#about the way he's intentionally avoiding eye contact with her

[mightierthanthecanon]

I bet he liked you.

He did, yeah.

[simpjaes]

HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later. 

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up. 

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!! 

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show?  What’s not to love about it? 

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire. 

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work. 

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage. 

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers? 

 You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard. 

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance. 

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status. 

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage. 

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday. 

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money. 

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see. 

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it. 

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does. 

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center. 

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits. 

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time. 

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves. 

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you. 

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass. 

“Jake, again?” 

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though. 

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe. 

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.” 

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out. 

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays. 

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good. 

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity. 

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even. 

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others. 

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?” 

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him. 

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him. 

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.” 

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with. 

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him. 

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips. 

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body. 

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it. 

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?” 

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night. 

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule. 

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap. 

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has. 

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face. 

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly,  turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?” 

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him. 

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him. 

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to  just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper. 

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you. 

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free. 

The game is on now though, it seems,  as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out. 

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care. 

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile. 

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours. 

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?” 

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it. 

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him. 

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win. 

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him. 

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?” 

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin. 

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?” 

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you. 

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks. 

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked. 

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it. 

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special. 

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching. 

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined. 

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him. 

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him. 

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment. 

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick. 

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you. 

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out. 

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in. 

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric. 

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice. 

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags. 

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face. 

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now. 

 You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

 His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture. 

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him. 

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker. 

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.” 

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back. 

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing. 

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls. 

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak. 

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you. 

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway. 

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked. 

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it. 

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again. 

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping. 

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.” 

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this. 

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you.  He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do. 

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you. 

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held. 

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely? 

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.” 

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch. 

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door. 

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob. 

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

[ivysangel]

notes/cw: suggestive content (no explicit sex), jason intentionally scaring reader/getting off on reader's fear

He knows it's wrong. In the back of his mind, his morality objects to his actions. "Don't do this, Jason." The angel on his shoulder says. "You'll scare her." But wasn't that the point? To scare you a little, to get your heart rate up, to make you fear for your life just a bit. He would never hurt you; he'd never dream of it. There was no world, no universe where he would ever desire to lay a hand on you in a way that wasn't meant to bring you pleasure. And yet here he was, looming over you, head cocked to the side as he watched the soft rise and fall of your chest while you slept. So sweet and unassuming, brows furrowing as you stir in your sleep, perplexed by something only you could see. 

He moves around the bed, heavy boots made silent with years of stealth training. The creak of a single floorboard is loud in the quiet, and he knows he could've avoided it—he does it all the time—but he wants to wake you up; he wants you to see him. Head to toe in tactical gear, leather jacket stretched out over his arms, covered with blood and grime after a long night's work. "You should shower." the angel says. "Leave her alone." But he doesn't want to. Not until he's had his fill of you, your body, and the sweet juice it produces.

He steps on the creaky floorboard again, and your hands find your eyes, rubbing them softly. "Hello," you say, still somewhere in a dream. "Jason?" Your voice is so kind and welcoming, just like it always is, and he questions his own motives. It's still not too late for him to kiss you goodnight, but his pants are getting tight, and his breath is getting ragged. You'll hear it through the metallic rasp of the modulator soon if you don't already.

There's a moment of silence after you fully open your eyes. A moment of registering that something is off; something about Jason is off. You want to ask what's wrong, but your words get lost along the way, the intimidation of his demeanor killing them before they have a chance to get out. You try again, a full sentence forming in your brain, but the only thing that comes out is his name. Shaky and uncertain, laced with concern and confusion. He's quiet, standing still, shrouded in the darkness of the room, and you can see only an outline of his body and the glowing eyes of his mask. 

"Are you scared?" He asks. "You seem scared." The words are gravelly, rolling out of the red helmet with tension behind each one. He takes a step forward and drops a knee onto the bed, which causes it to dip with his weight. "Don't be. I won't hurt you…ever." The rough surface of a gloved hand reaches up to your face, caressing it gently. It's such a normal action for him, so mundane it's almost second nature now, But this is different; there's no love hidden in his touch, no adoration in his body language. Beneath the gentle stroke of his fingers against your skin was a perverted desire to see you fear for your life, to see you shake beneath his touch and beg for mercy. 

He leans in, cold metal grazing against your face, touching it just enough to send a chill down your spine. He takes a deep breath, imagining how you smell, knowing your scent won't penetrate his helmet. Clean comes to mind, the remnants of a shower on your skin, soap lathered all over your body. He likes clean; clean is good, clean is nice. But he prefers sweaty; it means he did a good job. The tightness in his pants becomes unbearable as images of your body covered in sweat come to mind, and he can taste the saltiness of his tongue. He needs to have you in his mouth, to taste you as you plead with him to let you cum. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak again, uneasy and fearful of him so omnipresent in the room. "Do you promise? Not to hurt me, I mean…Do you promise not to hurt me?" You make eye contact with the glowing white lenses of his mask, empty and emotionless, indicative of nothing beyond a bone-chilling cold. A modulated voice speaks through the mask, corrupt with desire. "I told you," He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. "I'd never hurt you."

[saeun]

the "losing all my innocence in the backseat" lyric is so geto waitttttt 😩

sneaky link geto who's like that guy who haunts the narrative of your love life

⢷ pepsi will never thrive without coca cola. (he ain't shit) geto suguru ꘟ fem-reader.

+ love, ‘su: PAUSE THE CHAT 🗣! geto would def stalk ur very much directed tiktok reposts and reply to them with “u miss me huh” (no beta #writtenassoonasigotthisask)

s-link!suguru who just wanted some quick comfort. he didn't need a nagging girlfriend who'd bother him about his whereabouts, certain messages, or even the not-so-hidden circular bruise at the side of his neck, a little under his ear.

in his eyes, you were — no, you are the perfect match for him. you're everything he's ever needed. you used him the way he used you; one and done. no more, no less. both equally needing the sense of relief and relaxation without pushing for deeper meaning.

s-link!suguru who obeyed the “no kissing” rule. to him, kissing is intimate — it's pure. the intentions of a kiss (in his view) are always romantic and genuine, two things that he's long been stripped of. he also avoided eye contact during the moment. it made him feel vulnerable, like he was ready to give up the persona and bask in your love.

again, you never opposed. if that's what he wants then sure. it's not like you were hoping for anything deeper. ignoring the sting in your chest, you often buried your head in the junction of his neck to shoulder — sometimes biting on his skin to deter yourself away from tears. you don't love him; it's just in the moment. that's all.

unlike what s-link!suguru believes, his friends collectively agreed that he's slowly falling in love. why else would he be aggressively tapping through your instagram stories? why would he swipe to reply with “who the fuck is that” if he isn't your boyfriend?

a monkey who doesn't see his own tail won't recognize his own mistakes, a saying his friends often preach — much to suguru's dismay. he doesn't know where it came from nor why they use it, but he's heard it from time to time.

the men can be heartless, but they have no tolerance for suguru intentionally hurting someone as sweet as you. you've met them, they met you, and s-link!suguru's hand never stopped lingering on your body. “not her boyfriend,” he said.

s-link!suguru eventually acknowledges that he's falling — head first, too. this is against every rule he laid out at the beginning of... whatever you two had going on. so, he didn't hesitate to slowly go no-contact with you.

it was easy to say the least. muting your chat, silencing your calls, skipping your posts — too easy. almost as easy as the first time you let him through your barriers. but he hadn't anticipate your immediate move on. when you finally confirmed that he's beginning to ghost you, you moved on.

did you jump relationships? no, but you did post more revealing outfits and “clubbing” stories.

his bottom lip suffered tremendous damage once he saw what you've been doing. is he angry? upset? jealous that you're in a dress he specifically pointed out that it'd “look hot on you” during a walk together?

it didn't take long before nailsbytrish457 kept viewing your profile. they were within the first few viewers. at first you were weirded out by it — a random account keeping daily tabs on you? time to private your profile.

for some reason, you didn't bother to private. instead, you were set on blocking the account and the other accounts it's attached to. your following count went down by 2. odd, right? why would su_geto be blocked as well if you only blocked nailsbytrish457?

s-link!suguru who gave up the non-existent fight and called you. he didn't care — you were going to deal with him whether you had the energy to or not. minutes into the call, arguing about the fact that he shouldn't be bothered until you hear a car pull up in your driveway.

baffled, you'd say “you're not fucking serious.”

he'd only reply with “open the door.”

in between the cursing, yelling, middle fingers being thrown up every now and then, you found yourself straddling his lap, digging your nails into his neck. you want to injure him — badly — but your mind can't seem to stop replaying the flashbacks you desperately tried to turn into lost footage.

s-link!suguru who cracks a cocky smile knowing he got his way, per usual. it's always like that. you know it too, but you can't seem to do anything about it. at least, he's a call (and an argument) away if you need him.

you're familiar with the warning that your love life will crumble if you don't get him out of the picture permanently, but how can you if he's so consistent yet irregular in your life? he's there, he's not. he's with you for a week, he's ghosting you the next.

a push and pull game you're too tired to care for.

andddd thats it bc im out of ideas 🧍🏽‍♀️ idk how situationships go i've yet to experience real romance in my life BYE. i literally stole my friends' experiences n stories for this #inspo #shoutouttotheirls

[foreingersgod]

what if like you did a CC x reader fic with Good luck, babe! And like reader is like Caitlins gay awakening and stuff…

Good Luck, Babe! . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: Good luck, babe! by Chappell roan

A/N: i’m aware that in a good chunk of my cc fics that it starts with reader and cait “just hooking up” or something like that, so i swear this will be the last time i do that 😭😭

It's fine, it's cool

You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth

the sun peaked through your linen curtains, making your eyes flutter open. you glanced over at your phone, 8:30, and over to the left side of your bed where she laid. she was sleeping peacefully, sheets pulled up to her collarbone, hair spewed in different directions against one of your pillows. she looked so beautiful like this. having her naked, in your bed, was truly a blessed sight to see so you cherished it whenever you could.

as she snored softly, still deep in a dream, you turned over on your side to look at her properly. you let your fingers run across the prominence of her collarbone, toying with the hem of your sheets that hid the rest of her gorgeous body. you watched as her lips parted with each breathe, how her nose twitched, and how her faint freckles danced across her cheeks. she was a sight for sore eyes.

not much later, her eyes fluttered just like yours had moments ago, yawning as she stretched for the first time this morning. she looked over, noticing you had been staring for who knows how long.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer” she laughed, leaning over and kissing your forehead before shuffling out of bed and starting to get dressed.

“no picture could beat the real thing” you grinned back. she looked over, smiling back at you, grabbing her keys.

“hey i gotta go, connor’s got this weird brunch thing that he needs me for, but um” she made her way to the door “i’ll text you”

“wait!” you stopped her before she could leave. she let you of the handle to your bedroom and turned to face you, giving you full attention. suddenly you felt vulnerable, still naked and barely covered by your sheets, laid right in front of her “would you want to grab dinner sometime this week? i know we meet up on fridays, but…i don’t know i thought it’d be nice to see you sooner”

“um…yea…you know i’ll have to text you or something” she shuffled around, avoiding eye contact. “it’s just that me and connor…he’s still my boyfriend…”

you fought the urge to roll your eyes “yea, yea i know”

“well i can’t just go out with you all the time like we’re girlfriends. me and connor are still together”

“even if you’re in my bed every weekend?” you scoffed “whatever, caitlin, i get it”

she just stared at you, not wanting to pick a fight. instead she opted for a sigh and left your apartment, leaving you alone and wanting.

you wished she didn’t have to pretend. you wished the two of you ended up differently.

And guess I'm the fool

With her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof

you shouldn’t have let yourself get this attached to someone you knew you’d never be able to have. you intentionally put yourself in situations with caitlin, hoping that, in some magical fantasy in your head, she’d fall for you. but you knew her. you knew about connor and you knew that being ‘gay’ was no where near something she was willing to accept, wether you were in the picture or not.

you found yourself constantly thinking back on all the times you’d realized that you were in love other her.

when she fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie night with your mutual friends.

when you and caitlin decided to road trip to tennessee to visit a close friend who was graduating. you let her have the aux and watched as she hung out the window. sunset illuminating her face, wind rushing through her long hair, singing the lyrics completely wrong but she didn’t care. she was the sun itself, in your eyes.

when she came to your crying for the first time, sobbing about something connor had done. how she so angry at him and needed a friend to spend the night with.

when she came over a second time, completely distraught again. something about how she didn’t feel right, that her head was messing with her. she was having thoughts. thoughts about you, about women, and that she was having a crisis about her sexuality.

when she came over a third and fourth and however many amount of times, when she opened up about those thoughts with you. asking you if you would help her. asked if you would take her to bed, to relive some of her thoughts. make her feel good, worship her like connor could never do.

but your crush never went past that. taking her to bed and waking up with her already gone most mornings, shooting you a ‘thank you’ text and saying she’d see you next friday.

I don't wanna call it off

But you don't wanna call it love

You only wanna be the one that I call baby

“caitlin, can i talk to you for a second” you asked, moving her hands away from the waistband of your shorts.

“yea, baby” she said, calling you that like she didn’t know it destroyed you on the inside to hear it “what’s up?”

you bit your lip, nervous to pester her with this again, but you don’t think you can handle it much longer. this secret sleeping around situation was taking a toll on you and you don’t want to be waiting around for someone that will never come.

“i love the time i get with you so so much” you began “but i don’t think i can keep doing this”

“i’m sorry, what?”

“i just don’t feel like being something you keep on the side. or like being a secret for that matter. i’ve had feelings for you for a very long time and it’s very clear that you don’t feel the same, so i think we need to call this off if that’s the case.”

“oh my- are you serious?” she furrowed her eyebrows, voice raising “i don’t get the privilege to just come out and tell everyone i like girls, YN. and regardless, like i’ve told you countless times, me and connor are still together”

“but why, caitlin?” you matched her tone “do you even love the guy? cause last time i checked, you don’t even spend time with him anymore. why? cause you’re always here with me playing fucking house! i don’t care if you don’t want to come publicly out, but…but i don’t think it’s fair that you treat me as some play thing for when you want to play pretend!”

she tugged at her hair in annoyance “jesus fucking christ, YN. whatever this is between me and you…it’s not love, alright? i thought you wanted this?! you’ve been more than willing to fuck me every time. so i’m not really understanding why you’re so upset!”

you felt sick, like you were genuinely going to puke. she was a mess and you’re not going to be her experiment for when she’s having trouble with her sexuality.

“just fucking leave, clark” you shook your head “i’m not doing this with you anymore. come back when you’re ready to figure yourself out.”

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

after that night, caitlin was a disaster. she was choosing to ignore what you said; about being in love, about connor, about everything. just because you fucked on the side didn’t mean she was gay…right?

she hadn’t been herself at all. she was screwing up at practices, forgetting about events and team dinners she needed to attend. she was starting to fall behind in classes, every part of her life was crumbling.

even when she laid in bed, inched over to the very edge of the mattress, connor snoring obnoxiously loud from the other end, she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she saw you. things were never right with connor, she had always known that subconsciously, but it was becoming very clear how loveless this relationship truly was. but she brushed it off, tricking her mind into thinking that this was how things were meant to be.

she had been with men all her life, taught that this was what girls were supposed to do. so to imagine a life in which she ended up with you was just some silly dream that was meant to stay only as an unattainable desire.

for the nights that she couldn’t sleep, she would spend in the gym practicing, trying to shake off the truth that gnawed at the back of her head endlessly. this was good, she thought, basketball always made her feel better. it was her safe place. here she could leave her worries at the door and find comfort in the game, not even thinking about you.

but no matter how many shots she took, how many baskets she made, no matter how many drills she ran to make herself forget, she found herself coming back to the thought of you.

You can say it's just the way you are

Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

after about a month without you, caitlin had started to realize how much she was fucking up.

“caitlin, are you good?” kate had approached her after practice one day “you’ve been way off. and no offense, but your shots have been awful. what’s going on?”

“nothing” she plastered a fake grin on her face “nothing really, just been having a rough patch with connor, but we’re chill. just gotta lock in” she tried to joke.

kate laughed along, but she knew caitlin too well. there was definitely something up with her. but again, knowing caitlin, she needed to let her deal with it on her own.

caitlin had numerous people approach her about this. about her behavior and how she seemed to be struggling recently. but she brushed it off every single time, probably giving a dozen different excuses as to why she was acting in such a manner. she hoped that she would eventually believe them herself.

Good luck, babe!

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

you truly hoped that she was doing ok. you hadn’t heard from her in quite some time, not bothering to reach out to her in fear that you’d poke the bear and make it worse. all you wanted was for her to realize what she truly felt. wether it be in love with you or that she had never loved connor at all the begin with, it didn’t matter, you just wanted her to finally see how beautiful life was when someone found their true self.

you had been in her position before: unforgiving parents, no one to trust, you’d even had the remorseless religion to add on to all of the reasons why you felt like you couldn’t be yourself. and you knew what i took to get to where you are now.

caitlin believed that most things could be fixed by either ignoring it, or fixing it right away and never looking back. but this wouldn’t be the case now, you already knew, she would have to come to terms with it eventually.

And when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night

With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife

caitlin shot up out of bed, gasping for air, clawing at the sheets that seemed to be glued to her skin. another nightmare, she’d been having those recently. she looked over, squinting her eyes in the dark, making sure connor was still asleep. letting a sigh of relief go when she realized he was out cold.

her hands found their way to her hair, hands scratching at her scalp, elbows balanced on her knees. she was losing her god damn mind. she couldn’t stand him, she no longer held love for connor (not there was any in the beginning). with each passing day that she had spent with him, she found that her heart beat more and more for you each time.

And when you think about me, all of those years ago

You're standing face to face with "I told you so"

the idea of loving you was tormenting her every single day for the last few months. you were the reason she woke up every morning, the reason she worked so hard to win each game, and the reason she woke up the next morning and dumped connor. she was finally able to see clearly now, finally able to understand that she was madly fucking in love with you.

she realized that no matter how many times she fought the feeling or no matter how many times she tried to convince herself otherwise, that you were the one thing she breathed and lived for.

You know I hate to say it, I told you so

she didn’t even know what she was doing or what she was going to say, but she found herself making her way out of her apartment and into her car. she had to see you and tell you how wrong she was this whole time. that she was so in love with you that her body shook with it.

her heart pounded as she turned onto your street, immediately singling out your building and noticing your apartment lights were still on. her whole body must’ve been shaking with the way that she could barely put the car in park and unbuckle her seat belt. but she managed to make it up every flight of stairs and to your door where the shiny gold ‘103’ sat, practically antagonizing her.

her mind was on autopilot, not even realizing she had already knocked three times until she heard your footsteps approach the door. and suddenly there you were in all your glory, as beautiful as ever.

you were dressed in your comfy clothes, fuzzy cow slippers on your feet, hair messed up, and your necklace backwards. but she thought you were the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen.

“caitlin?” you rubbed your eyes in astonishment “what-um-what are you doing here?”

“hi” she breathed “i know it’s late, im sorry, really. but i just need to see you”

“caitlin i don’t want to do this again. it’s been months and you show up at more door suddenly at what? 12:40 in the morning? i thought i told you i was done with the whole charade.” you stated firmly, about to shut the door on her, but she wedged her foot between the space of the door before you could close it.

“no, no. it’s not…it’s not like that. i meant that i need to come clean to you”

still skeptical, you let her in, watching as she politely hung up her jacket. you ushered her to the couch, grabbing her a glass of water and preparing yourself for whatever she was about to confess.

“when you ended things with me,” she broke the silence “i thought i’d eventually get over it because i didn’t think what we had was all that serious. i was scared to admit that i didn’t love connor…and most importantly that…that i like girls.”

you looked at her solemnly, you knew how hard this was for her.

“and i guess is till don’t know exactly what i am, but…but what i do know is that i took you for granted and i treated you unfairly. you didn’t deserve any of it and for that i apologize”

“hey it’s…it’s ok now. yea i was upset with how things were going, but i’m proud of you now that you’ve recognized what you’ve done and you’re working on yourself.” you tried to reassure her.

“i really am trying” she stated “because i want to. for you.”

you watched as her eyes twinkled under the glow of your lamp, tears rimming her lash line. you noticed the way her nose twitched like how it did that one morning she woke up in your bed. and how she looked just as flawless as she did when you had met her.

“YN, im in love with you.” she blurted “i know i have no right to come here and say that. especially after i completely disregarded your feelings for me. i don’t expect you to take me back and try and love me again, but i just need to you to know that i have spent every day regretting what i’ve done”

there was another heavy silence again, filling the room instantly, encapsulating that words that rolled off of her tongue. you were honestly at a lost for words. of course you were still in love her, you never stopped, but now things were real. you were watching your deepest dreams unravel to you right in front of your eyes.

“You know…I hate to say it but” you said, watching as caitlin braced herself for what she assumed was rejection “…I told you so” you couldn’t hold back your grin, immediately falling into playful laughter as you scooted closer to her on the couch.

“i’m in love with you too” you finally admitted out loud for the first time in months.

her shoulders finally relaxed, exhaling after holding her breathe waiting for your response. she laughed with you, just glad to here you say those words.

“don’t scare me like that” she said, face inching slowing towards you “i don’t think i would’ve been able to handle the rejection”

“don’t worry, i don’t think i ever could’ve stopped loving you if i tried” you whispered, finally closing the gap between you. you’d kissed her many times before, but this would be the first kiss that actually mattered. “but i really did tell you so” ��

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: yayyy!! happy ending!! <3

[wwaheoh]

Hey, Hi, Hello!! I don’t know if you’re not taking request or not but If it’s not too much of a hassle or if you have the free time, could I please request a part two of that unrequited love post where the reader starts intentionally avoiding those same characters you posted? Like basically the aftermath of the confession. If you’re closed or busy you really don’t have to accept this but thank you for that read 😭

“Aversion to Heartache…” Zenless Zone Zero x gnReader

Von Lycaon, Zhu Yuan

a/n: not including Anby, since she’s the one avoiding you at the end of Unrequited. also i am always open to requests or chats! just know that it might take some time to get back to you, since i write when i take a break or can’t draw

Sequel to: “Unrequited” (Lycaon, Zhu Yuan, Anby)

It’s been a couple of weeks since your failed confession. You had been purposefully avoiding Lycaon- even Victoria Housekeeping as well as the cafe they used as a front. Ads would pop up on websites, various members on it but the pure white fur of the Therian on your mind sticking out like a sore thumb against the muted colors of the rest of the staff.

Sighing, you clicked on the X to delete the ad, not wanting to see it any longer. You misclicked, accidentally clicking on the web link and being rerouted to the contact page of Victoria Housekeeping. It was familiar- having used it to venture into the Hollow, where you met Lycaon.

Quickly closing the tab, you tried to clear your mind. Lycaon, Lycaon, Lycaon, every day it felt like you got reminded of him. The good times you both had, spending afternoons and sometimes nights with him. Then quickly being soured by you confessing to him- the look on his face more unflattering than what really occurred.

You should go out for a bit… maybe some fresh air would help. Standing up, you put on some casual clothes, fixing a hoodie on and zipping it up before taking your keys.

Closing the door behind you and locking it, you took a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. Fresh, with only a couple of people milling about. A car or two passing by every couple of minutes. Stepping out from the front of your apartment, you began your aimless walk. Letting the sounds of the city fill your ears.

After tens of minutes, you found yourself in Lumina Square. Somewhere bustling with traffic. Following the crowd, you looked through the windows, commenting on things mentally- before something caught your eye.

Lycaon. The wolf-Therian was sitting in front of a noodle shop with… someone else. A figure wearing a blue-orange jacket, hair reaching their chin. Here you were, constantly on the verge of tears and Lycaon had already moved on. Seemingly having replaced you, seeing as how expressive this person was to him.

His ear twitched, a tell-tale sign of where he was going to look- having either heard or smelled something of note. Quickly you lifted your hood up, hiding your face as you quickly followed the crowd, hoping to avoid his gaze and possible confrontation, forever if possible.

Yet he knew you were there. With the aroma and cooking of the noodle shop covering up most of your tracks, but that familiar scent you had snaked its way in. Yet you were already gone, faded back into the crowd.

After the revelation of who Zhu Yuan’s heart had been captivated by, you had begun to slowly avoid Zhu Yuan. The heartache you felt as you spent time with her became more pervasive with each day. Something you wanted became poisoned, leading you to call hangouts off or declining Zhu Yuan whenever she invited you.

She very easily figured this out, but the question was ‘why?’. The two of you hadn’t had a falling out- nothing egregious and there was no reason for you to have any bad blood. Yet every time she approached you, you quickly tried to find an out- you weren’t as slick as you thought you were.

It became harder and harder for her to initiate anything, being stationed in different areas of New Eridu, as well as growing feelings for her partner Qingyi. Yet it still ate at her.

One day on patrol, you were responding to an urgent call, pulling up with lights flashing. A man had a girl hostage, blade to her neck as they ordered the cops to hand them a vehicle to make their escape from a robbery gone wrong.

Just as you were about to go in, a blur passed you, a familiar figure grabbed the girl, cuffing the suspect before roundhouse kicking them, knocking them and a piece of the wall out. As well as a couple of molars.

You watched her in a trance as she consoled the victim. Then you noticed that she was about to turn, with you quickly walking away back to your car. She stepped to follow you but was stopped, having to give a recount and file paperwork for the arrest, as well as return to film the rest of the promotional material for the director.

Qingyi watched you leave as she stepped out of the car, dots connecting in her head as she watched the hurt look on both you and Zhu Yuan’s face. She needed to do something about this...

[guppybibi]

𖦹 pairing: Dad!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

𖦹 content: Crack & fluff, not proofread, ooc i think, d/n = daughters name, mild cursing

𖦹 notes: more self indulgent fics, this is bad lmao

And the world’s best husband who constantly makes his wife worried sick, award goes to Simon Riley! May we get a round of applause to commend this man? No? Alright, I’ll see myself out then. Hey, he doesn’t do it intentionally (most of the time). You gotta live a little, it’s not like he’s doing anything reckless. Oh but who can blame your heart when it dropped to the pits of your stomach upon seeing Simon carry your cherubic little toddler on one hand? He’s balancing her there like she’s a trained cheerleader! Maybe in the future, but she could barely even balance her own bobble head! Sure you may have been a teensy weensy bit over dramatic about it but accidents should be prevented as much as possible.

“Darlin’ look it’s fine, she’s even giggling.” He says just a little bit too casually, referring to your daughter who’s currently enjoying the little circus act they were performing. “Nope, put her down right this instant.” You command, and if Simon was scared of one thing it’d surely be you when you're angry. Guns and weapons would never compare to the fury of his wife. With a huff from him and a whiny complaint from your daughter, he sets her down onto the grassy yard.

“Oh what a killjoy, mama..” She puffs up her rosy cheeks, crossing her arms as she feigns hurt. You chuckle, looking up at Simon before speaking. “She’s got your accent. The rosy cheeks too.” You comment, lowering your head down to see your daughter avoiding eye contact with you as she acted offended.

"Which cheeks-”

“Nope, don't continue that sentence.” You could practically hear the way his lips formed a pout, copying your daughter. Pathetic, who knew a burly military man could get so soft for his little girl? “Awh come on eh? Don't be such a killjoy ‘luv.” He teases, using the same tone his little girl used.

Or maybe that one time Simon was blasting music the loudest the speaker could handle, it had a few curses and swear words here and there but his baby girl wouldn't pick up on it. He doubts she's even listening to daddy’s ‘bad’ music taste, so he's in the safe zone for sure!

Oh boy was he wrong…It was one of those days, you two were sharing chores—with you washing the dishes while he vacuumed around the house and hummed along to the song playing. While D/N was happily stacking her ABC blocks, she was silently listening to the song her daddy was playing. Even mumbling some of the parts since her daddy keeps putting this certain song on repeat. She barely knew the alphabet to begin with so she wouldn't even pick up on the words on the song, right?

“Mama!” She calls out, bringing her empty baby bottle as she signals for more milk. “Oh yes baby, I’ll fill your bottle right after I finish these.” You respond gently, rinsing the soapy suds away. “No, now bitch!” And with those words alone it felt like the toddler broke the sound barrier, silence filling the Riley’s usually noisy home when Simon slowly turned off the speaker. You and Simon share a look that plainly said “What the fuck.”, the man set the vacuum aside as it was time for another parenting lesson.

“Kiddo, that's no way to speak to your mum.” He lectures gently, taking her feelings into consideration. “Mama told you she’ll help you after, right? It's bad to call her names, mama sacrificed a lot for you.”

"But-” “No buts, kiddo. Your mum didn't spend 7 hours pushing you out and I didn't have to watch her scream out in pain like a demon just for you to curse at her.” Simon hoped he wasn't too harsh with his child, knowing they're tiny hearts are pretty fragile at this age. But he wasn't going to let it just slide, he watched his baby girl approach her mother and apologize. A smile gracing his face when he sees you forgive her and place a delicate kiss on her chubby cheek, he goes up to you once he sees the child take off to play in the living room.

“I think we should start considering the swear jar now.” You comment, placing a hand on your hip. “Definitely.”

“No more playing songs with any swear words from now on, Simon.” “Yes ma’am.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Good Boy

Male Sub Yan Bully + G.N Reader

"I only need a good boy by my side, and I don't mean someone who'll have me home by eight. I want an obedient pet. Will you be that for me?."

Warnings/Tags: Top/Dom Reader, Anal Sex/Pegging, Cross-dressing, Light Degradation and pet play. Reader's gender is (obviously) never stated, but their parts are referred to as dick for ease.

Anyone with working eyes could see how whipped that boy was for you.

From the day he pushed past you in the hall, a faint spark started his heart stemming from the dismissive glare you back shot his way. That flicker was the match that blew everything into an explosive mess for your attention, igniting any obstacle in its wake. Your fellow peers avoided you for the continued safety of their fingers and social life, and every which way you turned he was there. His physical harassment didn't go beyond shoving you out of his way or snatching pencils and things meant for trash.

You never acted out against him - to his. Never ratted him out or even raised your voice. You hardly talked to him at all and that pissed him even off more. To make matters worse you were cordial in your brief encounters, and even threw off-handed comments his way. Trailing your fingers up his bicep when he forced himself at your table. Saying he looked "nice" with his hair up and out of the way of those pretty eyes. It drove him mad. He knew you knew he was too chicken shit to actually put hands on you and didn't bother wasting your energy to provoke him.

Recently, your dynamic had taken yet another turn. One, uneventful Monday morning, you strolled right up to his locker and patted him on the head as you walked off to class. His knees turned to jelly, and he nearly had a locker door slammed in his face following your hand as it left his soft locks. At lunch that very same day, you sat in his lap and even fed him his food - so long as he rushed through that project for his next class he was intentionally planning to fail. When the grades were sent back and you caught wind of his score, you kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair like you did before. His goons spread rumors of the two of you dating, but now everyone believed it with the leash you had around his neck. If he didn't get himself into detention, another pat. Good grades? Two kisses - if he work school appropriate clothing. Your switch from pretending he never existed to dotting on him like you were actual lovers boggled his mind to no end. What made you see him differently?

"This thing is way too damn short. I told you I'm not putting on fucking her bra - that's gross. Where the hell is my phone.. What the fuck?... give it to me. Post that and I will fucking ki-"

Oh - that would explain thing. It would explain a lot actually. All those weeks back, Erin had been asked by a friend to help deliver his sister's clothing to a nearby shelter with a few beers as payment. One of them had the brilliant idea to have a drinking contest with the loser having to try on her clothes. When it was discovered he had been pouring his into the grass, Erin was immediately disqualified and given his dues. They took video and posted it to his private page - forgetting about the person he made follow back. In all honesty, Erin had no problem wearing feminine clothing. It was just that everything that girl had absolutely shit tastes in fashion and not at all to kiss liking.

What he had on now was exactly his style.

Sliding a hand up his outer thigh, you loop two fingers through the heart shaped buckle attached to his garters and thigh highs. The spaghetti straps of his crop top hand loose and torn off his shoulders; neck and chest decorated in dark bruises and teeth marks. Circling your tongue around his puffy nipple, you pull it between your teeth - just to watch him squirm as your lips break contact with his chest; the strip of leather hanging from his thigh crackling against his skin as you retch your fingers free. He whimpers mutely, rubbing the stinging flesh into the mattress to prolong that fading bite. Grabbing his knee causes him to stop immediately, looking up at you with those pretty, pleading eyes through the whispy, dark ginger locks clinging to his sweaty forehead and cheeks. You smirk.

"What a good boy."

It had all been a test. You saw that video, and you had to have him. You knew he could be obedient with the right motivations and there was none better than giving yourself - and a little praise, to him. As usual, Erin was pissed when he found out you were training him like some.. dog, but he couldn't deny the guilty pleasure of you turning him into your bitch in front of the whole school. His cock throbs in his panties as his hazy mind replayed the billionth loop of you calling him yours; the phantom heat of your breath against his ears sending chills. Erin bucks away from the hand placed over the bump in his skirt so you wouldn't notice the pulse, but you certainly had. You close your fingers around his length, stilling him as another gloop of drool rolls past his lips.

"Eager Boy! I would love to help you with this, but.... I only need a good boy by my side, and I don't mean someone who'll have me home by eight."

You drop your lips to his ear, teasing the shell in just the way that made him cry out everytime. His little bated moans were the cutest thing.

" I want an obedient pet - and lover. Will you be that for me, Erin."

His cock ached at the first title; his heart sung at the next. He'd do anything to relieve the tension in both areas. Anything to be yours. Licking his bitten lips, he nods.

"I'll be good...."

You reach up to stroke his cheek. Erin nips at your fingers, rolling the metal ball of his piercing between each. He spits directly in your hand.

"Freak."

His chest rises with a shaky laugh, yet there's nothing but obedience in those eyes. It's a work in progress. You smack the meat of his thigh with your spit covered hand; the sound and force of the saliva hitting his send immeasurable. The e way his mouth falls open as he gasps - you would've thought he came right then and there if his solid erection wasn't in your opposite hand.

"You're lucky I'm nice. Turn over, pretty boy."

Leaning back, you help Erin lift his leg over your head as he turns over onto his stomach. Scooting forward, his ass falls into your lap as he sinks down. You raise the skirt that barely covered much to begin with and slip those lace panties down; pre-ejaculate smeared into its crotch. You wish you hand more time to appreciate his attire or shove those frilly garments down his throat, but as soon as he came through your door it was too your bedroom - and you wanted to hear his sounds nice and clear for your first time together. There would be plenty more nights in the future for you to do whatever your heart desired. Reaching forward, you tap his lips with your finger.

"Spit? Since you've already proven you don't mind getting your drool all over your master."

Erin opens his mouth - letting out a gagged yelp of surprise as your fingers shoot down his throat. He's never been more thankful for the lack of a reflex. Regaining what little composure he hand, Erin swirls his tongue around your fingers and hollows his cheeks as he suckles them as you drag them out his mouth. His head falls into the pillow as you draw your arm back to position; spreading his asscheeks as your lubricated thumb teases his hole. It slips in easier than you imagine and his back muscles go taught.

"Have you fingered yourself before?"

Erin buries his face in the pillow, eyes avoiding your stare. ".... toothbrush."

"Pfft - you whore. I was wondering what happened to that. Guess I don't have to ask who you were thinking about while you did it."

"At least you go your brains if anything ever happens to your face."

Frowning, you yank the hair still trapped in the scrunchie he wore. "Bad dog. Guess you won't need the prep then."

Removing your finger, you lend your cock to his hole. He hooks one arm under the pillow and reaches the other behind him. You take his hand and lock your fingers with his as you slip inside; pinning the limb to his back as you sink in. You pull your knees from under him and plant them in the mattress as you drag your girth out of his tight hole. Erin drops his free hand between his legs, but you quickly add your weight to his arm - immobilizing him.

"Ah-ah, I didn't say you could do that did I?"

Erin grumbles something under his breath, but thankfully you don't hear it. As a reward for staying still you kiss along his back up to the nape of his neck, right below his choker where you plant your teeth as you start off at a gradual pace. His skirt falls pack down a couple times which you lose care of after a while and let drap at your thighs. He keeps his lips separated from the pillow so his heavy breathes are audible - just like he knew you wanted. Such a good boy. Dropping your grasp to his waist, you tug him back with each thrust - virtually bouncing the drooling boy on your cock. His greedy hole and desperate whimpers suck you back in. Pleads he tempts to conceal with his moans ringing longer no matter how exaggerated his sounds become. Like everything when it came to you - he just couldn't keep it in.

"ngh...y/n...please...hah... give more."

"You want more this so soon? Hm, you've been good enough so far."

Yelping as your hips snap against the curve of his ass, Erin rocks his with a stutter - rutting his aching cock into the mattress chasing friction you refuse to provide. Your hand cracks hard against his right cheek and his back arches against your sweaty bare chest as he all but screams into the pillow now forced into snuffing his cries. You grab his jaw and his head pivots back to look up at you.

"So noisy.... It's unsightly of you, Erin. Like you're a different person now you've got a few inches in you. Tell me, are you my good little puppy or some bitch in heat using my dick to get off?"

Tongue petaled around your thumb, Erin cries out beneath its weight. "Mmph.." You lift your finger, smearing his drool into his cheek as you turn his head to face you.

"What was that, boy?"

"y-yours... 'm yours, I promise. I can be both. Please let me be both."

"We'll see about that." Standing on your knees, you yank Erin along with you and lock your arm around his neck to keep him from falling as you drill upwards into him. His cock bobs with each hammer of your hips into his and you have enough mercy to stroke him to completion as his eyes roll back in his head. You mouth more marks into his neck and shoulder blades, scrapping your teeth on the bone. Your name bleeds off his tongue like it's the only he's ever known and right now there couldn't be a truer statement. You suck one more fresh hickey to his neck and work on to his jaw, licking the stray tears that drip down to the corners of his mouth as you crush his windpipe in your hold - darting your tongue past his gasping lips. Erin groans in the blissful heat of the thirsty kiss, cumming into your hand and onto his thighs and your pillow. You rub the sensitive flesh for a few more strokes before letting him fall into his own mess. You join him on the unstained pillow and scoop your arm under his neck. He scoots over, resting his head on your chest - eyelids droopy and body slack. You brush his hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his clammy temple.

"A quick rest, then it's the showers before bed for you, Mister.. You did amazing for me. Clean?"

You extend your hand; palm glazed with his spend. Erin scoffs, lips twitching into a faint smile.

"You're such a dick."

He sweeps his tongue over the salty fluid and licks it off the ball of your fingers, cringing at the taste, but doing as asked for once.

"True, but I'm your dick now."

He stops - eyes soft and more vulnerable than the entirety of your session. "You... were serious about that?"

"Of course. You're a good boy, Erin - when you want to be. I like you."

His head falls back to your chest, hand finding yours. "i... love you."

-

The next day at school, you walk in together with your wrist in his hand. You'd let him keep his big dog act for just a little longer. Stopping at your longer, Erin spots the one that got away - some little shit that snuck a note in your locker and fled his fury due to the teacher standing in the hall. His right hand tightens into a ball.

"Erin."

The student looks your way, shocked seeing the two of you so close. His shoulders relax as he shoves the fist into his pocket. Thankfully, you didn't have every period together. "See, i wasn't doing nothing."

You peck his cheek with a smile. "Good boy.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Genuinely VERY confused, why is the majority of the fandom blaming Jason for the downfall of his friendship with Reyna?

i legit came across like a handful of comments today like "Reyna deserved much better than dirtbag Jason, he was such a jerk to her, choosing Piper over her and not talking to her after he came back to camp jupiter"

like?? stop over victimizing Reyna in this situation, it isnt even that serious lmao its just teenage drama, she doesn't need pity for this. both Reyna AND Jason were accountable for their crumbling friendship, it wasnt all on Jason. Reyna made PLENTY of mistakes too they are LITERAL teenagers, stuff like this is normal ffs. She didn't send a search party after Jason to look for him, she never held a memorial service for him even after the camp basically thought he was dead, she never initiated a conversation with Jason either after he came back, and practically avoided him the entire time completely (she flat out avoided eye contact with him in BOO and intentionally ONLY acknowledged Piper who was standing next to him)

Also, Reyna did literally the same thing to Jason that people are bashing him for, The fandom's problem with him is that he shouldnt have developed feelings for piper bc it "betrays his connection" with Reyna. But anyone ever thought about how Reyna developed feelings for Percy almost immediately after he came to camp while simultaneously claiming that she longed for a relationship with jason? if you put it in the fandom's logic, Reyna too, was "unloyal" to Jason, since she did not hesitate in giving a random new boy her best friend's position.

you cant tell me she wouldnt have gotten with percy if he were single. be so fr rn. but apparently its completely alright if she moved on from jason with percy, but its illegal if jason moved on from reyna with piper, right? they owed eachother absolutely nothing. They were just friends.

Jason had no reason to even think reyna liked him that way since she canonically avoided him thoroughly after the whole venus mess. so no. Just bc Reyna wasnt upfront with her feelings for him, does NOT mean he "lead" her on.

this situation isnt black or white, i think yall forget that they are both literal children

[luvsymai]

FAKE BOYFRIEND ; Shoto Todoroki

Chapter 2: I TOLD THEM THAT WE’RE DATING.

Genre: Romance, fluff

Warnings: none

<- Series

<- Previous chapter // Next part ->

___________________________________

You turned to look at both Ochako and Mina, and they were already looking at you with wide eyes. You just know this would spread like wildfire tomorrow, especially since Mina is right beside you.

Fuck it. You already know what’s going to happen, so you decided to go with the flow anyways. You can worry about what would happen later.

“What the hell are you talking about? I am dating him.” You glared at Kai the best you can, despite feeling your heartbeat accelerate.

I am so, so sorry for dragging you into this, Todoroki. You thought.

He gritted his teeth at what you said. Coming at you, but before he could do that, Mina and Ochako stopped him.

“She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. Leave, you asshat.” Mina clenched her fists.

“Tsk,” He pushed them away, and grabbed your wrist which made your eyes widen. That was what crossed the line.

You forcefully removed his hand away using your quirk, which made him release you. “Fuck off, will you? Don’t hurt my friends.” You intentionally looked at the surroundings to make him conscious of how many people stopped to see what was going on. There were a lot of eyes staring at the commotion happening between the two of you.

That was what made him stop. He only glared at you, and left.

But you knew that probably wasn’t the last time he’ll bother you. Once he left, you apologised to both Mina and Ochako profusely for getting hurt.

“No, it’s fine! It wasn’t your fault.” They reassured, but you still apologised nonetheless.

“That must’ve been your ex, if I’m not wrong?” Ochako said, and you only sighed. You explained your circumstances to them, except about the fact that you mentioned you were dating Todoroki.

“More importantly… you’re dating Todoroki?!” Mina exclaims. She really can’t let go of that, huh?

You bit your lip, before answering them.

“Well… Yeah…”

They continued to ask questions, but you avoided answering them like the plague, and continued going to the cafeteria.

“I’ll order for us.” You excused yourself and they nodded, telling you what they wanted and you took note of that.

You left them to line up while they find a seat. It took a few minutes for you to order, and once you were done, you looked for them.

Once you saw where they were, your face paled after seeing who they sat with. You knew they sat with them on purpose.

You internally groaned, having no choice but to go to them.

“Here she is, Todoroki!” Mina teased, and you choke on your own spit, caught off guard. Iida and Midoriya, who was with him, were confused. They didn’t know what was happening.

“Uhm, Todoroki, please come with me,” Without thinking twice, you put the food on the table, and grabbed Todoroki’s wrist, leaving the cafeteria with you. The poor boy looked perplexed, having to leave behind his precious cold soba.

Once you were somewhere far away from the canteen, you released Todoroki from your hold and looked at him. He looked very confused.

You quickly bowed to him. “First of all, i’m very sorry, Todoroki..”

You looked up at him to look at his reaction, since it was silent afterwards. But it was no use as his expression was unreadable once again. What were you expecting?

“What for..?” He asked, having no clue what you were apologising for.

You took a deep breath before replying, avoiding eye contact. “Actually.. while we were on our way to the cafeteria, my ex went up to me and bugged me again. Then he was talking about how he didn’t believe me when i said that we were dating, and now my friends think we’re dating…”

“I’m really, really sorry..” You whispered nervously. Your dignity was now gone, and he probably thinks of you as nothing but bothersome. You really didn’t want this to happen; nor did you want others to be involved in your personal matters. You didn’t want people to feel troubled and feel like they needed to help you.

“…” It was silent for awhile. But it only made your uneasiness grow, instead of calming you down.

“…It’s fine.” He said, making your eyes widen as your head snapped up to look at him. He displayed no signs of emotion as usual, but it looked like he was thinking deeply about something.

“What? What do you mean it’s fine?” You questioned him, confused. How could he— how could he at the very least not get mad at you? You would’ve expected that he would at least show some signs of annoyance to you, but he was only thinking about something with a calm look on his face.

“I mean that it’s all right? I don’t mind if they think that we’re dating. It doesn’t affect me in any way, plus…” Todoroki said with a straight look on his face, glancing at the canteen and back at you.

“Plus..?” You were nervous about what he was going to say.

“I can be your boyfriend, if that’s what you want.”

Your breath hitched, as you felt your face become hot. Were you imagining this?

Were you breathing properly?

The obvious answer is no.

“W—What?” You were stunned from what he said. He wanted to be your boyfriend? Your heart skipped a million beats from what he said. You dumbass, you face palmed internally. He probably worded it wrong, you shouldn’t assume things. You weren’t close with him, nor do you two talk to each other that much. He probably meant something like being your fake boyfriend for awhile so that your ex would stop bothering you.

“I meant that I can act as your boyfriend for awhile, if that’s what you want..” He sounded flustered for a moment, as he explained what he meant. You were correct.

Well, you definitely didn’t mind. But you were worried that you were being troublesome for him.

“Are you sure about that..? It might be too troublesome for you..” You asked, worry laced in your tone.

“Well, as i said, I don’t care since it doesn’t affect me in any way. Your ex is bothering you and you don’t want that, right?” He stated.

What he said was right, but what about him? What would he gain from acting as your boyfriend? You were grateful enough that he even offered to act to be your boyfriend, but you can’t help but think about how this would be bothersome for him.

“…I don’t really see how this benefits you in any way, Todoroki. From what i see, this would only benefit me and you won’t get anything from it. We would have to act all lovey-dovey in front of others, and the whole class would think we’re dating.” You replied, looking at him. And for once, his expression changed.

His eyes widened a bit, taken back with what you said. You were scared that he would take back what he said, so you panicked. “I—I mean, I’m grateful that you want to help me but i’m wondering how this would benefit you in any way…”

“The others already know, right? There’s no use denying the rumours, especially when your ex is still lurking around…” Instead of answering you, he avoided the topic.

You didn’t want to push the subject any farther, as you were afraid that he would take back what he said.

“T—Then, are you fine with acting like a couple in front of others?” You questioned, unsure. You wanted to get his consent before touching him and acting like a couple.

“…That’s fine, as long as you tell me beforehand doing something.. extreme. The same goes for you, too.” He told you. So it was fine, as long as you both consented to it.

He suddenly touched your hand; which made you slap his hand away from surprise. You did not expect that at all, you were about to apologise when he spoke.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I was just trying to figure out how to act like your boyfriend..”

Your eyes widened with what he said. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly. What the hell, he’s so… adorable.

“O—Oh.. we can do that later.”

“If that’s what you want, (Name).”

<- Series

<- Previous chapter // Next part

Taglist: @eempxth @1ovesiick

[ghostboneswrites2]

You Ran

Summary: Your boyfriend is a known abuser but nobody does anything to stop it. (Similar to the Jess situation.) When Daryl goes out of his way to help, you lash out, realizing that he might have helped you for the night, but it would surely only get worse from there. When Deanna makes it clear she has little to no intentions of addressing the issue, you take matters into your own hands.

18+ MDNI || Warnings: Profanity, non-graphic references to abuse, one instance of descriptive abuse (slapping & pushing), description of bruising, TWD typical violence

Part 2: You Were Found

Note: This story may not be suitable for all audiences. It's not intentionally triggering but as a former victim of abuse / witness to the abuse of a parent I did channel a bit of my own trauma into this.

        You anxiously tugged at your sleeves, ensuring the bruising around your wrist would be hidden as you worked your shift at the armory. Usually Olivia would handle the pantry and armory combined, but with rations getting low and runs becoming a more frequent necessity, you offered to help her with one or the other. The Alexandrians were getting antsy, crowding the pantry all hours of the day to try and intimidate Olivia out of extra rations, selfishly complaining that they needed more, regardless of who had to go hungry for their bellies to be filled.

        You had only been at Alexandria for a year, maybe. You and your boyfriend bumped into Aaron and Eric on the road, and he graciously invited you to his home. You often found yourself missing what you had with him on the road. He never hit you or raised his voice. He was always tender and protective. The only goal either of you had was to see another day together. Somehow, though, when you arrived here, everything changed. It was like the safety of the walls left him too much time to recall the horrors of the time you spent out in the open. PTSD ravaged him, and he became a mere shell of his former self. 

        He'd become overwhelmed with rage. He'd shout, break things, attack you.. Truth be told, you changed too. Once the violence began, you became reclusive and shy. You thought if you looked anyone in the eye for too long they'd be able to see your problems at home written all over your face. It wasn't a risk worth taking. 

        The people noticed, too. When you first arrived, you were goofy and talkative, excited for any human contact. You never stayed inside too long. You always offered to help anyone you saw with yard work, hauling, preparing. You'd see the kids playing or hanging out and offer them a drink or ask to join their game of hide and seek. Slowly, though, that changed, beginning right around the time your boyfriend changed.

        See, Ty was the kind of guy to smile at his neighbor and offer a hand in lifting that heavy couch, or ask a fellow passerby how their day was going. He was eager to be given a job, to contribute. It was mere weeks before the depression krept in and stole everything lively about him away, leaving room for the more sinister post-trauma to settle in in the wake of his joy. You tried to pull him out of it. You stayed by his side every step of the way, and at first he was grateful, but somehow he grew to resent you. He felt sick to his stomach at your sweet nature, at how effortlessly you acclimated to any semblance of normalcy. He felt left behind, like you were going to bloom and expose all your petals while he remained shriveled underneath the surface.

        That was when his outbursts began. The damage to your surroundings followed soon after, and that only escalated to violence. It wasn't every day, but it was often. Most people avoided him, and even you, but a select few kept in touch. Mostly Olivia and Denise.

        "It's hot today, love. Don't you wanna take that sweater off?" Olivia asked innocently as he brought in your clipboard. "I did a quick inventory last night, go ahead and check it out again. They should be by soon to check out for their run."

        "Okay." You smiled and nodded, checking off every gun, scope, and round of ammunition. You were quickly bored so you started arranging everything neatly, setting the larger rifles and shotguns on the pegs of the utility wall, carefully laying out each pistol, lining up the mags and ammunition, organizing the sights by magnification.

        "Need a few things." A husky voice startled you. You spun to face him fast, relaxing a bit at the familiar face. It was just Daryl. A lot of people found him intimidating or mean, but you figured he was just quiet. Most people in Alexandria were blissfully unaware of the world beyond the walls and what it could do to a person.

        "Oh, go ahead." You pressed your lips into a thin smile. "Just let me know what you take so I can.." You held up the clipboard. He nodded and wandered around the room, picking up a few pistols and sliding the mags inside, which you had graciously preloaded for them already.

        "Can ya toss me that AR?" He asked. You reached up and lifted it off the prongs, walking it over to him. "Is it loaded?" He wondered as he reached to grab it. His eyes stuck to your wrists, which had been exposed as your sleeves rode up your arm through the mundane tasks you had been performing. You didn't really notice his gaze. 

        "Yeah, I--" You paused as his hand grabbed yours and turned it over, looking at the purple and blue marks littering your skin. They were clearly left from another hand.

        You yanked your hand back and adjusted your sleeves shamefully. Embarrassment encased you. It wasn't that you worried about intervention, perse. The entire community knew what was happening behind closed doors and they all swept it under the rug, not willing to intervene and disturb the peace in their blissfully ignorant suburb.

        "Sorry, it's nothing." You mumbled, brushing your dull hair behind your ear. Funny enough, you were a social worker before shit hit the fan. You were well trained in signs of abuse and malnourishment, in both women and children. Thin, dull hair was often a sign of abuse in the sense that one's body can be in a constant state of fight-or-flight and the adrenaline could take a real toll on someone's health. Usually accompanied by less than healthy BMI, timidness, always looking at the ground when they walk, avoiding eye contact, only speaking when spoken to, the list went on. It was like a sick joke, being a poster child for the textbook signs of abuse, the very thing you were trained to protect and remove the vulnerable from.

        "It ain't." He said quietly.

        "No, really. It's fine." You forced a smile. "Was that all you needed, or..?"

        He studied you for a moment, deciding it wasn't the right time to address it. 

        "Need a scope." He relented.

        "Oh, they're right there." You pointed to the shelf. He nodded and picked one.

        "Just these." He said, displaying his haul. You recorded each item and nodded.

        "Okay. Be safe out there." You smiled. He grunted and walked out. You let out a breath, praying that slip up wouldn't have consequences.

----

        You slowly entered the bedroom where Ty would be enjoying his typical glass of whatever booze he could get his hands on. Recently he even resorted to fermenting fruit for his own mead. 

        "Dinner." You said shyly, setting it on the end table beside the bed, knowing better than to interrupt him too much. 

        "It's about time." He slurred. "I'm starving."

        You hung your head low as you scurried out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind him. If you closed it too loud, he'd think you slammed it, and that was sure to trigger a response.

        You sat down on the couch downstairs, picking at your food in an attempt to grow and appetite. You had a knot in your gut all day after the encounter with Daryl. You had this nagging feeling that it was sure to turn into more than an awkward interaction.

        And you were right.

        Knock knock.

        A casual double knock wasn't typical around there. Most people, if they dared to stop by, tapped lightly and persistently. You set the food on the coffee table and pulled the door open.

        "Oh." You blinked at the quiet huntsman. "Don't do this." You pleaded, just above a whisper.

        "Do what?" He shrugged. "Just came to drop this off." 

        He was nonchalant, but you both knew what he was doing. He held out a bag with some rations.

        "We usually get rations at the pantry." You said apprehensively.

        "Mm. Decided to drop by after we unloaded." He explained absently, more focused on the house behind you as he searched from the doorway.

        "Well, thanks." You reached for the bag but he seized the opportunity to grab you hand again and pull your sleeve up.

        Carol stepped into view from beside him. She was hidden from your sights before that, right beside the front door. She looked down at your wrist then back up at you.

        "Enjoy the rations." Was all she said as she walked away. Daryl brought her along to judge the situation. Given both of their pasts, he thought there'd be no better duo to help.

        You snatched the bag back and eyed Daryl. 

        "What's this?" Ty asked from behind you, empty plate in hand. His eyes lingered on Daryl and flashed with jealousy.

        "This is Daryl." You stepped to the side.

        "I know his name, damn it. What's he doing here?"

        "Just dropping by with some food." You explained hurriedly attempting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

        "The pantry out of commission or something?" Ty asked suspiciously, stepping toward you.

        "No, they just--"

        "Just stocked it up. Olivia asked me to drop some things off for (Y/N)." Daryl spoke up.

        "Huh." Ty hummed, looking Daryl up and down and decided it wouldn't be a fair fight. "Thanks." Was all he said before he shut the door in Daryl's face. He watched the door as he listened to Daryl walk down the steps before his eyes found you. You gulped.

        "Just some food." You mumbled, extending your arm to show him the bag. He snatched it and you jumped. He looked over the contents inside. Typical things like canned goods and bread. "I needed some--" 

        You began to formulate an excuse to keep his rage at bay, but he cut you short with an open handed slap across the cheek. 

        "I told you no guests." He seethed.

        "I didn't know they were coming." You whimpered, hand holding your throbbing skin as your hair slipped over your face.

        He shoved you into the wall and the impact knocked a picture frame down, shattering all over the tile.

        The door swung open just then and Daryl's stocky figure hurdled at Ty, taking him to the ground. 

        "Ya like beatin' up on little girls?" Daryl seethed, straddling Ty and landing two punches across his face. "Huh? Why don't ya pick on somebody your own size, ya prick?!"

        Daryl had walked down the steps loudly to trick Ty, then he waited for any sign he needed to intervene. Carol went to get Rick. It was all planned.

        You scrambled away from the scene, stunned. You couldn't watch for very long before you felt compelled to intervene.

        "Daryl.." You pleaded, trying and failing to pull him back. Daryl punched Ty over and over.

        "Answer me, ya sick fuck! You like beatin' up on your girl? It make ya feel big and bad? Huh?!" 

        "Daryl!" You pleaded.

        That was when Rick rushed over with Michonne and Carol in tow.

        "Daryl, stop!" Rick ordered. Hesitantly, Daryl stood up to his feet and Rick stepped in front of him. Rick took in the scene of your bloodied boyfriend writhing on the ground, you cowering away. "What happened?" He asked you. You couldn't speak.

        "Bastard's been hittin' her!" Daryl spoke up for you, still pacing and circling like a  hungry predator.

        "That true?" Rick asked you. He noticed your red cheek and your generally timid nature. You didn't answer, but you didn't need to. Rick nodded and looked back down to Ty. "Alright. Michonne, help me get him to the cell. We can try to explain this to Deanna tomorrow."

        Rick and Michonne dragged Ty away as you stared at Daryl bewildered. Suddenly, a flash of rage washed over you.

        "Do you know what you've done?!" You shouted through tears. "It's only gonna get so much worse now!"

        Daryl was stunned. He took offense to the fact that he went out of his way to defend a stranger only for them to turn around and lash out at him, as if he had wronged her.

        "It was only gonna get worse if I didn't do nothin'!" He defended.

        "You don't get it! He'll be home tomorrow and it'll start all over again, only worse this time!" You sobbed. "You should have just left it alone."

        "He ain't comin' back here."

        "Yes he is! Have you ever seen anyone be punished here? Do you see any laws posted? Did you get a handbook when you arrived?" You tried to explain. "Deanna will let him out tomorrow and everyone's just going to pretend like it never happened; like nothing is wrong. That's how things work here."

        "Well then pack up and go. Get outta here 'fore he comes back." Daryl shrugged. You scoffed. 

        "And go where? I barely know these people. You think Deanna's just gonna give me a whole house to myself? Even if she did, how long do you think it'll be before he shows up at my door? Are you gonna be there to save me then too?"

        Tears were still streaming freely down your cheeks. Your voice cracked and trembled with fear and rage.Daryl was speechless. He didn't know what to do to help you. He wondered if you were right, if he should've just left things how they were and minded his own business. Maybe he was fool to think he had any right meddling in your life just because he had been through similar things.

        "Can't just let ya sit here and get beat." He finally spoke. You scoffed and shook your head, running a hand over your flustered face.

        "Well you don't really have a choice. I have nowhere to go." You said, holding your arms out and gesturing around you. "This is where I live, this is where he lives, and this is my life now."

        "Nah. Rick's gon' talk to Deanna. He's gon' fix this."

----

        The next morning, Rick and Daryl showed up at Deanna's bright and early, with Michonne and Carol in tow. 

        "So you attacked him?" Deanna asked, eying Daryl. He scoffed.

        "After he beat up his girl, again. And from the sounds of it you all know exactly what goes on over there and don't do a damn thing to fix it!" Daryl spat. He was frustrated with the entire situation, but more so with the lack of action from the community or its leader to protect all of its citizens. Rick held his hand out to Daryl and gave him a look, silently asking him to calm down. Daryl began pacing.

        "We don't know for sure that anything like that was happening. We can't act on suspicion alone--"

        "We saw the bruises." Carol cut Deanna off. "All around her wrists, where someone grabbed her."

        "And I heard him throw her into the wall." Daryl added, straining to keep his voice down. "Waited on the porch 'til he thought I was gone and heard it all."

        "Her face was red too." Michonne spoke up. "When we got there. The whole left side was lit up."

        Deanna looked to Rick, who nodded in confirmation. Deanna pondered for a moment.

        "So then what do you suggest I do? Leave him locked up in a cell underneath my house?" She asked rhetorically. It was clear she had no intentions of facing the issue. 

        "What ya do is tell him to get lost." Daryl said as if it was obvious. To him, it was. No room for abusers in a functional society.

        "What Daryl means to say is maybe you van give him an ultimatum. If he can't keep his hands off people, then he has no place here." Rick tried to smooth out the situation. Deanna was already more focused on Daryl attacking Ty than he was on the year-long assault Ty waged against your body.

        "I can't just start throwing threats around and --"

        "You need to protect your people." Michonne spoke slowly. "That means not leaving one to suffer just to keep everyone else comfortable."

        "This isn't a comfortable world." Carol added meekly, maintaining that denmother persona she played so well.Deanna sighed.

        "Suppose I give him this.. ultimatum.. Then what? What happens when he hits her again?" Deanna asked. Daryl stopped pacing and stared at her, arms hanging down at his sides. He was baffled.

        "Then ya stand on what ya said and throw him out." He deadpanned. 

        "And what do I tell my people?"

        "The truth!" Daryl threw his hands up in frustration.

        "Okay, Daryl, maybe you should take a minute to cool off." Rick sighed.         

        "No need." Deanna held her hand up. "I've heard enough. I have a lot to think about."

----

        You had cleaned up the house the best you could and worked hard to make sure food was ready on the kitchen island for when Ty came home. You were sure nothing would contain the rage he'd feel, but you hoped you could butter him up enough to avoid his fist.

        Someone knocked just as you were setting the tray of lasagna on the counter. You rushed over to answer, surprised to see Deanna.

        "(Y/N). Have time to chat?" She smiled. You stepped aside and let her in, crossing your arms over your chest as she strolled past you and stood facing you. "I've been thinking a lot about your situation."

        "Oh...?" You raised your eyebrows.

        "I don't believe it's in the best interest of the community to blow this out of proportion." She began. You rolled your eyes and focused on a random tile on the floor. You already knew where she was taking it. "I've heard the testimonies from Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and Carol. They can all confirm that maybe things aren't the most peaceful for you here."

        "Huh." You hummed.

        "The thing is, I can't just leave Tyler in a cell, or kick him out of Alexandria. That would cause fear. People would be wondering who's next, or what simple mistakes could end up getting them banished." She went on. "I have a duty to my people."

        "Am I your people?" You asked suddenly. You didn't mean to say it, but you did mean it.

        "Well -- Yes." She stuttered, caught off guard.

        "So then what does that mean for me? The need to keep everyone comfortable trumps the need to keep one person safe from another?"

        You didn't want Ty to be banished or to be imprisoned. You just wanted a safe way out. You loved him, of course you did. He was good once, but that part of him was gone.

        "That's not what I'm saying." She insisted.

        "Then what are you saying?"

        "I'm saying that I'm not sure what to do to keep you safe." She admitted. "At least not without--"

        "Without making the others feel uncomfortable. I get it." You summarized.

        "Right, well... I just need more time to think it over, to speak with people I trust to make the right judgement here. I will figure this out for you, (Y/N)."

        You didn't believe her.

        "When are you letting him out?" You asked. She didn't seem to understand. "Of the cell, I mean. When are you sending him back here?"

        "I'm not sure." She said quietly. 

        "Right. Well I have a lot to do before he gets here, so if you don't mind..." You nodded over to the door. She gave a quick goodbye before she left, and you took some time to think. Maybe nobody else could help you. Maybe you just had to take matters into your own hands.

----

        The wall was menacingly tall. You stared up the height of it, gulping, adjusting the straps of your backpack as you did. You had seen Enid climb it before, so you were sure you could do the same. With a deep breath, you hoisted yourself up the steel beam and climbed with all your strength, dropping down on the other side once you had reached the top. You quickly grabbed the biggest kitchen knife you could find from your bag and tucked it into your belt, before digging for the loaded pistol you stole from the armory and sliding it into the back of your waistband.

        You double checked that you had food, water, and a change of clothes in the large part of the bag. You checked the front pocket for all the first aid you could fit. When you were satisfied, you tossed one last glance at the walls of Alexandria, and you ran.

Join the taglist! || Masterlist

tags:@kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow

[corvid-kore]

Alone we are, unknown we are (Lucanis x F!Crow!Rook)

Work Summary: Lucanis and Rook set off to find a Warden in the Anderfels, and the consequences of refusing to sleep become impossible to hide.

Tags: Mentions and/or allusions to torture and its aftermath. Sleep deprivation and its effects. Mentions and/or allusions to child abuse (Cateirna). Spite is a little unsettling/inhuman but I love him. F!Crow!Rook x Lucanis, set in early game (a Warden's Best Friend), Lucanis PoV.

Word Count: 10k (10,041 words. I have issues.)

A/N: I've been meaning to explore how the lack of sleep and constant caffeine intake (plus struggling against Spite constantly, and the paranoia because he's deep in the "It Wasn't Illario" denial) should really be affecting Lucanis long before Weisshaupt. I have other ideas for other moments like this during the game, if you like this and want more let me know and I'll post them!

Also, Drusilla is mentioned here a couple of times. She's an OC I made up for my Rook's backstory (that I then had to try to fit into canon because I did not know Rook was going to be a de Riva), the Fifth Talon before Viago. Rook is considered her daughter, but she isn't.

Title from Better Love, by Hozier, because: "Staring in the blackness at some distant star, The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are, To the wild and to the both of us, I confessed the longing I was dreaming of."

He hears the almost-silent footsteps as Rook walks into the kitchen, and listens for the change in the cadence of her steps that tells him whether she is here to talk to him or simply to fetch something from the kitchen. Whenever she approaches the pantry, whether intentionally as to avoid sneaking up on him, or by instinct after having spent her life surrounded by Crows, Rook makes her steps louder, easier to hear. 

Spite’s forceful attempt to wrestle control over the body from Lucanis is sudden but thankfully over quickly when the demon encounters the familiar resistance. 

(Rook!) 

“Quiet.” Lucanis hisses at the demon, but it’s pointless, he can feel echoes of Spite’s delight at Rook’s presence in his own chest, in the restlessness the demon forcefully shares with him. 

Spite, in this strange mimicry of Lucanis’ image, stands by the door, slightly hunched as if a beast on the prowl, as he hears for Rook’s footsteps coming closer. 

(Rook! Is here!) 

“Lucanis?” A faint rasp of knuckles against his door, and at his call to come in, Rook peeks her head into the small room with a smile, “Up for a hunt, you and I? A Grey Warden.” 

___ 

“He couldn’t be in some secret mission somewhere sunny in Rivain, no. He had to be in the middle of an ocean of sand,” She complains, and her next step kicks up a little bit more sand, to which Rook simply sighs. He knows that more sand got into her boots by that sigh alone. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and adds, “Preferable to having to find him in the middle of the actual ocean, mind you.” 

“On that, we are in agreement.” 

“I found Bellara writing down a list of questions about the Ossuary, by the way. When Caterina’s enchanter told us about the wards of the place, I thought that little boat was going to capsize with how much Bellara was fidgeting and gesturing,” She turns to him, a tilt of her head to the side, “Am I warning you in time or has she already gotten to you?” 

“She has…a lot of questions,” Lucanis admits, “I tried, but I couldn’t answer most of them.” 

(I can.)  

Spite sounds almost cruel in his glee, arrogant. 

(You don’t see. I do.) 

Lucanis ignores him, but the tinge of irritation isn’t something he can hide. Spite’s delight at having found something to prod at him with, at having found a means with which to spite him, is loud and uncouth and only deepens Lucanis’ annoyance. 

The two of them -though Spite insists on counting three- continue on their trek through the High Anderfels’ desert, while Rook recounts what Harding’s Warden contacts shared with her, and what Neve and Rook found out about this monster hunter through their Crow and Tevinter contacts. 

Before long, the sun has started to set. Lucnais watches in amusement as Rook narrows her eyes at the faint line of sunlight still lingering in the horizon with utter contempt in her gaze, as if personally offended by the fact that the sun is setting. 

Traveling with the caravan that Rook somehow charmed into taking her and Lucanis as close to the Warden’s last known location as their route allowed them to did save them both from the worst of the desert sun, but it also means they will have found no trail to follow in the first day, even if they did narrow the distance between them and their target. 

A small structure, what is most likely an outpost for travelers, cuts the vast nothingness of the High Anderfels, and without words they start heading towards there, to find shelter for the night if nothing else. 

The small building, emulating a fortress’ tower, has certainly seen better days, and both Crows are in agreement that daring to trust the roof won’t crumble over their heads is foolish, so they decide to stay on the outside. They make camp in the corner created by one of the building’s walls and one side of its small stone fence, taking cover from the worst of the desert’s winds and cold. 

While Lucanis sets up a small fire, Rook manages to sit still for a total of a minute and a half, her eyes trained on the structure, before she stands again and ventures into the dilapidated building. 

A flickering orb trails after her, lighting her way, though unlike the mage lights he has seen others conjure up, hers is tinged by a faint shade of violet, and if he focuses on the light, ignoring the way it worsens his already present headache, he can see faint shots of lightning dancing inside the orb of light. 

It seems the very stone that makes up the outpost trembles when she shoves her shoulder against the door to force it open, but she treads inside regardless. 

“Rook, I doubt that’s safe.” 

“It isn’t,” She agrees, but he still hears her boots treading on the rubble of the building’s interior. “But I want to know what’s in here.” 

(Curiosity?) 

Lucanis doesn’t acknowledge the demon’s question, and he isn’t even sure it was a question Lucanis was meant to answer anyways. 

A breath, two, and Spite refutes his own observation, answers his own question, 

(No.) 

“There’s a water pump!” Rook calls out, “And a lot of firewood, wh-…Oh, some people scratched their names into the logs!” 

___ 

Bedrolls laid out and the first watch given to Lucanis, Rook takes off her armor and sits before the fire. She announces her intention, with a tired tilt to her voice that speaks of reluctance, to clean her weapon from the Varghest blood still staining it after they ran into those creatures near the Eluvian that took them here. 

More abruptly that he would like, more eagerly than he would like, Lucanis offers, 

“I can do it.” 

“What?” 

“I…don’t mind taking care of that for you. It’ll give me something to do.” He assures her, gritting his teeth at the pull from the demon to voice other thoughts, to reveal what Lucanis has carefully pushed aside, ignored.

(You. Want to.) 

Lucanis doesn’t answer. He tries not to answer, usually. It gives Spite an incentive to keep prodding and pushing at the edges of his mind if Lucanis acknowledges him directly.  

A few breaths of silence, only the faint sounds of Rook moving about the small camp, before Spite prods again, unwilling to let go of his previous observation. 

(Why?) 

Why wouldn’t I? 

Spite crouches slightly at the quick response from Lucanis, resembling, despite the human form it takes, a beast lowering its body to the ground before it is to pounce. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see the demon’s shoulders rise with a deep breath it doesn’t need to take, and the grumbled sound resembling laughter that Spite makes as he breathes out sounds much closer than it should, the rumbling from deep in the demon’s chest resonating in Lucanis’ head. 

(Rook.) 

That’s all Spite says, as if that is an answer to some question Lucanis isn’t privy to, as if that explains something, before his attention is drawn to her and away from Lucanis. 

As if summoned, Rook returns to the small fire with a sheathed mageknife in her hand. After setting the bedroll down and spreading it as close to the campfire as she can, she sits down and offers the knife to Lucanis, handle towards him. 

“Only one?” 

“Viago hates it when I waste poison. More blades means more surface to cover,” She retorts, bringing one leg close to her chest and resting her cheek on her knee. “Besides, a mage is never disarmed.” 

A gesture of her hand, and a dagger, quite similar to the one now in Lucanis’ hands, materializes in her own. The spell is cast with such ease that only after the conjured knife is securely on her hold does Lucanis feel the familiar tell of magic in the pricking of his eyes. 

The dagger seems like a carefully crafted glass replica to the naked eye, but it thrums with latent magic, and the almost-violet tinge of the knife’s surface is painted by faint streaks of lightning every few seconds. 

Another gesture of her hand, a barely-there flick of her wrist, and the weapon disappears, a diminutive streak of lightning fading as if a flame smothered by lack of air. 

(We. Can do that.) 

Before the demon’s words are through, Lucanis feels the now-familiar -even if strange, even if uncanny- pull of the demon’s influence on the Veil to form once again the wings on Lucanis’ back.  

He rushes to interrupt him, for the first time in days intentionally turning to look at the demon that crouches beside Rook. 

No. And it’s not the same. 

Spite turns to him with a furrow between his brows. 

(Show her.) 

She knows already. 

(Show her again.) 

He ignores the petulant demand, choosing instead to return a fallen log back to its original position in the campfire. 

“I’m going to bed, but do wake me if anything seems off,” Rook states, toeing off her boots and placing them against one of the dilapidated walls. “I’ll be up in a few hours and take watch.” 

He almost tells her not to worry about waking herself up, that he won’t sleep anyways, that they needn’t worry about shifts in keeping watch, but there’s surreal normalcy in this. Even if there’s a lyrium dagger capable of killing gods on the sand next to her bedroll, even if Lucanis sees a demon of spite linger so close to her it seems like he’s sniffing her hair; there’s normalcy in this exchange, and selfishly, he doesn’t want to spoil it. In a manner most selfish, most weak, most unlike him, he wants this chance at pretending he is what he is supposed to be, even if he knows having to take this chance at all says a lot of what he has let himself become. 

“Rest well.” 

She answers only with a soft little hum as she adjusts in the bedroll, one arm folded underneath her head and the other bringing the blanket closer, tucking it under her chin. 

Rook closes her eyes and falls asleep turned towards the fire, and Lucanis realizes he had spent too long watching the little lights from the flames dance on her skin when he’s startled by Spite. The demon was previously crouching somewhere at Rook’s back, attempting to read the symbols on the building’s half-demolished walls, but now he slowly creeps up behind Rook, seeming more like an animal stalking its prey than anything remotely human as he crouches down until he can get his face -a mimicry of Lucanis’ but twisted in some sneering satisfaction, some cruel curiosity- in Lucanis’ field of vision. 

Though he’s startled by the demon’s silent movements and how uncannily inhuman they are even when Spite takes the form of Lucanis himself, what unsettles him most is that it is not Rook that Spite seems to have made into prey or enemy, as he would have dreaded but expected, but him. 

Spite says nothing. Lucanis turns away, grabs at the cloth and oil and gets started methodically cleaning the mageknife entrusted to him. Spite says nothing, and demons don’t need to breathe nor know discomfort, so Spite doesn’t move either. 

He resists the urge to ask Spite what it is that he is thinking, if only to try and predict him, guard himself and others against whatever the demon might attempt, but he refuses to give Spite the satisfaction of knowing he has unnerved him.  

So, he endures the persistent glare of a demon that insists on taking his own form staring at him for hours, never moving from where he crouches at Rook’s back like a bird of prey guarding its nest, never taking his vacant eyes off Lucanis. 

It is Spite that notices first when Rook starts to wake up, because Lucanis pretends he isn’t aware of the small change of her breathing and the muffled little whine she makes when she realizes she ought to wake herself up. 

They exchange a few words, she checks up on him and asks if anything happened while she slept; and while Rook gets up from the small bedroll and stretches in front of the fire, Lucanis notices Spite on the corner of his eye, still unnervingly still. 

The demon only moves when Rook moves to sit against the wall beside Lucanis, stretching her legs towards the now-quieter fire. Spite pointedly moves to sit -pretend to sit, Lucanis knows that the demon cannot actually interact with the world around him- on her other side. 

“I had never seen so many stars.” Rook admits, a breathy tone to her voice as she cranes her head back and admires the countless stars dotting the night sky. 

If she’s aware of the demon lingering close to her -if he even is close to her, and not merely a…a figment of Lucanis’ imagination, a representation of Spite’s wants, he has no idea how this works-, she makes no note of it, big eyes set on the skies above and uncaring that the demon comes awfully close, vacant eyes studying her with concerning intensity. 

Lucanis turns his gaze to the skies above them, to the thousands of stars scattered in the dark sky, glittering in different shades of silver and white. Some of them seem almost blue, almost violet, and he has the errant impulse to compare them to the hue that clings to Rook’s magic, that tinges every summoned strike of lightning. 

“The stars back home are much duller.” She mentions, so quiet the wind could carry it, almost a thought spoken out loud. 

“You can see plenty of them in Salle,” He argues, though he will admit even Antiva’s darkest night sky cannot show this many stars. Because since first meeting her -whichever first meeting he decides to count- he has never found himself without a question he wants to ask her, he prompts, “Did you ever live in Salle? I know Viago did.” 

It is selfish, not to mention entirely too forward, to wish to know things like these. To wish to hear her speak of things like these. But the home he left behind over a year ago feels a little more real, a little bit more like something he can one day return to, when Rook speaks of it. So he asks even though he knows the answer, when she speaks of the world past the timeless Lighthouse he prompts her to continue, and when she gives away an echo of home he listens. 

“Not for long. A little over two years, after Drusilla picked up her second stray,” There’s enough warmth in her words to tell him she speaks of Viago, even if this only further proves that she assumes Lucanis knows more about her history with the Fifth Talon than he actually does. Rook often downplays her importance to Viago and thus ignores how viciously he has kept most things about her a secret; or perhaps she simply is unaware of the extents to which her Talon has gone to in order to keep her away from the rest of the Crows since her mother’s death. Rook continues, “I haven’t been back in years, though. I think the last time I was there was when Vi became Fifth Talon.” 

“And Drusilla’s funeral, right?” 

“You know Viago, if we were going to gather a bunch of Crows in one place, might as well get everything done and over with,” She says, “For all his grumbling, he was a good host.” 

“Yes, he was. I was…I was there,” He doesn’t know why he feels as if it is wrong to say this, as if somehow she hadn’t known and this is a revelation. He doesn’t know why a knot forms in his stomach, or what to do with the realization that reminding her of this will only draw attention to all that has changed, all that he has changed. Still, he continues, “Caterina summoned Illario and I from Rialto so we could go with her to pay our respects.” 

He doesn’t tell her that his grandmother kept an incredibly close eye on the de Riva villa in Salle since the Fifth Talon died and her only daughter fled Treviso to find the bastard son of the King, that when he and Illario were summoned they were warned of the now-Talon’s ambition and the tempest in waiting that he kept close as if she were his own blood, that most Talons distrusted her mother and as a result were always wary of this child Drusilla raised as her own -surrounded by Crows, in the heart of Treviso- but that wasn’t formally trained as a Crow until much later in her life. 

He thinks she already knows how on edge every Crow that attended the gatherings for the late and emergent Fifth Talon was, how closely everyone was looking for the slightest provocation to neutralize a threat. He thinks she knew already then, and yet he still remembers how brazenly honest her every smile and every word seemed, he still remembers how she contradicted every expectation they had had of Drusilla’s carefully hidden spellblade. It was no doubt a mask, as she probably was aware she couldn’t afford her mother’s harshness or Viago’s coldness; and perhaps Lucanis was too young then, or her strategy too unfamiliar, but he believed her. 

And he thinks of the sound of her laughter as Neve shares a story with her and Bellara as he prepares dinner, of the comforting lull to her voice as she offers Harding advice on how to deal with her nightmares, or the way the consonants are a little rougher on her tongue when she is tired and doesn’t bother hiding her accent; and it is unfamiliar and perplexing, this irrational urge he feels to fight his every instinct and believe she is honest in her warmth and kindness now, even if she wasn’t once. 

Rook returns her gaze back to the world around them instead of the skies, turning towards Lucanis, soft smile pulling at the corners of her lips with an ease, an honesty, that hasn’t yet ceased to amaze him. 

“I remember.” 

(So do you. Tell her!) 

The demon’s demand startles him more than it should. For a moment, a breath, he was on an estate atop a hill in Salle and he had just heard her laugh for the first time. For a moment, a breath, things were as they might have been. 

He feels Spite now, prodding at his thoughts, trying to find memories to tear to pieces, to taint, to sully. Ever since he was forced onto Lucanis’ body, Spite has justified the painful incursions into memories both soft and jagged with the argument that this world to him is contradictorily sharp and blurred, and seeing it through Lucanis’ eyes helps the demon make sense of it all. 

And now Spite has caught a scent, and is trying to pry into vague memories of a chance meeting nearly a decade ago, distant visions of a woman he last saw in Neromenian nearly two years ago even though she didn’t see him; and Lucanis refuses to let the demon close to them. 

Because the longer he lingers on the warmth of Rook’s smile, on the thousands of questions lingering begging to be asked, Spite just seems to grow more and more agitated, louder, more demanding, Lucanis turns away. He turns to face the stars instead. 

“Still, Salle’s sky has nothing on this,” Rook argues, and Lucanis cannot disagree. The glimpses he caught of Salle’s night sky were in passing, a quick scan over unfamiliar rooftops to check for threats, a sigh and a glance at a dark sky as he asked the Maker for patience as Illario left him behind to chase after an unfamiliar Crow revealing entirely too much skin. Rook gestures with her hand, the back of her fingers tapping lightly against the outside of Lucanis’ thigh as she calls for his attention and quips, “You can’t tell Viago I said that.” 

A short chuckle leaves his lips, and he acquiesces with a bow of his head. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

Rook motions her thanks with a bow of her own head, a glint of humor in her eyes, before her attention returns to the stars. 

She takes a breath that leaves her in almost a sigh, and says, 

“In the South you can see the scar the Breach left in the sky. Have you seen it?” 

“I can’t say I have ever paid much attention to it.” 

He cannot help but think it a deficiency, a fault, that he never bothered with such things. It is irrational, he knows, but he resents not ever averting his gaze from the task at hand for only a moment, if only to gather stories to one day tell her, if only to have something to offer her now other than questions.  

“It’s always there. A soft glow, rippling, like you’re seeing it from a reflection in water. At night, it’s even more noticeable,” She recalls, absent curve of her lips as if through memories alone she is seeing the flickering lights of the Breach’s remnant on the sky above them. “It’s…beautiful, in its own way. If you forget the hordes of demons and the religious fanatics the Breach caused, you can even say the scar was worth the wound.” 

“I’d…have to see it to believe that.”  

He doesn’t tell her that he is inclined to believe it only by the awe in her voice when she speaks of it, that he cannot imagine anything that makes her smile like that is anything short of striking. 

“Viago and I were in Orlais when the Breach was opened, you know. Val Chevin, for a contract on a duke and his mistress,” She recalls. Lucanis’ head lolls to the side to watch her profile as she recounts her story, her eyes bright and still set on the stars. “Well, Vi was there for the contract, I was just the stowaway. I wasn’t even formally training yet. In my defense, I was happily sampling fine wine in Val Royeaux and he went to see me since he was in Orlais, so it’s his fault. He should have known I would tag along.” 

He had always believed her value to Viago as a Crow under his command and as a vestige of Drusilla’s influence was the reason for how protective he is of her, for how blatantly he displays his weakness for her. It is strange, it feels out of place, to think that long before they formally belonged to one House they thought of one another as family. But Lucanis is almost certain that says more about himself than either Viago or Rook. 

“Did you…tag along often?” 

“It wasn’t often that he knew I was tagging along,” She admits, before gesturing lazily with her hand and adding, “You cannot tell him that either.”  

“He probably knew.” 

The glint in her eye then, the way her smile widens with something youthful speaks of memories she doesn’t share and thoughts she doesn’t voice, but Rook nods once in agreement and turns to the stars again. 

“Anyhow, we were on a boat headed back home from Orlais when the sky was torn open,” Her smile softens a bit, and she shakes her head with a breathed little chuckle, as if she cannot believe that is a story she gets to tell, that the madness of the Breach is something she survived to remember. “The city fell into chaos. No one knew what was happening, people were running and screaming. So, naturally, Viago handed me a knife.” 

The helpless little gesture she makes with her hands, and the abruptness of her anecdote, make a bark of laughter escape Lucanis’ lips. 

“What?” 

Rook turns to him and shrugs her shoulders. 

“He just…handed me a knife. This…thing was on the sky, growing wider by the second, and then we heard this rumbling, like thunder. It sounded like the mountains were waking up,” Her words are trembling slightly with the threat of laughter, the quiet joy of her smile clinging to the sound of her voice. “And Viago just pulled out a knife and put it in my hand, like it would do anything against the end of the world.” 

They exchange stories and questions as they pick at the pumpkin bread Bellara made in her latest attempt to get Rook to admit to enjoying food from Tevinter, and mercifully the questions she asks are of the familiar, of jobs and targets, and there’s not much room to feel the sting of deficiency, the anxiety at falling short. 

He tells her of the many jobs that dragged on for months on end in Tevinter, she tells him of the time Viago had her thread through Seheron to kill a single qunari. She asks what being trained by Caterina was like and in exchange he asks what happened to the Templars that marched into Treviso to take the de Riva mage to a Circle. He tells her it was torture but that he cannot bring himself to resent his grandmother any longer, she tells him the first man she killed with a blade made the mistake of casting Silence. 

A few comfortable silences are scattered between their conversations, though Spite has disrupted them -thankfully only in Lucanis’ mind, as the demon hasn’t caught him by surprise for long enough to wrestle control of the body away from Lucanis and speak aloud- with strange observations and mutters. 

Spite lingers close now, he can feel him, prodding at his mind, trying to find an exposed nerve, trying to distract him, make him falter. 

(Rook. Smells happier here. Jasmine. And…) 

It is unlike the demon to hesitate, and it piques Lucanis’ curiosity, so, remembering a previous assessment Spite made of Rook’s scent, he provides, 

Ozone? 

Spite is quick to dismiss his attempt,  

(No. No magic.) 

(Something else. Sharp. Blood, but. On lilies? Rotten.) 

There seems to be genuine confusion in the demon’s assessment of that scent that clings to Rook, but Lucanis recognizes it, and so the clarification leaves his lips before he can think twice about it. 

“Felandaris.” 

He feels the weight of Rook’s gaze on him again in an instant, and resists the urge to make a face at the realization that he spoke the word aloud. It is difficult, sometimes, to remind himself that Spite isn’t really there, that while Lucanis might hear him as if he were there, when he answers in the same manner, people only hear him talking to himself like a madman. 

There’s a small furrow between Rook’s brows, and she prompts, “Huh?” 

“Uh, Spite had a question.” 

The elf sits up, folding one leg underneath her, stars forgotten. 

“Oh, is it about poison? Felandaris isn’t good for much else,” She asks, with more enthusiasm than he expected. More than she intended to show, it seems, because Rook chuckles and adds, almost sheepish, “You don’t spend a lifetime alongside Viago without picking up some of his…enthusiasm for the craft.” 

Any question that might be about to leave his lips, any normal response he might once have been able to give, are lost in the struggle for control against Spite’s unbridled fervor at Rook’s words.  

(I have. Questions.) 

No. 

(Let me. Talk. To her!) 

Resisting the urge to shake his head against Spite’s constant barrages against his control, Lucanis lets out a clipped breath and tries offering her an out. 

“You don’t have to indulge him.” 

“I don’t mind,” She says. “He’s stuck in this world, it makes sense he has questions about it.” 

(My turn. To talk. To Rook.) 

No. You tell me what you want me to ask her, and I’ll see if we ask it or not. 

(She. Doesn’t mind.) 

Take it or leave it. 

He feels Spite’s vacant eyes glaring at him, and after a breath Lucanis concedes and turns to look at the uncanny mirror of Lucanis that the demon chooses to show himself as. He tilts his head to the side and Spite mimics him, defiant, but after a few moments he seems to understand Lucanis willingly giving him control of his body isn’t going to happen, so he turns away from him and moves to sit on the ground. 

Spite crosses his legs underneath himself as he sits besides Rook, clearly mimicking her stance, and Lucanis doesn’t know what to make of that, of the demon’s clear fascination with the other Crow. 

Spite refuses to even look Lucanis’ way, vacant gaze intent on Rook, and Lucanis has the errant complaint that it seems the demon is willing to listen to her more than he does his host, that he displays none of this calm eagerness when Lucanis is trying to explain something. 

(Why Felandaris? Blood and lilies. Not Rook.) 

“He wants to know why…” He tries to find a way to voice this that doesn’t sound so…odd, but cannot find any. With a sigh, Lucanis relents, and asks, “Why you smell like Felandaris.” 

Rook doesn’t seem fazed by the strangeness of the question, which seems to delight Spite. She reaches back for one of the pouches on the discarded outer layer of her armor and pulls out a tiny flask of oil. It shimmers slightly in the moonlight, a deep amber in color. 

“Felandaris and deepstalker spit, mainly,” She lists out. “A hallucinogenic and a mild paralytic agent. Makes sense that you only smelled the Felandaris, since Deepstalkers are mostly odorless.” 

(Felandaris. Is new. Why?) 

“You haven’t used Felandaris in your poisons before. Why now?” 

“The Veil weakens near whoever is poisoned by it. It would make them vulnerable to my magic and to you, Spite. To the both of you,” She gestures with her hand towards Lucanis, before amending with another gesture, “Potentially. I haven’t really tested that last part yet.” 

He isn’t exactly sure what to make of her quick acceptance of Spite and how the demon’s connection to the Fade influences Lucanis’ abilities, and even if he tried he couldn’t voice the conflict within him of the apprehension that fills Lucanis and the delight that Spite tries forcing onto his mind; so instead Lucanis lets silence linger once again. 

But in the quiet of this place, with silence not made heavier by the vast expanse of the Lighthouse but instead made more comforting by the crackling of fire and the calm cadence of Rook’s breaths, it is harder for Lucanis to ignore his body’s demands for rest. 

It is easier to force himself to stay awake when in the Lighthouse, because as maddening as that place is for accounting the passing of time and providing structure to his routine, the constant daylight tricks his body into staying awake for longer, into avoiding deep sleep. 

It isn’t so easy here, where the sun actually sets and the night carries a chill that the fire chases away, providing a warmth that tries to lure him into letting his body rest. And Spite quietens around Rook in a way that if he thinks about for too long will make dread rise like a void within his chest, so he cannot even count on the demon and his glee at the prospect of gaining control while Lucanis sleeps to force himself into alertness again. 

He has felt the effects of his struggle against Spite on his body, in the Lighthouse and anywhere else he has been in since the Ossuary, but he has learned to live with it -with the near-constant headaches, the strange aches in his joints, the unnerving faltering in his balance-, he was made to endure much worse than this and he will. What he hasn’t felt until now, what he has been able to ignore, to push down, is how utterly tired he is. 

He hasn’t truly slept in over a year, since before…before. The reprieve that unconsciousness provided from Zara and her underlings' games wasn’t ever enough, as Lucanis resisted his body’s urge to give in every time, forced himself to stay awake even if all he managed was focusing his eyes on the red lyrium crystal hovering over them and thinking of nothing. Even when they left him alone, pretended to forget about him for weeks on end in a cage in some corner of the prison, and Spite -warbled sounds, inhuman sounding even in Lucanis’ own head, then, before the demon learned to talk how humans do- promised him he’d keep watch, Lucanis held strong, spine ramrod straight and hands curled around the bars of the cage until his fingers couldn’t move even if he wanted them to. 

And now, with a new place to call home -at least for now, and if he’s honest it is a welcome change when even the Ossuary hasn’t let him forget how much like a tomb the Dellamorte estate still feels-, with new people to protect, to care for, he refuses to sleep still.  

Spite’s demands and the threat that he will take over whenever he lowers his guard keep him awake out of fear but also shame. Spite wants to talk to Rook, he wants to see the wisps in Neve’s room, Rook brought new ingredients for poison and he has questions, he wants to go watch the reflections from the mirrors in Bellara’s room, Rook is training and she does it differently than Lucanis so he wants to go see. It is maddening, and endless, but the mere thought of indulging in the demon’s whims or failing to stop him brings forth a sense of shame, of indignity, that reminds him all-too-well of the time Caterina heard him beg the kitchen staff for food. Such lack of control is unlike him, such weakness is beneath him. He knows better, he is better. 

But he is tired. Tired of the way that what once was familiar is strange now, ground giving in under his feet even on well-treaded paths -the merchant’s smile is welcoming and familiar as they greet him, and there’s routine in the bow of fledglings’ heads and the greetings of Master Lucanis as he walks through the Diamond, but he cannot help the instinct, the voice older and more insidious than Spite’s that prods and wonders if he had accidentally let slip his next location the last time he saw them, if somehow they were aware of where that boat was taking him-, tired of how even what is new is grating, a too warm touch on frostbitten skin –Rook’s smile and the warm tilt of her voice when she greets him with a simple Lucanis aren’t a lie, he knows, he knows, but a part of him that he wishes he could credit to Spite taunts him and tells him there's no safety in this, and he sometimes cannot argue with it-.

He is tired, tired of all of it. Of the room he has made his own that is at once entirely too small to breathe in and too big to keep under his control, of the ways in which he has had to adapt his training because even his body isn’t what it was, of the way it is with more than disgust that his stomach flips whenever he feels a mage draw upon blood magic. 

He is tired, tired of all the reminders of what he let them take from him in that prison, of what he let them turn him into. He is tired. 

And now try as he might to force his gaze to focus, his vision blurs and it gets harder to force his eyes open after every blink, and though he is almost screaming inside his head to stay alert, it is hard to remember why he should. 

He is one breath away from hooking his thumb into his palm and squeezing his hand into a fist so that the pain might make him alert again when, as if she had read his mind, as if she somehow knew, Rook turns her head to look at him and says, 

“You should sleep, not listen to me ramble about the skies of Thedas.” 

Instead of saying something stupid, like that he likes listening to her talk, Lucanis clears his throat and admits, 

“It’s alright. I won’t sleep tonight.” 

“Hey, Viago trusts me to keep watch. Viago,” She stresses, “Do you have any idea what that means?” 

“It’s not you I don’t trust, Rook,” Lucanis promises, before admitting, “Spite is stronger when I sleep.” 

“I feel like there must be a better solution than just…not sleeping.” 

“There is: getting rid of him,” He answers, and as expected, Spite is quick to make himself known again, (You can’t. You can’t even. Get! Out!). Lucanis grits his teeth, refusing to give the demon the satisfaction of a rebuttal. Instead, he chooses to promise, “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

She furrows her lips, and when she takes a breath to speak, she clicks her tongue slightly. He wonders if she is aware of how uncannily alike Viago’s own tells of concealed frustration her gestures are. 

“Your call,” She concedes, leaning back against the half-destroyed wall and fixing how the blanket lays over her legs. “Even if you don’t plan on sleeping, it can’t be comfortable staying in full armor the entire night. It’s safe here, we’ll see coming anyone stupid enough to try and attack.” 

“And you placed magical traps on the chokepoints leading here.” 

“Right. Mage-killer,” She chuckles. “I should stop forgetting that.” 

He feels a smile tugging at his lips at her words, and moves to undo the clasps by his neck and shoulders that secure the cloak to the rest of his armor. It takes a moment longer than it should, and something tightens in Lucanis’ stomach when he notices the faint tremble of his hands that complicates such a simple task. He tells himself that it will pass, that it is nothing. 

It is only when the cold air that lingers despite the fire grazes the newly exposed skin of his neck that he realizes how even such a small change is an opening he should know better than to give, a possibility for an attack he was trained not to allow. 

Not an hour ago Rook was brandishing a vial of poison, explaining her reasoning behind the ingredients with an ease only members of her House, namely her Talon, possess; and as he feels the cold air of a desert night hit the back of his neck he realizes he hadn’t even considered the few movements she would have to make in order to graze the newly-exposed skin with a poisoned blade before deciding to bare said skin. 

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Rook lean forward towards the roaring fire to fix the position of one of the logs, and he notices not only the exposed skin of her arm but the long line of her neck, exposed to any attempts on her life Lucanis could choose to make. 

He realizes then, how deliberate her choices in clothing back at the Lighthouse have been. A few buttons undone off the top of her shirt, rolled up sleeves, her hair pulled up to reveal her neck. They are all clear openings for any half-decent killer, not to mention any of the people she has brought into the Fade with her, Lucanis included. 

One of the first lessons he remembers learning was on an enemy’s openings. He remembers it well enough that he can still recall the ringing in his head from the hit that sent him to the ground after he mistook his trainer’s bait for a chance to win. 

Illario learned quite young to distract his enemies into making a mistake. A well-placed touch, a smile, to bait them into lowering their guard. If that fails, his cousin is willing to feign an injury, pretend an enemy’s attack unbalanced him more than it truly did, in order to get them to act rashly, to make mistakes. 

He has seen Rook do the same in battle, feign a stumble to goad a Venatori to come closer only to sneak a knife made of raw magic between their ribs, pretend to catch her breath with one knee on the ground so that an Antaam charges to deliver the finishing blow and she can take advantage of the reckless movement to send lightning into his bloodstream.  

For what is now shamefully a long amount of time, Lucanis thought her choices of clothing something similar. A dare, a display of strength, a bared throat to dare anyone to try and attack. He hadn’t considered it could have been a proof of trust instead. 

And he wonders now if he can offer the same. 

(Rook. Won’t. Hurt us.) 

For once, Spite’s sudden words don’t startle him, and he resists the urge to turn to look at him, to see if any of the almost-calm in the harsh voice of the demon is betrayed in his expression, if anything changes in the vacant light of his eyes when he speaks of her. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Spite’s head tilt to the side, not unlike a dog hearing an unfamiliar sound, as he watches her. The demon’s next words sound almost confused, 

(She can. She won’t.) 

If Spite is expecting Lucanis to provide an explanation he will be sorely disappointed, because Lucanis will admit he doesn’t fully understand it, understand her, either. 

He’s seen her cut through their enemies, from a Venatori ambusher to an Antaam brute, with impressive ease; he is certain even if she couldn’t kill Lucanis she could definitely make it hurt; he knew of her former Talon and knows the current one, so he knows she is well learned in inflicting pain. And while he knows she won’t hurt him, and he knows, he knows, that Spite’s earlier taunts of how suspicious it is that she isn’t willing to see him in pain when everyone else does are wrong and merely the demon’s attempt to get further into his head; he cannot help the instincts that often demand he defends himself against a threat he cannot sense but surely is coming, the irrational wish that his worst thoughts about his new companions, about her, were proven right if only for the expectation, the tension, to give way. 

Again Spite’s words reach him, but this time they sound more like an errant thought, like an absent observation, than anything said intentionally, 

(Rook. Answers my questions.) 

He takes a breath, and turns his left hand upwards to reach the lacing that runs through the underside of his bracers, intersected cords threaded together that he adjusted to the necessary tightness this morning. He reaches to undo the knot keeping them together, gritting his teeth at the faint tremble that once again makes it difficult. His hand keeps trembling, no matter how strongly he wills it to steady. 

It is the third time his trembling fingers fail to grasp properly at the cord threaded through the metal hoop of his left bracer that he feels his breathing quicken, his heartbeat start to pound in his ears. Entirely too alike a target’s response when they realize Lucanis is after them. Entirely too alike prey. 

Focus, damn it. 

He tries again, and again, and his grip isn’t precise enough, his hold slips, his hands are too unstable to manage such a simple task. 

(This is. Your fault.) 

Spite’s will surges, anger and something Lucanis doesn’t have a name for fueling the demon’s attempt to steal control of his body away from him. With a sharp breath through his nose and his own flare of anger, Lucanis refuses him again. 

(You fight me. Not them.) 

He refuses to answer, he refuses to acknowledge him, deciding to ignore him until he quietens again. He just needs Spite to be quiet, and his head to stop pounding, and his hands to stop fucking trembling. 

(You fight. And keep me. Locked away!) 

“Your hands are trembling.”  

Rook’s observation is a simple one, laced with confusion and perhaps a hint of worry, and the warmth in her voice when pointing out such thing isn’t familiar but the shame and dread that come with being witnessed like this are. 

He cannot find words to answer her with, and in the silence that stretches thin between them, in the rush of his heartbeat in his own ears, he hears echoes of a voice that brought a humiliating kind of fear to his heart whenever he heard it approaching his cell, 

There’s no point, you know.  

And Zara’s echo repeats words she taunted him with many times before, but being able to look at nothing but the armor that he cannot remove and the faint trembling of his hands that he cannot hide, now more than ever the words feel true, 

Nothing awaits you anymore. You’re long dead. 

(She will. Be right! If you. Don’t. Get out!) 

Spite’s voice reverberates in his head, his attempts to make Lucanis obey his commands feeling like sharp hits to his chest, forcing air out of lungs that aren’t yet ready to relent precious air. 

(You promised! Get out!) 

His eyes are trained on the intersected cords of the bracer, and he wants to try again, to reach for the lacing again and try, and succeed. He wants to try again, he needs to try again, but Spite prods and shoves and demands, and it’s all he can do to struggle for control -control he doesn’t have, who is he fooling, he attempts to control a demon yet he cannot even make his own hands obey him-, gritting his teeth. 

(Get out! Get out!) 

The demon grows more and more agitated, desperate. His head feels as if it is about to be split in two, his chest pinned under the weight of all that he let them do, all that they took, all that he failed, and he can’t… 

(Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout) 

“Enough!” The snarled order seems to resonate in the nothingness that surrounds them, too loud in his own ears and at the same time too easily drowned out by the crushing silence of this place. 

To his surprise, Spite relents. 

Lucanis ceases in the pointless attempts to remove the piece of armor with a breath that resonates in his head like the dying rattle of a target whose throat collapsed under his grip, his hands dropping to his lap with the defeated slump of a body giving up a fight when cold steel runs across a fragile neck.

The silence that follows this small defeat feels oppressive, like the faint but constant reverberations of the weight of a whole ocean atop a prison. 

This place is quiet, nothing but a faint crackling of dying flames and the beating of his own heart in his ears, and try as he might to hear something else -something that doesn’t remind him of that place, something that doesn’t make the last few weeks feel like a well-manufactured hallucination, something that doesn’t make him feel as if he’s still strapped to that table while blood magic ravages what was left of his body still in his own control- he can hear nothing. 

Because he knows nothing else, he brings a trembling hand to his inner forearm and tries again. Because even if he isn’t anything else, he is this. 

The rustling of clothing, and he turns sharply to the side, a breath he couldn’t control in time entering his lungs too loudly, giving away too much. Rook now sits right beside him, eyes on him with none of the pity he expected, none of the disgust or dissapointment he deserves. 

She just folds her legs underneath her and extends a hand, 

“I can do it.” 

To have failed like this, to have let her see him like this…he cannot help but think it a defeat, a loss of something he foolishly believed he could keep. 

He told himself he would perform as was expected of him, be what he is supposed to be -what he was, he reminds himself, but it is harder to remember a time he didn’t feel a fraud-. He told himself he was better than this.

He also told himself, once, that he wouldn’t give the Venatori the satisfaction of hearing him scream but the agony they inflicted upon his body clawed its way out of his throat eventually, that he wouldn’t fall for their tricks but they used blood magic to put Illario’s face on a corpse they threw at his feet and even after leaving that place sometimes this dread and grief fill him, that he would leave that place and return home but he isn’t sure he did leave it at all sometimes and home is still there but he isn’t sure he is.  

A slight movement, a faint wiggle of Rook’s fingers halfway between encouraging and impatient, as she holds her outstretched hand between them, palm up. Deliberate. Expectant.  

(Safe.) 

To think of accepting, it feels like failure, it feels like reprieve. Like fear, like hope. 

He puts his hand on hers. 

Rook turns his hand with gentleness but no hesitancy, deft fingers quickly starting to make work of the lacing. 

“I trust your judgement,” She starts. “So if you tell me I shouldn’t worry, I won’t. But I want to help if I can, Lucanis.” 

He didn’t realize his breaths were stilled until he takes in air in order to answer. 

“It’s…” He should dismiss the concern, grit his teeth and close his hand into a fist and remind her -remind himself also, perhaps- that it is his problem to solve, that he will fix it without causing trouble. But his gaze lingers on Rook, on her downturned gaze as she focuses on her task, his eyes trailing over the shade her lashes cast on her skin, the curve of her nose, lingering on that almost imperceptible furrow of her lips, and Lucanis hesitates. Her hands are still holding gently onto his own, one of her hands underneath his, holding his arm -palm up, vulnerable, expectant-, as her other hand works at the fastenings of his bracer, and Lucanis gives in, “It’s…because of Spite.” 

“Oh?” Big eyes lift to meet his, momentarily distracted from her work, and the weight of her gaze, of the warmth and certainty that she always gives away with her eyes alone, is enough to make him turn away. 

“He has been…a problem, as of late. I try not to sleep, to keep him from overpowering me, but it has it’s consequences,” He admits. He feels somewhere in the back of his mind echoes of the same protests the demon voiced before. He ignores him, and adds, “I-…this will pass, this isn’t-…I can still work, I’m not…affected in any way that will compromise my efficiency.” 

“I don’t doubt that, Lucanis,” She promises, but something like sadness seems to cling to her voice. She has finished with the piece of armor in his left arm, and discards it to the side, silently requesting his other hand. He obliges, and the weight of shame feels a little lighter this time. She starts working, repeating the same process as before. A breath, and Rook quips, “So it’s the eleven cups of coffee a day, then?” 

A laugh is almost startled out of his chest, but all that he manages is an exhale that in another life might have been a chuckle. The pitiful attempt at laughter still makes Rook’s shoulders drop slightly, like Bellara’s giggles do, like Neve’s sighs, like Harding’s ringing laughter, as if whatever he is able to offer is somehow enough.  

“Among other things.” 

To his surprise, Rook smiles, and he could swear the breath that leaves her lips is relieved. 

“I’ll admit, it’s-…well, it’s not good, but it’s far from the worst,” She admits, lowering her gaze to her work again, “I thought it was because of the Venatori, because of…well…” 

It is unlike her to choose her words, so he provides, “Torture?” 

“Any decent captor knows where to cut. A shallow cut to draw blood for blood magic, a single stab to bleed a victim out fast, a serrated blade to the right place and they can’t run,” She lists out, a momentary furrow of her nose that doesn’t linger enough for Lucanis to discern if it is born from disgust or anger. “Blood mages know better than most, I’d wager.” 

The last of the lacings is undone, the pressure of the bracer giving way. 

“The likes of Zara like to believe they won, like to gloat about their success,” He explains. He notices Spite pacing somewhere past the dying fire, and hears his angry hiss, (They Like. To break. To hurt. Cut pieces.). He ignores him, and focuses on explaining to Rook, “Doing something like that would have been an admission that she couldn’t defeat me fairly.” 

Her face scrunches up in disagreement, or perhaps merely anger, he cannot be sure. Rook pulls the bracer off his arm with one hand, dropping it in her lap while her other hand still supports Lucanis’. 

“Not much fairness with blood magic and a traitor giving her a chance to capture you, but I don’t expect sound logic from Venatori.” She states, tone clipped.

Her job is done, Lucanis knows he should move. It is beyond selfish, shamefully weak, but there’s solace here, in this small moment, and he doesn’t want to let go of it. So he doesn’t move. 

To his surprise, neither does Rook. Even after her free hand discards the removed bracer off to the side, it returns to his arm, fingers dancing idly over the bare skin of his wrist. 

“The Crows did it to my m-…to Drusilla, when she was in Velabanchel,” Her touch is delicate, featherlight, as if the gesture is thoughtless to her. He thinks of how easily she could summon the magic she wields in battle to her fingertips again, how easily a shot of lightning could follow the soft trail of her fingers over the inside of his wrist. Rook continues, her fingers trailing over a cut she imagines, a cut she knows how to make yet doesn’t, “Sliced right through the tendons, cauterized the wound so she wouldn’t bleed out, so it would heal wrong. She could never hold a knife properly again.” 

Lucanis has the errant thought that it would be preferrable, the lightning and the pain, over whatever it is her touch is doing to him now, with its gentleness, with its lingering warmth. It feels like an admission of defeat, of having lost something he didn’t even know could be lost, that he struggles to understand why, with the knowledge of how to hurt, with ample opportunity to do so, Rook simply refuses to. 

Perhaps he loses himself in his head too long and loses his chance to answer, perhaps she wasn’t expecting him to say anything at all, but Rook lifts her head to meet his eyes and lets go of his hand. Bereft of the touch of hers, it feels heavier. Colder. 

“Thank you, Rook.” Even to his own ears it sounds more like an apology than gratitude. 

Uncharacteristically, she hesitates for a fraction of a breath before answering. Her eyes jump between his for a moment before she leans and grabs at the mageknife resting on top of its sheath by the whetstone Lucanis sharpened it with earlier. 

Holding the knife on one hand and his bracer on the other, Rook offers the piece of armor back to him. When he takes it, she offers a smile, wide and warm and hers. 

He would like to blame it on Spite, but he knows it is something older, something born from endless days spent without food and barely any sleep, trailing the mark Caterina had set for him, studying a target -the cadence of their steps, the people they gravitated towards, the mistakes they made- until he found at least one sufficiently reliable weakness he could exploit; something resulting from stinging hits of a cane to the backs of his legs, the palms of his hands, if Caterina had set a test by changing something -a different shade in the curtains, a faded stain on the floor under the rug, a faint scent that isn’t familiar- in his room and he failed to notice; that makes him able to remember things with such clarity. 

Lucanis remembers. He remembers every name Zara mentioned, even those said in passing, even those said only once. He vowed to find them, he made a deal, with the demon stuck in his head, with the man he was that he is sometimes certain died in that place, to see them all die by his hand. 

He remembers every word his captors said, every insult spat in his direction, every taunt and every humiliation. He remembers the reason behind every new scar and the taste of the fear they managed to draw from him. He remembers each memory Zara’s Dreamer pulled from his unconscious mind and each corpse they dressed with an echo of home with their blood magic. 

And he remembers Rook, and how jarring it was to see her in the Ossuary, how antithetical her presence in that place seemed even then. He remembers she was the first person to say his name in over a year and not make it sound like a call for a dog to heel, like a taunt or a reminder of his powerlessness in that place, like an insult, like fingers prodding at a wound. He remembers her standing slightly in front of Bellara as if to protect her -from the Venatori? From him? He isn’t sure he wants to know-, and the warmth in her voice even though her eyes were wide and she was gripping tightly onto the mageknife in her hand. He remembers her quick acquiescence to getting the blood the Venatori had used to control him and then joining him in taking down Calivan. He remembers her smile, wide and bright and a mirror of the one she offers now, and he remembers her words, I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. 

So now he accepts the words she doesn’t say, and he doesn’t argue, even though he knows he should, feels he should, to her unspoken promise that they are even. 

She moves to put her knife away by her belongings, and her eye catches on the vial of poison she left nearby after explaining her use of Felandaris to Spite. 

“You said Spite…smelled the ingredients I used in poisons on me.” 

The demon forgets any previous attempt at calm, but Lucanis was almost expecting the forceful attempt to wrestle control from him, so Spite scoffs in complaint but relents. 

Lucanis’ brow furrows, but he answers anyways, “Yes.” 

Rook offers a thoughtful hum and returns to where she was sitting by his side. 

“Do you think he could…smell for the Warden? Follow the scent of the blight in his blood or something?” 

“He’s not a bloodhound.” 

But Spite cares not for any of Lucanis’ arguments, eager and forceful as he demands,

(I want. To try.) 

There’s a taunting smile curving at Rook’s lips, eyes narrowed as she reminds him, “He helped you find your blood in the prison, and I very clearly remember you sniffing the air, Lucanis.” 

(Rook wants. Us to try.) 

He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that the demon quite unabashedly simply wants to please Rook. 

“I…don’t think it will work,” He offers. He also doesn’t know what to do with the realization that Lucanis also quite unabashedly simply wants to please Rook, but before he can think twice about it, words are tripping past an eager tongue, “But we can try in the morning, if you want.” 

Thank you for reading, it was really fun to write! I would love to know what you thought of this!

[choccyhearts]

(18+!!)

this warm weather's really getting to my head...

so just imagine, it's a nice warm day, bordering on hot

and so you decide to wear short shorts that hug each curve and lump perfectly, and a cute crop top that frames your boobs nicely

and you meet the gang for a little picnic get together, which includes eddie and steve in attendance

and while you're having fun and enjoying the tasty dishes your friends have made, poooor eddie and steve can't stop admiring your body

the way your boobs bounce and jiggle each time you laugh at one of robin's quips, the way your butt presses against your heels as you sit up in excitement as nancy tells you about a groundbreaking story she's working on, the way your lips wrap around the straw of your lemonade, the sinful way you lick your fingers after eating a piece of fresh, juicy fruit

they're both going insane

they give each other a look that, although they've never shared it before, they both understand what the other means

what the other needs

they excuse themselves to go to the bathroom, nobody paying any attention as you've proposed a game of badminton

despite the disgusting nature of a park bathroom, neither man really care to notice as they each race into a stall

the sound of zippers unzipping and the jingling of belts and buttons echoes in the empty room

in unison, they pull down their pants and underwear, eddie hissing at the cold air now touching his most private area and steve groaning at the glorious feeling of freedom

they both grasp their dicks and begin stroking, each of them softly whining and humming every once in a while

if one were to walk by, they'd mistake it for singing

steve opens his hand with his dick sitting in the middle of his palm and spits

eddie strokes his precum all down his length

"ohhhhh, jesus christ", eddie breathes

"i know...holy shit", steve replies

"wanna know somethin?" steve grunts in response "this isn't the first time i've done something like this over her"

"ohhhh, i definitely have before", steve chuckles

both of them speed up their movements, private exclamations of curse words and your name leave their lips

"fuck...im so fucking close....how the hell does she have this much power?"

"mmmm, i have no idea...but if this what she does without knowing...ffuuck...imagine what she's like trying to get us off intentionally", steve whispers

eddie chuckles, imagining you in the stall with him, showing him anything he needs to make him cum

steve imagines your hand in place of his as he holds you up against him so you don't have to touch the disgusting floor or stall

in sync, they both prop their arms against a stall wall, heaving with clenched shut eyes

"oh christ, im bout to-"

"oh im right there too"

they both moan as they feel their climaxes

eddie can't open his eyes, too far gone in bliss. his tongue sticks out a bit as he milks his cock for all that it's worth, hearing his seed spill into the toilet water below with little splashes. he feels his balls sway with each tug he gives and he can only dream of how they'd feel slamming against your ass

steve tosses his head back, mouth open. he can't be bothered checking if his aim is right because he could care less about painting the toilet prettily. he'd rather be painting you with his cum. he fucks his hand with his dick, imagining his hips bouncing against yours as he buries himself as deep as he can go inside you

both men give a few shakes of their dicks before flushing the toilets (although steve attempts to wipe his cum off of the seat with the cheap toilet paper before giving up)

they redress themselves and exit their stalls, avoiding eye contact with one another when they wash their hands

as they walk back over to their friends, you turn and wave at them

"geez, what took you so long? i thought one of you might've fallen in", you giggle

"ugh, it was the cheese we got, wasn't it?", robin groans. "ya know, for a guy who's lived a more luxurious life than the rest of us, it's embarrassing you can't handle fancy cheese, dingus..."

nancy rolls her eyes as she sets up to serve the shuttlecock again

you turn away from the guys, completely unaware it was you who had done them in...

[loveywon]

♡𓂃 BREAK MY HEART AGAIN !

part 2 here!

pairing: jungwon x (gn) reader x niki

wc: 3.3k+

synopsis: you cant help but let jungwon break your heart. again. (inspired by let you break my heart again by laufey!)

warnings: ANGST, high school au, cursing i think i cant remember, sullyoon (nmixx) mentioned, not proofread, ANGST AGAIN BIG WARNING SRSLY, niki loves reader so bad, jungwon is kinda mean but not intentionally, reader needs to open their eyes srsly

a/n: everyone say thank u laufey for putting out one of the best songs ever!!! also this fic did NOT turn out the way i planned it.. niki wasnt even supposed to be in here😭 and the ending was also not planned PLS

“I’m sorry, Y/n, I can’t date you right now…” Jungwon says awkwardly, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck as he avoids eye contact with you. You should have expected this, really. The evidence was all right in front of you, but you chose to ignore it. 

“That’s fine! I know that you can’t…I just wanted to let you know,” you smiled up at him, despite his avoidant eyes. Jungwon nods at you, his kind and soft eyes meeting yours. He knows you, and he knows that your smile doesn’t reach your eyes like they normally do whenever he would crack a lame joke or when he would do something affectionate towards you. 

His lips curve into a slight smile, although the corner of his eyes don’t crinkle up. “Maybe in a few years, yeah? We’ll still be friends, Y/n. I could never leave you.” He promises, he promised. So why, three years later, you’re standing in the hallway while you see Jungwon mess with some girl’s hair that’s not your own? 

Niki jogs up to you, not reading the full situation since he arrived at school late (again). “Y/n! Did you see the fight out..side…” his eyes follow where your own are staring at, and he frowns. He doesn’t say anything, but instead he decides to direct your attention to something else. “Y/n! We’re gonna be late to history, c’mon!” He ushers, though he could care less about being late to history.

You met Niki a year after Jungwon rejected you, and you immediately introduced him to your friend group after. You never told him about your feelings for Jungwon, although you didn’t need to. Niki knew – after all, it was quite obvious with the way you swooned and giggled whenever Jungwon would do literally anything. 

Niki tugs on your arm like a little kid until you get annoyed, finally tearing your gaze away from Jungwon and the other girl talking. He smiles at you, but you don’t return it. You keep your head down, walking side by side with your friend as you look over your shoulder, still wishing that it was you with Jungwon instead of her. 

You weren’t the one three years ago, and you’re not the one now. 

Your hands ball into a fist after you were too far down the hall to see Jungwon clearly, and Niki is still rambling about something mindlessly while you’re buried in your own thoughts. You almost bump into another student and Niki has to drag your arm closer to him so you don’t crash into someone. 

“Y/n,” he whines out in a drag, wanting you to pay attention to him. You reply with a hum, not in the mood to say much after seeing Jungwon with someone else that isn’t you. 

The frown finds its way back onto his features, swinging your arm with his hand that’s gripped onto your forearm. “Wanna come over tonight? My mom let me buy this new game after saving up and I wanna show you!” He replaces the frown with a smile when you finally look at him. You give him a slight grin which makes him beam, but your following words cause his eyes to drop.

“I can’t, me and Jungwon are studying for bio tonight at my place. Maybe tomorrow? And we can go to that cafe you wanted to bring me last week too,” you offer with a tilt of your head.

It’s always like this. It’s always Jungwon first to you. At this point, Niki’s used to it and he almost expects you to hang out with him the next day. He supposes that next time, he’ll just have to ask you earlier before Jungwon does. 

Niki nods, giving a smaller smile this time before the both of you walk into your class. 

“Jungwon, hey!” You wave excitedly down the hall where Jungwon awaits by his locker for you. He leans off his locker, his head looking up from his phone as he spots you. He waves back at you, a smile gracing his features. Niki is following close behind you, but he’s too busy on his phone and doesn’t give Jungwon a form of greeting before he’s actually face to face with him.

“Okay, I’m gonna go, see you tomorrow, Y/n,” Niki says goodbye to you and gives Jungwon a nod before leaving.

“Ready to spend five hours reading a textbook?” You try to joke, nudging Jungwon lightly with your elbow, but instead of giving a lighthearted laugh and returning your joke, he’s glancing at his phone and smiles down at the screen.

You look away, your bottom lip in between your teeth. This was so awkward. After Jungwon rejected you, he actually never did get with anyone else, but he has been talking to a few people here and there throughout your high school career, so you were used to this routine. But he’s never smiled at a text before. 

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” Jungwon asked after putting his phone in his back pocket. You know he doesn’t do this on purpose – there is no mean bone in Jungwon for him to ever do something like this to purposely and intentionally hurt you. It’s one of the many reasons why you love him, you suppose. 

“Oh, nothing,” you mumble as you look away, the two of you walking down the sidewalk. You don’t notice this, but you always have to match his pace to walk side by side as his legs naturally walk fast because of his busy schedule, being in multiple sports and clubs. “Are you prepared for this week’s test?”

“What? We have a test this week?!” Jungwon panics, almost halting in his steps to look at you as you struggle to catch up with him. “Yeah! It’s on Friday…it’s literally in three days. You didn’t know?” You ask. This is the first. Normally Jungwon is the one to remind you of a test in your one shared class together.

“Shit,” he curses, running a hand through his hair. You two continue walking to your house and you laugh a little to ease up his sudden stressed mood. “It’s okay! That’s why we’re studying today, right? I’ll help you,” you smile, giving him a reassuring thumbs up, “but this is the first time you don’t know of a test, are you feeling okay?” You chuckle in a joking manner, turning the lock on the door and letting him enter first inside your home.

“Yeah…guess I got distracted,” he muttered. He makes his way straight to your room, knowing where it is as he’s been over more than enough times. You follow behind him, closing your door as you drop your backpack onto the floor.

“Distracted? From what?” You expect his answer to be something like ‘Oh, just sports’, so his answer knocks the wind out of you.

“I’m planning to ask out Sullyoon…” he trails off, not wanting to meet your eyes. He didn’t want to hide anything from you, you were his best friend! But when he takes a slight peek at you, and notices that your jaw is agape and your eyes no longer twinkling like they normally do whenever you look at him, why does he feel guilty? Was that even the right word to describe the ache in his heart when he sees your smile falter, eyes gazing down at your hands? Look at me, please, he thinks to himself, but he’s not sure if he really wants to see your sad eyes look at him like he was the worst thing that has ever happened to you.

You think, in a way, he is. But you know yourself well enough to know that you’d let Jungwon in your heart no matter how many times he breaks it.

He wants to change the subject, maybe back to biology because he actually wants to get a good score, but his first priority will always be you, and he doesn’t want to belittle your feelings just because of a silly little test grade that will barely affect his overall percentage, anyway. 

“Is…is that okay?” He asks after some silence, unsure on how to approach this. You blink, eyes still staring at the ground, but you quickly look at him after he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You say, which catches him off-guard. “Jungwon…you can date whoever you want. Why are you asking me as if you’re asking permission or something,” you laugh it off, but you feel like you’re really more fighting your inner demons rather than seeing it as no big deal.

You’re too nice, Jungwon thinks. He doesn’t deserve you, he really doesn’t. A smile appears on his face, dimples and all showing on his cheeks. “Really?” He says excitedly, and it hurts you even more to see that he’s so excited to ask out Sullyoon. “So, you’ll help me ask her out? Cause I don’t really know what to do, honestly.” He asks, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart a million times.

You can’t say no. Not to Jungwon. And you hate him for that. 

“Sure.” You smile. 

The following day, you keep your promise to Niki and go to the café he wanted to show you and to see his new game. Although your mood is obviously deflated after last night’s study session with Jungwon, Niki decides to make it his life mission to make you smile and laugh. 

“Oh my gosh, this strawberry croissant looks so good,” you gasp, bending down slightly as you look through the clear glass that showcases many different pastries. 

“I know! When I came here a few weeks ago, I knew you would like it. We can get it and share, if you want!” Niki offers, giving a smile as you point and admire every pastry. 

“Really??” You look up at him, toothy smile and all, and he nods in response. He pays, because he would buy the moon for you if it meant seeing you smile. He thinks Jungwon wouldn’t do the same for you. 

You two enjoy the pastry, giggling about whatever happened at school that day or complaining about the overwhelming amount of homework your teachers assigned before walking to his home to check out his game. 

Niki thinks he successfully distracted you from whatever was bugging you since last night (he already has a hunch that it’s because of Jungwon), but you’re walking slower than you usually do and your head is slightly lowered. It’s probably not obvious to others that you’re in a sour mood, but it’s definitely obvious to Niki. 

“Y/n,” he starts, but you cut him off before he says anything else. 

“Jungwon wants to ask Sullyoon out,” you blurt, looking up at him with your bottom lip jutted out like you’re about to cry, and you feel like you are. Niki thinks he’s never felt his emotions affected by someone before. 

“Oh,” is all he says, because what exactly can he say? He’s mad, yes. He’s mad at Jungwon, because he can’t seem to understand why Jungwon would ever choose anyone over you. 

“And I’m helping him by asking her,” you breathe out, like it's the hardest thing you’ve ever said in your entire life. Scratch that — confessing to Jungwon was the hardest thing. 

“Oh.” Niki’s not good at comforting, but he wants to, so bad, for you, he would learn every language in the world. 

“He’s never…Jungwon’s never liked someone enough to ask them out. But I—“ your voice breaks and Niki swears a part of him breaks as well. You guys finally reach his house, and he gestures for you to enter first with a tilt of his head. You enter, walking straight to his room because you know his house like the back of his hand. 

You then realize; Jungwon’s always over at yours, but you’ve been in his house once and it was only to drop off homework from when he was feeling sick and you didn’t even go in. You have no idea what his house looks like, but you know every knick knack about Niki’s. 

As you two enter his room, he sits on the edge of his bed and pats the spot next to him. He may not be good at words, but he can offer a comforting shoulder. You give a slight, but weak, smile in appreciation and you sit next to him and instantly lean your head on his shoulder like it’s nature. 

This isn’t the first time, and Niki knows this won’t be the last time that you use him as comfort whenever Jungwon talks to someone new. He’s okay with that. He’ll wait for you like you wait for Jungwon. 

“Niki,” you say his name for the first time the entire day. You’re not crying, you already wasted enough tears on Jungwon. 

“Hm?” Niki hums, his fingers playing with your own, and it’s a little too intimate for Niki’s usual liking, but he’s willing to step out of his boundaries for you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and even though you don’t clarify what you’re thanking him for, Niki knows. He knows that you’re thanking him for being with you for two years, pining after Jungwon and using Niki as a shoulder to cry on. 

His eyes droop down, and he’s upset that he met you. He’s upset he met you in this universe, where you’re hung up on your crush on Jungwon, and not another where you two can live happily ever after, without Jungwon plaguing your mind. 

Niki vividly remembers the time you two met. It was in ceramics class, and you were there because you genuinely liked pottery and he was there because he just had to fulfill his visual arts credit. He struggled on the wheel, the clay always never staying up because he made it too thin every time. You noticed him struggling after observing for a week straight, and decided to finally lend a helping hand. 

After that, he followed you around school and walked with you to your classes (with Jungwon, of course, he’s always with you), and now you’re just used to his presence and he’s used to yours. What started off as a mere friendship, he’s now attached to you, despite knowing that you will never see him the same way you see Jungwon. 

A week later after helping Jungwon with a plan to ask Sullyoon out, it was unfolding right in front of you. With Jungwon’s back facing you, and seeing Sullyoon’s face beam with light when Jungwon asked her if she wanted to be his girlfriend, you visibly cringe. 

You just didn’t understand. What did she have that you didn’t, and why did Jungwon want her, and not you, who has been by his side ever since fifth grade? It’s been three years since you’ve confessed – you thought you’d get over it by now, but seeing them hug affectionately in front of you, made your eyes drop to the ground, hands balled up into a fist as you fight against any bitter emotions bubbling in your chest. 

You don’t notice that Niki is watching from afar. He had just gotten out of detention, and didn’t expect to see you in the school halls an hour after school had ended. He almost got excited, perhaps you were waiting for him to get out of detention so you could go to the cafe together again, or maybe you wanted to see his video game that you didn’t see last week!

But then, he sees Jungwon and Sullyoon hugging and your still figure watching them. He frowns deeply. Why do you still stick around? He supposes he should know the answer. He sticks around for you, so there’s no difference between you and him, really. 

You turn on your heel and leave the school, not saying goodbye to Jungwon or Sullyoon. You think if you see Jungwon turning to you with a bright smile that you know is not from you, you’ll start crying. 

Niki follows behind silently, not wanting Jungwon to notice him as he follows you out of the school. He catches up to you, despite your rushed pace because you want to get far away from where the love of your life and his now girlfriend is. 

“Y/n! Hey…” He says, jogging up to you and matching your pace when he’s side by side with you. 

You looked up at him, shocked. You forgot he had detention, so he must’ve gotten out right when Jungwon had asked Sullyoon out. You turn away, hair falling forward to cover your eyes. “Hi.”

He frowns again. “You want my shoulder?” He offers.

You smile slightly, it’s such a weak smile, and Niki knows that, but he appreciates your efforts. “If that’s okay with you.” 

You find yourself in your living room with Niki, head buried into his shoulder as you cry, because you just can’t wrap your head around the fact that Jungwon said he’d date you in a few years. He promised! He never broke promises. He promised in fifth grade when you two met that he’d never leave your side and that you’d always be first to him. You suppose he broke two promises now. 

Niki’s softly playing with your hair, not looking at you. He can’t look at you in this state, because when you cry, he wants to cry too. He wishes you could see that he’s been here, and maybe not as long as Jungwon, but he thinks that he knows you more than Jungwon does. 

You know that you’ll let Jungwon break your heart again. 

You think that one day, you’ll find someone who will like you like you like Jungwon.

Niki thinks that one day, you’ll realize that he sees you more than a friend and a shoulder to cry on.

Someday, one day, you’ll let Jungwon stop breaking your heart, but Niki knows that he’ll follow closely behind you, picking up every small piece and treasure it like his life depends on it. 

You end up falling asleep on Niki’s shoulder after crying on it for what feels like hours. Niki knows his shirt is slightly damp, but he doesn’t mind. You’re softly snoring, your body leaned against him. He knows you must’ve been exhausted. He knows you helped Jungwon the best you could, despite the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him, and he hates that you did that, but he also loves you for it.

Jungwon is excitedly opening your front door, because he knows he’s welcomed into your home any time he pleases, but as he’s going towards your room, he finds Niki on your couch. He’s confused, but he doesn’t question until he spots pieces of your hair from over the couch. 

Niki doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to wake you, but he looks at Jungwon with a pointed expression, and Jungwon knows immediately what Niki was trying to express. He frowns, not at Niki, but at himself. He didn’t realize that he affected you this much, he had a feeling that you didn’t move on from him but he also didn’t think that you were still this caught up on him.

He feels terrible, he feels like absolute shit, because he also realizes that he broke two of his promises. Then, something else swirls in his gut as you shift in your sleep, head burying into Niki’s neck. He doesn’t understand this feeling, and a part of him doesn’t want to. 

He’s with Sullyoon now, isn’t he? So why, is he standing in the middle of your home, with jealousy stirring in his chest? 

part 2 is here!

taglist!: @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs

[mins-fins]

OCEAN EYES (S.HB)

SUMMARY . . . you'd never really be his first choice, or the person he'd like to be seen with, only she would, even if hanbin professed his love for you, it was never really true.

PAIRING . . . sung hanbin x male!reader

GENRE . . . angst

WARNINGS . . . insecurities, bullying, mentions of bruises, hanbin is manipulative, reader deserves better

WORD COUNT . . . 2.2k

NOTES . . . um hi… this has been in my drafts for a while and this is one of my only free days so have this as a sorry for not posting for a while :)) (except it's insanely angsty anyways)

"i love you".

if those words weren't the biggest lie you've ever heard, you don't know what is.

you like to assume that your not boring, because if you were that boring hanbin would barely glance your way, he wouldn't even think of talking to you, kissing you. sung hanbin shouldn't be interested in you, it makes no sense.

there are thousands of other people who deserve hanbin, that fit better with him, that aren't as antisocial as you, that aren't shut ins that hide during school in fear of being bullied, that aren't so embarrassing that their partner feels the need to kiss a girl to hide you from the public eye.

hanbin is popular, there's no doubt about that. he knows everybody, everybody knows him, everybody loves him, and you can't blame any of those people. is there anything hanbin is bad at? he seems to have no flaws, he's always the first one to volunteer, the first one to help others, the first one people think of when they say the word "kind".

hanbin and his perfect smile, his perfect laugh, his perfect voice, his perfect personality, his perfect EVERYTHING.

you'll never know how you scored him.

and honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he just up and left you.

jealousy is a bad thing, your mom always told you growing up, you shouldn't let it consume you, y/n, but that's so difficult to do whenever you see hanbin kissing her in the halls, running his hands through her hair and telling her that she's the only girl in the world.

you have to hand it to him, his impersonation of a straight person is on point.

you get hanbin for the most part, his beautiful reputation would be shattered if anyone found out that he was secretly seeing the weird kid from class b. you'd do the same if you were in his shoes, because no one wants to be seen with the weird kid.

still, it's difficult to not feel your heart shatter every time you see the two of them together, looking so perfect and happy, you should be angry, but in the end you just feel depressed, because hanbin would never display his love so publicly for you like that.

just hearing him talk to her makes you want to burst into tears, because why can't it be you? why can't it be you who gets to experience love from hanbin like that? why is he ashamed to be seen with you? why can't just be seen as something other than the weird kid so that for once, he won't feel ashamed about loving you?

maybe it's better this way, you say in your mind.

but you know it's not, y/n, he doesn't really love you, and you know that, he's just dragging you around because he feels bad, he pities you.

you always try your best to avoid those thoughts when they blast in your head. you know they're right, that it's true. if hanbin loved you, would he even care what other people think? it makes no sense that he fears being seen with you even though everyone would still love him regardless.

every time you look at him, your eyes holding a strong look of fondness, all you can think of is how he looks at you behind closed doors. you always feel your breath hitch when he walks past you in the hallway, and he pretends he doesn't know you, doesn't even regard your existence.

the first few times were okay, you could deal with him avoiding eye contact with you, the eye rolls did make you frown a bit, and so did the snickers, but hanbin loves you, he'd never do anything to intentionally hurt you.

sometimes, you don't get how you forgive him, especially in the worst of situations.

like last week, it was like every other week, you did your best to avoid people who'd potentially punch you in the face, because it had become a staple in your life at this point to do that.

but alas, you have absolutely shitty luck.

it didn't take long for you to get cornered, smashed against a locker, and have a bloody face in the spam of a few seconds. it was painful, yes, but all you could do was wince, every time you did try to defend yourself, you'd get in more trouble than the people that picked on you first.

most people who saw the scene walked past it, or took a photo, or laughed, or just ignored you, and you honestly expected it, but your heart still broke at the way no one thought to help you.

but your heart practically stops when hanbin walks around the corner, and by the look on his face, his does too.

he pauses in his steps, his face practically paling at the sight. he knows that you get horribly bullied everyday, he can tell by the bruises that show up on your body every now and then, but he never says anything in specific about it.

the boys beating you up stop for a second, they're faces paling as soon as they see hanbin. hanbin advocates for no bullying, he was a spokesperson for that very assembly, and they just knew they were in big trouble.

you look to hanbin, tears in your eyes as you wipe the snot running down your nose. he doesn't look over at you, shutting his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. "can you two move? your standing in front of the staircase".

you let out a small gasp, but hanbin's face remains unmoving, the two boys bullying you obediently move out of the way, and so do you. hanbin doesn't spare you a glance, and just walks ahead, making his way down the stairs.

you see? he left you, he doesn't care.

you could barely even pay attention as the nurse was patching up your bruises, all you thought about was how hanbin disregarded you, walked past you like you were nothing, ignored your helplessness and went on with his day like he had nothing to lose.

"you know y/n, i wouldn't even be mad if you began hitting back again" the nurse comments, wiping rubbing alcohol on your bruise as she always does.

"i don't wanna be like the aggressor" you whisper, too hurt to speak loudly.

you wanted to ask hanbin about it, you were screaming in your mind to ask him about it, especially as you lied in his arms later that evening, listening to the random videos he was watching on his phone.

you were about to ask, when hanbin instead interrupted you.

"you know i don't want to hurt you, right?" he says, and you want to punch him, so bad. he tilts your chin up with his index finger, and this time he doesn't avoid eye contact with you. "you really are important to me, y/n, i was just very confused in that moment, i had no idea what to do".

lies, he's such a liar.

you hate the way you always fall for his words, you hate the way he can always easily coax you into thinking what he did wasn't bad, you wanted to punch yourself for forgiving him, because your so stupid thinking those words have any real meaning.

it's just an excuse, he wants an excuse for ignoring you, he wants an excuse for dismissing you like you were nothing.

you open your mouth to respond, but hanbin's hands run through your hair, and you feel a tear stream down your cheek, you didn't even know why your crying. stupid emotions, stupid—

hanbin presses a thumb to your cheek, wiping the tears from your cheek. "no need to cry, pretty" he whispers, giving you nothing but a small peck. "you know i love you, right?"

you barely nod, just laying your head down onto his chest, you hate that you find comfort in the way his hands wrap around you, and how he plants a kiss on your head. you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

fake fake fake fake everything.

the way everything unfolds should be enough to you, because someone who loved you would never do that to you would never do that, would they?

but he hugs you, and comforts you, and whispers sweet words into your eyes whenever you break down.

but he does all of those things for her as well.

and well— you feel bad for her, yeah you still do feel jealousy running through your veins, but she doesn't deserve hanbin, she deserves better, not only because he's cheating on her with.. you, but he's such a fucking fake, and you can't fathom how heartbroken she's gonna feel when she figures out everything about you two.

and maybe, for the sake of her, doing this would be a much less painful task.

"do you love me?"

a week after the whole bullying incident, you ask hanbin. he pauses, turning off his phone and looking over at you. the look on his face suggests that he's humored, he finds it funny that you have the confidence to ask such a question. "what kind of question is that y/n?"

you can never identify what kind of tone hanbin holds these days, the only thing you can really tell are his expressions, and it hurts because all you see are grimaces and snickers, no lovely expressions like the ones you stare at him with.

"just, answer it" your voice is shaky, and hanbin is clearly resisting the urge to laugh at how pathetic you look at the moment. he pretends to think about it, but you already know what he's gonna say, because those are the same words he uses all the time when you ask this question.

"what makes you think i don't?" bingo. "i only truly have eyes for you".

his words are such a pain to hear, because after everything he's done to you, after letting you get beat up and not doing anything, he still has the audacity to say that like it's gonna change what he's done to you.

"your such a.." you pause, the words seemingly stuck in your throat, you feel like your about to throw up, you don't wanna say it, but at the same time, you know this had to happen eventually.

"liar".

hanbin pauses again, a look of surprise colors his face as he stares back at you. he wasn't expecting that, because he knows you, and you'd never say that to him, because you love him, and you always told him that.

"ah, what's up with you today, babe?"

the way those words are said makes you want to punch him in the face.

"you don't love me" you say, raising your voice in the slightest. "maybe you did in the beginning but now, you just enjoy having me around, you.. you go around acting so sweet and amazing with your perfect fucking girlfriend and then you leave me to get beat up in the hallways? what kind of person does that?"

the surprising thing about this is how you don't burst into tears while saying this, you somehow keep your cool, especially with how hanbin's face stays unmoving for the most part. he then frowns, a look of faux sadness on his face.

"is that really how you see me? after everything i've done for you?"

"you don't like me!" you exclaim, raising your voice. "the only reason you keep me around is because it makes you feel better about yourself! i could get murdered on the street tomorrow and you wouldn't help me!"

hanbin chuckles, shaking his head, he doesn't move closer to you, because frankly, he thinks you look ridiculous. "your really saying this now? it'd be less funny if you told me a few months ago but to be honest, it humors me just how long it took you.."

your no longer down, your pissed off, you loved hanbin, but he didn't love you, you were just his charity case, someone he kept around to feel good, like he was doing some sort of good deed by dating you.

"you need to go".

hanbin smiles, a fake smile. you know this won't affect him, none of this matters in the end because the only person that suffers is you, hanbin is still going to have a girlfriend, his perfect life, and everybody loving him at the end.

tomorrow when you wake up, you'll still be the weird kid with no friends, that everyone ignores and purposefully avoids.

"alright then".

you close your eyes; and when you hear hanbin shut the door, you sink into the couch and sob. you hate that your crying, because you should feel proud of yourself after breaking up with him, he did nothing to deserve you, and you wish that you weren't crying over him.

he doesn't deserve your tears.

of course, in the back of your head, you had a feeling that his love for you was never true,

but it hurts so much more facing it.

[blackbeautyray]

Double P

pt. 1

Warnings: 18+, teasing, language, anal play.

a/n: bitchhhhhhhh. That’s all. 

Part 2  Part 3

Tasha and I have been dating for 2 years. In that time, we have experienced many of our deepest sexual desires but for her solar return, we decided we wanted to try something new.

"Baby, I want you to plan something special for my birthday," taking another bite of her steak. She looked down at her food intentionally avoiding eye contact.

I knew what was up. And I knew what she wanted.

Mama told me she wanted to be double penetrated by me and another dude of her choosing. Although I've never done it before, I don't have an issue with it either.

I'm mature enough in my sexuality not to think some dumb shit like oh that's gay if another nigga balls were near mine. I can do this for my woman since it's what she desires. One of my core morals in this relationship is that baby girl gets what she wants as long as it's of no harm to her or me.

"Aight baby, I know just the thing." We finished our meal speaking about other topics. She isn't one to press or beg for shit. She knows that anything she asks me for, I provide it and sexual desires or intangible items are no exception.

-

Two weeks before her birthday, we sat on the same side of a booth in a coffee shop, sipping espresso and people-watching. A few men piqued her interest, but it was one tall dude in particular who made her blush. We shared the same build, complexion, and height.

"I think I found the one..." She whispered.

"How do you want to handle this? Do you want to inquire or should I?"

"I can do this part baby. Give me a second." She squeezed my thigh as she exited the booth. It was 80 degrees and she had on this yellow dress with my favorite assets on full display. 

Tasha has many sides to her. She's usually quiet around new people, likes to observe others, however, my baby has a seductive side to her. One she only unleashes around me. I do not doubt that my seductress won't have to do much more than bat an eye at this guy for him to agree to our proposition.

Observing Tasha, she stood off to the side of the coffee shop door outside as crowds of people dashed past them. She was open, maintained eye contact, and would periodically rub his shoulder. After about 15 minutes, they were exchanging numbers. As our potential third walked away, I peeped him glancing back to check out her ample backside. Meanwhile, Tasha faced me with an excited expression.

Now returned to my side, "Baby, can you believe how quick that was! You would be so proud of me. I approached it like a little business proposition. His payment, pleasure. After assuring him that we both were down, I told him I would need to see his latest results on check-mate. He agreed but he also asked to speak with you. Unfortunately, he was on the way to a meeting but asked if I would have you call him later today."

"I don't mind speaking to him, what's his name?" Tasha had the most elated look on her face. I trusted her judgment.

"His name is Malik. He's 32, a freelance animator and fitness trainer."

"Yeah I peeped, Dude looked fit. He kinda favors me." I wanted to see where Tasha's head was at with her choice.

"Right, baby? I thought the same thing. I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because I need someone else. You please me in every way, all ways. This is just a fantasy of mine that I want to share with you. Not an effort to replace you or make you feel like I need more than what I have-"

"Shh baby, you never implied that you wanted to replace me, that thought never crossed my mind. I want to help you fulfill all your fantasies, the conventional or unconventional ones."

We finished our drinks and pastries and continued with our day. I made a mental note to contact Malik this evening to either provide some guidelines or answer any questions he may need to ask.

-

Tarique: "Hello Malik, this is Tarique, Tasha's man. You met her earlier today outside of Gilber's Coffee."

Malik: "Whassup, do you mind if we speak on the phone?"

Tarique: "Yeah that's fine. I'll hit you up now."

"Whaddup Tarique, what's good?" Malik answered after the second ring.

"Nothin much man, how you?" He sounds calm, not anxious or devious.

"Look, I won't hold you too long, I just wanted to gain some clarity from you since to my understanding, you will be a part of this little shindig that I was invited to today."

"I understand, what questions do you have for me?"

"Aight, so first of all, you know what your girl asked me right? A stranger?"

"Yeah, I know what she asked. She has a fantasy of DP and asked if she could choose the guest."

"And you're good with this?"

"Look, I give my woman what she wants. I've never done it before, but it's what she wants."

"Hmm. Okay. So if I agree, where would this take place?"

I answered all of Malik's questions as I sat in the parking garage of our shared building. Making sure to have the call alone, I needed to speak with him absent of distractions or sad faces. Although I want to fulfill my baby girl's wish, I won't tolerate a fuck nigga acting out of line. Malik sounded level-headed, responsible, and experienced. He mentioned that he'd done this twice before, once in a previous relationship and once in college with his roommate. Once I learned this information, I had a couple of questions of my own. The dude is cool and in other circumstances, perhaps we could be friends or some shit, but for now, I don't want to see him again after Tasha's birthday unless she requests.

For now, our plans were coming together and soon, Tasha will be able to check this off her list.

-

The day before her birthday, I gave her exact instructions on her part of making tomorrow night memorable, "Meet me at the Clairmont Hotel downtown at 6 pm. Don't bring anything except your purse and any face toiletries you might need overnight. I will provide any clothing you'll be wearing for dinner and thereafter. I'll provide Malik with  his instructions."

"Yes baby, I'm so excited!"

"Make sure you use the credit card I gave you on all your appointments today."

"I will. Thank you Riq. I'll see you later at home for dinner. Muah."

Tasha has no idea that I have everything she'll need for her special night. Ordering her lingerie, birthday dress, shoes and unmentionables to be delivered to my brother's house was genius. I didn’t need her snooping through any packages.

-

It was 5:45 pm and Tasha was in her Uber on her way to the hotel. Malik is scheduled to arrive at 10:30 pm in room 765. It is the adjoining room to ours, room 764.

Tasha nearly jumped out of the Uber before Alex came to a halt. On the elevator, Tasha voiced her excitement thinking we were the only patrons on the cart. A short woman who stood in the corner coughed when she heard my baby mention edible lube. She glanced back asking if the lady was okay instead of considering her words offensive. I mouthed "I'm sorry" to the woman as we exited past the double doors.

Once we entered the room, Tasha shrieked at the layout of the room. It had a queen-sized bed, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a balcony, an extra wide bathtub with a separate shower, and a mini fridge. As baby girl checked the rest of the area, I removed a garment bag from the closet. It housed a long, pink, satin dress with a bag of black strappy heels. 

She accepted the bag and went into the bathroom to change. To her surprise, I included a pink thong and a pink, bejeweled anal plug as a precaution. We don't do a whole lot of anal play and last time I was in there, shit was tighter than her fat pussy. And fat ma is tight. Swallows me whole every time.

Tasha sticks her head out of the bathroom. Visibly naked. "Baby, you got some lube for me?"

Smirking, "I got that shit, but I can help you in other ways." Licking my licks, I shot Tasha a low gaze. Saying so much in silence.

"Baby I haven't eaten since breakfast. I love you but I'm hungry. Hand me the lube and I promise I'll make sure you're all the way good tonight." She eyed my bulge through my slacks.

Slightly disappointed, I searched one of the bottles of lube I'd brought for the evening and squirted an ample amount on my index finger. Rubbing together it between my fingers, I directed Tasha toward the bed to lie on her stomach. Assuring her this wouldn't take long, I repositioned her left leg in a bend that brought her knee up near her arm.

"Relax mama. I'm gonna glide this lube inside and outside of you and slide the plug in, okay?"

"Yes, baby. Go ahead."

Tasha took a deep breath and moaned at my touch. With only fitting one finger in her tightness, I knew this anal plug would open her up a little for tonight.

Now back in the bedroom, I finished getting dressed, spritzing on her favorite cologne, and removed my durag. I waited near the bedroom door checking the mirror when I heard her emerge from the bathroom. I could feel the oxygen leaving my body.

"Goddamn." She had me stuck.

"Baby this dress is so pretty! Thank you!"

She embraced me before I realized she moved across the room. I hadn't even considered how her titties would feel against my chest covered in satin. Her skin was equally as smooth, I inhaled her scent.

"Fuck." I know she can feel me.

"Damn baby, you're already on brick."

"Girl, I need us to get to dinner immediately."

We arrived at the restaurant in the east wing of the hotel for our 8:30 pm reservation. A bottle of Rosé and a bowl of strawberries sat between us as we admired the interior from the huge chandeliers to the waterfall gushing from the walls behind the bar. After 1 and a half bottles, a delicious ass meal, and Tasha constantly rubbing her toes up my leg, I was sure Tasha was nice and relaxed for the next phase of our evening.

It was 10:07 pm and Malik texted me: On the way boss, see ya'll soon.

I ordered another bottle to take to the room and we approached the elevator. There was another couple in the cart so we moved toward the back. Tasha faced me laying her head on my shoulder. She reached down, stroking my dick, whimpering in my arms. It was going to be a long ride. The couple kept glancing back and smiling.

"It's a special night," I replied.

"I'm sure it is. You guys have fun." The woman said.

I grabbed Tasha's jiggly ass, "We will."

-

Once back in the room, I removed another garment bag from the closet and asked my woman to leave the anal plug in and change into a dark green one-piece.

While I waited, I went into the adjoining room and placed the Rosé, lubes, toys, and lit a few candles. The room mirrored the same layout as ours. Accessing the bathroom, I took a piss, did some push-ups, washed my face, and checked the room for any random shit.

A rotating sound from the door let me know Malik had arrived.

"Whattup Malik," We shook hands. "I'm gonna go get Tasha, make yourself comfortable."

"Cool. Thanks."

Malik provided all his test results and we shared ours with him three days prior. He came clean, comfortable, and ready for the night.

Back in the other room, I walked in on Tasha hitting her THC pen. "You alright baby?"

"Yeah, I'm good, where were you?"

"I'll show you. Are you ready?"

"I believe so. This body suit is beautiful baby." She stood watching herself in the mirror. Her once claw-clipped hair is now cascading down her back with two wand-curled pieces framing her face.

Lustfully looking her up and down, "You are beautiful ma. I'm glad you left your heels on. Let me show you where we'll be." Grasping her hand, I led her through the living room area of the suite to a large wooden door. Knocking, Malik invited us in.

"We will be in here for the evening." Tasha looked around in awe of the candles, king-size bed with black satin sheets, and double glass panel floor-to-ceiling window. This room did not have a balcony, but the view was breathtaking. It was on a corner of the building and the room overlooked the Pacific Ocean.

I walked up close behind Tasha, pressing my hands over hers on the glass. Pulling her hair to the side, I placed wet kisses along her jaw and neckline. "This is your night, have fun."

Part 2  Part 3