bit your cheek before dragging your legs towards the mirror. You scrunch your skirt up and bend over the table.

You were definitely going to say something about this to the company! No maybe you should file a lawsuit because this had to be a violation. You have your lawyers on speed dial so this shouldn’t be a problem. You just had to wait for him to put his hands on you so you could file one.

He was now behind you looking at what was Infront of him. You saw as he bent down and pulled your panties down to your ankles. He made you step out of them so he could spread your legs apart. You hid your face as you felt him spread your folds too. This was so humiliating. It just had to be that jerk.

"Hm I don’t know siren your pretty wet down here. I’m going to have to inspect further. Just keep standing still and don’t move." He said as he shoved his fingers in your hole. You jolt from the sudden feeling and bite your lip.

He was moving his fingers aggressively and quickly. You cover your mouth as he kept moving but you could help but let some whimpers escape. Your legs would twitch everything his fingers pressed on a certain spot and once he realized this he kept pestering it. Your legs began to buckle as you were close to your climax but before you could he slipped his fingers out of you.

"Siren, you feel pretty good down there but something feels off. Be honest," he stood up and leaned over you. Removing a hand from your mouth he held it as he took his sunglasses off so you could meet his cold gaze. "Did you play with yourself using these fingers?"

Your face turned into a crimson red.

"Naughty Siren." He whispers making you rub your heat onto him. "Such a needy thing. From now on if you’re going to play with yourself you need to tell me so we don’t have to go through this whole process. I’ll need to watch though to make sure it’s your fingers you’re using and not someone else’s." He kisses the top of your head.

"Saturo I can’t anymore, stop teasing me and put it in." You bite out.

"No relations remember siren?"

You turn around and shove him onto the makeup chair. You quickly climb on top and straddle him. He had no idea how badly you wanted this, wanted him. Never have you felt this desperate till now.

"I’ll stop sneaking out, I’ll stop meeting other men only if you do it with me. Anytime I want day and night. It will make your job easier and it well help me get the released I need." You say.

He analyzed you before letting out a laugh.

"Alright alright siren, didn’t know you were so needy. Here hold these for me." He said as he placed his sunglasses on you to wear. He turned you around to face the mirror as he undid his pants. Once his member sprang free he aligned you with it and slammed you down sending electricity down your spine.

He held you by your thighs as he used you as his sleeves. Using you to his hearts content. This was such a great view for the bodyguard to look at in the mirror. Having a pop star on his dick as you wore his sunglasses. Seeing how much you were enjoying him.

He knew anyone would kill to have you like this, to even see you in such a state. Such a shame that you were for his eyes only from now on. He was going to make sure that you became so obsessed with him and you wouldn’t want to leave him.

With a few more slams you became a mess. You moaned out his name as you rode your orgasm.

"That’s it my siren, sing for me."

[sgtpeppers]

"A dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record": PR, McCartney and The Beatles' Split.

“No, I wasn’t angry – shit, he’s a good P.R. man, that’s all. He’s about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job. I wasn’t angry. We were all hurt that he didn’t tell us that was what he was going to do.”

(John Lennon in Rolling Stone, 21 Jan 1971)

To cut to the chase, I want to explain why this statement from John, claiming Paul is a good PR man is wrong. Largely thanks to quotes like this from John, Paul gets painted as the Beatle with a good media strategy, the insinuation being of course, that he is disingenuous and inauthentic. I don’t believe this is true in general, but what I really want to focus on, and what John is referencing in that quote, is the publicity around Paul’s 1970 album McCartney, which got all tied up with the news of The Beatles split, and how actually, mistake after mistake was made, rather than it being what John claims - a purposeful move to get more publicity for his album. 

This isn’t a moral judgment on either John or Paul, or me saying Paul is stupid for not doing more. In fact, I think it playing out this way is far more interesting and we can gain a lot of insight about his mindset and relationships from his press activities around this time. 

I’m going to do this chronologically as much as possible, but before we dive in it will be helpful for us to keep a few basic PR strategies and tools in mind to help us understand what’s (or perhaps more importantly, what’s not) happening. So what are some things that make for good public relations? 

A clear, cohesive message. What's the story of the album? There should be key phrases that are repeated throughout press activities, and also allow an easy fall back when faced with questions that haven’t been prepared for. Broadly speaking, you want to highlight the good and ignore the bad, without lying or appearing to hide anything.

A good relationship with the press. Having even a couple of journalists on side can be a huge benefit, it makes for friendlier interviews and more forgiving assessments (which isn’t to say journalists are being fake or can be incentivised, but it’s just human nature that if you make friends, you’re going to have an easier time.) Furthermore, you want a reputation in the industry as someone that’s nice to interview, because journalists can and will talk, and if they’re going to come in with a preconception about you, you want it to be positive. 

Reactive messaging. If something comes out that you don’t want to be out, be prepared. Ideally potential problems have already been planned for. Know which journalists to reach out to, know what the story is, then be prepared to go quiet and leave things alone.

Pre-prepared Q&As or FAQs should answer more questions than they generate. They also shouldn’t require in depth answers - save that for conversations where there’s time for explanations. 

So, let’s start back in 1969. The Paul is dead rumours are in full force and Paul, Linda, Heather and Mary are living up in Scotland, trying to escape the goings-on back in London. 

On 24 October, Paul gives an interview to the BBC dispelling the rumours about his death, which goes out on 26-27 October in two parts. A few days later, Dorothy Bacon and Terrence Spencer from Life Magazine make the trip up to his farm to try and get another interview with him, for a piece they’re also doing about the rumours. 

Paul throws a bucket of dirty water at them, they get pictures, and then realising how this will look if published, Paul gives them an interview and promises to have Linda send them some family shots for the articles. In exchange they get rid of the photos they took earlier in the day.

So the first point here, that hopefully I don't need to spell out, is that you don’t wanna go throwing buckets of water at journalists. Thankfully, Paul did realise this and course corrected, but I can only imagine what the fall out would have been had he hadn’t gone after them. But what’s important for this story is that Paul is fed up with journalists and having to share his private life, he's emotional, and his instinct is to lash out.

The other thing that’s interesting here is a line that goes completely unnoticed. At this point, The Beatles split is not public knowledge. 

The Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals, all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

(Paul McCartney in Life Magazine, November, 1969)

This is huge, and it doesn’t get picked up by anyone else. It’s not made a big deal of in the Life article, it’s perhaps the clearest statement we get about the state of The Beatles, and yet it flies under the radar. I’d love to know exactly what the deal is here, but there’s not much we can do about that, but what we should start keeping in mind in this: there is no plan in place around The Beatles split. There is just an agreement to not make it public yet. 

The McCartneys go back to London and Paul starts recording music with his new equipment at home. Later he books studio time when he decides he can make an album out of the songs he’s been working on. 

Some key dates: 

Paul finishes the album on 25 February.

The album is set to release on 17 April.

Ringo’s album get rushed to release two weeks early on 27 March and Let It Be is also supposed to be released in April.

On 31 March John and George send a letter, delivered by Ringo, asking Paul to delay the release of McCartney. Paul refuses and Let It Be gets moved instead. 

Which brings us to April. Prior this, Paul realised that if he’s going to be putting an album out he’s going to have to do some publicity, but the problem is… well, there’s a few; he’s never had to do publicity for a solo album and simply doesn’t have the knowledge, his relationship with Apple has completely deteriorated which includes the people who have been handling this stuff for him in the past, and lastly, he doesn’t want to be dealing with press. Refer back to him and the bucket. 

Thankfully, Peter Brown and Derek Taylor from Apple’s press office, tell him he does need to do something and to an extent, he listens. They select a handful of papers he’ll do interviews with, and Peter Brown puts together a Q&A for Paul to answer, which will go out to journalists in the press kit with their early copy of the album (x).

What I would love to do here is a question by question breakdown of that press kit Q&A but I’m conscious of how long this is already so I won’t… but before we get into that, here are a few more key events: 

7 April: The Eastmans issue a press release with news about Paul’s solo album and his acquisition of the film rights for Rupert The Bear. This is covered mostly by American press on 8 April who speculate that this could mean the end of The Beatles. (An important note here is the lack of communication between the Eastmans and Apple, not knowing what materials each other are providing is not helpful).

9 April: McCartney press kits are sent to journalists. 

9 April: Before Don Short at the Daily Mirror clocks off for the night, he is called by an Apple employee who tells him Paul has definitely quit. 

10 April: The Daily Mirror breaks the news with the headline ‘Paul Is Quitting The Beatles’. 

10 April: After doing interviews all day, Derek Taylor issues a statement regarding The Beatles. It doesn’t say much, which he acknowledges, because there’s not much he can say at this point. Another important note here, is that not even the head of publicity of Apple knew what was going on with The Beatles. There is no communication, and with no communication there can be no plan.

(Paul McCartney Project page that covers all this)

So what happened that made The Beatles split go from speculation to a certainty? It’s all to do with that Q&A. Of course, with the Eastman’s press release people were going to start connecting the dots, but that call Short got from his source isn’t presented as a rumour. 

Now, there’s a lot to say about this Q&A because Paul's answer are so unhelpful and you can feel his attitude. I think the fact this was allowed to go out is a fundamental piece of evidence of Paul’s relationship with Apple at the time. No one wanted to tell him no, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them more than the bare minimum. 

And lets be really clear here. This is a Q&A for his new album. Obviously the state of the Beatles was going to be brought up which is why Peter Brown included the questions, but the number of the questions on that topic and then Paul’s answers, make it really confusing and it’s no wonder this is what press picked up on, rather than just talking about Paul’s album. There are 41 questions in total, and 13 of them are asking him about his relationship to the other Beatles, Apple and Klein. That’s just over a third of the Q&A talking about things that he doesn’t want to be talking about. The fact he didn’t just tell Apple that he wasn’t going to answer some of the questions shows how little forethought went into this on his part. There was a much more concise way to do this, and I do not believe for a second Paul wanted further questions about the state of the Beatles when he’s trying to promote his first solo album. 

And remember what I said at the top, about how if you’re gonna be promoting something in the press you want clear messaging around it? That’s already going be difficult now this Q&A has tied so much of the Beatles split into their messaging, despite Paul actually having a pretty clear idea of what the album’s story is aside from that, but the answers Paul gives to those questions just add further confusion. 

Link to full Q&A.

Q: Were you influenced by John’s adventures with the Plastic Ono Band, and Ringo’s solo LP? A: Sort of, but not really. Q: Will they be so credited: McCartney? A: It’s a bit daft for them to be Lennon-McCartney-credited, so ‘McCartney’ it is. Q: Will the other Beatles receive the first copies? A: Wait and see. Q: Is it true that neither Allen Klein nor ABKCO have been nor will be in any way involved with the production, manufacturing, distribution or promotion of this new album? A: Not if I can help it. Q: Did you miss the other Beatles and George Martin? Was there a moment eg, when you thought ‘wish Ringo was here for this break?” A: No. Q: Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles? A: No. Q: Is this album a rest away from the Beatles or the start of a solo career? A: Time will tell. Being a solo album means it’s the start of a solo career… and not being done with the Beatles means it’s a rest. So it’s both. Q: Is your break from the Beatles temporary or permanent, due to personal difference or musical ones? A: Personal differences, business differences, musical differences, but most of all because I have a better time with my family. Temporary or permanent? I don’t know. Q: Do you see a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again? A: No. Q: What is your relationship with Klein: A: It isn’t – I am not in contact with him, and he does not represent me in any way. Q: What is your relationship with apple? A: It is the office of a company which I part-own with the other three Beatles. I don’t go there because I don’t like the offices or business, especially when I’m on holiday.

So what can we get from this? It’s the start of a solo career for Paul, he doesn’t know if The Beatles break is permanent or temporary, he’s not in contact with Klein and Klein doesn’t represent him, he owns part of Apple but he doesn’t like going there, and he seems very certain that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is over, despite not being sure if The Beatles will play together again or not. 

It’s a mess. It raises further questions. The only reason I can think of for it being so long is Peter Brown trying to cover absolutely everything he could think a journalist would ask, but it’s given Paul far too much scope for muddled answers, and in some cases, factually incorrect ones. He is tied up with Klein whether he likes it or not, because Klein’s tied up with Apple and Paul still has a contract with them. 

It’s no wonder that this becomes the focus of the media narrative, and it makes Paul panic. 

So on 16 April, the day before McCartney was released, Paul sits down with journalist Ray Connolly. And we move from story making, into reactive messaging. There is some thought behind this - Connolly is friendly with The Beatles and had actually already been aware of the split thanks to an off the record chat with John, so he was a good choice. The interview was published in the Evening Standard, a few days after the album had come out. 

And here’s why you want a friendly journalist to talk to, because as the world rushed to say that Paul had broken up the band, Connolly led his article with this: 

Paul McCartney didn’t kill the Beatles. If the group is dead, McCartney might be seen as the last survivor. If he has quit, and he still hasn’t confirmed it, he was the last to go.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

However, the interview is also extremely telling about where Paul’s at emotionally in this moment. 

A few days ago Paul McCartney decided to break his year-long silence and be interviewed. He wanted to clear up the confusion about his relations with the other Beatles and Allen Klein, and to kill the rumours that he was now ‘a hermit living in a cave somewhere with a ten-foot beard’. He wanted to show that he really was a happily married man with ‘a nice family and a good life’. But most of all he wanted to talk, to work things out in conversation, as much, I suspect, for his own benefit as anything.

This is not what you want to be doing with a journalist, you want to have this worked out before the conversation. 

We met for lunch in a Soho businessman’s restaurant. With hardly moments for the hellos, he’d launched into his theme, talking rapidly and intently, and only occasionally allowing Linda to come in as support and verification. He wanted to put it all straight, to show that no one was to blame for what had happened, and when after two and a half hours’ non-stop talking he had cleared up his mind and mine too, he laughed, said he felt better now, got into his car and went home.

This demonstrates the lack of media training he had. It’s a stark difference to the confidence he had doing press with the other Beatles, on his own and with a particular idea to get across he appears nervous and controlling. Long form interviews like this are a marathon, not a sprint, and had he had an advisor or representative that was willing to push back against him, he would have known how to handle this better.

Moreover, an interview of this sort should have been done and published prior to the album coming out, or at least on the day of. Yes, there were always going to be questions about The Beatles tied up with this release, but one long interview like this, that had been properly prepared for, could have gone a long way to keeping the story straight. He also, despite his steamroller-ing of the conversation to begin with, comes across much more balanced about the situation than he does in those Q&A answers, so leading with something like this would have put him on much better footing.

So let's just pause here. What have we got so far? We've got Paul wanting to do as little press as possible, and with a breakdown of communication with his press team resulting in minimal planning and advice. This goes completely against the picture John is trying to paint.

And I’m not done yet. Because now we need to talk about the response to the album which wasn’t what I imagine Paul had wanted. There are two reviews I’m going to focus on here, firstly from Disc & Music Echo, written by Penny Valentine. 

I don’t know what he was thinking when he planned this album. Perhaps he is laughing at us all. That’s fine, but it’s a pretty cruel way of doing it… almost a betrayal of all the things we’ve come to expect.

(Disc & Music Echo review, 18 April 1970)

It’s really harsh, but also this is within her right as a journalist. And what should someone do if they’re getting bad reviews? Ignore them. Thank the fans. Thank the people who say nice things. Don’t highlight negative attention, and certainly don’t lash out. 

And look, there’s a lot to be said about Paul, Linda, John and Yoko’s press communications over the 70s, the Melody Maker letters spring to mind, and I’m very aware that I’m looking at this from 2025 when PR is much bigger and better oiled machine, almost to the point of it being quite boring and predictable. I do, however, also think that ‘don’t lash out at journalists who don’t like your work’ is common sense. 

So Paul and Linda writing to Disc & Music Echo is a bit much to my eyes: 

Dear Penny hold your hand out you silly girl I am not being cruel or laughing at you. I am merely enjoying myself. You are wrong about the McCartney album. It is an attempt at something slightly different, it is simple, it is good and even at this moment it is growing on you, love. – Paul and Linda McCartney.

(Paul and Linda's telegram to Disc & Music Echo, 25 April 1970)

It’s condescending, and if you want to plant the seeds of what your album is meant to be, there are much better places and ways to do it. Again this is reactive, showing little to no planning earlier in the year. 

But here’s the thing that actually, completely baffles me. On the same day, in the same paper, another article gets published, this time by Derek Taylor, with the by line reading ‘Derek Taylor, Beatles Press Officer’. This just shouldn't happen. I can’t think of another case where someone’s PR is coming to their rescue in print. That’s not their job, and yes, Taylor used to be a journalist but he’s not anymore. I think this is way more to do with the way the people that have been with the Beatles since the early days are so emotionally wrapped up in this, they weren’t the people that should have been handling this.

(x)

It also shows though, that however much Paul was distancing himself from Apple, there were people still there who loved him. It’s an emotional, beautifully written piece calling for people to leave Paul alone, but also not a good PR move, especially when he’s highlighting a specific journalist. Whether Paul asked Derek to do this, or Derek did it of his own accord, I don’t know, but it looks defensive and if I was a journalist, I’d be rolling my eyes. 

Which brings us to the final part of this, the Rolling Stone review, published on 14 May 1970, nearly a month after the album came out, and largely not about the album at all, but a lot of  focus on Paul’s handling of the situation. 

The review of the actual songs is pretty complimentary, but this is also a personal attack on Paul. 

(Full review)

Unfortunately, there is more to this album than just music. Accompanying the release of McCartney was a mass of external information — all of it coming directly from Paul himself — which casts real doubt on the beautiful picture which the songs create. 

The sheets contain even more assertions about how happy and peaceful Paul and Linda are these days, and some interview statement from Paul concerning his relationship to the Beatles — statements which drip a kind of unsavory vindictiveness.

My problem is that all of the publicity surrounding the record makes it difficult for me to believe that McCartney is what it appears to be. In the special package of information which Paul wanted to include with the album we find startlingly harsh statements.

The lasting effect of this publicity campaign is to cast a dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record. Listening to it now I cannot help but ask if Paul is really as together as the music indicates, how could he have sunk to such bizarre tactics?

I don't think this needs much commentary. You know something’s gone wrong with your PR when that becomes the focus, rather than the thing you’re actually trying to promote. 

If we return to the four things I listed above, I think we can pretty resolutely lay out what I wanted to do. 

Was there a clear, cohesive message? Around the album itself, sort of, Paul knew what it was. But it got tied up with the news of The Beatles split, the messaging around which was confusing with no one sticking to the same story. He also didn't do enough before the album came out, to get that messaging about his album stuck in people's heads. So overall, no. 

Did he build good relationships with press? No. He threw a bucket at one. He provided confusing press kit material, even to journalists he was friendly with he came across in a manner that was worth noting in an article, he sent a bitchy telegram to a journalist who wrote a bad review, and this all culminated in Rolling Stone spending more time talking about his publicity than his album.  

Did Paul have reactive messaging prepared? Evidently not, and then given the chance to provide some, he came across as panicked to the journalist he was speaking to. 

Did his Q&A provide clear, simple answers to common questions he was likely to get asked? No, it was overly long, asking the same questions in multiple ways and no editing was done to his short, snappy, confusing, and incorrect answers. 

I don’t want to give the idea that Paul, overall, is just shit at PR. (I mean, there's a difference between being a good spokesperson and good at PR but I won't get into that). He’s a highly successful musician who by all accounts, is now extremely good at interviews and making journalists feel at ease. He’s Paul fucking McCartney. But John saying this, in direct reference to this period of press activities is just not true. The album did well for Paul in the charts and sales, yes, but I’d argue that’s despite all this, rather than because of it. 

And it’s also important to reiterate, that Paul simply wasn’t interested in doing a lot of publicity. He wasn’t even sure this was going to be an album when he started writing the songs. He didn’t want people coming to his farm, invading his new family life (and rightly so), he didn’t want to be on TV or the radio every day. That’s why his Q&A is so terse and why he hadn’t put any thought in how he was going to talk about The Beatles. And whilst how he felt is understandable, what he needed were a team around him willing to push back, steer him, and were separate from Apple. That’s the only way, I think, this could have gone differently.

Even then, he probably wouldn’t have listened to them anyway: 

I don’t think I need a manager in the old sense that Brian Epstein was our manager. All I want are paid advisers, who will do what I want them to do. And that’s what I’ve got.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

And that’s really the crux of it all, because you can’t do good with PR with someone who doesn’t want to take advice and thinks they know best. And I love him for it. 

[nosyp]

Under His Spell

Warning = captivity, kidnapping, controlling behaviour, isolation

Pairing = Malleus x reader

Summary = You somehow become entangled in Malleus Draconia's world. A world where love and possessiveness show no mercy.

Word count = 2.7k

A/N = kinda diff writing style... idk if i like it

It had all happened so quickly. One moment, you were walking back to your dorm, and the next, you were trapped in the clutches of Malleus Draconia. The world around you was a blur as he whisked you away into another world, far from the safety of your friends and the walls of NRC. You barely had time to react, the overwhelming pressure of his magic sealing any chance of escape.

The fabric clung to you in ways you despised. The gown, if you could even call it that, was more revealing than anything you’d ever worn. Every movement you made reminded you of how little it covered your skin, and every moment in it only fueled the indignation burning in your chest.

You didn’t want to wear it.

You never would have chosen this for yourself. But choice wasn’t something Malleus Draconia gave you the privilege of anymore.

He stood across the room, his imposing figure bathing in the eerie green glow of the enchanted light fixtures lining the walls. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, raking over you as though you were a masterpiece he’d created, a vision only he could fully appreciate.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, his deep voice sending a chill down your spine.

You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from his scrutinizing eyes. “I don’t care what you think,” you snapped, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the still air.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it wasn’t one of amusement. It was one of satisfaction, as though your defiance was something he enjoyed playing with. He stepped closer, each movement slow and calculated.

“You speak so boldly,” he said, his tone as smooth as silk. “But look at you now… draped in the finest of fabrics, adorned as you should be. You wear it well, even if you resist.”

“I didn’t choose this,” you hissed, stepping back, only to feel the cold stone wall press against your bare shoulders. “You forced me into it.”

“And yet, it suits you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as though pondering a work of art. “I knew it would.”

You wanted to tear the dress off, to scream, to fight. But the magic woven into the room, into him, was suffocating. Every fiber of the garment seemed laced with his power, and removing it felt as impossible as escaping his grasp.

“I’m not your doll, Malleus,” you spat, your nails digging into your palms. “You can’t just... dress me up and pretend I’m okay with this.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but only for a moment until it was quickly replaced by the intensity you’d come to dread. “You misunderstand me,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “This is not about what you want. It’s about what you need. And you... need me.”

“I need you to let me go,” you countered, glaring up at him with all the fury you could muster.

He chuckled, low and almost fond, but it had a hidden subtext that made your stomach churn. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You’ll come to understand. In time, you’ll see that everything I do... is for you.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze, but that only seemed to amuse him further. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch sent a shiver through you, not of fear, but of the undeniable power he wielded over you.

The weight of his magic hung in the air, binding you in ways that no physical chains ever could. No matter how much you fought, how much you resisted, the reality was undeniable.

The silence between you both stretched on, thick with tension. You refused to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, but Malleus didn’t seem to mind. He seemed content enough with simply watching you, studying you, almost as if you were something to be dissected. Something to be admired.

“You’re still resisting,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like a murmur. “How charming.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, like an invisible burden you couldn’t escape. You wanted to snap, to lash out, but every part of you screamed to hold onto your dignity, to not let him see how much his control rattled you.

But it was getting harder and harder to maintain that illusion. His presence was all-encompassing, overwhelming. His very being wrapped around you, suffocating you with his power.

"I don’t need this," you whispered, your voice shaking despite your attempts to sound firm.

Malleus took a step forward, and you felt your heart race. You couldn’t back away this time.  The wall had trapped you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that almost sent you to heaven.

“You do not understand,” he said softly, reaching for the hem of your ‘dress’. “I do this because I know what’s best for you. You are mine, and everything I do for you... it is because you need it.”

The words were strange, unsettling. As though you were just a thing to be molded. Just a thing to be controlled. He didn’t even see you as a person anymore, but as something to shape, to dress, to possess.

“I am not yours," you said again, but this time there was less conviction in your voice. The truth of the situation was pressing down on you, hard and unyielding. You were his, whether you liked it or not. And the realization burned in a way that felt worse than any physical pain.

Malleus smiled, a faint curve of his lips that was equal parts warmth and danger. "You are. And one day, you will accept it."

You clenched your fists at your sides, frustration starting to rise to the surface. "If I do," you spat, "it’ll be because you forced me to."

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” he mused. “But you see, my dear, it’s already begun.”

With that, his hand reached for you again, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the dress you were trapped in. His touch was almost tender, but the intent behind it was anything but. The way he traced the material, his fingers lingering on the edge of the neckline, sent a chill of discomfort through you.

"I’ll allow you to adjust," Malleus said, stepping back to give you space, but his eyes never left you. "But don’t mistake this for kindness. This is my mark on you, and you will wear it proudly. Everything I do is for you. And soon enough, you will realize that, in time.”

His words lingered in the air, like a spell, still present. You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious, or if he truly believed that. But either way, you didn’t have much choice now. The magic binding you to this place was stronger than your will to resist.

The realization was sinking in, and you hated it. Hated that you were so powerless in his presence.

With one final glance, Malleus turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. “Rest,” he called over his shoulder. “We have much more to discuss tomorrow.”

And with that, you were left in the cold, dim room, the dress still clinging to your skin, your mind swirling with the tormenting thoughts of what could come next. He could eliminate you in an instant, but he didn’t.

You had been left alone in the room for what felt like hours. Malleus’s departure had left a heavy silence in his wake, but the oppressive weight of his control lingered in the air. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched you, the way his eyes had gleamed with that unsettling mix of affection and possession. The way he’d claimed you… your body, mind and soul.

But you weren’t his, no matter what he thought. And you weren’t going to stay here forever.

Your mind raced, plotting every possible way to escape his clutches. You couldn’t just run. That would be predictable, and you knew Malleus would catch you quickly. His magic was too strong for that. But there had to be another way, something less obvious that he couldn’t see.

As you paced the room, your eyes scanned every inch of it. The walls were high and covered in eerie, ancient tapestries depicting dragons, castles, and landscapes. You had no idea how this room was even built or how you could get out, but your gaze shifted to something else: the balcony door. It was locked, naturally, but you had seen Malleus use magic before. Maybe you could use that to your advantage.

It wasn’t running. It wasn’t reckless. It was just… a calculated risk.

You waited until you were sure Malleus was far enough away, probably in the garden or some distant part of the castle, before you even decided to move an inch.

You tried to recall any spell you had learned, any incantation that could break through the magic that held the door closed. You weren’t a magician by nature, but there had to be something. You were resourceful, you can use what you have.

Your fingers brushed over the surface of the door, searching for something, anything, that might give. Then, faintly, you felt it. The magic on the door was delicate. It wasn’t solid, just a thin veil keeping you trapped inside. You could feel the faintest pulse of it, just enough to give you the idea you needed.

“Focus,” you told yourself, taking a deep breath. It was risky, and you had no idea if it would work, but you had to try. You reached into your pocket, your fingers brushing against the familiar cold of your small pendant. It was a trinket you had found years ago, neglected but oddly comforting.

It wasn’t enchanted, but the pendant had always brought you a sense of calm. Maybe, just maybe, it could help you focus enough to channel your own inner magic. You closed your eyes, focused all your energy into the pendant, and visualized the door unlocking, the magic dissipating, leaving a way out.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. The door remained locked, the magic still pressing against you.

But then, a subtle click echoed through the room.

You opened your eyes, your breath getting stuck in your throat. It worked.

Quickly, you slipped past the threshold of the door and onto the balcony, heart racing. The moon was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the landscape below. You could hear the distant sound of Malleus’s voice, low and steady, but you didn’t have time to waste.

The castle walls seemed to stretch infinitely upward, but below, there was only a series of interwoven wooden framework covered in vines. Maybe this was your escape route. You swallowed hard, the feeling of everything moving making your head spin in circles, but you didn’t have any other choice. You couldn’t afford to waste any time, and you knew Malleus wouldn’t be fooled for long.

Your fingers gripped the vines, your feet finding itself on the stones of the trellis. You were careful, precise, and as silent as you could manage, climbing down as carefully and gracefully you could.

And then, just as you reached the ground and took a step forward, the unmistakable sound of a door slamming open echoed through the courtyard. Your heart leaped into your throat.

“Malleus...” you muttered under your breath, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You had no idea where you were going. You had no plan beyond getting away. But as the sound of his heavy footsteps grew nearer, you pushed yourself faster, deeper into the woods.

You forced deeper into the woods, branches and underbrush tugging at your clothes as you ran past the array of trees. The soft crunch of leaves from every step you took was drowned out by the loud sounds of your heartbeat, each thump against your chest reminding you of the danger you were in. The moonlight leaked past the trees leaves, but the shadows in the forest were thick and suffocating.

Behind you, Malleus’s presence loomed. You could feel it even if you couldn’t hear his footsteps. His magic was always near, an invisible thread pulling at you, and it made your skin crawl. The forest wasn’t safe, not with him so close, but it was your only chance.

You didn’t dare look back. Instead, you focused ahead, each step faster than the last. The more distance you put between you and the castle, the more you could breathe, the less his overwhelming presence could crush you. But the sense of being hunted never faded.

The air was cooler now, and the forest seemed to stretch on endlessly. You couldn’t hear Malleus anymore. Maybe you had gotten far enough… maybe you had outrun him.

You stumbled to a stop, gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your brow, your legs burning from the effort. The trees around you were silent, but something still felt off. Your gut told you he wasn’t far behind.

You moved cautiously, your instincts alert, eyes darting in every direction. The silence was too still. Too perfect. And then, in the distance, you heard it. The sound of footsteps. They were deliberate and slow, almost like they had all the time in the world.

Malleus. The man you oh so desperately loathe.

You froze. His voice, too, reached your ears, a deep, rumbling whisper that seemed to wrap itself around you even from a distance.

"You cannot escape me," he called softly. His voice was a low growl, but there was no anger in it. Only a cold, confident certainty.

You bit your lip, eyes darting desperately, searching for an escape route. There was no way you could outrun him. Not now. He had already closed the gap. And then, you felt it, the sharp prickling sensation of magic weaving its way through the air, binding you in place.

He was here.

Before you could move, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing. Malleus, as you had known he would be. His eyes glowed like two eerie embers in the darkness, and the corners of his lips curled into an almost amused smile. But his gaze was cold, calculating.

“You don’t think I would let you go that easily, do you?” His voice was soft but laced with something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky step back, every instinct screaming to run, to fight, to do anything to break free of his grasp. But his magic had already coiled around you, tight and unyielding.

With a flick of his wrist, the vines around you tightened, pulling you closer. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled against the pull, but it was useless. He had you now, and there was no escape.

"Why do you resist?" he asked, his tone almost pitiful, but there was no warmth in it. "I have given you everything. All you need is to accept me."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with defiance. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

He tilted his head, his sharp eyes studying you, intrigued. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

“I see,” he said, his voice dripping with something almost too sweet. "Then perhaps, you just need a little more...persuasion."

Before you could react, his magic gushed through, sending threads of energy through the air. The world around you suddenly dissipated, putting you through a whole new world. When the sensation faded, you were back at the castle, standing in the middle of a grand hall, surrounded by towering stone walls.

You were trapped again.

[judesdrabbles]

The Cure (part II)

On a snowy afternoon, your car had broken down after a therapy session with your psychiatrist. Perhaps this was the perfect moment for him to get to know you better.

1.4K words

PART 1 / PART 3

Warnings: obsessive tendencies, yandere behavior, misuse of power position

A few weeks have passed since your first appointment. Every week you step into his office, and every week, Vincent finds himself wanting more.

Why only once a week? Why not twice? Or thrice? Surely, you’d benefit from more frequent therapy sessions. Therapy was about consistency, after all. And he wouldn’t mind. Not for you, at least.

The thought gnawed at him. The thought of you. Was this professionalism? He never really cared for his patients, he didn’t care about their troubles. Their feelings were merely a two-piece puzzle for him to solve. So easy. His fingers tap rhythmically on the polished wood of his desk, a soft tune for his thoughts. His eyes flicked to the pens- his anchors- arranged in their precise formation. A neat straight line. It was perfect. Controlled.

But it wasn’t enough. When you weren’t here, the silence became unbearable. He could straighten the pens over and over again, or he could iron his suit thrice a day until every seam and every thread was laying flat and obedient beneath the iron’s weight, but it was not enough. He needed more. He needed to see you.

Even as he worked, his thoughts circled back to you. You weren’t like the bleak wallpaper in his office like he thought you would be; you were not unremarkable. You were new. A breath of fresh air.

It was just professional interest, of course. It had to be. At least, that’s what he told himself.

And then, on one snowy afternoon in the dead of winter, it seemed like his silent prayers had been answered.

You returned to his office after your session, cheeks flushed from the cold. He looked up from his desk, surprised at your reappearance.

‘Um.. Doctor, I’m sorry to bother you,’ You say hesitantly and brush the snowflakes from your hair. This was embarrassing. It was already late and the man probably just wanted to go home. ‘You.. wouldn’t happen to know anything about cars, would you?’

Vincent rose from his chair, his lips curling into a polite smile. Fate had given him another chance to be near you. ‘Cars?’ He shook his head softly. ‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a mechanic, but I can certainly take a look. It might be something simple.’

He stepped around his desk, gesturing to the hallway. You let out a small sigh and smile. ‘Thank you, I’d appreciate it. It’s just-..’ You hesitated, glancing back at him as he walked. ‘The engine wouldn’t start, and I don’t really know what to do out here. I mean, it’s not like I can just walk home in this weather.’

Vincent’s chest tightened at the thought of you stranded and alone in this weather. The snow had been relentless all day, piling high up on the streets outside his office. It was as though the world had conspired with him to keep you here, within reach.

‘Of course.’ He said, his tone calm as always. ‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with.’

The cold hit you both sharply as the two of you stepped outside. Vincent’s polished shoes crunched against the fresh snow and you cross your arms against the cold as you look at your car in the parking lot. Frost was creeping up on the edges of the windows.

‘Do you have the keys?’ Vincent asks, turning to you. You quickly nod and hand them over, your fingers brushing against each other briefly. It was enough to send a jolt up his spine.

Vincent slips into the drivers seat, turning the key. The engine groaned, sputtered .. and then fell silent. Again, and again, and again. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he exited the car.

‘It’s not catching. It could be the battery.’ He says, glancing over at you. Your cheeks were rosy. You groan.

‘Figures. The one time I don’t have jumper cables in the car..’

Vincent paused, his mind working quickly. ‘No matter. Why don’t you come back inside while I call for assistance? No use in freezing out here, hm?’

Your shoulders relax slightly. ‘Thank you, I’m so sorry for the trouble, though.’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ He responds, his voice smooth. Almost too smooth.

Inside, the warmth of his office was a nice contrast to the piercing cold outside. He gestured for you to sit on the couch, noticing the way you hesitated before sitting down on the leather.

It was perfect, Vincent thought. It was an opportunity, wasn’t it? An opportunity to get to know you better, to peel back another layer. To keep you here, with him, just a little longer.

‘Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’ He asks. His gaze lingers.

‘Oh, uh.. Tea would be nice. Thank you.’ You answer.

You were on the edge of the couch, one foot nervously tapping against the floor. The whole situation felt surreal. Your car breaking down, being stuck here with your new psychiatrist- it was something out of a bad sitcom. The meticulous order of everything in this room didn’t seem to help; like his weird tendency to keep straightening the pens on his desk, or that he always sat so perfectly still, like every movement was rehearsed. Like he was an actor.

After a while, Vincent returns, handing you the cup of tea. He made the tea just right- not too hot, a little bit of honey. No milk. The way he imagined you might prefer it. Would you notice the care he had taken?

He hoped so.

The steam of the tea curled around your face as you warm your hands with the cup. Vincent sat down across from you with his own. He seemed to relax more.

‘I called the tow truck for you. They’ll be here in a bit, the snow is kind of keeping them occupied.’

‘Thanks, doctor.’ You softly say, taking a sip from your tea. It was slightly sweet. Was it honey? ‘You really didn’t have to do that. I’m keeping you late.’

Vincent chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. If only you knew. Even if you had asked him to stay here the whole day and night, he wouldn’t mind. Not for you.

‘You’re not keeping me. I don’t mind at all.’

It was quiet in his office for a while. You watch the soft snowflakes fall down on the road next to his office. It was actually quite cozy. You decide to spark up conversation.

‘Your office is always so neat.’ You gesture around. ‘I often feel like I’m trespassing every time I walk in here with my muddy shoes.’

Vincent’s lips twitch into a smile. To be fair, he hated it when his patients stained his floor. When they mess up what he so perfectly cleaned. But he could bear it with you.

‘If you hint at your shoes that have been making my floor wet with snow, it’s fine.’ His eyes glance to your wet sneakers. ‘I suppose I do have a tendency to .. keep things in order. Keep them clean. It helps me think clearly.’

You chuckle. ‘Life is messy. Isn’t that what therapy is all about, doctor? That everything can’t be perfect all the time?’

His eyebrows raise. You were probing. Cheeky.

‘Poking around, are we? Very well. You are absolutely right, of course.’ He admits, placing his cup of tea down on the side table beside him. ‘But you’ll be surprised how much I can tolerate, giving the right circumstances. Even when I like things neat.’

‘You must think I’m a mess, then.’ You blurt out.

Vincent gaze lingers on you. ‘I don’t think so, Y/N. I really enjoy your company.’ He smiles. ‘This space becomes more meaningful whenever you’re here.’

The way he said that made your stomach flip- not necessarily in a good way. You focus on the tea in your hands, swirling it around the cup. There was something disarming about this conversation. Like he was trying to draw you closer without you realizing it.

‘You’re kind to say that.’

Vincent grins. He was scared he had overstepped a bit. But you seemed to accept it. If there was one thing he was besides a tad bit obsessed, it was patient. He would play the waiting game for as long as he sees fit. Reel you in. Really see you. Know you.

Outside, the sound of tires crunching trough the snow signaled the arrival of the tow truck. Disappointment flickered across Vincent’s face. ‘It seems your detour is over, Y/N.’

Later that night, he sat on the couch, on the same spot you had been sitting. He was softly brushing the edge of the tea cup you had left behind, deep in thought.

Next week felt too far away.

[mssorceressupreme]

Moth to a Flame

———

Pairing: Weasley twins x reader

Summary: You’re two-timing the Weasley twins, and it all goes well. Until one day, they decide you need to be punished for this.

Warnings: 16+ minors DNI, smut, fingering, blowjob, masturbation, orgasm, praise kink, dom male, switch female, hickeys, kissing, two-timing

A/N: ik Hogwarts doesn’t have any phones but let’s just assume they do here lol also I was kinda inspired by the song Moth to a Flame by the Weeknd so yeah 😅 PLZ excuse the smut I don’t write too much smut so not that experienced with it

———

The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, casting golden rays over George’s peaceful face. His ginger hair was tousled, his expression serene, as he lay beside you in his bed.

You watched him for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic. He looked beautiful like this, vulnerable, calm, utterly unaware. His dorm mates were also fast asleep, you were glad that you managed to draw no attention to yourself so far.

Carefully, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, the faint glow illuminating a new message.

Fred: Can’t wait to see you later love. Study session at library after lunch? ❤️

Your breath caught, guilt settling like a stone in your chest. You glanced back at George, still sound asleep, oblivious to the chaos you were carrying. Quickly, you replied to Fred then turned off your phone.

You: Sounds perfect, see u then 🫶🏼

The twins didn’t share a dorm, thank Merlin, which made slipping between their rooms seamless. Spending the night with either was simple enough, as long as neither suspected the truth.

Slipping out of bed, you kissed George softly on the forehead, his lips twitching into a sleepy smile. Grabbing a piece of parchment, you scribbled a note:

“Went to breakfast with Hermione. See you later, handsome x”

You left the note on his nightstand before tiptoeing out of the room.

———

In the Great Hall, Hermione sat waiting, her arms crossed and her expression laced with disapproval.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” she said the moment you slid onto the bench beside her. As she was the person you trusted the most, Hermione was the only person who knew about you two-timing the twins. Well, it started off as an innocent mistake but who knew this knot would get so messy.

You groaned, helping yourself to some toast. “Don’t start, ‘Mione.”

“You’ve got to tell them. This…whatever this is…it’s cruel. You can’t keep dating them both.” She whisper-yelled, leaning closer to you, and making this conversation was as quiet as it could be.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” You counter, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “I…I didn’t know how to say no to either of them, and now, I love them both. I couldn’t just reject one of them, they’re my best friends!”

Hermione raised a skeptical brow, “You can’t keep this up. It’s going to blow up in your face.” "But the thing is, I told the each of them I wanted a private relationship, to keep it solely between me and each twin, and they agreed, so I'm certain the twins don't know I'm two-timing them." Hermione stared blankly, "And what happens if there's an event that you need to attend as their "girlfriend" and they both need you, what then? A duplicating spell?"

You exhaled, taking a large bite of your toast.

“Look, I’m worried about you Y/N. It won’t just hurt them, but yourself too. This could take a toll on your metal health, keeping up with two relationships sounds exhausting.” She placed a hand on your back.

“I’ll tell one of them,” you mumbled, biting your lip. “Eventually…when the time is right.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “The ‘right time’ doesn’t exist for this. The longer you wait, you’ll only dig yourself deeper.”

You nodded slowly, concurring. She gave you a soft smile, “But honestly, you do look good with both of them. You’ll make a fine couple with whoever you end up with.” She giggled, before the both of you continued eating then changing the subject.

———

Later that afternoon, you found yourself tucked away in a quiet corner of the library with Fred. Books lay open between you, though neither of you had made much progress. His hand rested on your knee under the table, his warm touch making your mind foggy and filled with inappropriate thoughts, too inappropriate to be having this early in the day.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "You’re awfully distracted today, love." He began planting peppered kisses on your neck, sucking on a particular sensitive spot you had, you bit your lip holding back a moan.

"Just tired, I guess." You managed to croak out, once he stopped and picked up his quill to continue studying.

Fred’s eyes then searched yours, and he tilted his head. "Where were you this morning? I stopped by your dorm, but you weren’t there."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Oh, I woke up early," you lied, keeping your voice steady. "Thought I’d get a head start on studying."

Fred frowned slightly, but before he could press further, George appeared. He dropped into the seat across from you, flashing his lopsided grin.

"Fancy seeing you two here," he said, his eyes lingering on you just a moment too long before unpacking his notes. "Couldn't find a spot in the library for ages, it’s like everybody's suddenly interested in studying today."

Your stomach twisted into knots. Sitting between them felt like balancing on the edge of a knife, the tension suffocating. It never felt this way before, but now that you were essentially dating both of them, you constantly felt wary.

"Yeah we're lucky we even managed to find a table." Fred replied, before the twins carried on studying. As you were reading your textbook, Fred placed his hand on your thigh again, inching his hand further up your thigh with each paragraph you read. The words were becoming blurry, none of the text registering, you mentally cursed, knowing you'd have to revisit these pages again. Your breathing became heavier as he stopped at your entrance. Wearing a skirt granted him easy access to your undies; he teased your folds over your undergarment, slowly stroking with two fingers. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, desperate for him to just plunge inside you. You glanced at George, who appeared to be immersed in taking notes, looking back and forth between his parchment and the Potions textbook. You then turned to Fred, who, to your surprise, was poker-faced, reading through some study notes. Fred smirked to himself, his fingers making their way through your undies and coming into contact with your folds. You inhaled sharply, looking at him but he carried on reading. He rubbed circles around your clit, your eyes fluttered, back arching involuntarily, but you played it off as stretching. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into you, pumping slowly and then picking up the pace gradually.

You grabbed his thigh for support, squeezing it slightly. It took everything in your power to not moan, especially because George was sitting opposite you, and the library was quiet. Did I mention quiet?! Dead silent. "Yes!" You thought aloud then hummed, you needed to vocalise something, to let loose. You could feel yourself getting close, but you did not want to come in a library so for the sake of your dignity, so you slowly pushed Fred's hand away. Fred stopped, turning to face you, so did George. "Finally understand this paragraph!" You toned it down, laughing slightly to play it off. A few moments later George's leg started brushing against yours, stroking your leg with his from under the table. Again, you felt yourself melting at his touch, wanting more. You made eye contact with him and bit your lip, but shook your head forcing yourself to stop. Thank Merlin this table was huge, you could barely see what was happening underneath, making it easy to camouflage your actions. You froze when you came into sudden contact with both of them at the same time. Fred's hand back on your thigh, and George's leg interlocking with yours.

Taking on one of them was easy, especially with the other distracted. However, both at the same time? You can bid yourself farewell. You stammered something about needing to check a book and practically fled the table, leaving Fred and George behind. “Um yeah, I’ll catch you guys later!…” you mumbled before scurrying out the library. Not once turning around to look at them, you mentally slapped yourself for being so hasty. ———

You found Hermione and Ginny in the courtyard, their chatter a welcome distraction. Ginny was practically bouncing with excitement as she shared news of a party in the Ravenclaw common room that evening.

"You’re coming, right? Luna said she'd love to have us there." Ginny asked, nudging you playfully.

You hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. Why not?"

You needed a distraction. And this was definitely it.

———

The party was everything you needed, loud, lively, and carefree. Harry, Ron, Neville, and a bunch of students from every house were there too. Music pulsed through the room, and laughter echoed over the clinking of butterbeer bottles. You found yourself relaxing as you chatted with Luna, Cho, Hermione, and Ginny, letting the chaos around you drown out your worries.

Until you received a note.

"Meet me in the 7th year study room upstairs – your fav Weasley ;)"

You laughed softly, folding the parchment. Of course, it had to be Fred. Or was it George? The handwriting wasn’t distinct enough to tell.

Excusing yourself, you made your way to the Ravenclaw study room for 7th years, as the twins were 7th years you supposed they were allowed in those study rooms. The door creaked as you pushed it open, and your heart skipped a beat when you stepped inside.

Your eyes went wide, you momentarily froze, eyes darting back and forth from the two figures seated in front of you.

Both Fred and George were there. George was seated casually on the edge of the table with his arms folded, and Fred leaned back on one of the couches, manspreading. Their identical grins stretched wide, their eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Y/N," George drawled, standing and walking toward you. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Panic set in as the pieces clicked. "I uh-... I should go," you stammered, turning to leave, but George was quicker, his hand catching your wrist.

"Not so fast," he murmured, his voice low.

"You’ve been naughty," Fred added, standing now, his gaze fixed on you.

Your stomach churned. "What are you talking about?"

Fred chuckled, stepping closer. "Don’t play coy, love. Two-timing us? Did you really think we wouldn’t figure it out?"

They both now towered over you, George shut the door behind you and you gulped, your only opportunity to exit, gone.

"I..." Words failed you as Fred cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"You’ve got us all tangled up, Y/N," George said, his voice softer now as he moved to stand beside his twin.

Your knees felt weak as George leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple.

"We should be angry," Fred whispered, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"But we’re not," George finished.

They both smiled, their warmth almost overwhelming.

"Because we love you," Fred said.

"And we’ll share, if that’s what it takes to keep you," George added.

Before you could respond, Fred’s lips captured yours in a heated kiss, George’s hand resting gently on your waist.

Your heart raced as their affection enveloped you, leaving you breathless and utterly lost between them.

“But we’re not going to let you off that easily…” George spoke.

Fred pulled away from the kiss, which left you slightly disappointed, “…You need to be punished.” He finished George’s sentence.

“What? How? Please—guys, this isn’t necessary. I was going to come clean I swear-” You pleaded but George interjected,

“Relax, we’re not going to hurt you love. Just, follow our lead.” George found you amusing, all flustered, like a prey about to get eaten by its predator.

George walked behind you, while Fred stood in front, pressing his body against yours.

Your core began to heat up, feeling a rush of adrenaline as the two boys were mere inches away from you.

George began kissing your neck, sucking on your sensitive spot but with extra pressure, leaving love bites. “Mhm, George…” you moan, tilting your head back as you grab hold of his neck behind you.

Fred massaged your breasts sensually, his hands roaming every inch of you then slid down your body, slowly making his way to your core.

“Wearing a short skirt to the party tonight eh? Who are you trying to look good for hm?” Fred teased, as he began massaging your throbbing core. You felt yourself getting wetter by the second, craving more of both their touch.

You were too lost in pleasure to respond, head thrown back while George continued kissing your neck, making his way up to your jaw.

“Answer me.” Fred demanded, before forcefully shoving two fingers inside your entrance which earned a unholy groan from you.

“You-...both of you.” Your breathy responses and subtle twitching resulted in a satisfied hum from Fred, he continued pumping his fingers in you, which were now coated because of how wet you were.

“Don’t stop Fred, please.” You moaned, as he picked up the pace, pumping faster.

You could feel yourself getting closer, your climax mere seconds away.

“You feel so good around my fingers, so tight for me love.”

“Fred…” you hummed, moaning again. “I’m getting close, please, I’m so close.”

Eager to make you come, he continued pumping, “That’s it come for me. Come around my finger.” Fred cooing into your ear was your tipping point, sending you over the edge and finally you were done. Your walls clenched with arousal as you reached your climax, a cloud of ecstasy and pleasure washed over you as you groaned.

Fred removed his fingers from you and George stopped, both of them now moving to stand in front of you. You felt all to powerful, the two twins at your mercy now.

The twins looked at you, smirking. As though you read their mind, you spoke, “Alright alright, now it’s your turn I suppose.” Your shirt was tight and revealed your cleavage, you smirked to yourself as you bent down, exposing more of your breasts to them.

You saw George shift slightly, adjusting his pants. “You, sit.” You pointed to George. “…And you, watch.” You addressed Fred.

George sat on the couch, and you knelt in front of him, unbuckling his pants, exposing his length, which was now fully hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Fred leaned against the table, stroking himself to the sight in front of him.

You planted kitten licks on his tip, which earned a low groan from him. Slowly, you slid your tongue down from his tip to his base, doing so a few times to tease him.

“Merlin, Y/N…” George threw his head back, breathing heavily.

You then took him, slowly bopping your head up and down his length, you glanced at Fred who was busy pleasuring himself, and made eye contact with him as you sucked George off.

Fred groaned at your eye contact, “Bloody hell Y/N when you look at me like that…” You swear you could hear him mutter your name under his breath a few times while he continued pumping his length but you brushed it off.

Satisfied, you hummed looking back at George, gazing up at him, his eyes were half-lidded, lost in pleasure but he managed to gaze down at you, while he guided your head.

“Faster…” you bopped your head faster. Your neck was hurting slightly from how fast and hard his dick was hitting the back of your throat but at the same time, it felt too good to stop. You wanted to be the reason he was moaning under your touch.

“Fuck you feel so good, your mouth looks so pretty around me.” George moaned, and you felt a rush down to tour core, being praised like this gave you all the more motivation to continue.

You began sucking harder and faster, and George bucked his hips, “Shit I’m getting close, I’m gonna-…”

George let out a loud moan, “Fuck.” He grunted, releasing down your throat. You swallowed the warm liquid and he gently wiped your mouth while you looked at him.

Fred finished seconds later, “Bloody hell…” he muttered.

You sat down, collapsing on the floor, underestimating how much energy this would take from you.

Fred smiled warmly, walking over to you and picking you up bridal style, “Is my Y/N tired?”

He gently placed you on the couch next to George, then brushed out a few strands of hair from your face.

“Let us take care of you now. We’ll take you up to your room yeah?” George hummed softly before placing a kiss on your forehead.

[cakepoppresent]

Kicked Puppy

They can't stay mad at each other for too long ~

Transcript under the cut~

[Malcolm]: Hey...

[Luna]: Do I know you?

[Malcolm]: Luna...

[Luna]: I’m going to call the POLICE. “Hello? 911?”

[Malcolm]: I’m trying to apologize

[Luna]: Is that right? That’s crazy why would a stranger want to say sorry?

[Malcolm]: I know I've been a complete dick. I don’t really have an excuse but I miss you and I'm sorry

[Luna]: Is that it?

[Malcolm]: How I treated you wasn’t right. I keep saying I don’t want you to get hurt but I’m the one who’s scared of being hurt. I’ve always been the scared one and I can’t keep forcing you to be scared with me. I acted like a complete dick and punished you for trying to do something I didn’t agree with and that was wrong of me.

[Luna]: At your big age you’re still acting like a petulant child. At what point did I ever give you the impression I was scared or worried? Hmm?

[Malcolm]: ...

[Luna]: You lashed at me TWICE about this and you refuse to at least listen to me. That's not fair how do I know you won’t just get mad again? You apologizing won’t stop me from reaching out to Andre.

[Malcolm]: I know you want to see Andre...and I want to be there when you do

[Luna] No way! So you can cuss him out in person? Absolutely not.

[Malcolm]: I mean it Luna. I want to be there when you speak with Andre, I still think he’s a fucking bitch but I can hold those feelings back if it means being there with you

[Luna]: Malcolm...

[Malcolm]: I’m serious. I want to support whatever you want to do, I’ll be there every step of the way

[Luna]: Don’t you want to know what happened? He just disappeared does that sound like the Andre we know? The one who would take us out of the house if Dad was in a mood? Or would come to our teacher-parent meetings?

[Malcolm]: Does it matter? Didn’t leave a letter, send a tex or even a fucking email

[Luna]: I’m just...worried. Even when our business was exposed all over the news, Dad didn’t even reach out once.

[Malcolm]: Like I said. It’s always just been us but if you really want to find out why I’ll be there no matter what we find out

[Malcolm]: Listen. I love you Luna you mean everything to me

[Luna]: Even more than Benji?

[Malcolm]: Of course. He knows that too but that's not the point. I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you no matter what but please believe me when I say I'll be there for you no matter what happens

[Luna]: *heh* Look at you. You look like a kicked puppy, have you been crying?

[Malcolm]: Of course not, stop talking shit. Do you accept my apology or not?

[Luna]: Oh?? I don’t think so with that bitch ass attitude

[Malcolm]: Shut the hell up. I have your fav from Santini's its in the car. I’ll drop you off at home

[Luna]: *hmph* How does Benji deal with your horrible attitude

[Malcolm]: I don’t know either. You’re gonna have to ask him yourself

[Luna]: Poor Benji. Can’t imagine having to deal with your ass everyday

[Malcolm]: Do you want the food in the car or should I throw it in the garbage?

[Luna]: I’m going to beat your ass for real

[Luna]: Oh! I know the loser that exposed our family business. I dealt with her ass today

[Malcolm]: An actress?? What the hell was her problem?

[Luna]: I don’t know but I doubt I'll be hearing from her silly ass anytime soon

[Malcolm]: Something like that seems below you. Why pay her any attention?

[Luna]: Because her face pissed me off. Let’s hope I never have to see her face again

[spinchip]

Find Your Way Home au. Kai and Nya have a conversation after he finds out she's Samurai Phoenix. angst and pain yaaay

(kai and nya stans is this in character or am i just making stuff up thanks)

She finds him out here, on the deck of the bounty with the starts surrounding him. It's a dark, cold night and he seems to sense her the moment she comes up behind him.

“These past few years, I've had this feeling in my chest.” He says softly as he leans against the railing on the Destiny's Bounty, looking out towards Ignacia. Or at least, she thinks he is. She’s not sure where home is or where the bounty is, but Kai… Kai’s always known, “it was this… need, i guess, to protect. To keep someone safe and whole. It made sense, y'know? I’ve been taking care of you since I was young. Too young. I guess I always thought that it was for you- this desire to shield and secure. I built a home for us in Ignacia to the best of my ability. Hell, I didn't want to leave. We were safe there, and I could hide you away from all the dangers in the world.”

She swallows past the lump in her throat, “Kai, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“No,” He agrees instantly, “You’re not. You’re a grown woman now, Nya. All this time, I've been trying to protect you and you've never needed or wanted it… That dedication is for someone else now.”

She knows instantly he means Lloyd. Who else but their little brother? Who else but the child with the curse of destiny's favor?

“I guess I should have realized that sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t all have gotten so messy.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t need a lighter. A terrible power for someone who was trying to quit- she would have scolded him a day ago, but now she watches him light it silently, “I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t tell me stuff. That’s not what I want for us.”

“No, Kai, it-” Nya finally joins him at the railing, “It wasn’t… you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, all you’ve had to give up. It’s just… with you and the others it’s always a boy's club. You never let me try to help, so I found my own way to be a hero.”

“By sneaking around.” He says, exhaling smoke. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Like he’s gone through all the fear for her he would have experienced this past year all at once.

“It maybe wasn’t the best path i could have taken,” the wood of the railing is worn and flaked in some spots. She busies herself picking at it, “But what choice did I have?”

He turns to her with a pained expression, “Why didn’t you just talk to me? To jay? Hell, Zane or Cole!”

“To what end? I would have gotten the same speech four times over!” She argues back instantly before she takes a deliberate breath to calm her nerves. It’s been a stressful week, “Kai, I did what I did because I couldn’t just stand back and watch you all risk your lives from the deck of the bounty.”

“Because of your ‘destiny’?” He shoots back, eyebrows lowered. It’s the type of sting only a sibling could cause and Nya grits her teeth at it.

“Because you are my brother, and the rest of the guys are my friends.” She says firmly. “I helped you out of tight spots. I proved myself, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t need to prove yourself Nya! I already knew you were awesome.”

“Then what are you upset about?”

He flicks the cigarette butt off the railing and she knows he’ll regret doing that later. Hopefully it doesn’t land on anyone on the way down, “You went out there all alone! Nya, when I fight with the others, I know I have people there to support me when things get sticky. You didn’t.”

“You just said that I don’t need your protection.”

“This is different.” Kai stresses every syllable of the word, “What if something happened and no one was there to help? And no one knew?”

“Nothing happened.” She reminds him sharply, “I’m fine.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The night goes silent around them. Nya has so much she wants to say and not a single word in her mouth to spit out. Kai stares at her for a long moment before he tears his head away, looking down at the clouds beneath them.

“You lied to me. You kept things from me.” there’s this hollow pain in his voice that makes Nyas chest ache, “You’re everything to me. I was so secure in our relationship before this. I trusted you and now I’m not sure if you’re telling the truth anymore.” His voice is heartbroken, “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I pushed you away, made you feel small. I used to know you.”

“I’m still the same person I always have been.” She says, voice thick with emotion. Her eyes feel tight and wet.

“No, you’re not. Neither am I.” He says, looking up at her with tears in his eyes, “I guess we did a lot of growing this past year, huh? Just not in the same direction.”

“Kai…”

“I love you, Nya. I always will. Nothing will ever change that.” He straightens up and moves towards her, his arms jumping up to embrace her before he stops short. There’s a flicker of uncertainty on his face, like the hug may not be welcome. His arms drop back to his sides, “But I'm hurt, and I’m scared, and… I just want to go to bed now, alright?”

“Alright.” She says sickly. She wants to hug him, but her arms feel glued to her sides.

He walks past her and through the door, back inside.

[aleniaaa]

"I thought about this before" bsf!Rafe x kook!reader part two

here's part one and part three

a/n: hey guys I decided to do a part two of my last story lmk if you like it

warnings: curse words

words count: 842

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

My phone rang unexpectedly. I picked it up and saw that it was Sarah. It had been two days since the party, and I hadn’t heard from any of the Camerons.

"Hey Sarah, what’s up?" I answered.

"Hey girl, I’m sorry to call you, but I wanted to ask if you’ve seen Rafe lately. I can’t seem to find him anywhere. Maybe he’s at yours?"

I was shocked by what I heard. Did Rafe run away? "No, sorry, he hasn’t contacted me in the last two days. I’ll try to find him," I said.

"Thank you, y/n. It means so much to me. You know, with Ward gone, he’s unpredictable," she replied, her worry clear in her voice. I knew their relationship wasn’t perfect—they had always had a troublesome dynamic.

"No problem. I’ll keep you posted," I reassured her, ending the call. Immediately, I tried calling Rafe.

"Hi, you’ve reached Rafe Cameron. I can’t talk right now. Leave a message," his voicemail greeted me, followed by a loud beep. Frustrated, I decided to drive to Barry’s place—maybe he’d know where Rafe was.

Twenty minutes later, I parked my 2022 Porsche 718 outside Barry’s trailer. Stepping out, I closed the door and walked up to knock. After a minute, the door creaked open.

"Oh shit, look who the fuck showed up at my humble doorstep. What’s good, y/n?" Barry greeted me, his eyes scanning me up and down.

"Hey, is Rafe here?" I asked directly, not in the mood for his games.

"Hell yeah. Yo, Country Club! Look who’s here!" he shouted, and Rafe appeared almost instantly, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

"Y/n, what’re you doing here?" he asked, looking surprised to see me.

"What I’m doing here?! What the hell are you doing here? Your sister called me—she said she can’t get a hold of you. Why are you ignoring her and me?" His attitude pissed me off, and I found myself yelling at him.

Rafe raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm me down. "Listen, I needed to get away from everything. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. When I woke up after the party, I didn’t remember anything and decided I needed to get clean for a while. Tannyhill was stressing me out too much."

"And you thought a dealer’s place was the best place to crash? Jesus, Rafe, you could’ve let me know." I rubbed my forehead, trying to think. He stood there, looking at me apologetically.

"So wait, you don’t remember anything? Like during the party or… anything at all?" I asked cautiously, trying to figure out if he remembered our kiss.

"I mean, I remember being mad and throwing a party, and then I fucking blacked out. That’s all," he admitted. I didn’t know how to feel. Should I be relieved? I knew he was drunk when he kissed me, but a part of me wished he would do it again. The pit in my stomach grew heavier.

"Alright, well, I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t scare me like that again. I’ll let Sarah know," I said and turned to head back to my car.

"Wait, y/n! Can you drop me off at home? I don’t have my car here," he called out.

"Sure, get in," I replied, unlocking the door. A short while later, we were driving to Tannyhill in silence.

Rafe broke it first. "Why were you asking if I remember anything? Did something happen?" he asked, looking at me with curiosity.

I froze, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I mean, nothing of much significance. I just got you to bed and made sure everyone left shortly after that," I lied, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Oh shit, really? Hahaha, I wouldn’t know," he chuckled, clearly not remembering a thing. I prayed he wouldn’t ask me more questions.

I dropped him off, and the rest of my drive home was spent in blissful silence. Only my thoughts interrupted it.

Why was I thinking about him differently now? It was just a meaningless, drunken kiss. He’s just my friend. That’s all. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling. How much longer could I keep lying to myself?

a/n: should I make a mood board for this🤭

[lovelyjj]

💔

part 2

part 1

There you were with another guy, laughing, and JJ felt like he got shot in the lung and then the heart, repeatedly. You looked so happy and like you moved on. JJ was gonna kill this guy. How dare he touch what’s his. But you weren’t his anymore. JJ felt his heart actually break in half. He screwed everything up and he lost you.

JJ woke up in a panic. He had a terrible terrible dream. He instinctively reached for you but you weren’t there. That’s when he started to panic again. Where have you gone? Then he remembered what happened last night. And then he remembered you went to sleep on the couch. Unfortunately for JJ he was in the dog house.

JJ needed to see you or he was gonna go crazy. He got up and went to the living room. He saw you curled up on the couch sleeping peacefully. His heart ached because of what he did. He just wanted to hold you again. He had half a mind just to let you sleep but he knew he needed to fix this.

JJ decided to make you breakfast. He went to the kitchen and got the ingredients for pancakes out. He also made eggs. He prepared the meal and set your place at the table. He then went to the couch and woke you up. “Good morning my love I made you breakfast,” JJ spoke softly and shook your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you yawned and sat up. For a moment you forgot why you were in the couch. JJ smiled softly at you and then it all came flooding back. You frowned. JJ sighed, “Come on just eat something for me please.” You got up without a word and sat at the table and started eating. JJ was gonna take what he can get.

After you ate breakfast you thanked JJ for making it. That didn’t mean you forgave him though. “Can we talk?” JJ asked. “What’s there to talk about?” you responded. “Y/N, please.” JJ pleaded. “What?”

“I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you,” JJ reasoned.

“How?”

“Look, sleeping without you was literal hell. I hated it and I never want to sleep without you again. Let me show you how much I love you. Let me fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” JJ begged.

You were conflicted. You were tired of being mad but you did love him and that wasn’t going to change. JJ probably felt terrible you knew that and so maybe you would give him a second chance because no one knew you better than JJ. You honestly felt like it would never happen again. Not only did you trust him but you knew he was loyal. It must of been a slip of tongue. We’re you fully ready to forgive him? Let’s see.

“Okay, show me how much you love me,” you replied.

JJ grinned. He felt like he finally got through to you. He ran to you and picked you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed you on the mouth. JJ poured every ounce of passion he had into the kiss. It was heated and messy. He kissed you like you were his lifeline. His tongue entered your mouth and you started french kissing.

JJ took you to the bedroom and laid you down. He carefully undressed you then himself. He kissed your jaw and then down your neck. “I love you so much my beautiful girl,” he mumbled into your skin. You smiled a giddy smile at his words. You ran your fingers down his bare chest and he groaned. “I need you like I need air, please don’t ever leave me,” JJ begged.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

“Good.” JJ kissed down your stomach and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. You felt your heartbeat faster. JJ always made you feel things. Most of the time he made you feel like you were the only girl for him. “I’m gonna be honest baby, you’re the only one my dick could get hard for,” JJ smirked.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” “Need to be inside you mama,” JJ announced. You let out a whimper. JJ thought that maybe you need him as much as he needs you. JJ lined himself up at your entrance and you nodded your head signaling for him to fill you up. He entered you slowly and he let out a moan at the feeling. “Fuck Y/N, you feel so good,” JJ cursed. “It’s like you were made for me.”

JJ thrusted in and out setting a good pace. His cock massaged your walls and you felt like you were seeing stars. JJ looked down at where you we’re connected and moaned. He felt euphoric as you sucked him in. “You’re my whole damn world baby girl, i love you so fucking much,” JJ panted.

“I love you too,” you replied. “Wait really?” JJ stopped. “You mean that?” “Of course I do.” “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“Yes I forgive you.”

“Baby you’ve made me the happiest man alive, you won’t regret this I promise. I’m the luckiest person ever, thank you so much,” JJ was ecstatic.

JJ reached down and started rubbing your clit. He could tell you were getting close with the way you were squeezing him. “Let go for me.” A few more sloppy thrusts and the band in your stomach snapped. Your orgasm washed over you and soon JJ spilled his seed inside you. “Fucking hell,” JJ whispered.

“I love you Y/N,” JJ repeated.

“I love you too,” you responded.

“You know I had the worst dream of my whole life last night,” JJ mentioned. JJ laid down and pulled you close.

“Really? What was it about?”

“You were with another guy and you forgot all about me,” JJ cringed at the thought.

“Well that’s never gonna happen. You are stuck with me.”

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter ten: maybe we're so meant to be summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: r story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/ghost previous chapter | next chapter

last update of the 5-chapter run, everyone ; v ;

thank you and please enjoy !!!

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“Are you going home or are you going to use that hoodie of yours as a pillow again?”

With a sigh, Ghost poked his head into the dance studio. It was late at night and as he recalled, you were due to leave at least an hour ago.

Not that he ever minded waiting for you, of course. He was just more of the mind that you should be resting up as much as you could, not pushing yourself to the brink.

Hence why he had grabbed a Gatorade for you from the studio fridge, now holding it out for you to take.

Hearing him call out your name, you looked up at him sheepishly as you laughed,

“Sorry, Lt.”

The idea of him suplexing Johnny for his corruptive influence crossed his mind. “Oi.”

Upon accepting the bottle, your attention turned back to your phone before you went over some of the footage you took earlier of one of the recent practices from the day, your voice in a sigh.

“I feel bad because I feel I didn’t get this one part of the routine down, but I already sent the dancers home for the night.”

You pressed your hand against your cheek, your eyes closed in thought.

“It’s a work in progress if I decide to feel more comfortable with letting fans up on stage during the tour. Some fan service, you know?”

His mind thought back to that damn video compilation. 

“...No I don’t.”

However, with the blank look on his eyes, you parted your mouth to speak, “Well, fan service is basically when I–”

“It’s fine,” he spoke, a slight rasp to his voice as he reached forward to rest a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I can look it up after you finally get to the hotel and get some sleep. If you’re late for your interview tomorrow morning, I’m not saving you from Pearl or Price.”

“Simon please–” As you whined, you gazed up at him with a pleading stare, a look that suddenly had an ache in his knee start acting up. However, it was as you looked up into his looming shadow that moment that your eyes suddenly glittered with inspiration, quickly scanning him up and down. “Actually, now that I think about it–”

Simon sighed, having a feeling as to where this was going. “It’s too bloody late to be this wired–”

You clasped your hands together, your eyes shining with a plea. “Just this one thing, Si! A couple times, please–at max 3! I’ll even skip ahead to the part I need to practice so you don’t have to sit through everything.”

He stared at you warily while his response betrayed him. 

“...Fine.”

You smiled in deep appreciation as you then pointed to the chair behind you. “That said, I do need you to sit right here.”

“Very well.”

As he sat down, you inspected him, your look calculating while your lips smiled.

“You can keep your hands out to the sides–pretend that you’re being held by my dancers.”

That compilation ran through his head–every wink, kiss to the camera, roll of your hips.

“How about this?”

He brought his arms back, proceeding to clasp his hands behind the back of the chair.

You clapped your hands joyfully. “Ahh even better! More room to practice!”

The music was queued up and you quickly got into place. It was a sultry beat–the type that gets played at clubs with strangers suddenly crawling over one another in dire need of body heat while lovers dance the night away together in lascivious harmony.

Places one would never find him at.

Because why bother stepping foot in a club when he had the only dancer he would ever want to be with right in front of him and–

He felt your hands rest on his shoulders, slowly sliding down towards the front of his chest as you bent down from behind, nuzzling your face against his.

You weren’t in front of him anymore.

The two of you were closer than ever before.

In a matter of seconds, you were all over him as the track went from slow and seductive to pulsating and frantic with energy. Heat emanated from your body as you pressed your body against his while your hands found their way to his hair, your eyes locked with his.

By contrast.

Stone cold. 

He remembered Johnny dizzily referring to him as such during their escape in Las Almas.

And that was how you probably saw him too–still and frigid like a statue.

Perhaps that was why he was granted this honor of having you dance on him, grinding down on his lap, shimmying around, running your hands all over his body. 

You felt safe around him.

Unlike whichever sweaty and slobbering fanboy who would get to be plucked from the audience to take this seat.

Though, the mere idea of any other man getting to witness, bask in, feel the press of your hips bucking down, perceive your immediate presence, savor your scent–the tundra of his fortitude did its best to quell the scorching boil of his blood.

But again, such a dance was only if you felt ever comfortable enough to have fans on stage with you once more.

Something to ponder on, certainly.

However, it was when you stood behind him to drape your leg around his chest, your thigh pressed against his head, that he really started to feel his self-restraint snap.

He was cold-hearted but he was still a man regardless. Did you know how easily he could scoop you into his arms at this very moment, legs dangling off the ground with your sweatpants and panties being yanked down to your ankles before he–

“Simon, are you blushing–?”

With a blink, he was back to reality, facing ahead at the line of mirrors that encompassed the entire wall of the practice space. The reflection of your growing grin and your leg around his chest–he’d snap a picture if he could.

“No.”

Damn near launched the word out like a missile.

“I think not,” you giggled as you pointed right at the top of his cheeks. Pressing lightly at his skin, you were about to drag your manicured finger down to tug his face mask further to uncover the truth.

Were it not by your phone going off with a blare. 

You scrambled, leg hoisting off of his chest as you hurried to the back wall of the practice space to pick up the call. By the particular groan you let as you glanced at the screen, he knew exactly whose name flashed on the screen.

“Where are you?!”

Even without the call being on speaker, he could hear Pearl screech from where he sat.

“Pearl! Sorry sorry! Had some last minute things to lock in for the studio–I’m being picked up by Simon right now!” Your head turned towards his way as he was already bringing the chair over to the back of the practice room. “Already walking over to the car!”

Gathering your bag and the unopened Gatorade bottle, you made a face at Simon as Pearl continued to whinge on about your schedule.

Though there was not much he could do, as the both of you made your way out of the studio down to the parking garage, he only brought his arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

A pillow for sleep, practice for dance, protection for safety–whatever you needed of him, he would oblige.

For you were his goddess and he would serve you the world.

-----------------

2nd gen k-pop stans rise up !!! lots of inspo for this chapter was drawn from 2ne1's ero dance segment for "i love you" from their japan tour !!!

i also think it would've been fun to set ghost (and the rest of the guys) up to heart monitors to see how affected they'd be from the reader winding and grinding all over them >:)

but with this !!! that concludes the 5-chapter update run i've prepared for this past holiday season !!! i hope both the holidays and 2025 treat you all well !!!

thank you so much everyone !!! after a marathon of updates, alas i think this piece will need to take a break for the meantime 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ rest assured, i will see this piece through to the end !!! just need some time to recuperate and get back to work on the remaining chapters 🫡🫡

when i return, here's what we'll be diving into next time 🥳🥳

- chapter title: pull it to the side and get all up in it- chapter focus: price

tysm again and i'll catch you around !!! feel free to come by on tumblr if you need to yell about british ikemen !!!

[fanficsbysteve]

The Key to my Heart

Note: Well, here��s an idea that I had, and it took me all of 3 hours to write. I wasn’t the hugest fan of the way things ended for Buck and Tommy so what you will read now is how I imagine it should have gone if the writers weren’t going for maximum shock value.

Also available on AO3 if you want to leave me some kudos there.

W/C: 1574

Rating: PG for some implied sexy times near the end.

***

Tommy sat and stared at the pictures of Evan and Abbie on his phone. Pics of them together, pictures of them kissing, everything. Tommy wouldn’t be shocked if there were some not so safe for work pictures on this phone of Abbie and Evan. Tommy’s mind was going a mile a minute, trying not to think too far into it. He had left Abbie by this point; he didn’t know Evan at this point either. He couldn’t fault them for being together. He couldn’t dictate who each of them slept with or had a relationship with just like he didn’t think anyone had any right to telling him and Evan about their relationship.

Evan was talking to Tommy, something about admiration. Tommy felt his heart dropping. Did Evan actually see him? Did Evan actually know anything about him? This was the man who spent a day and a night researching a cowboy dead 100 years, but didn’t know the Kinsey Scale, and had forgotten that he was 100% gay. Tommy tried to tune into what Evan was talking about, “So I thought, why be apart when we can be together,” Tommy felt his heart sinking further at this. Evan was jumping ahead. Tommy didn’t know how to handle this. He had been in this place before, he had been the person jumping ahead before and it never ended well, “So I wanted to give you this.”

Tommy was confused. This was not what he thought was going to happen. Evan was reaching into his pocket and came out with a key, “What’s this?” Tommy’s voice was breaking due to all the emotions he had been building up, but he cleared his throat to hopefully get it back to normal.

“Well, I originally thought to myself ‘Wouldn’t it be great if me and Tommy just lived together. We already spend so much time together and it would make being with each other so much easier’ and as much as I would have loved that idea,” Evan explained, “After 6 months of dating, it would have been going a little fast, and I’ve had so many bad things happen from going so fast. So, I thought of the next best thing. A key to this loft,” Evan gestured around to the loft around them, “That way you can come whenever you want, and you don’t have to wait for me to be home, or have to wait outside for me to let you in.”

Tommy was taken aback when the key was slid towards him. A key, that’s what this was? A key to the loft, “Thank you,” Tommy said, “I don’t have a key for you though.”

“You don’t need to give me a key to your place,” Evan replied, “I just wanted to give you a sign that you mean a lot to me. That you are someone I can see a future with eventually. Josh gave me this long speech at 911 HQ about Glee that made no sense to me cause I’ve never seen Glee, but it made me realize some things and myself, and about you, and about us.”

Tommy just sat there, staring at Evan. Staring at this idiot of a man who somehow can say the right things at the right times, but also somehow not, “I think we need to talk a bit more about ourselves before we consider the next steps,” Tommy said, “Learn more about each other before you decide that I’m your forever guy. There are so many things about me that you don’t know. That few people know.”

“I want to know about you, Tommy,” Evan said, “And I don’t want you to feel pressure to tell me everything, but I just want you to know that I won’t judge. You aren’t judging me for being with your ex-fiancé.”

“That’s to be determined,” Tommy chuckled, “Well as a start, I guess, I want you to know that I only came out as gay five years ago. I broke things off with Abbie, transferred from the 118, you can ask Hen and Howie about what I was like back then, and started a new phase of my life at Harbor Station. But I didn’t come out officially to anyone around me until two years after my transfer. I’ve got a lot of traumas related to being gay and I don’t exactly handle them in a productive manner.”

“I’m sorry that you had to handle things like this alone. You shouldn’t have had to be like that. You know the 118 as it is now would have supported you in everything right?” Evan looked at Tommy, his eyes showing he truly believed the words he was saying.

“I was at the 118 under Gerrard,” Tommy explained, “You only had to experience a fraction of what it was like. I’m at peace with where I am now. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can’t still empathize,” Evan replied, “And in the spirit of sharing trauma from our past,” Evan said, “I was only born to be spare parts for an older brother who was dying from Leukemia. I only learned about this about 3-4 years ago.”

Tommy’s mouth dropped open at this admission. How was Evan so well adjusted knowing that, “I’m so sorry that you believe that. I’m sure you weren’t just spare parts.”

“Oh, I was, my parents told me as much,” Evan laughed, “Defective parts no less. The son my parents wanted died a year after I was born because my bone marrow couldn’t save him. I came to terms with all this years ago. After a huge yelling match with my parents,” Evan shrugged.

Tommy walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. The longest hug they had ever had. Tommy felt tears in his eyes as he held Evan. His Evan. Tommy pulled out of the hug and looked Evan right in the eyes, he had to say this now or he never would, “I have something to tell you,” Tommy said, “And I don’t need a response from you either, but I just want you to know this,” Tommy took a deep breath before he continued, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Now it was Evan’s turn to have his mouth drop open. Tommy felt a sense of peace from saying that, but he also felt a sense of dread. What if this admission to Evan made him realize that he didn’t truly see a future with him. What if this is what ended things? Tommy’s heart couldn’t handle that. But he had to let that out. A thousand more What If’s flooded his brain as he stood there looking at Evan, trying to get a read on his face, “I don’t know what to say to that,” Evan said flabbergasted.

“I don’t need a response,” Tommy interjected quickly, “Let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything and go have our movie night,” Tommy looked at the clock, “Though I think we might be too late for that.”

“No, I do want to respond to what you said,” Evan replied. Evan also took a deep breath, “I don’t know what I feel about you. I don’t know if its lust, love, or something else that hasn’t been defined. What I do know is that I do feel something for you. Something that makes me feel like you are meant to be the one. The one that I spend the rest of my life with. The one that I have been looking for all these years. I might not be able to put it into simple words, but I just wanted you to know how I feel. Maybe it is love. I mean I’ve been in love before, but it feels different from that. More complete. Maybe what I felt before with someone wasn’t love. Or maybe because its with you, someone who makes me feel comfortable and at peace with myself, maybe it feels different because its with you. I don’t want to put a label on it but that’s how I feel.”

Tommy smiled at Evan. He did realize that he was falling in love with this man, and this just cemented it. He noticed how he felt as far back as that funeral for Billy Boils. How passionate Evan was about this long dead cowboy. His words that day stuck with Tommy, and he wanted to be Evan’s people. The ones that make life worth living, “That’s a great answer,” Tommy choked. He pulled Evan into another hug, and this time let the tears slide down his cheeks, “That was the perfect answer.”

Evan smiled and kissed Tommy, not a chaste kiss that they had been sharing lately, not a heat of the moment passion kiss that they shared at the hospital before the wedding. This was something different. Different emotions were brought into this kiss. Tommy enjoyed it, “So we definitely won’t make our movie now,” Tommy said into Evan’s mouth, “Did you have a back-up plan?”

“Well, we are here,” Evan said, “And you did make an implication when you arrived,” Evan started to wiggle his eyebrows in a suggestive way, “Might not be as quick though.”

Tommy smiled at the thought and let Evan pull him towards the stairs to his loft bedroom. This was a much better ending to this day.

***

                Note: I hate how BuckTommy ended just as much as the next person, so I decided to rewrite how I wanted them to go that night. So, this is what you get. In my brain now this is what happened, and the rest of the season so far is scraped. I also wanted to get you guys something as it has been a week since I last posted and I was starting to feel bad.

[synthapostate]

@lastdaysofwar, Day 3: Tattoos (Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb)

It’s been a long day. A long—much longer than a day, really. But in particular, this day has been too long and too much. All Hermann wants is a shower and sleep. Even the presence of his drift partner is no longer a necessity, now that he’s quite sure the dear silly fellow won’t be snatched away the moment Hermann’s back is turned. Newton is unharmed, or as close as can be after all he’s been through, and he’s promised he won’t be going any farther than the mess hall, and then straight to bed.

It would be humiliating to have requested such a promise, except that Newton asked the same of him. Clearly, the two of them are going to have a few things to talk about when they’ve recovered a bit. But that can wait until morning.

What a wonderful thought—that they can wait until morning, trusting that their world will remain intact until then.

Hermann removes his grimy clothing and places it in the hamper where it belongs. He can hardly keep his eyes open, he’s so tired, but he will not be crawling between his nice clean sheets in the state he’s in now. He settles into his shower chair, under the spray, and lets it all wash over him, waiting for the warmth of the water to ease some of the tension in his overworked muscles. He’s had too much rushing around: down to LOCCENT and back to the lab, up to the roof, out to the city and back in a final, breakneck sprint. He’s spent the day in fear of the end of the world, and of the more personal loss of Dr. Geiszler, who might perhaps mean more to him than he has previously been willing to admit.

Morning. These feelings will keep until morning.

Head back and eyes closed, Hermann reaches for his soap. A quick wash should be enough.

With a sigh, he blinks the water out of his eyes and looks down at himself as he runs the soap down his arm.

And nearly falls, as a wave of vertigo hits him, so intense he can’t tell which way is up. If he weren’t in a chair already, he’d end up on the floor, or floating off into space—who can say? He grips the sides of his chair, but the dizziness doesn’t abate.

This is wrong. This is wrong! These hands, clenched, white-knuckled on the shower chair—they don’t belong to him. The arms—pale, unmarked—these are not his arms. It’s wrong. Wrong.

With a shuddering gasp, he shuts his eyes and reaches out blindly to turn off the water. It’s better with his eyes closed. He isn’t—he’s all right. Or nearly so. But—what is happening?

“I’m all right,” he says to himself. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

There could be any number of things wrong with him.

Eyes still closed, he reaches for a towel, then uses the sink to pull himself upright. When he opens his eyes, he will look at himself in the mirror, and the colors of his skin will be back to normal, and his body will be his own.

He opens his eyes, and nearly retches. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

There’s a knock at his door, which comes flying open before he has a chance to respond.

“I didn’t say ‘come in,’ Newton!” There’s no question who’s at his door at a time like this, even before the man barges into the bathroom, already well into his rant.

“Hermann Gottlieb, what the fuck did you do to my brain? I just spent like twenty minutes freaking out because I couldn’t find my cane! My cane, Hermann!” He stomps his perfectly intact, not at all disabled foot, and gestures wildly, then breaks off when he sees the way Hermann is hunched over, clutching at the sink. “You’re, uh…you’re not wearing any pants. I’ll just…” Newton backs away.

“Newton.” Hermann looks over his lab partner with an unaccustomed sense of relief. The man is as tasteless as ever, having replaced his relatively professional workwear with a Godzilla t-shirt, and despite the fact that he can’t have put it on more than half an hour ago, it looks as if he’s been rolling around in bed all night. But, most important, the short sleeves sit high enough to reveal the swathes of colorful tattoos that run down both his arms. Colors that do not appear on Hermann’s body; the colors that are missing.

“Are you getting weird drift stuff, or are you having an aneurism?” Newton asks.

“You have tattoos,” says Hermann.

“Yeah? This is not breaking news, my guy.”

“You have tattoos,” Hermann says again, enunciating every syllable with utmost care. “I don’t, and never did.”

“Right. But now your brain expects them. Okay.” Without being asked, he takes Hermann’s bathrobe from its hook behind the door and drapes it around him, hiding that disorienting expanse of wrong, pale, uninked flesh, foreign and familiar at once.

It occurs to Hermann to be grateful on two counts. He’s standing here in front of his old friend and rival, nearly nude; it should be mortifying to have been walked in on like this. But they’ve known each other a long time, and they’ve been in each other’s heads. Newton has seen him far more intimately than this.

“Thank you,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, it’s cool. We probably should have seen this coming, right? Like, this is covered in ranger training.”

Yes, that’s true. Drifting creates a sort of mental echo that persists even after the connection is severed. The stronger the compatibility, the more difficult it can be, initially, to separate one partner’s impulses from the other’s. The rangers are taught to handle this sort of thing before they ever set foot in a jaeger, but naturally, two men who were never meant to drift with anyone haven’t learned to navigate the aftermath.

Hermann wonders just how compatible he and Newton are.

“I feel like I’m going to fall over,” he says. “Are you all right, Newton?”

“Yeah, mostly. I’m limping, off and on, like, nothing even hurts but I guess I keep expecting it to? Oh, and also I would pretty much kill for a mango right about now. Is that from you?”

Hermann can only shrug. He has no strong opinions about mangos. He does have opinions about Newton’s diet and possible vitamin deficiencies, but this might not be the time to mention that.

“This should all work itself out in time,” Hermann says. “I think I’m going to try to sleep it off.”

“Oh, okay. Then I should probably go. Or, you know…” Newton ducks his head ruefully, but for a moment he looks the way he did before, when Hermann offered to drift with him. Both hopeful and unsure. “I mean, I could stay here. You know, if you want. Like, if it would make things easier. Just in case you needed a reminder of which one of us has the sick body art and stuff.”

A year, a week, a day ago, Hermann would have chased the man out of his private space before this conversation could even begin. But an awful lot of his barriers have come down by now, so really, what’s one more?

“Stay,” Hermann says. “If you like.” He takes Newton’s arm, though who is supporting whom, he couldn’t say. The ink there draws one’s eye, as always. Yamarashi snarls up from under Hermann’s hand.

He’s exactly where he should be.

[emeryandens]

Ok.. so once again people have jumped on the bandwagon without knowing all the facts. And reached conclusions so far from reality it’s exhausting. I don’t want to constantly be in a position where I have to defend female celebrities but sometimes society gives me no choice.

“Blake text Justin to come over while she was pumping”… ok and? If you invite someone to your house on one occasion that is not an open invitation to enter whenever they feel like it. If you are pumping and you know someone is coming you can put on a shirt, grab a blanket etc, whatever you need to do to cover up areas of your body you don’t want that person to see. Blake isn’t saying this happened on one occasion, she’s saying that Baldoni entered her trailer without her consent multiple times when she was in various stages of undress.

“Blake called herself sexy one time”.. so she called a beanie sexy once. Seems like a really innocuous thing to call sexy. But again, just because she said that once does not mean that it was ok for him to make similar statements about other areas of her body.

“Heath showed her the home birth video as inspiration”.. filming and even showing a home birth video to others is a perfectly ok thing to do. As long as it is talked about and context provided. Blake did not say he showed her p*rn, only that she initially thought it was. Both his and Blake’s complaint/lawsuit both claim this, which indicates that he did not tell or communicate with her about what was in the video or why he was showing it to her. Showing someone a birth video randomly is weird and would absolutely make that person uncomfortable.

“Blake refused to meet the intimacy coordinator and therefore Baldoni and the IC wrote scenes without her” ok so I’m no where near Hollywood so I don’t know the ins and outs of an IC and what they do. However, Blake did not “refuse” to meet them, she didn’t feel the need to meet them before filming. At that point in time it’s entirely possible that she and Baldoni still had a good and amicable relationship so Blake didn’t feel the need to meet the IC at that point in time. A quick google search also indicates that it is NOT the role of an IC to write additional scenes so it’s entirely possible she didn’t realise they would be doing that. The fact remains that Baldoni wrote additional scenes without Blake knowing. Also Blake isn’t saying they didn’t have one initially - only that after MULTIPLE incidences of Baldoni adding additional scenes and randomly kissing her during filming she requested the IC be there at all times.

“If it’s true why didn’t Blake complain to SAG” “she’s rich and has power/influence why didn’t she walk away” “why didn’t she….” When WHEN is this sh*t going to stop. It DOES NOT MATTER how rich and a powerful a person is they can still be victim of SH. Also Blake did speak up and took steps to protect herself (including having a meeting with the parties involved, involving her husband, making it clear what her expectations were going forward, asking for the IC to be there all the time etc). That’s far more than what some people have the courage to do. But apparently that’s not good enough because she didn’t complain to the right body/organisations and walk out halfway through filming.

Look, the only people who truly know what happened on that set are the people on that where there. But in all honesty, both Baldoni and Blake seem to have a very similar narrative about what happened, just different perspectives.

I believe Blake Lively. In the sense that there were things happening on set that made her uncomfortable, and not just one or two things but multiple things that added up and made her uncomfortable and threatened. However, whether Baldoni meant to make her feel like that.. who knows. It hardly matters either way.

About the PR thing, again who’s to say whether they orchestrated a smear campaign against her. What I do know is I would not trust the PR agency responsible for the absolute horror show that happened to Amber Heard as far as I can throw them. The text basically laughing at the idea and clutching their pearls saying “I would never do that” make me laugh because I’m pretty sure it was proven bots targeting Amber were absolutely purchased. That doesn’t mean that they did it in this case, or that Baldoni would have wanted them to do that.

Also.. and I debated including this because I am absolutely not saying in anyway that this actually happened.. but if I was initiating a smear campaign against someone, and trying to cover up SHing them, and that someone was planning on suing me.. would it not be genius to provide or have someone leak heavily edited texts so when that person sues I can whip out the real texts and say “see, this person is clearly lying”. Because it’s basically an easy way of completing discrediting everything that person subsequently said.. I don’t know, it does seem pretty stupid to include edited text messages in a complaint that can be so easily disproven unless you didn’t realise that they were edited (unless your JD I guess but that’s a different matter).

[grantbond]

“Stella…” Grayson started, his voice low and steady, a contrast to the turmoil she felt. He reached out gently, trying to reassure her without overwhelming her. “I know you’re scared. I can see it. But we’ll figure this out together. You don’t have to go through this alone.” His tone was firm, but there was a softness there, a tenderness that only she could see. He wanted her to know that, no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t just going to walk away, even if she tried to push him away for her own sake. When she mentioned Trevor coming after him, the thought made his stomach twist, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he tightened his grip on her hand, giving her a soft but reassuring squeeze. “You’re not going to lose me, Stella. Not over him, not over anything,” he said, his words steady and sincere. "I'll phone the cops on his ass if he tries anything with any of us." Her thank you hit him like a wave, making his chest tighten. He had no idea what it meant to her, what she was really going through. He wished he could do more, say the right words that would make the fear in her eyes disappear, but all he could offer was himself, and for now, that had to be enough. He met her gaze, his voice soft as he replied, “You don’t have to thank me. I’m not doing this for repayment, Stella. I’m doing this because you matter. Because I care.” He didn’t need her gratitude. He just needed her to trust him, to believe that this wasn’t just something he was doing out of obligation, but out of choice. Out of love. As they approached the door, Grayson noticed the hesitation in her step, the way her shoulders tensed. He didn’t need her to explain why she was asking for his jacket—he could see the terror in her eyes. She was trying to protect him, but it wasn’t just herself she was worried about anymore. It was him too. And that thought, that she cared enough to consider his safety, made his heart ache. “Of course,” he said immediately, pulling his jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. His hands brushed against her skin, lingering just for a moment before he pulled away. “No one’s going to hurt you, not while I’m here.” His voice was calm, even as the gravity of her situation settled over him. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, and if wearing his jacket helped, then it was a small price to pay. When she spoke again, her words faltered, filled with so much shame that it twisted Grayson’s gut. He didn’t need to think twice about it—he had already made his decision. "Stella, stop," he interrupted gently but firmly, his hand tightening around hers. "I don’t care about money. I don’t care about any of that. I care about you." His eyes softened as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You don’t have to pay me back for anything. You just have to let me help you. You don’t owe me anything. You’re not a burden, Stella, and you never will be." His thumb gently traced the back of her hand, reassuring her in the only way he knew how. "I'm not walking away from this or you. We're going to walk together to my car I'm taking you home for however long you need. I don't have a time limit - you can continue to stop there." Grant didn't see it as a burden. He was one man living in a two bedroom house. If Stella needed company for a couple of nights - he didn't mind staying in the same room and putting a pillow and a blanket on the floorboards so she knew she nothing was going to happen there. "You deserve to feel at peace, Stella."

stella wasn’t in a good place. she wasn’t sure how she’d even gotten here today, sitting beside grant, confiding in him about the things she’d kept hidden for so long. if it weren’t for him noticing the bruises, she probably wouldn’t have said anything. she would’ve just kept going, surviving in silence. but something about the way he told her she’d be fine made her believe him. even if she was terrified. "but i feel like i have to worry," she murmured, her voice trembling as she clutched her bag tighter. "he’s not going to care who you are, or if you can take him. he’ll be mad. really mad. not just at me but at you, too." her eyes flicked to grant, filled with fear and guilt. she couldn’t stop imagining the worst—trevor coming after him, hurting him because of her. the thought made her stomach churn. "if something happens to you because of me..." she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. grant’s words about not being a burden felt kind, but she couldn’t quite believe them. still, she nodded, not wanting to argue. everything felt like it was moving too fast. was she really doing this? leaving trevor after years of enduring his control, his anger, his fists? she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. the only thing that kept her moving was grant. he was the reason she was here, the reason she might actually have a chance to break free. she glanced at him as he reassured her again, his calm presence anchoring her as she fumbled to turn off her phone. after a moment of hesitation, she threw it into her bag and grabbed his hand, clutching it tightly. her fingers trembled against his, but she didn’t let go. she couldn’t. “thank you,” she said softly, her voice breaking. the words felt so small compared to what he was doing for her. she didn’t know how she’d ever repay him for helping her, for pulling her out of the hell she’d been trapped in. as they approached the door, she hesitated. “do you mind if i borrow your jacket or sweatshirt? i just... i want to throw the hood over my head,” she asked, her voice quiet, almost ashamed. it wasn’t because of grant—she wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with him. it was the terror of trevor, or someone who knew trevor, spotting her. she didn’t want to risk it. not for herself, but for him. she couldn’t bear the thought of trevor hurting grant. she’d spent years not caring what happened to herself, but grant? he mattered. she couldn’t let him get hurt because of her. “grant...” she stopped short just before they reached the door. her grip on his hand tightened. “i don’t have any money. or anything. he was in charge of all my accounts... everything.” her voice cracked as she exhaled shakily. "are you sure you can do this? i won’t be able to help you. or pay for anything. it’s not fair to ask you to do all this for me." she shook her head, her face filled with shame. "you’re not a bad person if you think twice about it. i wouldn’t blame you if you walked away." but she prayed he wouldn’t. because if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

[badolmen]

Years ago I held some fucked up opinions, as you do when you’re 15 or so. In a pre-turn off reblogs post that gets thousands of notes telling me I’m a piece of shit and dozens of asks full of rape threats and suicide baiting kind of a way. I don’t really remember most of it because I deleted everything related to it immediately/as I encountered it. I probably have a few hundred blogs blocked that I would consider good and decent people because i was blocking everyone who interacted with that post in bad faith. And because I couldn’t tell who was sending gore and sexually explicit stuff to my inbox and who wasn’t.

I do remember this one blog though. They messaged me asking if I was okay - acknowledging that the blogs in the notes and in my inbox had taken it too far and that I was entitled to being upset by the harassment. They lied initially (claiming to agree with me, although a quick scope of their blog suggested they didn’t but I didn’t bring it up) but eventually admitted that they thought my opinion was harmful, but that it wasn’t just cause for the harm I was being dealt. I remember that their icon and blog theme was something purple-y black.

I deleted the convo as I was with most messages that rolled in at that time - I didn’t want to remember it, and I was in a pretty deep depression spiral well before it took off. But I wish I could thank them. It took one person from thousands to tell me ‘hey your hurt in this moment is real and unjustified. but you do need to critically examine this opinion you hold’ and wouldn’t you know? Years later I cringe at the opinion I held so dear and proclaimed so loudly.

If you’re out there satanist blog with purple and black blog theme thank you; you have no idea how much our short conversation helped me.

[cyberaxolotl]

vent tag posting i need to scream at. anything

this is extremely vague because. !! vagueness is security i have been very hurt