#Like “.... Y'all really having to do that..?-”

[dilf-docs]

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue. 

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. 

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat. 

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

sticker book ˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

Summary: y/n loves stickers. they're too important to stick just anywhere. lando is her most important.

⚡︎ ln x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⚡︎ fluff ⋆⭒˚.⋆

masterlist ☾☼

the little shop was a whirlwind of plushies and trinkets, but y/n’s focus was laser-sharp: stickers. she adored them. unicorns, kittens, rainbows, anything cute and colorful made her heart sing. lando watched her with a fond smile. he knew a perfect surprise when he saw one.

earlier, he’d snuck back to the shop and bought every sticker pack that looked remotely like something y/n would love. now, he presented her with a small, brightly wrapped gift. “for you,” he said, trying to suppress a grin.

y/n gasped, her eyes wide with delight. she tore into the wrapping, revealing a treasure trove of sticker sheets. “oh my gosh, lando!” she squealed, hugging the packs to her chest. “you know me so well!”

later, at a cafe with their friends, y/n was still admiring her stickers, a small frown creasing her brow. “i have a problem,” she announced. “these are too precious to stick just anywhere. they need to go on something… really important.”

lando was chatting with carlos about the race and golf, but he was listening. he was always listening. he watched y/n carefully peel off a sparkly unicorn sticker, then hesitate, her expression thoughtful.

abruptly, y/n reached over and grabbed lando’s arm, pulling it onto her lap. it was a casual, almost unconscious movement. lando blinked, surprised, then instinctively placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers gently curving around her leg. he squeezed her thigh once, but she didn't seem to notice at all.

y/n, seemingly oblivious to the contact, was now fully focused on her task. she peeled off the unicorn sticker and carefully placed it on his forearm. then another, a tiny rainbow. and another, a sheet of miniature hearts. she was creating a sticker masterpiece on his skin.

lando watched her, his heart doing a little flip. he understood. he was usually bad at understanding gestures, but this, he understood. he was her “something really important.” he was the canvas for her joy, her affection, her playful spirit. he was her… sticker book.

their friends chatted around them, engrossed in their own conversations. no one noticed y/n’s quiet act of affection, the way she was literally sticking her love onto lando. and lando? he didn’t say a word. he just held her thigh gently, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the monaco sun. he was happy. he was loved. he was covered in sparkly stickers.

when she was finished, y/n looked at his arm and the back of his hand, now a vibrant collage of color and cuteness, and beamed. “perfect,” she declared.

lando smiled, his eyes soft. “you think so?” he asked, his voice low, leaning over to press a soft kiss against her head.

y/n nodded, leaning closer. “definitely,” she whispered. “now, hold still. i have a few more for your other arm.” and with that, she began another masterpiece, leaving lando utterly, completely, and undeniably smitten.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

dee, this is for you. i hope you enjoy this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @opastries81

[dorliart]

Oooh.

Am I the Asshole for ruining my best friends excitement?

Im going to have to keep this very vague for personal reasons, so throwaway Account naturally.

Okay so for context, I'm originally not from The Isles and have found myself there now. (I know, I know, big deal woah etc. I'm using a vpn, and being safe, don't worry). So I've been living with some people on one of the isles, everyone has been truly very friendly and welcoming despite me not once having told them where I'm from exactly. But I feel like I've made friends and maybe even people I would consider my family. Now here's the problem. Apparently where I am now people have been really pushing the First Flight Ritual. At first it was only sort of vaguely talked about at school, and people have been bringing it up around me a lot since my wings have already fully grown in, a bit early. I had assumed it was a myth or legend or at most something older cousins tell their younger cousins when they want to look cool or intimidate them, but apparently not?? It keeps getting talked about more seriously, and even teachers and educators have started bringing it up.

Well and here's the actual problem. My best friend has been talking about it just as long, having heard about it from their big sibling a lot (which they really miss since they moved, so I get it) but they've been getting more extreme with it. They talk about actually wanting to take part in it as soon as their wings have grown in, even! If they haven't finished growing in! Like what! I thought it was common sense to know how fragile newly ingrown wings are, especially with not having been able to put any muscle strength on them?

I have been trying to reason with them for the better part of two weeks, but they won't listen at all. I've tried to explain it to them, but it was no use. And it's not like they don't know the risks either. They're so smart and they know about biology enough to know that this is not a smart course of action, they just won't admit it!

Things finally came to an all out argument a few days ago, when I all out told them how incredibly stupid this was. They could die!! But they didn't care. Just said I was selfish and was ruining what they were working and excited for, and jealous of their ambition. I'm still furious about it, but after storming off I've done a bit of reflection and while I don't regret what I've said and my stance, I do feel a little bad about having blown up so much.

So, am I the asshole for telling my friend it's stupid to participate in a ritual that is very likely to kill them?

Edit: guys I know it's a sacred ritual and everything but don't y'all think it might be wrong to continue a ritual that is actively killing people??? What is wrong with you

Edit 2: yes I will be deleting comments calling me a traitor and telling me to move down. This is not helping the conversation here.

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[gdinthehouseee]

Fan Wars: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after managing to keep your relationship with ji-yong private, fans catch wind of potential evidence and refuse to let it go, so he decides to give them something real to talk about...

word count: 1341

tags: smau; fluff, established relationship, sneaking around, making out in semi public

You had done everything right.

Separate exits. Baggy hoodies. Sunglasses even though the sun had long set. Taking the longest possible route back to the car. And yet, here you were, sitting on Ji-yong’s couch with your phone blowing up, as the internet lost its collective mind.

“Ohhh, they are going insane,” Ji-yong muttered, scrolling through Twitter with an amused smirk.

You buried your face in a pillow. “I don’t wanna know.”

“No, but you have to.” He turned his phone toward you. “They’re dissecting everything.”

You peeked over the pillow hesitantly… only to immediately regret it. 

User: I swear I just saw GD at this tiny restaurant… and he wasn’t alone 👀👀

User: Okay. So. Evidence thread 🧵⬇️

This blurry ass video from tonight? Yeah. That’s DEFINITELY G-Dragon.

The person next to him? I compared their walking pattern to Y/N’s past airport footage. IT MATCHES.

In the video, Ji-yong laughs. I ran it through software that compares audio frequencies. IT’S HIM.

The hoodie he’s wearing? He posted it on Insta a month ago. Y/N had a suspiciously similar background in her IG story the SAME DAY.

User: IT’S REAL!!

YGFamily_Updates: 🚨 Some fans are convinced G-Dragon is dating Y/N after being spotted together tonight. Others refuse to believe it. What do you think?

User: that should’ve been me </3

User: He could do waayyy better…

User (reply): you think you're better than y/n?? you should pursue comedy

User: am I the only one who thought he was gay??

User: SHE'S NOT WUH LUH WUH???? NOOOOO </33

User: Whatever makes her happy ig

User: she settled for HIM????

User (reply): ppl like you are why they kept it a secret

User: i can’t be the only one who thinks they’re rlly cute together :(

User: now they really are the parents of kpop

User (reply): i wish they were my parents

User: their kids would be so cute!! They’d have the best life fr

User: y'all are insane...

As much as you want to hide, you can’t seem to take your eyes off his phone. Not even when he continues scrolling through the battle of the fandoms to stumble across some diehard fans trying to piece together more of the timeline.

That one interview from three years ago where Ji-yong was asked about his ideal type, and he gave a vague answer that suddenly sounds a lot like you. A music award show from an entire decade ago where he held the mic for you and fans swore he was looking at you differently. One year ago – a rehearsal clip where you and Ji-yong were standing next to each other, not even talking, but somehow that was now evidence.

“They’ve gone too deep,” you groaned, finally managing to tear your eyes away.

Ji-yong chuckled, continuing to scroll, while he wraps his other arm around you, pulling you into his side. “They always do.”

“How are you so calm about this?” You turned to face him fully. “Half of your fanbase is ready to burn me at the stake, and the other half thinks I’m too good for you.”

He smirked. “Sounds balanced to me.”

You shoved him. “Ji-yong.”

He caught your wrist easily, pulling you closer until you were practically nose-to-nose. His voice softened. “Jagiya, it’s okay.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. “What if this doesn’t blow over? What if they keep digging?”

He exhaled, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Then let them.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “We don’t owe anyone an explanation. They can talk all they want—we know what’s real.”

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but warmth and certainty. The tension in your chest loosened, just a little.

“…You’re really not worried?”

He smiled. “No.”

You hesitated. “You’re not gonna post anything cryptic and make it worse?”

Ji-yong laughed. “Tempting. Very tempting. But no.” He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a second. “I just want you to feel safe.”

Your heart melted. You sighed, relaxing into him. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours, “here you are.”

Outside, the internet burned. Inside, you were home.

That was, at least, until your next event. 

You knew from the moment you stepped onto that damn red carpet that tonight was going to be hell. The flashing cameras. The way certain interviewers perked up when they saw you. The way the entire internet had spent the past three weeks analyzing your every move, convinced that your so-called “secret relationship” with G-Dragon was either a definite reality or the greatest fan delusion of the decade. And now? Now you were both in the same room. At the same event. With hundreds of thousands of eyes watching.

You had never been more aware of your own facial expressions in your entire life. Every breath, every blink, every slight movement of your lips—someone was watching.

Across the room, Ji-yong sat with Seung-hyun, Youngbae, and Daesung. Not even they knew his real relationship status, while the man in question was completely unbothered, sipping his drink like he wasn’t currently the center of a full-blown fan war.

Seung-hyun tilted his glass toward him. “So… are you gonna acknowledge her tonight?”

Ji-yong smirked. “Who?”

Seung-hyun let out a slow breath. “God, you’re insufferable.”

Daesung, who had been watching you like a hawk for the past ten minutes, leaned in. “Okay, but why hasn’t she looked at you even once?”

Youngbae scoffed. “Because she knows people are watching.”

Seung-hyun nodded. “Which only makes it more suspicious.”

Ji-yong just swirled his drink, looking far too entertained. “You guys think too much,” he mused.

“And you think too little about how insane you make people.”

Ji-yong just smiled in response before pulling out his phone.

Slowly, carefully, you glance down.

A message. From Ji-yong.

You hesitate. You know cameras are on you right now. You know people will read into whatever expression you make. You know that someone will try to zoom in on your screen. But still…

You freeze. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flicker across the room and meet his. It’s only for half a second. A single heartbeat. A blink. But it’s enough. Because he sees you and, to make it worse, he smirks.

After that split second of eye contact, Ji-yong tilts his head ever so slightly. A silent invitation.

You swallow. Pretending to check your phone, you slip out of your seat and disappear into the dimly lit hallway. As much as you really shouldn’t be doing this, you can’t help the way your heart’s pounding with excitement, fluttering at the thought of being sneaky like this. Then— A hand grabs your wrist. Ji-yong pulls you into a darkened corridor.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” you whisper, peeking up at him. 

“And yet, here you are.” Before you can retort, his fingers graze your wrist, trailing up your arm slowly, deliberately. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. “You look too good tonight,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Ji-yong—”

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he interrupts.

He moves you backwards, pressing you against the wall behind you, and his mouth finds yours. It’s slow at first; teasing, testing your patience. But your hands instinctively reach up to grab his jacket, pulling him closer, and his own restraint is thrown out the window. He loses it. His own hands slide over your waist, gripping, exploring, pressing you firmly against him. His lips move against yours with urgency, hunger.

“Missed you,” he mutters between kisses, trailing down your jaw, your neck. His breath is hot, his hands possessive.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whisper breathlessly.

Ji-yong laughs softly, kissing you again. “Let them.”

You shudder. Your hands clutch his blazer, pulling him back up, crashing your lips to his in another heated kiss. This time, he’s the one who shudders. His hands roam lower, tighter, needier. And just as he presses even closer—

A loud camera shutter clicks.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[stevespookington]

We are heading into severe weather season in the US soon (and by soon I mean tomorrow) (disclaimer, this is all general advice. pay attention to the official weather sources in your area for alerts and important information. I am not an expert, weather info is just a hobby for me.)

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA)/National Weather Service (NWS) has (for now anyways) the Storm Prediction Center (SPC) which is a great source of information to stay weather aware.

The SPC puts out Convective Outlooks. These show where thunderstorms and severe weather have the potential to pop up. (With temperatures warming up, the movement of warm air leads to convection in the atmosphere which results in thunderstorms and sometimes severe weather. There is a good blog post going into more detail here)

Specifically, the outlooks are:

Day 1 Outlook (today and early tomorrow morning)

Day 2 Outlook (the next 24 hours following early tomorrow morning)

Day 3 Outlook (the next 24 hours)

Day 4-8 Outlook (the next days, but these are never too certain due to the way the models work)

These outlooks are timestamped with Zulu time aka Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). You can see how that compares to your local timezone here.

Today (3/13/25), the weather outlook is okay, just a slight risk of thunderstorms across the US. However, Friday (3/14/25) and Saturday (3/15/25) both have a widespread risk of severe weather including strong winds and tornadoes.

If you are in any of these colored regions, stay weather aware! Now, this doesn't mean you have to panic, but keep an eye on the weather reports in your area!

I tend to check the SPC in the morning so I know when I have to really be paying attention to the weather for the day/coming days.

Below is more info on the color coding which you can read more about here. (In addition here is a powerpoint from the NWS with more information "12 Things You Need to Know: Severe Weather Outlooks")

Tips on staying weather aware, it's important to have access to several weather sources.

Check the SPC for updates!

Find your closest NWS Forecast Office via zip code on weather.gov

Keep an eye on the local news and local weather reports

Consider getting a weather radio! (info here from NWS) This is good for if you lose power/internet as you can check the automated radio stations near you

Check the radar (I use the radarscope app) but you can check online with websites like radar.weather.gov or wunderground.com

Ryan Hall Y'all is a youtube channel that livestreams during most severe weather outbreaks

More weather info:

Severe Weather 101

How NOAA Satellites Help Us Stay Ahead of Severe Weather Season

How to Use and Interpret Doppler Weather Radar

TropicalTidbits - Info on hurricanes and other tropical weather

NWS - Emergency Supplies Kit Info

Weather Prediction Center - similar to SPC but more generalized

What to do During a Tornado (via NWS):

Stay Weather-Ready: Continue to listen to local news or a NOAA Weather Radio to stay updated about tornado watches and warnings.

At Your House: If you are in a tornado warning, go to your basement, safe room, or an interior room away from windows. Don't forget pets if time allows.

At Your Workplace or School: Follow your tornado drill and proceed to your tornado shelter location quickly and calmly. Stay away from windows and do not go to large open rooms such as cafeterias, gymnasiums, or auditoriums.

Outside: Seek shelter inside a sturdy building immediately if a tornado is approaching. Sheds and storage facilities are not safe. Neither is a mobile home or tent.  If you have time, get to a safe building.

In a vehicle: Being in a vehicle during a tornado is not safe. The best course of action is to drive to the closest shelter. If you are unable to make it to a safe shelter, either get down in your car and cover your head, or abandon your car and seek shelter in a low lying area such as a ditch or ravine.

NOAA and NWS are under threat from everything going on right now. (Hundreds of weather forecasters fired in latest wave of DOGE cuts.) They provide vital services and do very important research about our weather and climate. While 5calls.org does not currently have a template centered on NOAA/NWS, they have similar ones that you could reference, modify, and use. (I have modified one below that you might consider using.) (5calls.org also has other very important scripts that you might use for other issues.) Please consider calling your representatives and telling them how important weather information is to everybody and that they should be protecting it, not defunding it. Not only for severe weather, but for climate change research and more.

Hi, my name is [NAME] and I’m a constituent from [CITY, ZIP]. I'm calling to demand that [REP/SEN NAME] oppose any legislation, or efforts by the executive branch to dismantle or abolish the National Weather Service or the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The recent reduction in staff is unacceptable, and will put Americans' lives and property at risk to severe weather. Reduced warning capabilities will put lives at risk and could potentially make response and recovery more hazardous and more expensive. Thank you for your time and consideration. IF LEAVING VOICEMAIL: Please leave your full street address to ensure your call is tallied.

While this is geared towards the US, a lot of this information can be applied via resources specific to your country. And finally, to quote Ryan Hall, Don't be Scared, Be Prepared.

[oikarma]

how you get the girl | pt.2

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: what is up with your ex-situationship's timing?

a/n: time to lock in and actually work on this fic LOL.

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lando and others

yourinstagram to new beginnings

view all comments

lilyzneimer will miss having you as a neighbor </3

yourinstagram oh but lily no distance could separate us yourinstagram i'll call you so often you'll get sick of me lilyzneimer you already do yourinstagram oh. so.

hattiepiastri what happened to "catch flights not feelings"

yourinstagram in the making of this post no feelings were caught hattiepiastri but you are catching a flight yourinstagram it's for my freaking job let me BREATHE

yourfriend chef ramsey

yourinstagram ❤️ come over and i'll let you try some, they're sooo good

lando missing you in shanghai

yourinstagram you called me hours minutes ago lando wish you'd come visit yourinstagram what, are we in an established relationship? hattiepiastri OOOH CLOCKED!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lilyzneimer and others

yourinstagram home is where the heart is

view all comments

yourfriend so much fun with you!

yourinstagram can't believe we live so close now

hattiepiastri but i'm literally in aus.

yourinstagram didn't say where my home was, read the caption again hattiepiastri sorry queen ☹️

lando but that's not where mine is?

yourinstagram lando have you been listening to ts recently lando maybe yourinstagram didn't peg you for a lover boy @/oscarpiastri come here lilyzneimer don't make fun of his music taste yourinstagram who, oscar's? don't you worry, i was just sharing information so oscar could bully lando oscarpiastri Thanks, mate. yourinstagram good lad! lando ...

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

deuxmoi Well, what do we think?

view all comments

user1 cheating already? gah. men.

user2 well maybe kylie's had a change of mind we never know. might be an inside joke or something

user3 she VEHEMENTLY hates green user4 wow fancy vocab user2 i'm just saying, maybe there's another meaning.

user5 are we sure its timothee

user6 ma'am this is a wendy's

user7 where even was he

user8 he posted his poker night at chateau marmont then dipped so no idea user9 on his story he posted a pic at an airport so prob not in LA anymore

user10 what was that girl he was hooking up with called again? swore i heard her talking in one of her tiktoks how she loved green

user11 that's crazy user12 delulu 101 user13 think her name was y/n or something just google it

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

close friends only

liked by others

yourinstagram me rn

view all comments

lilyzneimer ...what now

yourinstagram TURN OFF DND AND RESPOND TO ME

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tiktok

@/chalametss timothee and kylie spotted at a concert

user1 guess it was an inside joke after all

user2 what user3 there was a rumor going around that he was buying stuff in her least favorite color user4 what even are these theories

user5 mom i don't like what i'm seeing

yourtiktok @/lilyztiktok bro this comment has been deleted

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by mclaren and others

lando Shanghai P4. Not the best pace today. We got off to a bad start but made what we could. Good job, Oscar.

user1 ohhh the first pic

user2 ovaries just exploded

user3 lando norizz who? he looks at me like that and i drop dead

user4 You got it mate

oscarpiastri Thanks Lando!

user5 mclaren's 2025 wdc + wcc

yourinstagram congrats! wish i could've been there

lando come to suzuka? user6 @/maguiwhateverheruseris keep an eye on your man user7 she's actually really pretty...why y'all hating? user8 no one's hating?? yourinstagram i'll see

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by others

yourinstagram insert motivating gym quote

view all comments

hattiepiastri oooh SPICY

yourinstagram 💓💋

lilyzneimer i approve of p3 wholeheartedly

yourinstagram almost forgot i had him blocked for a moment and worried that he'd see it lilyzneimer what are you worrying about?? you don't owe him anything

lando coming?

lando to suzuka? yourinstagram why'd you phrase it like that lando 😉 oscarpiastri Can you guys not. yourinstagram pop off oscar, tell him off lando 😔

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: got kinda messy...

[some-stars]

a whole lot of people in the comments seem to think that there's an impermeable forcefield around their home, and will be very upset to learn just how much fecal bacteria there is on every surface in their living space at all times no matter what they do. sorry to be the one to break this to y'all but the barrier between "inside" and "outside" is more psychological than material!

obviously it's good to wash your hands more often than the average person probably does. i wash mine more frequently since 2020 than i did before--previously it was before cooking/eating and post-bathroom plus anytime something got on them; now it's also when coming home from anywhere medical or crowded high-touch settings like public transit or concerts or handling cash (interestingly this has had zero impact on how often i get sick, which was and remains "virtually never"). however, it is literally impossible to shame people into adopting a new behavior, because that's not how the human/ape brain works. you can shame someone out of doing something bad, but not into doing something good. sorry! you just can't! i know it feels so nice to yell and throw things but it accomplishes the opposite of what you want!

also, here is a sampling of tags on this post that are not thought patterns anyone should be encouraging, and if you find yourself thinking/feeling this way (when you aren't actually medically immunocompromised or living with someone who is, in which case these thoughts still aren't great for you emotionally but at least serve a real function) then you should be concerned:

#i feel so unclean if i don't do it immediately

#does no one else feel like u physically have germs on u when u touch stuff out in public#i come home from shopping and im like ewww eww eww my hands

#any time i leave the house it feels like theres an invisible layer of filth that covers me and gets worse the longer im out

#everything is dirty

#it's like I can feel how my hands are unclean when coming back from outside

#sanitize my hands everytime i'm outside because the world is FILTHY goddamn it

#like you really don’t feel nasty covered in all those outside germs??

further points:

"you all deserve to get covid and die/this is why covid is so bad” COVID is, quite famously, airborne! this reaction tells me that y'all are not logically assessing risks but instead are reacting to the vague horrifying concept of "the Bad Outside World is unbearably filthy and i must preserve my safe clean sanctum", which is not a great starting point for making public policy.

if someone washes their hands before eating, after using the bathroom, when showering, and any time they actually feel or look dirty, we're already at 8-10+ times a day. reacting with violent performative disgust to "i don't wash my hands whenever i return home from outside" as though it was "i never wash my hands ever" is another sign of where these reactions are coming from (not the thinking brain), because that is not what anyone actually voted for!

baffling to me how many people are assuming that everyone is taught as a child to wash their hands every time they come in from outside, because i wasn't and most people i know don't do that (or didn't pre-pandemic). as usual, Your Experiences Are Not Universal.

COVID trauma is very real and understandable, but this level of utter vitriol and loathing for people who don't feel viscerally contaminated when they step outside is just not reflective of reality, and it's certainly not useful for you or anyone else.

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part V

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t just taken out—you were put on display. Ben let them look, let them want, but he never let them touch. He made sure you felt it. The weight of their stares, the slow burn of humiliation mixing with something darker, deeper. You are starting to realise how much that drink really cost.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,239

A/N: AHHHH!! I'm not sure I've proofread this properly because my brain feels like it's full of bees. I've had too much caffeine today and after doing so many tattoos at work, I genuinely think the vibration of my machine has done something to my body. Lmao. More of The Boys characters making an appearance, lmk what you thought of that, please. I lowkey (highkey, always highkey) loves writing John. The smarmy piece of shit. We are starting to see what really gets Ben going... and it's a lil bit dangerous, besties. <3 As always, please let me know what ya'll thought, I loved the desperation in this one. I felt it so bad while I was writing it so I hope that's translated across to y'all. You know what's up: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Until the next one, bbys. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Butcher barely threw the car into park before he jerked his chin toward the door.

"Go on, then. He said to send you straight up." He waved a hand, settling into his seat like he had no intention of moving. "Keepin' the car warm 'til you're ready."

You blinked. "We're leaving as soon as I'm ready?"

"That’s what I just said, innit?"

Your stomach flipped. Of course, Ben had a plan. Of course, he hadn’t told you what it was.

"Thanks again," you murmured before stepping out. Butcher just let out a gruff exhale, shaking his head like you were something both amusing and mildly exhausting.

The building loomed above you, sleek and modern, towering over the street like it owned the entire city. You swallowed, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before stepping inside, the quiet hum of wealth pressing down on you the second you crossed the threshold. The elevator ride was smooth, too smooth, and before you knew it, you were knocking on his penthouse door.

It swung open a second later, and there he was.

Ben.

Looking like every single one of your worst fucking weaknesses wrapped up in dark dress pants and an off-white button-down.

He was mid-motion, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs, thick forearms flexing as he straightened the fabric over his arms. The way he stood, the way he filled the doorway, exuding heat and control, had your stomach plummeting and your brain short-circuiting all at once.

You didn’t even try to hide the way you gawped. Couldn’t.

His smirk stretched slow, knowing. "Gonna stand there makin’ heart-eyes all night, or are you comin’ in?"

Heat flooded up your neck. You scowled, stepping inside, and Ben huffed a low, indulgent laugh.

"Got your dress ready," he added, shutting the door behind you, towering close as he reached past you to lock it.

You glanced up. "Oh? We’re going out-out?"

His response was a hand on your throat, fingers curling firm against your pulse as he yanked you in, crashing his mouth over yours.

It was messy, all heat and possession, your back hitting the door as he crowded into you, swallowing the tiny noise you made. He kissed you like he was making a fucking point, like he wanted to leave his taste in your mouth, his fingerprints against your skin. By the time he pulled back, his breath was ragged against your lips, and yours was completely fucking wrecked.

Then he grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

You scowled, breathless, and he laughed, mocking. "Fuckin’ look at you," he murmured, thumb dragging over your jaw. "Gettin’ all shy again. Jesus."

You glared, shoving weakly at his chest, but he only caught your wrist, pressing it flat against the solid heat of him before finally letting go.

"Go shower," he said, still smirking. "Get cleaned up."

You didn’t argue. Just turned on your heel and disappeared into the bathroom, heart still slamming against your ribs.

By the time you emerged, showered, dried, and painted into the deep green dress he’d picked for you, you barely recognised yourself.

The satin draped smooth over your curves, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease, the slinky hem skimming high over your thighs. Strappy black heels clicked softly against the floor as you turned in front of the mirror, taking yourself in.

You looked—

Like a fucking fraud. Like someone playing dress-up in a world they didn’t belong to, wrapped in luxury that wasn’t meant for them.

A thick swallow worked down your throat. You curled your hands into fists at your sides, blinking at your own reflection like you could force yourself to believe it.

And then he stepped into the room. You felt it before you saw it—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence sinking deep into your spine. When you turned, he was in the doorway, leaning, watching.

His lips parted slightly, his head tilting, slow and predatory as his gaze dragged over every inch of you.

The heat in his eyes, the slow curl of his lip, the sharp clench of his jaw—

Fuck.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, almost to himself, teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he was already picturing the ways he was gonna ruin you later.

Your breath caught. His stare was unapologetic. Unfiltered. Fucking lethal. Then he pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward you, big hands curling around your waist as he came to stand behind you in the mirror.

"You look good," he murmured, voice low against your ear, grip tightening. "Really fuckin’ good."

A shiver rolled through you. You met his eyes in the reflection, stomach flipping violently. "You think so?"

"Mhm." He hummed, dragging his thumbs over your hipbones before pressing something into your palm.

You blinked. Looked down.

A tiny, ridiculously expensive gift bag.

Your brows furrowed as you peered up at him. "What’s this?"

Ben smirked, reaching into the bag to pull out a velvet case, flipping it open with a casual flick of his wrist. A diamond necklace glittered inside.

Small, delicate, but obviously stupidly fucking expensive.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening as you stared.

"Ben, I—"

"Uh-uh," he cut in, already reaching to take it from the case. "I don’t wanna hear it."

You blinked up at him, lips parting, head shaking slightly. "I can’t—"

He laughed. Actually laughed. Then reached down, gripped your chin, and forced you to look him in the eye.

"You can," he murmured, tone all slow, deep amusement, "and you will."

Your stomach flipped violently. Your pulse slammed.

He stepped behind you again, dragging the delicate chain around your throat, fingers brushing the sides of your neck as he clasped it shut.

When he was done, he met your gaze in the mirror again.

"There," he murmured, hands settling firm on your waist, lips ghosting over your ear. "Now you look like you belong to me."

You couldn't stop staring.

The two of you in the mirror—towering and tiny, dark and delicate, predator and prize.

Ben stood behind you, impossibly broad, impeccably dressed, the stark stretch of white against dark, muscles taut beneath expensive fabric. He filled the frame, wrapped around you, making you look even smaller in comparison. His hands on your waist, large and heavy, branding through the satin of your dress.

You were perfectly put together. Painted, dressed, adorned—

His pretty little doll.

And as if he could hear the exact thought crawling through your head, he hummed, low and knowing, dipping his lips to your ear.

"Look at you." His voice was deep, indulgent, fingers flexing against your ribs. "Look at how well you fit right here."

A shiver rolled through you, sharp and unavoidable, your breathing uneven as he brushed his lips down the side of your throat, slow, teasing. The mirror trapped you in the image, forced you to watch—the way his mouth brushed your skin, the way his teeth grazed, nipped, soothed with heat.

Your pulse stuttered, but you couldn’t look away.

Ben smirked against your jaw. "You like that, huh?" His lips ghosted over your throat, warm, deliberate, possessive. "Like seein' what’s yours?"

Yours. The word shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did.

You swallowed, nails curling into your palms, struggling to catch your breath. Ben didn’t let up. He pressed closer, a slow, consuming thing, his hand splaying flat over your stomach as he let his teeth sink into the side of your neck.

A quiet gasp escaped you. He dragged his tongue over the mark, holding your gaze through the mirror, daring you to break it.

"If we don’t leave now," he murmured, low and dangerous, "we never will." His fingers curled against your hip, slow and threatening. "’Cause I’m gonna rip this pretty fuckin' dress off you."

Your pulse hammered. You nodded. Just once.

His smirk stretched. "Smart girl."

The elevator ride was silent, save for the heavy press of his hand against your back, the occasional flex of his fingers against your waist like he was reminding himself to behave.

By the time you stepped outside, the car was still idling at the curb. Butcher barely looked up as you climbed in, but Ben pulled you in tight the second you hit the seat. One arm curled around your waist, yanking you flush against him, his grip unshakable.

You barely had time to process it before the city started moving past you in a blur of neon and darkness.

Ben was calm, comfortable. One hand on your thigh, the other resting on the door, completely at ease like he was taking you out for a casual drink. Like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes devouring your throat in the mirror.

Your breathing was still uneven, your body too hot, skin too aware of him. He knew it, too. You could feel the way his thumb stroked over your bare thigh, lazy, amused.

You turned your head to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. "Where are we going?"

Ben’s lips quirked. "You’ll see."

You swallowed. Something about the way he said it—something about the anticipation dripping from his voice—made your stomach twist.

You knew the place was exclusive before the car even rolled to a stop.

It loomed ahead of you—dark, sleek, pulsing with bass even from the outside. The kind of place that didn’t have a name on the front, didn’t need one. People at the entrance weren’t waiting. They were being let in, personally.

And as Butcher pulled up, the staff was already waiting.

Ben let out a quiet hum, lips twitching as he nodded toward the door. "Showtime."

The second you stepped out, the world shifted.

The inside was low-lit, throbbing with music, heady with smoke and perfume and expensive liquor. Lush, velvet booths lined the perimeter, sleek gold-lined tables filled with whiskey and cigars, women draped across men like fucking ornaments.

Everything was rich. Everything was power. And the second Ben stepped inside, people noticed. Men, women, staff, patrons—eyes followed. Not just him. You.

Your skin prickled. The barely-there dress suddenly felt like nothing at all, every inch of your exposed skin hypersensitive, aware of the stares, the weight of being seen.

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened.

Your pulse slammed. You swallowed, gaze darting through the dim glow of chandeliers, the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating powerful men surrounded by pretty things.

Ben was one of them.

And you—

Were you one of them too?

Your breath stuttered.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your ribs, warm, grounding. When you looked up at him, he was already watching, already smirking.

Smug. So fucking smug.

His brow ticked up in something almost playful, like he was reading your exact fucking thoughts and confirming them without a word.

Yeah. They’re looking at us.

A slow curl of something hot and unfamiliar twisted deep in your stomach.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird trying desperately to escape its confinement within your chest.

The booth Ben led you to was different. Bigger. Elevated. The kind of place that overlooked everything, but just as easily put everything on display.

And as he tugged you forward, your stomach twisted, because this wasn’t just a seat. It was a stage. The men already inside barely reacted to Ben’s arrival. They didn’t have to.

The first was blonde, striking, arrogant as fuck. He lounged back with two stunning girls draped over him, one curled against his side, the other on her knees beside him, stroking a hand over his thigh. He barely looked at them. The second was quieter, confident, composed. He sat with a woman across his lap, her body soft and relaxed against him, eyes half-lidded like she was lost somewhere far away.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to.

Ben wasted no time in pleasantries. Instead, he pulled you forward—hard, fast, claiming. Your breath hitched, a startled squeal slipping out as you landed in his lap, gripping the hem of your dress in some desperate attempt at modesty.

Your cheeks burned. The other men watched.

Ben didn’t care. His hand curled firm over your thigh, fingers pressing into the satin, securing you in place.

"John. Earving," Ben said smoothly, nodding once. "This is—"

"It's about time you showed up," the blonde—John—cut in. But his eyes weren’t really on Ben.

They were on you. Flicking, darting, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. Not subtle. Not polite.

Ben just smirked. Pulled you in closer, like he was reminding John exactly who you belonged to. The pressure of his grip made your pulse stutter, breath catching as he let his fingers flex against your skin. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Didn’t know where to put your hands, your legs, your fucking eyes.

John leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose, still watching. Still smirking.

Earving remained silent, only nodding once in your direction—not dismissive, not interested, just acknowledging.

Ben? Ben was comfortable. Completely fucking at ease. "Got caught up," he said casually, voice smug, heavy with knowing.

John’s lips twitched. "Yeah?" His gaze flicked to you, then back to Ben. "Looks like it."

Ben hummed, dragging his palm higher on your thigh, lazy, deliberate.

The conversation flowed from there—smooth, rich with arrogance, an unspoken pissing contest that Ben won without even trying. John had this restless energy, the kind that made him lean in when he spoke, like he was always in the middle of some game, some unspoken chess-match, some performance.

But Ben just fucking was. Effortless. Smirking. Sitting like a king with you draped over him, completely unmoved by John’s little one-upmanship.

Earving only spoke when necessary, his voice low, even, unbothered. He didn’t need to prove anything.

John, however, thrived on it. The back-and-forth between him and Ben was sharp, competitive, smug as hell.

You weren’t really listening. Not properly. Because even though Ben was talking, his hand hadn’t left your thigh. Even though his attention was elsewhere, he was still holding you down, still keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And the worst part?

You were hyper-aware of it.

Of the way the fabric of your dress rode higher. Of the way his fingers curled, flexed, pressed deep into muscle.

It was too much. Too tight, too possessive, too on display.

John murmured something low, something you didn’t catch, but it made Ben chuckle. He smoothed his palm over your leg, let it linger.

"Not this one," Ben said.

John raised a brow, sending a quick glance toward the dance floor before looking back. "Shame."

You blinked, stomach flipping in something sharp, unfamiliar. John had sent his girls away. Earving had, too. But Ben hadn’t let you go.

John’s smirk deepened. He leaned back, exhaling slow. "You always were possessive, Benny."

Ben just laughed. Not a real one. Not a full one. Just a low, indulgent exhale as he squeezed your thigh, pulling you even closer.

And all you could do was sit there—stuck, displayed, knowing you were being fucking ogled and not sure if you hated it, liked it, or couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.

You barely heard the conversation.

Ben’s grip on your thigh hadn’t loosened, hadn’t eased—not even when the conversation between him and John turned easy, almost entertaining. It was a game between them, an unspoken back-and-forth, a competition Ben didn’t even have to try to win.

But he wasn’t just talking.

His free hand, the one that wasn’t still curled possessively around your thigh, drifted up, slow and absent, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. Tugging. Adjusting. Moving your hair aside until the side of your neck was bare, open, exposed.

And then—

His lips. They brushed, barely there, over the curve of your throat. A slow, deliberate pressure, not really a kiss, not really not.

You inhaled sharply.

Ben exhaled warm against your skin, humming low in acknowledgment to something John said, like this was nothing, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Like he wasn’t dragging you under, deeper, deeper.

His mouth brushed again, then pressed firmer, lingering. Then—teeth. A slow graze, a teasing nip, just enough to make your breath falter, to send a sharp twist of heat straight to your stomach.

Like you weren’t even there. Like this was just a habit, a mindless touch, something he didn’t even have to think about.

You swallowed hard, body tight, tense, curling in on itself even as your thighs pressed together.

He wasn’t listening to you. He wasn’t even acknowledging you. But at the same time, he was. A kiss, a nip, the briefest scrape of teeth before he soothed the mark with his tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap. You could barely sit still.

And then John spoke, and you realised he was actually talking to you.

"Lucky girl."

You blinked, awareness snapping back into sharp focus, stomach twisting when you found John watching you.

The way he was watching you.

Ben’s mouth didn’t stop. Another slow, open-mouthed drag against your neck, the faintest scrape of teeth before his tongue flicked soft against the spot he’d just nipped.

You cleared your throat, or tried to, heat pressing up, up, up.

"I—" You swallowed, steadied yourself. "I do consider myself lucky."

John hummed, slow and mocking. His gaze dragged over you in a way that made your skin prickle, crawl, burn.

Overt. Obvious.

Like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, undressing you right there.

Your stomach lurched.

"And what is it you do, sweetheart?" He asked, voice all faux charm.

You hesitated. Ben squeezed your thigh.

"College student," you murmured.

The second the words left your mouth, John’s entire expression shifted. His eyes flicked to Ben, grinning wide, mockingly delighted, as he clapped his hands together in faux celebration.

"Ohhh, Benjamin’s got himself a little college pet!" He cooed, voice dripping with amusement.

Your stomach dropped.

Ben’s mouth stilled against your neck. His fingers flexed tight into your thigh. Then he bit. Sharp, sudden, full teeth sinking in just enough to make you jolt, make you gasp.

John just laughed. "Ah, come on. Don’t give me that look! You’re the one parading her around like this."

Ben lifted his head just slightly, lazily, unbothered. He exhaled slow against your neck, then smirked as he turned to John. "She’s not my pet," he muttered against your skin, lips warm, hands tightening against your thigh.

John just laughed, leaning back into the booth, shaking his head. "Oh, you could’ve fooled me, Ben. You’re about ready to fuck into her right here in front of everyone, aren’t you?"

The breath in your lungs turned sharp.

Ben laughed. Loud. "Yeah," he admitted easily, almost shamelessly, before grinning against your throat.

Your breath caught. Heat roiled deep in your gut.

"But it’s her fault," Ben continued, voice low, indulgent. His fingers curled against your hip, gripping tight. "Such a perfect little doll."

Your pulse faltered.

John hummed, taking another slow sip of his drink, waiting, watching.

Ben pressed his mouth against your neck one last time, lips trailing up to your jaw, barely ghosting against your skin as he spoke.

"I mean, fuckin’ look at her," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he forgot anyone else was in the room.

His grip on you tightened. His voice turned ragged, something low and heated and uncontrollable slipping through the cracks.

"Goddamn it," he exhaled. "Of course I’m ready to fuck into her right now."

Your stomach twisted. Mortified. Objectified. Completely on display. And yet—the way Ben held you, the way he spoke about you like you were something he owned, something he could barely control himself around—

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling deep, unbearable. You hated it. You loved it.

And Ben? Ben knew.

John scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk curling sharp, cruel, his gaze sliding over you like something oily, invasive, lingering too long in places he had no business looking. "You’re really not gonna share?"

The words slithered between you like something sickly, decadent, wrong. A test. A provocation. A taunt that was only half a joke.

Ben’s body went rigid.

He growled.

Low, guttural, animalistic. It rumbled through his chest, vibrated beneath your spine where you sat curled against him, the sound dragging over your skin like a brand, like a warning. Primal. Possessive. Final.

Your breath caught.

John’s eyes lit up, going wide and gleeful, something almost manic in the way he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching Ben like he’d just discovered a new favourite toy. Delighted. Dangerous. Unhinged.

"Jesus, Benny," he laughed, his smirk stretching, voice laced with a sick sort of amusement. Hungry. "Did you just fucking growl at me?"

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip going tight, unyielding, and then his voice dropped, rough and rasped at the edges, a single word.

"Mine."

Your stomach flipped. A slow, dizzying spiral, plunging straight down.

John exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head, laughing, his tongue running along his teeth before he leaned back again, stretching lazily. "Christ, you’re no fun anymore," he tsked, waving a dismissive hand. "Didn’t think you got this territorial."

Your head spun. Your breath hitched.

Ben had always been possessive, yes, but this? This was different. This was dangerous. A claim being laid with teeth and hands and the weight of his body caging you in, forcing you to feel the gravity of it. Of him.

And before you could fully process it, before your lungs could catch up with your racing pulse, his fingers drifted higher.

Your entire body went stiff, your breath choking short in your throat, your hands flying to his wrist, weak and useless, a pitiful attempt to stop him.

Ben barely reacted. Just gripped you harder.

"Be a fuckin’ good girl," he murmured, voice silken, razor-edged, dragging the words through your skin, through your bones, making them settle low, thick, intoxicating.

Your pulse pounded. Your legs clenched. Your vision swam.

Ben hummed low in his throat, pleased, his thumb pressing, dragging, toying.

John watched. All amusement, all smirk, all entertained indulgence.

"That’s the Benjamin I remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "Fucking insatiable."

Heat crawled up your throat, something searing and unbearable pressing against your ribcage, tangling into something hot and needy at the pit of your stomach. Shame and want warring, devouring each other in real time.

"Not gettin’ her cunt out," Ben muttered, his thumb circling slow, lazy, menacing. "Just touchin’ what’s mine."

Your stomach plummeted.

John chuckled, his fingers tapping against his knee, entirely unbothered, entirely too fucking entertained.

Ben’s voice dipped even lower, his grip tightening, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"Don’t give a fuck who’s watchin’."

Your world tilted. Your body was hot and tight and drowning, sinking, suffocating under the weight of it all.

And Ben was dragging you under.

The pressure built too fast.

Ben’s fingers moved slow, measured, knowing exactly where to press, exactly how much pressure to give, exactly how to unravel you in the palm of his hand. Casual and cruel all at once.

Your breath stuttered, hips shifting involuntarily, the sensation too much, too tight, too overwhelming. It hit you like a storm breaking open over your skin, rolling over you in thick, suffocating waves.

And Ben knew. Of course he knew.

His smirk stretched against the shell of your ear, pleased, smug, like he could feel the way you were starting to tremble, like he could hear every sharp inhale, every hitched breath, every tiny, humiliating little sound your body made for him.

You felt the exact moment he figured it out—the second his thumb pressed just right, just deep enough, and your stomach clenched, your pulse hammering, your body tightening as you neared the edge too fast.

Then he stopped. Completely. Pulled his hand away like he was done, like he was fucking bored.

You nearly whined. Nearly.

A rush of relief and frustration collided in your chest, mortified at how close you’d been, how he’d wound you up and let you dangle, hanging in that unbearable space between ruin and relief.

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, an attempt to hold onto something, to chase what he’d taken away.

Ben just chuckled under his breath. Like he knew exactly what you were doing. His hand stayed on you, just resting against your thigh now, possessive in a way that said you don’t get to move unless I tell you to.

Then, like nothing had happened, he raised a lazy hand to flag down a passing staff member.

"Whiskey," he muttered, a single flick of his fingers. "Two bottles."

The server nodded, quick and efficient, disappearing back into the dark.

Your chest heaved, the absence of his touch almost worse than its presence, your nerves still alight, still aching.

Ben said nothing at first, just let the silence stretch, let you sit in it, simmer in it.

Then the server was back, placing two deep amber bottles onto the low table beside you. Ben grabbed one, popped the top, and poured you a glass first, an ice cube clinking softly against the crystal.

He held it out, fingers wrapped around the rim, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you. Waiting.

"Drink up," he murmured.

You took it without thinking, lifting the glass to your lips, letting the burn hit your tongue, your throat, trailing heat all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

And fuck—

Your entire body sighed. The tension inside you loosened, just slightly, enough for you to exhale, to let your head drop back against his shoulder in something blissful, unguarded.

Ben let out a low groan. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair, his breath fanning hot over your temple as he inhaled, deep and slow.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice thick, gritted with something molten. "It’s so fuckin’ hot that you drink whiskey like that."

A slow ripple of something dangerous rolled down your spine.

He smirked, dragging his nose against your hair before reaching for his own glass, knocking back his whiskey in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No reaction. Just heat and control and power.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he poured another for himself, and another for you.

You took it without a word. Let the burn settle deep in your stomach. Let the moment wrap around you like a second skin, thick and golden and suffocating.

John exhaled a laugh, breaking the silence. "You are..." he started, smirking, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, head tilting slightly as he watched you. "Very interesting."

Your pulse skipped.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your hip. Hard.

John grinned, leaning forward slightly, tipping his glass in your direction before knocking it back. "Don’t see Benny like this with his girls."

Ben went still.

Then—

"Shut the fuck up, John."

The words were low, sharp, dangerous.

John just laughed, shaking his head, waving a dismissive hand, but his eyes were still locked on you, still watching. Still pushing.

"Oh, come on," he drawled, smirking. "What, am I not allowed to be a little curious?"

Ben’s fingers dug in harder.

John leaned in, his eyes flashing, something electric dancing beneath his smirk. "She’s different."

Your breath hitched. Ben’s hand tightened at your waist, keeping you anchored, grounded, owned.

John grinned. "You don’t like that I noticed, huh?"

Ben’s jaw flexed, something dark flickering through his expression.

John only laughed again, shaking his head. Still pushing.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type, Benjamin. Thought you kept them at arm’s length. You know, fuck them, leave them, let them float away."

Ben smirked, slow and dangerous. Teeth bared, but not a hint of humour in his eyes.

"Not this one."

Your stomach flipped.

John hummed, tilting his head. "Oh? And what makes her so special?"

Ben didn’t answer right away. Just knocked back his whiskey. Then leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear.

"You feel it, don’t you?" He murmured, voice low, private, meant for you and you alone. "What we are."

Your pulse slammed.

John kept smirking. Waiting. Watching.

And you? You just sat there, head spinning, whiskey burning in your stomach, Ben’s hands branding you into his lap, knowing, without a doubt, that something had shifted.

Something irreversible. And there was no coming back from it now.

Time blurred.

John needled at Ben a little longer, smug and relentless, but eventually, the dynamic shifted. The girls came back, slipping into their places, curling against laps, draping over broad shoulders like living adornments. Earving’s remained quiet, content, while John’s giggled and whispered, feeding his ego as they sank back into his orbit.

Ben kept one bottle of whiskey for the two of you and lazily slid the other across the table to the other men. A wordless gesture. A statement.

He let you drink two more glasses—two more slow burns down your throat, spreading warmth in your stomach, making you soft, languid.

Then, just as you reached for a third, his hand caught yours, steady, firm.

"That’s enough," he muttered, voice low against your ear.

You blinked up at him, lips parting, a protest forming—but he was already shaking his head, smirking.

"I know you can handle your liquor, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist, deliberate, knowing. "But I got plans for you when we get home."

You shivered. Not just at his touch, not just at his voice, but at the way he said it.

Home.

Like his penthouse was yours, too. Your stomach dipped.

Ben felt it. Of course he did. His smirk stretched just slightly before he let your wrist go, returning to his drink like nothing had happened.

And then he started on his earlier torture again. His hand drifted under the table, casual, absent, curling around your thigh, stroking smooth against the satin. A tease. A promise.

And then he pushed higher. Pressed. Moved.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as he touched you exactly where you needed him, exactly how you needed him. Heat bloomed, sharp and unbearable, and your hips shifted, desperate for more.

Ben felt it. And then, just when you were about to shatter—he stopped. Again.

Your breath stuttered, frustration burning hot in your chest, a humiliating twist of need curling low in your stomach.

Ben just smirked. He kept you like that. On edge, wanting, hovering at the precipice but never letting you fall. Again and again, he built you up��featherlight strokes, pressure in all the right places, letting you drown in the sensation until you were trembling.

And then? Gone. Every time, just before the crest, just before relief, he ripped it away, left you raw, left you aching.

Your head was spinning. Your breath came uneven, your hands gripping his thigh, your entire body coiled so tight you thought you might snap.

Then, finally—finally—he leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear, his voice low, guttural, wicked.

"Gotta get you home," he muttered, gravel and heat, dragging slow against your skin. "Need you fuckin' stuffed. Startin' to hurt over here."

Your stomach plummeted.

You barely registered the moment he called it a night, barely lifted your head to nod your farewell to John, Earving, and their companions before Ben was pulling you up, dragging you out of the booth, guiding you through the club with a hand firm on your waist.

The second the door shut behind you, the second you were outside, his grip tightened.

You barely had time to breathe before he hauled you straight into the backseat of his car, hands groping, gripping, pulling you into his lap like he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else.

"Ben—" you started, shifting, squirming, embarrassed.

"Stop bein' a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered, low and sharp, before shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You gasped, but the sound was swallowed immediately, overtaken by the press of his lips, the dominance of his grip, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your ass, fisting your dress, dragging you forward until there was nothing between you, just friction and heat and the thick, hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Your body reacted before your brain could keep up. A slow, shattering surrender. Butcher cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. Ben barely acknowledged him.

Butcher exhaled a gruff, amused huff. "Get a room, would ya?"

Ben broke the kiss only long enough to glare over your shoulder. "Shut the fuck up and do your job."

Butcher chuckled. "Real fuckin’ romantic, mate."

Ben growled, his grip tightening at your waist. "Keep talkin’, see what fuckin' happens."

Butcher just laughed again, shaking his head as he pulled into the city, weaving through traffic like this was the most normal night in the world.

Your mind was a blur. Ben didn’t stop touching you. Didn’t stop gripping, squeezing, dragging his hands over you like he was barely holding himself back.

And then the car slowed. The building loomed. Before you could register it, Ben had the door open, lifting you with ease, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Ben—!" You gasped, squirming as he clamped a hand on the back of your thigh, keeping you still.

"Shut up," he muttered, completely unbothered, completely in control.

Butcher rolled his eyes, shouting out the window, as he threw the car into park. "I ain’t comin' up there to help if you fuck her unconscious, mate. Just so we’re clear."

Ben smirked, stepping inside the building, heading straight for the elevator. "Don’t worry, pal. I fuckin' got her."

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling thick and unbearable, nerves coiling tight.

Because you knew. You knew. You weren’t walking out of that penthouse in the same condition you came in.

The elevator doors had barely started to slide open before Ben was moving. A force of nature, a storm breaking open, hands and heat and unrelenting hunger. He stumbled out backwards, dragging you with him, his grip unyielding, his mouth already back on your throat, biting, licking, sucking, marking.

And then—

He shoved you into the wall. Hard. The impact sent a shockwave through your bones, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as your spine hit the cold surface, your head tilting back—

And something crashed to the floor beside you.

Art. Priceless. Elegant.

Shattered.

Ben didn’t even fucking notice. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, throat, collarbone, sinking in, taking, devouring. His teeth broke skin, sharp and unrelenting, and you whimpered, body arching into him, head spinning, your nails digging into the fabric at his shoulders, the scent of whiskey, musk, sweat, desire thick between you.

You barely had time to process the pain before he was gripping your hair, yanking your head to the side, tugging at your dress, your panties, his fingers tearing, dragging, ruining everything in his path.

Another impact. Another thud. Another piece of art sent crashing to the ground.

The hallway was just that—a hallway, leading only to his penthouse suite. No neighbours. No audience. Just you and him and the destruction in his wake.

And then the door. Ben barely got it open before he was stumbling inside, dragging you with him, the door slamming shut so hard it rattled in its frame.

You barely caught a glimpse of the dim lighting, the scattered remnants of whatever chaos he’d left behind earlier before he tripped. An empty bottle. A careless misstep. His body tilted, his grip tightened, and suddenly the world flipped.

You landed on top of him, his back hitting the ground with a solid, air-knocking thud, his hands still gripping your waist, his chest rising hard and fast beneath you.

"Ben—" you gasped, immediately bracing your hands on his chest. Worried. "Are you—"

He cut you off with a sharp tug to your hair, yanking you down until your lips crashed over his, swallowing whatever concern you might have had.

"Not a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered against your mouth, before sucking your tongue into his own, biting it, tasting it, claiming it.

You whimpered, hips shifting over him, needing, desperate, gone.

His hands were already moving. A rough yank—seam tearing, fabric giving, your panties ruined in his grip. Another shift—his belt unbuckling, his pants shoved down just enough, all harsh movement, all impatience, all fucking need.

And then—

He rutted up against you, hard, frantic, desperate, panting.

Not inside. Not yet. Just dragging against you, pressing against where you were already soaked, already aching.

You moaned. Loud. Unfiltered. Gone.

He growled, gripping your hips, dragging you against him, fucking up into you with no rhythm, no thought, no control.

Just desperation.

Ben didn’t waste a single second. Didn’t pause, didn’t give you time to adjust—just grabbed your hips, slammed you down onto him, and fucked up into you so hard it made your vision white out.

You were already too far gone, too strung out, too desperate. Hours—hours—of build-up, denial, his hands on you, keeping you teetering on the edge just to shove you back down.

Now? He wasn’t stopping.

His pace was blistering, brutal, relentless. Each thrust punching sharp little noises from your throat, your hands splaying against his chest, your nails digging deep, useless at slowing him down.

"Fuckin’ liked showin' you off," he growled, voice raw, shredded at the edges. Possessive. Mean.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s grip tightened, his fingers branding, his rhythm punishing.

"Made those cocksuckers jealous. Lookin’ at you. Wantin' you."

Your head spun, your stomach twisting at his words, at the way he said them—gritted, wrecked, adoring. You gasped, clenching around him, and Ben felt it.

His teeth flashed, baring, snarling. "Yeah. You like that, huh? Like knowin' they fuckin' wanted you?"

His thumb dragged down, pressed against your clit, started circling, teasing.

You screamed.

Ben groaned, wrecked and hungry and full of need. "Fuckin’ perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, his eyes glued to your face, watching you, devouring you.

Then, his lips curled—sharp, filthy, taunting.

"So fuckin’ good for me. Lettin' me show you off. Lettin' me own you in front of them." His thumb pressed harder, his pace somehow rougher, deeper, faster. "Good fuckin’ girl."

Your nails scraped, raked, dug in. Your body trembled, locking up, curling in on itself.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick, sinful, reverent. "That’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at you. Fuck. So good. So wet. So fuckin’ perfect."

It was too much.

The tension snapped. Your orgasm hit fast, overwhelming, shattering, tearing a raw sob from your throat as you came apart around him.

Ben groaned, deep and guttural, his hands dragging you down, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, his pupils blown wide, ravenous.

And then—

"Shit—fuck—can’t hold out, sorry, baby—"

A rough yank. A sharp thrust. Ben dragged you down, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a growl that rattled the fucking floor.

His body shook, his hands gripping you so tight you knew you’d have bruises. He was panting, wrecked, shaking, staring up at you like you were the only fucking thing that existed. And then his lips curled into a sneer, his voice dropping, wrecked and ruined and filthy.

"Fuck. Made for me. So fuckin’ tight." He exhaled sharp through his nose, eyes still locked onto yours. "Jesus Christ, baby, I think I just saw God."

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your jaw, pulled you down, and crashed his lips over yours again.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads <3

[amysubmits]

I had to come find this old thread to add this song that isn't new but I just found it this week even though it's folk not country. If a singer looks republican but isn't, that's close enough to 'country' IMO. 😆

That night on the roof of the school when we were talking at stars And you said that you might be afraid of who you really are Your hand touched my hand and retreated in that desperate dark And I called you a faggot and laughed and punched you in the arm

I don't believe it I can't believe it now I can't believe how I let you down

The church was a boot on your neck since the day you were born They didn't like the way that you talk or how you move in the world How you glide like a leaf on the water all gentle and kind The world wants a man who is hard not hard to define

And then I realized I had more I didn't add before.

If she ever leaves, it's gonna be for a woman with more time Who's not afraid to let her dreams come true If she ever gives her careful heart to somebody new Well, it won't be for a cowboy like you

I could have been somebody's father I couldn't boil a pot of water I was nineteen years old in 1990

Raised in the church Washed in the blood, we all were Saved before we even left home I thank god you weren't brought up like me With all that shame and uncertainty And I'm sorry you had to go in that room alone

Jamie found a boyfriend With smiling eyes and dark skin And her daddy never spoke another word to her again

The old man at the Quickstop Lying to the county cops And laughing like his soul was without sin

How did he get so low? Seems like just a week ago She was sitting on your shoulders watching fireworks in the sky

He treats her like a queen But you don't know 'cause you ain't seen It's hard to go through life without your daddy by your side

Don't wash the cast iron skillet This town won't get no better, will it? She found love and it was simple as a weather vane But her own family tried to kill it

This one actually belongs to John Prine who I usually love, but I prefer Johnny's cover and minor change to the lyrics. Sorry Prine.

Someone's children out having children In a gray stone building all alone

From a teenage lover to an unwed mother Kept undercover like some bad dream While unwed fathers, they can't be bothered They run like water through a mountain stream

This one might feel like a big stretch for some, but IMO there's a huge overlap with authoritarian politics an authoritarian parenting, religion, etc so a song about childhood trauma makes sense to throw in here, for me.

Walkin’ through the halls with a bullet-proof backpack Ain't old enough to buy your own cold beer Y'all ain't the ones who make the rules 'round here Eat your peas and say your prayers Hush your mouth and brush your hair Who do you think you are, kid?

We need to put the “I’m in prison for killing a cop.” energy back in country music. We need to put the “I really hate the establishment so much. Abolish prison. Beat up your boss.” energy back in country music. We need to put the “I feel so bad for disappointing my mommy.” energy back in country.

[maskedcrawford]

Hidden Secrets

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: You tell Jiyong about your pregnancy and things are great, till they aren't.

Warnings: ANGST my friends. Loss of a baby and delivery of it. Not a lot of comfort in this chapter. Please read at your own risk.

A/n: I'm so sorry y'all. However, I do have a plan, don't give up on it yet. I'm so sorry though. I'm happy to give a summary if anyone need's it. Take care of yourselves! <3

Chapter 8

Hidden Secrets Masterlist

Chapter 9- Still Life

Jiyong is a nervous wreck all day.

“Why wouldn’t she just tell me though, why would she go to the doctor?”

“Maybe she just wants to be absolutely sure before she tells you, that way she doesn’t get your hopes up or she doesn’t scare you,” Daesung explains to his friend.

“Just give it time, Ji. It can take a few days to get the results back.” Taeyang says calmly.

“Do you know how hard it is trying to act like I don’t know a thing,” he asks his friends. They all give him sympathetic smiles.

“You’ll know soon enough and then it won’t be a secret anymore,” Seunghyun mentions.

-

That night Jiyong decides to give you a call. You’re making dinner when the phone rings.

“Hey, baby,” you coo and Jiyong’s palms are sweaty and nervous. He’s walking back to his hotel room.

“Hey, have you heard from the doctor today?” You take your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ve barely had time to process, still unsure of your future.

“Not, not yet. It should be in the next couple days though,” you lie. You give him a plastic smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks as he shuts the door to his room.

“Anything,” you smile as you continue making your dinner, now for 2.

“I think it’d be amazing if you are,” he mumbles.

“If I’m,” you pause and take a deep breath, “Pregnant?” you look at the phone and he nods.

“Yeah, I mean a mini you or me running around,” you can hear the joy in his voice at the thought of a baby. You shut your eyes for a minute.

“Well, at least I know you wouldn’t freak out if I am.” You try to laugh off.

“Listen, I don’t want to sway you, but if you are, just know we can do it. We can figure it all out.” He almost sounds as if he’s pleading.

“What if we can’t?” you ask turning off the stove.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Ji, IF we have a baby, I mean, I’d be here by myself with it all day everyday if you’re on tour, you’d be gone most of the pregnancy, I don-wouldn’t,” you quickly correct, “want to do this alone. And yet even if you’re here, I’m still the one carrying it.” You sigh and his face briefly looks fearful before he covers it with a look of understanding.

“You just tell me what you want and we’ll figure it out. But please, either way. Just tell me.” You nod at his request.

“Well I still haven’t heard anything so I may not be,” you feign a smile and he purses his lips, doing his best not to let it slip that he knows.

“Listen, I’m kind of tired, I’m gonna lay down. Goodluck at your show tonight,” you say before ending the call before he can say anything else. You sigh and feel a few frustrated tears fall from your eyes. You walk to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, your hands placing around your stomach.

“What are we gonna do? I mean, I’m not ready for you,” you talk to it.

“I know your Appa,” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them and you feel a tug in your emotions. The weight of the situation is finally sinking in. You were actually pregnant with Jiyong’s baby.

“Your Appa says we can do it,” you whisper as you look down at your tummy.

“But I don’t know if I can be the Eomma you need,” you cradle your stomach. You suddenly feel another tug at your heart strings as tears well up in your eyes. There really is a small growing human inside of your body, one that while small, you slightly feel connected to.

-

The following morning you make an appointment with your obgyn and luckily she has an appointment available that same day. You get yourself ready and show up to the appointment. You go in and she informs you that you’re now 4 weeks along. You see the ultrasound monitor and what looks like a tiny little bean on the screen.

You take a deep breath as reality slaps you in the face. Everytime you think you’ve dealt with it, reality keeps making it more and more real.

“Do you want to talk about your options,” she asks carefully.

“So you mean to tell me that, that’s in here?” you ask in disbelief as you point to your stomach, your eyes never leaving the monitor. She nods with an understanding smile.

“Yep.”

“Mine and his dna,” you whisper to yourself.

“Wait, options, what options?”

“Well, if you want to terminate, the options is still there. Or you could look at adoption if you aren't sure you want to keep it,” you feel a nauseous feeling in your stomach at her words. You shake your head.

“N-no I don’t need to know about that. What I do need to know is how the heck do I take care of it while it’s growing and when would I be due?”

“Well, you’ll need to listen to your body, rest, don’t over exert yourself, take your prenatal vitamins. And if you choose to keep it we’ll need to see you once each month until your 28 weeks.” She informs you. You nod your head.

“And by the looks of it, it’d be around Nov. 8th of this year,” your heart skips a beat and you smirk to yourself. 8. Of course his child would be due on the 8th.

“Thank you,” you say as she stands up.

“You can find vitamins at your local shop,” she mentions before leaving out the door.

You sit there for a moment, waiting for the pictures. The nurse comes back in and hands them to you. You smile and thank her before staring at them.

“Oh, wait,” you call out just before the door shuts. The woman walks back in.

“Am I ok to travel? My boyfriend’s out of town and I want to go see him. Give him the news in person.” You smile a little.

“Yeah, as long as you take breaks, listen to your body and get what you need before you leave you should be fine,” the woman informs you. You nod your head and smile. For a moment, the world doesn’t feel so heavy, I mean you all ready knew Jiyong was going to be accepting of the news.

You go to the store, getting the necessary things you need for the little bundle in your stomach and then you decide you should figure out a way to break the news. You examine the baby aisle and notice cute little shoes, your heart melts at how tiny they are.

“You’ll be in these running before we know it,” you giggle to yourself as you reach for you non showing stomach. You pick up a pair of the tiny shoes and that’s when the idea hits you. You get another test. You find a cute wood plaque and a box to put the three things in. You rush home to take the test and sure enough 2 pink lines show up like they’re supposed to. You can’t help but feel a little excited to give him the box.

The next two days pass by painfully slow, but it’s finally the night before you leave and you get a call from your boyfriend like every night.

“Please tell me you heard something today,” he whines.

“I did, and I’ll tell you about in person,” you say nonchalantly.

“Jagiya,” he whines.

“Just tell me what’s going on. I’ve been freaking out,” he runs a hand through his hair.

“Wait, why?” you look at him dead in his face over the phone.

“Because I just want to know what you know. It’s important to me."

“You’ll know soon enough. I fly out around 2 am tomorrow morning. I’ll be L.A before you know it.” You can’t help the little giggle that escapes your throat.

“Yeah, all right,” he says giving up.

“At least let me see my baby.”

“I’m right here, Ji.” You cock your head to the side.

“My other baby, ya know, Zoa,” he smirks. You roll your eyes playfully as you find her and show her the phone.

“Look Zoa, it’s your Appa,” your heart flutters at the name slightly as you get more used to the idea. Unbeknownst to you, his heart does the same. He baby talks the cat who sits there purring. You two hang up for the night and you get some much-needed sleep.

-

Jiyong is an anxious mess the whole day.

“Dude, quit pacing!” Taeyang stops him dead in his tracks placing his hands on his shoulders.

“I can’t help it,” he sighs.

“She’ll be here soon and my whole life is really going to change. I just don’t know how, yet.”

“It’s going to be fine, man. We have a couple of days to rest and with her flying in it sounds like that’s what y’all need. Just some time together.” Jiyong would never deny that he missed you. Heck the man would let the whole world burn down if it meant you were safe in his arms, he’s crazy about you. But seeing you also meant you finally telling him that life as he knows it right now is possibly over.

The day passes painfully slow, Jiyong mainly staying stuck in his hotel room, just trying to mentally prepare.

There’s a knock on his door late that night and he opens it to see your smiling face!

“Jagi!” he shouts and pulls you into the tightest hug he can, careful with your stomach. His lips find yours instantly as soon as he pulls you into the room. You giggle against his lips.

“I missed you too,” you say on his lips as they continue to devour you. He pulls back and rests his forehead on yours.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how I’ve missed you,” your heart warms at his words.

“So,” he says after a beat of silence.

“Can you tell me now?”

You chuckle and walk him over to bed. You grab the gift-wrapped box from the suitcase you packed and hand it to him.

“A present?” He looks at you genuinely confused.

“Just something I picked up; it made me think of you.” You smile as you get down on your knees in front of him, desperate to see his reaction.

His hands carefully pick up the delicate shoes as he inspects them, tears in his eyes.

“Fuck, we’re having a baby,” he says quietly, voice cracking slightly. You nod with a grin on your face. He looks into your eyes and pulls you in for another passionate kiss, but this time he takes his time, savoring the moment of pure bliss.

“We’re having a baby,” he chuckles to himself and you smile at his reaction as you run your hand through his hair.

“Like, its actually real now,” he breathes.

“Now?” you ask with a tilt of your head as you gaze at him lovingly.

“Oh, yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I sorta found the positive pregnancy test in the trash before I left.”

“What? There was no positive test, Ji.” You pull back confused.

“Yeah, it was faint, but there was a line.” He says as he stands up to get the test from his bag. Sure enough, as you hold the test in your hands there was a little, faint, pink line.

“How did I miss that?” you ask yourself feeling a tinge of guilt.

“Hey, hey, you know now.” He comes over and holds you.

“Everything’s going to be ok” he kisses your forehead.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m still freaked out,” you say quietly.

“I mean, this means everything changes. Everything,” you say with tears pricking your eyes. He gently rocks you back and forth.

“It’s going to be ok.” He whispers in your ear with a smile on his face.

“I also have a surprise for the guys,” you inform him as the two of you lay on the hotel bed. He can’t stop staring at the sign.

“They all ready kind of know. I mean they seen how stressed I was at the airport.” He says sheepishly.

“Dang it, I wanted to surprise them too.” You pout.

“You still can,” you brings you close, “How do you want to do it?”

“I actually called ahead to your favorite place here and made a dinner reservation for 6.” He smirks.

“That’s cute.” He smirks at you with pride in his heart.

“I thought so. The waiter will bring out a desert and it’ll say “Congratulations,” on the plate in little bean’s place.”

“Which reminds me,” you say as you hop off the bed.

“Here’s this from the doctor’s office.” You show him the sonogram pictures and a tear slips from his eye straight down his cheek.

“Our baby,” he whispers as he brings you closer to place a hand on your stomach. He gives it soft kiss and looks up you. You have the biggest grin on your face as he gazes up at you, completely and totally in love.

“I wonder who’s eyes she'll have. Who she’ll look more like,” he begins to dream about your baby.

“She?”

“Of course, it’s a girl. I can feel it.” He says assuredly. You giggle and roll your eyes.

“We’ll find out soon enough if you’re right.” You say as you lay down next to him. You lay on your back, Jiyong goes down to talk to your stomach.

“Don’t worry, jagiya, I’ll make sure you have everything you need. Clothes, shoes, the best of the best and your eomma is going to be so taken care of she’ll barely notice you’re there.” He winks at you.

“Hey, tell him or her,”

“Her,” he smiles to himself and you shake your head.

“Tell her to quit making me so sick every day then I won’t hardly notice,” you tease. He chuckles as he lightly rubs your belly and is already smitten with your unborn child.

-

The next night you’re out to dinner with the gang and you and Jiyong keep sharing knowing glances.

“All right, what’s going on you two?” Daesung teases.

“Yeah, why are you treating us to dinner and you both have shit eating grins on your faces?” Seunghyun asks with a quirked brow.

“And why is there an extra seat at the table?” Taeyang asks, his smile knowing as he points at the empty spot beside you. That’s when the waiter brings out everyone’s desert, including a plate of chocolate syrup spelling out Congratulations! They all break out into fits of joyful laughter as everyone hugs each other.

“Group hug!” Daesung calls out and suddenly you’re all up out of your seats being smushed together.

“She’s going to have the best uncles,” Jiyong says with a kiss to your forehead.

“She? You already know it’s a girl?” Seunghyun asks quite surprised.

“No, but he’s dead set that it is,” you explain and he nods.

“You’d be a good girl dad,” Taeyang compliments.

“She’d definitely have no shortage of clothing,” Daesung teases and you can’t help but giggle.

“Leave me and my daughter alone,” he defends playfully. Your heart is full while you take in the memory of everyone being so excited and happy for you.  

-

He flipps when he feels your little bean kick for the first time.

“Can the guys feel?” his eyes light up like a Christmas tree. You giggle and nod your head yeah.

“Guys you have to feel this!” All the guys tentatively put their hands on your stomach and it happened, the baby kicked and you braced yourself for the new feeling.

“Is it amazing?” he sighs as looks at you.

“It feels weird,” you giggle. He's constantly talking to the baby about tour and music and how he was going to teach ‘her’ everything he knows. Always making sure to slip in little comments about how well you were doing taking care of ‘her’. He would find himself absentmindedly rubbing your stomach whenever he could, feeling her little feet kick his hand every now and again.

“She’s going to be football star, someday,” he jokes.

“You’re loving this,” you mention, “The whole thing. You can’t for him or her to call you Appa for the first time.” He flushes at your words, hiding his face from you as he laughs.

“Sue me, I’m excited,” he says as he peeks at you.

He basically became obsessed with the two of you. Constantly talking to your little one, making sure you’re comfortable and making sure you get home to Seoul for any appointments, going to the few that he can, and being on the phone with you the whole time when he can't. Even talking to the doctor to be sure you can fly back out and make sure he’s doing everything he can to help it go smoothly.

“I swear, the minute you can’t fly I’m coming home,” he says as you get in the car to drive back to house you two share.

“Baby, I’m fine.” You smile at him before looking down at your bump.

“Its literally fine. She said I can fly out to see you so I’ll be leaving tomorrow just like we planned. Make sure Taeyang get’s the email from the doctor. We were able to get good pictures today and we’ll be finding out the sex as soon you guys come back on break!” you squeal and his smile stretches from ear to ear.

-

Taeyang is at yours and Jiyong’s house setting everything up with Seunghyun and Daesung.

“Come on, man, what’s she having.” Daesung asks for the thousandth time.

“I’m not telling you. They wanted it to be secret so I’m keeping it a secret.”

“It’s not like we’ll tell them,” Seunghyun chastises.

“I don’t care, I’m doing my job,” Taeyang says as he hangs up the final blue balloon. The guys groan in response but help finish setting up. The gender reveal set up is close to being done and you two arrive back home.

“I’m so excited,” you squeal as you look at yourself in your dress. Your dress hugs the bump that’s forming on your tummy and Jiyong comes up in behind you wrapping his arms around the two of you, resting his head on your shoulder. You lean back against him and stare at your reflection in the mirror.

“You’re going to be the best mommy ever,” he whispers and kisses your cheek.

“You think?” you grin at him and peck his lips.

“I know,” he says before leading you outside. All the guests including friends and family for both of you are arriving and they each congratulate you. There’s a mix of guesses as to if it’s a boy or a girl, you guess it’s a boy while Jiyong is going from what he firmly believed from day 1, that it’s a girl.

After a while of mingling and playing some games it’s finally time.

“On the count of 3,” Taeyang announces and you and Jiyong share a quick look.

“Here we go,” he says as he leans down to peck your lips. Your bounce on the balls of your feet with slight excitement as the crowd starts counting.

“1… 2… 3…” the explosion goes off behind you.

You squeal as you hug Jiyong and he picks you up twirling you around.

“I told you!” he says excited. You smile and give him a passionate kiss as the confetti falls and smoke clears.

“Holy crap we’re having a girl,” you say to yourself. Your head begins to feel a little dizzy as you put a hand on your forehead.

“You ok? Hey, come here sit down,” he motions you to a chair.

“What’s wrong?” Seunghyun asks as he see’s you sitting down and rushes over to check it out.

“I’m just overwhelmed with emotion.” You giggle as tears are falling down your cheeks and Jiyong grabs a tissue.

“This is just like when you cried at that cat food commercial,” he teases.

“Hey, those kitties were cute and with every purchase of food part of the money goes to help shelter cats!” you defend, “It was beautiful.” He chuckles.

“Yes, it was, it was a totally rational response.” He says and you roll your eyes playfully.

That night the two of you sit in bed going over a list of girl names.

“What about, Abigail?” you both look at each other and shake your head.

“Too plain,” Jiyong says.

“Nova?” he suggests.

“What is she, a golden retriever?” you joke and he chuckles.

“Bo-min?” you consider it for a moment.

“It’s not horrible, but not my favorite.” You sit in silence for a moment before you gasp.

“What about Chae min,” his smile is huge at your name.

“It’s perfect,” he grins and kisses you.  

-

It’s a month after the gender reveal and you hit the 28-week mark. You’re at home resting while Jiyong is back out somewhere in Europe touring. You were fixing up the nursery, putting the rocking chair in the corner when you felt a sharp pain in your stomach.

“Easy girl, I’m not made of steel,” you say as you chuckle and rub your flesh. You continue on and you feel it again, this time the pain is more sharp and intense.

“Baby girl,” you breathe out a laugh, feeling nervous. You finish putting some things away before using the bathroom. That’s when you notice the spotting.

“Oh shit,” you curse in disbelief as you stare at your underwear for a moment. You call your ob’s office and ask to speak to the doctor immediately.

“Yeah, I’m having sharp pain and I’m spotting,” you say your nerves a total wreck. Your body feels shaky and your breathing is rapid.

“What about movement, have you felt any less movement than usual?” You had been so consumed by trying to get the nursery together, what you could of it, that you honestly weren’t sure.

“I-I don’t know, I just know I’m bleeding and,” you suck in a sharp breath, “Fuck,” you say under you breath.

“Come on in, we’ll get you in today,” the doctor says and you immediately grab your keys.

Upon arrival to your doctor you don’t have a chance to sit down to wait before they’re rushing you back.

“What’s going on?” You ask nervously.

“Just wait, we’ll know soon enough,” one of the nurses informs you.

“Is she ok?” your voice is frantic but no one will answer you.

“Lay back for us,” you do as the doctor says and she puts the monitor on your stomach, the room is dead silent, and you can see the look on the doctors face is concerned as she moves against your stomach. You listen to the monitor, hearing nothing.

“What’s happening,” your tears are falling from your cheeks now onto the table as your fear is being realized.

“We can’t find the heartbeat,” she says solemnly. She continues for another few minutes as your own heart is beating so fast you fear you might pass out.

She pushes down slightly harder on our stomach, the baby doesn’t move.

“Have you noticed any less movement the last 24 hours?” the doctor asks as she wipes off our stomach. The stress of the situation clouds your memory.

"I-I don't really know," you sob.

“We’ll have to induce you,” she stands beside you giving you a sad look.

“But if she’s born now she won’t make it,” your denial kicks in along with the anxiety.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” the doctor says gently, “She’s gone, we need to deliver her,” your heart breaks in that moment and you let out a blood curdling scream as you sob uncontrollably in the doctor’s office.

“No, no, no check her again, do something, do anything, please I’m begging you!” Your voice is desperate and broken. Yet still in disbelief that this is now your reality.

The doctor sits with you for a minute, doing her best to console you.

“We’ll get you scheduled,” she says as you’re still shaking on the table.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask desperate for answers.

“We don’t know the cause, yet. So as far as we know, it wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do.” She tries to reassure you before leaving. You shakily stand up and get yourself to the parking lot, everyone around you stares but you don’t care. You sit in your car and sob once again. You drive yourself home once you can compose yourself and lay on the couch. You had to tell Jiyong.

You give him a call that night.

“Hey, bab- what’s wrong!” He asks frantic once he see’s the puffiness of your eyes and the redness to your face.

“Baby I-I need you to come home right away,” you whimper with a weak voice.

“What happened, y/n,” his voice is terrified, but stern.

“I-I’m so sorry, I swear I did everything I could,” the tears begin once more and Jiyong is helpless just staring at you. Behind him the guys hear the commotion and while not crowding him, they step up to listen.

“Baby she’s gone,” you say through your sobs and he stands there, motionless, taking in the information you relayed to him.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can be,” he hangs up and immediately starts looking at flights.

“Ji,” he hears Taeyang say.

“Man, I’m,” he holds his hands up.

“Thank you but I can’t right now. She needs me,” his voice cracks and he sniffles as tears fall from his face. He gets the next flight home and it’s the longest few hours of his life. He sits on the plane, shaking his leg the whole time. Finally the plane lands and he’s dashing out of it racing home to you. He walks in the door to find a deserted living room. You're in your shared bed in his room.

He sets his stuff down and climbs in behind you. The fear of how he feels creeps in as you turn to face him.

“Baby I swear I thought I did everything right, I’m so s-sorry,” your eyes are filling with more tears as he shushes you and pulls you into him.

“It’s ok, it’s all going to be ok,” is all he can say as he lets a few of his own tears slip out.

“Jiyong I swear I,” you keep trying to defend yourself, voice weak and defeated.

“Shh, stop it. I’m not mad at you,” he says.

“I killed,” you begin

“Y/n, stop,” he warns, “No you didn’t, stop blaming yourself right now.” He kisses the top of your head and holds you. You aren’t sure how long you lay like that, but by the time you two separate it’s dark outside.

“They want to induce me in two days,” you say as your hands fall to your stomach, as if cradling her will somehow bring her back and keep her safe. Jiyong takes a long deep breath and sighs.

“I’ll be right here with you, the whole time.”

-

It’s the day of the induction and your nerves are a mess.

“I can’t do this,” you tremble.

“Baby you have to, it could hurt you if we don’t,” you see his eyes gloss over, like he’s dissociating as bad as you want to. The doctor takes you back into a room and gives you the drugs necessary for delivery.

“All right, give me a push,” she says as you hold Jiyong’s hand give her a big push. After about half an hour you’re done, and you don't hear her cry like a healthy baby and your heart breaks into a million pieces.

You see the tiny lifeless body in her hands. You also see the umbilical cord in a knot as the doctors cut it. You realize she suffocated. You’re forced to push out the placenta, and the whole time your tears are flowing.

“Wait, let me hold her!” you cry once you’re finished with the process. They hand you the precious baby girl’s body. Jiyong takes a minute before he can look at her. She has his nose and mouth, your chin and eye shape.

“I’m so sorry baby girl,” you sob as you rock her and Jiyong can be heard sniffling. He wipes his tears away and you let him hold the tiny body.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he kisses her forehead and sobs full on now. You can’t help but put your hand on his arm. The two of you sit on the bed with your daughter’s body, trying to process and say goodbye.

“We need to take the body,” a nurse gently interrupts.

“Chea Min” you correct coldly.

“Her name is Chae Min,”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say and you reluctantly hand over your precious baby girl.

If you enjoyed and would like to support me, buy me a coffee

Tags: @loveesiren @mashtatosworld @natalicss @multifanxtvshows

Chapter 10

[kangshxrtie]

31 . smut park (written)

you and belle pulled up to the park, parking next to daniela's car. the second you stepped out, you began looking around and spotted the both of them on the swings, passing a joint between them. the closer you got, the stronger the scent of weed got. yeah, they definitely started without y'all.

"took y'all long enough," manon teased, exhaling smoke before passing it back to daniela.

"we had to make sure we got our food first," belle said, holding up the pizza box. "y'all were a second thought."

daniela gasped dramatically. "i literally begged. on my knees."

"you did that for you, not for me," you said, kneeling down onto the sand in front of them.

daniela immediately slid off the swing to sit next to you, nudging your shoulder. "okay, but you still brought me food. you like me or something?"

you rolled your eyes, but you didn't pull away when she leaned against you.

manon took the joint from her and held it out toward you and belle. "y'all smoking or just here for the vibes?"

belle grabbed it first, taking a hit before handing it over to you. "vibes and drugs."

you took a slow inhale, letting the smoke settle in your lungs before exhaling. the night air was cool, and the park was empty besides the four of you, just the sound of the sprinklers, faint noise from the houses nearby, and the occasional giggles coming from your group.

belle opened the pizza box, grabbed a slice, and held it out for daniela. "here. you're only getting this 'cause y/n paid."

daniela took the slice anyway, grinning. "aww, you do care."

"not even a little," belle deadpanned.

daniela nudged you again. "you care, right?"

you glanced at her, still leaning into you, her eyes a little hazy but locked onto yours. you weren't even that high yet, but her gaze alone was making you feel funny.

"i mean... i did bring you food," you said, tilting your head. "that's gotta mean something."

daniela smirked, taking a bite of her pizza. "yeah. means you really like me."

"damn, she's bold tonight," manon snorted.

"if y'all start making out in front of me, i will tase you both," belle groaned.

daniela just laughed, nudging you one last time before focusing back on her pizza. but she didn't move away from you.

"so, do y'all come to this park often to smoke?" belle asked, taking another hit before passing the joint to you.

"every once in a while," daniela answered, leaning back against the swing chains.

"we were just getting food one night, and somebody in the car had an overwhelming urge to go play on a playground," manon explained, "and then it just became a thing. deep talks while low-key being scared of getting the cops called on us."

"is that an actual concern?" belle tilted her head.

"it happened once," manon said. "some other group was being loud as hell, and the cops got called on them, but it was fucked up because we had to leave too because of them"

daniela nodded. "and the last time we were here, we were about to leave 'cause we saw some people getting out of a car, and we all got scared because it did look suspicious. they turned out to be some high schoolers who told us we didn't have to leave," manon finished. "then they started doing witchcraft."

belle blinked. "witchcraft?"

daniela nodded, taking the joint from belle. "full-on summoning circle shit."

"but that's why we love smut park," manon said with a dramatic sigh.

belle frowned. "wait—why is it called smut park?"

manon grinned. "because one night, we got really curious about the... logistics of certain positions you could do on this playground."

"and then joked about filming stuff here," daniela added with a smirk.

daniela leaned in closer to you, voice just above a whisper. "i can show you some."

you rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you playfully slapped her thigh. "shut up."

daniela just laughed, stealing another hit before handing the joint off. you took another slow inhale, letting the warmth settle before passing it off to manon. the buzz was starting to settle in, a lightness in your limbs and a slow, lazy comfort creeping in.

daniela finished the last pizza slice and leaned her head against your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

manon stretched her legs out in the sand, exhaling a long stream of smoke. "we should play some playground games."

belle shot her a look. "girl, what?"

manon laughed. "okay, maybe bad idea right now. we should play on the playground though." she gestured to the tiny jungle gym under the dim park lights.

belle stared at her for a moment before shrugging. "i mean, i'm high enough to consider it."

daniela perked up. "wait, that actually sounds fun."

you let out a lazy laugh. "we're about to be grown-ass adults playing on a kindergarten playground at, like, midnight?"

"exactly," daniela said, grabbing your hand and lacing her fingers through yours as she stood up, pulling you with her. "c'mon, babe. live a little."

you glanced down at your intertwined hands, then back up at her smug face.

"you're so annoying," you muttered, but you didn't let go.

daniela just grinned. "and yet, here you are, holding my hand."

belle sighed, taking one last hit before standing up. "if i break something tonight, just know i'm suing all of you."

daniela ignored her, tugging you toward the playground, still holding onto your hand, having no plans of letting go.

the playground was small, but in your current state, it felt like the perfect place for whatever dumb ideas were about to happen. the sand made your walk a little slower as daniela led you toward the jungle gym, her grip on your hand firm and warm.

"alright, what we doing?" manon asked, stepping onto the slightly wobbly bridge between two platforms, making it sway beneath her.

"we should race up the slide," daniela suggested, her eyes already locked onto the one in the middle.

belle scoffed. "i'm not tryna bust my ass."

"sounds like you're scared," daniela smirked, tilting her head.

belle narrowed her eyes. "i literally have nothing to prove to you."

"okay, but if i win, you have to admit i'm better than you at everything."

"oh, you're on."

you snorted as belle stomped toward the slide, already mentally preparing for the disaster about to happen. manon, still balancing on the bridge, pointed at you. "you racing too?"

"nah, i'm good." you leaned against the side of the jungle gym, watching the chaos unfold.

daniela turned to you with a pout. "babe, i thought you were gonna live a little."

"i am. by watching you eat shit from a safe distance."

she rolled her eyes but let go of your hand to prepare herself at the bottom of the slide. belle crouched next to her, both of them staring up at the top like it was some insurmountable feat.

"alright," manon announced, taking her self-appointed role as referee very seriously. "on three. one... two... three!"

the second she said three, belle and daniela lunged forward, scrambling up the slide like their lives depended on it.

belle immediately struggled, her shoes slipping against the smooth metal. "this is a terrible idea," she wheezed, arms flailing as she tried to claw her way up.

daniela, meanwhile, had a slightly better start, using the edges to propel herself higher, but she was laughing too hard to keep any real momentum.

just as daniela managed to grip the top edge, belle, in a desperate bid not to lose, grabbed onto the back of her hoodie and yanked.

"hey! let go, you cheater!" daniela shrieked, kicking her feet wildly.

instead of pulling herself up, belle ended up dragging them both down. daniela barely had time to react before they slid all the way back down, crashing into the sand.

manon doubled over, cackling. "y'all fucking suck."

daniela groaned, rolling onto her back and staring up at the sky. "i hate you."

belle sat up, breathless but smug. "i took you down with me. that's a win in my book."

you walked over and offered daniela a hand. she grabbed it, pulling herself up with a sheepish grin.

"i still think i won," she insisted.

"you didn't even make it halfway up."

"technicality."

belle stretched, wincing slightly. "okay, yeah, i'm definitely gonna feel that in the morning."

manon wiped away a tear from laughing. "worth it, though."

"race me on the rock climbing wall, manon," you challenged, stretching your arms.

manon eyed the wall, then back at you. "we are literally as tall as that wall."

"okay, we'll add the monkey bars, too."

manon shrugged. "fuck it."

the two of you made your way to the wall, standing at the base like it was some grand obstacle course.

"first one to belle wins," you said, nodding toward her still lounging at the end of the slide.

"let's go."

the second you both took off, you climbed the wall in one step. rock climbing a few days ago definitely gave you an edge. manon took two steps but wasn't far behind. you scrambled across the platform to the monkey bars, grabbing onto the first one, only to immediately realize you were not built like you used to be. your grip nearly slipped, but you forced yourself to keep going because manon was right there, moving almost in sync with you.

as you both neared the platform, you swung your body forward with all the strength you had left, reaching belle first and tapping her hand.

"bitch," you grinned, bucking at manon in victory.

"damn, you're mean," manon huffed, catching her breath.

"i'm sorry. i get competitive." you put your hands up in mock surrender.

"this is the real her, dani," manon said, pointing at you dramatically.

daniela snorted. "oh, i figured that out when we were at the arcade. i still like her."

"yeah, she likes me," you smirked at manon before bucking at her again.

"bring back nice y/n. sober y/n would never speak to me like this."

you laughed. "don't worry, i still like you too."

"i am not about to be the side chick," manon said, raising a brow.

"no, obviously, dani's the side," you teased.

"so you're cheating on me no matter what?" manon asked, deadpan.

"well—yes," you admitted, laughing.

"as long as we don't tell dani," manon said, playing along.

daniela, who had been half-listening, immediately perked up. "don't tell me what?"

"mind your business," manon shot back smoothly.

"bro, what? tell me," daniela demanded, stepping closer.

"we should get on the swings together," manon said, changing the subject.

"yes, we should," you nodded, immediately moving toward them.

belle groaned. "wait, don't leave me!" she scrambled up to follow.

by the time daniela finally caught up, you and manon were already swinging in sync, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

"i won't forget about that," daniela muttered, side-eyeing you.

"can't hear you, i'm too high," manon said. "literally and mentally."

you just laughed, slowing down after a while. right on cue, daniela was behind you.

"hi," you grinned.

daniela leaned down slightly. "you want me to push you?"

you nodded, and she moved behind you, hands resting on the chains. "hold on tight, babe," she teased, voice close to your ear.

you turned your head slightly, meeting her eyes. "if i go over, i will scream so fucking loud, and we cannot afford that this late."

daniela grinned. "noted."

then, without warning, she pulled you back before running forward, sending you higher. belle, now sitting on the swing next to you, just shook her head.

you let out a startled laugh as the swing soared higher, the rush of air against your face making your stomach flip. daniela kept pushing, each time adding a little more force, until you were flying up so high.

"okay, okay, that's enough," you called out, gripping the chains tighter.

daniela let her hands drop in surrender. "alright, alright. we can't have you falling off now."

manon, still lazily swinging, chuckled. "i kinda wanted to see that."

"you just wanted to see me bust my ass," you shot back.

"i would've filmed it too," she admitted with zero shame.

daniela laughed, moving to lean against the swing set pole. "you're so real for that."

you rolled your eyes but smiled, dragging your feet in the sand to slow down. eventually, belle did the same, sighing as she tilted her head back to stare at the sky.

"i kinda don't wanna go home yet," she admitted.

manon hummed. "then don't."

belle gave her a look. "and do what? lay in this sand like some kind of playground cryptid?"

manon shrugged. "i mean, we could. just vibe here until the sun comes up."

daniela snorted. "you really tryna be a playground cryptid, huh?"

"i think it suits me," manon said, kicking her legs out lazily. "mysterious figure spotted lurking in the sandpit at 3 am. terrifying."

belle shook her head with a small laugh. "sounds like a new fnaf game."

you leaned back against the swing, feeling the gentle sway beneath you. the night was quiet except for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees and the distant hum of a passing car. there was something peaceful about it, just the four of you, the buzz still warm in your body, nowhere to be, nothing to do.

daniela reached for your hand again, her fingers lacing through yours. "we could just chill here for a while."

you glanced at her, the dim glow of the streetlights catching in her eyes. "yeah?"

she nodded. "yeah. just... be."

manon yawned dramatically. "if i fall asleep out here, someone's carrying me."

belle scoffed. "you're getting left in the sand."

"you bitches have no loyalty," manon mumbled, stretching out her legs.

daniela grinned. "we have loyalty. just not enough to carry your ass."

the conversation faded into comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled. you swung gently, looking at the stars in the sky.

after about an hour of lounging outside with the occasional chat, you all decided it was time to head home, no telling what might happen if you actually fell asleep out here. 

"goodnight, friends," manon called as the four of you made your way to your separate cars.

"i had a great time tonight," belle added with a smile.

"same here. we really are the chilliest group," you said, grinning.

"literally, just hit me up if y'all ever do anything. i'm down," belle exclaimed.

"same goes for you," manon replied.

"goodnight," you told manon as she climbed into the passenger seat of daniela's car.

with that, manon and belle got into their respective cars, leaving you and daniela standing together.

"goodnight," you said softly, pulling daniela into a warm hug.

"i'll see you soon," daniela murmured, her voice steady, but her eyes soft.

"yeah, we will," you whispered, reluctantly stepping out of the hug.

you shared one last kiss, a lingering moment of closeness before you both said goodbye. with one last look, you each slid into your cars.

BACK | MAIN | NEXT

TAGLIST 🪩 @saysirhc @wintersgff @sixflame438 @1luvkarina @ihrtantn @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @vrtualstar @sed7ction @inybits @ellezra @meganskiendielsbtc @firstclassjaylee @modanisgf @kristalag @chaepu @wtfisthisnoclueman @xochitlisbest @taikabui @hotluvlet

[everestgale]

@phantasmatoucan (mod Owl)'s voices WILL NOT leave me alone. So, have an entire doodle dump dedicated to their voices:

First, we have their swap!Skeptic, because when I first saw him, I literally SCREAMED, he is so lovely, and he is stuck in my head, and he is unbelievably cute. Owl, how did you create something this precious, it should not be possible to create a character THIS adorable, I have such a strong cuteness aggression reaction towards him GAHHH-

Then we have HEA!Skeptic and regular Opportunist. Their Skeptic is definitely my favorite (so of course I had to draw him in his dapper HEA outfit with gloves), and Opportunist is here because... I don't know, I just felt like drawing this rat (/aff)

Finally, there's more HEA!Skeptic and HEA!Smitten, inspired by one of the doodles in this post. Once again, I absolutely lost my mind over it. Guys, I definitely don't have a favorite (I clearly do), what are you talking about, and also that interaction between the Grey Brothers definitely doesn't make me insane, nope, what are you talking about!.. IT'S JUST SUCH A SWEET MOMENT, I COULDN'T HELP IT.

The best part? That's not even all of my drawings of their voices. I still have a couple drawings of their swap voices and also their Cold (for tournament propaganda). Can you tell I really like Owl's voices? I really like Owl's voices y'all-

A very important bonus - that's exactly how I feel about Opportunist /lh /j

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I'ma be real with y'all, I don't think America's massive size and the financial costs of travel are the biggest contributors to the attitudes we have here that make other countries go like

the provincial thing is honestly a fair statement, in the same vein as holding americans who voted for trump accountable - there are bigger reasons for both, but that doesn't minimize how much a lot of americans cultivate and maintain their ignorance to feel more comfortable.

I'd say more legitimate things to mention when talking about american's very self-centric attitudes towards global happenings are things like: the US media deliberately keeps up the image of the United States as a strong, independent world power who don't need no allies, aka the fact that when other countries send us aid in natural disasters or other Big Uh-Ohs, it generally isn't reported by large news outlets. I never knew for years that multiple people, both individuals and organized efforts by various other countries, would send aid to the US when we'd be hit by big hurricanes, fires, and other bad shit

the other day a coworker and I were talking about the recent swan-dive of relations between america and canada and they scoffed at the notion that canada has a military too, and that they also participated in conflicts like the mess in the middle east after 9/11 - But I can't disdain my coworker that much, cuz I didn't know this either until very recently. I'll bet you most americans don't know about the Article 5 collective defense clause NATO has, which was only ever invoked once, on America's behalf after the 9/11 attack, and had multiple countries sending troops to Afghanistan alongside US forces. Canada specifically sent out over 40 thousand. the US as an entity does nOT like to acknowledge when foreign aid has been helpful, and just that kind of 'we pretend we do not see it' attitude does a lot of quiet heavy lifting to influence american attitudes towards the international community.

Additionally, although its more common now than it has been in the past for americans to watch movies and tv from overseas, I'd guess most americans still mostly only watch media centered around american culture, or at least western, english-speaking media (Harry Potter and the Sherlock series are two non-american examples). Now, that's a little weird, considering how much of our media is marketed and consumed around the globe. the US has a LOT of soft power, but we don't import fiction from other places at nearly the same rate. So you end up with this weird correlation between a lot of folks overseas having some idea of american culture while the americans in question have very little exposure or knowledge of anybody else's culture

i mean I've come across quite a few pointed threads or comments online from people overseas about how entitled and aggravating american tourists can be, and I think this is part of why: americans are deliberately presented with a POV that centers them, while not addressing the interconnectedness of modern life in a first world country, and a lot of folks just don't have the curiosity or feel a need to investigate that. add to that the fact that america doesn't really push learning second languages in schools, and many americans won't ever travel overseas, AND that we only share borders with 2 other nations so we don't get a lot of land-based travel from other countries like you see in europe, and its not really all that shocking that the american people don't really grasp how the US fits in to international politics and going-ons

none of this is an excuse. honestly I think the best you can hope for from some americans if you call us out for this is a "well I never actually thought about it all", which is a pretty lackluster defense (i mean, all the moments for me personally where I went "what was i thinkin- oh wait I didn't think" have NOT been my finest), and unfortunately for a fair portion of people, there's a dependence on this worldview and a resulting emotional backlash when its challenged. Basically when a population is propagandized as much as the US is, realistically you don't get a bunch of doe-eyed innocents who mean well but don't know any better, you get a population with a high percentage of people who hold onto said propagandized image as part of their identity and act like ASSHOLES to any info that doesn't fit what they've already been told

its not that the americans you think of when you imagine the ignorant, entitled americans couldn't do/be better - its that people WON'T try to be doing better than they currently are if they believe 'better' is what's in front of them right now so there's no need to improve it

[glitter-stained]

Actually I don't want the Outlaws to be Jason -Rose- Eddie. Don't get me wrong, I love them and I absolutely want those three in the Outlaws, with character-centric arcs, but I just don't see why they would absolutely have to be a three person deal. (And I would want it to be The Outlaws, not Red Hood and The Outlaws.) To me the interests of a big Outlaws team would be as follows:

- a big team/found family (and i do mean found family, not nuclear family) of characters with attachment issues for whom the more "this is a risky business and you're not cut for it so I'm firing you/whether your old teammate joins the team is only dependent on whether they pass my tests because i am the boss/this is primarily a workplace" dynamics that I've felt frustrated by in some other teams. I'm not saying all hero teams do that, I'm saying take characters with attachment issues to whom this has happened and put them in a high temperature codependency cauldron of a team- once an outlaw, outlaw for life, baby!

-a win-win situation for Jason fans and minor/lesser known characters cast aside by DC: on the one hand you get Jason finally getting the space and support he's been needing to finally start to heal and grow as a character, on the other hand you get riding on the wing of Jason's popularity to bring underrated characters who deserved so much better back in the public eye, give them cool character-centric args and make people interested in them again.

-a way to pool together a team of heroes with a less deontological approach to morality that lets them be heroes without having to subscribe to a bat-adjacent extremely rigid conception of what constitutes ethics, so utilitarian and other ethical orientation characters don't have to either be cast aside, neglected or villainized or be stuck having to comply with rules that don't suit them in an environment not built for their worldview.

-a way for characters who have done bad or reckless things in the past to not be considered with mistrust/cast aside/watched as ticking time bombs in earlier teams, a second chance to really belong.

==> I've started a tentative list of who I'd put in the Outlaws roster ( I already have ten names not counting the og canon outlaws) and baby you would not believe how many forgotten/underrated characters seem to fit the bill! It's still a work in progress and I need to read these characters in detail to make sure but damn, researching this has already made me discover such promising, fascinating characters and I would love for y'all to send me some of your suggestions/personal picks!

(+also this is perhaps just me being spiteful wrt RHATO but I just think it's funny so many of the people on my list have either befriended and been led by Roy Harper or been mentored or straight up fostered by him. Beloved and trusted pillar with a special understanding of the weight of the hero community's judgement on those they consider flawed and untrustworthy even when he can't see all of this for himself- whether or not he's actively in the roster he's a central person for like half of these guys and I just think that's neat hehe.)

[mangionebabymama]

Not related to his response but it's something I've been thinking about quite a lot. I feel like bf!luigi would be so open and communicating with like bed-related things. He'd be so down to make a literal list of this y'all both are into, want to try or definitely don't wanna do. He would enjoy that type of conversation so much because it meant that you are comfortable enough with him to tell him exactly what you like and don't like in bed.

Oh my god, yes!!!!

He would be very open and communicative about your intimacy together and your sex life. The key is to have any kind of intimacy and enjoy it together so that it's something you can continue to build with each other and make it a special time for you two, is to talk about it openly and talk what you do actually like a lot, and don't like at all in bed, and suggest something that you would like to try with the other—that is, if they are comfortable enough in trying it out, as consent is, above all, the most important thing ever in your relationship for all sexual and non-sexual moments shared together. He wouldn't be awkward or uncomfortable when referring to actual terms regarding sex positions and sexual preferences, because really, how are you going to know what you want, what you like, and what you both don't like nor want in the bedroom if you are outright clear and truthful about what you're talking about? For him, he'd stand by the fact it's only awkward if you make it awkward—and it shouldn't be, especially when you trust each other and confide in one another about how you genuinely feel about each other and how you want to have the most pleasurable, most intense, and most exciting moments together when you're intimate.

[kingkat12]

the truth about Roman Godfrey (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, fingering, face-sitting, dub-con, semi-public sex, angst, edging, teasing, creampie, cum-play, unprotected sex, dry-humping, Roman is a manipulative ass, it gets very very dubious ouf

summary: it's been two weeks since the night you parted. it's been torture, it's been hell, it's been two weeks in a perpetual state of agony-- but to make matters worse, the upir you once called your boyfriend has no intension of making your time apart any easier.

word count: 15,851 (making up for the angst oop)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14

a/n: hopefully I won't have to have the ambulance on standby this time like I did for the last chapter;) JKJK this was SO fun to write, MWAH TO Y'ALL, I LOVE YOU!! enjoy part 1 of the last chapter<3

Roman once complained that I made him feel. He used to go on about it endlessly, that being conscious was a curse, that feeling anything at all was a fate worse than eternal damnation, and honestly? I had never completely understood any of it, as I had been preoccupied with feeling happy whenever he would give me these speeches in the middle of the night, with his arm wrapped around me as he let me rest my head on his bare chest-- he smelled like cigarettes. Cigarettes and sex. That was one of his favorite bands, too... not that he would ever admit to it, of course.

Roman Godfrey hated the entirety of Britney Spears' catalog. Roman Godfrey loved vintage car magazines.

Roman Godfrey hated people who insisted on riding their bicycles during traffic rush hour. 

Roman Godfrey loved me.

What the fuck was I supposed to do with all of this knowledge stored in my head? What use did it have now? Two weeks had passed since we broke up, but I had only needed an hour or two to finally understand what Roman was getting at all those times he complained about feelings-- it truly felt like a fate worse than death. 

This whole situation had put me in what felt like a comatose state. I had no idea how I was still pulling my ass out of bed to go to school, yet life went on, whether I wanted it to or not.

The hallway buzzed with life around me, but everything felt distant, muffled, like cotton stuffed between my ears. Letha's voice drifted through the haze, bright and animated, as she rattled off about something I should've been listening to. Really, after all she had done for me, I owed her that much... right? Her hands fluttered as she spoke, her freshly manicured nails catching the light in small glimmers. 

I nodded at all the right moments, but I wasn't really there.

I never was, anymore.

Instead, my eyes stayed fixed ahead, locked on the far end of the hallway with a look of longing smeared on my face-- in moments like these, I couldn't control it.

Roman sat on one of the low windowsills, half-reclined, legs spread wide. A cigarette dangled lazily between his fingers, unlit, seeing as we were inside. His head was tipped back against the wall, watching the ceiling like it might split open. Maybe he hoped it would? The collar of his shirt was rumpled, the buttons uneven, like he'd gotten dressed in the dark and hadn't bothered to fix it. A girl, probably a cheerleader, stood next to him, leaning in close, too close-- her hair spilled over his shoulder as she whispered something into his ear. 

Roman didn't flinch. He just smirked, slow and lazy, before flicking his cigarette between his fingers, keeping himself occupied. The cheerleader giggled (what would this be, his twelfth?) and tucked her hair behind her ear, her fingertips ghosting over his knee.

And just as I thought I would buckle over and throw up right in the hallway, I felt Letha's fingers tighten on my arm, pulling me back-- she had saved me from walking straight into Justin Montgomery, the leader of the track team; "Jeez," Letha mumbled, sending Justin a nasty look as she put her hand on my shoulder. "These brutes don't know how to watch where they're going."

"It's fine," I squeaked-- my intrusive thoughts were telling me to shut my brain down before she gained powers to read my mind and found out why I hadn't watched where I was going. That would've been severely incriminating, after all the times I had assured her I was over Roman by now. 

... Liar.

Letha smiled; too sweet, too patient. "Anyway, what do you think?"

I blinked. "About...?"

It didn't take her long to piece together that I hadn't been listening. Letha sighed; "Don't be bothered by him," she tried, motioning towards Roman at the end of the hall with a nod. "He's been doing this since the day you broke up. You know it's a show."

"I know,"

"Then why do you care?"

"I... don't,"

Letha sighed again, patting my arm. "Anyway, so, I was talking about the party at Jasmine's next Friday. You'll come with me, won't you? We always used to have fun, you and I!"

Jasmine? I hadn't heard that name in a while. "I thought she was dead," I mumbled.

Letha scoffed; "Girl, she's not dead! She was just concussed for a while, but it makes sense that you didn't catch any of this... You were still with Roman when she came back to school, and you could barely focus on anything except him,"

My stomach turned. Nothing had changed, then.

I couldn't help but sneak another peek; Roman was laughing now-- low, breathless. The girl was leaning in even closer now, fingers brushing up his thigh. His eyes stayed pinned to her face, but for the briefest second, I saw it; the flicker, the glance. 

He knew I was watching.

He wanted me to.

Fucker.

"Please?" Letha's voice cut through the fog again, pressing right against my ear. Her breath was warm against my neck, making me flinch. "I'm desperate to go, even though she turned out to be a fucking hag... she always knew how to throw a good party, though, and I think it will be fun!"

I swallowed hard, eyes still glued to Roman. He leaned back further against the wall, stretching out like a cat in the sun. His smirk grew wider, hungrier. He whispered something back to the girl, just loud enough that I could hear the murmur of his voice, but not the words.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest; "Fine," I breathed. "I'll be distracted there, at least..."

Letha's smile widened like I had passed some kind of test. She looped her arm through mine, warm and possessive. "I knew you'd come around! I'm so glad we're friends again, honestly,"

"Me too," I mumbled, looking away.

I didn't want to go to some party, especially not Jasmine's after what she had done to me. However, I felt like I owed Letha my attendance-- she had helped me with the whole Roman-is-a-upir situation, after all. 

It was odd to be friends with her again. It was odd to be acting like this, like we had forgiven each other. It was like I had been catapulted back three or four months when I was running around secretly crushing on Roman-- I had stepped back to square one. 

Something felt wrong about everything that was going on. 

Everything was wrong.

The cheerleader flirting with Roman right now had no idea who she was currently feeling up. She had absolutely no idea at all, not the faintest clue whatsoever. It was so, so wrong, on all levels, yet there he sat, smug off his ass about the fact that he could flirt with every living thing to gain some leverage in our breakup. I knew him well enough to know he saw this as yet another competition he could win. 

Roman Godfrey hated talking about his family. Roman Godfrey loved rambling about space.

Roman Godfrey hated losing. 

Roman Godfrey loved me. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... But first and foremost, I think Roman Godfrey hated losing me.

It became obvious with every day that passed-- that's why he surrounded himself with all these girls.

Roman stood by the vending machine in the cafeteria the next day, leaning against the wall with one shoulder. He was halfway turned away, letting some girl I barely recognized twirl a strand of her hair around her finger while she giggled at whatever he was saying. His smirk was lazy, his eyes hooded like he was barely paying attention, like none of it really mattered to him either.

Except when my gaze locked onto him. 

Roman immediately looked up-- he had been keeping an eye on me, and he was giving it away too easy. Way too easy. It was only for a second, a flicker of green cutting through the noise, slicing right into me. My chest got tight as my breath caught on the edges of his stare.

But then, as always, his eyes dropped, flicking away like I wasn't even there, like I was nothing.

For two weeks straight, he had done this almost every day. Roman had conveniently placed himself in my eyesight, and for two weeks, I had let it get to me. I had let it squeeze all the blood out of my heart, let it keep me up at night, and I had let it drive me mad. 

And... today was no different.

I tried to concentrate on my food. Tried to move the broccoli around on my tray, twirling my fork between my fingers in order to pass time while I waited for Letha to come and join me. My whole body burned with the knowledge of what he was and what he could do-- but the more I thought about what he could possibly do with his upir powers, the more I thought about what he could also do with his fingers. 

If I closed my eyes, I could see it, feel it, hear it. 

Roman's voice would get low, dripping with a dangerous mix of seduction and patronizing teasing as his fingers curled inside me; "Someone's getting worked up, hm?"

"Fuck-- Fuck off," I would squirm in his lap, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck as he fingered me. He used to enjoy getting me off like this when he knew I'd had a bad day, he used to get the biggest fucking rush. 

Because he liked me, Roman would go slow. Because he adored me, he'd kiss my cheek and allow me to grind up against the heel of his palm. Because he loved me, he'd pull me away from his neck with his free hand and kiss me. Over and over, he'd drag his tongue across my bottom lip with teasing licks, listening to my breath hitching.

Over and over.

"What, you want me to go?" Roman purred, pumping his fingers into me deeper while he kept a steady rhythm. "You want me to leave you like this, all pretty and needy?"

I could only whimper; "Don't--"

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave-- A-Ah--"

God, how I loved him. It was impossible not to. 

Sex with Roman had turned into something I never thought it would-- it became a form of saying all the things we couldn't say. Making each other feel good, every tug of the others' hair, every kiss, every stolen whimper or moan, was just our way of saying I love you, I love you, I love you. I knew that, now.

"Aw, that's sweet," Roman's green eyes had shimmered so, so bright that day. "I would never leave you."

I snorted at the memory, and it brought me back to present time. I realized I had crossed my legs, clenching and unclenching to relieve the heat building between my thighs. Fuck. Feeling my cheeks burn with arousal and embarrassment, I glanced back at Roman, but he wasn't looking anymore. He was leaning in closer to the girl now, saying something low against the shell of her ear. My stomach clenched. He didn't even like girls like that... or had he lied?

Roman was doing this on purpose. I tried to tell myself that over and over.

He wanted me to hurt, just like I had hurt him by turning him away.

And in my mind, Letha's words echoed;  "I told you," The more I thought about her warnings, the more her perfume flooded my nose. "He's not the same anymore. You know who he is underneath everything! You just didn't want to see it before... but remember that I'm here for you through all of this. I'm your best friend, am I not?"

I swallowed hard, gluing my eyes to the floor. I couldn't look at Roman anymore; I had already seen too much. I had seen what he could become, what he was, when he nearly choked and beat Daniel half to death at prom. The hunger, the darkness-- everything Letha had whispered about in hushed warnings when no one else could hear. I had read about it in that stupid book, and traced my fingers over the pages until they'd crumpled under my touch, but none of that was what haunted me.

It was the look in his eyes the night he left. 

The broken, wrecked thing hiding beneath all that anger.

Maybe that was the worst part... That even now, with Letha's voice in my ear and his green eyes haunting my every moment, I still missed him. I still loved him. I was afraid I would do so forever, just as I had promised him. 

It was time to fight it.

I stood up from the table, harshly kicking away my chair-- I saw Roman react in the corner of my eye, watching me as I stormed out. His eyes rounded out as he snapped out of his act and stepped away from the girl.

It's on.

Roman Godfrey hated spinach. Roman Godfrey loved the smell of diesel leaking from his red jag.

Roman Godfrey hated old people-- he always said they were gross.

Roman Godfrey loved me. 

And I needed to stop loving him, stat.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had hoped that my thought-through schemes were a thing of my past. They had led me down several bad roads before, but it seemed I hadn't learned anything at all; because now, I was hatching out my new masterplan.

How to fall out of love with a upir; the ultimate guide.

... That would certainly be more entertaining than the other book about upirs that I knew way too well. 

Anyway, I started with the small things. I finally decided that I would change his name in my contacts from Romy Schneider to simply Roman. There was no need to sit around and wallow in the memory of old nicknames, right? 

I decided to do this at school, when I was walking to my new class. It didn't feel so ceremonial, then. I made my way up a narrow staircase packed with students squeezing past one another, the air thick with stale heat, and I kept my head down as I removed the nickname whilst trying to disappear into the stream of bodies.

And it was right at this moment that my first efforts of falling out of love fell apart.

It was almost ironic that the second I finished my job and glanced up, I saw him halfway down the stairs, moving in the opposite direction.

Roman.

My heart slammed into my ribs, breath catching painfully in my throat. He was talking to Peter, the two of them tucked close together in the slow-moving crowd. Peter murmured something low, barely audible over the noise, and Roman's lips curved into a smirk-- the kind that always made my stomach flip, once upon a time.

I shouldn't have been looking. I knew that, but I couldn't help it. My eyes traced the line of his throat, the sharp cut of his jaw. He was different now-- colder. His hair fell messily into his face, the shadows under his eyes carving deep into his pale skin. Still beautiful. Still Roman.

And then, like he felt me watching-- his gaze flicked up.

Fuck.

Within one aching second, our eyes locked.

I froze. Everything around me fell away, the rush of voices fading into muffled static. I could feel the burn of his stare pressing into me, pinning me where I stood. 

Even better, was the moment I caught Roman's breath visibly catching. Was he maybe finally feeling guilty too?

It made something twist deep inside me, something small and cruel and hungry. Proof that I could still make him feel something-- that maybe I wasn't the only one unraveling under the weight of all this silence.

He recovered quickly, masking the flicker of vulnerability by keeping the same slow pace down the stairs. Peter was still talking, oblivious, but Roman's eyes stayed on me; he didn't look away this time, and neither did I.

I don't know how long we stared at each other. A second, maybe two, or a fucking eternity for all I know, before someone brushed past me, nudging my shoulder hard enough to break the spell. I clutched my phone tighter before I started putting it away into my pocket, forcing my feet to keep moving.

I thought I had gotten away, I really did, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, Roman was... turning?

And then he called my name.

It sounded more like a reflex than anything thought through, torn from him without permission. His voice cut through the crowd, like a signal made for my ears only. 

I should've kept walking. I should've pretended not to hear him, but some stupid, aching part of me stopped and turned around. 

That was all the invitation Roman needed. He had stopped in the middle of the stairs, looking back at me with those piercing green eyes I was sure I'd never forget-- I would never forget the night they were filled with tears either, as he begged me on his knees not to let him go. My heart ached as I dared to glance a look at Peter who stood by his side, clad with an awkward smile. Poor guy, caught in the middle of this.

"Hey," Roman tried, letting out a shaky exhale.

I couldn't breathe. I really, really couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Roman could've easily mesmerized me to stay in my place and not move, but as I wiggled my fingers to check for any unusual sensations; nothing. I was standing here of my own free will, and that was somehow worse. 

No, actually-- the worst part was when Roman started reaching for me, and his sleeves gathered beneath his wrists, unveiling the two hair ties I had given him months ago. He was still wearing them. He was still wearing them.

I was so distracted that I had let Roman's fingers catch against my wrist, barely a touch, barely there at all, but it was enough to send a shiver racing up my arm.

"Can we?--"

Talk?

No, no, no!

I yanked my hand back like I'd been burned and let out a high-pitched squeak of terror. My mind kept screaming at me that Letha had warned me he was dangerous, that he was a upir, that I shouldn't have ever let him come anywhere near me in the first place-- Roman's eyes widened as the crowd around us suddenly stopped to stare.  

Horrified, I shoved my way through the masses of people, heart hammering in my chest. My whole body was shaking, nausea pooling in the back of my throat. I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my skin, still smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. I couldn't believe he was still wearing my hair ties, even after flirting with all those girls to get my attention.

He didn't follow me. He couldn't, not with Peter and everyone else right there, watching.

I heard Peter's voice cut in; "Let's go, man,"

Roman didn't answer. I didn't dare look back, but I could feel it; the weight of him standing there, anchored to the spot like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Roman..." Peter tried again, quieter this time. "Come on, people are looking."

A pause. Then, the faint scrape of shoes against linoleum filled the hall as they started moving again.

I kept walking until the burn in my throat turned into something sharper, something wet. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to steady my breath.

I had a masterplan. I had steps to follow, I couldn't get distracted by an incident like this! 

... Even if it was the first time we had interacted in about two weeks. My heart swelled with unnameable feelings, unsure how to differentiate between the hurt and the satisfaction of hearing Roman's voice again. I couldn't believe he had been the one to initiate a conversation after how I had shot him down. How broken down must he be?

I tried not to think about it. 

Roman Godfrey loved fast cars. Roman Godfrey hated liars.

Roman Godfrey had a weird aversion to green peppers.

Roman Godfrey still loved me, didn't he?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Thankfully, Letha was happy to let me air out the thoughts I had been stifling when we met up for a study session the next day;

"It was so fucking rude," I whispered, angrily flicking through the pages of my history book. "He's been flirting with every single girl at this school in front of me, and suddenly he wants to talk to me? He has no right to even say my name!" I had no other way of processing my hurt than through anger; my body would break if it carried any more pain. 

Letha sighed, glancing around in the numbing silence of the school library. She seemed anxious about my antics, anxious that I would suddenly raise my voice-- she sat across from me, flipping through her notes with quiet, practiced flicks of her fingers. Her voice was a soft murmur, just loud enough to puncture the hush. "Typical Roman... I told you to be prepared,"

"But people are talking about it!" I shot in. "Are they not? They all heard me whimpering to get away from him, it was so embarrassing!"

Letha's eyes were round with sympathy as she reached forward and put her hand on top of mine, stopping my rapid attack on my history book. "Let them talk," 

"But I!--"

"No one can know the real reason you broke up anyway, so what's the point?" she tried, her voice soft. "If Roman wants to play games, he needs to learn that things have consequences. It's not like his mom taught him that lesson, so... it seems you will be the perfect example."

I kept my eyes fixed on my textbook as I retracted my hand, pretending to read. The words blurred together, meaningless. The more I thought about Roman and his antics, the more I wanted to disappear. "Everything just... hurts," I mumbled. "I know I shouldn't be saying it, but I miss him."

Letha sighed once more, nodding to herself as she watched me drown in my thoughts. "Even though he's flirting with the cheerleaders again?"

"Yes," It was a painful confession; a pathetic one, at most. "He's obviously not into them, he just has no other way of retaliating."

"Retaliating?"

"Obviously? Roman's pissed, this is how he functions," I sucked in a sharp breath, absentmindedly tracing the words in my history book. "I doubt he's sleeping with them though, that's for sure."

Silence.

After a few seconds too long, I glanced up at Letha through my brows. My heart painfully skipped a beat, kicking at my ribs; "You don't think he's?--"

"You don't?" Letha bit the inside of her cheek, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back into her chair. "Flash news! My cousin's a whore."

"He's not!" 

"He is,"

"Not-- Not anymore!"

"Once a nympho, always a nympho,"

"Not after therapy!" A beat. Two. "Okay, Roman hasn't been to therapy, but he's not a!--"

"Nympho? Totally," Letha said with a snort. 

"Not anymore! He's not sleeping with them!" I hissed. "He loves me!"

Letha's shoulder slumped, and she had a peculiar look on her face; come on. "He said that?"

"Yes! I told you this!--"

"Then he's a liar as well," Letha snapped. "Get it in your head, for once." Within a snap of a second, she leaned forward, scooping all her books into a heap while speaking with a lowered voice; "The quicker you understand that being involved with a upir puts you in danger, the quicker you will feel better!"

My temper was coming to a boil. "We were good before I knew, though! Maybe it would've been better if you'd never confirmed it to me in the first place?!--"

"Grow up!" Letha hissed. "Stop taking your anger out on me, and start focusing on staying out of the mess you've made instead!" With that, she stuffed her books into her bag, breathing heavily in and out of her nose to keep calm. Her next words seeped out from between her gritted teeth; "I've done nothing but help you, even after you pulled all that shit behind my back. It wouldn't hurt you to be just a little grateful."

I had half the mind to throw a book at Letha when she turned around, but the further away she got, the more I knew I'd miss. Hesitation one-oh-one. 

The other half of my mind came to the clearest conclusion I'd had in a while; the Godfreys were a crazy fucking bunch, and they were certainly not good news. I tried telling myself that Letha was simply looking out for me, and that her harshness could be explained by everything that had happened between us-- that was understandable, after all. If she hadn't harbored any animosity after everything, it would've been weird, right? And if I was having such vivid images of throwing books after her, I couldn't be completely free of animosity either?

Going back to studying after everything that had gone down was a hard task in itself, especially when I felt people all around me whispering. It was either that they had caught onto the fight between me and Letha, or it was the usual-- isn't that Roman Godfrey's girl?

Not anymore, fuckwads.

And just as I was about to wallow in more self-pity, I felt a rather harsh tap on my shoulder, hard enough to make me flinch and turn around to glare at the perpetrator. 

... I really shouldn't have.

I looked right up at my math teacher, Mr. Warrens, who was now looming over me with a coffee cup in one hand and a clipboard in the other. He wasn't exactly the scariest teacher in school, but right now he had a damning look on his face which alarmed me; this could certainly not be good news?

"I see this is where you spend your free time, miss?" Mr. Warrens said, raising a brow. "Didn't imagine you were the type to sit around and study anything at all."

I let out the most anxious giggle of all time, blindly closing my history book as I cracked a polite smile. "You'd be surprised,"

"Oh, I am," Mr. Warrens took a sip of his coffee with a presumptuous look in his eyes; "Have you ever considered assorting any study time to maths instead?" 

This was mortifying. "I was-- I was planning on doing my math assignment after this, sir,"

He didn't seem particularly convinced by my lie, but with a scoff, he moved on from it; he was the kind of man who could sniff out unfinished homework from across the room. "It doesn't matter. Because you, miss, are particularly lucky today,"

"Oh?" 

"Since you're so eager to spend your time sitting around glaring at books without actually understanding the words, I figured this would benefit you more than anyone, so... you're about to become the library's newest unpaid intern,"

I sputtered out my words-- "What?!"

Mr. Wren shrugged, but he couldn't hide the glee burning in his eyes. I bet he had been waiting for a moment to punish me for being a bad maths student. "Godfrey's got detention. You've got missing credits. Think of it as... killing two birds with one stone,"

No. 

There was no way.

"... Godfrey?!"

It wasn't until I glanced around that I saw him. Roman stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against a shelf of books a little further away, looking utterly bored, as if he had been summoned here against his will-- the same way he was always summoned everywhere. He barely glanced at me, his gaze fixed on a crack in the floor.

Was this what Roman looked like when he wanted to disappear? It was a satisfactory sight.

Mr. Warrens' eyes flicked between us. "Both of you. Sorting books alphabetically. Now. The restricted section is a mess, so I expect you to be thorough. You'll report back to me when you're done,"

"We have a librarian for that!" I snapped. "Why do we?-- I didn't even do anything, sir, I was just minding my own business here! If Roman's got detention, why am I joining?!--"

"Enough!" With one particularly angry slurp, Mr. Warrens downed his coffee and slammed his mug next to my books. "The librarian can't do everything alone, and I can easily stop giving you the passing grade you most certainly don't deserve!"

I swallowed hard. I needed that fucking grade. 

I glanced at Roman again, who still wasn't looking at me-- I couldn't believe that Mr. Warrens was unknowingly sending me into close proximity with a upir, the most dangerous carnivore on the planet. Hopefully, Roman wouldn't get the urge to suck me dry of blood for rejecting his confession of love when the doors closed behind us.

Mr. Warrens saw my rebellion drain from my eyes. Did he catch the fear? "Pack your stuff and come with me,"

My pulse quickened as I put my books in my bag and got up, dragging my feet as I followed Mr. Warrens down the library-- it felt like I was walking to a guillotine, my death. It didn't take long before I heard Roman's long steps behind me, the sound of his expensive shoes echoing through the library. "Cute," he muttered under his breath. "Forced labor."

I had to hold back a snort, and I didn't have to look at Mr. Warrens to sense he was rolling his eyes-- "One more word from you, Godfrey, and I schedule a meeting with your mother to discuss your lack of attendance in my class,"

That was enough to make Roman bite his tongue. He didn't want his mother involved with anything, I remembered that much.

The restricted section was tucked away behind locked doors, where the dim lighting made the room feel smaller. Dust floated in the air, illuminated by the yellowish lamps overhead. Rows of tall shelves loomed, lined with battered, forgotten books-- the kind no one could borrow anymore.

Mr. Warrens gave us both stern looks, dangling the keys in his hands. "Don't steal anything, and be done in an hour or so. Got it?"

Roman snorted as he shoved his hands in his pockets again, scanning the books around us; "Unless the school is storing Playboys here, you can rest assured that nothing will be stolen,"

I grimaced, rolling my eyes. "Ew, Roman,"

I couldn't believe this was our first verbal interaction in weeks.

Mr. Warrens didn't seem very pleased either, but he decided to let it go for now-- he turned around on his heel, and the door clicked shut behind him.

I wished I hadn't argued with Letha. Maybe we would've left together instead and gotten ice cream? Maybe Mr. Warrens would've picked someone else? Why couldn't we have studied at Letha's place, like in the good old days? Everything seemed to be going wrong for me today.

I scoured the shelves, not daring to meet Roman's eyes just yet-- there were mostly books the school had deemed inappropriate after buying them, along with some outdated science books from the nineties. I couldn't imagine how we'd manage to sort all of this in one hour.

However, Roman being Roman, he couldn't stop himself from saying the first thing that came to his mind; "You look good," he purred, scanning me up and down from behind with that usual hungry look in his eyes. "There's no need for Playboys when you're here, that's for sure."

I couldn't anticipate how deeply I blushed. Roman never failed to say something nasty, and it never failed to work on me. It was disgusting how easily he could get to me with the worst of methods, even when I was scared. "Stop that," I mumbled. Finding the courage to face Roman, I slowly turned to him as I prayed to all entities of the galaxy that he wasn't standing over me with his fangs ready for me in the dark.

Alas-- 

He stood leaned against the nearest shelf, dragging a lazy hand through his hair. His green eyes met mine, neutral, certainly not pouncing on me yet. Roman bit back a smirk, clearly happy to be locked in here with me. "What, are you gonna report me for harassment?"

"I might,"

"Shut up, you like it when I'm nasty,"

I did, but he didn't need to get it confirmed. More than ever, I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, so I thought I'd hit him where it'd hurt; "What'd you do to deserve this, then?"

Roman blinked. "Which part? You leaving me, or detention?"

Ouch. My heart thudded with pain-- my attempt at hurting him had backfired like Daniel's dad's car. All the times I had promised Roman that I'd never leave him flashed before my eyes-- all the promises, the repeated assurance. It became clear to me that his little act of confidence was just that, an act. My voice was meek when I managed to speak, a mere whisper; "Detention,"

Roman crossed his arms over his chest, tsking. "Existing," His voice was low, bored, but there was something sharp beneath it.

"I see..." I knew that it either involved skipping class or being caught smoking behind the school. Typical Roman behavior, really. 

The air felt thick. I couldn't breathe. Not only was I in danger, being alone with a upir like this, but I felt also felt unbelievably guilty. 

I dropped my bag on the floor, already reaching for the first book on the shelf, doing anything to keep my hands busy. Waiting for Roman to say something meaningful after he had insisted on talking to me yesterday on the stairs, I remained quiet as I flipped the book open. My fingers trembled against the paper with anticipation, yet-- nothing.

For a while, none of us spoke. The only sounds were the shuffle of pages and the soft thud of books being placed back onto shelves. Every so often, Roman would reach past me, brushing against my shoulder or the curve of my waist; fleeting, accidental touches that made my heart lurch painfully inside my chest with both fear and suppressed excitement.

It felt like some twisted punishment. To be this close to him again, close enough to smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, but not close enough to say any of the things clawing at the back of my throat.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore; "Are you really not going to say anything?"

Roman stopped, holding up a book mid-air. It was at this moment that I caught a glance of my hair ties still hanging around his wrist. "Say what? I feel like I've said enough,"

"You... wanted to say something yesterday,"

"Oh," he mumbled, putting away the book in the correct alphabetical order. "Just wanted to check if you were alright."

"... What?"

"I saw you storming out of the cafeteria the other day. Just wondered if I was the reason,"

The feeling I'd had when I nearly threw a book after Letha a few minutes ago returned, and I caught myself gripping the book I was holding tighter as my body anticipated flinging it at Roman. However, I restrained myself and turned away from him. "Would it satisfy you if I told you that you were?"

Roman didn't miss a beat-- "No,"

For fuck's sake. 

"I won't ever be satisfied," he continued. "Not until you wake up and get it in your head that I'm supposed to be with you, and no one else."

My heart was in my throat, and I placed my hand on the shelf in front of me to steady myself. My knees had gone weak, threatening to give up on me. I couldn't breathe. Hearing Roman say that made me dizzy beyond reason-- or was that the dust? I had to get myself together. "Actually, my head has never been clearer than after figuring you out, thank you very much," I snapped. "Flirt with all the cheerleaders in the tri-state area. Do whatever you want, Roman. At least I know I won't have to see any of it after we graduate next summer."

His expression remained unreadable up until my last sentence, as something flickered behind his eyes, dark and wounded. "You think I like this?"

My hands stilled around the book I was holding. "I think you're trying to hurt me," I whispered.

Roman stepped forward, just a fraction-- it made me turn around to face him. Standing with my back to him didn't feel very safe. Roman got close enough that I could feel the ghost of his breath on my temple. His fingers brushed against the shelf beside my head, trapping me in place without touching me; "Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, almost dangerous. "Is it working?"

My whole body was close to trembling, torn between wanting to slap him across the face and wanting him to kiss me. It was giving me the biggest deja vu to seven minutes in heaven all those months ago-- the dim lights, the close proximity, the danger of the situation.

It was sick, how badly I missed it all.

Roman's eyes flicked down to my mouth. "Speak,"

Fuck. "No,"

"Liar,"

"Me?!"

"Who else?"

I gasped; "So I'm the liar? Says the secret upir!"

Roman reacted like I had pressed hot iron to his skin. With a knee-jerk reaction, he turned away, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek like he'd caught himself making a mistake. He picked up another book, pretending like nothing had happened. 

Now that his back was turned to me, I pressed the palm of my hand to my face-- that was too harsh, wasn't it? A meek sorry slipped past my lips before I could stop it. Why was I apologizing?

"Let's just get this over with," Roman mumbled, flickering through the book that had caught his fake interest. 

Seeing him like this made me want to walk up to him and give him a hug from behind. I hadn't done enough of those when I'd had the chance. There were many things I should've done when I still had him-- I couldn't believe I wasn't going to get the opportunity to kiss the beautiful tip of his nose anymore. 

The more I dwelled on the past, the more it hit me that Roman was still a person despite the fact that he was also a upir. He had laid his heart out to me that night those two weeks ago, so maybe it was fair to show him that I was hurting as well? 

God, how I wanted him to be okay. 

Which is exactly why I allowed myself to pose the question; "Are you really sleeping with them?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft and fragile.

Roman froze halfway through reaching for another book. His knuckles went white around the spine. For a long moment, he didn't look at me. "What?"

My stomach twisted; "The cheerleaders. The girls you've been... flirting with. Are you sleeping with them?"

He was still for so long that I thought he might not answer at all. Then, slowly, he set the book down on the shelf, deliberate, controlled, before turning to face me. "Why do you care?"

My breath caught in my chest-- what a stupid question.

Imagining Roman having sex with any of those girls made me sick, that's why I cared. Thinking about him kissing them like he used to kiss me, touching them like he used to touch me, made me want to slam my head into the bookshelves around us to crack my skull open. How would he talk to them? Would he call them sweet names, like he used to call me? Would he groan into the crook of their necks as he came, would he talk them through it when they did as well?

I needed to shut my mind off before I threw up.

Roman's mouth curved when I didn't answer, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Right..." He nodded to himself, letting it sink in that I cared, that I saw. The tension in the room stretched thin, vibrating between us like a live wire. "I'm not sleeping with them," he eventually said. "If that helps you sleep at night."

I wanted to call Letha and yell at her that I was right, that he wouldn't go so far to prove his point. Not when our breakup was this fresh, anyway. "Thanks," I mumbled. 

Roman insisted on the subject; "Maybe I should, though? Maybe that would make you come back running?"

I was two seconds from buckling over and barfing all over the outdated science books. "You're an ass,"

"Are you surprised?"

"Nope," I huffed. "Just wondering whether you'd actually be able to."

"Able to...?"

With a tiny smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my back against the shelf. Like this, I could size Roman up properly, and I felt I had some sort of defence with my attack; "Y'know, like... get it up, and all,"

Roman snorted, visibly offended. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"I don't know, Rome, like you'd ever want to fuck anyone else after having been with me?"

Hearing his old nickname, he froze, his green eyes widening as the initial shock seeped out of his lungs. "That's not how dicks work," he mumbled. "If there's a possibility to have sex, it will be ready, believe me."

I scanned him. Properly. All from the way he was breathing, from the way his eye twitched with retained frustration. Roman was two seconds from cracking, and I knew it. He was lying. "Okay, discarding my seemingly limited knowledge of how dicks function, would your conscious be okay with it?"

Roman needed a minute to let his brain churn through the question, weighing all possible answers. While thinking, his eyes scoured the room, moving on autopilot as he held his breath-- it didn't take long for him to find an outdated book on anatomy, and he held it out for me to take. 

I snorted. "Funny," I mumbled, accepting the book. "Answer the question, Roman."

"No,"

"No?" I watched as he walked away from me again and started trying to organize. "Don't be like that, just answer the fucking!--"

"No, I wouldn't be okay with it," 

Silence.

Roman let out a sigh as he leaned his forehead against a shelf, shutting his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing. "I still love you, whether I want to or not. There's nothing I can do but wait for it to go away, so until then, I think it'd kill me,"

... Oh.

I couldn't feel my fingers. It felt like my heart had sunk into my diaphragm, beating low in my stomach. There was nothing I could do when my eyes welled with tears except press the anatomy book to my chest, hoping to relieve the pain. For a second, I forgot that I was afraid. When the second stretched to many more, I even forgot that Roman was a upir. 

For about a minute, Roman was simply the man I had fallen in love with.

"Rome?"

He didn't turn his head to me, not fully, but I could see the bitter tears forming in the corner of his eye.

"Rome, do you... can you hear my heart?"

I knew he could. I knew his upir senses allowed him to hear it clear as day. 

And Roman nodded, so faintly I could barely see it. "I can hear that you're scared, if that's why you're asking," he mumbled. "I'm not stupid."

I swallowed hard. I shouldn't be initiating this conversation. Letha said it was dangerous, the book said it was dangerous, my mind was screaming at me to stop-- but my heart... my heart bled for him. "That's not fear,"

With slow moves, Roman turned his head to properly look at me. He saw the way I pressed my back up against the shelf behind me, how I clutched the anatomy book like it would protect me from my feelings. 

"Whatever you feel for me, Rome, I can assure you... I feel it for you a million times more," 

It was the truth, nothing more.

"I don't think we're soulmates. I don't believe that meeting you was some sort of divine intervention, because then you wouldn't be what you are. But I can be certain that this wasn't pure chance either, because... I willed this. Ever since I first saw you, I felt ready to go through whatever I needed to do to get to you,"

Roman's lips parted, his pupils dilating as his green eyes rounded out. 

"I love you," I breathed. "And I should've said it that night, because I've always loved you. I love you with every bit of conscience I was born with. I love you, Roman."

Finally.

I exhaled.

My shoulders sank with the weight that was relieved off my soul. 

Finally, he knew. Finally, I had said it.

There was a quiet gasp, a sharp inhale, followed by a silent tear rolling down Roman's cheek. His lower lip quivered as he spoke in a whisper; "Then what the hell are we doing?"

That was not the response I had expected-- not that I had thought this through, of course, but that was certainly not it. Seeing him upset like this reminded me of the night of our breakup, and it made me freeze in my spot. Had we not suffered enough? 

"If you love me, and I love you, aren't we... supposed to be together? Isn't that how this works?"

"Not always," I breathed, slowly turning to put away the anatomy book I had been clutching. "There are millions of stories of people who love each other but can't be together... Look around."

Roman smeared his tears into his skin. "I don't want to be one of those stories,"

"We were never supposed to happen in the first place," I mumbled. "Maybe if we stop fighting the fact that we should be apart--"

"But I don't want to be apart from you," It seemed to be dawning on Roman how serious this conversation was, how final it felt. "And if you love me as you say you do, shouldn't you want to be with me?"

"It's not that easy!--"

"So, what then? You're saying you don't want to be with me because it's not easy? You love me, but you give up?" Roman's fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to remain calm, yet his efforts didn't pay off. His words came out with his next exhale, relenting to the pain of his confusion; "Why can't we just be together?"

I swallowed hard. "You know why, Roman,"

"No, I don't," Roman stepped closer, too close, his breath falling hot against my cheek. "I don't-- I don't fucking get it anymore."

This confrontation felt like a punch to the chest.

"You say you love me," His voice was low, pleading. "Not even my own fucking mother loves me, so I know that love is a heavy thing, and I know that you can't just--" He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. "You can't just turn that off!"

My heart was trying to twist itself out from between my ribs as I looked up into Roman's big, green eyes. "I know," I breathed. "I can't turn it off. Believe me, I've tried."

"I've tried too," Roman whispered, inching closer. "But at the end of the day, I only want you."

My throat closed up. He seemed so sincere, so utterly desperate-- I kept wiggling my fingers to make sure they weren't tingling, that he wasn't using his powers on me, because I felt more and more overcome by the emotions I had been suppressing these past few weeks. "Even after flirting with all those cheerleaders?" I breathed, giving in to a pout.

Roman's gaze narrowed with a look of come on as he placed his hand on the bookshelf behind me, locking me in again. Instinctively, I pressed my back against the shelf, swallowing over and over-- how had I let him get so close? "You're not who I thought you were," I whispered. 

Roman flinched, his jaw tightened, yet he didn't back off. "I'm still me,"

"You're barely human,"

"I'm still me," His voice broke open, hoarse. "I'm still the same guy who kissed you in a shitty closet during seven minutes in heaven."

God, that was a hundred years ago. My heart cracked straight down the middle-- I could still feel that night like it was stitched under my skin. "But you're not safe," My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm not safe with you around."

Roman sighed, his lashes falling heavy over his eyes; "With that logic, you were never safe in the first place. But when have I ever put you in danger? When have I ever harmed you? I kicked a fucking car away from you, and mind you, it was coming at you at about a hundred kilometers an hour! If I'm willing to do that, you have to understand that I would never hurt you!"

My chest heaved. This was too much. 

"Don't listen to Letha," he pleaded. "I'm not even a full upir yet, I'm less dangerous than a fucking hippo!"

Wait.

... What? 

He wasn't... a full upir?

It felt like I had been sucker-punched in the stomach. My eyes sprung wide open, staring at Roman and his exasperated expression-- it quickly fell apart as he scanned his mind with a grimace, his gaze turning to the ceiling as he pondered how to rephrase it. "Actually, hippos are really fucking dangerous, aren't they?" he mumbled mostly to himself. "I don't know, okay, who's like... moderate on the scale?"

I couldn't breathe. "Roman--"

"What about those small hippos? The ones that only bite people's knees and stuff?--"

"Roman, you're not a full upir?!"

He stopped his rambling, adjusting his stance as he scanned my face. He blinked. Once, twice. "No...?" His words were slow, trying, as he tested the waters. "Letha didn't tell you that?"

"Letha has nothing to do with this!" I lied, trying to catch my breath.

"Letha has everything to do with this," Roman grumbled. "I'm not fucking stupid. You were wearing her clothes that night, and you smelled like her incense for rich schizos! If you think you're not being manipulated here, think again!" 

"Letha is my best friend!" I choked out. "She is trying to keep me safe!--"

"From what?!" Roman huffed, raising his voice as his frustrations rose. "From me? I don't even have venom!" 

My heart stopped. It was true.

If Roman hadn't died before, he couldn't be venomous.

If Roman hadn't died before, his urges were mostly dormant.

If Roman hadn't died before, he... wasn't really a proper upir.

Yet.

This changed everything.

My lips parted in shock as I looked away from him, my chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. It didn't help anything when the dizziness kicked in. "I feel like I'm going to faint," I mumbled, changing my weight from one foot to another. 

"You're not," Roman adjusted the hand he had on the shelf behind me, getting ready to catch me if I were to crumble to the floor. "Not to freak you out, but I would've sensed your blood pressure dropping."

"I know," I breathed. "I remember that from the car crash."

"Ah," Roman kept trying to read me, kept trying to understand what had just happened in my mind. "Look, why do I have a feeling that... this changes things?"

"What does?"

"That I'm not... that thing, fully,"

I swallowed hard, daring to meet his green eyes-- they were so heartbreakingly full of hope. "I still can't trust you,"

Roman dared to lean down further, the tip of his nose nearly touching mine. "Then let me prove to you that you can," he whispered against my lips. "Let me show you that I have control."

"But--"

"Let me," he begged. "Please."

I couldn't breathe, not when he was this close. Suddenly, it felt like my whole body was on fire, just like it had been before. 

Roman's chest was heaving.

He was so, so close.

I knew I was putting my life on the line for this, but... it felt worth it.

Roman's breath fanned across my lips, his presence overwhelming. The weight of his promise lingered between us, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't sure if I was fighting against him or surrendering entirely.

I barely had a second to consider before his lips brushed against my neck, featherlight, barely there-- it was enough to set every nerve in my body alight. I sucked in a sharp breath, fingers clutching at the bookshelf behind me as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded. The heat of his mouth lingered, sending a shiver down my spine, but the sharp sting of fangs never came. He stayed, lips parted against my skin, just breathing me in.

I didn't realize my hands had let go of the shelf until I felt them against his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heartbeat against my palm-- steady, real. For all his inhuman traits, for all my fear and hesitation, he was still a boy standing in front of me, waiting for me to believe in him. My boy.

"See?" he murmured, his lips still hovering over my pulse point. "There is nothing to be scared of."

I was trembling, but not from fear anymore. The realization hit me all at once-- I had missed this, missed him. Before I could think better of it, my hands slid up, over his shoulders, around the back of his neck. His hair was soft beneath my fingertips, and when I tugged, just slightly, his breath hitched. 

That was all it took-- he knew what I wanted.

Roman's lips met mine with a desperation that burned through every hesitation I'd tried to hold onto. There was no doubting, no second-guessing-- it was raw, breathless, words of longing condensed into the way his mouth moved against mine, how his hands found my waist and pulled me flush against him. He kissed me like he was trying to prove something, like he was trying to rewrite everything that had happened between us, like nothing had ever happened at all.

I moaned against Roman's lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head to claim more of me. My legs felt weak, my was head spinning, but I didn't stop; I couldn't. My fingers tangled in his hair, his name slipping from my lips between kisses, and I felt him groan in response-- a low, needy sound that sent a thrill down my spine.

Then, the tension snapped like a live wire. One moment, I was standing, and the next, gravity had me. But it wasn't clumsy, wasn't an accident, it was something deeper, something inevitable-- the bookshelves groaned under our weight as we slid down, slow and spiralling, our descent fuelled by tangled fingers, desire, and unspoken longing. The world outside the restricted section ceased to exist, and Roman's hands were everywhere, threading through my hair, gripping my waist, pulling me closer with desperation.

By the time we hit the floor, breathless and entwined, the air between us was electric, charged with something neither of us could name. Roman hovered over me, eyes dark, lips swollen, his thumb brushing over the curve of my cheek.

"Fuck," I cursed, shivering-- I was losing control, spiralling with every sweet touch. What was I doing? What was I thinking? I shouldn't be doing this. Roman was still a upir, full or not. My mind went haywire with conflicting thoughts as he leaned down to kiss me again, and I bunched the fabric of his shirt between my fingers. 

Roman groaned against my lips, like he could feel me slipping and wouldn't allow it. His hands tightened, fingers splaying against my waist, dragging me closer until there was no room to think, only to feel.

"I love you," he murmured, breath warm against my skin as his lips traced the edge of my jaw, down the curve of my throat. His voice was lower now, almost coaxing, like he knew exactly what was holding me back, and he was determined to make me forget.

I should've stopped this. I should've pushed him away. But when his teeth grazed my pulse, a sharp gasp escaped me, my body arching before I could think it through properly. My grip on his shirt tightened, nails digging into him as if he were the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

"Tell me to stop," Roman whispered, lips hovering over the hollow of my throat, his breath shaky, uneven. His restraint was a fragile thing-- I could feel it in the way his fingers flexed against my skin, the way his whole breath trembled with need.

I opened my mouth, ready to say it, ready to end this before it spiralled further...

But those words never came. 

Instead--

"Don't," I whispered. "Don't stop."

I dragged him back to me, crashing my lips against his like he was the only thing in the world that could keep me breathing.

Roman groaned into the kiss, a sound so raw it sent a bolt of heat down my spine. "You drive me insane," he rasped, and before I could think, before I could remember why I was supposed to stop, his hands were sliding beneath my shirt, fingertips burning against my skin. 

And I let him.

I let him wry my shirt off.

I let him drag my pants off. 

I let him kiss my thighs, let him press a kiss to my clit through my underwear, let him kiss his way back up my stomach, and to top it off-- I was quite sure I ripped a button off his shirt to get it off of him.

Fuck. Had I lost my mind?

"I'm so screwed," I mumbled, clutching onto Roman's hair as he sucked a hickey into the skin of my shoulder. "I have no control when it comes to you." Closing my eyes, I relished in the fact that there'd at least be a mark left behind from this like a reward-- I'd have remnants of Roman on my shoulder for at least a week, if this was the last time we ever did this. It couldn't be. Could it? 

Would I never feel Roman like this again? It made my heart ache as I tugged his hair harder, like it would make us stay in this moment forever. 

Roman hummed against my skin before he raised himself, hovering above me. His lids were heavy over his green eyes, darkened with lust-- but in the midst of the want, there was love, shining down on me with the clearest ray of sun. "I'll lend you some of mine then," he murmured, before getting off of me.

What? 

What was happening right now?

I laid on the floor, my brows drawing together in confusion as my eyes followed him-- what was he doing, lying down next to me?

It wasn't until Roman smiled at me, the first genuine one in a while, that I got an inkling of what he was thinking. "Sit," he said.

... Sit? 

Now I was unsure again.

I scrambled to my knees, wondering what on earth he was planning to do. "Rome, what are you?-- Ah!"

Roman wasted no time hooking his strong arm around my leg, dragging me towards him like I weighed nothing as I yelped. With a quick manoeuvre, I was somehow straddling his chest as my cheeks burned. "Giving you control," he murmured, now pulling me towards his face. 

... Oh God.

"Sit,"

My hand shot to the bookshelf, keeping myself steady as Roman's darkened eyes urged me to use him, to do whatever I wanted to him, while he slowly pulled my underwear to the side. "Ro-- Roman, I--" 

All the air in my body caught in my throat as he leaned forward off the floor, dragging me down with him as he covered my mound with his mouth, sucking me in. My legs gave in to a tremble, letting out a broken moan as I instinctively let go of the edge of the shelf-- this couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. 

But when Roman sucked down on my clit with the gentlest of pressures, just how he knew I liked it, I knew I wasn't imagining it. 

For the love of all things holy, I hoped Mr. Warrens wouldn't walk in on me like this, straddling Roman's face. He'd fail us both, and possibly get us expelled-- a big part of me wanted to just disappear and die, but the other only wanted more. 

I had no idea what came over me when I grabbed Roman's hair to anchor myself and rolled my hips into his face. It felt rough, too commanding, too much like I was taking advantage, all until he let out a happy hum; this is what he had wanted, for me to feel in control. 

It felt too good to stop, and it only made me tug his hair harder-- he seemed to like that, as usual. Waves of pleasure coursed through my body as Roman swirled his tongue around my clit, only to later seal his lips around it, moaning, sending vibrations all throughout my system. It became too much to bear when I felt closer and closer to the edge a little too soon, and I let out a squeak of clear overstimulation before I raised myself from his mouth, letting my quivering thighs bring me back to the floor again. 

I tried to catch my breath as I stared back at Roman in disbelief, where he lay on the floor with parted lips and a satisfied look on his face. He slowly turned to me, my slick glistening around his mouth; "Still scared?" he purred. 

Yes. 

Yes, yes, absolutely yes.

"It seems like you're the one struggling with control," he continued, not bothering to wipe the victorious smirk off his face. "You can't stay away from me, can you?"

I swallowed hard. My body felt like it was on fire, my mind screaming at me to stop, to run, but I couldn't move.

Roman propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze heavy-lidded with satisfaction; "No matter what you tell yourself, you'll always come back to me. That's what you're really scared of, isn't it?"

"No!" I breathed, shaking my head. "That's not-- not true!--"

"Isn't it?" Roman tilted his head, watching me like a predator that had already caught its prey. His smirk didn't fade, but something in his expression darkened, sharpened, like my denial had cracked through his amusement. "You don't sound convinced." 

He sat up slowly, moving with an unbearable grace as he reached for me-- not roughly, not desperately, but deliberately, fingers tracing over the inside of my knee before drifting up, light as a whisper.

Roman watched my every move with precision as he dragged the tip of his thumb across my bare skin. "You're nervous," he observed. "But not because you're afraid..." His smirk deepened as I tensed under his touch. "I can feel you, y'know. Hear you. Your heart doesn't lie."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn't speak. 

Roman leaned in closer, slow and unhurried, his lips ghosting over my ear as he exhaled a warm breath.

"You can fight it all you want," he continued, his voice like silk laced with something richer, something darker. "Tell yourself whatever you need to, but we both know the truth, don't we?"

Roman's hand drifted higher, his fingers brushing over the fabric of my underwear-- he wanted them off.

"You'll always be mine,"

Goosebumps appeared across my skin, my body betraying me once more. How was it possible to fear someone so much, but to want them even more? Why couldn't I pull myself together?

I didn't have time to think about it; with a swift, fluid motion, he lunged forward and had me on my back. My breath hitched as the floor was suddenly beneath me, Roman above me, caging me in. His hand splayed over my hip, holding me down, his body pressed flush against mine. 

Then, when he kissed me, it wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was a claim, fierce and unrelenting, his mouth crashing against mine as if he was starving for me. Heat surged between us, my fingers tangling in his hair before I could even think. There was no space, no hesitation, no room for anything except the sharp, dizzying pull of him dragging me under.

Roman kissed me like he wanted to consume me, his lips hot and desperate; his sharp teeth grazed my lower lip, making my whole body jolt. His fingers dug into my hip, keeping me flush against him, his other hand fisting into my hair to tilt my head back, deepening the kiss until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

I should've stopped him.

I could've stopped him.

But I didn't.

Instead, I arched into him, my nails dragging over his bare skin as I let him press me harder into the floor. Roman groaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my body, and it sent something wild through me-- something I couldn't control, something that made me wrap my legs around his waist without thinking.

That was all it took.

Roman cursed under his breath, his hand sliding down my thigh, gripping tight as he ground against me, slow and deliberate, making sure I felt all of him. His breath was ragged, his control slipping, and the worst part was how it wholeheartedly thrilled me.

"I need to have you," he rasped, his lips dragging down my jaw, my throat. "I need you."

My pulse pounded in my ears, my body burning everywhere he touched. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But when his teeth grazed my neck, a gasp tore from my lips, and I knew I was completely, utterly lost. "Here?" I breathed. 

Roman smirked against my skin, his breath hot as he traced the faint mark his teeth had left with the tip of his tongue. "Here," he said-- "Now." 

I shivered beneath him, every nerve in my body betraying me, bending to his touch, to his voice, to him. I hated it. I craved it.

Roman's hips rolled against mine, slow, torturous, and every time the outline of his hard cock lined up with my clothed clit, I arched into him without thinking. He let out a low, satisfied hum, dragging his nose up the side of my neck before pressing his lips to my ear.

"See?" he murmured, his voice thick with triumph. "You need me too."

I did. I did.

When his mouth slanted over mine again, hot and demanding, I kissed him back just as hard, My fingers twisted into his hair, body surging against him, desperate and reckless and lost. Roman groaned against my lips, his hands tightening around my waist as he dragged me closer, as if even the press of our bodies wasn't enough; it would never be enough. 

"Do you--" I could barely speak, nor pull away. "Do you-- Condom?"

Roman's heavy breath fell against my mouth, pressing his clothed cock against my clit harder, watching me whimper. "Nope," he said. "But we're still gonna fuck."

Christ. 

This was the stupidest idea ever. 

But the more I looked into Roman's eyes, the more I realized he was searching mine for a sign of permission, waiting for a green light despite his confident rouse. I gave in to my desire; "You might want to get my underwear off, then," I mumbled, biting down on my lower lip to stop it from quivering-- my adrenaline was shot.

With a proud huff, Roman gave my cheek a quick kiss, a sweet one, before he propped himself up on his knees, hooking his fingers around my underwear. "Up," he ordered, and I submitted to his command with no further thought. Lifting my hips, I let Roman pull my underwear down my legs, and just as I thought he was about to throw them away, he... tucked them into the front pocket of his jeans?

"Hey!" I whined. "I need those, I'm wearing pants today!--"

"Don't care," 

And suddenly, Roman leaned forward, grabbing my chin to keep my eyes focused on him with a firm hold. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, his grip firm but not unkind, and his smirk deepened as he tilted my chin up, making sure I had nowhere to look but at him. "You don't need them right now, do you?"

I swallowed hard, shaking my head.

Roman held back a laugh before he shifted back, his eyes dropping between my legs. The hunger in his gaze made my stomach flip. He spread my thighs wider, running his fingers up the inside of one, slow, teasing, until his knuckles brushed against my sex.

"God," he breathed, slipping his fingers through the slick heat between my legs. He pulled back just enough to watch my face as he dragged them over my clit, rubbing lazy circles that made my legs tremble. "You're fucking soaked."

Why was he surprised? Roman had literally manhandled me to sit on his face three minutes ago. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "Shut up," I mumbled, but my voice wavered when his fingers pressed against me firmer.

Roman only grinned as heat flushed through me-- I tried to turn my head away, but his grip on my chin tightened. "Nuh-uh," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Oh, don't go shy on me now."

Fuck it.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him down into a kiss, rough and impatient. Roman groaned against my lips, pressing his fingers inside me in one smooth motion-- I gasped, my body arching into him as he curled them just right, sending sparks up my spine. I was so screwed.

"That's it," he breathed, kissing down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. He dipped his fingers deeper, filling me at a sweet pace. I let out a choked gasp, my body betraying me, hips lifting to chase more friction.

Roman groaned, his forehead falling against mine, but his smug grin never wavered.

"Fuck, you're gripping me so tight, baby," He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that nearly made me see white-- the spot I never managed to reach on my own. "Like you're scared I'll leave, or..." His breath ghosted over my lips; "Like you're scared you'll never get this again."

I whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair.

"That's it, isn't it?" His voice was almost sweet. "You think I'm some monster, but here you are... Letting me have you anyway." Roman's grin softened, and he would've almost seemed affectionate if it weren't for the sharp, possessive glint in his eyes. "Because you love me."

I jerked, but he caught my chin again, keeping my gaze locked in his; "Say it,"

I shook my head. Deny, deny, deny. Was I really gonna give it to him this easy?

"Say it," he repeated, the demand a breath away from my lips.

My chest heaved. I wanted to fight it, but I was drowning in Roman, in the way he touched me, in the way he knew--

"I love you," I choked out, moving my hips to meet his fingers. It felt too good. I couldn't think. I couldn't function. I couldn't, I couldn't, I couldn't. 

Roman's cocky smirk faltered. He watched me give in, watched me crumble, and just for a second, he almost looked relieved that it was real, that it wasn't something he had made up. But then it came back, slow and satisfied, like he had just won. "Yeah, you do," he purred, letting go of my chin. Roman yanked his belt open, shoved his jeans down just enough; "And you're gonna let me fuck you, even though you're scared of what I am." He ran the tip of his cock through my slick folds, teasing, dragging out my torment. "Because you love me too much to stop yourself, don't you?"

I bit down on my lip, eyes squeezing shut-- was this really happening? Was I about to get fucked on the library floor by the one person I had told myself to avoid? My every breath felt painful, yet satisfactory. Fucking masochist. 

"Look at me," Roman ordered, voice low with want.

I forced my gaze up, and he looked like he melted at the sight of me-- wrecked, desperate, completely his, like I would always be. "Fuck," Roman groaned, his fingers tightening against my thigh. "Look at you." He reached down to tap the tip of his cock on my clit, making me squirm beneath him with a broken moan. His smirk was positively sinful; "You're shaking, baby."

Of course I was. Asshole. Every nerve in my body was burning with need, with anticipation, with the unbearable weight of Roman's unrelenting teasing.

"So needy," he murmured, almost like he was in awe. "You keep telling yourself this is wrong, but look at where you are..." He gave a shallow thrust, barely pressing inside before pulling back, a cruel little preview that had me gasping; "Letting the big, bad upir fuck you in the back of the library, hm?"

I whimpered, fingers clawing at his arms. I had lost. I had lost. 

Roman hummed, pleased with my reaction. "Yeah... that's what I thought," He rocked forward again, just enough for the head to push inside, stretching me open. "You keep fighting me, keep pushing me away, but when I've got you like this? When I'm about to fuck you stupid?" He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear; "You let me do whatever I want."

I moaned, humiliated by how true it was. I should have ran from him, should have stayed away, but here I was, legs spread for him, letting him win once again.

Roman chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. His hand dragged down my stomach, fingers pressing lightly against the bulge of his cock just barely inside me. "Feel that?" He pushed in another inch, making me gasp. "That's not even half of me, baby. You're already losing it."

I grabbed at his shoulders, desperate; "Roman--"

"What?" he taunted, dragging out every syllable. He eased out completely, making me whimper at the loss, before pressing back in achingly slow. "You want more?"

I nodded frantically, arching against him.

Roman groaned, eyes darkening. "Yeah? You want me to fill you up, baby? I have a feeling you missed me," His cock pulsed against my entrance, teasing, teasing, teasing--

I was about to break. "Please," I begged. "If we're gonna fuck, let's-- do it properly."

His smirk widened; "Properly?" 

I knew I had messed up by the sound of his words.

Roman held back a mocking laugh-- I could feel it. 

"Fine,"

Then, without warning, Roman's fingers dug into my hips as he pulled me further onto him, filling me to the brim. I cried out, my back arching clean off the floor, my entire body tightening around him. Panicked, I grabbed his hands, trying to find some comfort.

And comfort, I got. Roman groaned, dropping his forehead against mine, and it allowed me to wrap my arms around him instead. "Shit--" He stayed still for a second, like he was savoring the feeling of my embrace. His breath was ragged, his cock twitching inside me.

Then he pulled out halfway and pushed into me again, harder this time, knocking the air from my lungs. "That's it," he muttered, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had me seeing stars. His lips found my throat, sucking a mark against my skin, branding me over and over. "Still scared of me?" he panted, dragging his teeth over my pulse.

I was. I was terrified--

But not of this.

Not of him inside me, of the way he stretched me open, of how good he made me feel. Instead, I was scared of how badly I needed him, how even now, knowing what he was, I couldn't pull away. "I just want you," I whispered.

Roman already knew. He always did.

I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only take what he gave me. Deep, slow, dragging thrusts that had me clenching around him, struggling to hold back the cries of pleasure threatening to escape. His hand clamped over my mouth as he rocked into me harder, faster, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the restricted room of the library.

"God, you really are fucking mine, aren't you?" Roman's voice was thick with something twisted, sinisterly happy. His hand tightened over my mouth, keeping me quiet as he thrust deep, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of me. "You should be running from me... you should hate me."

A broken sound tore from my throat, muffled by his palm-- something told me he hated himself more than I could ever hate him.

"But instead--" His pace slowed, teasing me, fucking me so deep I could barely breathe. "You're letting a goddamn upir fuck you."

I shuddered violently, my nails raking down his back.

Roman's free hand trailed down my side, slow, possessive. Then he pressed his palm flat against my stomach, feeling himself inside me. "I'm not so dangerous right now, hm?" His voice was almost mocking. "Never was, never will be."

Maybe he had a point? Or maybe I was just too horny to function. Something must be wrong with my brain to risk my life for one more quick fuck.

Roman smirked against my skin, listening to the sound of my muffled moans against the palm of his hands. "You love me so much, you'll let me do whatever I want to you," He pulled out almost all the way, making me whimper, before snapping his cock back inside me, and I cried out against his hand. "You can't even help yourself, can you?"

I was falling apart. Why was he so spot on?

His hand loosened over my mouth just enough for me to gasp; "Roman--"

"Shh," he hushed me, his nose brushing against mine. "We have to be quiet, remember?" As if to mock me, he thrust harder, making me bite my lip to swallow my cry. "Wouldn't want to risk getting caught, would you?"

Tears pricked my eyes. "No," I breathed.

"Mmm," he hummed in approval, smug. "There you go, someone's learning... Good girl." Like a reward for my compliance, Roman propped himself up on his knees, guiding my legs over his thighs-- his hand slipped between us, thumb finding my clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that contrasted the harsh pace of his thrusts. 

I gasped, the pleasure building so fast it was unbearable. "Shit, shit--"

"Shh, I got you," he cooed, voice dripping with amusement. "Just let me take care of you, yeah?"

My body trembled, and my vision started going hazy as Roman continued circling my clit with the nicest of pressures, making my toes curl. It didn't matter that every moment felt stolen, like we had borrowed it from the universe and needed to give it back yesterday, nothing mattered-- only this. 

I forced myself to breathe, to melt into the feel of him, and when I shifted my hips, taking him deeper, Roman let out the filthiest groan; "That's it," he purred, pulling back just enough to thrust forward again, pushing all the way in until I was full, stretched to the limit. "God, you feel so fucking good--"

I could only whimper, clenching around his cock; "Fuck, Ro-- Rome," My back arched off the floor as I tried my best to fight the incoming wave. How was I supposed to let this end, how was I supposed to let him go? I didn't want this to end, didn't want him to stop; "I don't-- I can't--"

"Yes, you can," Roman cooed, his thumb continuously rubbing steady circles around my clit. "Gonna come for me?"

All my words of protest became one mumble of sounds-- my hand shot down to grab his wrist in an attempt to stop him, yet it simply laid over his hand. I couldn't halt it, not when it felt this good, not when I knew this had to be the last time I felt his hands on me. 

There was no way for me to delay it anymore, not when Roman's green eyes locked with mine. His smirk was razor-sharp, knowing, as if he could see every thought unraveling in my head. "That's it," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Let me feel how much you love this... how much you love me."

I whimpered, my whole body tightening, teetering on the edge. Roman's hand on my clit was relentless, coaxing me toward oblivion, and I couldn't hold back anymore when he said the cursed words of the day; "I love you... so, so much,"

My breath hitched, and then I shattered, pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense I thought I might break apart completely.

Roman groaned, his grip on my hips tightening as I clenched around him, dragging him with me. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, until he buried himself to the hilt with a deep, shuddering gasp. His forehead dropped against mine, breath hot and ragged as he spilled inside me, his entire body trembling from the force of it.

For a moment, there was only silence, except for the sound of our heavy breathing. Roman's hand remained on my stomach, possessive, like he was holding the moment in place, refusing to let it slip away just yet.

... Fuck.

How had I let this happen? How could I have done this? Drained, my lips parted as I stared up at the ceiling with a dead look in my eyes. I was so, so deeply screwed-- for real.

Somehow, I found the strength to embrace Roman, feeling how warm he was against me. I wanted to kiss his cheek, say something sweet, tell him he did good as well, but I couldn't. I listened as he let out a slow sigh, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. His cock was still buried deep inside me, twitching as he pulsed with the aftershocks of his release, and I could feel it-- the way he was still savoring this, still revelling in the fact that he'd won.

Reality hit me all over, like a slap to the face. I had just let him do this. And on top of everything, that fucker came inside of me.

Panic clawed up my throat, and Roman felt the shift immediately. He pulled back slightly, eyes searching mine, his smirk already creeping back. "Running again?" His voice was softer now, but the smug amusement was impossible to miss.

"This was a mistake," I whispered. 

Roman's smile flickered, just for a second. It was long enough for me to see the crack, the flash of something raw beneath it, but then it was gone, buried under something colder. "A mistake," he echoed, his tone flat. His fingers twitched against my stomach, pressing down slightly like he was reminding me, reminding both of us, that what we had just done was very real, very irreversible.

Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. "Right... Of course,"

Roman tilted his head, considering me. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pulled out, and I gasped at the loss, my entire body left throbbing and sore. He watched me, his eyes dark with satisfaction, as if he was committing to the sight of what he'd done to me, how I had trembled beneath him, completely ruined.

Then, with a wicked smirk, he brought his fingers to my core, pressing against the mess he'd left inside of me like he was trying to push it deeper-- I whimpered, grabbing at his hands to stop him, yet he wafted my hands away with precision. 

"Messy, messy girl," he cooed, shaking his head, pretending to be disappointed. "You even let me cum inside..." His grin widened, sharp as a blade; "Think you'll ever be clean of me again?"

I shivered violently.

Never.

Roman exhaled, watching me with a look I couldn't place; it was somewhere between pride and something deeply possessive. He continued to slowly pump his fingers into me like he wanted me to feel just how deep he had gotten, how much of himself he had forced into me. "You're really gonna lie there, all fucked out and dripping with me, and say it was a mistake?" Roman let out a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. "That's cute."

I swallowed hard, but my throat was too tight to speak. I should've run when I had the chance. Now, I could only whimper, torn between shame and unbearable pleasure.

Roman's smirk was gone now. Whatever amusement he had left was fading fast, replaced by the hurt beneath the tough act. His jaw ticked, and for a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable; "Say something," His fingers curled inside me, pushing, teasing, coaxing me back to the edge. He was trying to drown out my thoughts, make me forget. 

Fuck. "This was a mistake," I echoed, speaking the truth brewing in my chest. "Wait, don't-- Wait--" My hands tried to reach for his once again, to get his fingers out of me, but to no avail.

Frustrated, Roman's free hand shot out, gripping my jaw-- not rough enough to bruise, but firm enough to hold me there, to force my eyes to his. It immediately made my heart jump with fright; his pupils were blown wide, his irises burning with frustration. "Are we really going back to me flirting with the cheerleaders and you staring from across the hall?" he hissed. "We can't. You can't. You love me."

My eyes welled with tears, and my hands gripped the arm Roman had on my jaw in protest. I could hear the hurt in his voice, hear the plea behind the tough words. However, when he curled his fingers inside me, fingering me with the mess he had left inside, my stomach twisted like a phone cord, tangled and knotted. "This was a mistake--"

"Stop," he snarled, voice low and sharp; "fucking saying that."

Roman's fingers curled inside me again, pressing against a spot that made me shudder despite the shame clawing at my chest. He was punishing me, making sure I felt everything, making sure I couldn't ignore the way my body betrayed me.

"No-- no," I whimpered, turning my face away, but Roman caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to him. His expression was unreadable now, somewhere between wanting to break me and needing me to stay whole. "You think you can just go back to pretending none of this happened?" His breath was warm against my lips, mocking me with its closeness. "That you can just walk away, run back to your sad little life of being obsessed with me, and pretend we don't belong together?"

My stomach twisted violently at the words, and my heart hammered against my ribs. "Please, no--" I whispered, but even I could hear how weak it sounded. I was too overstimulated, too broken. "I don't-- I don't have another one in me--"

"No, you do," he commanded. "You do, baby, you do."

No. 

No, no, no.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. "You can fight it all you want," he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. "But you forget how well I know you."

I shook my head-- or at least, I tried to. Roman's grip tightened, holding me in place, forcing me to meet his gaze. I clenched my jaw, fighting against the pleasure, fighting against him, but Roman's grip didn't ease. If anything, the weight of his hand on my jaw only grew heavier, more possessive, more suffocating. His fingers were still buried inside me, still stroking into me with a deliberate, cruel precision on the library floor, despite my pleas.

"You need me," he said, like it was a fact, like it was already written in stone. "And I need you, and we need to be together." His fingers pressed deeper, drawing another helpless whimper from my lips.

Despite my efforts to stop him, it was torturously good being filled over and over by Roman's fingers, the warmth of his cum still sending shivers up my spine. "I need time!" I cried, squirming at the edge of my impending orgasm. "I need to-- think!--"

"Think?" 

"Decide!" 

Roman's smirk widened. His fingers moved in slow, devastating strokes, teasing, coaxing, forcing my body closer and to the edge whether I wanted it or not. "You can't be without me," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against my jaw. "You don't want to be without me. What is there to decide?"

"That's not!--" My voice broke as pleasure crashed through me, my back arching despite my best efforts. "Roman, please!"

Finally, he relented. 

"Fine... fine,"

He had gotten what he wanted, after all. 

For me to think it over, to give us another chance.

"You get a week," he challenged, his thumb pressing down on my clit in one slow, cruel motion as a reward for my cooperation.

My legs gave in to a tremble, and my body churned with pleasure and anger; I was beyond overstimulated. "You son of a-- manipulative piece of shit, motherfucker!--" I had no idea what came over me when I balled my fist and slammed it against his chest, losing control over my senses. "Fuck-- you, fuck, fuck!--"

Roman's hand on my chin tightened, pushing me down to the floor with harshness I hadn't seen in him before; I felt like a dog getting trained to not misbehave. "Take it," he hissed, pressing harder against my sweet spot, the sound of his fingers fucking his cum deeper into me filling the room along with my cries. "Take it." It got to the point where he let go of my chin and covered my mouth with his palm, drowning out my sobs of pleasure. 

I tried to fight it, I really did-- but Roman's fingers worked me open, pushed me higher, until the tension snapped and I was falling, tumbling over the edge for the second time with a ragged, broken sob.

Roman watched me the whole time. He didn't let up, didn't stop until I was gasping, shaking, completely undone beneath him. Then, and only then, did his touch slow.

My orgasm had brought me to tears. Big, heavy tears. They burned in the corner of my eyes, and I wished for them to burn into his brain as well, until it hit me that Roman got off on this. I knew this. I knew he liked this. He had simply been nice with me up until now.

In silence, his hand left my jaw, sliding down to rest against my throat, his fingers brushing against my racing pulse. They lingered there, light but possessive, feeling the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat beneath his touch. Roman's breathing was uneven, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, he just watched me, watched the way my body trembled, the way I gasped for air, the way my tears streaked down my heated skin.

Roman's thumb ghosted over skin, and this time, there was no cruelty in the motion, no smugness. Just something quiet. Something careful. 

"Shh," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "You're okay."

I flinched at the softness in his voice, and at the way his other hand brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead. It felt too much like comfort. Too much like care. And maybe it was... but it was also so twisted. Because it came from him. From the person who had just broken me apart and put me back together in the way he wanted.

Roman's touch trailed down my cheek, hesitant now, like he was treading carefully over thin ice. His fingers stroked away a stray tear, and for a moment, I thought I saw regret flicker in his eyes. Or maybe I was just desperate to see it?

"You don't have to cry," Roman murmured, like he didn't understand. 

The words made something snap inside me.

My hand moved before I could think. A sharp crack echoed through the room as my palm struck his face, the impact snapping his head to the side.

Silence.

Roman didn't move. He didn't touch his cheek, didn't flinch, didn't even breathe for a moment. His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn't strike back. He would never. Instead, he just sat there, staring at me, his expression unreadable.

My chest heaved, my whole body trembling, but I didn't look away. I couldn't look away.

We sat here like that-- neither of us speaking, neither of us moving, just locked in this unbearable, suffocating silence.

And then Roman licked his lips, slow and deliberate.

"Okay," he finally said, voice low and even. "Okay."

Now, he understood. Something told me he was even waiting for me to do it again.

But...

My chest heaved with my incoming breath, and I gave in to the sobs building in my body while I looked around to check where my clothes were. I wanted to get dressed. I felt too naked like this, too visible, too vulnerable.

Roman let out a slow breath, his tongue swiping over the corner of his mouth where my slap had landed. His cheek was flushed, the shape of my palm still burning against his skin, but he didn't move to retaliate. Instead, he shifted closer, his hand reaching out-- not forcefully, not possessively, but gently. Like he wanted to soothe me, like he hated that I was hurting.

"Baby--"

"No, you don't talk right now!" I snapped, jerking away before he could touch me. The cold air of the library hit my bare skin as I scrambled to sit up, my legs unsteady beneath me. My whole body ached from him, from everything, and I felt raw, exposed. I needed to get away.

Roman didn't try to stop me. He just watched as I grabbed my clothes, slipping them on with stiff, shaking hands. My movements were jerky, fuelled by the overwhelming storm in my chest. I let out a groan as I realized I had forfeited my underwear-- was his cum going to be dripping down the leg of my jeans all day?

"You got what you wanted," I spat, not looking at him. "I'll think about it. You win."

Roman swallowed hard as he pulled his pants up, fixing his belt. His throat bobbed, and his jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. "You wanted this too," he mumbled, almost like he was trying to convince himself. "... Right?"

I ignored him, pulling on my shirt and yanking it down over my thighs before shoving my feet back into my shoes. I just needed to get out of here, away from him, away from the heavy scent of him still clinging to my skin.

But before I could storm out, Roman called out my name; "I love you," he echoed. "And you love me. Think of it as simple as that."

I should have kept walking, I should have ignored him, but something in the way he said my name, so quiet, so desperate, made me freeze. "I didn't want to make you feel like this," he admitted, his voice rough, almost ashamed. "I just... I don't know how to be without you."

That was the problem. Neither of us did.

I turned halfway, my pulse hammering. If only that was simple. Roman's eyes were on me, dark and unreadable in the dim light of the library, but I could see it clear as day; the relief flickering beneath the guilt. Because despite everything, despite how fucked-up this was, I was still here. I hadn't run away. I hadn't told him to go to hell. And that meant there was still a chance, right?

I hated that. I hated that I was standing on the edge of something dangerous, something that could ruin me all over again, or even worse, get me killed. 

But the worst part?

I wasn't sure if I wanted to step back or let myself fall.

"You might not have to be," I breathed, before reaching for the door.

I had a week.

I had until next Friday.

One week.

Roman Godfrey hated hanging up the phone after talking past midnight. Roman Godfrey loved comparing the size of his hands with mine.

Roman Godfrey hated being apart from me.

Roman Godfrey loved me.

(a/n: MY GOOOOOOOD WHY IS ROMAN SO STUPID😭 someone save my boy istgggg😭 ANYWAY, thank you for reading all of this if you got this far, MWAH🥹💕)

here are all the chapters!<3: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14

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