#I'm just. feeling very frustrated with life right now

[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

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[b-lossm]

•*+Jonny+*•

Cait x reader [Anget->fluff]

Synopsis: She always said you where above the girls she snuck into her room, then why wont she put a label on the two of you?

ooc Cait i think but like I didnt know how to finish this

"God I'm loosing my mind" you mumble to yourself as you prime a canvas, for a date night that might not even happen. 'what's the point' you think while putting your stuff away, you planned a nice date night for you and Cait, but now your just questioning if she even loves you like you assume she does, I mean- actions do speak louder then words.. right?

When Caitlyn eventually arrives, coming in through your window because due to her status, nobody really knows about your 'relationship'- well your dog knows but he doesnt count.

"Hey Princess" she hugs and kisses you softly, hiding something behind her back "Hey Cait.." you say awkwardly, mind still dwelling on how she might not love you "Oh Princess? what's wrong?" she places your surprise down on your bed and hugs you comfortingly. Your lip starts to quiver "I-- I feel like m' crazy because" you hesitate, she rubs your back and traces shapes into your side "hey you can tell me anything you know me.." Cait leads you to her bed and continues to comfort you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear "Caitlyn do you really love me?" you whisper, nervous--obviously her breath hitches “P—please let me figure it out” you tear up and she lays with you on your bed “Princess why would you ask me that? Of course I love you” you look away from her “Then why don't I feel it?” she struggles to answer you "y/n you know its hard for m--" "yeah well its hard for me too Cait! You have to tell her!" you argue before she can even start on her spiel again "Caitlyn she probably will disapprove but she'd put up with it! She literally has all this time! She's walked in on us cuddling so many times Cait! It is so painfully obvious that you like girls! or at least me.." you quiet down after a little bit, breathing heavily out of frustration and sadness.

Cait stays silent, she knows your right, she knows that her mother will.. reluctantly love her still, but she just doesn't understand why she cant just tell her mom outright, she always just thought that her parents would get the hint and not bother her about it but she was scared, she knew they didn't care as long as she carried out the Kiramman bloodline but she was scared that they would force her to leave you--force you out of her life. She sighs "I know I do okay? Just because I haven't doesn't mean I don't love you--" "you love me..?" she sees even more tears welling up in your eyes moving to wipe them before they can even fall "why would I not?" you feel gentle kisses being pressed all over your face, as well as Cait mumbling 'perfect' over and over again

with a huff you pull away "Cait, who was it that said a white wall may seem empty" you take a breath and Cait plays with your hair "But its ready to be filler, and in its readiness needs nothing, it stands complete" you finish "hm.. whoever it was is right, just because something seems empty doesn't mean its not complete" you giggle at her cluelessness "It was you Cait.. you told me that strange poem but it makes me wonder, if your ready, ready to be happy with me" you look into her eyes, her pupils dilated as she stares back with love "I'm ready Princess,..." without hesitation you push your soft lips against hers, your strawberry chap stick mixing with her vanilla "tomorrow, I promise I'll do it tomorrow" she says a bit breathlessly as she lets go of the kiss "Pinky promise" you childishly stick your pinky finger to her and she intertwines the two and locks it in with your thumbs touching, she then kisses your hand "Pinky promise"

--

The very next day, Cait fulfilled her promise and snuck you into her house, she wanted you to officially meet her parents, as her girlfriend :)

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

Guys i miss arcane :(

but omg the caitvi sesbian lex was so goooddd, expect 18+ hcs coming soon, theyre probably gonna come out before the change series ends tbh sorrry :(((

🐮 👦🏾soon.......

[misteria247]

"There is no record of a Pacifica Northwest. I looked it up F, there's not even a birth certificate or even a death certificate."

He wasn't a stranger to words that would cut deep. Being the town crazy hick for 30 years made him used to the pain of words. But these words, these ones cut deeper than most. They cut straight into his heart, deep and fatal.

"Ford.....Ford please there's, there's gotta be some mistake.....there's just, there's no way..."

Fiddleford tried to speak, voice breaking and unable to even bring to being this horrifying reality. So close to his own back home but a nightmarish version of it. His friend only gave him a concerned, pitying expression. And wasn't that just the final nail in the coffin for Fiddleford H. Mcgucket.

'This isn't real. This is a trick, something that monster would create to hurt me. There's just no way....!'

He thought feeling that consuming panic, denial and rage building inside him. It had to be a joke, a joke where his daughter would come out. Smiling and mischievous and he'd scold her something fierce because this isn't funny. Pretending to not exist wasn't funny. Not to him. Never to him. And yet the lab remained the same, silent and damning and it made Fidds' jaw clench. He noticed Ford stiffen as a growling noise filled the air and Fiddleford realized that the noise was coming from none other than him. And not some furious, mother raccoon who was just itching to sink her fangs into someone's neck.

"Fiddleford, I'm....I'm so sorry I may not know this Paz, but I can see she's important to you. Just remain calm my friend."

Ford spoke, voice steady and non threatening. In an effort not to push the mechanic to possibly do something rash. Fiddleford meanwhile wasn't listening, lost in his head as he tried to make sense of this awful situation. Of trying to process that Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket was just gone. That she didn't exist. And he was failing, miserably. Because the very thought of his sweet youngin not existing was just something he couldn't comprehend. For Fiddleford Mcgucket, there was no reality where Pacifica Northwest wasn't there with him. Whether it be as a stranger or as his own. It was like a hole was in his chest, oozing and bleeding out as he fought back his anger and frustration and grief. A grief that was threatening to consume him and drown him. A grief that he was barely keeping from letting out.

His daughter was gone. His Paz, with her smile and smart remarks and bright shining eyes was gone. The world seemed so much darker without her in it. Like the sun was taken and he was left to blindly continue on with his life.

'Why couldn't it have been him? Why her? Why his little girl? Hadn't he suffered enough for his sins?'

Apparently not if he was now without his shadow right beside him.

Fiddleford didn't even realize he'd started to collapse until Ford had grabbed him to keep him from hurting himself. Fidds thrashed against his friend's hold, a howl of sorrow and loss escaping him as he broke. Ford never let him go, even when he felt Fidds nails dig into his arms, he refused to let go. Holding onto his friend tightly as he screamed and swore and cursed and howled brokenly at the world and the unfairness of this dimension.

Fiddleford Mcgucket had officially been broken. And he didn't know if he could ever recover from this.

[senselessviolets]

random will graham headcanons (childhood, teen years, college, etc.)

Rating T

WARNINGS:

Mentions of murder (canon typical), homicidal ideation, child abuse, alcoholism.

Author’s Notes:

Title says it all. Just some headcanons based off of the show, bits of Red Dragon and my own personal intuition because I'm THAT good. /s

He doesn’t know why his mom left because his dad refuses to tell him and would get furious anytime he brought it up as a child. 

He experienced corporal punishment from his dad but if asked, wouldn’t consider it to be abuse—no matter how emotionally traumatic it was for him. 

His dad George was a survey technician in the US Army Corps of Engineers. His mother Adaline had worked as a pharmacist before Will was born. 

He was never allowed pets growing up, hence why he now owns so many dogs.

With his undiagnosed ASD and constant moving around for his dad’s job, Will struggled to form any long-lasting, meaningful relationships in his youth.

His dad would occasionally write letters to Will and send him various gifts (Bourbon, aftershave, new lures) around the time of his birthday or the holidays. He stopped after Will was imprisoned and hasn’t written to him since. 

Will tried to approach girls he had crushes on when he was a teen but they were always dismissive of him or thought he was weird.

He lost his virginity in a clumsy drunken one-night stand in his sophomore year of college. She was his roommate’s ex and there was some drama over it.  

Will has experienced lots of frustration with the women in his romantic life who in his mind toyed with his feelings and strung him along. He was always so willing to commit himself to the right girl and even imagined himself as the kind to settle down and get married young but the opportunity never arose.  

Throughout his teenage years, he imagined often how he would kill his dad and was convinced he could get away with it.

Will dated a Law student in his junior and senior year of college and they had been going steady until after they’d slept with each other one night and Will had a hyperrealistic dream in which he strangled her in her sleep, dismembered her, and scattered her all around campus. This dream disturbed Will so deeply that he broke things off with the girl right after, providing little explanation as to why.

Will’s want to become a father and to protect and nurture his “strays” (Abigail Hobbs, Georgia Madchen, Peter Bernadone, his actual fucking dogs) is very much ego-driven. It’s not as genuine or wholesome as he might want you to think or how he even perceives it to be.

Will was pretty widely disliked at the police department he was a detective for as well as the FBI Academy.

His alcoholism developed as a way to numb his overstimulated senses and to cancel out the intrusive thoughts he has. As time has gone on, his reliance on liquor has only grown; a habit he picked up from his father.

Will is a notoriously harsh grader and is quick to shut down any dissenting opinions about his “style of teaching”.

He’s definitely had inappropriate thoughts/fantasies about a few of his students, ranging from shallow sexual attraction to full-blown abduction. 

He doesn’t own a television or a computer and begrudgingly owns a smartphone for his job. 

The majority of his interests and likes/dislikes are ones he got from his dad. His dad loved to fish. His dad’s favorite singer was Johnny Cash. His dad liked the color green. Will probably feels as if these are what he should like and if you actually asked him how he felt about ____ or if he really liked XYZ; he wouldn’t know how to answer. 

A huge part of the reason he loves dogs is that they do not know they are ‘kept’. As opposed to a human being who could recognize if they were taken from everything they know or forced to live the life of another; dogs don’t think that way and above all, they are undyingly loyal. 

^^ And yes, this is my way of saying I subscribe to the popular headcanon that Will has stolen some of his dogs.

Morally grey sweaty dog man.

I hate him.

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[thefriendlyferretwriter]

Thief

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Weasley!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hatred, passion...those are basically the same anyways.

Warning: Thievery, banter, tension, make out sesh, angst

A/N: Almost 4k words, yay! Don't forget to leave a comment I love knowing what you thought!

"Wicked!" George Weasley squeals as he checks out the newest spell his twin cast on their shared charms book.

Their walk toward the Gryffindor common room is casual, so casual that the very few students they come across quickly pass them finding it suspicious that the 'trouble twins' happen to be so calm.

"She taught me to do it on regular books but not on the monster book, so your grudge is still pending."

The beginning of the afternoon sounds just like any other. The sun comes out after the morning rain and beams against the scattered droplets, bringing a certain ethereal feeling to the already breathtaking castle.

The corridors around the courtyard are empty without counting the very few students taking a walk or reveling in the sun as they digest their breakfast and wait for their next classes.

The sound of hurried stomps echoes through the open hallways and attracts both of their attention as a frown overtakes their features.

The steps get louder and they finally see the runaway, recognizing the familiar red locks.

She frantically looks behind her before shoving past her brothers and running ahead and out of breath.

Like clockwork, the twins look at their sister sprinting past them and look back at each other before naturally falling into her rushed steps.

"What did you do?!" Fred asks with the brightest smile as he huffs catching up with her.

"And to who?" George follows up catching a glimpse of a book his sister holds onto for dear life.

"Nothing!" she shouts out of breath.

"Why are you lying?!" George yells to overcome the sound of the pounding footsteps as he easily catches up to her.

"I'm not!" she yells back when another distant shout is heard.

"Weasley!" the twins look back to see no other than Mattheo Riddle rounding the corner at full speed trying to catch up to them.

Turning back Fred can't help but let out a cackle.

"You pissed off Riddle?!" George notes.

"She pissed off Riddle!" Fred cackles one more.

His fit of laughter is cut short when his sister sharply turns right and runs through one of the many stone arches to run out into the clock tower's courtyard.

He follows her and slips up barely catching himself on the pillars of the arch as he sees her stop dead in her track in front of the stone wall with her feet firmly planted on the now dark grey ground still wet from the rain.

He stands back up and hears the pounding feet behind him before he speeds back up and runs out into the courtyard catching up right behind George.

"Give me an up!" she hurries waiting for either one to move which happens to be George who bends down and joins his hands for her to climb onto.

As her brother forces on his hands, she reaches the roof of one of the hallways with a groan, still clutching the book.

As soon as the weight leaves his hands George sheepishly slides aside to stand beside Fred as they both contemplate Mattheo Riddle catching up to them and trying to climb right behind her via a pipe but failing as the rain leaves the pipe slippery and unable to be used.

Slipping down back on the ground he turns around when he hears snickers and recognizes the two redheads, glaring at them.

He turns back around and watches as the youngest Weasley stands up on the roof balancing herself as she tries to walk on the mossy-drenched roof carefully.

"Get down Weasley!" he yells as he walks in parallel with her down on the ground.

"No!" she says waddling and leaning dangerously on one side as she stops momentarily to regain balance.

"Careful little Billywig, Hogwarts' tiles aren't the same as the Burrows" Fred warns his little sister with a smile reveling in the Slytherin's anger.

"I manage just fine!" she answers pissy and frustrated.

"All this for a book?" George wonders aloud, his eyes firmly planted on his sister, wary of her safety.

He can see Riddle roll his eyes without having to look at his face.

Their bickering continues with Mattheo's incessant orders for her to get down and her blatant disregard for his demands, balancing herself on the slippery tiles.

It is Fred who puts two and two together, he leans back against the stone wall and crosses his arms.

"It's your stach isn't it." Fred's statement sounds like a question as a devilish smirk overtakes his face.

"No it's not, shut up Weasley," Matt says uninterested in the blatant provocation, still glancing upward.

The hit that lands on the back of his head is delivered by George with a warning, "Don't stare too much."

He hisses referring to Riddle's insistent stare up as his sister who keeps tugging her skirt closer to her with one hand to avoid unwanted attention up there as the other doesn't help much, still holding on to the book.

Mattheo, by instinct, slaps the hand away as soon as it's done hitting him which leads the two to have a stare-down.

A clang and a shrill scream grab both of their attention back as they see her on all fours trying to cling to the roof's tiles.

"Get down!" Riddle reiterates screaming.

"No!" she yells back with conviction.

She takes her time but sits up, takes a breather, and carefully stands back up to continue waddling her way across the roof as he continues to mirror her path.

"You damn stubborn!" he reprimands monitoring her steps.

"And you stole my parchment!" she yells back accusingly.

"I didn't steal shit!" he bellows throwing his fingers in her direction as she looks down at him, glaring in turn.

"If anything, you stole my wand!" he shouts.

The bell rings in the twins' heads as they remember the altercation that led to the current event.

"What's going on?" she asks pushing through the small crowd gathered in front of Transfiguration class.

"Get lost Potter," she spots Mattheo stepping in front of Draco Malfoy who was having a staredown face to face with Harry Potter.

Mattheo pushes Harry back with one finger on his chest and a threatening stare that attracts Fred to stand in front of Harry shielding him with his towering height.

"And you back off Riddle," he says staring down at him.

"And while you're at it how about you muzzle your buddy," he continues looking over his shoulder directly at Draco fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder with a snarled lip.

"How about you keep the muzzle for your friend, heard he's got some trouble with an imaginary grim," Mattheo says breaking into laughter followed by his fellow Slytherin mates.

Fred is thrown aside by Harry as he bolts towards Riddle with a closed fist that collides with his cheek.

Mattheo recovers from the punch and immediately throws a punch back as Malfoy draws his wand out quickly followed by Riddle.

The crowd widens as people step back to leave enough space for the four, now five of them as Harry and the twins follow the lead of the snakes and point their wands back at them.

The rest happened incredibly fast and the only thing her mind could register was her brother violently thrown back with a stupefy sent by a rageful Draco.

The ruckus started by the casted spell only escalates when a student shows up with a professor sending the crowd into a flock of people running in different directions.

She is sent falling on her back when a student collides with her. She rolls around to stand back up when she sees the all too familiar wand left unattended on the ground.

Hearing Professor Slughorn yell for calm she snatches the wand from the ground and boosts herself forward with her feet to sprint around the corner and away from Slughorn gripping Riddle by the arm.

"I did not!" she yells at the accusation.

"Get down!" he shouts frustrated by her attempting to balance herself and yelling back at him.

Fred cackles and holds his stomach at the interaction, amused every time Riddle's face contorts in a shocked or rather offended expression due to his sister's temper.

Taking a bold step, her foot slips as she falls sliding to the roof's edge with a scream. Her hand grips the gutter tightly as the three boys hurry closer to the wall.

"Okay you've made your point Weasley, give me your hand now!" Riddle says hurriedly stepping on the stone window using this to boost himself up and gripping the stoned wall's crevice to slip his arm around her waist unable to hold either of her hands.

He's pulled by his collar and stumbles back watching as George uses his height to his advantage, boosting himself up and sneaking his arm around his sister's waist and tugging her down to his other arm holding her princess-style.

"Calm down Riddle," Fred gently grabs the notebook from his siter and walks towards him before shoving the book right on his chest letting Mattheo clutch it and stumble back as the twin steps back with a smug, demeaning smile, "Your stach is fine."

His scowl doesn't falter even with his property now in hand. Instead, his nostrils flare with a pissed-off sigh before the youngest Weasley girl is set down on her feet, still wobbly from the shock of the potentially harmful situation.

"It's not my-" his sentence is cut short by the youngest Weasley girl being set down back on her feet as she nods in gratitude, still a bit wobbly from the previous potentially harmful situation.

Her newfound safe position has him noticeably relax but the scolding expression doesn't leave his features as he points at her and her brothers back and forth while he tries to find the words to describe his frustration.

With no full sentence gracing his mind, he instead looks at the twins directing his spite on them, still pointing at her.

"Get your siblings under control," he says walking backward and away from the little family, still incredibly pissed off by the interaction.

Arithmancy is already complicated enough with the teacher's words blending in an incomprehensible mash, but the incessant feeling of his stare burning through my back is the worst.

I turn around with a scowl and spot him at his usual place at the back of the class with the rest of his friends, looking back at me with just as much venom.

Zabini is the one that spots him glaring at me attracting the rest of the table's eyes in my direction.

Despite the insistence of Blaise to stop glaring at me his death glare continues, this time accompanied by his first tightly clenched on the table.

My stare deepens and I'm ready to mouth him what's his problem when the giant bells resound and send half the class scurrying to lunch including me as I jolt up with my bag in hand intertwining my arm with Luna Lovegood.

Quickly passing the door I appreciate the covered sky as the weather is still warm regardless of the sun hiding.

'A weather announcing rain for later in the day probably' I think to myself tuning out Luna's newest rant about Nargles.

"Your head's full of them."

I hum with a frown in her direction registering her words once again.

"Wrackspursts."

My frown deepens as the word is familiar but the context escapes me.

A bell rings in my head when I remember reading the word in Luna's latest edition of the Quibbler she landed me.

An edition I forgot to give back.

"Oh talking about that, here's your-" I say opening my satchel to see the magazine sitting cozily beside another one of my textbooks right on top of Mattheo Riddle's wand when I notice the absence of my notebook.

"Oh no I must've forgotten to pack up my notebook," I note to Luna handing her back her magazine.

"That's okay. Go grab it, I'll save you a seat at lunch." she smiles.

"Thanks, I'll be right with you," I say already trotting away before turning around in a run towards the Arithmancy class.

I pass Zabini and Co on the way and find it weird that Riddle isn't amongst them before remembering his angered stare back in class and figuring out he must've taken the route of the astronomy tower to take his anger out, probably followed closely by Nott.

Typical.

My mind turns back to reality when my eyes lock on the classroom door ajar.

'Professor Vector probably pulled it behind her as she left for lunch' I think as I push the door open stepping inside.

The room looks empty and it doesn't take too long for me to notice my desk.

Empty.

My frustration builds up as I approach my desk and kneel to check the floor where I don't see any trace of my notebook.

Sighing in annoyance I let my satchel's strap fall from my shoulder and stand back up to lift my desktop to glare at the cluttered compartment.

I groan closing my eyes and throwing my head back before keeping the desktop open with one hand and starting to rummage through the mess with the other.

Scrambling through, the echo of my search is interrupted by a smug tone.

"Looking for this?"

I let go of the desktop that snaps shut loudly spinning around and backing up against the desk in shock seeing Riddle coming out of the shadow with my notebook in hand.

My shock quickly dies down and is replaced by anger as my breathing picks up and my tension rises, not liking one bit to be stuck with him in a room alone.

"Give me back my notebook," I say in a definitive pitch extending my hand as he approaches me still showcasing my notebook up in the air like a trophy.

"I'm still missing my wand," he says smugly just a few steps away from me making it obvious that this is a transaction, my notebook for his wand.

"Then go look for it, give me back my notebook," I say more sternly dismissing him and reaching out to snatch it but his reflexes beat mine as he pulls it just far enough for my fingers to miss it just by a few inches.

His hand recoils extending behind his back as he uses his body to stand just a few inches in front of me.

My scowl deepens and his smile lights up even more showing his dimples with that mischievous glint in his eyes letting me know he's amused at the situation.

"I know you have it," he says cooly moving my notebook just a bit so that I can see it but not enough to reach it without having to end up face-to-face.

I've had enough.

"Give me my notebook back Mattheo," I say done with his games.

His smile dies down as well as the flicker in his eyes leaving place to an expression I can't read.

Is it anger?

Annoyance?

His arm lowers at his side and I don't waste a second before reaching for the journal, grasping at it and tugging when I notice that his hand doesn't let go of it no matter how hard I may tug.

I look up ready to ask him if he's really gonna waste more of my time with his little game before my thoughts are cut short as my gaze reaches his, fixated on mine in a more intense way than before.

My frown softens when my eyes catch his hand reaching the desk letting his fingers graze the surface.

My hand stops tugging and I stay focused on his hand memorizing every detail, from the veins that appear to the reddened knuckles from a previous fight.

I look back up at him and notice that the red knuckles are accompanied by new cuts on his face, one on his eyebrow and another hidden by a bandaid on his nose.

As a last attempt try to move aside thinking that putting distance between us will help me tug on the notebook better but it's like he can read my mind and steps in front of me.

Chest to chest he uses his body weight to push mine back against the desk.

I don't know what to say, the action leaves me breathless and confused.

What is going on?

I see him hesitate. Would it be possible Riddle has become speechless for the first time?

I see it in the way he's trying to talk. Trying to speak but he can only open his mouth and hesitate before closing it back up in frustration

The silence is killing me. I try to be patient and wait, even enticing him to take his time and nodding subtly when he opens his mouth yet again but he's left unable to speak and lets out another sigh of frustration switching his gaze from one eye to the other.

He whispers something, something so quiet I don't catch it.

I want to ask him to repeat himself but I don't get the time to when his lips crash onto mine. The action takes me by surprise but it's like he anticipated it as his arm that was holding my journal let go and surrounds my waist to replace my weakened legs that gave out on me to lean me against the desk.

With my eyes closed, I can only feel. Feel his lips against mine, soft and experienced but I sense that he hesitates testing the water maybe to see if I'm going to push him away.

I should, I want to.

I taste the remnant of mint, probably from a previous gum.

His lips leave mine and I open my eyes to make direct contact with his. I can barely see his irises with how dilated his pupils are.

My brain is on overdrive but no thought finds any conclusion. Every possible movement is blocked by my body frozen on the spot and every word I wish to say is replaced by an exhale.

I feel his hand, the one that was grazing the desk travels up my neck to rest on my cheek as his lips catch mine again.

His hand is warm like his lips and entraps me in a daze.

The haze in my head thickens and leaves me to nourish my urges like my desperate need to anchor myself as I let my notebook fall from my hand and grip the desk behind me letting my other hand grab his neck where the tip of my finger brushes against one of his locks and I decide instead to grip a handful of his curls.

The action brings a pleased hum from him and triggers my own when the arm that's wrapped around my waist tightens and my feet leave the floor as I feel myself being seated on my desk.

His lips don't leave mine as both his hand cradles my face before they follow my lead and travel up to entangle in my hair, stepping closer to me and standing between my legs.

One of his hands remains in my hair as the other brushes down to my neck and descends to brush my knee.

Lost in the feeling my hand grips his soft hair harder leading him to groan as I hum once again without having any control over my voice.

I feel his hand grab a handful of my thigh but the feeling is easily forgotten when I feel his teeth biting my lower lip with a sting that causes me to gasp. A gasp that gets cut off when his tongue swoops in and locks our lips back together.

I feel really hot and I can't think. I believe I'm gonna overheat when his hand travels up my thigh and I feel like a bucket of ice water is thrown onto me.

My eyes shoot open and the hand that was enjoying the softness of his curls joins my other hand that was gripping the desk to push him off me.

The push is so violent that he bumps against the desk right behind mine and needs to hold onto it to not fall as I slip off my desk.

The silence isn't noticeable as our heavy breathing fills the emptiness of the room.

All my senses crash on me and this time the fog in my brain is lifted leaving me in full control of my actions instead of a puppet to my urges.

He stands back up and stares back at me breathing heavily before wiping his mouth with his fingers letting them linger.

I mirror his action without thinking feeling my lips all plump.

What am I doing? Why did I do that?!

I just…made out with Mattheo Riddle?!

The heat that was possessing me turns cold as I frown.

That was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Thinking back to it my hand travels down to my skirt, tugging it down as my stare leaves his to stare into the void thinking back to everything.

Riddle is an opportunist and saw an opening. He took me by surprise and my body just reacted.

It was a mistake.

My eyes are probably the size of the sausage I'm supposed to be eating for lunch right now and that's when everything comes back to me.

How long have I been here? Has Luna waited for long? What time is it?

I came in here looking for my notebook.

My eyes focus back and I realize I need to get out right now. My eyes look back at his as he stands there just as frozen as I am. That's when I decide to make the first step looking down to spot my journal on the ground right beside my bag.

I quickly kneel down in a panic as his presence, with the knowledge of what just happened, makes me panic more and more the longer I stay here with him.

Clutching my bag I shove my book in there before scrambling to feel the outline of his wand as I see him in the corner of my eyes arranging his messed up hair.

The second my hand brushes against his possession I snatch it from my bag before stomping toward him and shoving his wand on his chest as he clutches it not breaking eye contact.

His hand mindlessly brushes against mine as he grips his wand and I snatch mine away as if he burnt me before shoving past him so fast I bump harshly into his shoulder out of the room leaving him there all alone to run toward the Great Hall like I should've done all along.

[xviiper-rents-houses]

Yandere Platonic Enforcer: Part Two!

Summary: The man, still with no name, tries to help you adapt to your new home.

TW: Abuse, (to you) kidnapping, yandere behavior, captive reader, trauma (from being taken from your home & forced somewhere else).

He had done well to settle you in. Given your size, the man had to scrounge around Piltover's dressing stores to find the perfect clothing suited to your likeness. In all honesty, it was a frustrating and almost degrading task. The only way he was able to get through such a time-consuming job was the hope all his efforts would reward him with you calling him "Father."

The man felt out of place in the clothing stores, especially when he was not wearing his uniform. Clad in a white shirt with a button-up brown vest, gently matching pants alongside the vest and well-made dress shoes, the man looked normal. In fact, those who had seen him without his mask before noticed a spark of life behind his gaze. He soon found himself noticed by his fellow enforcers— the man was equally bewildered as he was dismissive.

He found the only use for speaking with his fellow enforcers off-duty was their surprisingly helpful advice in purchasing children's clothing. The answer he began to give became a regular reply to all the bombarding questions: he had adopted a child and the child needed new clothes since they outgrew all of their previous items. The man smartly left out the part where he choked you; he had a fondness for turtlenecks now.

After hours of his day taken away shopping, the man returned home, where he locked you in the bathroom in order for you to adjust to your surroundings. The man had vague experience— a cat he had a long time ago grew to love him after he introduced it slowly to his home by keeping it in the bathroom first. The only difference between you and the cat was the cat remained in the room while you bolted at the first chance you got.

He barely caught you in time, hooking his arm around your torso, trapping your arms. Your legs kicked harshly against his thighs— that would leave a nasty bruise later. He shushed you, forcing your head into his shoulder; the man wasn't surprised when you bit him. It took every fiber of his being to not slam you against the floor and punch you in the face— what kind of Father would he be?

Fathers are kind, fathers are loving, fathers care for their kids unconditionally. All you were doing was establishing some of your own conditions, of which he would fix later to his liking. For now, he needed to calm you down. “Calm down," he directed, voice soft as a feather. A one-off command was as he gave before squeezing you tighter and hushing you even more. He wanted you to be obedient and finish whatever feelings you had.

The man could tell that this affair would take a while. He could feel his arms starting to tire, ever so slightly. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he promised this, even though he heavily considered it a flash ago. To be a good father was to be patient and willing to care for a little scrap that behaved itself like a wild animal. He noticed a brief change in your demeanor— pausing your violent kicks for just a second— then you kicked one last very harshly. A grunt was his reply, it did hurt him more.

Finally, you were ready to listen. Held firmly against his chest, the man reached for the door and closed it, trapping you and him in the bathroom. He set you down, swift to block you from any attempt of reaching for the handle. Any attempts on your part were quickly thwarted. But, something did pique your interest, if only suspicion. What was stowed behind his back? Why did he have to use one arm to keep you back?

You got your answer when he revealed a stack of clothes, new and freshly washed. He set them on the bathroom vanity, glancing at your skeptical gaze. You could see his usual blank expression twitch, the right side of his mouth twirling into a half-smile. You felt fear. What was he going to do now? His hand, the one that set the clothes down, rested on top of the pile. It slowly lifted and hovered towards you.

Ducking out of the way, you avoided him first. He scoffed, frustrated. He reached again, this time, getting down on a knee. Contorting his face into a sad, yet, hopeful expression, the man urged you to trust him based only on his expressions. You weren't sure whether to trust him or not, after all, he did choke you before. He sighed, heavily, and retracted his hand. That made you feel much better, only for a short while— now you worried if he would lunge at you. He didn't.

Strange, you were expecting to be attacked. The man reached up towards the countertop, taking the clothes into his hands and outstretched them towards you, displaying what he had bought. His head tilted towards the side and he offered a small, vague smile. It soon returned to that blank expression you came to recognize as normal. “ These are for you,” he said. “Look at them, please.” He was trying his hardest to not drag you forward and make you look closely.v

When faced with reality, you realized that the outfit you were wearing currently, was fraying. It was thin and very muddy. It did upset you. Maybe you should try some new clothes. “If you,” you see his yellow eyes flicker, flashing downward. “If you try them on, I'll let you out of the bathroom.” You could tell he didn't like the idea at all. But, you could also see he was genuine. You could find a way to escape, good. “You can shower later, if you'd like.” His gaze returned, looking at you quietly.

He knew if he forced you to shower and then expected you to change clothes, all the "trust" he built with you would be shattered. He had to be patient. He is your Father, the one who provides for you. And fathers are kind, nurturing and above all, loving. You just weren't ready to see that yet. That's okay, he reminds himself, you'll learn to love him eventually. You are his kid. And he loves you very much.

[fallingsatellive]

This got away from me a little bit because I saw archetrope and got excited to talk about it. The proportion of importance this has to my life/identity to the recognition from the wider alterhuman community of this label is... low

I think of it as its own thing, but it doesn't mean that an archetrope identity can't also be an otherkin one at the same time or have overlaps, especially if someone identifies as an inherently nonhuman archetype, right?

IMO it usually comes down entirely to the individual's internal self-perception, the way they think of the 'type and what it is to them to "be" that. To use your example, I guess the death conceptkin might be more drawn to a 'kin label because on some level they feel as if their species identity is Death, whereas the death archetrope feels like they embody the archetype of death as it appears in culture or fiction, regardless of their own species—any animal can die, right? Perhaps a death archetrope is also a rat therian and relates the most to Death of Rats from Discworld :P

I guess someone could be an archetrope because they feel they had a past life as a knight, but I don't really think know if it can be a "past life thing," because either way, a knight archetrope would be someone who identifies as a knight NOW in some way, and finds ways that their life reflects this. When I say I am a wanderer archetrope, it is not a character; I just am a wanderer, which makes me an archetrope, not the other way around, so I guess the guy I'm identifying as is "me" or even "me, but happy" lmao. But again if the person in question doesn't see that distinction for their own archetype and also considers it a sort of fictotype, who am I to say "that's not how it's done"

Idk what's meant by character tropes exactly but I have a general idea and I do think by identifying as a time loop archetrope someone would be implying at the very least that they consider the time loop in fiction to be a conscious, decision-making agent in the story. Which isn't entirely WRONG but I guess is subjective. Fantasy aside, I don't think it's just "anything that would be found in a story," because most things would

If it is for you, it is, like I said but I do NOT think you can have memories of your archetype, I think those would just be past life memories, because your archetype is something that you are now, not really its own being. So even if those feelings are due to a past life, it would probably be more like a theme that has followed you, not something like still feeling mentally a [species/concept/etc.] because in a past life your soul was in a body of that shape. As for shifts I've never heard anyone say so before and I certainly never have, unless you'd count wanting to do something affirming and then doing it or feeling frustrated if I can't. I never feel more or less like a wanderer. I'm just a wanderer because I tend to do that, usually very literally, and the label follows that reality. Not to say all archetropes live up to their archetype constantly or you have to to be one but the general idea is that that lifestyle is how you see yourself.

YES and YES. Oh my g-d do I. I'd kind of always like to be doing things that make me euphoric as my archetype long-term and if I couldn't even be convinced to stay in the same geographic region for over 3 years then I don't know who still thinks that I can be convinced to stay in the house when I could be in the woods or park or river and haven't been chained down yet. But like... it's not quite the same feeling as species dysphoria? Species dysphoria, and gender dysphoria is kind of the same way, comes from not being seen the way I know that I am. Gender dysphoria was being told "you don't do that, you are a woman." Species dysphoria is being told "you don't do that, you are a human." No one who knows me for more than a day would say "yeah, you're a real homebody huh? You never seem to change or move around a lot. You don't do that, you aren't exactly a wanderer at heart!" Archetype dysphoria doesn't usually come from other people's perceptions or judgments, not in a way that (for me at least) can't be instantly confirmed inaccurate in less than a conversation. Even people who'd still call me a woman 4 years on T wouldn't pretend I haven't lived in like 4 places in 3 years and seem physically incapable of just standing still somewhere. That feels good, but it also feels 100x worse when I do have to stand still than not being seen as a bird in everyday life does.

ive been reading about archetropes lately, mainly because its an interesting identity and also because im questioning being one myself. so, i have some questions for the community if thats okay!

does archetropy fall under the otherkin umbrella? or is it just alterhumanity?

what is the difference between archetropes and conceptkin? why is, for example, being the concept of death conceptkin, but being the character trope "Death" archetrope?

is there a difference between being an archetrope and being OCkin (or even being fictionkin)? if you are, for example, an archetrope of "the Knight" does that mean youre a specific knight? (i only ask this because ive seen one being in the archetrope tags making a moodboard of their life as a knight)

are archetropes only for character tropes? like can you just be the trope of "Time Loop" or do you have to be a character that is trapped in a time loop? and if you can, what would be the difference to just being time loop kin?

is being an archetrope connected to past lives? can you have memories of being your archetrope type? can you have shifts (mental or otherwise)?

how does being an archetrope affect you on your daily life? do you do things that make you euphoric as your type? can you have dysphoria for not acting like your type?

you dont have to answer to all these to respond! if you dont know or dont want to answer a question feel free to skip it /gen. thank you!

[colorstormx]

I'm gonna screaaaam why are my work schedules like this

[lunarharp]

uhh another modern au agott follow-up. They've gotten progressively sillier

[taiyami]

I just wanted to reach out to folks and say thanks for not scrutinizing me for interacting with a little more selfship content than usual lately. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, and I just hope I'm not being overbearing with that kind of content ?

[fabcreature]

right at the beginning of music school is actually a fantastic time to think "really when was the last time making music or working with music made me happy?"

[lupismaris]

Lmao okay okay white cishet social manager has now been added to the DEI Pride planning meetings which frankly is important to ensure shit is done right I’m attending as the multi-tool queer of the division and comms administrator/quartermaster who’s main role is holding the comms team accountable (my supervisors/head of comms words not mine) so my goal of making sure our Pride and LGBTQIA+ history month campaigns aren’t reductive capitalist rainbow washed nonsense is still a go

[theood]

Driving place please contact me again =_= mom keeps bugging me and I keep telling her I will tell her when I hear something like yeah mom do you really think I also wanted to not be driving 6 months after I got my permit? No in fact. But when no one can give me fucking lessons. You know. I don't get practice. Can't take the test. Can't do fucking anything

[battywitch]

.

[dredshirtroberts]

god. no one prepares you for the irritation and anger that comes when assistive devices and medical equipment actually fix your problems.

[pearlymel]

"Do i look like i can work right now?"

Summery : he's needy for you and he's not afraid to show it <3

wc : 2k

Warnings : NSFW, fem!reader, ōral (f! recieving), bit of dry humping, making out, protected sex. Petnames used (honey, love, sweetheart.) No plot.

He was so done for.

Zayne exhaled shakily against your neck, his hands squeezing firmly at the dip of your waist for stability. He sounded needy, he looked needy, it's taking everything in him to not rip your nightgown off.

"You should be resting, but you occupy my every thought." He uttered in a hushed tone, but made no real effort to take you off his lap, instead pulling you even closer using his knee and burying his face on your chest.

"You're practically latched on me, Zayne." The words just rolled off your tongue it was almost infuriating.

Zayne wrapped one arm around your hips, keeping you firmly on his lap as the chair kept rocking back and forth with your combined weight. His other hand traveled up your back, up to your shoulder and neck, pulling you further down so he could nip at your collarbone with a sharp canine.

"You're one to talk, sweetheart. You're not being very cooperative with being treated properly, always gambling your life away—" he sounded frustrated, the last few words coming out in a low grumble.

You ignore his words, instead bringing your hand to playfully pinch at his earlobe before whispering, "is this how you usually treat your patients, doctor?"

"This is..." Unprofessional, he almost said, he knew well there wasn't anything professional about how he was acting with you at the moment. "...An exception."

He then continued to litter your skin with open-mouthed kisses, his hand trailing up to find your nape, tangling his fingers into your hair, playing with the textured strands.

"Is it because I'm that special someone?"

You really have no idea what kind of effect you had on him. Zayne's teeth grazed against your pulse point lightly, his tongue darting out for a brief taste of your skin. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't very affected by you.

"My special someone," he murmured, and can't help the low gasp that escapes his throat when you start rolling your hips against his, feeling himself going dizzy.

"M-my love," he protested weakly, a visible growing tent forming in his bathrobe, making it harder for him to stop himself from pulling you harder against his lap.

He grabbed you by the thighs and leaned back into the backrest, giving you less space to move but a better angle to straddle him instead. "Don't stop," you whisper next to his ear while you try to continue pushing yourself further into him that he had to suppress a moan.

Zayne was sensitive man, being pent up most of the time, so touch straved. "You're a terrible patient, you know that? Insatiable." He managed to get out.

"I'm a different kind of patient," you hum, trailing your fingertips along his visible bare skin of his chest.

He was going to combust if you didn't stop touching him like that.

"You're dangerous." he almost whimpered, his hands moving back to grip your hips, as if to steady them on his lap, but it took every ounce of his willpower not to grind them against his crotch.

God was he done, Zayne finally wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and pulled you back down for a crushing kiss. It was less of a kiss and more of a possessive mark, hungry and rough.

He wanted you, needed you, he couldn't get enough of you. His tongue delved into your mouth with a greedy swipe, tasting you, as if he was drowning in you and the only thing keeping him alive was your kiss alone.

His breathing grew erratic as his hands slid down from your hips, grabbing the backs of your thighs and squeezing at the flesh, pressing you more firmly against his lap so his obvious hardened cock was rubbing between your legs.

Your sounds were unforgettable, Zayne could never forget them, the gasps and small whimpers of pleasure. He was already gone.

"Goddamn it..." he cursed hoarsely against your mouth, his hands clenching tighter under your thighs, guiding your motions on his lap before bucking up roughly, letting out a quiet groan of his own in the process.

"such a foul mouth, doctor,"

"Don't push it," he grumbled, lifting you up to his waist, "Push it?" You ask while wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked you to his room, and upon the realization, tap on his shoulder, "wasn't i supposed to rest—"

"That doesn't mean you can't rest after, does it?" he responded, moving over to the edge of the bed before slowly lowering you down onto the sheets, his body caging you in between his arms and legs, his form hovering over you.

He wasted no time sliding his hand underneath your silky nightgown to feel your skin, pulling the fabric above your head, guiding your arms up.

Zayne was a weak, weak man. Weak for seeing you like this, glossy eyes, lips slightly swollen from his kiss and the way your chest rose and fell heavily with every breath. Just being able to see you like this alone was a privilege.

He let his hands roam over the curve of your stomach, "so pretty," he muttered, his eyes raking over your form.

He leaned down to graze your neck with a trail of open-mouthed kisses, his lips lingering and nipping the skin, he then slowly traveled down your collarbone and to the valley of your chest, his fingers fiddling with the clasp of your bra the entire time.

"Lift your hips." he commanded quietly, sending a shiver down your spine and heat pooling down as you obliged to his words.

The last thing on you, and Zayne was pulling the fabric out from underneath you, throwing the bra somewhere on the floor, his eyes dark as he raked his gaze over your soft mounds, "I'm never getting tired of this view." he whispered breathlessly, Upon holding your wrists down and claiming your lips again, it was impossible to not be sent into the next cardiac arrest.

Well good think your doctor is always here to tend to you.

"I've.. missed you,"

How was he supposed to hold back when you sounded like that? Your voice coming out in a low, needy whisper that drove him over the edge.

"You need me." he groaned, releasing your wrists so both his hands could run down your sides, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties before giving the fabric a tug. He reached over, grabbing one of your legs and hooking your knee over his shoulder before pressing a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee, He continued to make a trail kisses up your thigh until he reached right infront of your wet folds.

Zayne looked up when your hand came in contact with his hair while letting out a shuddering breath and a whisper of his name, your gazes heated as he moved his head further down to your core, using one hand to keep your thigh pinned over his shoulder before his eyes fixated on your clit, leaning down to kiss it.

You gasp. His tongue flicked out, tasting you, before he began to suck on your clit, his fingers trailing up to play with your hardened nipples, rolling and pinching them gently with his thumb and forefinger. He hummed when you start squirming, his tongue skillfully flicking and rolling around the bundle of nerves, Zayne didn't stop at just your clit, though.

He trailed his tongue lower, teasing your entrance, and you couldn't help but tug at his hair, hips coming to slowly grind against his face. "Stay still, you're doing well," he praised, his voice low and soft, you best know he's trying so hard not to rut against the mattress from how achy he felt. His tongue sliding in and out, coating it with your arousal. You could feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building up inside you.

And you think you might pass out when he starts sucking down. It was hard to stay still when you're so close to orgasm, that it was making your head blank, eyes half-lidded and heavy breaths coming out of your lips as you arch your back when you taste the sweet pleasure of your release.

Zayne lifted his head from between your legs, licking his lips appreciatively and giving your stomach a few fluttering kisses. "You okay there, honey?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice as he watched how your eyes were still half lidded, and how your draped your arm over your face.

You only nod in return, letting out a low "Mhm,"

He couldn't wait until he was on his knees positioned between your legs, throwing his bathrobe off from his body before reaching down to his painfully hard cock, stroking once, twice, and he had to stop himself because he could most definitely jerk off just by looking at your face, especially when you're naked like this.

Zayne swallowed thickly, shaking his head to himself from any other thoughts before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing a condom, tearing it between his teeth then rolling it on himself, making sure it was on securely before moving between your legs.

He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, staring into your eyes, waiting for you to give him the go-ahead. You nodded, your eyes still heavy with need, and he slowly pushed into you, his cock filling you up inch by inch.

Your jaw hanged, your body adjusting to him, your walls gripping his shaft. He continued to thrust in slowly, "you're the only thing..." He panted breathlessly into your neck, "the only thing i need in my life—" and he continued to rock against you with his thrusts slow and deep.

Zayne was taking his time now, slowly and with intent, he wanted to show you how much this moment means to him, how much you mean to him, how everytime you both have sex, it would feel like the first time every single time.

He lifted his head so that he could look at your face more clearly, his hands running over your sides, tracing the curves and the softness of your body, his fingers touching your skin as if to burn the feel of you into his memory.

His hand then trailed to your left wrist, taking your hand into his to interlace your fingers together, while his thumb brushed over the empty spot on your ring finger.

He internally cursed at himself for not getting you that ring he saw when he was on the way to the hospital. The beautiful gem resting on the window display, calling for him even.

Why didn't he just get it so he could make sure no one would ever look your way when they get the hint of the shiny ring sitting at your left ring finger?

Zayne then picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, your voice growing louder, accompanied by his frustrated grunts.

He could feel himself getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, "Come on, my love," he urged you desperately, "a-ah, Zayne—!" With a loud moan, you came, your body shaking and your legs convulsing around his waist.

He followed right after, slamming deep into you, his cock pulsing as he came, filling the condom with his hot seed. He held you close, both of your breathings heavy, taking a moment to hold you both close before slowly pulling out to dispose of the condom.

"Still have enough energy for cuddles?"

"Mm, I'd want nothing more than cuddles right now."

A smile formed on his face at your words, gently shifting himself back on the bed so that he was beside you, pulling you into his arms.

He wrapped his arms around you, and he let out a content sigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, his head in the crook of your neck again, inhaling the scent of you, and he realized that he could stay like this forever. "Just a bit more before i clean both of us up.."