#The Seasons Have Teeth 1

[dispatchdcu]

The Seasons Have Teeth #1 Review

The Seasons Have Teeth #1 Review #theseasonshaveteeth #boom #boomstudios #boomcomics #boomstudioscomics #comicbooks #news #art #info #NCBD #amazon #comicbooknews #previews #review

Writer: Dan Watters Artist: Sebastián Cabrol Colorist: Dan Jackson Letterer: Nate Piekos of Blambot Release Date: April 12, 2023 Price: $3.99 Reviewer: Lukke Sweet If you’re interested in this comic, series, related trades, or any of the others mentioned, then simply click on the title/link to snag a copy through Amazon as you read The Seasons Have Teeth #1 Review. To put it bluntly, The Seasons…

[creep-girl]

season 1 cast from memory except i have aphantasia

[scoopstomyahoy]

thinking about a no upside down au steddie fic where steve and eddie run into each other years after moving away from hawkins, and eddie remembers steve and his fall from grace as king, and is kind of intrigued to see what kind of person he is now

and steve doesn’t remember him at all at first, because, look, eddie changed his hair again, and steve’s had a few head injuries (no upside down but i imagine he still went thru some shit with the party and with robin), and he didn’t really think about eddie in high school anyway, and he’s trying to forget about hawkins as much as possible (besides the kiddos, but they’re all moved out for college now, anyway) (obviously he lives with robin)

but steve is different now, happier, more open, flirts with guys, flirts with EDDIE, and eddie….. well, he wants to know more! and he tells steve he knows him from hawkins, and steve’s sunny little smile flickers a little, but he just apologizes for not remembering him and mentions he has some memory problems

and they get to know each other, and eventually as eddie tells him more (and maybe with the help of some yearbooks) steve remembers eddie. and. well. they like getting to know each other. and they like each other. and then they get together

eventually they’ve been together for a while, and eddie thinks he wants to maybe introduce steve to wayne, and he mentions he’s going to go back to hawkins for a long weekend (as he’s done a couple times) and this time he’d like steve to join him

and again steve’s sunny smile flickers a bit, but he says he’d love to meet eddie’s uncle, and… they go to hawkins. and it goes well— meeting wayne, at least, but steve seems a little on edge the whole time they’re there, tense when they drive in, fidgety when they go to the grocery store, et cetera. eddie thinks maybe steve is nervous about staying with the man who raised eddie, which is ridiculous, because wayne LOVES steve.

it’s not til they leave the town altogether that steve relaxes, and eddie realizes it wasn’t “meeting the parents” but rather going back to hawkins. and speaking of meeting the parents, steve didn’t ever bring his own up, even though eddie knew they still lived in hawkins. and the way steve glanced around whenever they went in public, like he was scared of getting recognized

and he asks about it, and steve doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he gives eddie snippets of it. people he wanted to leave behind in hawkins, memories that resurfaced, things he wants to forget

eddie goes back to see wayne sometimes, and the first time he doesn’t know whether to ask steve to come, so he just mentions he’s thinking about going to hawkins for some weekend and steve immediately starts making plans with him as if the invite is implicit. they go back to hawkins several more times, steve still tense and pent up the whole time they’re there

over time steve reveals more and more to eddie. everything that made hawkins hell for him, from the things he himself did in high school to the things people did to him. stuff tommy and carol and billy said to him. some of it is just typical high school bullshit (and oh, the nancy thing.) some of it is the tragedies steve went through, the horrors he had to protect his kids from. the injuries he sustained. more generally the homophobia that permeated the whole town, keeping steve from being himself. the lack of support in the indiana public school system for a high school senior who’s had two concussions and gone through incredible trauma.

his parents. the reason why steve’s mail is addressed to ‘steve buckley’ now, not ‘steve harrington’.

(that doesn’t come out until much, much later, and eddie is kicking himself for ever suggesting steve come back to hawkins.)

eddie, who hardly had an easy time of it in hawkins, is absolutely blown away by what steve had gone through in the same town, right under his nose. the entire persona that steve was trying to leave behind — the cool as a cucumber, unaffected, douchey mask he wore to hide all that he had endured. the head injuries. the emotional tragedies he had gone through. the way he had to be the rock for the kids even as he went through the same things as them.

he tries to tell steve they never have to go back to hawkins again, and steve is having none of it. he tells steve wayne can come visit them in their new city, and steve thinks that’s completely unfair to the man who had raised eddie, seriously, you’re going to make him come all the way up here?

and well i don’t know exactly what the ending is but steve is so stubborn about trying to love hawkins because it was eddie’s home and he wants to be able to go see wayne because wayne deserves to see his kid and eddie deserves to see his uncle and steve doesn’t want to be the problem :(

[raspberry-gloaming]

So - what with 14, and the curator, and stuff, we have more than established that the doctor can regenerate into an earlier face. And so far, they've been visually older than the original incarnation, because... that's how aging works, the actor gets older.

But what if we had a future doctor who was a visually younger doctor - one particular incarnation in particular. Someone who is referred to both with a number and a name (its one. if you haven't got that. like young adult one it would be awesome.)

Please I would love it if the doctor regenerates, and the actor is on the younger side, and sure! That's happened several times before, like put them at a similar age as Matt Smith and Peter Davidson. They're blond. So? They've been blond before, no reason to suspect anything.

I'm imagining that not long after the regeneration, they encounter the Master. Well... all "not long" matters as to be "they haven't looked in a mirror yet." So you get the Master, all ready to do Master-things, when they look and they're suddenly staring into a pair of eyes that look just like they did when they were in those fields of red grass together, graduates, official time lords. Those same blond, loose curls (i love the fanon designs they're great.) He's looking into a face that is identical to a ~140 year old Theta Sigma and the Doctor doesn't even know.

[quirktwerp]

i come crawling out of my little hole, scroll for ten minutes, then hide away again for months until the cycle repeats itself.

[chemigram]

please pray 4 me i am at my parents house and i am having category 4 body nightmare

[lakemichigans]

remember when will went missing and jonathan's first thought was to check their dad's trunk 🚶‍♀️

[gazeopard]

The top page is one of my favorite panels of Kyoshiro, and it should have been in the anime. What I got out of Kyoshiro's words to Weed when he thought his father was dead was basically that its healthy and normal for men and boys to show vulnerability, that people can grow the more they open themselves up to their friends, and those who have never been taught how to do that and only react to things with anger, hatred, and violence, and never allowing themselves to open up to others, can grow up to be awful people. It's a very sweet moment. But the bottom panel? It's almost like night and day. Kyoshiro became, well, Jyoshiro.

The Ginga series should have ended after the Hougen arc imo.

Kyoushiro then:

Kyoushiro now:

Turning the street-smart punk kid who used to kick abusers’ asses and saving abused children into an obnoxious loudmouthed child beater, yeah that makes sense

(translator)

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?" 

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family." 

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though." 

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him. 

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name. 

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind. 

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,  

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

pt 2

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

I just saw this post where someone zoomed in on Aziraphale's face and it looks a lot like he's holding a bullet in his teeth

Does Aziraphale have a bullet in his teeth?!?!?

is this intentional?!?!?

please, tell us

I can't put the link to the post here but there is research, there is a slow motion video.

Thank You

Aziraphale has a bullet between his teeth at all points in Good Omens Season 1 and 2, except during the actual bullet catch sequence in Season 2 episode 4, when he has either a small fish or an enormous diamond between his teeth...

[shady-swan-jones]

Alternative timeline

Elf-lover by mildthemes

Remember Me Like This by shady-swan-jones

Another Tale of Darkness Indeed by Hopeful_Foolx

This Fate Bound Throne by callitagift

Salt of the Sea and Iron Smoke by @poopsiekitten

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Bound to His Being by ChapterEight

A Deal with the Devil by Iblametumblrformyproblems

Poison & Wine by @coraleethroughthelookingglass

Human Halband

what makes night within us may leave stars by essaupe

These Hands are Rated E for Everyone by NumquamCedam

The Best Laid Plans by @ichabodjane

The Heat & The Pulsing Rush by AnMorrighan

The Adventures of the Low Man by @ichabodjane and @somebirdortheother

But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness, like a heartbeat, drives you mad by coraleethroughthelookingglass

Impulse Control by NumquamCedam

Young and Beautiful by @pinkorchestra

I Met the King of the Southlands Once (AND ALMOST DIED) by NumquamCedam

Back Into the Furnace by BetoWrites

I Could Get Used to This by orphan_account

Keeping Watch by @name1name1

Post season 1

Know My Name As It's Called Again by @deceivedcomet

A Lord and his Builder by @90shaladriel

Lavage by kimsey

Binding by CartaEscarlate

Beautiful Lies by Ottertale

Queen of Night and Stars by @90shaladriel

Know My Name As It's Called Again by Comet19

King of The Southlands

The White Queen by LadyRosalune

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Unsired by @shady-swan-jones

Shake Like the Bough of a Willow Tree and First Impressions by @myfavouritelunatic

Numenor

consolations of the flesh by framboise

All It Takes To Bind You by @shady-swan-jones

cry of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea by @rain-sleet-snow

kalopsia by properhaunt

to call dark deeds good by prettybrilliantfunny

banquets have burned for you by @conundrumoftime

Adrift by bartagnans

The Souvenir by @somebirdortheother

A Curious Case of the Cart Trying to Push the Horse by orphan_account

What Happens in Numenor by @youwearfinethingswellwriter

Hands on You by @lisenberry

A Beacon Of Stars by @jhalya

Lady of the Seas by @conundrumoftime

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

Slice of Paradise by @scriberated

Perfection by @nenyabusiness

All We Are, Flood Damage In The Dark by @klynnvakarian

Season 2

Splashes of colour on shades of grey by @mirroringdust

mitosis by @orcas86

the too plentiful light by @thefudge

More Painful Sacrifices by myfavouritelunatic

Until the Dawn Comes by @scribblecat27

light of the Two Trees by dxrklina

Primal Play by thenagil

destitute of the light he once craved by @mirroringdust

That all encompassing feeling by @naldoreth

and laid her soiled gloves by by @mortaltempless

A Goodbye by @youwearfinethingswellwriter

the labyrinth that binds us by eastwynds

Teeth by @pinkorchestra

A door, once opened by @maeday1551

I put a spell on you by @sixofwaffles

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Stars & Shadows by @nowforruin

if that is to be the way of things by @hazelmaines

Epic Adventures (50k+)

A tragic age by @stitchingatthecircuitboard

The Trials of Mairon by bynightmylove

That Which Lies Across the Sea by @theriverwild

I could be your king by @cliffdivingsblog

Echoes of Mairon by @hopeforchanges

Shadow-Bride by @conundrumoftime

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

The Venus of Valinor by @thecoziestbean

Instruments of Salvation by @scriberated

The Lesser of Two Evils by @thrillofhope

Across That Fine Line by @myrsinemezzo

Beautiful Creature of Darkness by @pursuitseternal

Rainbow of Chaos by yletylyf

Special fics

the nameless by bimmyou

Half Moon by vuas

The Mirror and the Palantír by @oroniel

Dubcon/dead dove

Hérincë by  @mzladybird

those who eat, those who are eaten by thehoneydoll

Until the Dawn Comes by Scriberated 

Trespassers Beware and Lord of the Werewolves by @pursuitseternal

Part 2 - Modern AU, Explicit & ABO

[fushitoru]

chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character.  Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.  

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.” 

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!" 

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than  the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you? 

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up. 

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice. 

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile. 

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator. 

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones. 

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there. 

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.  

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.  

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”  

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered,  “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere. 

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course." 

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious. 

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.” 

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk. 

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms,  with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

 There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims. 

next. the aftermath

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[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 1 - Hickeys - LN4

It is day one of my first Kinktober! I have been wanting to do one for years on different accounts and in different fandoms but I have finally started earlier enough to actually pump out an imagine a day!

All posts will be made at 12 PST according to the day

Lando Norris X Reader

TW - Hickeys, use of word whore, jealous sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie

WC - 1400+

Y/N POV

"We're leaving," Lando said while pulling me away from the conversation I was currently having with Max.

"Lando! Stop, I'm trying to have a conversation, stop being rude," I said while pulling my arm out of his grip and trying to make my way back to Max.

"You've had enough conversation with him to last a lifetime! I've watched you giggling with Verstappen for the past 10 minutes. He cannot be that fucking funny! We are leaving now," Lando said while taking ahold of my hand and pulling me towards the exit.

Once we got outside and the loud blare of the noisy club behind us I can finally talk to Lando without having to shout.

"Lando, what the actual fuck was that?" I questioned him while we were waiting for our car to arrive from Vallet.

"I have barely seen you tonight and when I finally located you, you're practically on top of Max!" Lando replies back clearly mad about the situation.

"Lando Norris... Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're jealous of Max!" I reply back trying to hold my laugh back. Lando and I had been together since his rookie season so watching him get jealous over someone I had never once shown an interest in was quite funny.

"I'm not jealous of him, Y/N. But you don't need to all over him in a public setting like that!" Lando replies back before grabbing the keys from the young man who just returned the Porsche to the front of the club.

Once we got into the car it was fairly silent other than the noise of our breathing.

"You're ridiculous" I break the silence making Lando scuff.

"You're the ridiculous one! I don't understand how you aren't seeing the problem! You're over there flirting with my closest rival on the grid while you're in a very public relationship! You know how the media can be," Lando replies back. I just roll my eyes at how ridiculous his behavior has gotten.

"Lando you know damn well I would never even LOOK at Max like that! I have never once been interested in him, and I NEVER will be! You have never once had a problem with me being friends with the grid, do not start acting like this now because you are in a championship battle with him," I tell him while we pull into the garage of his Monaco appartment.

When I get out of the car I slam the door and make my way to the elevator trying to avoid Lando as much as possible.

The ride up to Lando's apartment was silent and awkward, both of us reflecting on the actions of the night.

When we finally get into the apartment I make my way into the bathroom before stripping down and getting in the shower knowing I need to clear my head before Lando and I can have a mature conversation.

I'm not even halfway through my shower before I hear the bathroom door open making me turn around and find Lando coming in shirtless and starting to unbutton his pants. Once he is stripped down he climbs into the shower with me.

I roll my eyes at him before turning my back towards him.

This was Lando's final straw because the next thing I know I am pushed up against the shower wall with Lando's chest pushed against my back.

"Drop the fucking attitude! I wasn't the one whoring myself out," Lando seethes out into my ear. When I don't respond to him he starts kissing behind my ear and down my neck.

Once he finds my sweet spot it leaves me gasping in shock before I feel his teeth sink into my neck and start sucking.

"Lando," I moan out. Once Lando pulls away from me I turn my head slightly to watch him observe the mark that is inevitably starting to darken on the side of my neck.

Without words, Lando takes my hips into his hands before aggressively spinning me around so we are face-to-face.

When I look into Lando's eyes I can see the lust swimming through them.

I grip onto Lando's neck pulling him down for an aggressive make-out session. It's not long before Lando is pulling back and trailing kisses down my jaw and neck again.

The feeling of Lando's teeth sinking into my warm skin has my knees growing weaker. Once Lando makes it to my tits I feel myself give out to the pleasure and if Lando wasn't holding me up I definitely would have been on my knees from the pleasure.

"Fuck," I gasp out when Lando takes my nipple between his teeth and biting down softly.

When I glance down at Lando all I see is his wet curls and little purple marks trailing down from my neck to my tits. I can't remember the last time Lando had given me a hickey let alone a whole collection of them.

"Lan please," I whine out trying to push him lower.

I get no response from Lando but he does start making his way lower down my body. All I feel is Lando continuing his trail of hickeys down my stomach leading his way to my soaked pussy.

When he finally reaches the spot I wanted him most instead of diving right in like he normally does he starts leaving hickeys all over my thighs. He has one of my legs in his hand giving him the perfect space to continue to tease me.

With the death I have on his hair I try to pull him close to my dripping core but instead, he makes his way to my other thigh but not before leaving a long lick from my dripping hole to my throbbing clit. This has me gasping for air thinking I was finally going to get what I wanted but Lando had other plans.

"Please, Lan," I whine out not knowing how much more of this teasing I can handle.

"Patience," All Lando says before starting his trail of hickeys again.

It feels like forever before I can feel Lando slowing making his way back to my soaking pussy. When he finally gets to the spot I needed him the most I let out a loud shrink when I feel Lando's teeth sinking down softly on my throbbing clit, before releasing it with his teeth and starting to suck on it.

"Fuck Lando," I moan out knowing I won't be lasting long if he continues this assault on my overly sensitive clit.

"I'm close," I moan out. This had Lando pulling away making me whine out from the loss of contact.

Lando doesn't say anything before he flips me back around so my chest is pressed against the shower wall.

It doesn't take long before I can feel Lando teasing my entrance with his hard tip. When he finally pushed in I let out a loud moan not knowing how to handle the overwhelming pleasure of being so full.

Lando starts thrusting in and out at a quick and rough pace. It doesn't take me long before I can feel my orgasm building again.

"Fucking, cum," Lando aggressively moans out making me explode all over Lando's cock.

"Fuck," I moan out feeling the early signs of overstimulation start to take course.

"Lan, fuck, please," I moan out not really knowing what I want.

"You're going to cum again," Lando grunts out making up my mind for me. I can already feel my second orgasm start to build when Lando reached around and started rubbing my clit which threw me over the edge again. This orgasm was stronger than the first leaving me shaking all over Lando's cock.

"I'm gonna cum in you," Lando whispers in my ear before I felt him slow his pace down but continue with the strong thrusts. When he finally spills into my still throbbing pussy I can feel how much cum he is pumping deep into me.

"Fuck," Lando groans out before slowly slipping out and allowing some of the cum to drip out of my pussy.

When we finally came down from our strong orgasms we finish our shower together before getting out. Lando gets out first and wraps his towel around his waist before grabbing the second towel and wrapping it around my body before helping me out.

When I finally get a good look in the mirror I can see just how much damage Lando had done to my skin. Just from my neck to chest I can see at least 8 hickeys ranging from small light purple marks to bigger deeper purple marks.

When I make eye contact with Lando in the mirror I see the smug look he is giving me.

"Well now he knows you're mine," Lando says with a small shrug before walking out of the bathroom, leaving me shaking my head at his petty jealousy.

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 1

Word count: 4.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, cursing, smut, reading this is not compulsory, part 2 will explain The Night, so please read the warnings before reading, I will seriously block minors and ageless blogs Warnings: noncon, cnc, dub-con, primal play, threat of violence and act of violence, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, slight blood play After much deliberation, I've decided to add noncon in the warnings, again proceed with caution

“Is that the Vice President?” Someone whispers. 

Another girl whispers back, “No, he’s the President now.”

You ignore everyone and continue your way to the field, carrying two buckets of soil, ready to plant the seeds in your pocket. Being a member of the Green Thumb Society meant being at one with nature, giving back to the Earth so that we can maintain an equilibrium, ensuring that the future generations will have something to inherit. 

Or whatever. 

Truthfully, you haven’t been listening, simply itching to get your hands dirty so you can distract your mind. Not being the president means having lots of free time, but not having any friends means you don’t have anything to do in those times. At first, you were overjoyed because then you can focus on the mountain of work you have, however, once you sat yourself down to finish up all the readings and applications you had, you realised you didn’t actually have that much work to begin with. 

So now, you’re digging in the dirt, right at the edge of the forest at the back of the Lawn, pretending you can’t feel searing eyes on your back. The ground is hard, and you’re not even sure this is the right season to start planting anything, but what do you know?

Because it’s almost winter, the sky is darkening much faster than anyone would like, and you’re starting to feel more and more anxious as the clouds turn orange in the horizon. Coupled with the fact that you can feel a presence looming behind you, making the hairs on your arms stand, your fight or flight has been activated. 

“We need to talk.”

“No,” you say without missing a beat. 

A hand comes out and grabs the back of your sweater, hauling you up, shovel falling to the ground. You’re being spun around to face a frustratingly handsome face and he’s giving you a deadpan look, unimpressed by your stubbornness. Standing on your tiptoes, you have to cling onto his jacket to keep steady. 

“I wasn’t asking, prez,” he drawls. 

Scowling, you smack his chest once and then again when he didn’t even flinch. “That’s the problem; you never ask.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, arm dropping so you can stand on your own, but he doesn’t let go. Probably thinks you’ll run again. Though, you’re not sure why he thinks you would; you’re not drunk. And you certainly don’t want a repeat of last time, people still come up to you to recite your speech. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he pulls you with him. 

You dig your heels onto the ground, slapping his arm to let you go. There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him, being alone with Sukuna doesn’t work out well for you, it only forces you deeper and deeper into a hole you don’t want to be in and have been trying to get out for years now. Plus, you’d hate to give him the satisfaction. 

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” he growls, dragging you with him regardless. Your futile attempts at escape are only irritating him more. “You’re gonna talk whether you like it or not.”

People are staring and you’re gritting your teeth, the embarrassment making your face heat up and you pull away harder.  “Sukuna, stop, people are gonna talk.”

He gives you a look that screams, who the fuck cares.

“No, stop it, I’m serious,” people are whispering and pointing. “Please, Sukuna.”

Halting suddenly, your face hits his back. His back hurts, Jesus. 

One glance at you makes him roll his eyes and then he’s dragging you the opposite direction, into the forest. It’s darkening and the thick lines of trees makes your heartbeat faster and, once again, you’re trying to wrangle yourself out of his grip. This is the kind of place young girls go to die. 

“Not there, either!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. 

Eventually, the Green Thumbers disappear from you and all you can see for miles are trees. And a pissed off pink-haired, varsity jacket wearing pain in the ass, tapping his foot on the mud. You simply cannot catch a fucking break. Because apparently you committed some atrocities in your past life and now you must be punished. Again, and again and again. 

“Talk me through what the fuck is happening. Why did you let that old fucker push you out of your position and why the fuck aren't you fighting to get it back?”

You lean against a tree, the bark scratching you even through your sweater. Guess this is happening. With a sigh, you explain, “There wasn’t anything I could have done, Sukuna. He said, I was giving the school a bad rep. That the trustees don’t think I’ve been a doing a good enough job, what with Cursed Womb still running amok, the gossip column spreading the students’, and the staff’s, dirty secrets across campus and even across the city. Not to mention all those times I’ve been late to meetings, files going missing, and presentations being inaccurate. Thank to you.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning against a tree too, hands stuffed into his pocket. At first glance, he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to a thing you’re saying, but you know him better than that, unfortunately. Because when he flexes his jaw, you know he’s annoyed. 

“Alright, my bad.”

Your eye twitches. “Your bad? Your bad? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

You walk away. 

With no idea where to go, you’re just marching away, kicking away leaves and pushing branches away from your face. Muttering curses under your breath, you grow weary of the darkening of the night, you start to regret letting him drag you away at all. Why do you always get swept up in his bullshit?

When you almost trip over a log, you screech. The ground nears but just as you’re about to fall, you’re being yanked back into a hard chest. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls. 

“Why are you such a fucking prick?” You scream. “You’re everywhere. Seriously! Fuck off! Why do you want to ruin my life? It isn’t enough that you forced me out of the position so you can have it for yourself, but now you want to make me miserable by not letting me do anything fun?”

Your hands are flying, half waving in the air and half smacking into him, hitting whatever you can reach and you’re stomping your feet. This is all ridiculous — he hated you, and then he has these stupid, ridiculous moments where he makes your heart clench, where he looks at you like you’re somebody, like you’re special, and it always left you reeling, unable to sleep at night. 

“Calm the fuck down!” He yells back. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“CRAZY! I’m acting crazy. Ohhhhh, you’re such a fucking dick. I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

He’s grabbing your wrists, trying to restrain you so you’d shut up, but you’re done being silenced. Done with his horrible attitude and personality and his stupid face. Everything went to shit because of him, he ruined your first year, and now he’s ruined your third year, but apparently that isn’t enough because he’s trying to ruin every day of the rest of your life. 

Sukuna’s trying to get a word in, but you’re rambling, screeching and hollering about anything and everything, somethings he’s willing to admit was his fault, but other things were just plain ridiculous. 

“I dropped my bagel this morning and it was because of you! I can’t prove it but I know you had something to do with it. Your stupid malevolent energy reached me from whatever depths of hell you crawled out of, and you ruined my breakfast! That cost me £7! £7, Sukuna!”

“Shut the fuck up for just a second, y/n.”

“A-and when I slipped in the shower, I’m sure your evil spirit pushed me— “

“How could that possibly— “

“And now I have a bruise!”

“Have been my fault?”

SMACK!

In the midst of complaining and rambling, your arm had flung over, and your hand slipped. Right onto his cheek.

You slapped Sukuna. 

And the clenching of his fists, his heavy breaths, tensing shoulders, and flexing of his jaw all scream you’ve fucked up. You’re inching away, hands coming in between you two, shielding yourself from him. The burning of your hand is urging you back and back, eyes firmly fixed on the raging bull in your china shop. 

Oh shit. 

In all the two years and a bit you’ve known Sukuna, have kept an eye out for him, you’ve never seen him look this angry. And though you once thought he’d never raise a hand against a woman, against you, you’re suddenly very very unsure. 

His red eyes raise to meet yours and the tick at the corner of his mouth makes your heart drop. He says one word. And you turn away, silent screams escaping you. 

“Run.”

Your legs pump, frigid air biting cheeks, stabbing every exposed inch of skin as you disappeared further and further into a forest, weaving around thick trees and hurdling over logs and rocks. You’re practically galloping, pushing your body to its limits as you twist and turn, shuddering breath misting in front of you as your heart skips a beat.

If he catches you, you’re dead.

“Fuck!” You cry out. Sprinting, you ignore the growing ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles; you’ve never run like this before. Although, to be fair, you’ve never been chased by a livid Ryomen. Not sure anyone has ever lived to tell the tale. 

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you pushed through, unsure of where to go, where is safe. He's stronger, bigger and faster than you. You both know it. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. It's as if you've entered a labyrinth of shadows, your vision obscured by the thickening blanket of night and every snap of a twig all around you threaten to make tears spill.

"Oh, prez, where are you?" His voice has taken a mocking, singsong tone, and it's scariest thing you've ever heard. It sends shivers down your spine, a promise of the damage that he could do, that despite the saccharine sweet words, he is nothing but nice. You fight the urge to scream.

"Leave me alone!"

Foot catching on something, you tumbled forward, palms reaching out and scraping against the rough earth. The sharp sting barely registered through the adrenaline coursing through your veins but you know it'll leaves marks. You scrambled to your feet, dirt sticking to your clothes, a sob catching in your throat, your eyes darting around the endless sea of trees.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You yell back.

When you whirl your head back, scanning the area for any sign of pink hair or a purple jacket, you find nothing but shadows shaped like trees, their silhouette sharp and bony. You’re panting, chest heaving as you try to gulp air desperately.The trees look like his allies, obscuring him from your view, harbouring a criminal.

His voice is a low breeze and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from when he laughs sardonically, "You already know why, prez."

He could be anywhere, and you’re pressing yourself against a tree, nails digging into the bark as you looked around frantically. It’s dark. The only source of light being the moon and when you fumble for your phone in your jean pocket, you can’t find it. You must have dropped it. 

“This isn’t fair!”

You’re sobbing, tearing out your hair. Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes and there aren't any signs of Sukuna, of anyone being here apart from you. He could have left already. You laugh hysterically.

“I did everything right! I worked hard, I never complained, never broke a rule. Why am I being punished?” You punch the tree and cry even harder when it hurt. Your fist throbs. “OW! Fuck! What did I do that was so fucking wrong?”

There were rumours once of a girl who had died in the woods, right at the very centre of the forest. She had a fight with her boyfriend about something or the other, and they fought here, all night. But when morning came, only one emerged. No one could verify this gossip, no news article, nothing concrete, but the students who passed through Eden spoke of it as if it was as true as the sun is blinding. You're trying to wrack your brain for any more information, your brain desperate to distract you from the mania creeping through veins.

She was a law student.

"I don't want to die," you cry. "I've barely lived. I still haven't gone skydiving, haven't driven on the motorway 'cause that shit's fucking scary. A-and I need to say 'I love you' to my mother, and well fuck my father. But I want to say goodbye to Mr. Teddy and Mrs. Kitty Cat. They'll be so fucking sad."

“Talking to yourself, prez?”

You scream.

Sukuna’s leaning against a tree a couple metre behind you. You hadn’t heard him. Not even a snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves. He has his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, his shirt riding up as he brushes his hair back, a seething sneer on his face. 

When he makes a step forward, you stumble back, another scream lodged in your throat. “Stay back! I swear, don’t come near me.”

A sharp smile climbs up his face, a glint in his eyes, and his jacket is being dragged behind him as he stalks over to you, completely disregarding your warning, his long legs taking him closer. You have goosebumps on your arms and you’re so close to pissing yourself. 

“So you can use a little violence, but I can’t?” He cocks his head at you. “That’s not very fair, is it, my adorable little president?”

“I’m not yours!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being pinned to the forest floor. You fall with a thump, screech muted by a hand over your mouth. His hip is between your legs, thighs spread and stretching to accommodate his body which holds you down, unable to wiggle or crawl away. Your hands claw at the leaves and mud, dirt caking your nails, and you’re trying to ignore the smirk on his face. 

Tutting, he snapped, "This has been a long time coming, prezzy."

He looks murderous. Like a serial killer who’s just found the perfect next victim. And before you can complain, his mouth is crashing down on yours. It’s a clash of teeth, his tongue penetrating your mouth when you gasp, fighting yours as you push at his shoulders, bucking your hips to throw him off. 

When your clothed core grinds against his hard length, you moan. “Let me go!”

Sukuna nips your bottom lip, the taste of iron filling your mouth and you’re lightheaded. With a growl, he promises, “Never.”

Bare hands clutching your sweater, he rips it off you, the fabric snapping and disappearing over his shoulder. The cool air pricks your skin, pebbling your nipples and he’s covering your tits with his huge hands, groping and kneading like they’re his worst enemies. 

“No bra, prez?” He snarls into your ear before licking a strip up your neck. “You’re just walking temptation, aren’t you?”

His hips are grinding on yours, a punishing pace that sets your skin ablaze and you’re gasping with every roll of your nipples between his fingers and whimpering when he pinches and pulls. Like you’re being controlled by someone else, you grind back, legs crossing over his legs.

“Let me go!” You cry out again. “Stop it, Sukuna!”

He bites your neck, and you arch into him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. When you pull at his hair, he only huffs a laugh before he’s creeping a hand into your jeans, somehow having unbuttoned and unzipped it. His fingers press against your panties, and you hide your face into his neck, nipping him back. 

“You tell me to stop but you’re soaked,” he laughs. 

His hand weaves inside your panties, rubbing your clit at a merciless pace; hard and fast from the get-go, your eyes are shutting, and you cry out when he dips inside, soaking himself with your wetness. He curls them, prodding and pummelling that spot inside of you that has you digging your nails into his back, threatening to rip up his shirt. 

With a broken moan, you smack his back, “No more!”

“More? This not enough for you,” his voice is mocking. “Don’t wanna cum from my fingers, is that it, you frustratingly beautiful piece of work?”

Before you could argue back, could push him away, or kick your legs, he’s pulling your jeans halfway off, and then he’s spinning you around, face down and ass up. The cold air brushes against your sloppy pussy, clit swollen from having been rubbed and petted by his hostile hand, longer fingers stretching you out.

And then something equally hot and wet touches your slit. He's lapping up your wetness, fingers still curled inside of you as he rubs your walls whilst he sucks at your clit. You're moaning, fingers digging into the dirt as you try to crawl away, but his spare hand is holding you down, forcing you to arch more painfully so he can suck and lick to his heart's content. He scissors his long fingers, forcing you to stretch.

"Stop! Stop it!" You sob. He isn't listening, he's taking what he wants from you, extracting a strained orgasm that makes you tear up, pussy clenching around his fingers. "No! No, I don't want this!"

"I don't care," is all he says. Through the fog of pain and pleasure, you hear a ziiiip, and you’re panicking, hands clawing even more. You have to get out of here, have to escape. If anyone's emerging, it's you. It has to be you.

But when he lines his cock up, you realise your face isn’t buried in leaves and mud, but rather something soft. It’s his jacket. He slams inside you in one thrust. 

“FUCK!”

He’s thrusting inside, hard, and with a bruising grip on your hips, simultaneously keeping you still so he can drill his fat cock inside your clenching pussy and pulling you to meet his hips. The forest is quiet, apart from the choked moans and groans coming from you, and the sound of skin slapping against each other. 

“Been keeping this tight pussy from me?” He thrusts harder, cock head rubbing against that spot inside you and it steals your breath. “Fucking selfish!”

You’re trying to argue back but it all just comes out garbled, drool pooling under your chin. There’s nothing you can do but maul his hands, trying to pry them off you. He doesn’t let up, only thrusts harder, like he’s punishing you for all his frustrations. 

“I hate you!” You manage to push out. 

Sukuna leans forward, heavy body pinning you to the floor even more so he can nip your ear, licking away the blood and growling at the taste. “You may hate me, but this cunt doesn’t.”

And to prove his point, he shuts up, grinding inside of you so you can hear the squelching of your pussy and the way it’s squeezing him for more, desperate to milk him so it can be coated in his cum. You twist, hand pushing against his chest whilst you cry, tears streaming down your face from the sheer stretch. 

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he orders.

You shake your head, groaning with every thrust, and when he rubs your clit with one hand, whilst the other gropes your bare tit, you can only cry out louder. “You ruined everything! Ngh! I had it all and you -ha- took it from me.”

Clinking of metal and rustling of paper catches your eye. He’s dropped money on the floor. Sukuna’s emptied his wallet in front of you, even his cards fall out, including a shiny black one. They all clink and clatter right by your head.

“Take it all as compensation for your fucking bagel, you damn brat.”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE BAGEL,” you screech.

His hips don’t stutter, not even for a second, insistent on plunging his cock again and again so your pussy will never forget the shape of it. You can feel him in your stomach, can feel every ridge, every vein, and you think you might just pass out from the stretch.

Years of pressure, of tension, of hatred, of bitterness and resentment build up inside of you, tearing you apart. You think about the tears, the nightmares, the loneliness in your first year. The numbness in your second and the anger, the pain, the pleasure in your third. 

“Keep crying, baby. Only —ha— makes me want to fuck you harder till you can’t cry anymore.”

It’s a tsunami approaching land, you can feel the painful orgasm creeping up, threatening to drown you. And when his left hand falls beside your head, steadying himself so he can angle his cock deeper, kissing your cervix with every thrust now, you see something that looks so familiar you missed it every time you saw it on his wrist. 

He’s wearing your hair tie. 

You cum all over him, drenching his abs with your wetness, and you’re tensing up, still being used as practically a sex doll, all limp and pliant for his pleasure. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve never had before, the one you’ve chased with boys who didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t tell your thigh from your clit, and have only ever left you unsatisfied and full of regret. 

“Fuck! S’kuna!” 

“That’s right, prez, cum all over my cock. Take what you want, baby.” He soothes your ass, watching the way it’s bouncing on his length to elongate your high, before he meets you in the middle. 

And with one last moan, you fall, your ass kept up high by his hands only. Then, he cums with a growl, right in your ear, the vibrations piercing your body and lighting your soul with a warmth you can’t bear to think about. 

“So fucking good,” he snarls. “Perfect. Fucking made just for me, yeah?”

He wasn't talking to you, was only groaning to himself, but you mutter agreements, everything you can to make him spurt out all of his hatred for you. And he does. You feel it spilling out.

When you both calm down, lying on the ground — you on his jacket and him on the floor — you feel something has changed between you. An acceptance of whatever the fuck is wrong with both of you. Of that strange, fucked up string connecting you both. You won’t fight it anymore. 

Can’t fight it anymore. 

You're a mess. Tears and drool drying on your face, your juice and his cum coating your inner thighs, dirt and blood caking your body. You've never felt more cleansed.

Feeling an urge to cry but having used up all your tears, you scoot over to him, lying on his chest and his arms wrap around you like it’s second nature, a hand rubbing your back whilst the other threads through your hair, pulling out leaves from the tangles. 

“I’m bored,” you admit, tracing abstract patters on his chest. His shirt is sticking to him, slightly damp from the exertion. You’re completely naked, jeans discarded somewhere. There should be a fear of being caught, of being seen in such a vulnerable position, but for some reason you don’t care. Maybe it’s because you know Sukuna wouldn’t let that happen. Or maybe he would, and you just don’t care anymore. 

He sighs. “I know.”

“I really liked being the president,” you mumble. 

“I know.”

“But the Dean ruined everything. No, Mahito did. No, you did.”

He sighs again. “I know. I’ll fix it.”

You raise your head, chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. “How are you gonna do that?”

Brushing errant hairs from your face, he promises, “EdenU relies heavily on funding from my family. I’ll force the Dean’s hand, make him reinstate you.”

Unable to resist the urge, you bite his chin, feeling an aggressive desire to make him hurt. He smacks your ass in retaliation.

“But what about you? Didn’t you want to be president? Isn’t that what this whole thing’s even about?” It’s odd to be so casual, so conversational after that mind-numbing sex and the fact that there’s so much to be said, to be discussed between you two, but that’s just how it is with you and him. You aren’t normal. And certainly, aren’t healthy. 

“Nah,” he scoffs, “been president for like a week and that shit was tiring. Dunno how you did it.”

You giggle. “It’s not for the weak, that’s for sure.”

Sukuna slaps your ass for his own pleasure, a grin growing on his face. matching yours. But then it drops as he looks over your face, like he’s just remembered what the whole thing’s been about. Your smile drops too.

“Do we have to?” You ask, but the grim look on his face is all the answer you need. 

He cradles your cheek in one hand, uncharacteristically soft, and then he pecks your lips, once, twice. “Tell me what I did to you. Tell me what I put you through.”

You try to pull away but he’s holding you tighter. Your lip trembles and with a hiccup, you hiss, “What does it matter? Will you even apologise?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do it now.”

Sitting up, you try to find your clothes, fumbling in the dark. You find your panties and jeans, miraculously, and put them on. Unfortunately, your sweater is ripped up, but he drapes his jacket on you, and you both know it’ll stay with you from now on, like he had always intended. 

“If I tell you, we’ll have to start over again.”

His mouth is teasing and tasting wherever it can reach, exploring your neck, brushing your cheek and your hair, as if he’s promising your body his sincerity when he says, “Whatever it takes, I’ll win you back. Even if it takes forever.”

You’re willing to test that out. 

So, leaning back on his chest, you recount the night you set out to lose one thing and ended up losing everything.

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day seven.

Dry Humping (1k words)

summary: You simply couldn't wait to be in a private place to show Lando how proud you were of him, so you decide to do it even though you are very aware of the people around you.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, stablished relationship, very heavy makeout, dry humping, public sex-ish. lmk if i should add anything else!

The music that thrummed through the huge speakers was loud, and the people cheering any time a new song came were even louder. The air was so thick with coloured lights and a layer of smoke that you couldn’t quite distinguish your surroundings, and there were drunk people stumbling on their own feet anywhere you looked. Lucky for you, you found yourself in the VIP area with your boyfriend, some other drivers, and a few friends.

You were all out celebrating Lando’s newest win, and you couldn’t be happier for him, so of course you had to go out to commemorate such an achievement.

Everyone was already feeling the alcohol they had been consuming since you got there, including you two, as you found yourselves sitting on one of the bigger couches, passionately making out and him gradually placing you onto his lap. It was heavy, and you didn’t care one bit; it had gotten to the point where everyone around you disappeared, even with the loud reminders of the people that were currently around you.

The VIP area was on a high platform and was secured with side rails to avoid any incident, so whatever you had going on there couldn’t really be seen from the lower ground. That included any cameras and phones that were constantly being pointed in your direction.

All they could really see were your faces basically devouring each other, which wasn’t exactly new to the public. What they couldn’t see, however, were your hips starting to rock against Lando’s and his hands grabbing you with such force only to bring you closer to him.

As expected, you were way too out of it to fully analyse what you were doing, and if you did know and were aware of it, it was clear you didn’t care; you just wanted to show him how proud you were of his fantastic race. You came straight to the club after leaving the track, so you didn’t have any alone time afterwards, and all you got to say was “I’m so proud of you,” muffled by the hundreds of cheers coming from his team and the fans.

But that was long forgotten, and all you could do right now was hold onto his shoulders as you continued humping his hard cock still stuffed inside his pants, your combined saliva falling from your chin and into your chest as the kiss got messier. 

“You did so- so good,” you managed to say between kisses. “I can’t even describe how hot you looked coming out of the car with the number 1 cardboard in front of it.”

“Yeah?” He asked, squeezing your hips as his lips left yours, trapping your lower lip between his teeth until you were too far from his face. 

“Mhm, all I could think about was having that one finger inside me.”

“Shit, baby, you are driving me insane.”

You got closer to his ear, and with a very seductive voice, you whispered. “So you are gonna go even more insane when I tell you I’m not wearing any underwear right now.”

“Fuck.”

He held you even tighter as you started to drag your hips harder, a moan scaping his lips. Your dress was rolled up, and it was now covering only your thighs, but it was pretty obvious what you two were doing to anyone at surface level.

With your pussy being completely uncovered, the feeling of the hard fabric of his jeans was heaven to you, and the thought of all your juices going straight to his jeans, pretty much the only layer between you, made you eager to come.

One of his hands came under your dress and sneaked between your folds; he just wanted to feel you, and God, he almost let it all out when he realised how wet you were.

“So wet for me, baby.” He whimpered, leaving your core and placing his hand back on your side.

You were both feeling so desperate that he also started thrusting up into you, making the sensation for you not only better but easier. A thin layer of sweat was forming on your bodies, only adding to the hot atmosphere the club naturally had.

Luckily, your moans were being muffled by the loud music and the people around you, so no one could even hear you no matter how loud you were being, and right now, it was a little embarrassing how loud you were being.

Your legs were already getting tired, but you were so close that you knew you only had to chase your orgasm for a little longer. His hands that were previously on your hips were now everywhere, feeling every inch of any uncovered skin he could find as he moved along with you.

“Mhm, Lan.” You moaned, moving a little faster than before, making him squirm under you.

“Yeah? You gonna cum in my pants in front of all our friends?” He whispered. All you could do was nod in response, and you could feel his smirk on your neck. "I wanna rearrange your guts and turn you into a mess, baby. I’m making you all mine as soon as we are back at the hotel." 

“Ah,” another loud moan left your lips.

"You want that, don't you?" 

“Please, let’s get out of here.”

As soon as he heard you say that, his hands fell back on your hips to make you drag them even faster, harder, as his own picked up his desperate pace. He could feel your body starting to give out; that could only mean you were about to snap.

With a few more thrusts, he felt your orgasm hitting you, making you drop your head on his shoulder as he chased his own release, which came a few seconds later.

“Shit,” he whimpered as his cum stained his clothes, the warm and thick fluid coating both of you.

You pressed your foreheads together as you tried to catch your breath, a laugh escaping both of you as you came down from your high. 

“We can never come back here,” Lando whispered as he kissed you again. Not as desperate, but just as hungry for more. 

“Are you done-?” You heard Oscar yell above the noise as he came close to you, making both of you look at him in pure embarrassment as Lando pushed you off his lap, revealing his cum-stained jeans. “Oh my God, you are done... Okay, we are getting out of here.”

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