#also the windows on the house in the dream were all covered with the wrap to make your windows look frosted

[allisonreader]

So last night I had a dream that was related to one that I've had before. One that I'm pretty sure that I've described and posted previous. In this current dream, I was actively referring to it and taking pictures because certain parts were so similar I had to show you guys (while at the same time realizing that I wouldn't actually get to share those photos because this too was a dream). Perhaps one of the best parts of this dream was the fact that @siena-sevenwits was in it.

To start from the beginning, she and I were walking up from a river or a lake with a couple of other people who were wondering why where we were walking had such a large cleared area/path that we were on. It was quite a wide area, wider than your average gravel road, easily able to fit two large vehicles side by side. I don't remember if it was myself, Siena, or both of us who were explaining to the group that the area had been cleared for logging at one point and that as we go further up the hill the path will narrow. As it did so we came across this small greenhouse, which was selling western red lilies/tiger lilies and marigolds for essentially pennies and my best friend who was with us bought one.

Just beyond the greenhouse was a house that was extremely similar to the one that I had in my previous dream, which I started to explain to Siena. That I wasn't sure that she had seen that post, but this house was a nicer version of what had been in my dream. The people who lived there were very similar to my previous dream as well. So I was inwardly excited that I had dreamed about a place that ended up being "actually real". Even the inside of the house, which we were invited in to see was extremely similar (but nicer) than the house that I had previously dreamt about. It was still more old fashioned, and had a loft and was actually level, but the layout was very similar. Kitchen in the front beside a bedroom with the bathroom beside the bedroom and a dining room and living room near the back of the house with stairs going down in the middle of the house, though this house had a loft unlike my previous dream. So here I was trying to take pictures without drawing attention to the fact that I'm taking pictures of everything so that I could share them and say hey guys, this is sort of what that one dream I had looked like.

From there it turned into something completely different, probably into a new dream where I wasn't myself but a character who had powers sort of. Anyways there essentially was this gun fight going on, I was shooting at this guy (father of my characters unborn baby?) who was shooting back at me, but we could turn ourselves invisible and when we did so the bullets couldn't hit us and would just go right through us. And my character used the fact that she was pregnant to avoid being shot at, telling him that he doesn't want to risk the baby does he. There was also this whole other girl or two who were fighting and one had trained the other but the one who had trained the other ended up winning.

[ginxyy]

Stupid in love

Baby, I'm so stupid in love

You sit on the edge of your bed, the moonlight streaming through the window, illuminating your heart like a spotlight on a stage designed just for you. The soft notes of your cover of “Stupid in Love” still play in your mind, as if the melody is gently coaxing you towards a decision that feels impossibly heavy. It’s been a week since you ran out of Seungcheol’s house, your heart racing faster than the words that left his lips the words you should have said back. Instead, you had fled, a whirlwind of anxiety and emotion propelling you into the cool night without a backward glance.

He had said those three pivotal words: “I love you.” And in that moment, the world had narrowed down to just the two of you the breath of the night, the warmth of his skin, and the glimmer of hope in his eyes. The density of love was overwhelming, bearing down on you like a weight you weren't prepared to lift. So instead of engaging with his vulnerability, you had locked away your feelings and let fear guide your steps to the safety of the night.

Though your schedules kept you apart, the silence felt heavier with each passing day. You were both thriving in your careers he as the charismatic leader of Seventeen, captivating millions with his charm and talent, and you as a rising star in the same world that had once felt like a dream. Yet, the distance between you felt entirely too real, insurmountable even, as you busied yourself with rehearsals, interviews, and recording.

Your heart, however, continued to ache with an overwhelming longing. You spent countless moments imagining what he was doing, who he was with, and if he was thinking of you as much as you thought of him. Everything reminded you of him the silly little things like the way he twitched his nose when something amused him, or the deep way he laughed when something struck him funny. A week gone by without his warm embrace felt like a universe without stars; you thrived, yet felt adrift.

And then, the idea struck you a bittersweet remedy to mend the rift that had swiftly formed between the two of you. You would pour your emotions into your music, into the very verses that screamed of what you felt toward him. “Stupid in Love” was the perfect anthem for your tumultuous heart. You rehearsed the lyrics until they naturally flowed from your lips, channeling all the joys and regrets, the fear and excitement that came with loving him. With each note, you envisioned his eyes, filled with surprise and clarity, as he listened.

After you posted the cover, you felt a rush of relief but also lingering anxiety. What if he didn’t understand? What if he didn’t feel the same? With your heart clenched tight in your chest, you decided to link it to him directly while he was in Woozi's studio, hoping he might listen. As you watched through the closed door, you caught a glimpse of him, sitting casually, his earphones snug against him, blissfully absorbed in your voice.

Little did he know you were just behind him, your heart pounding audibly, filling the air with your unsaid feelings as if they had a voice of their own. He leaned into the music, his brows furrowed in concentration, the soft light from the studio screen flipping off his face, illuminating the contours of his features you had come to adore. It was in that moment that something shifted within you an electric current pulsing through your body, urging you to stop hiding and to embrace the moment.

You stepped into the room, your heart palpably racing. He turned at the sound of your entrance, surprise flashing in his eyes that melted into something warmer. The tension that had thrummed between you for days ignited like a spark. Without thinking, you rushed toward him, your arms wrapping around him from behind, a cocoon of warmth enveloping the both of you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart matching the rhythm of your own.

“I love you,” you breathed into the nape of his neck, your voice soft yet steady. The words fell from your lips as effortlessly as breathing, a release as you surrendered to the love you had been holding onto so desperately.

Seungcheol stilled, his body tensing for just a heartbeat before he turned to face you completely. The grin that broke across his face could light up the darkest of nights. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice a mixture of joy and disbelief, eyes wide with a glimmer of hope.

“Yes,” you whispered, feeling an urgency to bridge the chasm that had widened between you, “I mean it. I’m so sorry for running away. I was scared.”

His laughter rang out, rich and infectious, and the sound settled over your worries like a warm blanket. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he admitted, pulling you closer, the space between you nonexistent. “I was afraid I scared you off.”

The weight of the week lifted, and in its place, the warmth of intimacy flourished between you. With a shared laugh, he tilted your chin up, locking his gaze with yours. The sincerity in his eyes ignited something within you a renewed confidence, a firm certainty that your love was mutual.

In that studio, with the dim lights casting soft shadows, surrounded by the remnants of creativity and companionship, you felt anchored. No longer drifting apart, you had found your way home in each other, in love.

“I love you, Seungcheol,” you said, your hand entwining with his as the world outside faded into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in the certainty that love could endure, that hearts could entwine, even in the most complicated of rhythms.

[kpopaussieline]

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 | 𝔗𝔴𝔬

A/N: Ayy part two's here!! I just realised it's been a few weeks since part one, my bad y'all I'm releasing these as I finish them, so updates might be a little slower. I had fun writing this part, I hope you enjoy it!

And a massive thanks to my editor/cheerleader @un06 for everything she's done so far <33

Synopsis: You find yourself in the vampire's house. One of them isn't as bad as you would think... Somewhat friendly even. But you won't let yourself lose sight of your goal. To get away.

Warnings: None (yet)

Part one / part two / Part three

“Oh, you wanna run, gorgeous? Go ahead. We love a game of chase.”

You barely register his words through the pounding in your ears. You’ve never been this afraid. This desperate to get away. Your entire body is thrumming as you sprint toward the road out of Riverfield.

You finally reach it and for a moment you feel a sense of hope. Like maybe you can do this. Maybe you will be okay. You’re aware of the self-generated breeze fanning your face and tousling your hair. You’re aware of your feet barely touching the ground, and it feels like the closest you’ll ever get to flying. It feels like a taste of freedom.

Then you see a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye.

You look. Just a glance.

Your heart almost gives out. You don’t notice much about the man, just that he’s a few feet to your left and quickly gaining on you. You also catch the wicked smile on his face and his black eyes locked on you like an eagle targeting prey.

You push yourself to your limit, willing your legs to move faster.

You hear a chuckle. “Scared, princess?”

Another voice, more confident. “We’re gonna get you, love.”

Your throat seizes up, and you know– heart sinking past your stomach– that he’s right. You’re struggling to breathe, stitches cramping your sides. Your legs ache, feeling heavier with each step. You can’t keep this up much longer.

Tears build in your eyes, blurring your vision as you desperately try to continue running. But you’re slowing down, your body slowly giving up on you.

No. No, no, no. Please.

You feel an arm wrap around your waist and you let out a strangled scream. There’s a split second before you hit the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of your already worn form.

You’re flipped onto your back and the man straddles you, pinning you down. You force your eyes to stay open. Try to focus on his face, his words.

He studies you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head so you’re meeting his gaze. “Tag,” he says in a low voice. He leans down and whispers, “You’re it.”

Your chest heaves as your consciousness begins to fade.

No. Stay awake, stay awake, stay–

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel all your energy draining away.

The man lets go of your jaw and your head drops to the side. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

***

You wake slowly, drifting away from sleep despite wanting to remain there. Even once you come to, you keep your eyes shut, nestling your face into the pillow and drawing the covers up to your chin. It’s so warm and comfortable here, there’s no way you’re getting up just yet.

You shift onto your back. Pain shoots up your spine and through your limbs. A dull but noticeable ache all over your body. You wince, going still.

Then… gradually… it all comes back to you. It starts with a feeling, like something is off. Then a few murky memories– nothing more than blurry images, like you’re trying to recall a dream. Then everything comes rushing back, hitting you like a truck– the images as vivid as when they were happening.

Sam and Ray. Your nanna. The Offering. Running away. The vampires–

You open your eyes and sit upright, ignoring the pain in your muscles.

The room you’re in is fairly simple. A timber dresser with a mirror hung above it. A large window covered with a lace curtain. The double bed that you are currently in and a rug underneath it.

You tenderly pull back the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You stand cautiously, hoping the floorboards beneath your feet won’t betray your movements. Silence. You tiptoe to the window and peer through the lace at the outside world, wondering where you’ve ended up.

The woods. Of course.

You move the curtain aside and study any possible route for escape. Getting down should be easy. There’s a balcony right there and if needed, you can tie sheets to the railing and climb down. You duck behind the lace curtain and grip the top of the window. You try pushing it up, but it’s jammed. You try again. It still won’t budge. You inspect the frame, eyes narrowing when you spot a translucent yellow stripe connecting the window to the sill.

They sealed the window shut? Jesus.

You run your finger over the material and it feels slightly rubbery. You might be able to cut through it, if you can get your hands on something sharp enough.

There’s a knock on the door and your muscles tense, your body going into fight, flight or freeze. The door swings open and a tall man strolls in like he owns the place (well, technically he does), carrying a plate of food. He uses his foot to close the door behind him, then places the plate on the bedside table. Only then does he finally look at you, sliding his hands into his jean pockets.

“Good morning, sunshine. I figured you’d be hungry.” He nods to the food.

You stare at him for a moment, brows furrowed and suspicion in your gaze as your eyes flick between him and the food. “You really think I’m going to eat that? Who knows what you could’ve put in it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, eat it and risk it being poisoned or don’t eat it and starve yourself. Your choice.”  

You blink, surprised by his attitude. You don’t know what you were expecting from a vampire, but it sure as hell wasn’t sass. You quickly gather yourself. “I’m good.”

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He turns and picks the plate up, taking a bite of scrambled egg.

Your caution almost melts away as you continue to stare at him with mild disbelief. This is what you were so terrified of?

“Stop staring,” the man says without looking up. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

You cross your arms. “Of course they did, but I’m not going to waste them on some bratty vampire.” The words just spill out. You’re so used to using sarcasm, it slips your mind that you’re talking to one of your captors. You freeze again, worried you’ve just pissed him off.

But he just laughs, looking at you. “I’m bratty? I’m simply doing what I have the right to do, seeing as this is my house.”

He puts the plate down, walking slowly around the bed, and you instinctively take a step back.

“You’re like a frightened cat. It’s cute.” He smiles teasingly and it emphasises his youthful features. You hadn’t taken much notice, but he looks young. Like, the kind of young where maybe referring to him as a man is a bit of a stretch. If you had to guess, he’s probably close to eighteen or nineteen.

“What is it?” he asks, stopping a couple feet in front of you. He towers over you, looking down at you curiously. It would be more intimidating if he wasn’t so… normal. He doesn’t appear much different from any other teenage boy. You’re not sure he’s even a vampire.

You clear your throat, looking up at him. “It’s just– I– You–”

His grin widens at your stuttering and it irritates you. You take a second to compose yourself.

“How old are you?” you manage to ask.

He puts his hands in his pockets again. “As in how old should I be, or how old do I look?”

“Um... the second one?”

“Nineteen. What, am I not what you were expecting?”

“Well, not really, no,” you admit.

He smirks. “Let me guess. You were thinking Edward Cullen? Or maybe Dracula?”

Your lips twitch and you almost crack a smile. “No. I don’t know what I was expecting. But it wasn’t you.”

The guy smiles. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“So what’s your name, anyway?”

“You first.”

Really? You cross your arms again. “Y/N.”

His eyes narrow as he thinks something over. “Hm. I’m going to call you neko.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for cat.”

Your arms fall by your sides. “What? I’m not a cat!” you protest.

“You are now.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Why are you so offended? Cats are cute.”

“I don’t want a nickname from you.”

“Well now I’m offended,” the guy says, but he’s still smirking.

“Are you going to tell me your name or not?” you shoot back.

“Riki.”

You scoff and he crosses his arms, frowning at you.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you say, fighting a smile.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Whatever.” He takes a step back, turns around and walks over to the plate of food. He picks it up, then heads for the door. “See you later, neko,” he says on his way out.

You grit your teeth as he shuts the door, not missing the smirk on his face at your reaction.

***

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the last time you saw Riki. He came back the next day. And the next.

And now he’s back again, not bothering to wait after knocking before waltzing in.

You look up from your spot on the bed and eyeball today’s meal. It’s a sandwich. A rather delicious looking sandwich, loaded with fillings.

You’d had to give in a couple days ago, when the hunger became too much and you realised you’d have to eat eventually anyway.

Riki hands the plate to you and you take it, picking up the sandwich and taking a large bite.

“Mm… Thanks.” Your voice is muffled as you chew.

“No problem, neko.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t waste energy arguing with him about the new nickname. It seems to have stuck, and it’s probably going to stay that way.

Riki makes himself comfortable on the end of the bed. “The guys are getting impatient.”

You swallow and look up. “What?”

“The others. It’s day four. They’re not going to wait much longer.”

“For what?”

“You may be dumb, but I think you know.”

You ignore the playful jab and glance at the closed door. Yeah. You know. “They want to meet me, huh?”

“That too.”

You frown. “What do you mean, that too?”

Riki pauses for a second. “We’re due to feed again,” he says.

Just this once, you wish he wasn’t so blunt. The sandwich churns in your stomach. “Right.”

“Don’t worry, neko. It’s not as bad as people think. You didn’t even notice last time.”

You squint at him. “Last time?”

 He gestures to your right arm. “The night we took you, we drew some blood while you were passed out.”

You look at your inner elbow, at the faded mark there. It’s just a dot. You’d barely noticed it at first. “You use an IV or something?”

He nods. “Something like that. It’s called venipuncture. It’s the least painful and messy method.”

“Careful there. You almost sounded considerate.”

He chuckles, then the light-hearted sound fades into the silence.

It’s funny. Apparently, there’s six other men in this house, but you’ve never heard signs of any of them. Except Riki. And if you’re being honest with yourself, as irritating as he can be… you enjoy his company. Truthfully, you don’t know what you’d do without him to break up the monotony of the day. If you were just left to sit here for hours on end with nothing to do apart from stare out the window, at the trees and maybe the occasional bird. You’re pretty sure Riki has been the only thing keeping you sane.

“Want me to be honest, Y/N?” Riki asks, breaking the silence.

You sigh. “Not really, but we both know that’s not gonna stop you.”

His lips curl slightly, then his expression goes serious. “You’re right to stay here.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hide,” you say, pushing the sandwich aside.

“Whatever you want to call it, it’s a smart move. I don’t think you would’ve coped well throwing yourself in the deep end and going out there on the first day.”

You look at him, genuine worry swirling deep in your eyes. “Is it really that bad?” you ask quietly.

Riki studies you and his expression softens. “Depends what you define as bad. But I can assure you, we won’t hurt you. But– that said– the others won’t go easy on you. They’re going to toy with you, try and get in your head, break through any walls you put up until you give in. I’ve been with these guys a long time. I’ve seen a lot of Offerings, a lot of young women just like you in this house, and I know the boys treat this like a competition. Like a game. Vampires are possessive, that’s the one thing the stereotypes got right. Every man in this house is going to want you, and there’s not much you can do about it.”

“Including you?” you ask with a weak smile, attempting to use humour to distract yourself from the dread winding in your chest.

Riki smirks softly. “No. I’m not saying that you aren’t pretty, but I won’t try anything. With you or any other girl that comes through here.”

“Wow. So you do have some respect.”

He laughs. “Look,” he says, tone turning serious again. “I know you’ve only known me for a few days. And that even then, you barely know me. But I want you to know I’m here to help you whenever you need me.”

You meet his gaze, not missing the shift of the energy in the room. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

“Because,” he says. “You’re about to go through a lot and you’ll need someone in your corner.”                   

He notices you staring absent-mindedly at the wall and he shuffles closer. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m just trying to prepare you. I promise it won’t be as horrible as whatever you’re cooking up in your head right now. It will just be… intense, at times. But you seem like you’re strong enough to handle it. And you have me. You’ll be okay.”

Another beat of silence passes before you speak up. “Will you do me a favour? Will you go with me when I finally go out there?”

“Of course.” Riki pauses. Glances at the door. “Why don’t we go now?”

You look at him wide-eyed. “Are you crazy? After everything you just said?”

He smiles. “May as well get it done, right? Besides, you’re better off meeting the others before they get fed up and storm in here.”

“Stop saying shit to scare me!”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry! It’s not my fault you’re a scaredy cat.”

“We were having a moment and you ruined it.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “What can I say? I speak my mind.”

“Well then get a filter.”

“Stop procrastinating.”

You sniff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not procras–”

Riki stands up, adjusting and smoothing out his clothes. “Come on, Y/N.”

You hesitate, looking up at him like an animal putting their trust in a stranger. You don’t see much difference, really. They’re the people, you’re the deer. Maybe they want to hunt you and put you on display, or maybe they just plan on admiring you. But you won’t find out until it’s too late.

You feel the paranoia start to creep in, like fog settling over a crisp morning. What if… Riki’s like the bait? What if he was sent in here just to lure you out? You’ve been taking his presence for granted the past couple days, but… it could all be fake.

Riki’s smile drops and he looks at you with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

You stay quiet, feeling restless all of a sudden. You glance around the room, at the dresser, the wall, the window–

Wait.

The window. You remember the seal, the only thing preventing you from getting out.

You have to get out.

You look back at Riki. “Yeah, sorry. My mind was just…”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. I get it, this is a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“So… are you ready?”

You take a moment, chewing your lip, before getting off the bed. You wobble slightly, your legs taking time to wake up after you’ve spent so long sitting down. “Not really, but… I guess you’re right. Might as well do it sooner rather than later.”

Riki quirks a brow. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want your heart giving out or something.”

“Shut up before I change my mind.” You walk over to the door, your fingers wrapping around the handle. You take a breath, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

You swing open the door, the smell of aged wood and old wallpaper wafting up your nose. It’s familiar. It reminds you of home, of Nanna. Your newfound courage wavers for a second before you take another quiet breath, drawing back your shoulders and straightening your spine.

You look over your shoulder and see Riki watching you with an impressed gleam in his eyes. He offers you a small smile, comes over and stands beside you. He nods, silently nudging you to go out.

Just go.

You step out into the hall and Riki follows. There’s a window at the end, letting in some light, but it’s still dim. The dark floorboards are slightly worn, the panelling on the walls faded. There are several other doors lining the hallway, all of them shut. You glance at Riki again and he gestures to the left, stepping in front of you and leading the way.

As you walk down the hallway in Riki’s shadow, you feel skittish. Like a scared mouse. Like if there’s any sudden noise, you’ll startle and run in the opposite direction. You hate this, feeling so wound up with anxiety you could cry.

God, what happened to you? You’ve been through a lot, but you always managed to pull through. You were always strong– it was one thing people always admired about you, especially at such a young age. And after all that, now you’re going to cower and hide?

You know if Nanna were here, she’d tell you the same thing– albeit in a gentler way.

And that– the thought of your Nanna and the last time you saw her– is your turning point. You’re never going to see her again if you don’t get out of here. And how are you ever going to get out if you’re avoiding everything and everyone, rotting away in a bedroom?

You and Riki reach the end of the hallway and descend the stairs.

At the foot of the staircase, you see it opens up to a living room. It’s nice, in a vaguely ‘old money’ sort of way. There are two leather couches and three matching armchairs arranged around a wooden coffee table, all on top of an ornate rug. There are bookshelves stocked with hardcover volumes and paperback novels. The walls are painted a dark red, with the same dark wood wainscoting as the hallway, decorated with tapestries and oil paintings.

Riki leads you through the living room, and a wooden louvre door and a matching serving window come into view. You assume they lead to the kitchen.

You can hear soft shuffling on the other side of the door. You try to swallow, but it’s difficult when your mouth is running dry.

Riki grabs the doorknob, looking over his shoulder at you before opening the door. You step through after him and the first thing you notice is the man leaning against the kitchen counter. The first thing you register is that he’s tall. The second– despite yourself– is how he’s the kind of handsome where he’s pretty.

The two of you make eye contact and reality seems to slow down. Not because of how dreamy he is, or because it’s love at first sight, but because of how intimidating he is. You see the look in his eyes and you realise everything Riki warned you about is most definitely true.

The man smirks. “Look who it is.” He puts down the glass in his hand. “Finally come out of your burrow, love?”

You clear your throat quietly and step forward, standing at Riki’s side. “Yes.”

“Y/N, this is Heeseung. He’s the eldest, acts kind of like the leader around here. Heeseung, this is Y/N.”

Heeseung’s eyes sweep over you, and you have to strain not to shrink under his predatory gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. It’s good to see you gained the courage to finally face us.” He picks up his drink again and takes a swig.

You grit your teeth, picking up on his condescending tone. “Pleasure to meet you too,” you say, making sure to insert some venom into your tone.

He smiles. He must be one of those types. The ones who get a kick out of riling people up.

Okay, calm and collected approach it is then.

“Can I get you anything?” Riki asks, interrupting the passive-aggressive exchange.

You tear your gaze away from Heeseung. “I’m good, thanks.”

He nods and walks over to the fridge, opening it and grabbing himself a can of soda. He pops the tab and has a mouthful. “Where is everyone?”

“Helping clean up the yard.” Heeseung places his glass in the sink.

“And you’re slacking off why?”

He chuckles. “I was going to head out after I finished my drink, and then you brought Y/N down.”

“Don’t let me interrupt anything,” you say, attempting your best polite voice.

Heeseung looks at you again. “You’re not interrupting anything, love. It’s just yard work, nothing the boys can’t handle.”

Riki claps him on the shoulder. “How about this? We can go give the others a hand, and neko here can take some time to look around and get comfortable.”

You hold back a snort. Comfortable, your ass.

Heeseung glances between you and Riki, arching a brow. “Neko?”

“It’s her new nickname. She loves it.” He grins playfully at you.

“Clearly,” Heeseung agrees, taking in your expression with an amused smile. “Well, love, I guess I’ll see you later. Feel free to explore. If you need anything, we’ll be out back, the door’s just through there.” He gestures to a doorway off to the side. It must lead to a mudroom or something.

With that, and a small wave from Riki, they head through the door and disappear from your sight.

You look around the kitchen, unsure what to do now. Then, as you stand there in the silence, something occurs to you.

You glance around once more, cautious this time. You strain to hear any signs that someone is nearby, but you only hear the birds outside.

You duck out of the kitchen and back into the living room. You notice a doorway by the staircase. You head towards it, your steps quick but light. As you draw closer, you see– with a flood of hope– that it’s the entryway… and the front door is mere metres in front of you.

 You spot a deadbolt on the door and your heart sinks, but when you inspect it, you realise it’s unlocked.

It’s too good to be true. The whole situation suddenly screams trap.

You chew your lip, looking over your shoulder. Should you turn back around and stick to the original plan of cutting the seal on the window? That might take hours, days. You’re right here. The way out, your chance of escape is staring you in the face. You can’t let it slip through your fingers.

You decide to take the risk, your fingers wrapping around the handle and slowly twisting it. A fresh breeze drifts through the crack, carrying the scent of oncoming rain and decaying leaves. You breathe it in, using it to ground yourself and steel your nerves.

You get ready to run as you open the door. Looking outside, the coast is clear. All there is to be seen is tree after tree, dead leaves covering a good portion of the ground, and dirt broken up with the occasional patch of grass.

You jog down the steps, going to turn left and run for it, when someone appears out of nowhere, blocking your path.

“You actually fell for that, huh, princess?”

You freeze, your eyes making their way from the dirt floor to the man’s face. Short dyed-blond hair, and fox-like amber eyes. He has the kind of features that give him the opportunity to appear youthful and innocent, or mature and attractive. And right now, he looks anything but innocent.

“Cat got your tongue?” he taunts, leaning down to whisper in your ear. He grabs your arms and turns you around.

You see Heeseung approaching from around the side of the house. The rest of the men are behind him. Your heart starts to race and your eyes dart between them all like a cornered animal.

“You know, love, this is the second time you’ve tried to run from us.”

Heeseung stops directly in front of you, crowding your space. You feel claustrophobic, caught between the two men with nowhere to go, the adrenalin making your skin itch with the need to run. You feel like you’re overheating, like the air is evaporating and you’re struggling to breathe.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head so you’re looking up at him. “It’s also the last time, I hope you realise that,” he says in a low voice. There’s a tense pause before he speaks again. “You know, Y/N, these woods are extremely easy to get lost in. But we know them like the backs of our hands. If you try to run again, we will catch you. And trust me, you won’t like the consequences… but we will.”

He releases his hold on your face and steps aside, letting the blond steer you back inside.

 As you’re led up the stairs and down the hall, you can’t help but feel like a prisoner being taken to their cell. The man opens the door to your assigned bedroom and pushes you inside, slams it shut, followed by the click of the lock.

You stare at the door, mind reeling. As your heart slows, clarity replaces the adrenalin. You clench your jaw, feeling a sense of anger rise in your chest. You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you feel tears building behind your eyes. Without thinking, you turn around and kick the dresser as hard as you can.

You yell a curse as pain shoots up your foot. Simultaneously, the mirror above the dresser falls off its nail and crashes to the floor. You jump back to avoid the broken glass, eyes widening with surprise. You kneel beside the shattered mirror, gingerly picking up a decent-sized shard of glass. You look over your shoulder at the window, the pieces clicking together in your head, and a smile creeps across your face.

To be continued...

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Dividers by @dollywons

[blarshwritezz]

Hallooooooouuuussssszzzz

I luv ur post sm!!!

May I request m reader having a huge crush on his best friend who’s a yan? (Bsf also has a HUGEEE crush on reader) so when readers bsf learns that reader also likes them back they sneak in readers house (can it be nsfw hehe)

Aw, thank you! This sounds so sweet!

Yandere Best Friend x Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - NSFW, implied stalking

You expected tonight to be like any other. You were just sitting at your desk, listening to music, and doing your homework which you were totally focused on. You definitely weren't thinking of your best friend who you totally didn't have a massive crush on.

Okay, maybe you did. Bit what could you even do about it? What if he didn't even like guys? You weren't about to change anything. So you were stuck fantasizing about what could be in an ideal world.

Then unexpectedly, your little daydream was interrupted by none other than the very man on your mind crawling through your window.

"Wha- Why are you here?! My parents are downstairs, I can't hang out toni-" You were cut off by his lips suddenly on yours.

Was this really happening? This wasn't a dream? It couldn't be. The unmistakable feeling of him pulling you closer to his warm body assured you that this was reality.

After a moment, he took his lips off yours. You immediately missed the feeling, but you were too stunned to even speak.

"A little birdie told me you like me back. That true?" He asked, one hand tracing up and down your side so lightly.

You were still too stunned to speak, but the blush on your cheeks gave him all the answer he needed. He slowly brought his lips to yours once more, even more passionate this time. His tongue forced your lips apart so he could explore your mouth. His hand now had a more firm grasp on your hip, the other snaking around to hold the back of your neck and bring you closer.

As he pulled away, a string of saliva kept your lips connected until it broke. He smirked, his hands slowly travelling down your body to the waistband of your pants. He knelt in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he pulled down your pants just enough to reveal your cock.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this." His hand wrapped around your cock, gently stroking it before he kissed the tip. "Please let me have this...I want to taste you." He licked up the entire length of your shaft before wrapping his lips around the head, sucking and swirling around it with his tongue.

You really didn't know how long he wanted this. How long he spent watching you through your window, wanting to make you moan his name. The nights he spent at your bedside watching you sleep.

You had to cover your mouth to hide a soft moan. The display amused him, making him tease you more.

"Come on, stop teasing..." You whined.

"Aw, but you're so cute like this." He chuckled, but easily relented. His warm mouth completely enveloped your cock.

He watched your face contort in pleasure as he slowly deep throated you, enjoying the show. He kept a slow, agonizing pace, only to speed up and suck you off harder right before you asked for more. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

He drove you closer and closer to the edge, but never let you reach your climax. Not until you gripped him by the hair and fucked his mouth and whatever pace you decided.

His moans vibrated around your dick, making you finally cum down his throat. He swallowed it all as if it were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, enjoying the warmth sliding down his throat, before he released you with a satisfying pop.

"So, you gonna be my boyfriend, or do I have to do that again?~"

He really ruined your friendship, huh

Haha

Anyways that ended up being hornier than I planned but oh well

[wittyminds]

More Than A Feeling

This was just a random idea to distract me from revising for my exams. I'm slightly obsessed with him at the moment and just wanted to write some fluff that would make me even more sad than i already am. I know I also said that I would be doing a bucky barnes fic but... i got distracted and now can't commit to writing it. I'll probably write it eventually but i can't bring myself to do it right now.

I was also listening to More Than A Feeling by Boston when writing this so... it stuck.

Just a small fic of Steve Harrington and a bookworm reader girlfriend who is also Dustin's sister after their first time and the "chaos" that ensues.

Warnings: Fluff fluff fluff, Suggestive, Both Steve's and Reader's 'first time'

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Dustin couldn't understand how it all happened or exactly when you stopped disliking the King of Hawkins but he was convinced it would all end in heartbreak. He did like Steve Harrington after he protected them all from all the dangers they had faced over the years. But dating his sister was a different matter.

To say he is overprotective of you would be an understatement.

You had spent your entire life protecting him from bullies and assholes and now it was his turn to keep you from the possible heartbreak that was Steve Harrington.

So when he peaked through the door to your room and saw the two of you curled round each other fast asleep, he couldn't help but feel upset and scared for you. It clearly wasn't the first time Steve had snuck through the window without anyone but you knowing and the thought brought disgust to his gut. He had invited his friends round as your parents were away. He now regretted the idea and wished he had agreed when Mike suggested his house instead.

He wasn't being dramatic, he had every right to believe that you could end up like all the other girls.

Before he could wake you both up, though, his friends had pulled him back and disappeared back into his room to discuss what they had just seen.

Steve, on the other hand, couldn't be happier.

Your head rests on his chest, arms wrapped round his body. A sheet covers you and he brings his hand up and down your arm gently as he gazes at you asleep. He has been like this since he woke up to see you curled round him, hair a mess, no makeup on and breathing softly onto his bare chest.

What had happened the night before had surprised you both, if he was quite honest with himself. He had been ready from the second date with you but you had made it clear that you wanted to wait. He had thought he was ready when he dated Nancy but when the time came, he froze and ruined the moment.

But now, here you were snuggled up close with memories of the night before playing through your dreams as your boyfriend watches over you lovingly. He can't remember ever loving anyone as much as he loves you and all he wants is to tell you, and keep you by his side till the day he dies.

Just as his hand stops grazing your arm, you roll over off of him and wriggle onto your side, still facing him. Your lips pull up into a brief smile before dropping again. He shifts his body onto his side too and props his head onto his arms, watching as your eyebrows pull together and your eyes flutter open slowly.

A huge grin falls onto his lips as you look up groggily with a bashful smile.

"Morning, beautiful." His voice is still husky from sleep and a thousand butterflies take flight in your stomach.

"Morning." You rub a hand over your eyes to try and wake up properly, to no avail.

"I was gonna make breakfast, if you're hungry." He lifts his head off his arm to give you a playful look that is sleepily returned.

He gets up from the bed and tries to track down his trousers and socks before perching on the edge of the bed to give you a soft kiss that lingers longer than usual.

His blushing face then leaves your eyesight and you roll onto your back with a disbelieving laugh, quickly covering your mouth to stifle it.

You were still questioning how the two of you were even together, total opposites from different sides of the school. The King and a bookworm.

You suppose, in a weird way, you could thank the horrors that you had both witnessed over the past two years for bringing you together. But you don't want to give the Upside-Down any credit for your happiness given it was a hell like no other.

You can still remember how much you had disliked him at first, the way he acted, the way he spoke to people, the way he made you feel about yourself. His "friends" had given you hell for years and when he had finally stood up to them and broken up with Nancy, you had seen the better version of Steve Harrington who laughed and smiled and actually cared without any fear of being judged.

As you lie on your back, you cans still feel the gentle press of his hands on your skin, hear the whispered words "Are you sure?". Still feel his face buried in the crook of your neck, hear the hushed laughter when he first appeared over you with a bashful "Hello."

It couldn't have been more perfect and you could smile forever in your new bliss.

You wrestle your way out of the warmth of the bedsheets, grabbing the closest article of clothing to you: his navy sweater from yesterday. The sleeves fall over your hands and you bunch it up in fists as you open the door and walk into the hallway.

Dustin's door is still closed and you creep past, so as not to wake him. He wouldn't quit poking fun at you or Steve if he saw you now so it was better to be safe than sorry to leave him sleeping in. It was the holidays anyway.

You're suddenly startled by the sound of pots and pans crashing against each other, followed by the sound of a terribly hidden string of curses as whoever spilled the contents of the cupboard tried (and failed) to catch them.

When you reach the kitchen door, you can see Steve busy at the stove, pots and pans sitting haphazardly on the counter and floor. Without a word, you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watch him attempt to work the stove. A smile plays on your lips and eventually, you clear your throat quietly to get his attention.

He whips round, only to notice that it's you.

"Morning... again." You murmur softly, still smiling.

God, it was like you slept with a hanger in your mouth or something.

"Morning," He turns away as his cheeks blush bashfully, and you can't help but feel warmth at the thought of making Steve Harrington blush. The thought nearly turns your legs to jelly and you walk over to the stove to keep them working.

You swat his hands away from the buttons with a laugh and stand in his place to turn the stove on, hearing his almost silent "Oh." as you show him how to work it.

His arms snake their way round your middle and his chin falls onto your shoulder, your face heating at the contact. He places soft kisses on your shoulder, then your neck, and you run your hands along his forearms.

"Steve." You feel him hug you tighter at his name and his hum of acknowledgement is disguised by another kiss, "Last night..."

You trail off and he laughs against your neck, moving away to turn you round. His nose scrunches as your hands move to the ends of his hair out of habit and he sways slightly.

"Yeah?" You can tell he's wanting you to talk more and you repress a sigh.

"I just wanted to say I..." You can't seem to finish the sentence as you gaze into his eyes, the whole scene perfectly homely. You didn't want to ruin it with a love confession that might be rejected.

He watches you with curious smirk and you open your mouth to speak again but he cuts you off with a sweet, slow kiss.

Your hands move further into his hair and his pull you closer by the waist. More memories of meaningful kisses and the whispered confessions whilst pressed close together from last night resurface in your mind. The feeling of his hands, his lips, just his touch made your head spin and your forehead falls onto his, not breaking the kiss.

"Oh come on!"

Your brother's voice startles you both and you break apart, Steve keeping a hold of your waist.

Dustin stands in the doorway, his friends lingering in the hallway, awkwardly watching the scene playing out. You feel your face burn and turn to your boyfriend for help, but he seems entirely unfazed.

"A bit of privacy wouldn't kill you, Henderson." Steve grumbles, ignoring the disgust on Dustin's face.

"I live here." Dustin replies matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

"And..?" You can't help but hold back a laugh at your boyfriend's oblivion and he pulls a face at you which lets the laughter escape.

Dustin pulls a different kind of face, "Well, when you two are finished grossing everyone out, I'd like some pancakes."

You roll your eyes and walk over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders to turn him round. He begins to protest but gives up when you give him a sharp pinch on either side.

"Just go upstairs and do whatever it is you do together there," You give him your most serious look you can muster with a stomach full of butterflies.

"Fine," He stomps up the stairs, "But I'm serious about those pancakes!"

You watch his friends follow him up, quickly noticing the two girls and yell up a quick "Leave the door open!" before turning to return to the kitchen.

Max stops and gives you a look that makes you freeze and eye her curiously.

"Yes?" You ask quietly.

"I was just thinking that the sweater is real subtle." Her eyes move along the sweater and you shift uncomfortably under them.

"I-I don't know what you mean..."

She snorts out a laugh and runs up the stairs.

"Nice hickey, by the way!" She yells after her and you throw a shoe up the stairs that hits her legs.

"Teenagers." You mutter under your breath and turn back to the kitchen to see Steve leaning against the counter, a smirk playing on his pretty lips.

"Want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, Harrington?" Your voice is quiet and he closes the distance between the two of you in four long strides.

His thumb grazes your chin, pushing your face up to his before he kisses you again, a contented sigh escaping him. Once again, your hands find his messy hair and he grips the sweater with a little more power than before.

"God, I love you." His words are almost hidden against your lips but you freeze and pull away slightly, out of breath from both the kiss and his confession.

A blush creeps up his face and you can't help but smile before giving him another quick peck on his lips, relief filling you.

How can you have thought this man didn't love you enough to say it when he had blushed and grinned the entire morning. You love him to Jupiter and back a thousand times and realise, you had always really known he feels the same.

So, when the words leave your mouth and leave him a blushing mess, you can't help but know that this is your future.

You and him.

"I love you too."

***

A/N

I really hope you liked it and just a reminder that my requests are open via messages so just ping me a message if you have a request for any of the characters from my first post. Thank you! xx

[metamorphesque]

Short Story: "Why do flowers die so soon?", Vardges Petrosyan

(translated from Armenian by Tathev Simonyan)

…I remember the last days of my life, which were unlike any that had come before. To the world, I seemed so happy: I had brothers, a sister, a family, a child who was a bell and a brook’s murmur. What else could one need for happiness? And yet, something was missing, for I was not happy. And then, out of nowhere, she poured into my life.

Has it ever happened that, on a hot summer day, while you’re standing there, dazed by the sun and dreams, someone playfully poured cold water on your neck? At first, you might startle, maybe even scold the one who did it, but then you suddenly feel that’s exactly what you’d been standing in the sun for, perhaps you’d been standing your whole life just for that.

That’s how she poured into my life—wild and astounding, asking for nothing, careless as could be. Now I can’t even recall if she was beautiful. In her eyes, there was an inquisitive sadness, a sliver of sky, and a bit of rustling. It felt as though those eyes were always gazing at life, asking, “Why...?” She came uninvited, wrapped herself around my days like a grapevine curling up its wooden stakes, offering me all the clusters of her youth—everything she had. And she asked for nothing. Nothing at all. Until the very end, I couldn’t convince her that I loved her too. Perhaps I didn’t truly believe it then, for I kept reminding myself every moment: I have no right to love her. And maybe that’s why, when she laid her whole life at my feet, I kept glancing at my watch; she brought me the full nakedness of her youth, while I closed the curtains and turned off the light. I never went out in public with her, and the world never found out that I was finally happy. Our love was akin to a fire we tried to cover with our hands, though the flame was scorching and uncontainable.

I’m afraid my beginning is dragging on too long.

I was ill before I died. All day long, my mother, my brothers, and my wife—sorrowful and pale—remained by my side, though in those last days, we no longer understood or recognized one another. Only she was missing, the one I waited for and loved most. She couldn’t come to our house. My brothers knew I would die; the doctor had told them so. They believed it, perhaps even expected it—sad and resigned. Only my mother didn’t believe it, though not because she was unaware of what the doctor had said…

Perhaps it’s best if I tell you about my last day. By then, I already knew I would die that very day. That’s why I wanted to laugh when the doctor tried to give me an injection, examined my stomach, and then prescribed some medicine: “Give him this twice a day for a week.” I didn’t blame him—this calm, warm-handed man; he just didn’t understand me, and no doctor understands that people only die when they’re truly exhausted. Someone might grow tired at eighteen, and another at seventy. I was tired. But I wasn’t sad. My bookshelf was in front of me, though I didn’t think about the fact that my fingers would no longer touch those books. I knew that other fingers would, and for books, it makes no difference. Books are a bit like gossipers—they reveal their secrets to anyone, so I knew that they’d share them with someone else, too. With sadness I only looked at the acacia tree rustling below my window and at the sky in the distance. I wished I could take with me, to that place beneath the ground, just a bit of that rustling and a sliver of sky. But I knew it was impossible.

“I’ll go grab some cigarettes,” I suddenly heard my older brother say, even though I knew he didn’t smoke. He was either heading out to send a telegram to our relatives or he simply didn’t want to see me pass. I understood and said goodbye with a glance, knowing we would never meet again in this world. He left. I asked my wife to take our child outside for some fresh air. “I’ll take him,” she replied, not realizing she’d never hear my voice again. I also said something to my mother, but she didn’t leave. This saddened me deeply, and I slowly closed my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed, only that I suddenly heard my mother’s gut-wrenching scream and knew I had already died. Through my closed eyelids, I saw everyone come rushing in, saw them carry my mother out—the first to sense my death, though the only one who hadn’t believed it was near.

After that, everything unfolded as it always does.

For two days, people gathered around me, and I saw many familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years. They cried or stood somber and silent, then left. Sometimes, those sounds or that silence wore me out, and I wanted to ask them to talk or be quiet. But there was such calm within me that I didn’t dare to open my eyes. With a strange sense of wonder I began to observe people—many of whom I thought I knew well. Not knowing I was watching, they felt no need to pretend. I recalled what I used to think of them when I was alive, and, truthfully, at times, I felt embarrassed by those old thoughts and judgments. But that wasn’t what preoccupied me the most; every day, I searched for the one who never came. I knew she couldn’t simply come and stand quietly by my side like the others. I knew that as soon as she entered, everyone would know. My heart ached with longing; I missed her deeply, even thought of asking my mother to call her, but I was too worn out to open my eyes. I was so tired, and for the first time, I could think of her in peace, knowing no one would interrupt—not with a phone call, nor a glance, nor love, nor hate. I thought of her even when they carried me down my street, the street where I’d grown up, loved, and grown weary.

The street was full of sunlight, but for the first time, I didn’t feel hot; instead, I wanted even more of the sun, bigger and warmer. I looked at my street: trams, cars, people stood with a kind of sadness that wore my heart out. I didn’t want to be the reason behind anyone’s sadness; thus, I didn’t feel bad at all when I saw a boy and girl under a tree, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. At first, I thought they hadn’t noticed the procession, but then the girl looked directly at me and smiled again. The boy looked too, with kind and happy eyes. I wanted to smile back, maybe even wave, but I was too tired, and besides, if I lifted my hand, the flowers would fall.

Then we walked into the cemetery, and that’s when I saw her. I saw her and smiled—or rather, that smile had been there on my face the whole time because I’d been thinking of her in my final moments. For two days, through my closed eyelids, I saw that no one understood that smile; some even looked at it strangely and confused. But at the graveside, she understood; I even saw her smile back at me. Then her figure was obscured from my view by my relatives, my loved ones, and I remembered our last night together…

We were walking through the darkness. Only in darkness could we love each other freely in the open world, which is why we despised not just electric lights but even the stars when they shone too brightly. We were walking through the dark, and she wanted me to say that she was the one I loved most in the world. I was silent, perhaps already sensing that I was too tired of keeping that sentence unsaid, one I longed to cry out through all the speakers of the world. I was tired—tired of this darkness, of the lights, of everything—yet she waited. And later, under the ground, I deeply regretted that I hadn’t said those words meant only for her, belonging only to her, but it was already too late.

As I reminisced about our last night together, they started to lower me into the ground. I caught a final glimpse of her between my relatives' feet and heard her gaze. "Should I come with you?" she asked. "Should I?" That’s how I used to hear her voice through the receiver back then. In that final moment, I realized that if I just nodded, she would come, but she was only twenty-one, so I replied, "Stay." She heard my gaze, heard silently, just as she always had. Soon, she was obscured from view, and I realized I was already beneath the ground. After that, I heard the familiar sounds of stones and soil. And then, nothing more; only the thick fragrance of flowers lingered, frozen between me and the earth, then, thinking of her, I grew numb: I tried to recall the date and the day, but could only keep track of the calendar for a week or two.

Thus, days turned into months, and perhaps years went by. And I remember the words I never said to her, to the world, which is why I began to murmur this belated confession from beneath the earth. I began to exist through those unsaid words. Each day, I tried to remember how long our love lasted. A few... months? days? years?…

One day, I looked up and saw the sky once more; they had torn down our cemetery and replaced it with a garden of grasses and flowers. I had become a flower. I looked around in excitement, eager to find her and give her the words that were meant for her, belonged only to her... But she was not there; all around me were unfamiliar flowers that I did not recognize. I realized I must have been beneath the earth for perhaps an entire century, and she, too, might now be a flower, a blade of grass, or a handful of grain—who knows where in all the fields of the world... I was ready to search the globe for her, but I was just a flower, and I died as soon as I tried to lift my feet from the soil. I died for the last time. When I once more turned into soil, only then did I understand why flowers die so soon: all flowers might once have been people who rose from the earth in search of that someone, only to not find them and wither away, dying one last time. I realized that nothing in this world can be found twice, and I longed to cry out with all my floral voice, “Don’t let go, people, don’t lose what you have!”

[satorusdiary]

Kikufuku

Boyfriend! Satoru Gojo x reader

Fluff + nicknames (baby, pretty girl, mochi, sweetheart, etc..) You and Satoru are around 17-18 in this

Boyfriend! Satoru Gojo who shows up to your house at one in the morning, all he wants is for you to eat his mochi’s with him.

The sound of something lightly tapping on your window awoke you from your slumber. Your hand slithered from your pillow, to rubbing your eyes while grumbling.

When you stood up from your bed, you didn’t expect to see your boyfriend Satoru, standing on your balcony lightly knocking at your window.

At first you didn’t believe your eyes, that’s when you blinked a couple times and realized.. it was Satoru! Your eyebrows knitted together as your boyfriend of eleven months smiled at you, giving you a wave.

Quickly, you rushed out of bed and unlocked the balcony door. You’re careful not to be loud, just so your parents wouldn’t hear you sneaking in your boyfriend at this time.

“hey, pretty baby.” Satoru greets, slinging his hands over your body, giving you a tight hug. You noticed how cold he was, instantly you lightly slapped him. Earning a small yelp from your boyfriend.

“Satoru! You’re cold..” You mumbled and dragged him to your bed. Satoru chuckled at how quick you were to wrap your blanket around his cold frame.

“‘m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologized. You continued to rub your hands over the blanket that was on Satorus body, you looked up at him with a disappointing expression.

“Toru.. why’d you show up so late? If you wanted to spend the night, you could’ve texted me y’know?” You sighed, kissing his cold cheek. You brought your hands to cradle his cheek, bringing your warmth to him.

Satoru grinned, feeling relieved at the feeling of your warm hands touching him. He adored you, that’s for sure. The way your so caring for him, the way you always make sure he’s okay, everything about you just screamed perfect in his eyes.

The bag filled with creamy kikufuku’s were still in his hand, which also explained why apart of him was cold. He had originally bought so many flavors that he wanted to try, but what’s more better than trying out the new flavors than with his beautiful, wonderful girlfriend?

Now that, that was heaven.

“Baby, it’s not just that.” He pulled out the bag from under the blanket that was covering most of his body. “I bought more kikufuku! wanted you to eat these with me, love.” He grinned.

You looked at him with a blank stare. But that soon turned into an expression filled with awe. Your heart began warming up even more, Satoru came all this way just to eat mochi with you.

Satoru always had a soft spot, and he would always and only show most of that towards you. Everyone knew how much he cared for you, how he would be annoyed one second but then drooling over you the next second you show up.

He plans on having a future with you. He’s been dreaming about it, and he’s committed towards it.

“Satoru! You shouldn’t have!” The smile he oh so adored grew on your face, you began placing kisses all over his face the second he tried unboxing his bag.

“You’re s’ sweet. I love you so much, toru.” You mumbled, placing a kiss on his lips which he gladly returned.

“I love you, so much more pretty girl. Eat this with me, please?” He politely asked, pulling the small table that was beside your bed so he would be able to place the bag on something that wasn’t your comfy bed.

Before he could take everything out fully, he lifted his arm and signaled you to cuddle beside him in your blanket. You swore under your breath that you would marry this man.

You happily, snuggled in close next to him under your blanket, with your head laying on his shoulder.

The feeling of being tired completely disappeared out of your system, this was better than anything else. Nights like this, where you would spend time with Satoru is all you could ask for.

You watched as he picked up a strawberry mochi, placing it in between your lips. The cold pastry was delicious, though you’ve been running on left over food and beverages this was the best it could get.

After you took a bite, Satoru ate the rest.

“mmm! That might be my favorite,” Satoru paused to look at you, happily eating the treat. There was a few bits of the cream on the corner of your lips, which made him laugh softly before using his thumb to get rid of it.

“Hey!” You lightly yelled out, ignoring the heat building up to your cheeks. “Your opinion on the flavors change every time we eat a new flavor..” You commented and picked up another piece of the treat.

“That’s not true!” the white haired male argued, eating the piece you were going to eat.

You rolled your eyes and giggled.

“Sure, toru.”

this is my fav post that i’ve made.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

[huggybearhughes43]

Idk if you’ve ever watched the Netflix movie “through my window” but there’s this one scene where the girl and the guy are laying in bed together and he slips his hand into her panties and starts to finger her while they’re in bed with someone else. They aren’t together and lowkey it’s like enemies with lots of sexual tension.

Anyway I was thinking that with Ethan Edwards? Maybe the reader is really good friends with the other umich boys and ends up going back to their house after a party and she’s inbetween Ethan and one of the other boys even though her and Ethan kind of can’t stand each other and he has his arm around her and starts to kinda of touch her everywhere which makes her involuntarily move against him and they end up having sex together

Pretty Girl

Ethan Edwards x Fem! Reader

Warnings- smut, fingering, finger sucking (teehee), sharing the bed, pet names (pretty girl, brat, baby), Ethan is mean but gentle, very soft, riding, creampie (she’s on the pill), I think that’s it???

Summary- in the request

Work count- 1.5k

Drunken laughter filled Marks apartment as him and his teammates cram into the small place. But me? I was the designated driver to get back to this said apartment. It was nearly two in the morning, making me fearful to drive back onto campus to my dorm, if I was caught I’d be in big trouble for being out past curfew. Instead Marks little drunk giggles were in my ear while his girlfriend was asleep in his arms.

“I have a quest room” he says in a lame excuse for a hushed whisper. It was a wonder how Farah was still asleep on his chest. “But like…” he hiccups, “Ethan and Rut are sleeping in there” another hiccup from the drunk boy, “I’m sure you can find room”. I sigh softly, I can’t complain when he’s giving me a place to stay. I nod reluctantly and stand up, making my way to the spare room. The source of the drunkenness was the hockey seniors going away party. It was just pretty much the team and their girlfriends… and you know, me: the media girl.

Rutger was passed out on the right side of the bed when I walk in, drool on the corner of his mouth as his soft snore echoed in the room. He didn’t even care to attempt to wipe off the lipstick marks from his girlfriend Kayleigh as they were plastered all over his face. I was mildly surprised she wasn’t here, they were normally inseparable but I guessed her friends had taken her back to their place.

Ethan was sat up against the headboards with an arm behind his head, scrolling through his phone. I hated his guts. He was always stuck up and made snarky comments. He let his fame get in the way of a friendship with me, always thinking he was better than everyone else. But in reality, me the media, gave him his fame. I didn’t care to fix it though, I never let it bother me. Until now that is, his eyes meeting mine with a scoff. I narrow my eyes in disgust. “Mark told me I can sleep in here, he also said for you two to make room for me.” Ethan’s eyes look down at the floor. “A lot of room left down there.” I roll my eyes and step towards the bed.

I ignore his request as I crawl on the bed and squeeze between him and Rutger. “Go fuck yourself” I mutter and turn my back to him, so squished my face was practically pressed into the back of the snoring boy. I wiggle myself under the covers and close my eyes, slowly drifting to sleep. In my deep slumber I could feel a body lay beside me and an arm wrap around my waist. Normally, I’d be quick to push anyone off but in this state I couldn’t tell between a dream and reality.

My eyes flutter open to soft breaths against my neck. Rutger was still in front of me. My face heats up at the realization of who had me wrapped in their arms. I knew he wasn’t asleep because his soft thumb rubbing back and forth on my hip. I turn my head slightly. “What’re you doing, Ethan?” He groans softly with no response. “Ethan, I’m serio-“ I was cut off by his hand moving closer to the center on my stomach, just above the waistband on my sweatpants. “Do you ever know when to shut up?” He laughs softly as he moves his hand all over my stomach, hips, then eventually lifting it under my tank top to cup my bare breasts.

“Ethan.” I warn in a faint whisper, hoping I wouldn’t wake up Rutger. “What? Do you want me to stop? Hate me all you want but you know this feels good.” He chuckles as I gasp when he pinches one of my nipples. I don’t respond. “That’s why at I thought.” He laughs and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Just wanted to thank you for looking out for us at the party. You’re still a brat, but thank you” a sudden realization hits me. “Ethan- you’re drunk” I try to swat his hand away “I didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night, pretty girl.” I let out a relieved sigh.

His large hand makes its way into my sweatpants and under my panties. I feel him smile against my shoulder when he slots a finger between my folds. I whimper softly and reach my hand down to hold his wrist, not to stop him but as support. “So wet for me.” He presses another sloppy kiss to my shoulder. Without warning his finger dips into my wet hole making me accidentally moan out. His other hand moves to wrap around my neck and cover my mouth. “I wanna hear those pretty moans so bad but we can’t wake him up”. He begins to thrust his thick finger in and out of my hole, I moan against his hand but it was still loud enough to potentially wake up Rutger.

“Fuck,” he removes his hand just to stuff two fingers into my mouth, “keep these warm for me, pretty girl.”. He works another finger into me. I screw my eyes shut and force myself to suck his fingers to block a moan. He removes his fingers from both my pussy and mouth causing me to whine. “Y/n, baby, my cock will feel so much better.” A quiet “oh” falls from my lips causing him to chuckle. He flips me over to face him and our eyes meet. I’m suddenly reminded that this is the same guy that pisses me off every single day. “It’s probably tiny.” I say without thinking. I expected him to get mad but instead a smirk plays on his lips. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

He loops his fingers in my waistband and pulls them down enough for me to be able to kick them off. He doesn’t touch my panties in case rutger wakes up, he doesn’t want me to be completely exposed. In some strange way I find it cute that he’d protect me from another guys gaze. He pulls his own pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. He grabs one of my legs and places it over his hip, moving my panties to the side and pressing his dick to my entrance. I bite my lip at the realization that there was no way he was small. He laughs softly at my reaction and presses his forehead to mine. “It’s hard to admit you’re wrong huh, brat? Don’t worry, though…” he presses a soft and quick kiss to my lips then pulls away slightly, “I’ll go slow for you.”

He slowly presses into me, stretching me out in ways I didn’t know was possible. “Ethan…” I whisper. “I know, pretty girl, I’m almost all the way in.” As he finishes the sentence he bottoms out. My mouth falls agape and my eyes squeeze shut. He knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my moans in if he moved so for precaution, he forcefully pressed his lips into mine before moving. He snakes his hand around me and grabs my ass. He moves back, his tip was the only thing left in me before he slams back in. My moans are swallowed by his kiss. Rutger stirs causing Ethan to completely stop. “M’sorry, baby, but for this to work you’re gonna have to ride me.”

I whine softly and hoist myself on top of him. “There you go baby, don’t feel like being a brat anymore, huh?”. I let out a shaky breath before rounding my hips on him. My head drops to his shoulder as I rock back and forth sloppily. “There you go, pretty girl, just like that. Fuck, making me feel like I can cum already. “Ethan-“ I gasp out as I tighten around him. “I’m on the pill-“ my tummy tightens as my legs shake. Without warning my cream creates a ring around his cock. I stop moving out of exhaustion. Ethan chuckles softly and moves my hips for me, lifting me up and down on his cock. “Gonna fill you up, baby… you want me to fill you up?” He teases and I tiredly nod against his shoulder. His hips snap up into me as he holds me down, his thick ropes of cum filling me up.

I lift up off of him and fall back onto the bed. I re adjust my panties and put my sweatpants back on in case his cum leaked out of my swollen pussy. After he fixes his pants he pulls me into him. “M’sorry for being an asshole” he kisses my forehead, “I won’t stop but I am sorry.” I laugh quietly and nestle into his chest.

“Yeah well now I know how I can shut you up.”

[chibsandchill]

Pallid eyes

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x AFAB!reader (reader is implied to be of Valyrian descent)

Summary: After your death Aemond is forced to continue living without you. But he cannot, and so as he prepares to leave for Harrenhal he thinks back on the past. 

Warnings:  Including but is not limited to canon typical themes, Aemond is depressed, §uicide ideation, angst, bittersweet ending, spelling and grammatical errors,

Masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

You always dreamed of having a real name day celebration; one just like his family had, with elaborate clothing, exquisite food prepared by the best chefs in the known world, with tables covered with decorations coated in glitter and popping with color, and of treats so sweet they rotted your teeth. You wanted gifts wrapped in fine silk with ribbons and a card. 

You wanted to invite the orphans from Fleabottom because your heart broke for them. Truth be told, Aemond had never noticed the starving orphans begging on the streets of his home, much less thought to invite them to grand events, but he’s glad you had such a big heart for he found some of his most trusted companions among your old friends there. They had saved his life many times over in your name. You also wanted to invite the old spinster that lived on the edge of the Street of silk. Your room had a window that faced the Bay, and you never fell asleep before Aemond, and so you were awake to hear the spinster wail her sorrows into the waters at night. You used to bring her tea, spend the afternoons basking in the fading sun whilst gossiping. You cared for many of the old whores living there, and you brought handmade blends of herbs and teas to ease their pains. 

Aemond never wanted a nameday celebration like the ones his family held in his honor. He only ever wanted to see you smile, and so he pretended that he too dreamt of frilly decorations hanging from chandeliers, and of sweet tarts and cakes with thick frosting, and of inviting the orphans, and the spinster whore. He knew even then, as a boy who could barely count, that you did what made him happy, whatever the price may be, and so he lied. Your dreams became his and only then did they come true, because surely if Aemond told you he only wanted to sit in the gardens with you and read together, both court and centuries old family traditions be damned, you’d make it happen. 

His ideal birthday was one shared with you. All other days of the year were shared with the rest of the kingdoms, but on the shared anniversary of your birth he wanted it to be just the two of you. He wanted to stroll in the gardens with you holding his arm, and take to the skies on Vhagar to chase rainbows and flocks of colorful birds. He wanted to fly to your secret beach that only the two of you knew of, and he wanted you to hold him tight when the wind grew cold, and he wanted to sleep in your embrace where he knew he was safe and protected. 

But you weren’t stupid, never were. You were always more clever than he, and you figured out his plans before he even knew he had one. You knew he didn’t want any celebration, none of the attention of the courts, none of the extravagance that came with it. You knew he only wanted a belly full of good food and your company. So you invited your orphans from Fleabottom, and the spinster from the Street of silk and all others there you cared for. You had the kitchens bake and bake until there was not a platter not full and not a grain of sugar left. You had the guests drape themselves in fashion from far away lands and coat themselves in fragrance. Gifts in great piles of silk and shining ribbons, and essays of praise rose like mountains in the Great Hall. 

The guests and your guests arrived, you thanked them for coming and directed them to their tables in the hall. You helped serve the steaming food and poured sweet wine in polished goblets, and you made sure your orphans and former whores were in merry company. 

He was miserable. 

You knew it. 

No more than five minutes passed before you took his hand and pulled him away. You led him from the party and into the hidden tunnels, and from there you left the Keep. Behind a boulder on the beach laid a rowboat. He remembered gasping and you beaming at him as if to say ‘this is the real party’. 

The two of you set out on the ocean in the little rowboat with your own shares of cake, drink and gifts. 

All alone. 

You laughed and laughed and laughed until your stomachs cramped and your chests ached. He was ashamed to admit that it stung his twelve year old heart thinking he wasn’t enough for her, but as you laid down in the rowboat and looked at the stars he knew that you never wanted that party either. You also just wanted a day for us to be us. 

Together. 

You healed many broken hearts that night. His from thinking his twin flame was unhappy, the orphans from being lonely and hungry ( they received many offers from nobles that night that forever changed their lives), and the spinster from the Street of silks had the nameday celebration she never got to have. 

And now you’re all alone. 

After a lifetime spent protecting him from everything and everyone at the expense of everything you had; everything you were, you have to spend your nameday alone, wherever you are. It’s not fair. He wants you to come back, he wants you to take his hand and he wants for you to look at the stars together. 

When he closes his eyes he imagines that he’s back there with you. Ten summers old and blissfully unaware that in just a few days your lives would be ruined forever. He dreams that he took a different path back to his chambers, or that he had gone alone, or even that he had never been born at all. All so that he could save you from so much pain and suffering. Alas, those dreams are nothing but torture and even when he forces myself awake there is no relief in waking. 

Aegon no longer torments Aemond, but neither does he speak to him at all. It’s a painful victory. You look too much alike, Aegon always said, and so he can’t stand to look at Aemond any longer. He still attends Aemond’s nameday celebrations, tournaments, and sometimes he watches Aemond train in the yard. 

Sometimes Aemond forgets that it was not only him that lost you that day. Aegon lost his closest friend, Helaena lost someone she thought of as a sister and their children lost their aunt. But they don’t miss you like he does, ache for you like he does. He sees you in the sky, hears your voice in the winds, sees you in every face he sees, in every corner of the room, and every time he looks in the mirror. 

He avoids mirrors, and the sky. 

You taught him how to swim. Of course, you had to learn first to see if it was safe, and then you had to be the one to teach him because you didn’t trust anyone else with his safety. 

He’s watching Jaehaera holding little Maelor, guiding him through the waves like you did with him. Maelor doesn’t cry even when the waves crash against his face because he knows that Jaehaera will protect him, like you did with Aemond. 

It’s your birthday today. You and Aemond’s. 

He spends it alone, in such terrible pain that he thinks this must be hell. He misses his twin flame. He misses the missing half of his soul. 

Aemond never got to protect you when you were still here. You wouldn’t let him. But you’re protected now, protected by your fierce Karnax, who’d never let anything happen to you. 

Sometimes he hates you for leaving him. But as he’s sitting there thinking back on all past namedays he knows this was always the way it was going to end. Even if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he'd eventually get himself in trouble bad enough he wouldn’t have been able to get out, and you would always come running to protect him and you would always take his place.

It’s not you he hates. 

It’s himself. 

He misses you. 

He knows you’re waiting for him. And he knows that when he joins you again he’ll try to be angry with you for leaving him. But he also knows that you’ll just smile at him and tell him that you had to die first to make sure the afterlife was safe enough for your little flame. 

Aemond loves his mother, his siblings, and Vhagar, but if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he’d have followed you in death as he did in life. He’d have thrown himself in front of Rhaenyra’s sword, and you’d hold him in your arms as you passed. 

He misses you. 

But he knows you’re finally resting now. 

But you’re waiting for him and every day your calling grows stronger, and soon vengeance won’t be enough. He loves his family, and he would give all he had to protect them, but he misses you. 

Most of him had been taken, but the parts of him that still remained belonged to you. One soul, two bodies, that’s what everyone said. And now he was forced to walk the lands alone. 

He misses you. 

He loves his family but he just wants to rest. 

Yes. When The Blacks have been defeated, he’ll finally join you. You won’t have to wait anymore and he’ll be whole again, and you’ll never have to spend your namedays alone ever again. He’ll let you braid his hair until your fingers fall off, and sing until his ears bleed, as long as you are with him again. 

After all, there is not a fate more cruel than having to endure time without you.  

-:-:-:-:-

Aegon visited him the other day. Aemond thinks his brother knows what he plans to do because he called you a cunt for leaving. He promised to look after their mother, and Helaena, and all the children. And Vhagar. He’s given up drinking and whoring. 

Once, he told you that he wished you were dead. He can’t remember why, but he didn’t mean it. He could never. Now he knows what life without you is like – what the bottomless pit of grief felt as it burrowed deeper inside him, gulping down piece by piece what made him him like it was the sweetest of wines. Aemond never wished for it. Or maybe he did, but he never wished to remain standing if you weren’t. 

His time in court taught him how to pretend; how to don a persona so flawless he even fooled himself. Aemond isn’t sure he ever left Harrenhal. He doesn’t know who this Aemond is. 

He’s exhausted. 

Aemond doesn’t sleep anymore. He doesn’t feel safe in his home, in his bed. When he wakes up there is no relief, no respite from that which haunts his dreams. He smiles at his nephew and niece, and he laughs as they laugh, but none of it is true. 

Helaena is frightened by her shadow, but Aemond can never tear his eyes off his. When he stands just right, he can pretend it’s you standing there, and for just a few seconds, the smile reaches his eyes. 

He loves his family, and there is naught he wishes for more (other than you) than to avenge you, to retrieve your bones, and that used to be enough to keep the overwhelming darkness at bay. But now? It is no longer enough, and Aemond is drowning in it. 

He uses his smile like his father used a mask – to hide wounds that will never ever heal, will never scab over or fade. They will only grow until they consume all. 

Aemond can’t leave his chambers anymore. He used to be able to bear being away for short periods of time; for war councils and battles, but lately it feels like betrayal. Like abandoning the last pieces of you he still has left. His mother tried to tell him that it’s not true, that the Stranger has poisoned his mind, and that the chambers will remain even should he leave, and that your memory will linger, but he is nauseous just thinking about it. 

Once, he thought of carving his eye out, so that he may be truly blind and would no longer have to suffer seeing the world. What use was his eye if you were not there? But even blind, Aemond would still feel your absence, for it was not by sight that he saw you. 

There are good days where he takes his sister on long walks on the beach, but he never looks at the ocean. They never go behind the boulder where you hid the rowboat. There are good days, but they are far and few between, and the bad days are so very, very bad. Sometimes Aemond can’t even get out of bed, his mind convinced that it’s you holding him again, that you’re back and as long as he stays there he can delude himself into believing you’re there to stay. But you’re not, and the days he can’t delude himself into thinking you’re alive are the worst. 

The crippling loneliness never goes away, never lessens. He never knew someone could cry so much, feel such pain and still be alive. 

He’s alive but he’s not living, not truly. Not anymore. 

There are good days but they’re not enough. Not anymore.

He loves his family and his dragon, but it’s not enough. Not anymore. 

You would want him to live, to stay with his family and the children, and defeat the threat against them,  but he knows you’re waiting for him. He knows you’re alone and you miss him just as much as he misses you. He knows you’re hurting just like he is and it’s cruel of him to not help you. You’ve sacrificed so much for him but he won’t let you sacrifice anymore. 

He can’t, he won’t, let you suffer anymore. 

There are bad days, almost all of them are, but he knows that when he joins you they’ll all go away. It’ll all go away and he can finally rest again for the first time since you left. 

He just wants you back. 

He wants you to fly together again, and taste the clouds, and dive for sea glass and shells together. He wants to hide away at the beach together and he wants to watch the stars in your arms. He wants to see you smile at him again, to laugh at his jokes and to take the pain from him. 

He loves his family, his dragons, and your home.

But it’s time. 

He won’t keep you waiting any longer. 

-:-:-:-:-

Aemond thinks his mother knows what he’s planning. She was crying when he told her that he will leave for Harrenhall where his uncle awaits him. She wouldn’t let him leave and so he had to tear his sleeve from her bloodied hands. It pains him to see her cry, but that pain is naught but a drop of water compared to the ocean of pain he feels. He’s delayed it enough, fought it for so long, but it’s time for Aemond to rest. 

For the first time since he received the raven, he’s walking on the beach with his eyes set on the horizon. His eyes do not avoid neither shimmering water or shining sky. He does not flinch at the sound of his dragon’s greeting, for his heart is lighter than ever. There is nothing weighing him down any longer. He will do this last thing, and then he will be reunited with you. 

He walks past the boulder, and there are children there, painting on the rock. They’re scratching your likeness into it. You were their champion, and they had lost you too. They felt your absence most keenly. He can’t help the laughter from coming — a wholly unfamiliar sensation – and tears prickle his eyes. The orphans had drawn you, but shorter than he remembered. Aemond  barely recognizes you, and it makes him falter, but then his steps are light again. You would have found it funny, would have laughed at your depiction before chasing the orphans across the beach with their laughter carried over to him by the wind. 

Aemond looks back, and there’s the spot where you taught him how to swim, and also where Jaehaera taught little Maelor to swim. It’s where you taught him how to wrap his hair after his eye was stolen, and it was where you declared that one day you and Aemond would fly away together. It’s where you killed a man for him after they mocked him, and it’s where you held his hands when he skinned his knee when he was five. The beach is crawling with memories, everywhere he looks there’s a new one playing out in front of him.. Admittedly most of them are you protecting him in one way or the other as he’s always been a magnet for trouble. He had avoided it, avoided being reminded of all that he had lost. But now the darkness has left the beach and all that remains are the good memories, the ones untainted by his darkness. 

It doesn’t pain him to see the boulder anymore. It fills his heart with joy and he feels like he’s thirteen again being led by you to your next adventure. 

He walks past it and keeps on walking until he reaches Vhagar. In her eyes he sees a reflection of his own pain. Karnax was her hatchling, and she had lost him too. She felt that pain, and carried it with her always. She did not hate him for abandoning her in his grief, she was relieved. Vhagar had lived a long life full of loss and pain, and she knew what was in his heart. And still she rose to the sky with him on her back. 

Perhaps that too was echoed in her heart.

Once they’re far enough from the Keep, Aemond unclasps his satchel. Several sweet treats and slices of decadent cake threaten to tumble to the ground, but he’s spent enough time on dragonback to know better. The dessert is too sweet, and it sticks to the roof of his mouth. 

He leaves most of it. 

It’s your nameday tomorrow, and you would be very upset with him if he ate it all without you. 

Up there, in the sky, it’s calm with nothing but a soft breeze to keep him company. ‘Tis a good thing that Harrenhall is not a long flight away, for he does not wish to taint this moment. 

His uncle is already atop his dragon when he arrives at the charred remains of a once great castle. Caraxes whines upon seeing them. Him and Vhagar had once fought side by side, but now they were enemies. But you? You loved the Blood Wyrm, and you loved Daemon. Loved him as if he was your father, and he loved you in turn. Your death was not to be put on his shoulders, but Aemond knows Daemon could not be allowed to remain. 

And, would you not be glad to be reunited with him too? What better gift could he bring but your father? 

“Nuncle!” Aemond shouts across the water. “You have lived too long!”

“On that, we can agree.” Daemon said. 

And so, the dragons danced, clashed together and burned. There would be no victor, that both the riders knew, and they were glad for it. It’s chaotic, and yet Aemond feels at peace. He feels drowsy, heavy, and yet he feels free and lighter than a bird’s feather. 

He doesn’t feel the sword being shoved inside his chest, for there is no suffering of the flesh that can compare to that of his soul. And so they fall. Fall, fall, fall towards the Gods’ eye, together. Caraxes is dying, and so is Vhagar. Daemon too, and Aemond. Soon you would all be together again. 

His eye starts to close, and just as it flutters close, he feels your strong arms wrap around him, and your scent fills his nose. You stroke his hair away from his forehead as you unclasp his eyepatch. You would have all of him – see all of him. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Aemond.” She says and Aemond wants to protest but the words are stuck, lodged in deep with his  tears and sheer happiness. He’s not scared, he’s so very very happy. He wants you to keep talking, to say his name again, even were this a cruel trick by the gods. “Shh, I know, I know. I have you.”

“Don’t let me go.” He says.

Aemond feels you press a kiss to his forehead as you tighten your arms around him, pushing his head to nestle into the crook of your neck. The last thing he hears is your voice. 

“Never.”  

And so he let go, surrounded by your scent, and resting in your arms again, just like he was always meant to be, confident that you’ll protect him on this journey too. 

His eternal protector. 

[noellawrites]

Comfort - Sonny Carisi x sibling!reader

summary: your big brother comes to check on you and decides to stay a while.

author’s note: dedicated to my beloved, @rafaslittleboy <3

warnings: incest (touching and kissing), thunderstorms

—

The house was totally quiet. Not a single sound to be heard, and you were tucked into your bed tightly as you waited for your big brother to arrive home.

Time dragged by and suddenly you found yourself falling into a deep sleep filled with dreams of your big brother, Sonny.

You hear a noise and begin to stir, blinking the sleep from your eyes. You were tucked in tight and the feeling of your warm blankets was so comforting. You try not to move around too much, instead focusing on the noises downstairs.

It has to be Sonny, it just has to be. Your parents were gone for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary and your sisters hardly ever came home.

You threw back the covers, already biting your lip in anticipation. The wooden floors creak beneath your feet as you walk downstairs, right to the comforting arms of your older brother.

“Hey, doll! Hope I didn’t wake ya?” he said, wrapping his long arms around your torso and pulling you into a hug.

“Of course not, Dommy. Did mom ‘n dad send you to check up on me?”

“Nah, I wanted t’make sure you were okay. Thought I could spend the night, if it’s alright w’you? Don’t want ‘ya to be all alone in this big house all night,” he teases, cupping your cheek in his hand. You try to hide the blush rising up your face.

“Of course, you’re more than welcome. It’s been a little scary here the past few nights,” you admit, causing your brother to look at you with a concerned expression.

“Shoulda’ told me, doll. I woulda’ come ova’ right away,” he frowns.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, clasping your hands behind your back.

It was already evening and the darkness had begun to set in through the windows of your family’s house. Staten Island was quiet compared to the other boroughs, but sometimes the lack of noise creeped you out.

It didn’t help that a thunderstorm was supposed to be rolling in tonight. You were secretly glad to have the company. You would hate to be alone during a bad storm.

“I grabbed ‘ya favorite from Silvestro’s on my way here,” your brother says, handing you the red printed plastic ‘Thank You’ bag with a smile.

“Oh, Dommy! You shouldn’t have!” you smile, taking the bag from him.

“Nah, I wanted to. It’s been a tough week. Some bad cases, stuff with ‘manda ‘n the kids…” he trails off, looking away. You can tell he wants to change the subject.

“Oh, I also have something you might want after a stressful week,” you say, suddenly remembering the bottle of cheap whiskey you’d bought from the bodega yesterday.

For some reason, you’d thought you might need it if you invited some friends over, but you figured you could take it to some of your friends who live in the dorms if you didn’t end up needing it.

“And what could that be, doll?” he asks, “Maybe a back rub? Some cannoli?”

“Better,” you smirk, reaching your hand deep into a cabinet and pulling out a cheap bottle of Four Freedoms Whiskey.

“Hey— you know the rule, you’re not supposed to drink in ‘ma ‘n dad’s house,” he snaps, grabbing the bottle from you.

“That’s not fair! I’m the legal drinking age, I can drink whenever I want!” you whine, leaning over to try and grab the bottle from your brother.

You’re too late, as he’s already standing up and opening the bottle. Your brother is a lot taller than you, and you can only watch as he takes a large swig of the whiskey.

Furious, you jump up and try to reach his long arm, where his hand grasped the bottle you’d paid for.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll pay ‘ya back,” he laughs, taking another drink.

“You better, that was nine dollars,” you grumble.

“Hey, ‘ya know ma’s rule, no drinkin’ at home ‘til ‘ya twenty five,” he warns, putting the bottle on top of a cabinet you couldn’t reach.

“And you all wonder why I spend so much time at the dorms and the clubs. At least they don’t make me feel bad for being a normal twenty-one year old!” you yell.

Nothing pissed you off more than all the rules your siblings had “mostly” followed and you also had to obey as the youngest Carisi.

“That’s enough. Now sit down and eat your sandwich,” Sonny sighs, rubbing his forehead and plopping down in one of the wooden kitchen chairs.

You could tell your brother had been having issues with Amanda for a while. And now, after you had acted like a petulant child, you could see just how exhausted your older brother looked.

“I’m sorry, Dommy. It’s just— some of the rules make it tough for me to, you know, just be an adult.”

“I know, doll. I’m sorry. Things’ve been hard with ‘manda ‘n the girls lately. ‘N I’m just happy to see ‘ya,” he gives you a tired smile and rubs his hand along your arm.

“Just relax while you’re here, Dommy. Don’t worry about anything else. It’s just you and me.”

Between the two of you eating your sandwiches, your brother told you a few stories of him growing up to try and make you feel better. And it did, all the way up until you heard a loud rumble and a clap of thunder striking.

Your eyes widened, looking out the kitchen window as a flash of lightning crossed the sky.

Another clap of thunder rang out and a gasp escaped your mouth. You clamped your hand over your mouth and Sonny dragged his chair closer to you, concerned.

“I-I’m okay,” you squeak, sounding decidedly less-than-okay.

All of a sudden, rain started to patter against the windows, fat droplets like the tears that were threatening to spill. You hated thunderstorms, specifically loud ones. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the world was ending whenever they struck Staten Island.

“You wanna go lay down, doll? I’ll bring ‘ya up some tea.”

All you can do is nod and turn to the staircase, taking a deep breath as you go one step at a time. It usually isn’t this hard for you to go up the stairs, but the weather outside is enough to make your body tremble as you clutch the handrail.

You’re only laying down for a few moments when you hear your older brother enter. He pulls on the bedside lamp and your room fills with a soft light.

“Oh, doll—“ he says upon seeing your shaking figure hiding partially under the covers.

“Dommy, c-can you lay with me?” you ask, voice wavering. Your brother immediately softens, laying the mug on your nightstand and throwing the covers back just enough for him to wiggle his way in.

“I’m here, ‘ya don’t have to be scared. I’ve got ‘ya,” Sonny promises, laying his hand on your shoulder.

Wordlessly, you turn and burrow into his arms, pressing your face against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head.

For some reason, the action pains you. You want him to kiss you on the lips and all the way down your tummy. You want to kiss him back, to comfort him in the way Amanda can’t.

“I love you, Dommy,” you whimper. Rain patters harder against the window and his arms tighten.

“I’m gettin’ divorced. Me ‘n ‘manda… we just ain’t workin’ out,” he whispers, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, trying to hide the shock in your voice. As much as you despised Amanda for taking your brother’s attention away and treating him so poorly, you had always thought things were going smoothly between them.

You lift your chin, looking at your brother’s face as it’s illuminated by the lightning outside. He looks like the same Dommy he’s always been, but more open somehow. He looks at you almost expectantly, and you’re not entirely sure what to make of it.

All you know is that you desperately want to kiss him. And so you do.

You lean up slightly, meeting his lips. You’re kissing your big brother, twenty years older than you and married, although not for long. And you’re even more shocked that he’s kissing you back, pressing against you enough to make you realize that he wants this just as much as you. Or maybe even more.

His big, warm hand reaches down and presses against your lower tummy. You gasp pleasantly, and as his fingers drift lower, the storm is all but forgotten.

“Dommy— r-right there,” you gasp as his fingers inch between your legs and into your warmth.

“Jus’ like this, doll?” he smirks and you nod, looking up at him with puppy eyes.

“I’m gonna take off ‘ya shirt, okay doll? And I’ll take mine off, too.”

You want nothing more than for him to take your tiny little hole, stretch it out for your big brother. You can feel a heated desire blooming in your center and you’re close to tears, so needy for him.

You nod and he lifts up your shirt, coldness hitting you despite being under the covers. His shirt is the next to go, and you’re left ogling at his toned torso, although with a slightly rounded tummy after all of ma’s cannolis.

“Want ‘ya like this foreva’, doll. You’re mine,” he huffs before pulling you into an open-mouthed kiss. You wouldn’t want to belong to anybody else.

[delicateflowerss]

Dark Paradise

You try to adjust to a new life, married and living in a manor. But you quickly realize that not everything is what it seems, including your mysterious and devilishly handsome husband, Michael Langdon.

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, violence, murder, demon!Michael, blood kink, pain kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia

Word Count: 4.2k

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to the dark corridors where shadows dance in your periphery, or the damp smell that makes you feel like you’re underground. It smells of rotting fruit, a slow and lingering decay, almost like death surrounds you.

As long as it doesn’t reach you.

You’re also not sure if you’ll ever get used to the man that haunts these grounds. This tall, dark manor that sits in the middle of nowhere.

He’s not dead, he’s just your husband.

His appearances to you are scarce, only really seeing him at mealtimes and occasionally passing him in hallways.

He’s elusive, mysterious to you in ways you cannot comprehend. Ever since you arrived at the manor, all you’ve had are questions.

For an unknown reason, you can’t remember your life before this place. All you know is you were married off to a man named Michael Langdon.

Sometimes, you have the strangest dreams with a house that feels like the complete opposite of here. One filled with love and light and white walls, and not this frigidness that wraps around you now.

The days almost feel like they go on forever, blending together as nothing surprising happens.

Until one night, you’re pulled out of a peaceful slumber by a piercing scream.

It takes you a moment to blink away the sleep, wondering if it was real or part of a dream.

It doesn’t take long before another one echoes throughout the manor. It’s shrill, a seemingly female scream.

You clutch the soft sheets under you, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

You think about whether you should lie back down, ignoring it and going back to sleep. But you don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

Perhaps against your better judgement, you leave your bedroom, with only a candle lighting your path through the dark hallways.

Your white nightgown sways as you step between walls covered in paintings. The dim candlelight casts shadows on the faces, giving them a particularly ghoulish look.

You keep walking, hoping to find some sort of sign of what it is that woke you up. You’re not even sure where the scream exactly came from.

Before you can reach Michael’s room, a chill sweeps past you, extinguishing your candle, leaving you shivering in the dark.

A disembodied voice calls out your name in the form of a question.

“What are you doing out of your room?” he asks.

You instantly recognize the voice, and it stops you in your tracks. You swallow as he steps closer to you. Michael is holding a candle, illuminating the glare on his face.

“I thought I heard something. It woke me up,” you say nervously.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he replies, his brow furrowing.

“It sounded like a scream. I thought someone might have gotten hurt.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just have a nightmare?” he asks in an almost mocking manner, a cruel smirk growing on his lips.

“No-.” You sigh, stopping yourself. “No,” you say again, this time quieter.

“Come on. I’ll tuck you in and look under your bed for monsters,” he says, trying to step past you with a teasing grin on his face.

“I know what I heard, Michael.”

He stops, mere inches from your face and he can see the seriousness that settles in your eyes.

It doesn’t stop his own icy blue eyes from growing colder.

His gaze rakes over you before he leans in closer, warm breath fanning over your lips as he says, “you didn’t hear anything, Y/N. Time to go back to bed.”

You think your own breathing has stopped before he leaves you, going back to his bedroom.

That’s when your goosebumps return, Michael taking all warmth with him.

You’ve sat in the library all day, reading by the window as rain hits the glass. You decided that you’ll read every book in this place since you don’t have much else to do. You’re on 28 out of 11,200. Thunder rumbles above you as you turn the page.

Nothing has happened since you heard the scream, helping you to believe that it was either a dream or your sleep-addled imagination. You tried asking your handmaid if she heard anything that night, but she said no, giving you a strange look like you might be going mad.

You quickly shut up about it.

Michael hasn’t brought it up, which you’re somewhat grateful for because if he did, it would probably be to make fun of you some more.

Even if he has been polite enough about it, it’s been difficult to be around him. He’s always had an intense gaze but something about it has changed. It lingers for too long.

You think that’s always been the case. But now you react differently, a heat growing in your cheeks and a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach.

“Are you hiding from me for a reason?”

You practically jump, startled by the deep voice near your ear.

You close your book and look over your shoulder, finding Michael standing behind you. Amusement lights up his face and his hands are clasped together behind him.

“Do you normally spend your time in here?” he asks, eyes scanning the room, finding books from floor to ceiling and a fire raging, keeping you warm.

“Sometimes.”

You stare at him, still confused as to why he’s bothering you. Shouldn’t he be busy with something?

“So why do you seem to be in here more than you used to be?”

He steps over to the chair you’re sitting in, wood creaking underneath him. He looks over your shoulder, reading the title of your leatherbound book.

You swallow, able to smell the rich scent he wears. It’s musky with a dash of sweetness, like a piece of fruit being harvested from the earth.

“Just reading more, I guess,” you finally answer his question.

“Hm, well I wanted to apologize for the other night.” He pauses, like it’s hard to get the words out. “You were obviously shaken, and I could’ve been nicer.”

Even if his apology could be more genuine, at least it’s an apology.

“I also want to give you something,” he says before placing something on a side table near you.

You pull your brows together as you take in the gift.

“A pomegranate?” you ask, moving your gaze to him, eyebrows raised.

He picks the piece of fruit back up, mischief dancing in his eyes. In one motion, he cracks the rouge skin open, revealing hundreds of little seeds.

He gathers exactly four seeds in the palm of his hand, setting the rest of the fruit back down.

Without saying anything, he brings his hand closer to you, offering it as if you have no choice but to accept.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching to grab them from the palm of his large hand.

But when your skin brushes against his, a gasp falls from your lips, an image flashing in front of you.

It’s Michael, but he looks different…wearing different clothes than he wears now, almost like a school uniform.

The pomegranate seeds fall to the floor before you look up at him.

There’s a question in his eyes that almost matches yours. But it’s just a flicker of confusion before it disappears, turning into irritation.

He clasps his hands together again before leaning down to you and saying lowly, “if you make a mess, you must clean it up. Remember that.”

You keep your eyes away from him, not able to look at him. You can faintly hear him walk away, but your mind is too focused on the words that seem to have another meaning to them. A meaning that makes heat swirl inside you.

The sun is out today, but just barely. It peeks slightly behind gray clouds. You’ll take it over nothing, deciding it called for a stroll in the garden.

Except, as you look around, you realize there isn’t much of a garden. The flowers seem to be withering away, drooping without life and leaves almost crumbling to dust.

It must be the lack of sunshine, you think as you frown.

It’s so hard to find beauty in a place like this, instead only finding death and tragedy.

Without intending to, your mind wanders to a certain someone. You suppose not all beauty is lost.

You still have been avoiding Michael to the best of your abilities, still unsure what happened that day in the library.

You’re also unsure of your growing feelings for him. He is your husband, but it’s also true you two never consummated the marriage.

He never wanted to, and at first, you were grateful. But now, as you think of his golden curls and sharp jawline that could have been crafted by the gods themselves, you wonder if it would help ease the tension between you. Maybe it’s what you need to do in order to have a normal conversation with him.

But nothing about him is normal. He might be beautiful, but you can’t ignore the darkness that lies in his eyes and makes up his entire being.

You stop, finding a faded yellow flower sprouting from the ground. You bend down, pulling it up. Standing up, you stare at it in your hand, and you can’t help but wish it was alive.

You sigh, eyes closing, almost in defeat. But when you open them, you can’t believe what you see.

The flower is now a bright yellow, looking like it belongs in a vase full of fresh-cut daffodils.

It’s like the flower was resuscitated right between your fingers, finally getting the oxygen it so desperately needed.

There is no way you did this, so how is this possible?

Dinner is mostly eaten in silence. Some small talk is exchanged but you can tell Michael can barely bare it, gritting his teeth as you ask him how his day was.

Michael enjoys more intellectually stimulating conversation. It just so happens that usually means arguing with you or teasing you about something. So, you’re not very fond of it.

Once the plates are taken away, you think you can finally breathe, ready to take your leave to your room.

Just as you’re getting up, Michael stops you.

“Sit down. You haven’t had your dessert yet.”

“Dessert? We only have that on special occasions,” you retort, sitting back down.

“Well, you didn’t get to finish it the other day.”

You part your lips to question him again, but it’s answered when a maid places a plate in front of you.

A pomegranate split in half sits before you.

Michael seems to be waiting for your reaction when you lock eyes with him.

“What is with you and pomegranates?”

“They’re in season. I just want you try it.”

He leans back in his chair, giving a smile that doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. Instead, you find a glint there instead.

You nervously look down at the fruit, mulling over what he wants you to do.

You blink and you suddenly see that the red fruit has turned into a human heart, bloody and still beating.

You gasp, eyes widening as you push back your chair.

You look back to Michael, wondering if he sees it too. You’re met with a cold stare, his finger impatiently tapping on the table.

You frown, your eyes going back to the plate only to find the pomegranate.

Tears spring to your eyes as you consider the real fact that you’re losing your mind.

You don’t notice Michael getting up to stand next to you, your broken mind too caught up with all the peculiar things happening in the last couple of weeks.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the torment you’re putting yourself through.

By the time you turn to look at him, he has a few pomegranate seeds on his fingertips. You can smell the sweetness as he brings them closer to your lips.

“Don’t think about it. Just eat them,” he says as two of his fingers move past your lips and into your mouth.

You hum lowly in your throat as you taste how delicious they are, lips clasping tighter around Michael’s fingers, your tongue swirling around them.

He breaks the seal, removing his fingers before you swallow. He watches your throat move up and down, taking his offering.

You don’t miss the satisfied smirk on his plump lips.

It’s a night of tossing and turning. You’re able to sleep but it’s restless. Thoughts of Michael still lingering hours after he fed you the pomegranate.

When you’re finally able to sleep for more than an hour, you’re woken up by a scream similar to the one that woke you up weeks ago.

You know you heard it. It’s not in your imagination. No matter what Michael wants you to believe.

You don’t even think about it as you leave your bed, practically storming down the hall, deciding to leave behind a lit candle for light.

You pass Michael’s bedroom, getting closer to the faint sounds of cries and screams.

At the end of the hallway lies a singular door painted blood red.

You’ve never dared to go through it because when you arrived at the manor, you were told it is off limits.

Every time you would look at it, the hairs on your neck would stand up, giving you reason enough to never investigate it.

But now, you know you have to, tired of not knowing the truth.

When you step through the doorway, the air feels heavy, like all the light has been sucked out, only leaving a darkness that sits on your chest, making sure you cannot take a breath.

It’s pitch black, stairs going down to seemingly nowhere or possibly the pits of Hell. So, it’s either idiotic or suicidal why you decide to go down them.

Once you go down the stairs, a sweltering heat is the first thing you feel, like fire blistering your skin. It’s so bright down at the bottom of the stairs that it reflects in the irises of your eyes.

Hundreds of candles are lit with a few fires alongside them. The walls seem to be made of the earth, like a cave.

You don’t exactly understand what is going on, crouched at the bottom of the stairs spotting Michael walking toward a man sitting on the ground.

Cries and screams of “no” fall from the man as Michael brings a small knife to the man’s throat.

He slices it open, like a bleeding smile, his cries ceasing.

A sadistic smirk paints Michael’s lips, a satisfied one that is so similar to the one he had when he fed you the pomegranate seeds.

That’s when you notice everyone else. Bodies littered around the room, both alive and dead. Blood seeping from their various wounds. The ones who are alive seem to be chained to the floor or the walls, like they’re being tortured.

You can’t help the strangled cry that leaves your mouth, your stomach churning, thinking of the horror that the man you’re married to has been enacting.

You catch yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth. But it’s too late. He heard you.

Michael meets your gaze, and it only takes you a split second to get up and run back up the stairs.

You rush through the house, finding the front doors that keep you trapped inside this prison from the rest of the world.

You fling them open, running barefoot past the garden into the trees that border the manor.

Except just when you think you’re getting somewhere, you’re entering another door, one that goes right back inside the manor.

You look around with bewilderment, your mind racing to try and figure out what is going on. But you just end up hitting a brick wall, wanting to collapse into tears while nothing makes sense. You feel like the floor is moving, like your world has been tilted.

“Don’t cry, little witch.”

You turn to find Michael at the top of the main staircase, looking at you with a sort of curiosity and feigned sympathy.

“What?” you ask, voice cracking.

He continues down the stairs, stepping closer to you.

“Stay away from me,” you yell, voice still thick with tears. “I’m getting out of here.”

“You can try as long as you want to get away. But you’ll always end up back here.”

His looming figure is blurry as you blink away the tears.

You let him get closer, his thumb wiping your tear-stained cheeks.

“You poor thing.” You hear him mutter like you’re some naïve little lamb that needs to be protected.

“You’re stuck here,” he explains. “Those seeds you ate bound you here forever. With me, little witch,” he adds with a grumbling chuckle.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You don’t remember,” he observes, tilting his head at you, like you’re his science experiment.

He thinks for a moment before continuing, “I suppose it would be better if you remembered. Then we really can have fun.”

Before you can protest or say anything, everything goes black.

Certain details are still fuzzy when you regain consciousness, but you remember it all.

You were a powerful witch in a coven. You remember your sisters and your Supreme, Cordelia.

You also remember him.

Cordelia made a deal. She knew who Michael really was, so she did anything she could to send him away, lock him up within the gates of Hell.

She had to make a sacrifice, and it just so happened to be you.

She came up with a loophole for you. The problem is that you couldn’t remember what it was when you arrived here.

You look around at your surroundings for the first time, finding yourself inside a circle of lit candles.

You try to move outside of the confines of the circle, but it’s like an invisible barrier is up.

You lie back down in defeat.

There is no fighting him or getting out. You ate the seeds of the pomegranate.

If enough time had passed without you eating them, you could’ve gotten away from here like Cordelia wanted.

Now you’ve sealed your fate. You’ve been promised to The Beast.

It’s not long before a door creaks open. The man you’ll be forced to spend eternity with, walks through the door.

“I imagine that was an enlightening nap,” he says, fighting off a mocking grin.

You swallow, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him.

“I was right that it would be better if you remember. I can feel the hatred coming off you. I like that more than indifference.”

He pauses, his eyes raking over your body, like he’s hungry and you’re his next meal.

“Of course, other feelings haven’t changed. You know, it was so hard not to say anything that day in the library when I could smell how wet you were.”

You finally turn to look at him, eyes widening at his casual vulgarity.

“Or any of the other times you were clenching your thighs together. And all because of me,” he adds, eyes full of mirth.

“You’re lying,” you argue, but you can’t deny how warm your cheeks are getting.

“Am I?” he challenges. “It really wouldn’t matter. You’re mine to do as I please with.”

You try to hide the waves of heat you feel, but you can’t successfully hide anything from him.

“What would your Supreme think if she knew how easily you gave into me? If she knew how much of a whore, you are?”

He walks around you in circles like you’re prey that he’s just playing with until he’s ready to feast.

It’s dizzying.

“Maybe I couldn’t stop Cordelia from trapping me here, but I knew I wasn’t going to let you go. Her silly plan with the pomegranates,” he laughs. “I was going to pull you down to the depths of Hell with me. Which is where you’ll be for the rest of eternity.”

You shake your head, wanting him to stop taunting you.

“You’re a monster, Michael,” you harshly say. “I’m sure you feel more at home here.”

He just gives you a humorless laugh, something cruel settling in his eyes.

“Cordelia doesn’t care about you. Her hatred for me outweighed whatever love she had for you. She’s probably forgotten all about you.”

You try to pretend that his words don’t claw at your chest.

“But if I’m going to have my little witch by my side,” he continues. “She can’t be an insolent one.”

You instantly regret hurling any insults at him.

“I think it’s time you learn how things are going to work around here.”

He steps inside the circle, barely giving you time to move out of his way.

“On your knees. Now,” he says, his voice sounding gravelly.

You scramble to kneel at his second command.

“Tell me, little witch. Who’s your God?”

You look up at him, confusion in your eyes.

“What?”

The palm of his hand meets your cheek, moving your head to the side. A slight sting burns your skin.

“Let’s try that again. Who is your God?”

You just shake your head, trying not to let the tears fall from your eyes.

His palm slaps your other cheek, the same biting feeling spreading through your face.

“We can keep doing this until you get it right.”

At least when Michael walked the earth, he had many people to subject his torture too. Now, he just has you. And any other sorry soul that might cross his path, you think. The image of crimson pouring from that man’s neck is still burned into your mind.

“You, Michael. You’re my God,” you defeatedly say.

“And how should you worship your God?”

You catch his gaze, unsure how to answer.

All he does is move his hand to undo his pants, unzipping them until you get what he means.

Your eyelashes flutter as you move your face closer to his cock.

He’s already hard, so you give a small lick to his tip, tasting the salty evidence of his arousal.

He watches you start to put his cock into your mouth and down your throat.

A groan falls from his lips as you begin to fuck him with your throat, spit spilling out of your mouth as you choke on his size.

He puts a hand to the back of your head, helping you to take almost all of him. You can feel your own arousal coating your inner thighs.

“I knew you were good for something,” he says as you gag a little.

He surprises you by pulling you off him, letting you fall onto your ass while your drool hits your chin.

He’s quick to grab you, pinning you to the floor as he puts his weight on top of you.

“I want you to feel me cum inside you.”

He doesn’t waste any time before he rips your white nightgown off you, seeing your naked body for the first time.

His own clothes come off and you hate that even if you know how much of a monster he is, all you can think about is him fucking you.

His hands have your wrists underneath them, pushed into the cold hard floor. You can’t move if you wanted to, but you don’t think you would anyway.

All you do is blink, and his face has changed. His skin is paler with cracks running through it, almost like cement. And his eyes have gone black, no light or emotion to be seen, just darkness, an overwhelming evil you’ve never seen or felt before.

It frightens you. His body is colder as he pushes inside you, a growl coming from deep in his throat.

He doesn’t care to wait for you to adjust, he’s rough in his thrusts, setting a pace that already leaves you gasping for air.

“Michael,” you cry out. “It hurts.”

You know you sound pathetic which is almost worse than how full you feel, your cunt stretching to accommodate the size of him.

“Good,” is all he says.

He licks and bites at your breasts, playing with your nipples between his fingers. It’s both pain and pleasure and it drives you insane. You can feel him deep inside you, the tip of his cock hitting that soft spot nestled in you.

You wrap your legs around him, your walls clenching around him.

He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears from the pain you have felt. He just licks it up, finding your pain to be delicious.

His lips drag against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin.

He whispers, “I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby. Evidence of how you belong to me.”

You can feel your pussy squeeze him at the thought, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

He captures your lips in a sloppy kiss as he moves his hand down to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

It’s enough for the coil to snap. It’s only moments later when you feel him twitch inside you, coating your walls with his cum. He bites down on your shoulder, and you cry out in pain as he laps up the blood that seeps from the wound, soothing it with his tongue.

He’s breathless as he collapses on top of you, his skin going back to its usual color.

Your mind isn’t clouded with pleasure anymore, but you bring a hand to the curls on his head anyway.

He moves his head slightly to look at you, a smirk forming on his lips.

“If only Cordelia could see you now.”

[overnowsfcb]

worth it for once; pedri

summary: sometimes the show must not go on. what happens when the curtains fall?

warnings: angst, smut (dom!pedri, pool sex, hickey, blow job (v), masturbation and self-masturbation (p), pet names) mature language, abuse of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional distress. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 5.9k

note: hi! first of all i wanted to thank everyone who interacted with 'halfway out the door', you don't even know how much it means to me that people can read my stories. i knew i said i would do some fluff, but i feel like im not good at it. i cant seem to let the reader be happy can i? (this fic is so long i feel like i got a bit carried away)

p.s.: this is my first time ever writing smut, im sorry if its too bad. also! 'halfway out the door' has ninety percent of possibility to have a second part.

p.s. 2: the party ended an hour ago and he still there. another thing that i wanted to say is that FOR ME 'slut!' is not a love song so that is my reason for this, i take my interpretation of the song and write it down — venus 🫂💐🫧

The sun's rays slipped through the white curtain covering the partially open window, letting in the morning breeze. You nestled in the sheets, still drowsy, but as you did, you snapped wide awake, realizing once again that Pedri wasn't by your side.

You turned over, hoping it was a dream, but the only remnants of him in the room were his lingering scent and memories of the night before, replaying in your mind.

The way he touched you, tracing each of the invisible scars left by your previous lovers who sought only their own pleasure, using you to their liking without paying attention to your desires.

He was different. His kisses felt like a religious experience, filling you with an ever-growing sense of fulfillment. Nothing wrapped around you more securely than the feeling of having him inside of you, merging under the lustful gaze of the moon that welcomed you on a tailor-made altar, adorned with soft sheets and sensations that turned into a celestial orchestra.

And although the next day, perhaps his flaws became evident, your infatuation took you beyond, closing the curtain of the stage within your mind; you didn't have to be displeased or critical when admiring a work of art, right?

When the strength left from the previous night was regained under pressure, and your mind returned to the frosty present, you sat up in bed, feeling your head heavy, needing to blink several times to clear the blurriness that clouded your eyes due to sleep.

Your feet rested on the wooden floor. You didn’t want to face another day with the pain of the mandatory conviction your heart held towards your mind, aiming it with a gun if it tried to move from there.

You sighed with closed eyes and gathered your clothes scattered around the room. When you finished dressing, you approached the window and inhaled a breath of air to refresh your thoughts.

You left your room; the squeak of the door echoed through the house, signaling to Elena that you had already woken up. You couldn't lie; you were afraid to face her.

She, your best friend since you desperately looked for someone to share an apartment with after the owners of your previous apartment unjustly left you out in the cold.

She, who warmly welcomed you full of empathy and commiseration, helped you deal with the storm by receiving you in a studio apartment with an air mattress. She became the person you adored most in the whole world and never lacked frankness in her words.

Both of you moved forward together; now, you succeeded in modeling, and you could search for something much more comfortable living now in a pent-house, but always side by side.

You arrived at the spacious kitchen connected to the dining room and were met with an exquisite aroma, akin to the dishes she professionally prepared. You tied your hair in a ponytail and moved the chair to sit facing the counter.

Crossed fingers and your chin resting on your hands, you noticed she expected your presence when she twisted her torso, leaving a plate with toast and homemade raspberry jam on the marble counter in front of you.

You waited a moment to grab one of the perfectly made toasts and spread the jam in the toast; you felt the tension in the air. You knew of her disapproving stance regarding your situation with Pedri, and you knew she was preparing the usual sermon.

"Want to say something about it?" It was as if she had read your mind; turning her back, you sat up straighter on the stool, your distressed chest making your heart pump more blood than usual.

"No," you replied dryly, as you took a bite of toast.

"Alright, then it'll be up to me." You felt fear travel up your spine to the buzzing in your head and a high-pitched tone ringing in your ears.

You tried to breathe normally, but it was impossible. Her actions guided your eyes; she put the angel food cake in the oven and turned around, sitting on the stool in front of you, looking at you incredulously.

"He left at seven in the morning. When was the last time he stayed the following morning with you? I know you don't want to hear this, and I understand that you're into him. But don't let that blind you from what's really happening here. You're too intelligent for this, too good for someone who treats you like an option." Her words were always harsh, and she never hesitated to tell you the bleak truth without flinching. But it wasn't what you needed now, and her words were insignificant in front of the formidable figure that Pedri occupied in your mind.

There were very few people who dared to challenge your perspective, and Elena was brave enough to do it, even though her attempts always ended in defeats.

And defeats consisted in your denial, where you decided to take off your glasses after seeing what was there. You knew it existed and acknowledged it deep down, but hearing someone throw out statements so lightly without knowing him in the homely intimacy where he could unfold without prejudices, was something only you could discover.

The 'Open Sesame' didn't work with all tones, and not everyone acquired the privilege of opening such a treasure. So, you assumed it was envy.

"Maybe it’s a mess, maybe it’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth a damn!" Your voice began to rise in volume the more anger you vented at her, who was innocent of it all. You noticed her furrowed brow, her attempts to help, every time she threw you a lifeline, you chose to ignore it, believing you could swim the remaining yards to shore alone.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to find a balance, but your aggressiveness seemed to have reached its peak.

"I’ll sort it out myself, alright?" You exhaled, continuing your defense. "So just back off, Ele. I’m sick of needing your approval for everything. I’ll make my choices, even if they’re not in your rulebook." You spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. "You think you know him? You have no clue, none whatsoever." You got up from your seat, giving the countertop a light tap, and shook your head indignantly.

"I just want what's best for you, y/n," She whispered, looking you in the eyes with honesty. You headed towards the door disappearing from her sight.

You knew that she wanted to protect you like she did from the very first moment.

Despite being your age, she showed herself to be more mature than you. You were like her baby chick, and she had the instinct to keep you under her wings, but she had to admit that you had to learn defense by yourself.

And sometimes you need to fail to build your path.

There was no better remedy in your routine than drowning yourself in work to stop thinking about all the dilemmas surrounding your life. At least for a few hours.

Growing within the fashion industry was difficult without contacts; if you wanted to achieve something, you had to consider the hurdles you might carry in your backpack. But your resilience and pride prevented anyone else, terrified of having a future of subordination, from winning.

Today's meetings were about agreements for your brand, a dream that grew with you from your mom reading you bedtime stories to the present day.

You had put so much effort and creativity into your project that, regardless of what happened externally, your priority would always be there. No affair or argument could steer you away from that.

All your distractions due to logical thoughts vanished upon arriving at your apartment. You turned on the lights; Elena had left you a message informing you that she would stay at her boyfriend's house for the night.

Your home felt empty without her blasting music through the speakers and constant movements around the house. You cracked your neck, leaving your faux leather coat on the entryway rack. You lazily tossed your bag onto the couch, sitting beside it. You unbuckled your heels, freeing your feet.

A contained sigh escaped your nostrils, easing your chest a bit. You heard thousands of notifications coming from your bag. Worried, you unzipped it and searched for the phone, unsure of what was happening.

You glanced at the news headlines and the numerous social media posts where you were being tagged. You thought you had successfully escaped last time. The carefully revised alibi by both managers to divert media attention from your relationship had been futile.

But it seemed not entirely effective; without any evidence or concrete proof, just a blurry and deficient photo was enough for them to create a compelling scene for the public.

You clicked on a specific article; its name caught your attention, "The New Target of Love: The Boy in Her Chaos - Will He Survive?" You knew it wasn't the smartest decision you could make; the echoes of the voices of the people closest to you resonated in your ears. But you were alone and had nothing better to do at that moment.

The devil on your right shoulder encouraged and forced you to keep reading; with each sentence and word, your tear ducts were ready to expel the salty drops from your eyes.

You couldn't understand why journalists consistently targeted your romantic relationships instead of focusing on your professional endeavors, where you worked, and strived every day to show the world that you were more than just a pretty face. But in a sexist world, you had to accept without a murmur the things they wrote without any pity, driven by money and interactions.

Had you signed up for this life, or was it something gradually inserted into your brain about what it had to be?

You found yourself seated at your computer with a bottle of wine by your side, seemingly engrossed in reading each of the articles criticizing you and perpetuating a negative reputation of yourself.

You had poured a small amount of the burgundy liquid into your glass. Some sort of masochism consumed you, and without noticing, you began to pour more and more wine into the glass, your heart filling with misery, pausing at every clever word that defined your identity on the internet. Because all of the words seemed monotone.

Until the glass was no longer enough to swallow the bitter pill, you stared at the bottle, contemplating your next move. You shrugged and reached for the bottle with difficulty, your vision truly distorted, no longer having a sense of space.

You leaned back in the couch and took a long swig that burned your throat, feeling your heart rate rise.

You decided you had gone too far, abruptly leaving the computer on the table in front of you. When you tried to get up, you fell backward by inertia, unbalanced. That's when you realized you weren't even paying attention to the news but mindlessly scrolling your mouse.

The tears you had been holding back for over an hour and a half streamed down your cheeks immediately. Now, you couldn't turn back and felt trapped within your own uncontrollable body.

Gut-wrenching sobs made your body tremble, and at that moment, all you could think of was his touch, how every time you cried, he carefully wiped your cheeks and assured you that this too shall pass.

With tears and alcohol blurring your vision, it wasn't hard to find his number as you had it pinned in your messaging app. You opened his chat and immediately tapped the call icon.

You placed your phone to your ear, hearing the beeps from the other end, while your body, consumed by sorrow, couldn't help but continue shedding tears.

You perceived a noticeable change from silence to a clear indication that the call had been answered. You tried to stifle your crying by biting your lip, but it seemed this battle wouldn't let you emerge victorious.

"Love, are you crying?" You wanted to respond, but his voice only intensified your desire to cry; you longed to feel his warmth. You still didn't understand why you decided to go this far. "y/n, I'm worried. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" You tried to take a deep breath to provide an answer.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and then placed it on your chest, trying to assist in the calming process. "It's so exhausting." These were the words that came out of your mouth as you exhaled.

He still didn't understand exactly what you were talking about, but you kept talking. "I think I can't be with you anymore." Your voice came out strained; you truly didn't want to say those words. You clung to the arm of the chair with one hand, squeezing it, waiting to hear the response on the other side.

"What?" He couldn't comprehend how he had woken up at two in the morning, and you were talking about cutting ties. "Love, listen to me. Why don't you go to sleep, and tomorrow, we spend the day at the country house?" On the other end of the line, he easily realized the moment he picked up that you were drunk.

"Okay." You affirmed with a nod, resting your head on the armrest, and lifting your feet to stretch out on the sofa. "I love you a lot." Your face contracted again, a sign that tears would return.

"You too." He replied, and you were the one who ended the call, slightly calmer about the reflections the articles had left and the incoherent thoughts that had arisen from them.

You left the phone by your side and curled up, hugging yourself, seeking warmth without the help of a blanket. You closed your eyes, praying that the world would change radically tomorrow, although you knew it was an unlikely hope. You never wished more than for whoever was in the sky to give you a new chance to love in the right way.

You needed to believe in someone; you needed assistance from the universe to not lose the hope that once brought you immense joy. But perhaps genuine love was like Santa Claus, and sooner or later, it would crumble like any other ingenious belief.

And like a shrewd child who receives his Christmas gifts with the same enthusiasm even after learning the hidden truth, you dipped your feet into the transparent chlorinated water.

He watched each of your movements attentively, leaning on one of the pool edges. You plunged, soaking your entire body, and swam towards his direction, resurfacing enveloped in laughter with him.

He embraced you, sharing some of his warmth to your cold body due to the sudden change in the water, and you placed your hands around his waist, looking up at him from his chest.

"I love you so much." You bit your lip, seeking an outlet for your love. He rested his hands on your cheeks and began planting short kisses that spread across your entire face.

"I love you more." He reciprocated, giving two gentle taps on your legs. You jumped, and he took you into his arms grabbing your ass.

Quickly, he changed his position, leaving your back resting on the cold pool wall. The chills went up through your spinal cord, fusing the temperature of the edge and its expression, which never went out of style to make you think that everything you needed was there, with him.

You ran his sculpted shoulders with your palms open, feeling his muscles and intertwined your fingers behind his neck, brushing his hair.

Your lips brushed, and you could feel the electricity that could arise from a simple and minimal contact.

He brought his face to you, holding you tight against the concrete.

It was undeniable the indissoluble bond tied by the threads that led you each time to the same situation, and the core of your life was nourished by its bond.

As your lips collided with fervor, eager to quell the fervent passion, you pulled him closer with your legs still entwined around his waist. Feeling his hardness against your core ignited arousal as he pressed himself firmly, and both of you gasped in the midst of the kiss at the electrifying contact.

Your lips didn't want to part, too hungry for each other's sweet taste. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, pulling it gently to invite your tongue into his mouth. It had become sloppy as you lightly tugged his hair, eliciting a groan.

His hand stealthily ascended, never parting from your lips, traveling from your ass to the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His tender lips traced a pattern from your cheeks to your neck. You tilted your head back, offering more of your skin for his exploration.

Expertly, his fingers unraveled the straps of your bikini with a single pull, still nestled in your neck. As the air grazed your tightened nipples, your breath hitched when he took one between his fingers, fidgeting and further intensifying the sensation.

Your sensitive boobs elicited desperate whimpers as he continued grinding against you, creating a symphony of pleasure. The air thickened, and your bodies radiated heat.

His lips passionately suctioned a spot, causing your eyes to roll. You were well aware that he would leave a hickey there.

Moving from your neck, his lips trailed down to your collarbone. Frustration built as he skillfully teased the sides of your breasts, deliberately avoiding the attention where you craved it most.

"Pedri, please..." You gently tugged his strands, prompting him to lift his head. Counterfeit innocence gleamed in his pupils.

"What do you need, amor? Tell me, is there something I can do for you?" His gentle caress graced your cheek, and you melted into his simmering touch.

"Please..." He ceased grinding, his hand swiftly traversing to your neck, as your hand descended, grazing his abs.

"If only you could see this beautiful hickey right now," He whispered, tracing the mark and toying with you, his actions inviting your response as he often did.

It was exasperating; no matter how frequently you found yourself in such moments with him, articulating your desires remained a challenge.

"Just do something," you uttered, a touch of despondency in your voice, pouting with pleading eyes. Yet, he remained resolute.

"I just don't know what you want." He shook his head, gently placing a strand of hair behind your ear, mimicking your pout with a teasing tone.

"Alright... just please, babe, suck my tits," you replied with a hint of frustration. His corners lifted, forming a smile, having successfully achieved his goal.

"There she is, that's my good girl, aren't you?" You couldn't help but nod several times steadfastily, just wanting him to stop playing.

His face vanished from your sight as he covered one of your breasts with his mouth. A loud moan escaped your throat, a sound of satisfaction for him as he moved his tongue, savoring your skin. "Was it that difficult?" He gazed at you once more, and you sighed in irritation, prompting him to raise his eyebrows, questioning your actions.

"No." Your fingers traced his chest as he continued sucking with determination.

Moving lower, you reached the edge of the swim trunks' fabric. However, as you did, he pulled away with a frown. "Who said you could touch?" You mirrored his expression confused.

"Last night, you scared me a lot. Do you think it was funny for me? No, so you can't decide who's having fun, okay?" Your chest felt heavy, yet you found a strange allure in his dominant low voice, even though you wanted to object.

"I thought..." He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back and shutting your mouth with his thumb. He watched as you sucked it, humming and biting his plump lips.

"You didn't think shit. Now, jump." He firmly gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly to the pool's edge. Seated, you patiently awaited his guidance, uncertainty accelerating your heartbeat.

Intense eye contact heightened the tension. His fingers delicately traced over your thighs, starting from the outer part, then gently grazing your clothed intimacy. He devoured you with his gaze.

"Lean back for me, baby." You did as he pleased leaning in your elbows.

He tapped on your thighs, a signal to lift your hips, and he removed the sole fabric covering your body and throwing it to your side. He took your legs and placing them over his shoulders. Spreading you open. A groan escaped him at the sight, reveling in your arousal.

"So wet, just for me," he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, collecting your juices and parting your lips to spread the liquids.

You pressed closer, yearning for more. "Just for you." Suddenly, a firm spank on your sensitive area made you shudder, and you gasped. "Behave," he commanded, throwing you a dominant look.

Circling your clit, he gradually increased the pace. Tilted back, moans escaped uncontrollably. Another spank followed, and you met his gaze. "Keep your eyes on me, princess. Watch as I pleasure you like no one else could."

His words wielded a powerful influence in every scenario. Returning to your pussy, he made his way to slip two fingers inside you easily as you were soaked by now. The reflex to close your eyes surfaced, but his commanding words echoed in your mind.

He initiated a rhythmic motion, penetrating and withdrawing, targeting your most sensitive depths, obscene wet sounds, thumb still teasing your bud. Overwhelmed by the intensity, you sought stability, bringing your index finger to your mouth, biting down to anchor yourself. "You can grab my hair, baby," he suggested, prompting a satisfying sigh as you obediently followed his directive.

As the synchronization of your movements intensified, he decided to elevate the pleasure further. His mouth joined the sensual dance, lasciviously spitting your core, eliciting a contented hum from you.

As his mouth drew near your clit, enveloping it ably, a scream escaped your lips, worthy of a scene of a pornographic film. His name slipped through your mouth, an inadvertent encouragement that fueled his tenacity to excel, delve deeper, move faster, and render you numb in ecstasy.

In the intimacy, he displayed a reflection of his approach on the field, always seeking ways to enhance and achieve peak performance, a relentless pursuit of reaching his full potential at what he knew he was one of the bests, even when he didn't want to admit it.

There was no sweeter melody than your filthy moans. His crotch throbbed aching, aware that just a few pumps would make him reach his climax. But he needed to focus on you first, even though he rolled his hips against the concrete, trying to calm down his needs.

He groaned, shutting his eyes and digging his tongue into your hole. Your legs entwined around his neck, the tight knot of pleasure building as you moved your hips in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue.

"Pedri, I'm..." You shouted, the words hanging in the air unfinished, as he entered both, fingers with tongue, increasing the pace with each successive motion.

He opened his eyes again, locking onto yours, brimming with passion beneath the sun. His nose brushing against your clit, combined with his bambi-like eyes in contrast to the authority he held over you, escalate the moment as you tightly grasped his hair, evoking the release of your juices.

He couldn't help but stop pressing against the wall and squeeze his shaft inescapably, captivated by the way you adhered to what he said, even if it meant he had to assert control with a firm hand, correcting your inclination to lean back a few times.

He loved how obedient you were and how your body reacted.

Your high-pitched sounds spurred him to slip his hand inside his swim trunks, almost moaning at the sensations created by his own touch and the enticing arch of your back. He found himself immersed in the sweet taste and intoxicating fragrance that surrounded him.

He went up and down with his hand on his dick fervently, trembling in sync with you. "Are you going to come, my love? Do it for me," his deep voice making you feel so close. You played with one of your hardened nipples between your fingers. You affirmed with the other hand on his hair, and he hummed against you in response. "Oh, my god." you mumbled.

His vibrations heightened your euphoria, and the combination of his tongue and fingers left you feeling overstimulated. As you screamed arching your back, you became undone, laying flat, straightening your arms at your side and shuddering as you felt him persisting in his ministrations.

Too blind to reach his own pleasure to think about anything else, he continued pounding his dick, gripping his tip as he parted his lips, releasing ecstatic sounds and feeling the reverberations across his body. Leaning against your abdomen, he sensed his shots filling his shorts as he lowered his pace.

You tenderly ran your fingers through his sweaty hair, both basking in the tranquility of the moment as his chest rose and fell. Minds empty.

"Come here, baby," you whispered. He propelled himself up from the water and leaned flat at your side.

As you lay down on the cold poolside with him, he placed his hand on your waist, burying his head in your neck. He rubbed his nose, sensing how your perfume delicately mixed with expelled pheromones, obtaining a small giggle from you.

You swung your leg over his waist, leaning your chest towards him, and stroked his wet hair.

"Thank you," you smiled with closed eyes, sighing. "It's just what I needed."

"I like hearing that," he said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. You looked like a fallen angel with your smudged mascara, swollen lips, tired eyes, and blush spreading across your cheeks.

His gaze instinctively dropped to your neck, observing the love mark on your skin. Though in his mind, he still questioned if this was truly love.

Without delving too much into his thoughts, he gently pecked your lips.

"Pedri..." you sighed, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Sitting up, you supported yourself with your hands and looked at him, recalling internet articles and Elena's words.

"Already want to talk about that?" he asked, huddled up, absorbing the remaining sunlight.

"I'm going to shower," you said, rising from the ground, creating a space for anticipation, allowing him to process and reflect. You knew the house perfectly, having visited many times with the understanding that no one could see you and spend the entire day together.

But meaningful memories were scarce, and you clung to them, hoping that someday it could be more than the fear of being seen together, unable to go to a restaurant or travel together.

You entered the shower, letting the cold water make you reconsider your beliefs. You trusted that, for the first time, you had found something real, a gentleman who stood out in the world of ordinary men, wanting to keep you safe.

You also trusted that you would walk on nails and endure all the thorns of a rose just to be with him. But genuinely, love should be about facing painful situations to prove love for a person, or love should feel welcoming, a place where you would stay for eternity if it had to be so?

You analyzed it, the rain falling on you as you cleaned your body. You wouldn't stay with Pedri; he never felt like a place where you could unload all your baggage without fear.

After all, coming from past relationships, he was your sanctuary at first, stemming from more deficient and unstable experiences. You couldn't stop the solitary tear that escaped your eye.

Since the night you met, you should have realized that nothing good could come from something that was supposed to be just for a night. But you didn't want to listen.

You left the shower, unable to continue ruminating in your head without fainting in the attempt. The drops that weren't allowed to fall from your tear ducts were released by your hair.

You grabbed your clothes, still absorbed in your thoughts. When you finished dressing, you placed your hand on the doorknob. Behind it lay the definition of the future of this strange relationship, and the confrontation was something that terrified you.

You walked into the living room to find him seated, wrestling with his thoughts, head bowed, facing away. Approaching him, you crossed your arms in front of his neck and hugged him, taking in his freshly scented and the slight dampness of his hair. He looked at you wearily, unsure of what would happen, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him on the gray sofa.

You took his hand with love; you couldn't deny that, despite everything, he had been the source of most of your joys in the last four months. You took a deep breath before letting it out and started speaking.

"Are you mine?" His hand tensed, and his brow furrowed. He didn't understand where such a sudden question came from.

"What?" He responded confused, almost pulling away from you.

"Are you mine or not?" You still hoped for a more certain answer.

"I don't understand where your question is coming from." His expression showed he had never really thought about something like that. At least, was there some kind of feeling for you in his heart? You wondered which person you had been with all this time.

"Just answer it." You let go of his hand; your voice carried a tone of desperation and anguish. You knew you wouldn't get anywhere, but you still needed to cling to the few hopes that remained.

"I don't understand what you mean by 'yours'; we never talked about..." He tried to make another excuse in front of your eyes. It felt as if he were treating you like a little girl, who would eventually leave the question unanswered once she got tired.

"I need to know where we stand! Do you want to be with me or not?" You no longer knew why you kept trying about something that wouldn't change. You stood up from the sofa, and he avoided looking at you.

"Why do you have to make it so complicated? We're just having fun." He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. That response could have been worse than a straightforward no.

"Having fun? Do you think I'm with you to have fun with how the media calls me a slut, Pedro?" You shook your head in disbelief, letting out a bitter, pained laugh. "Four months enduring your ambiguities while defending you in front of my friends, saying you needed time." Your voice faltered, recalling all the arguments you had faced, thinking that at some point, everything would change.

"I didn't think you felt that way." He detached himself from his actions, as if it were so simple. Still avoiding eye contact.

"You said you loved me! Did you ever feel genuine love for me?" Your heart tightened; all this couldn't be a big lie where you were the only one playing a game that was already resolved.

"I don't know." He whispered, unsure of how you would react to such an unsure yet determinant answer. Your eyes blurred with contained tears; you couldn't cry like this in front of him.

"You knew everything you were doing; you knew that I was yours, and you didn't care." You screamed, desperate for him to show some emotion, to show that something of everything you had experienced had a hint of reality.

"It wasn't like that." He replied in the same flat tone, this time looking at you and realizing the tears that were falling, while you were motionless, feeling the room spin around you, and your ears ringing again.

"It was exactly like that." You had been sincere from your first conversation, under that neon light on a private yacht. A party where you didn't want to be, he approached you for that simple reason; you were the only girl who hadn't looked at him.

And you had found someone whom you thought had the will and power to heal all your wounds. But you ended up dancing with shadows in glass, with something ephemeral that you thought could be eternal. While you ended up being one of the many prey in his history.

"I gave you everything, I told you about my past and how I needed someone to trust, and you ended up being like everyone else." You released a silent sob and headed towards the room, where you had left your backpack. You were supposed to spend a weekend together, and now everything was withered. Your feigned acts of believing that magic still existed were in vain.

"Where are you going?" You gasped, bumping into him in the door frame; he placed his hands on your shoulders, concerned.

"I called Elena; she'll come to pick me up." You hadn't even talked to your best friend when you sneaked away with Pedri at noon; she would do everything to stop you from leaving, and you preferred not to tell her. But she, without hesitation, as soon as you asked, was already on her way.

"We can try to fix it." You knew he was only offering the response your ears craved. But you weren't going to fall for his spells. This time, his method of still having your strings to manipulate you like a puppet wouldn't work.

"I won't be with someone who never cared about me." You walked to the door, lowering the latch, and turned around once more; he looked at you from a considerable distance. He wasn't going to try to stop you, and that was what hurt the most. "Good luck, Pedro."

You left the house, and the evening air enveloped you. You walked along the walkway made of rocks, each step feeling heavier than the last. Another relationship failing, another person disappointing and discarding you like a crumpled note, forgotten in the margins of a story that never reached its intended conclusion.

Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks now that you weren't facing him. You stood on the street, waiting for Elena to arrive. She had every right to tell you 'I told you so,' and she would be justified.

You saw her black car approaching from the end of the street, parking right in front of you. You hesitated for a moment to get in, embarrassed to ignore someone who only sought your happiness.

She rolled down the window, and your eyes locked inviting you in. Opening the door, she extended her arms, offering solace. Tears streamed down your face as you looked for refuge on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Ele." You lifted your head, and she gently wiped away your tears. Shaking her head, she dismissed your apologies.

"I'll always be here by your side. You're the one who needs to learn, but I'll never leave you adrift, okay?" You pouted, and your tears continued to flow.

You both settled back into your seats, stealing glances at the house. A part of you lingered there, and a lump formed in your throat. You sensed that distancing yourself was the only thing that could save you from descending into delirium. Now, you must gather the fragments of your heart once more and rebuild it on your own.

Your eyes went directly to the hickey he had left. You wanted to rip that skin off, not wanting to have him in your memories in any way.

Leaning your head against the window, you wondered what could have been if fame hadn't been the haunting specter in your life. You guessed that you will never actually know.

[loverforwbb]

Scary movie

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x scared reader

Warnings: Mentions of crying, slight mention of murder, fluff, relationship exposing

Summary: While in Louisville for a pervious game, the Iowa wbb team decides to watch a scary movie for the upcoming holiday. You are deathly afraid of scary movies which the team doesn’t know, the only person that does, your secret girlfriend and supposed best friend, Caitlin Clark.

AN: This came to me in a really good dream so I wanted to share it with you all :) This also my first time writhing anything like this so please tell me any tips you have! Happy reading!

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As the team enters the house in Louisville, rented by coach blunder for Halloween weekend, discussion of room pairing immediately became a raging topic, you and your “best friend” Caitlin were automatically paired together as you guys are never seen apart.

- -

You and Caitlin became really close during freshman year summer training. You two started hanging out everyday without fail, but soon realized you both felt something deeper than friendship for each other ultimately leading up to you both confessing your feelings to each other during your sophomore year.

—

As you two enter your shared room Kate yells out to the group that they are about to put on a scary movie for you all to watch. Caitlin is quick to ask what you want to do instead as she knows you’re terrified of them.

“I’ll watch it” you said surprising Caitlin as you have never wanted to watch one before.

“Are you sure baby, won’t you be scared?”

“I’ll be okay, I don’t want to be left out”

Caitlin gave you a sympathetic look

“All you’ll be missing out on is being scared. Are you really sure you want to watch it?”

“Yes” you said hesitantly “I want to get over this stupid fear”

“Okay baby but if you get scarred just let me know” you nod and Caitlin heads towards the living room to get a good spot. You hang back a sec to calm down your nerves.

- -

You don’t know why but ever since you were little you have always been afraid of anything that had to do with horror, including scary movies. They all brought you this feeling of uneasiness, making you feel as though someone is watching you through you windows.

—

Before leaving the room you made sure everything was in place for protection in case the move was super scary and you feel like someone is going to beak through your window and attack you.

After doing so you finally head out of the room.

-

You came into the dark living room sitting next to Caitlin, your knee touching her leg as she wrapped her arm around you.

“Okay we can finally start the movie” said Jada while turning on the led lights to set the mood.

The movie started off okay, no jump scares or murders so far, but towards the middle you started getting scared as the killer had finally showed up. Felling you tense up, Caitlin moved her hand on top of your leg for you to hold, which did not go unnoticed by the others as they were taking mental notes of your interactions. You started fidgeting with Caitlin’s rings as the killer got closer and closer to the victim, you soon felt tears begin to brim your eyes but tried to push them back down. Caitlin started to notice something was wrong but couldn’t pinpoint it as she was unable to see your face, though a few second later the tears that you tried so hard to keep in started to slip out. Soon enough you couldn’t control your quiet sobs as the killer finally got the victim, no one could hear your cries but they were quickly noticed by your girlfriend. She swiftly motioned for you to get off the couch, holding your shoulders and leading you to the bathroom while tears continued to fall down your cheeks. Once in the room Caitlin placed you on the bathroom counter to wipe off your tear covered face.

“We don’t have to continue watching baby I know it’s scary, we could head to bed if you want.”

“No, I want to stay for the end” you said while Caitlin pushed your hair from out of your face then caressed your cheek.

“But baby you know I hate seeing you cry it makes me want to cry with you” your girlfriend said with a pout

“I’m okay caity I promise, I won’t start crying again”

“Do you want to tell me what’s making you cry sweet girl?” You looked down for a moment trying to reconcile why you were crying but your mind was blank

“I don’t know why, it’s just…scary”

“I know baby but it’s not real, there’s nothing that could harm you” she says while bringing you into a hug and kissing your temple.

“Okay, but once we go back out there you’re sitting on my lap, I want to be able to squeeze you when you get scared”

“But what about the others? They are going to start to suspect something’s going on” you said while Caitlin giggled

“I’m sure they already know by the way I pulled you into the bathroom honey. And if they don’t they are blind” you chuckled and agreed to Caitlin’s previous proposition hopping off of the counter to check your puffy face in the mirror.

—

While you and Caitlin are in the bathroom the girls in the living room begin to talk.

As soon as you guys closed the bathroom door Jada paused the movie looking around to room with a shocked expression, she had had speculations of you two being together and was waiting for a moment of confirmation that had just occurred in front of her eyes.

“No way” Jada says still shocked that just happened

Syd starts to laugh in disbelief while Kate questions the timeline of you and Caitlin’s relationship

“How long has that been going on?!”

The whole room is in commotion about you guys until Jada hears the door nob to the bathroom start to rustle and turns back on the movie to act like they have been watching it the whole time you guys were gone.

—

As you two re-enter the room Caitlin leads you back to the couch your hand in hers. Once you reach it she sits down and opens her legs to make space your you to sit. Gabbie and Jada exchange quick glances to each other at this change of position, their minds starting to race again with thoughts of you two being in a relationship.

As the movie goes on you start to notice that you feel 2x less scared now then you did before you were in Caitlin’s embrace, the comfort of her warm fingertips rubbing up and down your arm and you fidgeting with her cold silver rings were helping you fight your fear. You melted into her, reminiscing on how when your around Caitlin you immediately feel better.

Before you knew it the movie was over ending with there being a group of survivors who came together and killed the killer, this ending put you slightly on ease as your brain still raced with the thoughts of the movies earlier scenes.

Everybody started to get up to go to bed as it was almost midnight. Before getting up Caitlin started to whisper in your ear

“You ready to go the bed? We can watch my little pony to make you feel better, I know that helps sometimes when your scared.”

You nodded your head both of you heading to your room for the night.

You both slipped on your pajamas and tangled up under the covers, watching the children’s show off of Caitlin’s computer. You quickly dosed off feeling safe in Caitlin’s arms as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

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

AN: whooh! kind of had trouble staring this off, I really do hope you guys enjoyed this, it was super fun to write!

Please let me know if there are any mistakes that need to be fixed!

(I’m sorry I couldn’t make this longer I really wanted too but I didn’t know what else to add)

[depressedcoffeeobsess]

Sleepy Kisses

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

warnings: kisses on the cheek. given last name.

summary: remus lupin can't sleep during the night anymore due to the full moon coming around. he goes to the common room to find his fellow prefect and ends up sleeping on the girls shoulder.

song of the writing: another love — tom odell

Word count : 679 words. (Thanks to @issysh3ll)

[Pt.2]

IT WAS A LATE NIGHT of february. It was cold and windy. no one dared to go out tonight. not even the professors. by midnight the wind was gushing on the windows of dorms and common rooms. Leaving only the cackling fire to be the source of warmth.

Remus Lupin can't sleep. He opens the door out the dorm room and swiftly escapes out. He walkes down the stairs to the dim lit common room. He was about to sit on the couch when he noticed a presence on the sitting area. Curious and cautious he quietly peeps over the person. or so in other words—girl. Not just any girl it was the weird Sterling girl.

She was a fellow prefect who was sorted into the house of godric, thus her parents were smart ravenclaw's following rowena's path. She had flowing hair that was quite long/short. She had the perfect face of an angel. Almost looking like heaven in descriptive words. She was friends with Pandora and Junior.

Remus mumbled some things under his breath and started backing away when suddenly he hit the table causing the small plant to fall down. also leading for the—now awake—girl to stir and look at him.

"r-remus?" She asked softly. he could tell her voice was still—a little— groggy from just waking up. "why aren't you sleeping?" She asked a little worried.

"Oh. Um– I can't sleep. I had a bad dream." He said clearly lying to the poor girl. She stood straight still sitting down rubbing her eyes a little.

"Is there any way I could help you sleep?" She asked with a sweet voice that could captivate even a snake. Her sweet voice was soft and steady, in other words she didn't struggle to talk to him. It made his heart go boom–boom.

"Um–well , when I was young my mum used to sit with me and sing me a song. She used to rub my back." He said sitting beside her. She muttered a quick spell under her breath , levitating a blanket over the pair.

"there, I could sing you a song to get you to fall asleep." She said almost as she was talking to an ant. Remus nodded and leaned his head on the girls shoulder. But quickly took it off. He looked at the girl asking for permission. She raised her eye brows as a yes indication. Taking the sign he put his head on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his covered waist.

She started softly singing a lovely song with a tune as perfect as her. Remus started slowly closing his eyes, eventually closing them fully. in this exact moment he felt safe in her presence. He felt like he was aloud to be a normal human and not like a monster he thinks he is. He snuggles his head in the small crook of her neck, putting his hand on to his lap. He remembered this song as a song his mother used to sing before he slept.

I wanna sing a song that'd be just ours

But I sang 'em all to another heart

And I wanna cry , I wanna fall in love

But all my tears have been used up

Oh another love, another love

All my tears have been used up . . .

She finishes the song there finding the softly snoring boy already asleep. She smiles and lays him down on the couch draping the soft white blanket over him. She looks at him lovingly and leans in forward. Crouching down next to him giving him a short , sweet peck on the cheek. She leans back and smiles at him.

"sweet dreams remus . . . " her voice trails of as she is still sleepy. She yawns a bit and stands up making her way to the small shelf and taking out a book. She rips a piece of blank paper and writes him a small note , intentionally finishing it of with a gracious heart. Then she places the book back and makes her exit towards the stairs to the dormitories. Mumbling small wishes of her choice.

fun fact: remus used to have a crush on the sterling girl but moved on realising it was no use. (We'll see about that)

Part 2???

~dividers by @issysh3ll

[tighnarly]

Fan Service: Peeping Tom!Deku/Fan! Reader

Description: Izuku is obsessed with you and pathetic. You're obsessed with Izuku and unashamed.

Warnings: Voyeurism, stalking, masturbation, marijuana use, overstimulation, reader with vagina

When Deku was in UA the thing he looked forward to the most was becoming a hero and saving people with a smile on his face. Now that those dreams have come to fruition and crime rates have steadily decreased from any past records ,the thing he looked forward to most was his nightly patrols. It’s not the boredom and lack of much work that made him savor these late night patrols, oh no. There was something much sweeter than that the night brought.

Each night his patrols ended on your street, come hell or high water, villain interruption or not, Deku made sure he never missed your late night show. God save any villain that was dumb enough to cross him regularly but even god couldn’t save anyone that got in the way of his time with you. All that would be left of them would be pulp. There was nothing and no one that was going to keep him from you.

So each night Izuku approached your house at 12 am on the dot. That gave him 15 mins to silently bury himself in the tree outside your kitchen widow. While all other windows in your house remained covered, the ones in your kitchen never are, he presumed it to be because of the little herb garden you had in the windows.

Deku was more grateful to those plants than his own quirk, because of those tiny little plants he got to witness you dance your way into the kitchen every night turning on the light above your stove in nothing but a tight t-shirt and cute little underwear that was almost always from his own merch line. You’d bounce around the room making yourself a late night meal and cleaning up immediately after as if on impulse before you would eat. How he longed to be in the room with you, wrapping his arms around you kissing your neck while you cooked and making you sit down and enjoy your food and taking care of the mess himself. He knows you work late at a restaurant not too far from your place so eating this late is the norm.

His favorite days were your days off when you got high before this part of your routine. When you’re under the influence you dance a little slower, a little more sensually, as if all your worries disappear. You spend more time in the kitchen on these nights too, often getting distracted and dazing off. He wondered what you’re thinking about as you stroke the marble counter absent mindlessly or when you close your eyes as you put your cheek against the counter after every couple bites of your food and then slowly lift it back up with a smile on your face. It was all so cute and dorky and while weed was never Izuku’s style, he liked that you seemed to enjoy it and he loved watching and seeing what you’d do next.

It was also his favorite time of the week because it seemed like getting high always ended up making you desperate, sometimes he could see you forget where you are and slowly start to play with yourself but even when he wasn't that lucky, you always end up in your room and even though he still couldn’t see you, those were the nights he could hear you. You turned into a shameless seductress making pretty moans and gasps that he could just barely hear them through your walls but just those tiny chirps of pleasure were enough to make him rock hard in his hero suit.

God was he completely lost on you. The notebooks he had on you are countless, filled with everything he needs to prepare for the day that you would be his. The only thing that he didn’t know about you yet is how he’d construct the perfect meet cute with you.

If your underwear is any indication, he knew you were at least a fan, but he needed something more. Needed something that connected you to him on a deeper level. Needed you to love him back immediately and just as strongly. Deku needed you to worship him the way he already worshiped you so that he could fully devote himself to you and to make sure that you’d be his and only his. He just needed that perfect moment. So until that moment, his happiness rested on those stolen moments watching and loving you from outside your window.

This particular night was Sunday, Izuku’s favorite night because it means it was your night off. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t rush his patrol a bit quicker. He made his way into the tree just in time to see you arriving to your apartment at the late hour carrying a tiny bag. He could tell that you were already high from the way you seemed to giggle as you walked languidly. Deku wondered what you were doing out so late when you didn't work and made a brief note to make sure you'd never be out this late without him escorting you once you'd be together.

You opened the bag on the kitchen counter and what you pulled out made Deku’s mouth dry up instantly and his dick stiffen in response.

Almost as if to tease him you pulled out a long, green dildo with a small bunny towards the hilt, perfect for pleasuring your clit. Immediately Deku regretted being a hero for just a second when the urge to break into your apartment overcame him. (The irony that being a hero didn't stop his peeping habits was not lost on him.) He was almost willing to throw away his notebooks and his meet cute plan just to chance a knock on your door with a poor excuse as to why the number one pro hero was at your door at the late hour.

You released your new toy quickly from its packaging, carelessly leaving the trash were it fell to the ground. You began a cute little happy dance and you strolled from the kitchen into your room. Izuku almost sobbed from frustration that you were going to your room where he couldn't see you instead of just pleasuring yourself in the kitchen for him to see. Those tears turned immediately into happy tears when, for the first time ever in the time that he had been watching you, you opened the curtains in you room.

For a second Deku swears you looked right at him, but your eyes shifted too quickly for him to believe it was real. After countless nights outside your place, Deku finally set his eyes on your room, his jaw dropped at the sight. If people thought his All Might Room was overboard, he had no idea what adjectives they could find to describe your shrine to him. Every inch of your room was Deku merch. It was like you had no shame. Posters were on every inch of the walls, you had every figurine, every official piece of merch and even copious amounts of unofficial merch were scattered everywhere. The piece de resistance, however, was a lewd body pillow with himself on it. Deku turned a shade of scarlet so dark that Red Riot would be jealous. You slept with him. Even if it wasn't really him, he still graced your bed. Deku also took delight in the fact that the pillow provided proof that you were attracted to him, his cock burned even brighter and precum gathered on top at the thought. It made it even harder to not break in.

Deku then got so lost in his thoughts of fucking you silly while shoving your face down into said pillow that he didn't notice you take off your clothes or slipping your new toy into a harness and putting that harness on your pillow in the appropriate place, setting yourself a scene straight out of a fantasy. He snapped himself out of it just in time to see you straddle your make shift hero. Deku got the perfect view of your naked back and ample ass as you slowly descended down on the green dildo attached to his image.

Izuku came messily in his hero suit instantly.

He would've been embarrassed if you saw or if not for that fact that the sight was like watching the dirtiest porn know to man.

Deku recovered almost as instantly when you started bouncing yourself up and down. He then moved one of his scarred hands down to palm himself in sync with your bounces. Your muffled moans then made their way to his ears making him grip his cock painfully to stop himself from coming prematurely again. Deku watched as the green representation of his dick entered you over and over again, imagining your slick flower was encasing the real him. He was imagining his previous ejaculation was your wetness soaking him through his clothes, imagined how tight your beautiful pussy was, wanting to grind his dick in you so thoroughly that it could never conform to another dick again, never be satisfied by another again, let alone the cheap dildo that was in your pussy. Simultaneously, you both picked up your pace. Anyone passing by would see the tree Izuku was perched in had began to sway as he eagerly fucked his own hand.

Just as he felt the familiar spring begin to coil, you stopped and Deku felt tears of frustration slip down his cheeks. His tears were about to start a small flood when you turned to give him an even more, mouth watering view. Deku could have written poetry about your beautiful breasts. They were the perfect size for his hands to worship, he could spend hours with your gorgeous nipples in between his lips, could almost feel them against his tongue as he imagined biting and kitten licking them. As if they couldn't be more perfect, you began to ride the pseudo him again and your magnificent breast began to bounce and heave. Deku let out on vocal sob as his dick twitched and came all over his ill prepared hand. He would have to learn how to control himself when he finally got a chance to ravish you.

You on the other hand, seemed to have plenty of stamina as you continued to ride pillow him into oblivion. Deku's cock was painfully hard again and pathetic tears gathered in his eyes as he put his hand to his raw member once again, not one to miss any opportunity to come to you. Your hands made their way up your body slowly, teasing yourself with featherlight touches Deku wished were his own. His cock burned in a twisted pleasure-pain as he rubbed vigorously at the sight of you firmly massaging your breasts. Tweaking your puckered nipples, you furiously began to thrust yourself faster and faster onto your toy, back arching in a deep bend. Your hips stuttered sharply down as your body lurched forward in completion with a scream and Deku came painfully for a third time, gagging on his sobs, trying to stay quiet.

As Deku came down from his final orgasm, he didn't notice you coming to the window, too busy biting his own fist to stop any noise escaping him, trying to monitor his ragged breathing. Deku didn't even notice the sound of the window opening.

"You know," you said to the night air, "I always knew you'd have a pretty cock Mr. Number One Pro Hero."

The sound of your voice startled Deku so much that if not for the reflexes he trained so hard to achieve, he would have fallen head first out of the tree.

"I....hehheh....I don't. I mean I," Izuku tried to stutter out an excuse to think of some way to explain himself but ended up falling short.

"Well why don't you come in here and give me a better look at that pretty cock of yours, maybe put it to use and I won't tell anyone you've been watching me for months."

You laughed as he launched himself into your room at your invitation, happy your little show, your perfect trap, worked on your favorite hero.

[downbadf0rficppl]

love you

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: Part 2 of let me - Your nights are plagued with nightmares that feel all too real. It's all connected to the Bowers' manor. You need to solve this mystery before it drives you crazy. What will you find?

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: umm a lot of gore - it's inspired that one episode of guillermo del toro's cabinet of curiosities, so yeah. also they kiss. and it's slightly sad at the end. lmk if there's anything else.

You twisted in your bed- sheets soaked with sweat, hair sticking to your forehead. Vivid images flew across your mind, confusing you with their content.

There was a woman - tall and beautiful, but angry. She was so, so angry. She gripped your hand tightly, pulling you across the floor and locking you in a room. There was a little boy in there, curled in the corner, clutching a teddy bear. 

The teddy bear was familiar - there was a picture of your mother holding an identical one somewhere in the attic of your family home. The boy was covering the teddy bear’s ears. There was screaming outside the door - two voices creating a cacophony, so disruptive that you cowered under its weight. 

In the distance, you could hear the lullaby again - the one from the manor. The little boy stood up and ran to the corner of the room, glancing back before disappearing into a secret door behind the wardrobe.

The scene changed - light streamed through the window now, casting shadows of the window pane on the wooden floor. The angry woman was now stood at the base of the stairs, her coat wrapped around her and a hat in her hands.

“Elizabeth!” she called, “Elizabeth, hurry, we can’t be late again!” 

A young girl ran down the stairs, her fingers dancing over the railing as she ran. You looked at her closely. She almost looked like you. Same hair, same eyes, same face shape. It was peculiar. A floorboard creaked behind you. You turned back to face the stairs - the little boy was sat there again, hands grasping his teddy bear. He looked woefully at his sister, who was already out the door, chattering away to their mother. You could hear her muffled voice through the shut door. You shivered.

A draft blew through the house. Loud sobbing echoed through the halls and you ran upstairs, following the sound. You turned open the door to the boy’s room, before scrambling back hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

There, lying in a pool of her own blood, was the sister. The whole family crowded around her - the father cradled her in his arms while the mother cried into her hands nearby. Their clothes were soaked with blood as they sat wailing. A constable ran up the stairs with the maid, and he stumbled back as the scene came into view. You watched as he muttered a prayer to the Lord.

“Come, Timothy.” The maid held out her hand to you. You gasped. She was the same. She was the maid from the Bowers house. What if she had followed you into your dream? Was that even possible? How could that even happen?

The sound of gentle footsteps behind you broke you out of your spiralling. Behind you was the little boy. His eyes were closed, hands tightly gripping the teddy bear. He was covered in blood. From head to toe.

You step aside as he took the maid’s hand. She led him down the stairs towards the maid’s quarters where he sat patiently on the bed waiting for her to return with a wet cloth. She came back with a tub and a pair of clean clothes for him to change into. Slowly and carefully, she wiped away all of the blood, humming her song all the while. Little Timothy cried as she cleaned him, wailing that it was all his fault. 

Confusion mounted as he cried - how could it be his fault, you thought, it’s not as if he killed his sister? The maid soothed him, whispering that it wasn’t his fault, there’s no way he could have known. 

You felt yourself slipping out of the dream, someone’s hand on your arm, shaking you awake, calling your name. You threw yourself awake, pulling yourself out of bed, and putting distance between whoever was in your room. You stumbled, your legs not ready for the sudden movement. A familiar pair of arms caught you, pulling you back into bed. Lockwood. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, once you were settled back into bed, “I heard you screaming from across the hall.”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Lockwood didn’t look convinced. “Was it about the last case? The one at the manor?”

“No,” you lied, looking away from his inquiring eyes, “it’s one of those ones where nothing makes sense but it’s just scary.”

“Okay. Try and get back to sleep,” Lockwood pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “if you can’t, you can always come and be an insomniac with me.”

You smiled at him as he left before bringing a hand up to brush your hairline. He kissed you? Lockwood wasn’t one to show physical affection, even to Ruby and George. Since moving in here, you’d only seen him be affectionate once, hugging Ruby when he was exceptionally tired. You smiled internally, lying back down and turning over. Maybe there’s a slight possibility that he feels the same.

It had been 3 days and the nightmare was still replaying itself in your head. You and Lucy were getting ready to go into central London for a case - suited up and ready to scope out quite an old townhouse. The owners had been complaining that there was an apparition causing a disturbance in the attic.

The two of you hopped in a cab, exchanging notes on George’s research as you pulled up to 16 Cherry Tree Lane. It was a tall townhouse in a very affluent part of London. The area had a rich history and Lucy knocked on the door just as the sun started setting. 

Your footsteps echoed as you entered the empty townhouse - clearly the owners were still in the process of moving in as the home was barren. The case should be easy - one ghost that they could hear in the attic, likely a Type 1. Easy. In and out.

“Let’s just get this over with, then we can get pizza,” Lucy said, harking back to Lockwood’s promise to pick up pizza on his way back from DEPRAC.

The two of you headed up the stairs, both of you using your listening skills to try and locate the ghost. Lucy stayed on the first floor, exploring the bedrooms, while you headed up to the second floor to see if you had any luck there. You could hear faint humming - a man’s voice but still, for a moment you stood, paralysed by fear. There was no way she could have followed you here. You heard footsteps come from behind you, and someone calling your name. Lucy. You tried calling out to her but found yourself unable to yell or run to her. You were stuck.

Lucy comes upstairs to find you standing by the top of the stairs, tears streaming down your face. The ghost wasn’t near you - he seemed oblivious to either of you being there (you were right when you said he was a Type 1). Lucy blocks him from your view, placing her hands on the side of your head, bringing your focus back to her. You soon relaxed, your body releasing its tension and movement returned to your body. Your hands came up to cover hers, reassuring her that you were okay. She didn’t seem convinced.

As you pulled up to 35 Portland Row, you were still shaking from the icy grip of the ghost. The chill seemed to linger in your bones and your body felt heavy as you walked up the steps to the house. Lucy’s worried gaze lingered on you as she opened the door, her arm steady around your shoulders, but she said nothing as you trudged into the house.

"You should rest," Lucy suggested gently, closing the door behind you. "I'll make you some tea."

You nodded gratefully, already feeling the exhaustion creep in. As you settled onto the couch, Lucy disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As you dozed off on the couch, you heard the door open and Lockwood announce that he had pizza. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, you celebrated - it had been months since you guys had been able to treat yourselves to a full pizza meal, so you were excited. But the case had really taken it out of you, so you just remained curled up on the couch.

You vaguely heard Lockwood call your name and walk into the room, but you were too tired to lift your head. You feel his hand brush over your head and a shiver runs down your spine. You hear him ask Lucy what happened, and - with a slight hesitation - she tells him. You can't be mad at her - Lockwood deserved to know the whole truth.

Eventually, he and Lucy slipped away, leaving you to the silence of the room. The scent of pizza wafted from the kitchen and your stomach growled. Mustering up the last ounces of your energy, you rose from the couch and walked over to the kitchen, where the three of them were sat. You gingerly sat in your chair, reaching out for some pepperoni pizza.

The four of you sat in a silence as Lucy and George rushed to finish their pizza and slip away. They knew what was coming.

"You should be resting," Lockwood finally said, as Lucy shut the door behind her. The worry on his face morphed into anger as you took another bite of pizza, "See this is what I mean when I say you're too reckless."

His words stung a little and you felt a flare of defiance. "I'm not a child, Anthony, I can take care of myself."

"Clearly not well enough." He retorted, pushing his plate away. He may be the big boss of Lockwood and Co, but he still left his crusts on the plate. Lockwood's voice kept rising, "You know what, you're benched until I say otherwise. If I can't trust you to keep yourself safe, I'll do it for you."

The finality in his tone makes your blood boil. "You can't just bench me!" You shouted back, standing up to match Lockwood's stance. "I'm also a part of this team, and I deserve to be treated like it."

Lockwood stepped back, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. "I'm doing this because I care about you. Can't you see that?"

But you were too angry to listen. Without another word, you stormed out of the kitchen and off to your room, slamming the door behind you - the picture frames on the wall rattled with force. The silence that followed was deafening, your heart pounding in your ears.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt. You knew that Lockwood wasn't doing it to be malicious, but his overprotectiveness felt suffocating. Curling up on your bed, you tried to drift off to sleep but it felt impossible. You were benched off the team and at odds with Lockwood. You didn't need to add another nightmare to that mix.

The next day, Anthony and Lucy disappeared on another mission, while George took a trip to the British Library to put together some information for a case next week. You were supposed to stay behind at the house to clean up and take care of some artifacts, but you had other plans. 

While George got a taxi from the house, you slipped out and caught the next bus in that direction. The British Library was a familiar sanctuary, rows of dusty tomes lining the shelves, each one holding secrets waiting to be uncovered. Years before you had worked for Lockwood and Co., you did what George did - extensive research.

You settled at a computer in the far corner of the library, brow furrowed in concentration, as you flicked through some old local newspapers that mentioned the old Bower's Manor.

The pages were filled with tales of hauntings and tragedy, the ghostly echoes of past inhabitants lingering in the crumbling halls, stuff that George had already pulled out in his last case file. You traced your finger along faded photographs of the manor, trying to figure out why you felt so drawn to it. 

"There's something here," you murmured to yourself, "There must be."

You slide a worn parchment under the magnifier beside you. The photo caught your eye. It was the little boy you saw. You shifted it towards the text. 

May 26th, 1947

News from the Bowers Manor: Ms. Elizabeth Bowers, eldest daughter of Lord and Mrs. Timothy Bowers, has unfortunately passed on at the age of 15, two months after Lord Bower’s brother, Lt. Charles M. Bowers. The passing has been reported as the result of a chronic and fatal condition, but some within the house believe some other forces to be at play. 

Constable M. Myers reported the case to be unlike any he had seen before after he was called to the Manor early Saturday morning. He reportedly returned to the station covered in blood and shaking, before retiring home for the weekend. He has not been able to give any other statement.

You stopped reading. This was it. The story from your memory. Vision? Whatever it was. You scanned the rest of the text, looking for the name of the brother, but there was no mention of him. 

You took the next newspaper in the pile and placed it under the magnifier. Nothing. And the next. And the next. Still nothing. Finally you find one from 1957. Ten years after the original. In the corner of one of the middle pages is a small photo and an article titled, ‘The Last Bowers’. This could be it. 

October 2nd, 1957

Sgt. Timothy Bowers II, son of the late Lord and Mrs. Timothy Bowers, closed the doors to the Bower’s Manor for the last time as the keys pass on to one Mr. Khalil. The 19-year-old made the decision after the passing of his cousin, the late Ms. Sanders. The Sergeant confirmed his decision to sell at last week’s monthly town meeting, and was met with uproar. Nonetheless, it seems whatever bad luck has haunted the house and the Bowers family has finally driven the young Sergeant away.

You examined the photo and your heart dropped to your stomach. You’d seen that photo before. Framed. In your mother’s house. The revelation hit you like a thunderbolt, sending a shiver down your spine as you stared at the crumbling pages before you again. The old Bowers Manor was owned by your ancestors, and the boy from the photo - and your nightmares - was none other than your grandfather.

Images flashed through your mind, fragments of memories long buried resurfacing in vivid detail. You remembered the stories your mother told you as a child, tales of a troubled past and a family history shrouded in darkness. But you never imagined that those secrets lay within the walls of the very manor you had been investigating.

As the realization sank in, you felt your mind race with possibilities. The discovery added a new layer of complexity to the mission, one that you couldn't ignore. But it made sense. Even at Fitte’s, you weren’t supposed to work cases that were close to you - no family relations or people that you were close to. Despite Anthony's orders to stay away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something you had to do.You may have been benched, but that didn't mean you were out of the game. And if that meant you had to defy Anthony’s instructions, so be it. 

You printed a copy of the two newspapers and tucked them carefully into your bag. You then ran to catch the bus home before anyone made it back. 

As you stepped through the door of 35 Portland Row, carrying the weight of the newfound revelations about your family's history, you were met with the stern gaze of Anthony Lockwood. His expression was a mix of frustration and concern, his normally calm demeanor replaced by a crackling intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice sharp with reproach. "I thought we agreed that you were going to stay here.”

“If by agreed, you mean you told me to stay here and just expected me to agree.”

His expression didn’t change. Instead, his eyes caught one of the photocopies that was clenched in your hand. He grabbed while you were distracted and looked over it. His face hardened more if that was possible. “I thought I specifically told you to stay away from that case."

You swallowed hard, knowing that you were about to face the full force of Anthony's wrath. "I know, but I had to—"

"You had to, what?" he interrupted, his tone laced with exasperation. "Risk your life chasing after a ghost that we don’t need to? You almost got ghost-touched! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "I had to find out the truth," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside you. "About my family, about the manor—about everything."

“Your family?” Anthony's features soften slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “What do you mean?”

You explained the truth. Everything you’d found out in the Library. You watched as Anthony’s shoulder slumped with every word. You knew why you got ghost-locked now, so things should be back to normal.

Anthony didn’t share the sentiment. "You can't keep doing this," he said, his voice gentler now, tinged with worry. "You're important to me, to all of us. I can't stand the thought of you putting yourself in harm's way like this."

His words caught you off guard, a pang of emotion tugging at your heart. You'd always known that Anthony cared about you, but hearing him express it so openly sent a rush of warmth flooding through you.

"Anthony," you began, reaching out to touch his arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

He met your gaze, his eyes softening as he took in your sincerity. "I know you didn't," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But please, promise me you'll be more careful. Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

A tense silence envelops the room, broken only by the sound of your racing heart. You can feel the weight of his concern pressing down on you, mingling with your own sense of guilt and determination.

He’d stepped closer to you at some point in your conversation, to the point where his face was inches away from yours. His hand came up to caress the side of your face as he stared into your eyes. “Please take care of yourself. I don’t think I’d survive it if you got hurt. I know…-”

In a moment of impulsive clarity, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you and Anthony in one swift motion. Your lips met his in a tender, desperate kiss, cutting off his tirade mid-sentence.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away, leaving only the sensation of Anthony's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace pulling you closer. In that fleeting instant, everything else faded into insignificance, overshadowed by the intensity of your connection.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, you were met with Anthony's wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

Then, slowly, tentatively, Anthony reached out to cup your cheek, his touch gentle against your skin. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

You met his gaze, your own eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't stand to see you upset, and... and I needed you to know."

Anthony's expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And... and I think I needed to know too."

The tension in the room dissipated, as you met Anthony’s gaze with sincerity shining in your eyes. 

"I promise," you said softly, "I'll take better care of myself. And I won't put myself in unnecessary danger again."

Anthony nodded, his expression softening with relief. "And I promise to trust you more," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know I can be too controlling at times, but I'll work on letting go and giving you the space you need."

He pulled you back into his arms and you relaxed into them. You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he held you, content to just be.

You and Anthony stood outside the Bowers manor. The building wasn’t any less imposing the second time, and Anthony squeezed your hand in reassurance. We can do this, it said. You took a deep breath. 

You pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the decrepit hallway, the air thick and stagnant. This time, the feeling of discomfort didn’t weigh as heavily on your chest as you and Anthony made your way to the maid’s quarters.

Finally, you reached the quarters and you came face-to-face with the ghost that had been haunting your dreams for the past week. It was the maid, her spectral form flickering in and out of existence as she clung to the shadows, her eyes filled with longing and sorrow.

You and Anthony searched the room for anything that could be the source. Eventually, Lockwood found a loose floorboard hiding a silver hair comb and a few photos. He called you over, yelling at you to get a silver box, or some net. Anything that would subdue the maid. 

But as you grabbed the net, a voice cut through the silence—a voice you recognised all too well. It was your grandfather, his eyes covered by special goggles that you’d seen somewhere before. They were the same as the one’s Fairfax was wearing before Annabelle killed him. You shuddered at the thought. 

Your grandfather’s form materialised beside the maid, his face etched with pain and regret. "Please," he begged, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't do this. She's all I have left."

You hesitated, torn between the desire to end your haunting and listening to your grandfather’s plea. But deep down, you know what needs to be done. With a heavy heart, you threw the net over the source, the energy crackling through the air as the maid's form begins to fade.

In a sudden burst of anger and despair, your grandfather lunged forward, his arms reaching out as he tried to stop you. But before he could reach you, Anthony stepped in, shielding you from the blow.

As the maid's form faded into nothingness, you reached out to your grandfather, pulling him close as he sobbed in your arms. For a moment, there were no words, only the sound of his tears mingling with the echoes of the past.

But then, as the last remnants of the maid faded away, your grandfather lifted his head, his eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the fading echoes of the manor. "For giving me the chance to say goodbye."

fin.