#This kind of behaviour has me on the floor

[tlou-obsessed]

By being Connie Nielsons MAN

[kaisaerinlover]

dark content

tw: abuse

laying in bed with kaiser after an extra rough day, a day where he was so much worse than usual. a day where your whole body is left aching in pain. kaiser doesn’t offer you any help or care other than picking you up where you lay limp on the floor to toss you onto the bed so he can feel your warmth next to him.

you’re laid on the pillow trying your hardest not to move, every time you move it feels like a thousand bricks are being tossed at you nonstop. feels like hammers are beating at you. you’re so broken right now it hurts. but that’s what you get for dating someone like kaiser; you shouldn’t play angel with a guy like him. shouldn’t play the “i can fix him” game with someone who is more than just sad inside. someone who’s pain and hurt from the precious years of childhood manifested into a terrifying amalgamation of twisted morals and sick behaviour. you shouldn’t play those types of games with a man like kaiser, because he’s not like anyone you will meet or have ever met in your life. any therapist would truly have a field day with this boy because the amount of times he would have to be in their office is more than infinite, if it’s even possible. it’s impossible, but not for him. fitting for him. he could get better, but his mindset doesn’t allow this. he won’t change it anytime soon, that’s why you’re laid in complete and utter agony trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. even breathing is painful.

he’s next to you, looking like nothing even happened at all. he looks beautiful, hair tied up into a neat little bun at the back, glasses on, face illuminated by the awfully expensive antique lamp you insisted he buy the other month. he’s reading something, your vision is too blurry to see what he’s reading. the sound of him flipping the pages every so often is soothing, you could almost forget about the burning pain you have all over your body. almost forget how he looked as he punched you over and over; screamed at you again. how terrifying it is to be beneath him as he gets so violent with you.

it’s not fair, it’s really not. it’s not fair how he treats you when you are so kind to him; so gentle. sometimes he treats you with the same sweetness you taught him, but it’s not common. but you are different; you would never react back to him with the same brutality his actions teach you. you are a good person, your heart is big and your compassion swells for him even after he treats you like this. you couldn’t explain why even if you wanted to, human nature of this degree is wordless, unexplainable and weird. it’s illogical, but that’s one of the most beautiful things about humans.

that’s kaiser’s opinion anyway, he has you wrapped around his pinky finger. he can hear your shaky breathing next to him; he smirks to himself.

you look at him when you hear him fold the corner of the page of his book so he can find it easier later, and place his book down on the bedside table. you’re waiting for him to turn off the lamp, but he doesn’t yet. your boyfriend clears his throat and looks forwards into the rest of the very luxurious bedroom you both share. “hey, engel” he doesn’t even bother looking at you as he talks. he obviously lacks respect for you. and you acknowledged this long ago. and you stay. you stay with him. you wait silently for him to continue. silence is the best answer after a day like this - he’s impossible to predict. whatever is inside of him follows no logical pattern, if you say the wrong thing you’ll anger him more. “do you know why i hurt humans?” he still isn’t looking at you. you don’t talk still, you don’t bother looking at him anymore. the bruise on your neck that’s darkening even now, hours after the beating, is hurting too much. you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him talk.

he’s smirking as he talks, looking out into the bedroom with his hands behind his head. he carries on again, his voice never lacks confidence “it makes me feel alive.” you never quite understood that about him, you’re still quiet, listening to him, but you extend your arm anyway and lay it awkwardly on his chest despite the pain that shoot’s up the entirety of your arm from doing so. he acknowledges your smaller hand messily splayed across his chest by bringing his own bigger hand to squeeze it tightly, painfully even. he bent your fingers back today a lot, they still ache.

he doesn’t look you in the eye still as he talks. and you don’t want to look him in the eye either. you just both stare into the dimly lit surroundings as you maintain some semblance of skin to skin contact. “i’ve hurt a lot of humans before” he laughs a little. you gasp a bit and jump as he squeezes your hand painfully tight, obviously intending to hurt you. “but hurting you makes me feel the most alive.” your chest is hurting and your hand is crushed so immensely between his much bigger one. you heard the sickening crack of your fingers. you sort of wish he wouldn’t let go, you don’t want to see the damage. purple is a pretty colour, but not when it’s on your fragile skin.

kaiser squeezes hard, he can’t feel alive in any other way than this. than checking his heart rate in a morning. than looking in the mirror and seeing himself standing there, seeing himself in the flesh and knowing he’s alive. he loosens his grip on your hand though and turns to lay on his side to face you. he looks pretty like this, you’re looking at him as well; head propped on his free hand, the other reaching out to caress your battered cheek. he likes seeing what he did to you earlier, likes when he can assess the damage himself. it makes him feel so alive. and even though you won’t admit it his battery makes you feel equally as alive as he does. “you know, prinzessin, i’ve never been hurt before though.” blatant lie, he knows it is, you’ll believe it. he chooses to push his childhood far far behind him. he doesn’t associate with that time of his life, any memory of it that replays will only be viewed in a third person point of view. he doesn’t know that weak child anymore. “wanna know why?” and you give him a response for the first time. you nod and look up at him with your big glassy eyes. you’re like a broken toy, but you know that someone like kaiser can appreciate a broken toy. poor kids who grow up with nothing will accept anything. wealthless kids, abused kids who grow up and enter society as sickeningly ill in the head adults will stop accepting anything, they’ll only accept the familiar brokenness they know best. and if it’s not there in the person they want, they’ll make it themselves.

“it’s because i’m not human.” kaiser doesn’t see himself as human, the opposite actually. having a superiority complex is fun, but it’s less fun when it’s to cover up the hideous truth beneath. he’s caressing your beaten face so tenderly right now, as you deserve. for once he’s treating you kindly. he’s subhuman. but he’s also something better, he’s above everyone else. his intellect is a mean feat in any terms of human endeavour. his talent is unrivalled. he can do things no one else can. michael kaiser can make the impossible into a reality. michael kaiser can give hope to those who thought they could never dream again. he looks at the tattoo on his hand instead of your eyes, the tattooed hand that’s caressing your face; the face he’s grown to both love and despise over the years. the face he wants to destroy beneath his rough fists. the face he wants to hold gently and leave a kiss on. his tattoo is a reminder he’s above everyone else, but also that he’s a piece of shit. he has narcissistic tendencies but it’s mostly a cover up. even he doesn’t believe in his delusions sometimes.

poor you has to bear the brunt of that, but whilst he’s caressing your face you can forget about all the burden you’re forced to carry because of the emotional baggage your boyfriend brings to the relationship. he sighs. he can’t even look you in the eye. he stares off into the window, the one that rain is trickling against now. the city is beautiful at night, but you’re more beautiful. you’re pretty. so cute. süsser prinzessin. but he can’t bring himself to look at you right now. “i’m not like the rest of you, and i never will be.” you can’t tell what he’s thinking when he says that; but you’ve always been an empath. your hand finds its way back to his and you push it from your cheek and intertwine it between the fingers he hurt so much.

you make him feel so alive, hurting you is the best thrill he could get in life. bringing any harm to you is also the most saddening thing. you’re so nice to him even now, someone like him doesn’t deserve it. he’s a subhuman piece of shit and you love him. he’s also a god, renowned by many. he’s a subhuman who needs to be loved and he’s a cruel cold hearted god who needs to be taught gentleness and kindness. he just rubs his thumb over the back of your smaller hand and sighs. he’s a confident guy, no doubt about it, but maybe you won’t be around forever. maybe you will pack up and leave one day - he’s tried every trick in the book to ensure you stay, not that he even has to do that, because you would undoubtedly, but he can’t help but be worried.

it’s shameful to admit that maybe an emperor does need a princess sometimes. he rubs your hand in circle motions and presses a kiss to your forehead. he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry for doing this to you. he doesn’t know why he’s like this; you deserve so much more than this. infinity times infinity more. you’re really his princess, he’s sorry. sorry that he treats you like this. sorry that instead of affection all you get most of the time is his fists bearing into you over and over, a barrage of attacks until he’s finally decided you learned your lesson.

you don’t have anything to learn. kaiser loathes you because you’re a perfect human. you’re beautiful and you’re compassionate. you have a big heart and a big personality and he likes your stupid jokes you tell. and he hates that you stay with him. you’re so perfect, you really are. you notice his eyes are glossy. he hates to cry; kaiser fucking hates crying. you also know your boyfriend hates crying, so you open your mouth for the first time tonight. “i love you, micha.” a sweet whisper of love. he feels your other hand, your other thumb wiping up the small amount of wetness beginning to form on his lashes. only you could notice that, god he fucking hates you. “i love you too” he confesses in a rare moment of vulnerability.

you fall asleep in his arms, and he falls asleep too. he’s squeezing you so tightly, he’s holding you so close like you’re something so precious; like a thief of the night might come and steal you from him. every inch of your body aches from his earlier barbarity, but you didn’t care whilst falling asleep and you won’t care when you wake up. your heart is so pure that you simply don’t have the capacity to care about anything other than your boyfriends wellbeing and happiness.

kaiser is thankful he gets to even lay next to you. you’re not one of the same at all. but sometimes he debates your humanity as much as his own; you’re an angel.

[vrystalius]

Upper moons vs

Human nature of petting everything and or copying noises

Imagine them watching their human stop to pet an animal based demon (like a demon cat) and copying their meows and noises

(The demon can’t do shit bc they’re there. Muzan silently glaring, Douma claiming the demon is a personal pet now, kokushibo doesn’t need to even be there, his scent is STRONK, Akaza silently chuckling.)

The Upper moons + Muzan’s reaction to you snuggling with a cat-demon

The Upper Moons + Muzan reacting to you being all cutesy with a cat-demon.

Pairing: Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza x reader

Note: I imagined this cat-demon to be extremly disgusting and deformed. Some kind of weird horror creature XD I’m thinking about writing a fic about the hashira/upper moons get cursed and get cat ears of some kind. Also, this was fairly rushed. So sorry! <3

Muzan Kibutsuji

Muzan was experimenting with his blood and demon transformations, and what kind of different types of demons he can create. Just recently he made a cat-like demon. The behaviour of the creature was similar to that of a street cat. It had claws, patches of fur, cat-like ears and a short tail. It was even able to meow and purr, he noted. That thing is useless and hideous. Better to dispose of it before it causes any disturbances and annoyances.

He caught you snuggling up with this hideous demon while he was away to pick up his brand new suit. Muzan was not fond of the creature purring and laying its head on your lap while you were trying to teach it how to meow properly. Even glancing at the disgusting creature was enough to make Muzan feel a strange mix of disgust, disappointment and jealousy. Is he neglecting you to the point of you being willing to let this… thing… cuddle onto you? Also, why is this demon even daring to come this close to you?

Needless to say, disposing this waste of his blood was much sooner done than originally planned.

“Do not ever come too close to my experiments again unless either I am present or I allow you to.”

Kokushibo

Kokushibo always made sure to leave his scent on you at all times. Sometimes he’d give you one of his yukatas to wear or he might leave his scent by kissing your neck, marking your skin with hickeys.

This was a way to protect you from other demons approaching you and warning them of who is your protector whenever Kokushibo himself is not present.

Therefore, this cat-demon did not approach you. It smelled Upper Moon 1’s scent around you from across the halls of the infinity castle arc.

You never got to meet him.

Douma

He’s not fond of you interacting with other demons, especially the ones below Douma. What if they get too comfortable around you, hm? What then? He’d have to kill and eat them! He would never allow that!

This cat-demon was send to Douma by Lord Muzan to send out and search for the blue spider lily. He noticed pretty quickly how fond you became of this creature. You’re petting its fur, scratching behind the ears and even tried to imitate the meows its throwing at you.

Douma has a weird feeling in his stomach when watching you two. On one hand, you seem pretty happy with this weird pet cat demon. On the other hand, Douma could get you a regular kitty! That way, he doesn’t have to share you! Or if you want, Douma can meow for you. He just doesn’t really want you to be around this cat demon anymore! (Is he feeling jealous? He couldn’t possibly!)

“Dear lotus, how about you pet me instead, hmm? I can even meow for you if you like!”

Akaza

Who the hell is this damn demon? Why did this cat creature think it can just snuggle up onto you and act like you’re not already taken, huh? Can’t that thing notice Akaza’s smell on you? Oh it’s fucking infuriating him. He’s trying very hard to not slam the head of this freak against the floor until it dies and returns to the hellhole it came out of. The audacity to snuggle up on your lap and to act all innocent and stupid. Perhaps that demon creature is too stupid to realise that it’s utterly disgusting.

Yet, you welcomed it and scratched the fuzzy head of this demon, copying its odd meowing.

“Baby. Let it go.”

💠

My brain is getting fried right now by school work, so I might neglect asks for a little while to concentrate on my own works. I sometimes can’t fully concentrate or come up with good things for asks, so so sorry! I’ll work on them on the weekend and days where I feel more energised! <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[lavandulawrites]

This is my first request and I'm not sure how to do it but ever since Delico's Nursery came out I've been begging for someone to write about them and I've been wanting to read something about Gerhard and Angelico, maybe one where the reader is Angelico's mom and She tries to make Gerhard's attitude a little softer with Angelico, or where the reader spends a day with Angelico, anyway, if you read this, I appreciate it and you don't need to take the ideas here into account as long as you do something about them. I'm happy. Hahaha I don't know how to end that so I hope you're okay :)))

A Good Father

Gerhard Fra x reader

It’s kinda sad how I’m the only one who has written Delico’s Nursery fanfic here on Tumblr:,) we desperately need more fics!! (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Synopsis: you (Gerhard’s wife) try to change Gerhard’s behaviour towards his son.

Your husband was a busy man who was as prideful as a lion. He prioritised his duties before his own son. You understood very well that his duties were important, but you saw yourself sick of his negligence of his three year old.

“Gerhard! Come here” you called out to your husband.

It didn’t take long before you heard his boots against the hardwood floors. A blond head picked in the door way. “What is it, [Name]?” his deep voice soft. He had always been so kind to you. It had surprised you at first how soft he was deep down.

“How was it at Dali’s? Did Angelico have fun?” you ask as you take a sip of your apple cinnamon tea.

The tall vampire huffed. “It was exhausting. I still don’t get why he thinks raising our children together why working on that case is a good idea”. He took a seat at the table. “I suppose he had fun… He behaved rather well.”

“That’s good. I trust that you spent some time with him and didn’t leave all the responsibility to Dali?” you rose your brow at him in a stern manner.

Gerhard swallowed as he leaned slightly back in his chair. “I played a little bit with him. But that is fitting for a nobleman.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes which earned a glare from the blond man. “Your role as a father is to spend time with your son.”

“He needs his father to be there for him. You will regret it when you’re older, you know. He is three years old for gods sake!” you raised your voice in frustration.

Gerhard remained silent after you finished your reprimand. He rubbed his forehead. “I get what you mean but-”

“No. You don’t get what I mean do you? If you did, you would already be spending time with Angelico” you were getting tired of his attitude and stubbornness.

His eyes found yours before he looked away. After staying silent for a moment he opened his mouth. “Okay fine, I will from now on out spend more time with Angelico.”

You pulled the corner of your lips up into a smile. “Good! I can promise you, it won’t take long before you find playing with him fun” you rose to your feet and rounded the table. You leaned down and kissed Gerhard softly on the lips. “You will turn out to be a wonderful dad. I’m sure of it.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Torn IV

Kewis x Child!Reader

Summary: You zone out sometimes

It was Kristie's fault.

Or, really, Kristie was blaming herself.

Time off from football meant spending time with family which has now transformed into wedding planning.

Wedding planning with Sam was a bit like getting blood from a stone. Sam didn't really care about colour pallets and flower types and patterned tablecloths.

Kristie had to practically hold her hostage every time they sat down to plan and, with all her focus on keeping Sam in one place, you'd kind of slipped through the gaps.

You'd always been an independent player and you'd never had any problem asking for attention when you wanted it but it was up to Kristie and Sam to notice when things went downhill health wise for you.

It was one of the odd days that Sam was out, having another check up on her knee and Kristie was the only one at home with you.

You're playing by her feet, making a series of growls and chirps for your dinosaurs. Helen sits on the table in front of you, absentmindedly cleaning herself.

You go silent suddenly and Kristie leans forward to see why.

You've frozen in place though, staring straight at Helen like you can't even comprehend she's there.

"Chook?" Kristie calls," What is it?"

You don't answer.

"Chook? Chook!"

It can't be more than fifteen seconds before you snap out of it, almost immediately going back to playing with your toys.

Helen mews at you softly and you look up at her in confusion as she wanders over to butt her head against your hand.

"You want to play too, Helen?"

"Chook?"

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Why did you stare at Helen like that?"

You frown, turning to look at Kristie. "No I didn't."

"Chook." Kristie's voice goes firm. "Don't lie."

"I'm not!"

"Chook, I'm not trying to tell you off. I was just curious."

"But I wasn't, Mommy!"

"Chook-"

"I didn't! I didn't!!"

"Chook-"

You get up and run off to your room, slamming it closed with a thump and Kristie sighs deeply at your behaviour.

She pushes the thoughts away though, forgetting about them and not mentioning them at all to Sam. It was just a little thing. It hardly mattered, not when getting Sam to finally decide on the menu for the wedding was more important.

But it's still there in the back of her mind. Somewhere very deep in the very back of her mind because she finds her watching you zone out every so often.

She times it, almost always around fifteen seconds. You zone out randomly, sometimes you blink, sometimes you smack your lips together or jerk your hand in random intervals.

But you don't seem to remember it, immediately going back to what you're doing.

Kristie watches you do it now, at her bedside in the middle of the night. You're just staring at her, blinking randomly and she reaches out for you.

"Chook?" She asks," Chook, baby, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You're still frozen for a little bit before clarity appears in your eyes again and you say," Helen threw up on my floor."

Kristie sighs, whacking Sam on the shoulder, jerking her awake.

"Sam," She says," Helen threw up in Chook's room. We need to clean it up."

"Wha-? Huh?"

"Helen threw up," Kristie repeats," All over Chook's new carpet. We need to clean it."

Sam drags herself out of bed. "I've got it. Come on, Chook. Let's go check on Helen, huh?"

You nod and Kristie gets out of bed too, frowning.

"Chook," She calls as Sam gets to work cleaning up your carpet," Can you come here a sec?"

You pad over obediently, letting Mommy touch your forehead and check down your throat.

"Mommy," You complain," Helen's sick! Not me!"

Kristie's not convinced.

They've been happening on and off for days now. It's a wonder it takes this long for Sam to notice but eventually she does.

It's a quiet day off and, for once, Kristie isn't jumping down her throat at wedding planning.

Sam's planning on relaxing with a movie but she's staring at you instead.

You're staring at her too, technically but you're not really. You've got that glazed-over look in your eyes that your teacher had told Sam about just two days ago when she picked you up from school.

Your teacher told Sam to try to snap you out of your daydreaming but she thinks this is different. You have no concept of what's going on around you.

You have no idea Sam's waving her hand in front of your face.

"Kristie!" She yells out, panicked," Chook's being weird!"

Kristie doesn't seem as panicked when she comes in though, inspecting your face before sighing.

"We need to take her to the doctor."

[landogalore]

PUPPY LOVE

charles leclerc x wife fem! reader

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, SMUT and fluff: unprotected sex (PLS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS), oral sex (female), creampie, hickeys, charles has a breeding kink

word count: 1.4k

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‘I’m back, Charles!’ The girl yelled as she entered their apartment, arriving back home to rest after an exhausting shift at work.

‘Charles!’ She repeated once again, not hearing the usual kind welcoming she normally receives, leaving her confused.

‘Charles?’ The voice that originally sounded cheerful shifted towards a more worried tone, his cars were still parked downstairs and he hadn’t previously mentioned leaving their home, which made her wonder what had happened. Was he okay? Was he just asleep? Thousands of thoughts and ideas about his whereabouts overwhelmed her mind, her behaviour becoming more frantic, just hoping her lover was somewhere safe.

Beginning her search, she wandered into the living room, but there was no snoring Charles sleeping on the sofa, but mere dereliction, nobody in sight, except the slight sound emitting from the television. Tilting her head towards the screen, there was a group of dogs skipping freely in the fields, the sweetening video sending a heartwarming smile on her face. The girl wished she could frolic in the peaceful nature, with no cares in the world.

There was still no sight of her husband as she moved towards the hallway, containing the staircase to the higher floor. However, small patches of mud trailed upwards, shaped almost similarly to a smudged footprint, leaving the girl perplexed.

‘Huh.’ Her eyebrows furrowed, staring at the patches on the floor, what had Charles been up to this time?

Now climbing to the second floor, she continued to follow the prints, leading her towards the main bedroom, the door left just an inch open. Cautiously, the girl twisted the doorknob and peered her head to scan the room, greeted with her boyfriend, snoring loud enough the street below could possibly hear. Although that wasn’t the only thing she noticed. He was also fatherly caressing something, his head tilted downwards to cover it and keep it warm.

Stepping closer towards the bed and her husband, the girl gently placed her body onto the bed, shuffling up to closer to the sleeping monegasque, his originally siren-like snoring softening to a cute murmur.

‘Mon amour, is that you?’ Charles whispered, awakening from his slumber, his voice raspy from exhaustion but still somehow caring and affectionate, hearing him speak sending flutters to the girl’s heart.

‘It’s me, Charlie.’ She giggled, her hands tenderly wrapped against his waist, still able to feel his toned muscles underneath his shirt. ‘And who’s this with you, my replacement?’ The girl signalled towards the mystery he was cuddling.

‘He’s a present, for you.’ His hands uncovered it to reveal an adorable bundle of golden fur, flopping ears and two sleeping eyes. ‘I knew how much you would talk about getting one.’ Her husband turned to face his wife, a heartwarming smile prominent on her face.

‘Oh Cha, you didn’t have to!’ She gasped, her fingertips moving to caress his cheek, tears of joy almost starting to form.

‘No I did have to chérie, because i love you.’ Charles replied, planting a loving kiss on her forehead, her cheeks flustering a scarlet shade.‘You’ve got to give him a name now.’ He pointed to the dog now safely resting in his bed adjacent to their own.

‘Give me some time to think.’ She asked, unsure on what to call the new addition to their family.

‘How about I give you some time to think, ma femme.’ Her husband suggested, the once gentle grin transforming into a troublesome smirk.

‘And how are you going to help, mon mari?’ The girl wondered, worried about the antics he was about to create, but desperately desiring the answer.

‘By doing this.’ He winked before shuffling downwards, towards her skirt. ‘We don’t need to keep this on now you’re home do we?’ He chuckled, slipping the clothing down her legs and onto the floor. ‘Putain, you are stunning’ The man complimented, sending swarms of butterflies to the girl. ‘May I?’ He slightly tugged at her panties, which she simply nodded in response.

‘Please, Charlie’ She insisted, watching as he pulled down her underwear, leaving the bottom half of her body now fully bare.

‘Merde, tu es délicieuse, mon coeur’ He serenaded, mesmerised by his wife’s sheer beauty, believing she was sculpted perfectly by God himself. Eagerly, he began to glide his tongue through her walls, the sudden sensation sending shivers down her spine, her back slightly lifting upwards from the mattress.

‘Fuck..’ She cursed, sparks of electricity travelling straight to her pussy, the designated target Charles was attacking, making sure to taste every aspect of her. ‘Please, Charlie’ she pleaded, knots in her stomach forming, desperate to be released.

‘Tsk, tsk mon amour.’ He scolded, ‘Not just yet.’ She could feel his warm breath tickling her hole, not helping her current situation in any way. ‘I haven’t even fucked you yet.’ He smirked, although unable to see the expression, she could easily imagine the movement of his lips curling. ‘Do you want me to?’

‘Yes!’ The wife whined, her body craving to feel his dick buried inside her, sending lustful sensations travelling through all of her muscles.

‘Yes to what, chérie?’ The husband teased, noticing the shifting of her body, the way her thighs were practically shaking, begging to close together to relieve some sort of tension, but unable to due to Charles’ strong grip.

‘Please, fuck me Cha.’ she cried, as Charles began to move his head away from her soaked area, his hands moving towards his boxers, swiftly removing them to reveal his already hard cock.

‘Got to get this bra off first though, then I’m all yours, belle’ He began to unclip the fabric, gently swiping the material off of her breasts, joining the rest of their clothes on a messy pile on the floor. ‘I am one lucky man.’ His eyes widened as she was now presented fully naked.

‘And I’m one lucky woman too.’ The girl giggled, watching as Charles began to shuffle on top of her, his hands gripping the bedsheets and his dick lining up with her aching hole.

‘Get ready chérie’ He warned, before connecting himself to her, carefully slipping his cock inside, the pleasantly full feeling causing the girl to escape a high-pitched moan. ‘Gonna make you feel so good, you deserve it.’ The man praised, beginning to thrust his hips at a reasonable pace.

‘Fuck, Charlie!’ She shrieked, her thighs trembling as his penis slipped in and out of her in a repeated motion. ‘You’re so big!’

‘You fit me so perfectly, princesse.’ He continued to increase the speed, his mouth now closing onto her exposed neck, leaving trails of kisses, sucking at the skin in a caring manner, but with enough force to leave marks that will stay for a period of time.

‘Charles.’ The girl groans, the same knots once again forming in the pit of her stomach, screaming to be released from the anticipation. ‘I can’t hold on much longer.’

‘Neither, mon coeur.’ He agreed, struggling to not let his body relax into her ‘You gonna let me fill you up?’ He chuckled, ‘So eager to have another addition to the family?’

‘Fuck, yes Charlie please.’ She wailed, noticeably out of breath and he pushes her hips forward, allowing the knots to release, her fluids flowing out onto her husband’s dick, himself following quickly after, spilling out into her, filling his wife up just like how she requested.

Exhaustion consumed the couple, desperate to grasp for air after the heated session, Charles rolling from on top of her to flopping onto the mattress. ‘You’d look tres impressionant with a bump, a little version of us inside.’ He imagined, the goddess labelled his wife becoming even more gorgeous pregnant.

‘I’d love to start a family with you, Cha.’ She laughed, peering over the bed to see the puppy’s eyes begin to creep open, a lovable chesnut shade. ‘I think someone’s woken up.’ The girl pointed towards the lively dog, wagging his tail joyfully as he beamed upon the cuddling couple.

Energetically, the golden ball of fur jumped upwards onto the bed where the two lay, crawling up to position himself between the two, curling up once again onto the space on the pillow, the action sending both of them gleaming, a heartwarming smile spread across their faces as they realised the start of their family had just begun.

‘Leo. His name is Leo.’

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HOPE YOU ENJOYED! <3

[hoe4sports]

Nobody likes the angry girl

A note from the author: I saw a video that hit home. It was a tiktok about being told that “nobody likes the angry girl”. I was the angry girl as a child, and by now you probably know that this is a fic based off of my life. I am not enabling this kind of behaviour, but I’m trying to show you how it can feel to struggle with trauma. Traumas need constant work, love and attention.

If you are struggling with the same thing; you are not a monster. You will get there. It’s not your fault. I love you.

Credits: This is based off a tiktok that I saw, you can find it here. Courtesy of @young.Riley on TikTok.

Warning: Trauma, anger, anxiety

Summary: Your childhood has caused more damage than Alexia could ever believe.

⚠️If you feel easily triggered or overwhelmed, read with caution and take breaks. If you need to, please seek a mental health hotline.

—

“Nobody likes the angry girl”. That was a sentence that would be thrown after you as if it was a knife. Your mother would use it when you did something she didn’t like. Speaking up for yourself, telling her how you felt, wanting her love or being upset. She would describe you as angry if you weren’t a pleasure or the quiet girl.

Alexia however, she is patient with the angry girl. She understands the angry girl because she took her time to understand her. She asked the questions and listened to the stories. She knew what caused you to become the angry girl. How your mother’s words cut through your back causing scars in your heart. Alexia knew that the angry girl carried her heart outside her sleeve. She loved the angry girl with every cell in her body.

The Spanish heat was flowing in through the kitchen windows. You breathed in the air filling your lungs all the way up. Your body felt sweaty after working in the garden for a while. It was mid day, and you had gotten the week off. It was a nice change, your workplace had decided to work on their employees wellbeing giving all of your colleagues a week off. You see, that was the recipe for a perfect week. Only, whenever you got too much time off: your mind and unconsciousness would deep dive into your childhood making your mood miserable and leaving your emotions on edge.

You decided that the best thing to do was to head into the shower, so you approached the bedroom where you pulled out a pair of black athletic bike shorts and a blue athletic long sleeve. Just as you were about to close the door to the wall in closet, you noticed that alexia had left clothes in the floor. Not just on the floor, but right next to the laundry basket. The mishap itched you the wrong way. “Of course”, you mumbled to yourself, “of course she would leave me to pick it up when she knows that I hate when she does that.” You reached for the clothes before chucking it into the basket. It made you feel annoyed. Like your blood was boiling. But you pushed it down. You didn’t want to have a meltdown, not when Alexia had a stressful week.

When you entered the bathroom, you quickly started the water making the shower heat up before getting undressed. That was when you noticed the toothpaste on the mirror. Your face dropped when you saw it. Jesus, you thought, you just cleaned it yesterday. It made it feel like Alexia didn’t appreciate your hard work of trying to keep the house in shape. You grabbed a rag after spraying the mirror, washing the full length of the mirror. You couldn’t just was the one spot with toothpaste, because then it would cause streaks. And you hated streaks. When you turned around to feel the temperature of the running water with your hand, you stepped into cold water with your socks. It made you feel furious. “Oh my god” you mumbled to yourself. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed. Then, your hands reached for a dry towel to wipe up the water that Alexia had left for you to step on.

But, your hand didn’t find anything. You turned your head to see that there were no towels. You took a quick deep breath feeling as if you were about to explode. The robe that was hanging on its hook came to use when you wrapped yourself in it heading into the linen closet to restock towels. Alexia knew that there were fresh towels in the closet. They were neatly folded, white cream towels made out of bamboo. You grabbed the bunch that were sitting on the shelf before stomping your way into the bathroom. The towels got placed in its shelf before you wiped up Alexia’s mess from earlier this morning.

You see, the thing about being the angry girl is that it becomes your identity. You are never smart, talented, beautiful or a joy; because in your mother’s eyes, all you are is the angry girl. When she gave you silent treatment as a 5 year old and you cried for days begging her to speak to you. The first thing she said when you sat there, tears filling your eyes was that nobody likes the angry girl. It hurt like a gunshot. And whenever she used it, it felt like you got shot again. And again. And again. And again. Even though you don’t talk to your mother anymore, you are still the angry girl in her eyes. You will never be anything more.

After your shower, you sat down on the toilet while drying off. Your hand instantly reached for your phone which lead you to watch TikTok. It was childishly enough the only thing that would give your brain a pause. Some days, you had to take yourself on a timeout to watch TikTok with your headphones underneath your blanket it your dark bedroom. Maybe it was the feeling of overwhelming that hit you and maybe that was why this became the solution? Or perhaps it was because whenever you said anything about your feelings, your mother would tell you to go to your bedroom?

You kept watching TikTok before you reached for the toilet paper. And, lo and behold, there was no toilet paper. You could’ve sworn that your eye twitched for a second. But you reached out to the cabinet underneath the sink and popped the new roll on the holder before getting rid of the empty roll.

After feeling the anger building up inside you like a tidal wave, you decided to try to have something to eat. Perhaps, you thought, just perhaps you are hangry and it will all pass once you’ve had some food. Then you remembered that you had leftovers from Lasagna in the refrigerator. You peered into the kitchen and opened the big fridge door before feeling your heart sink. No lasanga. Alexia had brought it with her to practice. It made you frown because you knew damn well that Alexia had all kinds of food in the Barca cafeteria that she would eat from. Even fresh lasagna.

In a need to calm yourself down, you decided to go for a drive to the grocery store. You put on some makeup and do your hair all nice before grabbing your purse and heading out. You press the keyless start button in your car and there is a flashing sign. You are out of gas. Alexia borrowed your car yesterday. You feel your blood boiling. You hop out of your car before smacking the door as hard as you can. Then you stomp your way upstairs to the bedroom to hide from the world and your own problems. You stay hidden in the bedroom for hours. Hiding underneath your weighted blanket hoping that you will fall asleep. That’s one of the angry girl strategies, sleeping. She will close her eyes and keep them shut for hours to avoid confrontation.

But, the attempt to calm down is quickly paused. Your eyes peer open when you hear Alexia’s familiar footsteps in the hallway. “Hola, amor!” She calls out. You can tell that she’s in a good mood. The kind of mood that makes you feel sick to your bones when the angry girl is out. You tuck the blanket around your head so only your face sticks out. “..Amor? Are you sick, no?” Alexia asks softly when she opens up the door to the bedroom. You huff out in response hoping to keep the angry girl away. Alexia sits down next to you on the bed. She gives you the most loving look. It makes the angry girl scared. God, you think. You are so unloveable. Your eyes starts to look like glass, but Alexia dosent seem to catch it. “I’ll go make you some tea. Blueberry?” she askes before placing a kiss on your forehead. You nod in response.

Why is the world against me today, you think. Keeping your head calm when the storm is flaring up isn’t easy, the angry girl inside you is peeking out from the heavy blackout curtains she normally is forced to hide behind. You see, the angry girl looks big and scary. She’s hiding behind curtains as she takes up the whole room. But, the angry girl isn’t a big girl. She’s small. She’s little. She looks big because of the shadows from the lights, but she is small. She is so small. She’s easy to hurt. And she’s sensitive.

The angry girl comes out with a bang. Alexia drops the cup in the kitchen causing you to practically jump out of bed. It scares you shameless, and the angry girl feels put on the spot. You stomp into the kitchen, your face strained and your body tight. You look at the cup on the ground. Or, what was left of it. You instantly recognise it. That is what causes the angry girl to jump out. “ALEXIA!! Seriously?? My moomin mug? From my grandmother?? Seriously?? You are so clumsy, so irresponsible! God, you are so fucking annoying! Why do you ruin everything!” The angry girl yells out feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Alexia looks caught off guard before her looks softens. “You are right mi vida, i shouldn’t have dropped it. Lo siento mucho princesa” she speaks softly. Her body slowly moves towards you. When she dosent get angry back, the little girl feels scared. For some reason, that causes the angry girl to feel threatened. “Don’t fucking touch me, Alexia! Don’t you dare to fucking touch me!” The angry girl yells before turning around and sprinting to the bedroom. Your hand quickly turns the lock before your throw yourself on the bed, face looking into the wall as tears of anger swells in your eyes. You can hear Alexia outside of the door. “Leave me alone!! God, will you ever fucking learn? I should just move out!!” The angry girl screams before pulling the blanket over your head. You lay completely still with your eyes squeezed shut causing you to fall asleep within minutes.

The angry girl haunts your head monthly. It used to be weekly, and in periods; even daily. You don’t purposely let the angry girl out, but sometimes she claws her way out of the deepest darkest rooms where you normally keep her. The angry girl is a result of trauma, event though you sometimes let yourself believe that she is who you are. A part of your personality. A part of you. The angry girl hurt you for years. But you, Alexia and your psychiatrist worked together to get you where you are today.

The thing about the angry girl is that she isn’t really big. She’s a little girl. When the little girl comes out to play, she gets scared. She hides in the bedroom in fear that someone might yell at her. Or disown her. Or not talk to her. To hide is how so stays protected. Her talent is hide and seek. She tiptoes into the bathroom at night, terrified to wake someone up. She sneaks snacks when nobody is watching and god forbid someone catches her: she always ask if she’s allowed food. As a young little girl, she craved love, she craved to be seen and she craved to feel wanted. But she wasn’t allowed to feel those feelings. She was starved of the feelings. She creeps along the shadows of the hallway avoiding showing herself until she is trapped in a corner. That’s when the little girl becomes the angry girl. When she is trapped, and there is nowhere to hide and it feels like the world is about to end. But because Alexia is there, the world doesn’t end.

-

An hour later, you wake up by someone softly playing your hair. You can hear the low buzz of the bedroom tv. The slow beats of Alexia’s heart. The warmth of her lap. The embarrassment and the sadness fills your body. Tears make your eyes glass-like. You move your hand slightly. “Feeling better amore?” Alexia hums at you, not stopping her comforting movements. “I’m so sorr-“ you speak before your voice breaks and your body fills with regret and embarrassment. You feel so angry with yourself. Why are you like this? Why can’t you just communicate instead of letting everything blow up? You don’t know how to stop it, and you are terrified that it will drive Alexia away. “You don’t deserve this..” you mumble moving your hand to alexia’s knee.

“Mi amor, it’s not your fault that you were treated badly as a kid so don’t be sorry for breaking something that you didn’t break. You will get there with time and patience, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. Te amo mucho and that is never gonna change. Vale?”

Alexia looks down on you smile long softly before kissing your head.

«Vale, te amo, Ale. Te amo mucho”

[peepawispunk]

Study Sessions

Pairing: Reed Richards x You

Summary: Your grades are slipping, but Reed thinks he knows the solution.

Warnings/tags: Coercion, student x teacher relationship, dubcon but you want it, creepy behaviour, power dynamics, Reed is a bit of a dick, manipulation, voyeurism, cock warming, deepthroating, throat bulge, penis size play ie Reed is a stretchy dude, deep fucking, belly bulge, oral sex, squirting, Reed typical superpowers, noncon elements, age gap

Word count: 3.3K

My masterlist

My AO3

This isn't the first time Professor Richards has asked you to stay back after class.

It is the first time he's locked the door though.

He flicked the lock shut after the last student out was halfway down the hall, rolling his sleeves up as he crossed the room to his desk, sitting in his chair and gesturing for you to sit opposite. His hand came up to his chin, rubbing at the stubble there. He looked deep in thought, and your curiosity spiked.

“Professor Richards? Is something wrong?”

“I've noticed your grades have been slipping lately. What's going on? Is there a problem at home?”

He was right; your GPA had slipped this year. It had little to do with the course content and everything to do with the fact that last year, your teacher was an old unattractive man. This year was the first year you'd had Professor Richards as your teacher. He made it difficult to focus on the coursework.

You flushed, embarrassed that your crush on him had gone so out of control that he'd noticed your slipping grades. “No, Professor. Nothing is wrong at home.”

“Is it the course content, then? Is there something I can help you with?” He looked at you with concern, eyes kind and understanding.

You hesitated. Professor Richards stood, rounding the desk to lean against it, next to you.

“I'm here to help, and I want you to succeed. If there's anything I can do to help you, I want you to tell me. You're going into astrophysics, right?”

“You remembered that?” You asked, surprised. On the first day of class, Professor Richards had you all stand up and introduce yourself and talk a bit about your career goals. You hadn’t thought he'd been paying attention.

“Of course. Like I said, I want my students to succeed. I want you to succeed. I see something special in you, and I'd hate to see this opportunity slip through your fingers if I could help you.”

“Wow, I don't know what to say. I feel even worse now for letting my grades slip.” Your gaze settled on the floor, focusing on a knot in the wooden flooring.

“Hey,” he said softly, urging you to look at him. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I've just been a little distracted in class. I swear nothing is going on. I'm just having trouble staying focused during lectures.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, watching you with perceptive eyes as you felt skin heat at the scrutiny. “Perhaps what you need are some one on one intensive lessons.”

“You'd do that for me? I know you're a busy man. I don't want to create more work for you.”

“Hey, it's my job to give my students what they need. I'm sure we could work something out.” Professor Richards said, resting a hand on your knee and squeezing gently. “Would you like that?”

Your cunt clenched involuntarily, the heat of his hand resting on your knee sparking a fire in your belly. Was he insinuating…? Why else would he put his hand on your knee like this?

“Oh.” You were at a loss for words. “Um...”

He tilted his head to the side slowly, sliding his hand up your leg a little, his thumb rubbing circles on your inner thigh. “You're a smart girl, aren't you sweetheart? A good girl, who cares about her grades.”

Oh. Holy shit. You'd fantasised about this man for months on end, to the point your grades were slipping, and he wanted to help you with your grades in return for sex?

A no-brainer if you'd ever seen one.

“Yes, Professor.” You nodded demurely. He obviously got off on the power play of this scenario, so you'd play along. You were a smart girl, after all. You shifted your legs slightly, parting your thighs under your pencil skirt. “I care.”

“Knew you were a clever girl.” He smiled, sliding his hand higher, fingers skirting against the gusset of your panties. “Huh. You want this, don't you?” He pressed down with nimble fingertips, stroking your seam through the damp fabric. “Yeah, you want this.”

You nodded.

“I want you. Been so distracted by you, professor. But what about your wife?”

He chuckled darkly. “Believe me, my wife gets as much out of this as I do.” His gaze flicked across the room for a moment, before returning to your face, watching your reaction as he slipped a finger underneath the fabric of your panties, brushing against the slick wetness of your lips. “Oh she's weeping for it, isn't she?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “How long since someone's taken care of this pretty little pussy?”

“Uh,” you tried to think, as his fingers gently stroked the shape of your lips, spreading the slick around inside your panties. “A-almost a year.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Well no wonder you're so distracted in class, huh sweetheart? Gotta take care of this pretty pussy. She's meant to be stuffed full. I bet if we take care of her, we can get you paying attention in class again. Think she's gonna need weekly appointments.”

“Weekly?” Your voice betrayed your interest.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Are you ready to commit to your education?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“While we're doing these tutoring sessions, you can call me Reed. Or Sir.” He said with a wink, withdrawing his hand from your panties and bringing it to his mouth. “Mmm, you taste so good, sweet girl. Are you ready for our first lesson?”

“Yes Sir.”

He smiled, loosening his tie. “Good girl. Go ahead and strip off for me. Don't go making a mess, though. I expect your clothes to be folded neatly and placed on your chair when our lessons begin. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” You said, fingers trembling a little with excitement as arousal flared through you, and you began to undress. His gaze never left your body, heating your skin as he watched you strip, folding your clothes and placing them on your chair. Then, you were standing bare in front of him, waiting for his next instruction.

“Get on your knees.” He said, reaching down to palm himself through his slacks.

Your head was spinning with arousal as you followed his order, kneeling in front of him. You were scant inches away from his crotch, you could practically smell the musky scent of his arousal through the fabric. The bulge was impressive, the bulk of his length sitting to the left side of the zipper, resting against his leg.

“What now?” You asked softly, and he braced his hands against the desk behind him, shifting his hips closer to you.

“You're a smart girl, aren't you? How about you take some initiative.”

Your unsteady hands came up to his waistband, flicking open the button of his slacks and lowering the zipper. To your surprise, he'd foregone underwear, and you could see the leaking tip of his cock drooling a wet spot onto the black fabric. Your hand was immediately drawn to it, swiping a finger through it and bringing it to your mouth. He groaned, and you looked up at him through your lashes, pulling his slacks down til they pooled at his ankles.

“Oh, you're a naughty fucking girl too, huh?” He looked down at you, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Look at you, on your knees for a married man.”

Hot shame and arousal washed over you, and you wanted nothing more than to shut him up; to change his scathing words into moans and whimpers. You looked him in the eye, licked your palm and took him in your hand.

He felt like velvet wrapped steel in your hand, his uncut dick flushed a pretty pink, his foreskin sliding with a slick noise as you jerked him a few times before bringing the tip to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, swirling and slurping, tongueing the slit as you shifted yourself closer, resting your palm on his bare thigh. He was deceptively muscular, you noticed, feeling the bulk of him under your hand.

“Look at you, kissing on him like that.” He breathed, bringing his hand to grip your head, winding through your hair. “He’s feeling real cold. How about you warm him up for me, hmm?”

The thumb of his other hand rested on your lower lip, encouraging you to open your mouth wide as he fed you his cock. It felt like he kept going and going further into your throat, but your mouth hadn’t yet reached the base of him.

He must’ve noticed your confusion, and he hummed sympathetically. “Oh yeah, he’s a grower, baby. Let’s see how much you can handle. You gonna take what I give you?”

You hummed in assent, nodding as best as you could.

“Atta girl.” He grinned, thickening in your throat. “You tap my leg if you need to stop.” He told you, elongating one arm so he could feel you, thumb rolling your nipple as his fingers stretched down to toy with your cunt.

You moaned around him, reedy and desperate as he used his abilities to tease you. You’d seen him use his abilities occasionally, reaching to write on the far end of the blackboard, or stretching to reach something out of reach. You’d imagined how he might use them in the bedroom, and so far, the reality was surpassing your expectations.

“Sit still for me now. There you go.” He said gently, caressing your face. “You’re gonna keep him nice and warm while I read these papers. If you behave, I’ll fuck you after.”

He didn’t even wait for your response, picking up the essay on his desk and reading it, his other hand still teasing you. When he slipped a finger inside you, you moaned, shifting a little.

“Be still.” He reminded you disapprovingly, not even looking up from his reading. “You want this cock inside you, you have to earn it. I don’t go giving just anyone a ride, sweetheart.”

He was deliberately making it hard for you to stay still, and you both knew it. Still, you made an effort to be completely still. Your throat bulged with the size of him; he’d left just enough room for oxygen to pass through, so he could sit heavy inside the wet heat of your throat until he was ready to leave. You thanked the universe for your lack of a gag reflex; you needed that special skill now more than ever.

Time seemed to fade as you knelt in front of him silently, under the onslaught of his wandering fingers. You slipped into a relaxed state as best you could. It would have been almost meditative if you weren’t being teased by nimble fingers massaging your g spot, stretching and pushing in all the right spots to make you see stars.

Reed finally finished his reading, withdrawing his fingers from you. His arm shrunk back to normal, and he brought his fingers to his mouth. “Mmm, so fucking sweet. Looks like even naughty girls can be good with the right incentive.” He set the paper down on the desk, reaching down to give you a hand up as he shrunk himself back to normal, pulling out of your mouth. You noted that even back to normal, he was above average.

He winced sympathetically when he saw your knees, flattened and unhappy from kneeling for so long. “Aww, sweetheart. Hop up on the desk. Let me kiss them better.”

He helped you settle onto his desk, bending to kiss your left knee. His whiskery facial hair tickled you as he pressed a gentle kiss to the tender skin there, then the other, before focusing his eyes on your glistening cunt.

“Look at you. So fucking wet.” He inhaled deeply, trailing his nose up your thigh. “I need to have a proper taste.”

“Fuck, please, I need to come.” You begged, letting your legs fall open further.

“Oh, baby, no. I never said anything about making you come. You gotta earn that, too.”

“How? What do you want me to do?” You asked desperately, watching his slow journey to your pussy.

“You can start by playing with those pretty tits of yours while I have a taste.” He commanded, watching with darkened eyes as you did what he asked, cupping yourself and rolling your nipples, eliciting a gasp from your throat. He nodded once, approvingly, bringing his thumbs to your cunt lips to spread it nice and wide so he could get a proper look at you. His nose led the way, delving into your folds and smearing the slick around, dragging it up to your clit, nuzzling into the swollen peak of flesh there and making you moan.

“Not too loud, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking your professor, do we?”

You pant out an apology, but his focus is already elsewhere, his tongue licking a broad, flat stripe up your cunt. You moan again, softer, and he chuckles. “Can’t help it, can you? So responsive, and it’s been so long. You need something in that mouth?”

You nod, and quick as anything, he has two fingers pressing down on your tongue, ordering you to suck.

Satisfied with your noise level now, he starts eating your cunt in earnest, showing you the off-label uses of his abilities. His tongue, now buried in you elongated and focused an attack on your g spot, pressing and twisting and curling against you in a way that had you throwing your head back, arching your back and doing everything in your power not to bite his fingers.

He licked the nectar from your walls, chasing the flavour of you until your cunt was soaked with your slick and his saliva, bringing you to the edge of the desk with one strong hand.

You were impossibly close when he stopped, his tongue returning to normal. He pressed a final kiss to your clit, before leaning over you on the desk, guiding himself to your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked, sliding his tip through your slick, nudging your clit and making you gasp. You nodded, and he pushed inside you, fully seating himself, his balls hitting your ass. “Took me so well, baby. Are you ready for more?” He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded desperately. You weren’t sure how much you could take, but you’d give it your best shot. You wanted him to ruin you; wanted to feel him tomorrow.

“I’m ready.”

“Say when.” He said, smirking at his own joke, and you felt him swell inside you. “Do you prefer it real long, or real thick?”

You were too busy processing the sensations inside of you to respond in a timely manner, and he just nodded, like you’d answered anyway.

“Oh, that’s right. Naughty girl like you likes both, huh?”

He gained a look of focus on his face as you felt him swell inside you, pressing against nerves you didn’t know you had and making you shake and moan.

“Fuck, would you look at that.” His eyes settled on your belly, and you looked down to see a distinct bulge there, long and thick and twitching below your belly button. He pressed his palm down firmly, making you both moan.

“You’ve got to feel this.” He took your hand, pressed it down against your belly, and held it there. Then, he started to move.

You could feel him sliding around in your cunt, pushing your cervix high into your guts as he pounded into you, could feel the length of his dick retreating and returning under your hand. You were still playing with your tits with your free hand, your arousal building dizzyingly. You hoped he’d let you come, because no toy you owned was going to compare to this. Hell, you weren't sure anything could compare to this. He was ruining you for everything and everyone else, and he knew it.

He stilled for a second, changing the rhythm. His movements were slower now, rolling into you. His hands gripped your legs, slinging them over his shoulders as he leaned into you. You could've sworn you felt a brush of a fingertip across your ankle, followed by a warm breath, but when you looked, his hands were nowhere near your ankles. You were so overstimulated you didn’t know what was what anymore.

“Have I been good, Sir? Have I earned it? I want to come, please.” You babbled, walls tightening around his dick. He was gritting his teeth in pleasure now, brows knitting together.

“Fuck, so good. Right there.” He moaned, hand pressing down on your stomach again. “I’m close, baby.” He opened his eyes, gaze meeting yours. “You come on this dick or not at all. You wanna come, you do it now.”

His hands were gripping your hips now, and he levelled a sharp smack against your ass, making you clench around him.

A ghostly sensation trailed across your cunt, soft fingertips pinching at your clit even though his hands were occupied, and you wondered just how many powers he had that you didn’t know about.

Before you could question it any further, you were tumbling over the edge. Something felt different this time, and a feeling of panic spiked in your gut as the feeling spiralled out of control. It almost felt like you had to pee, and you tried to stop it but it was no use. The most intense orgasm of your life crashed over you, turbulent and wet, soaking Reed’s belly and his pubic hair, dripping down to his balls.

His jaw dropped, a moan slipping out unbound. “God, look at you. Did you know you could do that, sweetheart?”

You shook your head no, and he grinned.

“We’re gonna have some fun with that later.”

He thumbed at your clit, fucking into you faster, a focused determination pounding at your g-spot until you were practically howling with pleasure. Your whole body tingled, set alight as you had your second orgasm, cunt clenching and squeezing helplessly around his massive cock as you squirted all over him again.

The combined image and sensation had Reed grunting, turning to bite down on your calf to avoid making too much noise, filling you with hot bursts of cum, his hips stuttering and abdominal muscles clenching against the backs of your thighs as he filled you until it leaked onto the desk.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was tucking himself back into his slacks. He wiped the desk with his handkerchief, then sat back into his chair with a satisfied look on his face.

You got dressed, feeling his cum pooling in your panties as you straightened yourself up.

“Same time next week?” He asked, watching you lecherously as you buttoned your blouse back up.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, legs wobbly as you said goodbye and left the room, closing the door behind you.

The door locked shut behind you almost immediately. You heard the quiet snick and you assumed he’d used his long reach to do it.

What you didn't hear was his wife's voice on the other side of the door as she made herself visible again.

“So, what did you think?” Reed asked, pulling his wife into his arms and settling her on his lap.

“She was a good one.” Sue said, grinding down on her husband’s lap. “Hot little thing. Obedient.”

He was hard again already, rolling his hips up into her. “Mmm, she was.”

“Ready for more already?” She asked, pressing a kiss to his lips. He grinned, popping open his pants again, shoving them down just enough to free himself.

“For you? Always.” He said, guiding her down onto his cock, still covered with your combined spend.

That’s how she liked it.

[dahlibae]

your blog is sooo 🫠🥵 so good!!!!

Jealous sugar mommy Wanda has been so on my brain!! Every event you go to she makes sure you look stunning but it’s always an excuse to make sure people stare and flirt so that she can haul your ass out to the car and punish you. Just to take you back in with your head hanging blushing and sore as you try to socialize now. Just. Yes.

warning(s) — drabble: mommy wanda, brat!reader, kissing, punishment, spanking, choking (18+)

AHHH THANK UUUU SWEETIE :P

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

i won’t lie i’ve been thinking about mommy wanda and how she wouldn’t tolerate brattiness. or back chat. or any kind of attitude towards her. like at all. 100%… but pushing buttons would be soo much fun, especially when you know all you’d have to do is bat your lashes at someone in front of mommy, and she’ll have you spread over her lap in no time lmaoo.

at first, i think she wouldn’t go so hard on you though just bc you like to “bat your slutty eyes at anyone with cleavage” as she would put it. but it would be the fact you don’t cave into submission after she’s already told you off for your behaviour.

it would drive her mental.

you would say something simple like: “well at least she’d treat me like her gf and not a show pony” or even worse, “bet she’d probably fuck me better too” bc let’s face it, at these events wanda has to be all serious and more than often if she doesn’t need you to win her favours she leaves you to your own devices. it’s not rlly your fault you’ve managed to find someone else to keep you company.

but that is exactly what would do it for the older woman.

and the fact that she’s already spanked your ass red and yet you still have an attitude.

she’d push you off her lap and head for the drivers seat, not saying a word to you and not waiting for you to climb into the passenger seat. she’d just drive home as fast as she could without care if you were in the back or the front or even the roof of the vehicle.

even after you arrived home, she wouldn’t say anything, immediately heading to the kitchen to pour another drink. the silence would kill you, and you knew you were in deeper shit than you wanted. it was supposed to be just a little fun, something to rile her up. not exactly hurt her… so to make it up to mommy, you’d go upstairs and undress before kneeling on the bed waiting for her to join.

when she finally arrived upstairs, you could tell she had began unzipping her dress. her eyes were cold and drifted over your bare frame before heading towards the wardrobe where she watched herself in the mirror as she slid the dress off her frame.

“you know… i got all dolled up just for you baby.” she’d caress at her sides as you took in the sight of the red lace against her alabaster skin,“wanted to take you home after tonight and show you how much i love it when you’re a good girl for me.”

okay so… not upset. but maybe homicidal?

she looked like she wanted to eat you alive.

the dress left in a pile on the floor, she’d now stand in front of you, delicate fingers trailing over your sensitive nipples, licking her lips as she watched your skin shiver underneath her. absentmindedly, you’d raise your hands to grab onto her hips, fingers immediately reaching for the protruding bones of her pelvis you just love to kiss and bite and suck…and that snaps her out of her trance as she steps away from you.

that look of adoration she usually has on her face now replaced with the cold one from before. she’d step back into you, this time crowding your space, as her hand wraps around your throat, and she tips your head back to meet hers. you’d look so adorable, flustered with a little pout on your lips that she’d have no choice but to press few kisses, demanding entrance so she could suck on your tongue, before refocusing on the task at hand.

you had been such a bad girl for her.

and wanda doesn’t like when her girl misbehaves.

“oh baby,” she’d release your lips with a loud smack, “it’s too bad mommy now has to beat the brat out of you, huh?”

[starleska]

If you're still taking writing requests, could you do possessive Wally headcanons?

*cracks knuckles* oh anon, i most certainly can 😈 yandere!Wally fans (me too 😳), this one's for you! (this is less headcanons and more a oneshot... kinda wanna write the whole thing 🙈)

content warnings for possessive behaviour, manipulation, threats, arson, entrapment and kidnapping!

Possessive/Yandere!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons

👁 it all started so well. Wally was a Darling both in name and behaviour, and you fell hard and fast. such an attentive sweetheart, from the moment you moved into the neighbourhood it was as if he were always at your side. anywhere else, you may have been unnerved, but Wally's simple warmth and easy smile dispelled all of your doubts. while you tried to spread your time equally between your kind new neighbours, you somehow always found yourself in Wally's presence, talking to him for hours.

👁 in time, you found yourself becoming bolder. you start returning Wally's curious glances, and soon allow your eyes to linger a touch longer than they should. curiously (and with a little bit of a thrill), you notice that Wally seems incapable of breaking eye contact - no matter how long you stare, he'll always stare right back, unperturbed.

👁 one day, you find yourself closer to Wally than usual. you're half-pressed against one another on your sofa, Wally's cheek nestled in the crook of your shoulder. he's drawing something in his sketchbook: an indistinct, wobbly shape that you can't make heads or tails of. while Wally's right hand scribbles furiously with his pencil, the fingers of his unoccupied left hand spill at your side, reflexively clenching every now and again with the automatic motions of his drawing.

👁 the closeness imbues you with a newfound confidence. you take a breath, steady yourself...and reach across, brushing your fingers lightly across Wally's own. Wally's eyes snap towards you. for a moment, his pupils blow so wide you think they might just swallow you.

👁 the next day, your house catches fire. such an incident is unheard of in this neighbourhood, and all your neighbours are horrified for you. however, Wally is strangely calm. "I'm sorry you lost so much," he says, still smiling. "Would you like to live with me?"

👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.

👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."

👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.

👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.

👁 "did you try to leave Home?" Wally asks. "Silly, silly." he takes a step towards you, and then another - slow and loping steps, his cute puppet form now moving in a way equal parts unnatural and sinister. he crouches next to you, those eyes now whirlpools of void which obscure all but the slight white rim of his scleras. "Try again," Wally whispers. "I'd like that very much."

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Mutual | Lucien De Leon x f!Reader

summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

pairing: lucien de leon x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. smoking, drinking. idk, hate fucking essentially. misuse of a champagne bottle, edging?, sexual tension, f!masturbation, unprotected p in v (you know what to do, and it's not this), oral (f!receiving). reader wears a dress and is implied to be shorter than lucien, but is otherwise undescribed.

wc: 4.8k

an: i succumbed.

The only thing you and Lucien De Leon have in common is the need for a cigarette after dinner. 

Nothing else.

You stand on opposite sides of the patio outside the open glass doors which lead back into Anna and Alex’s house, and you know that Anna, at the very least, will be watching you. Making sure you play nice.

Something you’d vowed to do when she’d called to invite you to this dinner party. Lucien will be there, she’d said, it’d be great for me, for us, if you two just tried to get along. 

So far, you’ve succeeded. You’d listened politely to his stories at the table, hadn't even rolled your eyes when he laughed and joked and flirted with your fellow guests. You’d drunk your wine and stayed quiet through it all, offering your own contributions to the equal delight of the friends who'd gathered. You’d been surprised when Lucien had smiled along with them, even going so far as to chuckle at your story about the dog next door.

And now, outside, the rule still stands. You eye each other as you smoke, finding yourself amazed again by the way he doesn’t speak. Not a snide thing to say, no quip to make, just him watching you. Eyes flitting from your legs, to your hips, to your chest, to your face. And you’d tell him to quit it if you weren’t doing the same thing. If you weren’t enjoying the way his silk shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, the way his curls flop over his forehead, the way his chains catch the light, the way his stupid, pretty eyes glitter across from you. You hate yourself for it, want to crack some nasty sentiment across the stone, but you don’t. 

You’re on your best behaviour, after all.

Something which Lucien has clearly forgotten as he pushes himself off from the wall he’s leaned against, stepping closer, closer to you by the bush with the red flowers. You brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, for whatever smoke he’s about to blow in your face, gearing up for the taunt you’ll throw back. 

He stops before you, barely an arms length away. You tense, waiting.

He holds out the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the table on his way out. You blink at him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m playing nice.’

You stare at him, sceptical. This is not Lucien. This is not something you’re used to.

But maybe he’s trying, too. 

You take the bottle from him, and he lets it go easily. You watch him as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up until the bright fizz of the bubbles meets your tongue. He watches your mouth, pink slip of his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he drops the butt of his finished cigarette to the floor, not looking where it lands. You swallow, take another gulp for good measure, and hand it back to him. His fingers graze yours as you do. 

You freeze at the jolt of electricity his touch brings, hand remaining outstretched as he brings the bottle back to his side. You watch, aloof, as he plucks your cigarette from your fingers and flicks it into the darkness before slotting your hands together, mind swirling as he pulls you closer.

‘Come on. Want to show you something.’ 

Maybe it’s the wine, but you can’t find the words to protest as he tugs you away to a deeper part of the garden. 

Lucien turns you to face him at the furthest wall he can find, and you finally find your words as your back hits the concrete.

‘What did you want to show me?’

You glance around behind him at the flowers that burst from the ground, bright even in the darkening half light. The water feature Alex had installed last year trickles musically somewhere to your left, though you can't see it.

His answering grin is dirty, something fluttering in your tummy as you grind your teeth, nostrils flaring. You do not have the patience for this man, or the butterflies churning in your stomach.

‘Lucien.’

His hands find your waist and the curve of your ass in a flurry of movement, his grip strong, the bottle cold through the material of your dress. The air leaves your lungs. He hums as he draws himself close to your lips.

‘How beautiful you look tonight.’

You snort at him, disbelieving. He can’t be fucking serious.

‘Lucien, what the fuck -’

He cuts you off quickly, dipping to fit his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, hand moving from your ass to your jaw as he licks into your mouth. Your blood roars in your ears as your own hands scrabble to find purchase on his chest, slipping against the silk. You mean to push him away, but somehow you pull him closer, your body doing the opposite of what it’s told as you open your mouth further to him, groaning softly. He tastes like champagne and cigarettes, and you grip his neck to bring him further in, your other hand smoothing over his bunched shoulder, his strong bicep, down to his waist, fisting his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, and sharp anger surges in your gut. Shit. This is Lucien.

You use the hand at his middle to push him roughly away from you.

‘Get the fuck off me.’

He smirks, one hand still on your hip as he takes a swig from the bottle of champagne. You watch him, breathing heavily, stare as his lips close around the mouth of the bottle, and you're betrayed by what you’ve only pictured in your most secret moments. Your eyelids flutter, fingers twitch for him, cunt clenches around something that isn't there. He comes towards you again, and this time you close the gap, leaning forward to crash your mouth against his. You lick at the seam of his lips but he keeps them obstinately shut, and with irritation flashing through you, you drag your nails hard down his forearm in retaliation. He grips the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, and taking advantage of your open lips, spills the champagne off his tongue and onto yours. It's warm, still sparkling. Tastes like him. You swallow it down greedily, reminding yourself that you should be disgusted, certainly shouldn’t be pulling him in to kiss him again, shouldn’t moan so loud when he grinds his hips against yours as he rumbles how you drive him fucking insane against your neck. Shouldn’t be so wet, pinned up against this wall by a man you have long held such disdain for, shouldn’t grind back against him, shouldn’t be panting into his mouth like some kind of dog, shouldn't be forgetting where you are, who you’re with -

This time, you’re more forceful. Lucien stumbles back with hooded eyes and shining, swollen lips, his own breathing coming fast and deep. You stare back at him, still stunned, and without meaning to, your eyes drop down to his crotch, finding the fabric there tight with his arousal. He’s big, must be with the way his zipper is straining. Your mouth runs dry, your stomach swoops. Fuck.

You watch with as much disgust as you can manage as he palms himself roughly to relieve some of the ache, your own hands itching to do the same.

‘So pretty, baby,’ he teases, stepping forwards, head falling towards yours again. Why won’t he stay away? ‘So pretty, wanting me like this -’

‘Stop,’ you hiss. It’s unconvincing even to your ears, and he smirks like he knows. He knows. ‘I don’t - I don’t want you like this -’

He presses his forehead to yours, not touching you this time, instead letting his nose trace your cheekbone, your jaw, down to your neck.

‘You don’t want me like this?’ He purrs. You manage to shake your head. You can feel his smile as he laves a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you whimper, hot all over, so wet, so needy for him. He chuckles again. ‘No,’ he confirms. ‘Then maybe… like this.’

He sinks to his knees in front of you, curls mussed, lips parted, eyes blown. He stares up at you, reverent, taunting, as he skates his broad palms over the tops of your thighs, stroking the skin, murmuring how soft you are. Oh, and you are so fucking angry. So fucking angry as he grips and soothes your flesh, as he squeezes and kneads your ass, as you hold onto his strong shoulders and breathe his name. Even more pissed when he doesn’t have some kind of asshole comment to make, furious as he leans into you and presses kisses to where his hands have been, mouthing at your skin, leaving it wet with his spit, with champagne, so fucking mad as he sips from the bottle again and spills the liquid from his mouth onto your thighs, as he kneels back to watch it trickle over your knees, down your shins, to your feet, to drip onto the floor. You are on fire.

‘See? Beautiful.’ He murmurs. And oh, what you’d do. What you’d do to him. You’d pull at his hair and scratch at his chest and bite into his neck and you’d make him suffer, make him ache, make him feel the same heat you’re feeling. You just can’t seem to move.

Can’t seem to move as he brings his mouth closer to your cunt, splitting the folds of your wrap dress further, pushing his hands up to your hips, holding you still as he takes in your lace panties, the only thing covering you from him. He looks up to you again, burning with desire. Your cunt pulses painfully, and you hiss his name.

He smiles, cruelly.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, ‘We’re playing nice, remember?’

Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his face to your clothed cunt and breathes in deeply. He moans loudly, and you whimper in response, hands flying to his hair at the feeling of his hot breath on you, tugging as he mouths at your pussy through the material. You feel his tongue, warm and strong, drag over the lace covering your clit and you groan, going slack against the wall. He nudges the swollen nub with his nose, his free hand coming between your legs to touch you.

‘So wet,’ he breathes, ‘That what I’m doing to you?’

You shake your head no even though he can’t see you, still playing with your pussy through your underwear. A plea bubbles up your throat, and you swallow it down. You will not beg Lucien Flores to touch you. You don’t even know how you got here in the first place.

But that’s forgotten as he moves again, kissing your clit through the fabric as he brings his other hand, still holding the bottle, between your legs. You hiss as he presses the lip of it to your hole, all protests forgotten as he grinds it against you, the pressure easing a small amount of the ache you feel.

You forget that it’s wrong as he uses it to push your panties to the side. Forget as he runs the cold glass through your wetness, almost do beg him to touch you, to lick you, to do something before he settles it against your slit, right where you think you might need it most.

‘Still don’t want me?’ he breathes against your skin.

A shallow breath escapes you.

‘Fuck you.’ You whisper, no conviction behind your words. He rests his forehead against your hip, and begins to press, begins to relieve some of that ache, that want -

‘Luce?’ Anna calls out from the direction of the house. You freeze, fist tightening around his curls, but Lucien is unphased, working the mouth of the bottle past the tight opening of your pussy. You gasp brokenly at the cool feel of it, fingers constricting even further. Lucien moans beneath you, moving to nose at the crease between your thigh and your cunt, pushing the neck of the bottle further in. You moan loudly, knees giving a little, and he clutches your hip tighter to keep you from falling.

‘Luce?’ Anna calls again, a little closer this time. You groan his name in response, torn between wanting more and wanting this to end before disaster.

The next Lucien? comes even closer, and you use your grip on his hair to pull his face away from you, tipping his head back so that he meets your eye.

‘Stop.’ You bite out. He grins and gives one more pump of the neck of the bottle. You whimper, head falling back to the concrete behind you as he removes it completely, rising to his feet with a groan. You watch, bleary eyed, leaking, chest heaving, as he dusts off his pants and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He steps back and away, eyes raking over your body as he raises the bottle to his mouth, licking around the neck before taking a deep drink and disappearing back up the path.

He’s sick. You hate him.

You return to the house on shaky legs through the backdoor, hoping to make it to the bathroom, only to be intercepted by Alex. He’s scraping leftover food into the bin, and smiles as you enter before double taking at your appearance. You must look wrecked.

‘Are you alright?’ He asks, brow creasing with concern.

You hum, clearing your throat before answering.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at you.

‘Did he say something to you?’ he asks.

‘Did he - what?’

‘Lucien. Did he upset you?’

You blink at him. Right. Play nice.

‘I - no. He didn’t. He was actually quite pleasant.’

Alex stares at you.

‘Pleasant?’

‘Yeah.’

You hold his gaze for a little longer, feel a guilty little heat crawl its way through your belly. 

You’re warm, so unbearably warm.

‘Is it alright if I go and lay down upstairs for a bit?’ You ask. ‘I feel kind of funny.’

Alex frowns, placing the plate he was holding on the counter.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘Do you need anything?’

You smile weakly, shaking your head.

‘No,’ you reassure him, ‘That’s okay, thank you. I just need a moment.’

The guest room on the top floor is cool, and the curtains are open. Warm, orange light floods in from the street outside, and you settle yourself on the middle of the bed, ready to get this over with. There’s no way you can go back downstairs with this need, this coil wound so tight in your belly. You swoop your palms over your body, nipples tightening beneath your dress, feeling the swirl, the drip of yourself between your legs. You grind the heel of your palm against your mound and moan softly, rucking your dress up to your hips so you can slip your fingers beneath the lace.

Fuck, you are so wet. So goddamn turned on by that stupid man that you may as well throw your underwear away. You sweep a finger over your clit, hips twitching at the contact, eyes falling shut as you dip the digit to your entrance to collect your arousal, working the nub in tight circles. 

Your legs fall slack as you build yourself up, moans falling from your mouth in quick succession as you imagine what it would have been like to have him take you there, against the wall. What it would have been like to be fucked with the bottle, to have his tongue really on you, mimicking your movements now, to fall apart against his mouth, see him pull away with your slick covering his face. You rock your hips against your hand, quickening your movements, fingers dipping in and out of your slit between working your clit as the coil tightens and tightens, as the hot, heavy feeling grows and grows, as sweat beads at your temples and the valley between your breasts, as you try not to moan his name -

Like you’ve summoned him, Lucien clears his throat in the doorway. 

You snap your legs shut, heart hammering in your chest, heat blooming through your cheeks.

‘You fucking - asshole -’ you seethe, and he laughs, eyes roving over your sweaty body. ‘Get out.’

‘Wanted to check you were alright.’

You gape at him.

‘Fucking bullshit, Lucien,’ you grit, snatching your hand out of your soaked cunt. You bundle it in the silk of your dress as you try to cover yourself, but his eyes follow, tracing the glint of your slick in the dim light. 

‘Seems like you’re okay, though,’ he continues, slouching against the doorframe. ‘Just look like you could do with some help.’

You choke on a laugh, frozen, glaring at him from the bed. He bites his lip.

‘You’re fucking insane.’

‘Insane enough to fuck you.’

You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the flash of arousal that shoots through you, clenching your jaw.

‘You are not going to fuck me.’

Lucien steps away from the doorframe, moving into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Without looking, he reaches out with one hand and twists the lock with a click. 

He comes towards you slowly, eyes hungry. Your heart is in your mouth as you watch him, adrenaline kicking in so hard even you’re not sure what you want. Aren’t sure whether you can admit what you want. 

He reaches the end of the bed before dropping a knee onto the mattress, reaching out to grab an ankle, pulling your leg flat. You burn at the feel of him holding you, preventing you from moving, from hiding.

‘Then stop me.’

You don’t. You can’t as he crawls his way up your body, as he touches every inch of skin he can so gently, so delicately. Fresh slick pools out of you at the feeling, at the sight - 

His stupid puppy dog eyes and floppy curls and broad shoulders beneath his silk shirt, silk shirt that looks like sin as it drapes over him, moves with him like water, and his chains, his chains, how they’d look swinging over you as he buries himself inside you, raw and hungry and -

You can’t stop the moan that slips from your lips as his hand cups your cunt, as his mouth finds your neck. Body quickly liquid, molten beneath his touch, legs falling open.

‘Please -’ it slips from your mouth before you can stop it, but it feels good, finally, to have him give you what you need.

‘Good girl,’ he says, ‘Playing so nice.’

He slips his hand beneath the lace of your panties, trailing two fingers through your arousal, mirroring your moan as he does. He circles your clit, dragging you back to where you were, drinking down your noises with his mouth close enough to swallow your breath, but not close enough to kiss. You stare up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, a line forming between your brows. You gasp, so pretty, and he hums, slowing his movements to an agonising pace before slipping them from your heat entirely. You whine at the loss, huffing against the mattress, pouting at him pathetically as he smiles down at you.

‘Let’s get these off.’

He kneels back to pull your underwear away from you, and you wriggle at the cool air that comes into contact with your cunt. You watch, breathless, as he bundles them up and slips them into his back pocket, irritated, but not irritated enough to demand them back. They were expensive.

He drinks in the sight of your bare pussy with ravenous eyes, resting his cheek against the flesh of your thigh. The scruff of his beard tickles and scratches, the feel of it so Lucien, but you can't find it within yourself to care. He brings a single finger up to trace through your folds, and you whine desperately, embarrassingly at the sensation.

‘Pretty enough to make a grown man cry, baby,’ he hums, nuzzling your thigh as he blinks up at you with burning eyes. ‘You ever made a man cry before?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Wanna see if I can make you cry, too?’

He grins, a dirty little thing, before closing his teeth over the soft skin at your hip. You moan again, and he leans in closer, licking a long, hot, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You shudder, a broken sound escaping your mouth. God, what is wrong with you?

‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, ‘You always this wet when someone teases you?’

You arch your back against him, head turning in the sheets.

‘No,’ you groan, ‘Get this wet when I’m about to make myself come.’

He huffs a laugh against you before driving his tongue against your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. He is hot and wet against you, so strong and soft like velvet as he tastes you, holds your thighs apart with his strong hands, fingers pressing in so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. You writhe beneath him, hands flying to his hair, grinding up into his face. He licks and licks, devouring you, moving his head from side to side, gripping your hips to keep you moving against him as he quickly builds you again back to your high, sliding two fingers inside easily, curling them up into the spot deep inside you. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from him, the strong curves of his body, the sweat on his forehead, the way his eyelids flutter at your noises, those deep brown eyes watching you with something carnal, something possessive in them.

You whine and moan above him, keening as he reaches his other hand up to swipe a thumb over your nipple, pinching it as you plead for more, as you tighten around his fingers, as you flood his mouth, as the toil tightens again, as you teeter on the edge -

Lucien pulls his mouth from you with a wet sound, withdrawing his fingers at the same time. 

You cry out.

‘No,’ you whimper, ‘No, Lucien, please -’

‘Atta girl,’ he says, ‘I knew you could ask nicely. Knew you’d beg.’

Your back flies off the mattress as you reach to claw at him, ready to rip him to shreds, but he’s too quick, kneeling back again to undo his belt, unzip his fly, pull himself out, and oh -

Oh. Fuck. He’s big. The heavy weight of him held in his fist as he pumps himself slowly over you turns your clawing into gentler hands, and he moves so you can wrap yourself around his cock. He feels like silk, so close to his shirt, rock-hard and twitching as you move your hand languidly up and down his length, squeezing, swiping your thumb over his tip as it drips precum. It's hard not to admire him like this, hard to remember why you hate him so much. The ache between your legs borders on unbearable.

He groans loudly, rocking his hips before wrapping his hand around yours, untangling your fingers to hold himself again, guiding his cock towards your entrance. He runs his length back and forth between your folds, covering himself in your slick, feeling your clit twitch beneath him until you beg again - ‘Please, Lucien, please - fuck me -’ before he’s sliding home in one long stroke.

The air is knocked from you at the feeling, at how full you are. He hinges to cage you with his arms, and you clutch at his shirt as he begins to move, slow, so slow. He licks his lips as he watches your face, your mouth in a little ‘o’, neck straining against the pillow, and you move a hand to the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him, taste him taste of you. You want to take his plush bottom lip between your teeth and hold it there, hold it there until you taste blood. Bu he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and faster, and you lose your grip, back arching as the delicious burn returns yet again.

‘Fuck -’ you gasp, ‘Holy fuck, Lucien, oh my god -’

‘I know, baby,’ he whispers, fucked out and broken as you already. ‘I know.’

He groans from somewhere deep in his throat, head thrown back to expose his neck, and you want to kiss him again, swallow him down, consume him whole.

You close your teeth over the chain that’s swinging in your face so he can't pull away, and he moans, forehead knocking against yours. You bite down harder, wanting it to break, wanting to shatter it, shatter him. As if he can feel it, he grinds deeper, harder inside of you. You feel yourself clench, feel it begin to spiral. You spit the jewellery out to whimper, scratch down the length of his back over his shirt. He feels so good. Feels so fucking good, and it’s infuriating.

‘I hate you,’ you whine breathlessly. He moans into your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ he gasps, ‘Feeling’s mutual, baby.’

He marks the sentiment with a particularly dirty kiss to your throat, and with that, you see stars. You clench and break and stutter around him, splintering and bursting around his cock, crying out so loudly that he secures his large palm over your mouth.

‘Yeah, good girl,’ he pants, ‘Good fucking girl.’

You moan again, and he can feel your body twitch with the aftershocks, contracting and leaking around him. He takes both your legs in his hands and places them on his shoulders, folding you into yourself, fucking into you deeper, harder than before, hitting another angle even more intense than the last. You cry desperately into the pillow, wincing as you tighten again, impossibly fast, too intense, too far away to warn him. But he knows. He can feel it. Tries to hold himself back a little longer to fuck you through it, reaching down to thumb your clit, swiping through the mess you’ve made, he’s made, entranced by the sounds you’re making, the slick sound of him moving in and out of your cunt, the lightheaded feeling he’s got, the desperation, the urge, the need -

He breathes in the scent of your skin as his thrusts get sloppier, inhaling deeply through his nose. He wishes he could kiss you again. Wants to feel the press of your mouth against his, the breaths you take, your tongue against his.

But if he does, it’ll be over. The game will be up, because he won’t be able to hold back the real want he feels, where all this anger stems from. He’s so nasty, so mean because he wants you so bad. So bad, from the moment you met. From the moment you looked him up and down and listened to his arrogant introduction with a little sneer. He wants that attitude - wants to fuck it right out of you.

Your ankle smells sweet against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss and bite the bone there, feeling you tense and pulse around him at the scrape of his teeth. You twist in the sheets, breathing ragged, eyes scrunched shut, fists clenching the cotton as you moan his name, as you try and bite back the gasps and cries of your second orgasm.

‘Again,’ he grits out, ‘Again.’

‘Lucien -' you cry, reaching for him, ‘Lucien, fuck -'

He comes at the first flutter as you clamp down around him. Buries himself right down to the hilt as he spills inside you, coming with a pained moan and a murmur of your name, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks in and out of your pulsing cunt, fucking his spend deep. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders as he catches his breath, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he watches you come down, staring at the rise and fall of your chest beneath your dress, nipples still straining against the fabric. He wants to take them in his mouth, wants to work you up to take you again, but he slips out instead, brushes his hair back from his forehead, watches his cum begin to dribble out of your puffy cunt. You catch him and reach down to run your fingers through the mess of you both, and Lucien looses a strangled groan as you feed it to yourself, tongue working over your digits. You remove them with a pop, sliding your legs closed and settling yourself on your elbows.

He kneels back on the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to focus on something that’s not you for just a moment as you rearrange your dress and swing your legs off the bed. He feels like he should say something, something to cut across what you've just done. Something appropriately callous, but he can't bring himself to. Can't find it within him.

He hasn’t even finished buttoning his pants before you swan out of the room, dress as perfect as it was before, clinging to your curves, moving with your steps. You don’t look back at him as you leave, don’t utter a word.

That familiar flare of anger rises in his chest again. A muscle ticks in his cheek, and he sits down heavily on the bed, clasping his hands together over his knees. He takes a deep breath, exhales through his nose. He soothes himself with the thought of your cunt leaking his cum all over your seat downstairs, thinks about how it’ll ruin your pretty little dress. Tries not to think about how he won’t be tearing you out of it later, won’t be able to taste himself mixing with you like he wants to.

Tries not to think about the perfume you had applied to your ankles.

Tries not to think about how maybe, just maybe, you’ve thought about this, too.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Four — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s Solstice! Reader decides she should probably be honest with Azriel about some stuff. Things don’t quite go to plan.

Oof. Okay. This could be uncomfortable reading for some. There are some hints and depictions of domestic abuse and also of alcoholism, so if that’s something that might trigger you, please, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for my writing to be harmful to anybody. Read with caution. Take care and put yourself first. Lots of love.

Also, please don’t hate me for this 😭we know I’m a hoe for angst and it wouldn’t be one of my fics if there wasn’t some sprinkled in there lmao.

Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Depiction of abusive behaviour. Heavy drinking. Some violence.

On a brisk winter morning, when the sun hasn’t yet graced the sky, the last place you wish to be is at the Windhaven crèche, watching over a group of tired, grouchy younglings. Every second thought that passes through your mind is a longing one, lamenting on how desperately you wish to be back in your bed.

But alas, you owe your friend, Vegha, a favour, making you the sole minder of ten restless little girls, all annoyed that their brothers get to join their fathers for training, while they have to stay back and be…girls. A downfall, according to most Illyrian males.

You’re supposed to be watching over them for a couple of hours while Vegha runs an errand. And that time is going very, very slowly.

You’re in the middle of reading a storybook — and, yes, doing all the voices — when the door opens behind you. You feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Vegha is back earlier than planned, but when you swivel on the child-sized chair you’ve perched yourself on, it’s Azriel who looms in the doorway.

And you…your heart does a silly little thing in your chest.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” He says. “I can wait.”

Your eyebrows flick up in amusement. “Come take a seat, then. It’s story time.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to reach for one of those infant chairs — which you’re not at all sure can handle all his muscle — but this sparks a flurry of complaints from the girls, who all insist that they want to sit with Azriel the most, and within seconds, he’s cross-legged on the floor with the children somehow managing to settle around him without bickering, and they’re all able to command his attention at once.

Happy mediums, and all that.

Your gaze lingers on him as he does all the right things; leaning his head down so he can appear less…huge, while listening with rapt attention to one of the girl’s chattering; steadying another one as they climb over him to get themselves seated; gently telling them all that they have to be quiet if they want to hear the rest of the story. That, of course, achieves immediate near silence.

And thus begins an entire performance of you continuing the tale, and the girls — and Azriel — responding in all the right places. They howl when they’re supposed to make the sound of a wolf, and roar when it’s a mountain cat, and you don’t miss that Azriel helps the tiniest of the girls to remember which animals make what sounds.

Most males in this gods-forsaken place are an intimidating presence to these children, frightening them into silence whenever they’re around, because girls are supposed to be seen and not heard. But Azriel is always gentle, always kind, and they adore him for it.

It’s a combination of all these things that force you to face a truth that’s been rapidly snowballing inside your mind and heart for the past four days — something has changed. Shifted. Has been shifting and changing for a while.

You laid awake for hours that night in the dormitory, listening to Azriel’s breathing as he slept deeply, happily sated from the pleasure you’d given him. Your mind had been too much of a war zone for you to drift off.

Nine years, you’ve called this male your closest friend. Ever since the very first day you’d met him, when a group of males had pushed you to the floor and kicked mud at you, and he’d jumped in and defended you for no other reason than that he’s good to the bone. Nine years, you’ve been by each other’s sides, and it’s been comfortable and familiar and just…right.

But now — now, you think you may have jeopardised that all by going along with Azriel’s request for help. Help with kissing. Touching. Experiencing.

You’ll always want to help him in any way that you can, of course. But you didn’t quite anticipate the predicament you now find yourself in. That you want all of those things and more, not just under the ruse of building your friend’s confidence. You want to explore more with him, feel more with him. You’ve been able to think about nothing else for days.

And it might make you a total wretch, but you want Kaeda to be a distant memory. The thought of Azriel taking what you’ve shown him, shared with him, and putting his all into somebody else…it sours your stomach. Makes you feel sick.

Makes your heart hurt.

And, well, you’re fucked, really.

It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away on its own. It isn’t avoidable nor ignorable. And so your only option is to confront it, be honest about it. Whatever the outcome may be.

The story comes to an end, and the girls are calmed and sleepy enough that they look ready to curl up on the floor and doze off. Azriel peels himself away from the cluster of clingy children and stands up, strolling over to you.

“Well that was fun.” He comments quietly, taking the book from your hands. “Who knew I was so adept at doing animal impressions?”

“One of your many talents, I suppose.” You smile, drinking in the sight of him. He looks tired this morning. Tired, but beautiful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His expression sobers slightly, and he tells you, “We’re leaving this morning. For the training exercise.”

Immediately, your stomach churns. Being away from your friends sets you on edge. Windhaven is a lonely, lonely place to be without the love of Rhys, Cassian and Azriel to warm you. And not even Rhys’s mother is here to make it a little more bearable.

Az immediately recognises the bleakness that passes your face. He steps closer, his hand a gentle brush against yours. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He reminds you yet again.

“I know.” You attempt to force an easy, breezing smile. “What’s the plan for Solstice, anyway?”

Normally, Rhysand’s mother would cook a meal in the cottage. You wouldn’t be able to attend, given that you’re always stuck at home with your father, but by the time he would pass out drunk, you’d sneak out and make it to the cottage just as the games were starting. Some of your happiest memories are of being curled up on one couch with Az, Rhys and his mother on the other, and Cassian stood in front of you, making a terrible attempt at playing charades.

But it’ll be different this year. With the High Lord keeping a tight leash on his pregnant mate in Velaris, there will be no meal, no charades. You, Azriel and Cassian would most certainly not be welcome at their intimate family celebration.

“Rhys will spend the day in Velaris.” Az tells you. “Cass and I will be getting drunk. There’s a celebration being held at the dormitories in the evening, so I suppose we’ll all end up there.”

You dip your chin. “I’ll come and find you there, then.”

His responding smile is a gentle one; one that says he sees right through you, right through to the panic that’s eating away at you, and he understands.

There’s no way he sees everything that you’re feeling, though. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

Your body goes slightly rigid as he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hand squeezes yours, and then he’s pulling away. “See you on Solstice.”

He bids a quiet goodbye to the dozing girls. It’s as he’s heading for the door that you find yourself stepping after him. “…Az?”

He turns, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about, when you get back. Something I need to tell you.”

Okay. Shit. You’re really doing this.

Azriel’s eyes rake over you, and then he smiles. “We’ll talk on Solstice.”

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Your head’s not all there today, as you stare out of the window of your father’s forge. Azriel and the others have been gone almost a week, and you’ve spent every one of those days thinking about how you’re going to tell him…whatever it is you’re going to tell him.

You’re not even certain, yourself.

Just that…that things are different. That you know, to begin with, that this was about him and Kaeda — but it’s shifted in your brain at an alarming rate, and now that you’ve shared something so…so meaningful, with him, you’re not sure you can go on acting as though it was all just a favour.

Yeah. That should do it.

And it’s a huge fucking risk, of course. There’s every chance he won’t return the sentiment, and then a giant wedge of unresolved feelings will exist between you.

But you need to — perhaps selfishly — confront this before things between him and Kaeda progress. In case there’s a slight chance that it’ll alter the path it’s heading down.

And you haven’t thought any further than that.

The snow has started again, and you watch the flurries sweep past the window and join the thick layer on the ground. You’ve become so accustomed to the noise of the forge that you hardly notice it anymore — not the constant clanking, nor the heat that the fires swathe the shop in. You used to beg your father to teach you his craft, to allow you to get stuck in and get your hands dirty, but he’s always stubbornly maintained that it’s a male’s job, and that he needs you for the bookkeeping. You’re surprised he trusts you with that.

You breathe a soft sigh, your thoughts once again flitting back to Az. To what he might be doing, thinking, feeling. Whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

But before those thoughts can take a hold of you and sink you deeper into your predicament, the door opens, the bell above it ringing and a gust of cold air momentarily biting you.

It’s rare for females to come to the forge. Very rare, indeed. Which is why, for a second or two, you just stare.

That — and because she’s incredibly beautiful.

Her eyes — the colour of emeralds — sweep the workshop, before landing on you, and she smiles. She has the telltale tanned skin of an Illyrian, but instead of the dark hair that’s so typical around here, hers is red — not orange, not auburn, but blood red. You’ve never seen a shade quite like it.

And if that’s not enough to completely bowl you over, your gaze rakes over her clothing, and you stop, stunned.

Females around here wear homespun dresses of simple brown shades. A few, like yourself, favour basic tunics and breeches. Clothing is just a necessity, not something you lend much thought to.

But this female wears Illyrian leathers. Never, in your life, have you seen females wear Illyrian leathers. It’s simply not a done thing.

But she looks resplendent in them.

They cling to supple curves and accentuate a figure that you don’t think you’d ever be able to achieve with any amount of training. And perhaps the most shocking thing of all — and the most enviable — is the presence of brilliant, beautiful wings at her back. Unclipped. Untouched. Unruined.

How your wings might have one day looked, had your father not destroyed them.

You’re not entirely convinced that an angel hasn’t just stepped into your father’s forge. Or perhaps this is the Mother that everyone worships. Part of you wants to worship her, too, and beg her to bestow upon you her blessings—

You snap yourself out of it before you can fall head-over-heels in love with her. She’s just a customer.

A very, very beautiful customer.

“Good day to you.” She says, approaching the counter. Her voice is like pure music.

You incline your head in greeting. “And to you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m interested in having some gifts made for my father and brothers. For Solstice.”

Once again, you’re gawking.

Another thing that’s unheard of; females liking their family members enough to have gifts made for them.

You clear your throat, blinking out of your thoughts. “What…what kind of things were you looking for?”

“Personalised daggers.” She answers, and then she grins in a way that makes you want to tell her your life story, and leans closer. “A male can never have too many daggers, right?”

You breathe a laugh. It doesn’t sound natural. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll be needing three. One for my father, and one each for my two brothers. Can that be done in time for Solstice? I can pay extra…”

This female has beauty, leathers, wings, a relationship with her family members, money. She’s magnificent. A few exchanged words, and you’re awed by her.

Who is she? How have you never seen her before?

“It can be done.” You tell her with a flustered smile. “I’ll just need to sit with you and get some details of exactly what you want made, and then my father will get straight to it. I imagine they’ll be ready for collection by Solstice Eve.”

Her eyes light up in a way that reminds you of sunrise. “That’s perfect.”

There’s a second or two where you just…can’t help staring. Her beauty has knocked you speechless.

But once again, you snap yourself out of it and try to retain some semblance of professionalism.

“Can I take your name down?” You say, and clear your throat again. Gods, you hope you’re not blushing. “For the order.”

You grab a piece of parchment and a pen, hoping you’ll remember how the fuck to write.

“It’s Kaeda.” She says, and the pen nearly slips from your hand. “Kaeda Baralas.”

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Solstice morning sweeps in just as abruptly as the fresh onslaught of snow that once again batters the camp.

It’s going to be a rough one. You can feel it in your bones.

You dread it every year, but this year is made even worse by the constant stream of thoughts that have been plaguing you over the last week. About whether telling Az about your feelings is a good idea. Not just because of what it could do to your friendship, but because…

Because you can’t deny that since seeing Kaeda in the flesh, you’re doubting yourself more than ever.

Of course, you can see why Azriel would want her. And why he’d want to be good and experienced for her. And you…you’ve been facilitating that. You’re the practice dummy. Kaeda is the real thing.

At least the chaos of Solstice keeps you busy.

You wake early, and from the noise and foot traffic outside your bedroom window, you know Az’s unit has safely returned from their training exercise. Your relief is short-lived, replaced by the dread of your father hitting the bottle.

Every year is the same. You spend the day trying to focus on your preparation of the huge meal you’re expected to cook, while your father knocks back drink after drink and gradually gets rowdier. You tell yourself that the more he drinks, the better — he’ll fall asleep eventually, and you’ll be out of here.

But then the front door bursts open.

It’s four of your father’s friends who pile into your cramped home, singing at the tops of their voices and reeking of booze. You’re only just able to stop one of them knocking a pot of potatoes off the counter with a careless, wayward wing. They barely acknowledge you, filing through to the sitting room to greet your father. Their voices get louder, and an ache is building behind your eye.

Day bleeds into late afternoon. You try to ignore them, to focus on the task at hand. Cooking is usually enjoyable for you, but with an unwelcome party happening in the next room, you find yourself getting more and more stressed.

By the time your father bustles his way into the kitchen and begins sniffing around the food, you’re close to losing it.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Your father rudely demands.

You stare out of the kitchen window, at the dwindling light of approaching evening, clenching your jaw. “It is. I’m waiting for your friends to leave.”

“They’ll be eating with us.”

You whirl on the spot. “We don’t have enough food for that.”

“I told you we’d have guests.”

No, he absolutely hadn’t. This is a power play. He does shit like this all the time. Backs you into corners.

“I bought food for two people.” You snap, unable to stop yourself. “Not six.”

Your father’s nostrils flare. You know that look on his face a little too well — the one where his cheeks redden and his eyes turn cold. It’s always, always made your stomach lurch.

He steps closer, and you press your back against the counter, trying your utmost not to look intimidated.

“You’d better rectify that, hadn’t you?” His tone is deceptively gentle. “Be a good girl and find a way to make the food go around six people. You wouldn’t want to ruin Solstice.”

It’s a veiled threat. One you’d be wise not to ignore.

So you stare at him and he stares at you. And when he eventually nods and leaves the room, you turn and try to work out how to make a meal for two a meal for six.

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The mountain of a male beside you jostles your chair so violently that you almost fall out of it.

His hand grabs a roast potato from your plate. He shoves it into his mouth, chews, and grins. “You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”

The entire meal has been like this.

Perhaps it’s your ice-thin temper that has you staring him right in the eye; a thing many Illyrian males consider a great disrespect from females. “Would it matter if I was?”

He swallows and swipes the lone, remaining potato you hadn’t planned to touch. “Not really, no.”

The dinner is usually the only part you enjoy of Solstice. A meal that you spend hours perfecting, of slow-cooked meat and roasted potatoes and a colourful array of different vegetables that are cooked to perfection. It’s the one part of the day where you can just sit and breathe, because even your father doesn’t usually have a bad word to say about the meal you’ve presented.

This one has been pure, unadulterated hell. 

To accommodate your unwanted guests, you’ve skimped on your own food, barely affording yourself a couple of mouthfuls. Wine and ale has been spilled across the table, and the conversation around it has only grown more and more uncomfortable — and vile — as the night has worn on. You want nothing more than to get out of here and find your friends, but your father and his cronies show no signs of slowing down. 

You sit, staring emptily at the plates, the little remaining morsels of the meal you spent all day cooking. You try to block out the laughter and jeering, the disgusting comments, the blatant disrespect, but it’s all getting to you, riling you up. You’re not sure how long you’ll last without snapping.

Your answer comes when your father looks at you. And he snaps his fucking fingers at the finished plates. 

“Clear this up, Y/N.” He says. 

You know your father. You know what he can be like, the damage he can do. Your ruined back is evidence enough. And you know the wisest and safest thing is for you to comply and rant about him to your friends later.

But you’re far beyond that point.

You meet his gaze, and your jaw ticks as you shoot back, “Why don’t you clear it up yourself?”

You regret it the second the room falls deathly silent. All the noise is gone in an instant. Every face is looking your way.

But it’s your father’s face you’re concerned with.  The expression that tells you you’ve made a grave, grave mistake. 

“What was that?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You look away. Wish you could cram the words back down your throat. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” The male beside you sneers. “You speak to your father like that, girl? If you were my child, I’d string you up by the remains of those wings you never should have been born with.”

“I’d do a lot worse than that.” Another one remarks, a sickening laugh in his voice.

Throughout it all, your father is staring at you. Saying nothing.

“Did it hurt, anyway? Having them ripped off like that? I bet it did. I hope it did.”

Your final straw is when the pig at your side has the audacity to reach around and touch your back. You tense immediately, and you’re shooting up from your chair, knocking it over as you do.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.” You will your voice to be stronger, firmer, but it won’t comply. You shake as you gather the plates up in your hand. “I’m cleaning this up.”

That’s met with a chorus of laughter, a pelting of comments. You tell yourself to block it out, block it the fuck out, balance as much as you reasonably can in your hands and book it into the kitchen. You dump the plates onto the counter and grip onto the sink basin, trying to draw in deep, slow breaths.

But then there are footsteps behind you. And the kitchen door closes. And you know that’s not good.

“Y/N.” 

Your eyes shutter. You release one of those useless breaths before you dare to turn and face your father. 

And when you do, his face is…soft. Eyes filled with concern.

But you’re not stupid enough to buy it. 

You’re taut as a bowstring as he approaches you, stopping inches away. He drinks in the sight of you, tilting his head. You wait for him to tell you that you look just like your mother — a fact that only contributes to his vitriol. As if it’s your fault that she abandoned him, abandoned both of you. 

He thinks it is.

His hand touches your cheek, his thumb sweeping the skin there. You swallow, hoping he can’t feel the way you tremble beneath him. 

“What’s gotten into you, my girl?” He asks quietly. “What did I say about not ruining Solstice?”

You swallow. Lower your gaze. “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Do I not have the right to invite my friends into my home?”

“I’m just saying that a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. I didn’t spend hours cooking a meal just for your friends to come along and ruin it.”

“Your attitude has become insufferable. Perhaps it’s those three males you’ve been spreading your legs for. Giving you too much of an ego boost.”

You almost want to laugh in his face — laugh at his cluelessness. But your anger wins. Maybe you’re more like him than you ever thought.

“Or perhaps, father,” you snap, “it’s an accumulation of anger and desperation after twenty years of living with a repulsive, sanctimonious—”

He strikes you so hard that for a moment, you’re simply stunned as to why you’re suddenly on the floor. But the thwack of his hit rings in your ears, echoes through the kitchen. 

And then the metallic taste of blood is coating the inside of your mouth. It’s streaming down your chin, and you’re not even sure where it’s all coming from, only that it hurts and your eyes are stinging. 

Your father stares down at you. And in that moment, you realise that the eeriest thing of all is that he never glares at you. You think you’d prefer that.

He always stares with that emptiness. That icy vacancy. It makes his actions more unpredictable, more dangerous. 

He lunges down so suddenly that you flinch, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. Your legs don’t want to comply as he shoves you towards the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” He hisses at you, ripping the door open. “Go on. Fuck off, just like your mother did.”

And then he’s shoving you into the snow, a plume of it erupting around you. You hardly notice the cold. You’re too stunned.

Not stunned enough, though, to refrain from biting back at him. Just like a threatened animal would. 

“Fuck you.” You sneer, the words contorted by a mouthful of blood that you spit onto the snow. “Fuck you, father.”

The bastard laughs in your face. Just as he’s always laughed in your face. And then he kicks snow at you because he can and steps back into the house.

When the door shuts behind him, you push to your feet. You’re trembling all over. It might be the cold. It might be the shock.

There’s only one person you want to see right now. So you wrap your arms around yourself and head towards the dormitories.

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Halfway through trudging across the camp, your shoes sodden with snow, your lip still bleeding, the emotions begin to hit.

You resent them. You resent feeling anything at all towards the male who is your only blood relative in this hollow, hollow place. The one who took your wings. The one who has tried to keep a firm grasp on the control he has over your life.

But you do feel things. Hurt and rage and humiliation and — bizarrely — betrayal. As if some small slither of hope had followed you from childhood into adulthood — that your father would one day miraculously awaken as a different person. A family member worth holding onto.

He never would.

No, your true family has always been the small, loving group that crams themselves into a cottage across the camp; a place of warmth and welcoming.

Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand’s mother, too. They are your family. They have always cared, since the moment you met them.

It’s for that reason that you persevere with your walk, even though you’re frozen to the bone. You think you might be crying. You’re not too sure anymore. Your friends will make it better. They always make it better.

The dormitories glow in the distance; a welcome sight, for once. You kick through the snow with desperation, and you’re definitely crying, definitely shaking all over, but the sounds of the celebrations coming from inside are a relief. Playful jeering and someone strumming a lute and off-kilter singing.

You push your way through the door. Inside is as crowded as you expect it to be, but you don’t even care. Anywhere is better than at home.

Your eyes — not really taking in much at all — scan the corridors, the common area, looking for any of your three closest friends. You see none of them, but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to find Vegha there. Her eyes widen immediately at the state of you. You dread to think how bad you look.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” She blurts. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Fell over.” You know how stupid it sounds. “I…I need to find Azriel. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I think he skulked off to his room a little while ago. Everyone knows he hates big parties like this—”

Perfect. You’ll hole up in his room together and block the rest of the world out. You’re already turning and pushing through people. You’ll apologise to Vegha for your rudeness later. Right now, you just need Azriel’s comfort, his love. The conversation you planned to have with him tonight is now a distant memory, an issue to confront later. You just…just want him. He always makes everything better.

You don’t notice the drink that gets spilled on you, or the disgruntled groups of people you have to shove through. None of that matters. Azriel is your family. He matters.

Finally, you make it to his room. The soft glow of faelights shine beneath the door — an indication he’s inside. You almost sob with relief as you grab the handle and burst in.

Two faces immediately look round at you.

Azriel’s.

Kaeda’s.

Kaeda lies on top of him, hands either side of his head. Her lips are swollen and inches from his. Azriel is palming at her waist, holding her against him. They’re both fully clothed, but…but you get the sense they wouldn’t have been for much longer, had it not been for your interruption.

Azriel drinks in the sight of you, his chest heaving. He blinks. You…you’re rooted to the spot.

And you fucking wince as Kaeda sits up slightly. Az’s hands fall back to his sides.

The beautiful female eyes you, tilting her head. And you want to get out of there, to fucking run, but you can’t do anything but stand and blink as something shatters inside of you.

“The shop hand from the forge.” Kaeda states in surprise, as if it’s ludicrous to consider that you might sometimes venture outside of your father’s workshop. “What happened to your face?”

Azriel is finally springing into action, then, sitting up and scooting out from beneath Kaeda. “Y/N…”

You cannot bear the gentleness of his voice. It may just finish you off.

All of this might. Staying here a second longer might.

So you, for some reason, shake your head and back slowly out of the room. Azriel lurches up, but you’re grabbing hold of the door handle firmly.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Your voice is all wrong and fractured. You quickly shut the door before it can morph into a sob.

You think Azriel might call after you, but it’s probably wishful thinking. You don’t know. Don’t know anything. Don’t know what to do next.

So you simply walk away.

You suppose you’ve taught Azriel everything he needs to know.

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[loveinhawkins]

When Lucas Sinclair starts to apologise for missing The Cult of Vecna, Eddie initially thinks that he’s hearing things.

Well, actually, the first thing he thinks is something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

It takes him almost a solid thirty seconds to even vaguely remember his campaign; the last day of school before Spring Break feels dreamlike, as if it happened to someone else, as if he just watched everything through a fogged-up window.

“Jesus, Sinclair. I’ve got an ongoing list of folks who owe me an apology since, like, sixth grade, and trust me, your name’s not on there. Can pretty confidently say it never will, okay?”

Eddie sees Steve tilt his head ever so slightly from where he’s walking just ahead of them, like he’s listening in. Spots his faint nod of approval.

Eddie can’t decide if he resents it or finds it endearing—kind of gets the ridiculous feeling that Steve’s vetting him on behalf of the kids.

“Okay,” Lucas says, and he’s smiling, but there’s a sort of sombreness to it, too. “Still, I should’ve—”

“Hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Eddie says, firmly cutting off whatever self-critical bullshit he was about to hear. He knocks his shoulder against Lucas’s, adds a dry, “Like, I would’ve been a dick about it no matter what.”

Lucas laughs, but it’s muted. Then he takes a deep breath, and Eddie suddenly realises that he must’ve been using the apology to get himself started, to work himself up to what he really wanted to say.

“I’m… I’m sorry about… about Jason and… I thought I’d thrown them all off the trail, but—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie says faintly.

There’s a flash of Jason in his mind’s eye, the savage twist of his lip as he ran into the lake; he thinks of Lucas lying to his face, the danger of him being found out, and feels sick.

“Seriously, you could’ve told them… y’know. Wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that him getting caught still feels inevitable, like he’s just waiting for the walls to close in.

But right now, at least, he can breathe a little easier. The shire might be burning, but there’s people leading him through it. He’s not alone.

Lucas looks appalled. “What? No, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you.”

It’s said with such conviction that Eddie has to fight through a sudden tightness in his throat—doesn’t really know what to do in the face of such undeserved loyalty.

He settles on saying, “So, how was the game?” which is embarrassingly inadequate, but a genuine question nevertheless; the past few… Jesus, however long it’s been, he’s been in permanent need of a distraction.

Steve slows his walking pace—to anyone else it might’ve seemed subtle, but Eddie’s used to noticing such things. He somehow gets the feeling that Steve is no longer scrutinising him, not exactly; his posture’s relaxed and open, his forehead free of frown lines.

It’s more like he’s simply curious about Eddie’s behaviour. The way his eyes drift over, then down to the forest floor, then back again silently seems to say what are you thinking?

Or maybe Eddie’s projecting because he asks the very same question whenever a muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw.

“Oh, um…” Lucas says hesitantly. “I was on the bench for most of it, so—”

“Quit being modest.” The quiet whir of a tape being rewound; Max Mayfield comes up to Lucas’s side. “He made the winning shot,” she tells Eddie pointedly. “It was a buzzer-beater.”

“Oh, holy shit. Well done, dude.”

From the way Lucas is staring at Max with wide eyes, it’s obvious that he’s barely registered what Eddie’s said.

“How do you know that?” he asks. “You… you weren’t at the game.”

“I, uh.” Max looks down for a moment, fiddling with the headphones around her neck. “I listened to it on the radio.”

Lucas smiles so brightly. There’s an earnestness to him; Eddie spotted it a mile away, ever since that first day back at school, when all the new freshmen were anxiously lining up to get lunch.

Max softens—her arms are still folded, but she drifts a little closer to Lucas as they walk, all studied casualness.

(Oh, Eddie’s been there before: forced to run track in middle school Phys Ed, and the only saving grace was ‘just so happening’ to run at the same pace as any boy who’d smile at him.)

Eddie catches Steve’s eye, and this time Steve gives him a very deliberate expression, nodding fondly at Max and Lucas.

Look at them, he’s saying with his eyes, as if he and Eddie are on the same team, as if Eddie at all deserves to be let in on whatever shared history Steve has with these kids.

Eddie kicks at a stray twig. You’re not going to get a lump in your throat about this, damn it, don’t be stupid.

“S’gonna be historic, Sinclair,” he says. “Last time the Tigers won a championship was, uh, lemme think… twenty-two years ago.”

Lucas stops in his tracks.

“I know that,” he says, eyes shrewd, “but why do you know?”

Eddie raises his hands with a grin, it wasn’t me, officer. “What, I can’t repeat a few years without retaining a little school knowledge?”

“Oh,” Lucas says, and it’s like Eddie can see him mentally replaying every cafeteria speech. He grins back. “So you’re a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says. He glances further afield, where Dustin is animatedly explaining something to Robin and Nancy. “I know you’re not gonna give me shit for it, though.”

“Huh, guess you don’t really know me,” Lucas says, and Max snorts.

Eddie smirks. “And it’s, like, doubly historic since the last person to score a buzzer-beater was—”

He cuts himself off, because Steve abruptly turns to him, like they’re in alliance, and draws a hand sharply across his neck.

But Lucas is already hooked. “What? Who was it?”

Eddie gives Steve a helpless shrug. Sorry, man.

“I’m looking right at him,” he says.

Lucas rounds on Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Steve says, flustered, “that was your thing, Lucas, I didn’t wanna be all…”

He trails off with a vague hand gesture, and Eddie thinks he somehow gets what he means—smiles at the thoughtfulness of it.

“That makes, like, no sense,” Lucas says vehemently. His eyes practically have stars in them. “Damn it, we shoulda got a photo.”

Steve laughs in surprise. “All right, noted.”

“I mean, Wheeler works for the school paper, right?” Eddie says. “They’ve probably got old issues. Hey, Sinclair, you could have, y’know, side-by-side photos. Yours and then…” He waves a hand at Steve. “Ancient history.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ancient, sure.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Max says, batting her eyes excessively, “I’d frame a picture of you. Pray to it every night.”

Lucas blushes. “Shut up,” he says, elbowing her gently; Eddie thinks that it’s the first time he’s heard Max Mayfield laugh.

Steve’s watching over them again, and his eyes go pensive when Lucas mumbles something like, “I wouldn’t mind a frame.”

The expression Steve has is something Eddie’s only seen once before, and it was on Wayne’s face. Eddie had privately dubbed it the ‘found something for your birthday’ look when he’d noticed it: him and Wayne on a road trip, Eddie not so secretly mooning over the secondhand acoustic guitar in the shop window.

“Your picture should be bigger, Sinclair,” Steve says, sounding both teasing and sincere. “My shot didn’t win a Championship Game.” In an undertone, he adds, “As Brenda so helpfully reminded me.”

Oh, Eddie’s not letting that go.

“Do mine ears deceive me? Did you take a date to a high school basketball game?” Eddie cackles. “You sure know how to woo ‘em, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve says defensively, “she could only make that day. Told her I had non-negotiable plans: it was either the game or it was a bust.”

Huh, Eddie thinks, that’s actually… really sweet.

Lucas looks torn between being embarrassed or touched. “You didn’t need to do that, Steve.”

“Sure I did. C’mon, you thought I was gonna go to every match and then miss the Championship?” Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Where was Erica, anyway?”

… Ah.

“Mea culpa,” Eddie says. “She was, uh, at Hellfire.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Last time she was at a game, she kept shouting that she loved my tactics.” He looks out into the middle distance. “I was on the bench the whole time.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I missed her being there.” He’s sporting a smile that’s somehow the perfect balance of fond and mischievous; it, quite frankly, has no business looking as attractive as it does. “We had, um, alternative commentary for every game. That kid should have a radio show.” He comes closer, adds in another aside, “Would’ve made the date more bearable if she was there.”

Eddie stifles a laugh, has a moment of respectful silence for Brenda.

Max and Lucas cut in front, keep walking until they’re almost out of earshot; Eddie hears Lucas faintly say something that sounds like, “Was I totally tubular?”, soon drowned out by Max’s laughter.

There’s a short silence.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie blinks at him, quickly turns his genuine confusion into a bit. “What for, Harrington? My devastating wit? Devilish good looks?”

Steve shakes his head. He smiles for a moment, in on the joke, but then he looks over at Lucas and Max again, and… there.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s just… they’ve got a lot to carry, y’know? So…” He shrugs. “Thanks.”

It’s said so quietly, so without fanfare.

Eddie’s hit with the realisation between one footstep and the next: that he’s earned Steve Harrington’s trust.

It feels… weighty.

But Eddie doesn’t mind it; he doesn’t think it’s going to crush his ribs. If anything it feels like they’re sharing a load.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, pushing back his hair; Eddie’s brought back to the moment he did the very same on the basketball court, just as the ball sunk through the net, and Eddie decided fuck it, wholeheartedly embracing his hypocrisy as he jumped up and down with the band kids.

I cheered so goddamn loud for you, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t say it.

But he keeps walking next to Steve. Feels a little young, a little bit like he’s running track—checking his pace just so he could see a boy smile at him.

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [3]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 2 | Fic Masterlist | Part 4

"I can't believe I finally have a bed of my own..." You whispered as the head maid disappeared from sight, closing the doors to your room behind her. The sheets were practically brand new, and you ran your hand across the smooth fabric, sighing in content before allowing yourself to lay down.

You failed to understand why the previous noblewomen set to marry Seonghwa would choose to escape from this. In your opinion, the general appeared quite generous.

Despite not knowing you or any of his past fiancées personally, he was considerate enough to provide each and every one of you with accommodation and basic necessities. These were luxuries even your own family had failed to offer you. He was already treating you better than anyone you had ever encountered in your life.

You couldn't fight the small smile forming on your face as you looked around your room, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. In a short span of time, the general had managed to surprise you in more ways than one, and you certainly weren't complaining.

It still made you anxious to think of facing him again, given your less-than-ideal first meeting. He had already accused you of being insincere but proceeded to be kind in his actions.

Honestly, his behaviour left you perplexed.

At the same time, it ignited hope within you—a hope that maybe, in the presence of the supposedly heartless General Park, you could find the opportunity to change your life, for he had shown you more mercy than your own family ever had.

"Happiness... can I find it here?"

The words escaped your lips in a soft whisper before the unfamiliar soft sheets of your bed welcomed you into a deep slumber. Having grown used to sleeping on the floor back home, the sudden luxury brought an unexpected level of comfort, lulling you to sleep like magic.

Unbeknownst to you, Jongho and Eunsook had stationed themselves just outside your quarters, hoping to catch any suspicious conversations that might indicate your actions were part of a scheme orchestrated by your father to undermine their master. To their relief, they heard nothing of the sort.

"Sounds like she's fast asleep. That was quick." The assistant muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The head maid nodded, her expression softening, "Can you blame her? She travelled all this way by herself. Oh, Jongho, you should've seen her earlier... She was genuinely pleased with this room. Not only that, she apologised for having nothing with her and even thanked me as if I had saved her life, all because of dinner."

Eunsook raised a brow as the younger man didn't appear overly surprised by the revelation. He sighed, "I believe you, all right. When I found her, she was wandering by the front doors alone, without servants or palanquin bearers. And that's not the worst; she bowed back to every servant on the way to the main hall."

The elderly woman nodded eagerly, "Yes, yes! She even bowed to me; it was the wildest thing I have ever seen!"

Jongho shook his head, "Something is definitely up; we have to find out what's happening. I don't believe for a second that the minister would have been okay with his own daughter being treated like this."

Eunsook had to agree.

"Whatever it is, I won't lie that I'm hoping for her to be our mistress for good. She's the first noblewoman not to yell or speak rudely to me. Having one of master is enough; I'm sure we could all use a kind and soft-spoken mistress around here."

The assistant didn't have to say anything for the head maid to understand that he, too, wished for the exact same thing. Despite their loyalty and attachment to the general over the years, they couldn't ignore the fact that his unpredictable anger issues turned him into a ticking time bomb. Tiptoeing around him and walking on eggshells had become exhausting on most days.

Before they could continue their hushed conversation, a servant approached them with wide eyes, "Jongho! Eunsook! The master has summoned you both to his study!"

The two gasped and nodded, "R-right, we'll be there at once!"

Speak of the devil.

Seonghwa's typically composed demeanour seemed overtaken by frustration as he glared at his desk. If looks could kill, the poor piece of furniture might have been sliced in half. The two employees exchanged a wary glance, inhaling deeply to steel themselves before entering the study, "Master, you called for us?"

They stood straight as a plank, anticipating the impending outburst from the general.

But it never came.

"I'm confused." The two blinked, awaiting further explanation.

Yeah, so are we.

"I don't like being confused because I'm never confused. Does she even know who I am? The audacity of this woman..." He muttered lowly, clenching his fists.

It infuriated him that he found it difficult to read you. Usually, he prided himself on being able to see through almost anyone, and this situation wounded his pride, sparking anger within him. How dare you waltz in here and change all that? Who did you think you were? But what he despised even more was his struggle to be angry with you. The innocence in your eyes was impossible to deny.

And he hated it with a passion.

Finally lifting his gaze, he bore a glare into his assistant and head maid, "You two, I want you to tell me every single thing that happened when you were with her."

If Seonghwa believed his confusion would be dispelled after hearing what his aide had to share, he was wrong. He was left feeling more confused than ever.

"She was at the entrance... by herself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without any servants or palanquin bearers?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she... bowed to all the servants?"

"Yes, sir."

Narrowing his eyes, the general pushed himself off his seat, scoffing lightly in disbelief, "I don't know what she or her father is trying to get out of me, but I will not be foolish enough to walk into their trap. This must all be part of her act; I'm sure of it."

However, the reminder of her currently being at her quarters brings a devious grin to his face, "She can pretend all she wants, but no sane person will willingly agree to stay in The Cold Palace. Tell me, Eunsook, I want to hear all about her reaction to my masterpiece. Oh, it must be priceless."

The head maid cleared her throat, recognising that her master might not appreciate her response, "W-well, you see, master—"

"No, wait, don't tell me," He held up a hand, stopping her abruptly, "I want to hear it from her myself. Get her to the dining hall on time, Eunsook. I'm sure it'll be wonderful; our first and last dinner together."

All the previous candidates for marriage were given quarters that, despite being less than ideal, were still superior to yours. And they all fled at the mere sight of it, unable to endure even a single day. No matter how skilled you were at acting indifferent, the general was convinced that The Cold Palace would likely be your breaking point. He imagined you gaping in disgust, desperately trying to tolerate it for the time being.

Oh, he couldn't wait to see you finally break character and unleash your frustration, berating him for the mistreatment and expressing your disappointment in him. He looked forward to enjoying the view of your back to him, storming away from his estate, never to return.

The Cold Palace has to be a foolproof plan.

It has to be.

Except it really wasn't.

Jongho knew that. Eunsook knew that.

Every other servant in the estate knew that.

But Seonghwa didn't. And that was a problem, a huge one. The assistant and head maid feared for your well-being. They were well aware that pride held great significance for their master, and your presence was undoubtedly going to bruise it severely.

Knowing the general, he wouldn't let you off the hook easily when that realisation hit. They worried about the drastic measures he might take to scare you into leaving.

Eunsook couldn't linger on those concerns for long as the kitchen staff alerted her that dinner preparations were nearing completion. Letting out a deep sigh, she rushed to your quarters, hoping to assist you in getting ready and ensuring you wouldn't be tardy. The last thing she wanted was for you to further get on the general's bad side.

It struck her then that she was already developing a sense of protectiveness toward you, even though she hadn't known you long or well enough to warrant such feelings. Despite her master's adamant belief in you putting on an act, she had witnessed firsthand to know that it was far from the truth.

Approaching the garden path leading to your quarters, she addressed the servants working there, "Has the mistress sought assistance from any of you?" They shook their heads, "No, she hasn't. In fact, she barely made a sound since her arrival."

"Really? I expected her to at least request a bath after the long journey she took to get here. No matter, I'll ensure she's prepared for dinner." The head maid shook her head, finding your behaviour less surprising with each passing moment.

Pausing at your room's entrance, she called out cautiously, "Mistress, may I enter, please?" She heard a faint shuffle and observed your silhouette through the thin paper walls as you approached, "Hold on, I'll be right there!"

She was taken aback to see you hurrying over just to open the door for her, "Oh dear, mistress! All you had to do was grant me permission, and I would have entered. There's no need for you to come all the way just to open the door for me, please!"

The small, sheepish smile on your face had affected the elderly woman more than you realised, her heart melting as she found you incredibly endearing.

"I'm sorry; I'll learn to do that next time."

Eunsook sighed, "You have nothing to be sorry for, mistress." She murmured, observing you with a motherly softness in her eyes.

She wondered if this was the reason the minister had kept you hidden all these years. Perhaps he wanted to shield you from the cruel world due to your innocence and precious nature. But the puzzle pieces didn't fit when she recalled how Jongho had found you – alone and abandoned.

So, what was really going on?

What was going through the minister's mind, and what exactly did you experience to turn out like this?

"Well, I've come to let you know that dinner is almost ready." She observed your face light up at the mention of food, and a simultaneous growl emanated from your stomach, prompting her to chuckle at the embarrassed blush dusting your cheeks.

Why didn't you just ask the servants around to bring you a snack if you were so hungry? Eunsook wondered to herself.

"I'm also here to assist you in getting ready, in case you'd like to change or anything." You shrugged and shook your head, and she recalled your nearly empty duffel bag. Oh dear, you didn't even have clothes to change into.

"That's alright. Let me just tidy up your hair and give your makeup a little touch-up, and we can go. How does that sound, mistress?" You nodded, responding softly, "Yes, please."

The head maid resisted the urge to coo out loud as she led you to the vanity table in your room. She grimaced as she took in the condition of the mirror in front of you, wearing out just like all the other furniture in here. The reflection was no longer clear due to its old age, but you remained unfazed as you waited for her to work her magic.

Not wanting to further waste any time, Eunsook was quick in her movements as she helped comb up the strands of hair that came loose and added some more foundation where your previous makeup was smeared from your little nap.

"There, all set. You look beautiful, mistress."

Your smile faltered slightly at that before you thanked her for the compliment, suddenly being reminded that she would not be thinking that for long. She would no longer consider you beautiful when she sees you without all these enhancements.

"Come, let me take you to the dining hall before we're late." You trailed behind her obediently, your heart thumping in excitement just thinking about what they could be serving for dinner.

Your worries could wait.

For now, just for now, perhaps you could finally experience what it was like to enjoy a nice and warm meal.

Or not.

Your steps slowed down a bit when you caught a glimpse of your new husband already waiting in the hall, "I-I'm having dinner with General Park?" The elderly woman wore an apologetic smile as she nodded, "Yes, mistress."

Of course.

Who else would you need to look beautiful for, if not the general?

Eunsook wished she could warn you of what was to come, but even she had no clue as to what her master could possibly say or do tonight. She could only pray that he goes easy on you, "Let's go."

Entering the dining hall, you felt a mix of nerves and anticipation. The grandeur of the room was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at the general. His stern expression didn't reveal much, leaving you wondering about his thoughts.

The head maid bowed before presenting you, "Master, Miss Jang has arrived for dinner."

Seonghwa nodded in acknowledgement, "Ah yes, I've been waiting. Come take a seat, wife."

"Good evening, my lord." You bowed and approached the table cautiously, settling beside him. Your eyes widened as you marvelled at the colourful dishes laid out, and the tantalising aroma made it difficult to resist the urge to dive in.

Although you hadn't shared any meals with your family, you knew enough to remember the basic etiquette: the eldest or head of the house should start eating first. So, you patiently watched his untouched chopsticks, hoping he would initiate the meal.

To say he was merely annoyed by your apparent fixation on the food would be an understatement. The fact that you remained so nonchalant, especially after spending half a day in that pathetic excuse for a room, irked him. You should have been making a big fuss about it by now.

Instead, there you sat, seemingly drooling at the sight of the food but still polite enough not to start eating first. Your impeccable manners were getting on his nerves.

Still keeping up with the act, huh?

Smirking, he moved his hands from his lap to the table. Your immediate straightening up betrayed your anticipation, thinking he was about to grab his utensils. However, your disappointment was palpable when he only moved to rest his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers.

"So, tell me, wife. How do you like your new quarters?" He pressed, a sly grin playing on his lips.

This is it; this is your chance.

This was the moment, your opportunity to convey your gratitude for his generosity. Maybe, by expressing your thankfulness, you could open a path for him to consider accepting you more readily as his wife. And then, both of you could finally savour these delightful dishes together.

Unlike you, Eunsook, in her corner, wasn't as optimistic. She tensed immediately, sensing that the impending drama was just about to unfold with his question.

With a wide smile, you started, "Oh, I couldn't be happier with it, my lord. I want to thank you for your thoughtfulness. The room is beyond my expectations; it's everything I could ever wish for and more. It was so comfortable that I'd already had a good rest before coming here."

Seonghwa's grin wavered at your words, his eyes narrowing dangerously at you. You blinked, perplexed by the threatening glare he directed your way despite the genuine sincerity in your words.

After what felt like an eternity, he scoffed in disbelief before growling, "Are you mocking me, Miss Jang?"

You gasped, shooting up from your seat immediately. You shook your head furiously, "N-no, I wouldn't dare! I meant every word—"

But he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest in amusement, "Is that right? This must all be very entertaining for you, huh? I know you're only here because your father has some ulterior motive. You sure are a skilled actress; I see now that the minister has trained you well all these years. And now you're finally old enough to come carry out his dirty work for him."

Feeling wrongfully accused, you fell to your knees and cried. You wished he would just listen to you, "Please, that's not true..."

Eunsook could only lower her head in pity, wishing there was anything at all that she could do for you, but intervening might get her into a whole lot of trouble. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best.

Rising from his seat, Seonghwa approached and tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You can repeat those words all you want, my dear. I didn't expect you to come here and admit to me that easily. I know you and your father are scheming something. Feel free to send him my regards. Tell him General Park is not foolish enough to fall for this little act."

Tears streamed down your face as you bowed all the way down, pressing your forehead against the cold floor tiles, pleading, "I beg you to believe me; that's not true at all."

Suppressing the subtle pang in his chest at the sight of your desperate plea to clear your name, he maintained his resolve, telling himself not to be easily swayed, "If you're so eager to prove your innocence, then you can remain there on your knees all night."

Detecting his head of maid's intention to step in, he shot the elderly woman a warning glare before she could utter a word, "I've lost all my appetite. Dispose of all the food here."

You sobbed against the floor, once again reminded of why they called him the cold-hearted general as you listened to Eunsook let out a strained, "Yes, master," before hearing the sound of your new husband's footsteps stalking angrily out of the dining hall.

All your hopes of sharing a meal and gaining his favour crumbled in just a moment. Even far from your family home, your father still had the means to torment you. You acknowledged that Seonghwa's struggle to trust you was influenced by the minister, and your mysterious identity only complicated matters. A sense of heartbreak overwhelmed you as you questioned if anyone would ever believe your side of the story.

If you were to reveal that the precious eldest daughter of the Minister of Military Affairs had been confined and subjected to torture like a prisoner in her own home for all these years, who would believe you?

The servants exchanged sympathetic glances as they hastily cleared the table, removing all the untouched dishes as per the general's directive. Despite their desire to help you, they understood the consequences of defying their master's orders.

Remaining on the ground even after the other servants left the dining hall, Eunsook knelt beside you, gently trying to lift you up by your shoulders, "Come, mistress. Let me take you back to your quarters."

"N-no! I m-must remain here all night t-to prove my innocence," You whimpered, shattering the elderly woman's heart once more, "Mistress, I'm sure master doesn't really mean that. Perhaps he was only saying it out of anger."

Despite her efforts, she couldn't persuade you to stand. You remained resolute, anchored to the spot. However, Eunsook worried for you. You hadn't taken a single bite of food since your arrival, and it had been who knew how long since your last meal. The idea of you kneeling there all night seemed ridiculous. Surely, her master didn't mean it literally.

« Preview of Part 4 »

Jongho's eyes widened upon hearing the head maid's latest update, "She's still kneeling in the dining hall?"

Deciding they couldn't let this continue, the two staff members gathered their courage and approached the general's private quarters, only to find the room empty. To their surprise, Seonghwa was still in his study at this late hour, an unusual occurrence as he was typically asleep by now.

Perhaps the guilt was keeping him up.

"S-sir, may we enter, please?" The assistant called out, breathing a sigh of relief when their master broke out of his trance and nodded, "What is it? Why are you both still up so late?"

Eunsook nervously cleared her throat, "Master, we wanted to let you know that Miss Jang hasn't moved from her spot in the dining hall since dinner."

The general's eyebrows shot up in surprise before he composed himself, "What a fool. Did she genuinely believe that kneeling all night would prove her innocence? She'll have to do much more than that." He rolled his eyes, but his employees could see through the façade.

"Take her back to her quarters before she frightens the servants who will be there to prepare breakfast soon."

Just a heads up, I apologise if the next part takes slightly longer to come out because I've fallen sick since yesterday. Even for this part, I was working on it between my rest.

Aside from that, thank you for 700+ followers! And as always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[yujinnieswifeu]

g！b wonyoung！！！😭😭😭Vampire wonyoung 🧛‍♂️

thanks😭😭😭😭

pairings: sub!fem reader x dom g!p Wonyoung

warnings: lots of smutt, p in v, Wonyoung cums inside of reader, Wonyoung is a bit of a sadist if you squint

a/n: hey anonnn, you only mentioned vampire Wony so i crafted a plot for this one, hope its to your liking :>, also didn’t expect it to turn out to be a long ass story (not rlly story but idk what to call it) but here you go, enjoy~

You have not accepted your fate yet. Not when your life was starting to have meaning, not when you finally landed a full time job, so imagine when all that was taken from you, oh were you pissed. You could not step outside this miserable house until it was night, could not meet your friends in the morning. Everything could only be done at night. And whose fault was it? By this stupid vampire that decided to show up at night when you were sleeping and kidnapped you before she turned you into one herself, so here you are, in the huge mansion with Wonyoung.

“Are you done being such a brat?” She says, her patience was wearing thin with you, her knuckles turning white from how she had her hands curled in a fist. “Or what? You gonna do something to me? Oh i’m so scared, i’m a fucking vampire for gosh sake!” You exclaim, exaggerating a little before you turn to leave. That was until you felt your wrist being pulled back, as you fell back against the cold hard floor. Wonyoung has your wrists pinned as she hovers over you. You could feel your breath hitching at how close she was, the familiar feeling coming back again, one that you have been trying to get rid of recently as you were having an internal tug of wall.

“Oh, why so quiet now? Thought you had more to say brat.” There was that nickname again. You roll your eyes, trying to grasp out of her grip as you wiggled your body helplessly. “Let me go!” Wonyoung only smirks at your attempt to fight back, you were indeed amusing. Maybe thats why she fell for you, your never backing down character, the way you would never take no for an answer. Everything about you just amused Wonyoung and she found herself wanting to know more about you. “You forgot that i’m stronger than you brat.” She hisses, using her tongue to touch her fangs, taunting you which makes you glare her way. “Don’t fucking show me that.” You say through gritted teeth, the reminder that Wonyoung sunk her teeth against your skin as she made you hers unwillingly to you made your blood boil.

“And what? You going to stop me?” Her tone was teasing, tightening her grip on your wrists as you whimper at the feeling. She watches you, the sight of you in slight pain was delicious to her, she wanted to see more, to see the way you react to her touches, to see the tears wellin- “Just wait Wonyoung, i’ll make you regret turning me into one of your kind!” You say menacingly, and Wonyoung could not take your bratty behaviour anymore. Within seconds, she has your wrists behind your back, carrying you effortlessly over to her bedroom where she spreaded you out over the bed, your hands bound to the bed. “L-let me go!” Your voice trembled a little, the fear and undeniable excitement coursing through your body was making your breathing heavier by the second.

Wonyoung only stays silent, quickly tearing your outfit up with her sharp nails. You gasped, the air against your skin makes you shiver, pulling and struggling against the bonds tied to your limbs. “Wha…what are you doing?” It comes out rushed, the panic in your voice only makes Wonyoung tilt her head, her eyes roaming over your body, she can’t help the feeling between her legs at how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable you look all tied up for her. Pushing her thoughts aside, she finally meet your fearful eyes. “Putting you back into place. You should know i’m the one in charge.” You roll your eyes, the fear replaced with annoyance and she walks over to the edge of the bed, grabbing your jaw harshly as she forces you to look back at her again. You only glare back at her this time, which she was not happy about.

“You are going to learn manners here, and if you don’t…” Wonyoung gives you a stare, slowly undoing her belt. You watch her, the feeling a sudden throb between your legs. You can’t deny how attractive Wonyoung is, as much as you hated her for what she did to you, you could not deny the attraction you had over her that has grown the past few weeks of staying together with her in the mansion. “Then what?” Wonyoung pauses her movements, her eyes locks on yours and the sudden tension in the room becomes palpable. “Then i will teach you over..and..over again.” She emphasises on the last part, finally removing her belt, you watch as she undoes her pants, pulling them down and your lips part unknowingly, the sudden dryness in your mouth now obvious to you.

Wonyoung smirks as she catches you stare, pushing her pants down as they drop to the floor, you watch how her tip was slightly standing up over her panties, the pre-cum now obvious and you realise she was getting off this as much as you were. This was the first time she ever went this far with you, but who were you to refuse when you were maybe secretly anticipating for this moment. She doesn’t need to know that of course. “Speechless?” She taunts you, making you roll your eyes in annoyance once again. “Oh, like someone didn’t get off to me all fucking tied up.” She growls, she hates it when you curse and you knew that. You just wanted to see what she would do, how will she react. You would never tell her, but you loved to make her angry, maybe because it turned you on more than you would care to admit.

“I guess i really need to put you in place brat.” She climbs on the bed, her thighs at the sides of your head as her cock slaps against your face in the process. Without any warning, she thrusts herself inside of your mouth. You immediately moan at the taste of her, unable to deny the feeling between your legs any longer as you pull at the restraints, so wanting to touch yourself as you brush your thighs together helplessly. Wonyoung watches you, how needy you have gotten, how you were actually enjoying this. She couldn’t help but moan and groan, thrusting herself deeper, her brows furrows in pleasure as she let out strings of curses. “F-fuck..yes..take it d-down...always knew you were a slut for my cock.” She tugs at your hair, pulling you impossibly closer before holding that position for a few seconds, only to pull away after as you gasp for air, tears welling down your cheeks and strings of drool hanging from your chin and connected to the tip of her cock.

You looked pretty like this. All messy for her. She wished she could take a picture of you now, all cock drunk for her, but that she would save for another day. Instead, Wonyoung pulls harshly at your hair, it makes you wince, a groan escaping your lips. “Done being such a brat?” She raises a brow, and you gave her a challenging look, one that makes her lips form a line, showing she was not happy with your behaviour, after all, she turned you into a vampire to be hers, and only hers. You could say she was possessive of you in a rather crazy way, one that she would never admit to if anyone asked her, but both of you knew the truth.

“I said what i said, and i wont take it back.” There it was once again, your never dying down attitude, except, this time, Wonyoung hated it. She only growls, positioning herself between your legs, and you knew what was to come. Without any warning, she pushes herself into your entrance, hearing you let out a scream from the stretch and slight sting. She ravels in the way your walls closes around her almost instantly, moaning with her eyes slightly rolled, she grips your thigh harshly, her sharp nail almost piercing your skin as you let out cries.

“I-i’m going to fuck you until you l-listen brat.” She was fucking into you so hard and fast that it was a little painful. But for some reason, your brain could only process her using you for your own pleasure, how she turned you into a vampire just for her own relief, and that thought just made it 10x better. You were a moaning mess beneath Wonyoung, lips parting and tongue sticking out slightly. Wonyoung loved you this way, she felt powerful, felt like she was in control of you and she would make sure to get that in your head.

She reaches over to your breasts as they jiggled with each thrust of her hips, her thumb circling your hardened nipples, hearing how you moaned louder for her. She moans as well, you were sucking her in so well, she changes her position to missionary instead, now having a clear view of the expression you were making. “Y-your pussy feels so good, so tight ahh~” You pulled at your wrists, whimpering as you weren’t able to do anything with your hands, your fists were balled into fists, your knuckles white. “P-please!” You cry out, and Wonyoung only ignores you, driving herself impossibly faster inside of you as she nears her orgasm.

“Please…p-please slow down..” You plead, the speed she was driving herself inside of you was becoming overwhelming and too much, some tears welling in your eyes. “S-say it then.” Wonyoung doesn’t slow down, she wanted to hear you take back your words from earlier, her hand lands a harsh slap on your breasts, it makes you let out a small scream, your back arching off the bed slightly from the stinging pain mixed with pleasure as she was still fucking inside of you. You start to sob, realising she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon until you took back your words.

“F-fine! I-i’m sorry, please!” You say desperately, pulling at your wrists again which were now sore from all your pulling and struggling. Wonyoung had a crazy smile over her face, it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, her speed still consistent as she pulls your thighs over her shoulders, pushing her front over your thighs, you cry out at the new angle, it was hitting your cervix repeatedly this time, and becoming too much. Wonyoung was really close too, but she held it back, she wanted to hear you say it before she dumps her load inside of you. “Say it.” She orders, her voice low and sultry, which makes you whimper.

“I…i..wont make y-you regret turning m-me into a…ahh..vampire.” You struggled with your words, now totally surrendering yourself to Wonyoung. “Good girl.” She slows down her movements a little, undoing the bounds on your hand with her long nail, and you instantly wrap your arms over her. She giggles at your state, going down to kiss your lips, sucking in all your moans as she pistons herself faster again. She could feel you sucking her more in, your walls closing more around her and knew you were close. She pulls away, her eyes staring into yours, watching your face contort into pleasure and she wraps her hand around your neck a little, letting you feel her dominance over you. Her action makes you cum instantly, your eyes rolling back slightly. “F-fuck, i’m cumming too!” She moans loudly, finding your lips again as she kisses you sloppily, speeding up her movement as she cums inside of you. You moan against her lips, your nails digging into her back from the feeling of being filled up. She stays in that position for a while, both of you not saying anything.

“You’re going to be a good girl from now on?” Wonyoung breaks the silence, only to hear you hum softly, too tired to reply with a proper response. She giggles at your state, pulling herself out of you which makes you whimper softly. She flips you over your front instead, and you turn your head to see her removing her top, a smirk adorning her face. She is back to bullying herself inside of you, which makes you moan and grip at the bedsheets again. “Don’t think i’m done with you yet sweetheart, i’ve only just started.”

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter III

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 6.810 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I refuse to let the fanfics in this app gaslight me into forgetting just how pathetic Rafe was in the show. Like just because a man is dangerous and unhinged doesn't mean that he isn't some needy little dumbass that begs 24/7. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Rafe tries to cover up a painful groan, mumbling something unintelligible as you carry him up the stairs. He’s draped entirely over you, half his weight weighing you down as you tiptoe over the steep steps, hoping that your slow pace comes off as caution rather than as struggle.

You are struggling, though.

Struggling to figure out why you got yourself into this mess in the first place.

It's way past ten. The night outside is as dark as anything, the wind howling wildly against the heavy windows of Rafe’s house. But you’re not at home, with a belly full of nothing, sleeping to try and distract from the hunger as your brother’s friends play around outside, their laughter lulling you. You’re carrying a stranger up the stairs of his house, praying that his parents don’t catch you.

Rafe’s arm is tightly wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing your side to his chest. His other arm, once resting carelessly over the handrail, is now crossed over your body, resting in the dip of your waist.

He fists the fabric of your top as he tumbles, a gasp catching in his throat the second you grab him, pulling him upright before he can fall onto the stairs.

A drunken giggle falls from his lips. – Oops. – He’s grinning. You can feel him looking at you, but your eyes drift down the railing, peeking at the distant ground beneath.

It’s a wonder to you that no one has died falling down these stairs.

You press his arm tighter around your shoulder.

Reaching the solid ground of the second floor almost feels like a conquest, but you look forward only to be met with a multitude of doors, all of them painted white, with nothing to tell you who each room belonged to. – Which one is your room, Rafe? Where do you sleep? – He groans, looking around in confusion, as if he didn’t recognize his own home, then he stops and looks at you for a moment, giggling. – Rafe. – You adjust his weight, your back aches from dragging him around everywhere. He must be as exhausted as you are. – I’m serious. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you wanna go to bed?

He seems amused by the question.

– You wanna– You— He laughs loud enough that you have to shush him, but he’s still chuckling with his mouth against your lips. – Sorry. You… You wanna go to bed with me? That was quick.

– Oh, I bet it was.

His smile twists into a frown, brows knitting together. – What’s that– Hey, watch out! Careful.— What’s that supposed to mean? – You’re the one laughing now, but you reach for the first door, and Rafe stops you. – That’s, uhm, that’s Sarah’s room.

– Oh.

– I don’t wanna see Sarah. I don’t. – His voice is heavier than it was before, and you can see his eyes struggling to keep open even as he tries to rub the exhaustion away.

– It’s okay. We’re not gonna see Sarah right now. We’re gonna put you to bed. Your bed, preferably.

Rafe’s laughter has fully died down now. You keep wandering down the hall, opening doors and finding guest rooms, and bathrooms and offices, already resigned to the fact that you aren’t getting any help from him.

– Are you gonna sleep with me? – He asks suddenly, looking at you as if it was a serious matter.

– No, Rafe. You’re the one who’s gonna be sleeping. – You sneak a glance at your watch. 10:46. John’s probably freaking out. You reach for another door, this one closer to the end of the hallway, right beside the double doors you assume belong to his father. – What about this one?

– That’s Wheezie. Wheezie’s room. Why— Why won’t you sleep with me? – He’s ridiculous. You laugh before you can help yourself. There’s a childishness to the way he asks such an absurd question, his voice is so small, his eyes are so big, his lips remain open even after he stops talking. Like a kid asking his babysitter if she can stay for christmas. You don’t answer, still laughing to yourself, because you don’t know what to say.

– What about this one?

– What’s so funny? – He’s not smiling anymore.

– Nothing. Nothing’s funny, Rafe. You have to sleep. Is this your room?

– Guest room.

– Jesus Christ. Which one is yours?

– Are you gonna sleep with me? – He’s trying to stand in front of you and look you in the eye, but he can’t even stand on his own feet, you have to steady him.

It’s better to let drunk people think they’re in control than to anger them by denying. You’ve learned your lesson way back when. So you just tilt your head and bat your eyes at Rafe, trying not to smile too condescendingly. – Is that what you want me to do? – He nods, inching closer, his hands reaching for you. – Sure, then. I will. Where’s your room?

– Kiss me.

– Where’s your room, Rafe?

– Kiss me first. – You roll your eyes at him, though he’s already draped over you again, his eyes, still blown out despite the charcoal purge, staring at your lips. In the darkness that surrounds you, you only see the outline of his expressions: his crooked smile, his parted lips, the gleam that catches his eyes, reflecting something foreign, that you can’t quite read, as he leans into you expectantly. Your lips catch the corner of his mouth, his breath hitches, and he turns to try and deepen that little peck, like a starved man savoring the crumbs before getting to the main dish.

There’s a pleasure that comes from crushing his expectations, though you know it isn't healthy to feel like that. You remain there, your lips against his, for only a split second before you pull away.

You try to move towards the next door, but he’s quicker than you are.

Before you can take another step, Rafe hooks an arm around your waist and yanks you backward. The motion is sudden, but it isn’t ffortless, your back pressing against his chest just as his own crashes into the wall behind him.

You dodge his lips before he can kiss you, and his mouth remains there, against your cheek, brushing upwards to rest against your temples when you exclaim in a hush: – Are you trying to wake the entire house?!

– It wouldn’t have made any noise if you’d kissed me, like you promised. – He bemoans in a whisper.

– I did. – You want to laugh, but you keep your face still, though you smile despite yourself.

Rafe scoffs, still holding you against him. – Y’know, Barry was right. You are a tease.

Just like that, your playful mood vanishes.

You stare at him for a couple seconds, unsure of what he meant by that.

You try to tell yourself that Barry would never say something like that about you, especially while you’re not around, but a little part of you crawls with doubt.

You’re frozen at that moment. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted, blue eyes gleaming. You want to ask, but you’re not sure you’ll like the answer.

You exhale through your nose and push forward, trying to shake off the feeling like water from your skin. – You’re really high, huh? – You take a step back, but he moves with you, much steadier than someone as inebriated as he is should be.

– Look at me. – He whispers, his voice is soft, but you know he isn’t asking.

Rafe leans in a little too close as you step back, his breath warm on your cheek, his hand now hovering over your waist. His fingers twitch, as if he’s fighting an urge, trying to figure out what part of you to dig in first.

– Look at me. – He whispers again, the command almost too soft to be one. His eyes never leave you, he drinks you in, you can feel his gaze going through every inch of you, his hands struggling to keep in place.

You pull away, eyes darting to the door behind you.

– Rafe. – It’s not a warning, you don’t know what it is. But Rafe doesn’t even seem to hear it. There’s something more in the way he watches you now, a flicker of something far too intense.

– Look at me. – He repeats. It sounds like a plea, the way he barely murmurs it, his body swaying, almost as if magnetized to you. His hand, once hovering, brushes the inside of your arm as he reaches for your waist, then starts climbing upwards. – You promised. – he whispers, lips curling slightly as he presses into you, his touch lingering in places you didn’t think it would go.

It’s as if he's testing the boundaries, seeing how much you’ll let him get away with. How much you will allow.

Your heart skips a beat, almost frozen within you.

You try and focus on the task at hand. You shift your weight slightly, ready to play the part— to let it slide for just long enough to get him into bed, to make sure he’s safe.

To make sure you're safe.

– Where’s your room, Rafe? – You push the question out like it’s any other, because you refuse to let yet another person play with you like that.

You didn’t learn from the mistakes of the other girls JJ tossed aside. So you had to learn from your own mistakes.

Rafe wants you to give him something, something deeper than compliance or defiance, something he can bite into.

You won't.

You're not a doll, hanging on the wall, he can just grab at and play with until he tires himself out. You're not a toy.

You cared about JJ. You don't care about Rafe. You tell yourself that again as you look up at him, waiting.

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just steps closer, his eyes darting to your lips, to the space between you that’s suddenly more charged than it should be. – You’re eager, huh? D’you want me?

His lips glisten as he whispers the question. You can’t tell where he’s looking at anymore. Rafe’s eyes drift everywhere your skin shows, and though his hand still lingers, pressed against your ribcage, just beside your chest, where the top covers you, he seems to delight in the naked warmth of your inner arm, brushing against the back of his hand.

– I want you to go to bed.

– So you can tuck me in? – His thumb draws patterns beneath your chest, gaze shifting between your lips and your neck, almost in reverence.

– I can do that.

– Only if you kiss me first.

His words hang in the air between you.

You know he won't give this up.

He'll be calmer if you give him what he wants. Maybe this will help you, but you have to play your cards right. So you tilt your head, and you smile.

There's something different in the way he looks at you now. All of that edge melting into desperation as he watches you, expectant, frozen in place.

Your hand lifts, slow and deliberate, brushing against the side of his neck. The tips of your fingers trace his jawline as he lets it hang open, breathing heavily, eyes lidded, waiting for your move. Your touch is featherlight, barely there, but Rafe chases it. It’s the only thing he does, he leans in, he breathes deep, brows furrowing. His breath stutters when you touch him, fully, your palm splayed against his skin. His throat bobs, his eyes flutter, but he's finally still.

Waiting.

Hoping. Like he’s letting you do this, instead of cajoling you into it.

You pull him by the neck, slowly, afraid he still isn't steady enough to weather any harshness, and he barely watches, his eyes already closed, opening ever so slightly when your mouth touches his.

A quiet, shuddering sigh spills from him before he can stop it. His fingers dig into you, into your sides, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours like he needs this, like he needs you.

His lips part again, eager, desperate— But he doesn’t devour, he only melts.

His breath is warm, uneven, fanning over your skin with every shaky exhale. You can feel the goosebumps rising along his arm as you let your hand trail there, climbing farther up his bicep until you get to his shoulder, and let it travel to his neck. Rafe sighs again, crumbling in place, his hands gripping you like he's trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingers.

Then there's the sound— the softest, neediest noise from the back of his throat as your lips move against his. He's drinking you in, savoring every second, hands slipping lower, mapping the curve of your waist. His fingers press into the fabric of your top, clinging, grabbing, until he finds a single slit of exposed skin on the small of your back, and sinks his hands under the top like he wants to pull you inside out, like he needs more, like he'll never get enough.

You feel the conflict rippling beneath his skin— he's holding back even as his fingers dig into you, even as his lips chase yours as if he needs you in order to breathe. He sways slightly against you, melting into you, his body betraying just how much he wants this.

He makes another sound, this one closer to a moan, his lips parting further, his nose brushing yours as he leans in, chasing the warmth of your kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll take it away.

And then, you do. Just as quickly as you give, you take it back.

Your fingers tighten around his neck, taking a quiet gasp from his lips as you pull away. And Rafe remains there, unwilling to let go, his lips still parted, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes— dazed, glassy— flicker between your face and your mouth, trying to chase your lips back against his, hungry for more.

You don't give him the time to try again.

There are only two doors left. The double doors, and a single one, the one he’s pressing you against. You reach for the handle and turn it. Rafe stumbles into you, and you catch him, laughing again, though a little quieter. – C’mon, let’s get you to bed.

He nearly whines as you close the door behind him, but smiles stupidly when you press him to the door again.

His hand finds your waist, drifting upwards against your back, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He’s still breathing heavily when he pulls you in, but you turn before he can dive into you, and his lips end up pressed on your jaw.

He lets you look around, but keeps you in place, hitting the light switch.

His room is wide, but it's cluttered. The walls, the floor, the furniture, the curtains—everything is bright white, like an asylum. It’s the kind of space that should feel sterile, untouched. But it isn’t.

Clothes are draped over chairs, magazines are thrown haphazardly on the desk, and the only pop of color that looks intentional—an unevenly sprawled blue duvet that hangs off the mattress—looks like it was barely considered, a half-hearted attempt at warmth in a place that rejects it, completely.

The mess isn’t overwhelming, but against all that blankness, every stray item sticks out like a bruise.

You feel Rafe’s hands on your face, his fingers stroking lightly against your cheek. – Like what you see? – He mumbles, looking dazed. – Feels like home, doesn’t it? – You think it's sarcasm at first, but with the way his eyes bore into you, you’re not sure you can laugh.

He’s still looking at you expectantly, as if trying to hypnotize you, but you take his hands, and you pull him in. – C’mon, Rafe, let’s lay you down.

He hums, fingers squeezing yours softly:

– I’m kinda sad, y’know? – He’s almost docile in the way he lets you lead him, eyes clinging to your every move, doing his best to be compliant.

You try to reward him with simple touches. Your hands bracket his shoulders, then drift down to his hands, and back up, leaving goosebumps behind whenever skin touches skin.

Rafe stands there for a moment, back facing his bed as you throw the duvet on the bed and adjust it. He only finally sits down when you put your hand on his shoulder again.

– You really wanted to go to that party, huh?

– Nah. I really wanted you to keep that top off. – He giggles, a feather-light touch as his right hand traces the hem of your shirt, a vice grip as his left cups your hip. – You have a tattoo. I like tattoos. – His right hand drifts upwards, to your collarbone, he reaches to push the sleeve off so he can see better. But you grab his hand again, and he keeps it there.

– Thanks. – Your voice is low, but not a whisper.

Rafe’s grin is sharp, his hand is clammy. And though he still hums when you draw patterns on the back of his hand, he stares at the ink on your chest with a shade of vitriol darkening his eyes.

– You know who has a tattoo exactly like yours?

Of course you do.

You freeze, movements stopping, and he turns his hand in yours to pull you closer, setting it in the dip of his neck. – Who?

– Your little buddy, JJ.

You try to keep your face smooth as you look at Rafe. – We got the tattoo together.

He nods, still smiling, but there’s something else there. – How’d that happen, huh?

That's too long a story to tell to a drunk man.

– Can you lay on your side for me? – He looks at you blankly for a moment, but does, and stays quietly, watching you kneel on the bed, next to him, and pull a pillow from the snowdrift of blankets and cushions sprawled around his bed. Rafe shifts a little forward, his chest pressing against your legs, allowing you to tuck the pillow under him. – Here you go. Is that good?

– It’s nice. Feels nice. – You note the way his eyes droop slightly, almost like he enjoys having you fuss over him. You make a move to step back onto the floor, but his arm loops behind your knees, his hand on the side of your thigh, keeping you in place. – I don’t know what it says, though.

– What?

– Your tattoo.

You swallow. – Of course you do. You saw it.

– Not really.

His hand reaches for your collarbone again.

– Rafe.

– Just let me see it. – He almost pleads, the smile on his face is so cajoling, so sweet. You move his hand, but it remains flush with your skin as you pull the fabric down just enough. – Viam–

– “Inveniam Viam.”

– What is it? – He whispers, fingers brushing the letters softly, insistently, as if they were braille, something he could only grasp by touching.

– The name of his dad's old boat. It just happened to be a motto I really liked. – His hands are warm, too warm, and the way he moves them, just shy of scrubbing, like he’s trying to wipe the words from your skin. – Its shorthand for a Latin saying: “Aut Inveniam Viam aut faciam”. It means “either find a way, or make one.”

Rafe’s eyes go round for a second, and he whispers the translation under his breath as he stares at the tattoo, savoring the words in his mouth.

– It's very… – He stares at the ink for a moment, as if searching for the right word. – proactive. – His eyes bore into yours. His hands are suddenly lighter, suddenly calmer. They don't press as deeply into your flesh. It's like you’re watching someone who's possessed: Rafe flitters back and forth between a nice guy and a manic creature. – It's not very JJ, though. He’s not that kind of guy.

You want to tell him that the motto is JJ to a T. That he’s the guy that does whatever it takes to get at what he wants, but just as the thought strikes, it becomes clear that it’s exactly right: JJ couldn’t find a way to Kie, so he made one, through you.

Whatever it takes.

Even if it takes using someone like a prop to throw around, and then tossing them.

– If you say so, Rafe.

– I do. – Hes’s staring again. – JJ’s a coward. He can’t stick to anything. He's not proactive. He just goes around throwing shit at a wall and hoping it sticks.

You don't say anything.

You don't know what to say.

A week ago, you would’ve thought Rafe was wrong. That he was just talking shit because he hated JJ, and he couldn't comprehend the person beneath the persona. Now you wonder if there truly is a ‘person’ —Something deeper than the antics JJ uses to woo people into thinking he's cool— That maybe that ‘persona’ actually is JJ, and you're the idiot trying to see something softer, sweeter, where there is not.

– You're staying, right? – The question startles you out of that thought. Rafe’s looking at you now, half his face squished against the pillow, and his fingers pull your sleeve back over the tattoo, as if he’s shutting the door on that conversation.

Your mind takes a while to process it.

– What?

– You’re staying. – A statement, not a question. You look at him for a moment, your brain flipping through all the possible responses he could have to a “no” before you can say anything. – You can’t go now. It’s late.

– Lay back, Rafe. – He nods, obedient, but his eyes betray a twinge of mistrust as they fall closed, then slit open, and close again. You look back at the bathroom door, ajar on the corner. – Do you need more water?

– I’m fine. D’you need clothes?

– Clothes?

– To sleep in. I can land you a shirt, if you want. – His hand brushes the fabric of your top, fingers tracing the collar, edging against your skin. – It gets really cold in here in the middle of the night. Of course, if you like to sleep naked, then I won’t stop you either.

You scoff: – And here I was, thinking there were no gentlemen left in this world.

– I aim to please. – He chuckles. His arm is still wrapped around the back of your knees, and he looks up at you, almost hopefully, an absent-minded smile on his face.

– I can’t stay, Rafe. – It would’ve almost pained you to say it, if it weren’t for his previous comment.

– Yeah, right.

– I’m serious. My brother’s probably crashing out as we speak. If I don’t leave now, I’ll probably only get there after midnight and God knows how long his little lecture’s gonna take.

– That sucks, y'know? I really wish there was a way that you could sleep right now and avoid a lecture from the jobless hobo that lives in your house. – He gasps dramatically, ignoring your clear lack of amusement. – Wait a minute! I know what.

– Hilarious. – You step back onto solid ground, but he holds onto you.

– You said you’d sleep with me. You promised.

You didn’t, though. But you were sure he wouldn’t appreciate that fact.

– Well, Rafe, sometimes I lie. – You chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in your words, yet Rafe remains completely serious.

– You can stay. You’re already here. What else are you gonna do? Walk home? Alone there, at night, in the cold?

– It’s not cold, though.

– Yeah? And what if it starts raining? You’ll get— You’re gonna get sick. Then you’ll miss work, and you’ll lose your job. And then — then — Your jobless brother’s gonna have to figure out how not to starve all on his own.

You raise a brow, stewing in the intent behind his words for a second. – You’re not manipulative at all, are you?

– I'm Persuasive. – He corrects. – Because— Because I’m a proactive kind of guy, alright? And you know I'm right.

To your own chagrin, you do.

He is right.

It would be easy—so easy—to just lay back into the mattress beside him. To just fall asleep and put all your problems —John. Barry. JJ and Kie— on hold until you're in the mood to deal with them tomorrow. And maybe you like the way Rafe’s looking at you, like he needs you there.

But that’s exactly why you can’t stay.

Because everyone you know is already taking the easy way out, and so far, you've been the one that had to deal with the catastrophes that came from that. It was clear enough that none of them could deal with it on their own. So who was gonna help you clean up the mess if you chose the easy option and it eventually blew up in your face?

Not John.

Obviously not Barry.

JJ even less.

You have to do the right thing. Not because it's right, but because you don’t have another option.

– You are right. – You say, and he seems satisfied. This time he lets you step back onto the floor. He lets you step away. – But John’s still gonna be pissed in the morning, might as well get it out of the way now. – This time, you look straight at him. – I'm just…a proactive type of girl, y'know?

He isn't amused at your joke. More than anything, he seems frustrated. – Sleep tight, Rafe. Try not to toss and turn too much.

You open and close the door before he can say anything else, hitting the light switch on your way out.

It's 11:36. You step down the hall with light steps, and down the stairs with firm ones. The Cameron house is beautiful, you’ve always thought so, but like that, empty, in the dark, it looks like a husk. The shed of something that outgrew it, something that had nearly been suffocated within its walls.

You breathe much lighter when you step out through the back door, despite knowing you still have an hour long walk ahead.

There’s a feeling of surveillance in these suburbs, something Orwellian, dystopic. You cross the street, walking past perfectly manicured lawns and white picket-fences with the sense that someone’s watching you. Lurking somewhere.

Rafe’s light, the only light that remained on as you walked away, fades slowly in the distance with every step you take. The transition between the good and bad part of the island gets less subtle with every passing year: Vibrant green lawns become smooth, empty roads; those become overly curated golf fields, that become bumpy, broken roads, that finally become dirt paths and empty lots as you finally reach the Cut.

You try to glimpse at your watch in the all-consuming darkness. 00:04. You get startled by the nervous barking of a neighborhood dog every so often, but the farther you go into the marshes, the less you hear.

It’s 00:21 when the warm lights of your home finally peek through the thick leaves and endless trails around the riverbank, but there’s no comfort that comes with that realization.

The walk up to the porch seems to stretch for longer than the entirety of your walk before it, and you realize you’re dragging your feet. For a moment you ponder the possibility of going in through the back, just to avoid your brother. But it seems stupid. Childish.

For almost eighteen years you came and went through the front door. No one ever asked you where you went, who you were with, what were you doing. Nobody ever cared about what you did or didn’t do. Not your father, and damn sure not John.

You shouldn’t have to sneak into your own home just because he finally started caring.

And you shouldn’t be afraid to face him.

But you are.

The bitter smoke of marijuana still lingers about the ashtrays up front, ignited by a single recent spark that you can see bright as day when you stand before the door. John had probably just walked in, his impatience finally getting the best of him.

You click your tongue, and rub your temples, bracing for the impact to come.

A ceiling fan buzzes lazily in the distance, the creek of its rusty rusty metal blades cutting in every so often, like a pained squeak.

You realize that the deep breath you just took did nothing to help your nerves as you step into the living room to see it almost completely bathed in darkness. The kitchen light is on, but the warmth that bleeds in through the open door does nothing to ease the atmosphere.You feel like the first kill in an 80s horror movie, one foot after the other, the floorboards creaking under your shoes, the phone that buzzes on the dirty dinner table.

You reach for it. It’s not broken, no more than it already was. So at least you have that.

The screen lights up with a notification that vanishes before you can register it.

– So. How was it?

You have to breathe in so you don’t jump at the sudden question.

John stares at you from the couch, his jaw tight, his foot bouncing in a steady rhythm against the floor. JJ sits beside him, shoulders tense, hands clasped between his knees. He’s not looking at you.

You stop exactly where you were, heartbeat hammering in your ears.

The silence is thick, stretching between the three of you like a live wire.

– How was the night? Good? It's a little early to be coming home from a figure eight party. – His voice is steady, cold. But it isn’t calm. He’s staring through you, like he doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of him, like he’s never seen you in his life. – Maybe it wasn’t so good, after all.

You don’t wanna give into him. You know damn well that won’t make it any easier.

– This James Bond routine isn’t really your style, John. Don’t you wanna come right out with the accusations? Save us all some time.

He laughs, but the sound is bitter. Contained. More a scoff than anything.

You try to keep your composure, waiting for his words.

All you hear is JJ exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. John, though, doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His foot just keeps bouncing, a barely restrained coil of anger.

– Who were you with? – he asks, voice low.

– I was with Barry.

– Bullshit! – John stands abruptly, and JJ stiffens beside him. The room is too small, too suffocating. – Barry just left. He was looking for you. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. So what? What’d you do?! Did you leave your best friend to go home with Rafe Cameron?! Is that where you were?

– I didn’t leave Barry. Barry left me with Rafe. I didn’t even go to that party.

– No?! – He laughs again, the sound reminiscent of a rattlesnake. You feel like he might pounce on you at any given moment. – So what? WHAT? You just stayed there? To do what? Fuck him?!

– Jesus Christ! – You exclaim. Your head is pounding. – I’m not the one whose fucking my way up the social ladder, John. You are! Don’t go around throwing stones from your little porcelain house, this shit isn’t cute anymore.

– Yeah! Because you hooking up with Rafe Cameron is just completely normal, right?! Is that why you’ve been acting so weird, huh?! Your drug dealer boyfriend wasn’t enough so you had to go and get yourself a psychopath too?!

– What the fuck is wrong with you?! Barry’s not my fucking boyfriend, John! We’re friends! It’s not my fault you’ve never managed to make friends with a girl you didn’t want to sleep with!

– FUCK YOU!

– No, fuck you! I didn’t sleep with Rafe Cameron, okay?! He was high! He was wasted! All I did was drive him home.

– Yeah right.

– That’s the fucking truth, okay?! If you don’t believe me, I don’t care! But don’t start accusing me of shit I haven’t done!

– I told you not to go!

You shift your weight. – And I told you this shit wasn’t your decision.

– That’s not the point! I tell you that Barry’s bad news, and what do you do?! You go out with him! I tell you that Rafe Cameron is a creep, and you go out of your way to be alone with him! And then you go to a party where I can’t even reach you–

– I DIDN’T GO TO THE PARTY! And you couldn’t reach me because YOU took my phone!

– That’s not the point!

You’re the one laughing now. – Oh, sure! What is the point then?! Please! Enlighten me!

– The point is that you’re doing this shit to piss me off!

– You are UNBELIEVABLE, John! Actually un-fucking-believable!

John lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. – Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you?

You clench your jaw. – Nothing is wrong with me! I just don’t need you making choices for me! You never did before!

– Are you kidding me?! – He gestures wildly. – You were the one who left with Barry and Rafe Cameron. How am I supposed to trust you when these are the choices you make?! Do you even hear yourself?

– They’re not as bad as you make them out to be.

John looks at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. – You can’t be serious.

JJ shifts beside him, eyes flickering between you both, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He still hasn’t said a word.

– You don’t get to tell me who I can be around, John. – you say, trying, but failing, to keep your voice even. – You don’t own me.

His face twists. – It’s not about that!

– Clearly it fucking is!

– It’s NOT! It’s about the fact that you don’t fucking listen, – He snaps. – I told you not to go, and you did anyway. Like it was nothing. Like my opinion—like my concern—doesn’t mean shit to you.

That stings.

Your voice softens, just slightly. – That’s not fair.

John exhales sharply, shaking his head again. – No. What’s not fair is me having to sit here, wondering if I’m gonna have to drag your ass out of some mess Barry and Rafe got you into.

– Oh! You’re gonna drag me out of a mess?! YOU ARE? I’m not the one who’s getting detained every other day, okay! I’m not the one who has to be bailed out of stupid, or worse, illegal, situations, John! That’s you! That’s all you! My friends aren’t getting me arrested!

– You don’t have any friends.

The words hang in the air, heavy and final.

You inhale slowly.

John’s watching you, waiting for you to say something—anything—that’ll make this argument last another hour. Something he can use to make you the guilty party whenever he needs you to bail him out of stupid situations again.

But you don’t.

And you won’t.

The silence stretches.

JJ shifts again. His knee bounces.

John clenches his jaw, looking away. – Whatever.

That’s all he says before he turns and disappears down the hall, his bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

JJ exhales, rubbing his face with both hands. He still doesn’t look at you.

You stare at the empty hallway. At the door that won’t open again tonight.

And you wonder why it still feels like you lost.

– You shouldn’t have done that. – JJ’s voice is barely above a whisper. He finally raises his head to look at you, his expression worried, almost saddened. Like half of this isn’t his own fault.

– I’ll take a lecture on things I shouldn’t do from a lot of people, JJ. I’ll even take a page out of my brother’s book. But I don’t wanna hear shit from you.

His blue eyes are narrow as he sits there, brows furrowed, hands clasped. He looks like a beggar. The analogy isn’t very far from the truth. All JJ ever does is take. He begs and he whines and he takes, and no matter how much you offer it’s never enough.

Because he doesn’t want your help.

He doesn’t want your time.

He doesn’t want your attention, or your affection, or whatever it is that you give to him for free.

He wants the validation of knowing he doesn’t have to do anything to get you to give him whatever he wants.

JJ exhales sharply, rubbing his face with both hands. You can feel the tension in the room shift slightly.

You’re tired.

Tired of him.

Tired of John.

Tired of this conversation.

You turn on your heel, but before you can make it to your door, JJ grabs you by the wrist, his fingers digging into you.

– Don't do this. – His voice is softer, quieter now, a hint of something vulnerable underneath the anger.

– What, JJ?! What am I doing?! – You snap, pulling your wrist from his grip, the frustration bubbling up again.

– You’re shutting me out! Again. – His voice drops to a near-whisper, and there's a flash of something else in his eyes—a mix of hurt, of something darker. His hand doesn’t let go, but his grip loosens just slightly, like he’s unsure of himself now. You feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he takes a step closer.

– I’m not doing anything to you, JJ! Let go of me! – You try to back away, but he steps forward, into you, pressing you against your door. The space between you feels thick, too charged.

– You are! – His tone is exasperated now. He's persistent, almost pleading, as if he’s trying to make you understand something he can’t put into words. His hand moves up, brushing your arm lightly, and you feel his gaze on you, unsettling in its intensity. – You know exactly what you do to me! But you're still brushing me off! – He glances over at John’s door, pulse quickening. His voice lowers even more, as if the very air in the room is thick with unspoken words. – Let’s just talk... in your room, okay?

– No. – You say it sharply, not even thinking about it, just wanting the space between you both. – I’m going to my room. And you can fucking leave.

JJ’s eyes flash, but it’s not the rage you expected. Instead, there’s a faint shadow of something deeper, something more twisted beneath his frustration. His jaw clenches, and you see that strange desperation flare up in him again.

He only scoffs at you.

Like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. – Stop acting like a child! This shit isn't fucking funny, okay?!

– Get off of me!

– Oh yeah? Is that what you want?

– It's what you're about to do, right now. Get the fuck off of me!

JJ takes a step back, hands up in mock surrender. And you don't wait for him to change his mind. You turn the handle, and step in.

But you barely have the time to brace yourself before he’s right there, his body pressed against yours, his chest against your back as his arms come around you to slam the door shut behind him. You gasp, caught off guard by how close he is—too close. The heat radiating off his skin, the thundering beat of his heart, and the tension in the air suffocates you as he pulls you toward him, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

His grip on your arm is iron, dragging you back with him until your body is flush against his, barely any space between you. The overwhelming closeness, the way his chest rises and falls against your back, makes your mind race, your heart pounding even faster in your chest.

– I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but isn’t fucking cute anymore, okay?! – His voice is low, rough, as if it’s a demand rather than a question. The intensity in it has your body tensing, your pulse skyrocketing.

You can feel every inch of him pressed against you—his chest, his legs, the creeping feeling of his hands as they climb up against your neck—and it's too much. You instinctively shove at his chest, desperate to put some distance between you, but he's relentless, his grip tightening as he pushes you further into the room.

You stumble, your back hitting the door with a soft thud. But there's no escape, not with him this close. You can’t breathe, can’t think straight with him so near. His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

– Stop it, JJ this shit isn’t funny! –You try again, more forcefully this time, your hands pressing against his chest. – Let go of me!

But he doesn’t, his body still caging you in, his face just centimeters from yours. His breath is shallow, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to this single point of contact.

– Not until we talk. – he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate. He doesn’t back away, his proximity overwhelming in the silence that follows.