#and it all boils down to the definition of 'cruel'

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐬

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader [wc: 4.2k]

summary: aaron knows how much you love his hands.

warnings: this is filthy and I’m not sorry. Fingering (f), pure fucking smut, aaron definitely talks you through it and is here to please.

He’d put you in a trance one too many times before.

Just… watching the way he moved about. His hands distracted you from the corner of your eyes. Carefully turning and falling upon the pages of his file that laid in his lap above the sheets.

God. You couldn’t focus.

The words on the page before you were nothing but a blur as the veins took focus and the fantasy before unraveled in your mind.

It didn’t take much when a man like Aaron was so casually attractive. Glasses sitting on his nose, hair dried and loose on his head, a white tee worn relaxed around his chest.

And God… those hands. His fingers, the thumbs. What you would do in that moment under the cool lighting of the bedroom, in the heat of the comforter, and the plush of the pillow to have him trace the edges of your face with them. Paint a path along the lines brought by time and catch on the smooth curl of your lips, drawing a wave before wetting one, or two, so gently with the moisture of your mouth.

“Hey,” his voice broke your trance. “You alright?”

No. No, you weren’t fucking alright. Never in the time since you laid eyes on Aaron Hotchner have you been “alright.” He consumed you. He burned the bones of your body and sent the most inappropriate thoughts straight to your brain at a moments notice.

No. You weren’t fine. You were utterly entranced by him and for some celestial reason, you were lucky enough that Aaron felt the same about you. He just… contained it differently.

“Yeah,” you nodded and turned back to your book. “Fine.”

He hummed but continued on with his file. Marking notes in margins or looking down at a photograph for too long, Aaron always brought work home no matter the occasion. His job forced it but he made time. To sit up in bed and enjoy your company even in the silence, it was better than him not being there at all.

Yet your traveling thoughts had already convinced you it wasn’t enough that evening. You needed more. You needed him. And it was so hard to concentrate on the words you’d already forgotten about.

Who were these people? You thought. I’m four hundred pages in and I couldn’t tell anyone who the hell these characters were.

Because you weren’t alright. You were boiling. Adjusting your back against the headboard, your shifting unearthed the comforter and nudged his files enough for him to notice.

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you responded.

But Aaron wasn’t stupid. You’d been sitting on that page, page four-hundred-and-sixty-two, for fifteen minutes.

The average person spent a range of one to two minutes per page in a typical novel. If he weighed the subject matter as fiction, he knew you could read equivalent to one but if it were for academics or your career, it would lean toward two. This was the former, a work of fiction. Pure fantasy that he knew you enjoyed on the regular even if something was amiss as he accepted your response and let you sit with it instead.

And maybe it was a bit cruel of him to not beckon to the unspoken call, but he could feel your eyes on him.

He needed to hear you say it.

Oh, fuck, you did really want to say it. His hands. Hands. They were there, on his body, like most people had, and they just gripped your heart so suddenly and never shook it away.

Your fingers flitted around the edges of the book as a shallow, barely there exhale escaped your body. You knew he heard it. He didn’t say anything.

So, he flipped to another page and this time. It went upwards instead of to the side and his right hand held the paper up, giving you a better view of the callousness they’d grown into over the years. Worn and tough; they could be what you needed at any time.

A protector, a comfort, a help, or a guide.

You wished badly to feel them upon your skin. Feel him cupping every piece of you or filling you completely as his breath fanned your face and his small, barely there smile encouraged you to relish in his touch.

“What’s the chapter about?” His voice mumbled from beside you.

You broke the stupor again. Eyes flicking down to the pages abruptly to search for an answer. Everything made sense but no sense at all. Who was who, what was what, you had no recollection of the last five hundred words. It caused you to slip the bookmark in and close the cover.

“I think I’m just too tired, I’m not sure.”

He grunted a non-reply. Smug. He knew. He had to of known. How could he not feel the need radiating from you? He couldn’t see the nervous gulp you swallowed.

“I’m going to go to bed. You don’t need to stop.” Moving to place your book on the bedside table, you waved a hand in his general direction and he caught it with his own.

Your head turned swiftly, eying your hand in his as he let his larger one overtake it. Aaron pulled the back of yours to his lips and placed a warm, soft kiss on it. Once, then twice. He didn’t pull it back but side-eyed you while you watched him.

“You know you can ask me anything, right?” His breath was hot on your hand. His lips grazed your smooth skin, feeling the pull of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I know.”

He kissed it again. “And if there was a problem, you’d tell me… yeah?”

“Of course I would.” You furrowed your brows at his suggestion. “Wha—“

“Then tell me what you want from me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A small, gasp of boldness on his behalf that sent the synapses firing every which way. His free hand removed his glasses from his face and set the case file soaring to the floor in a grand “plop” against the wood. Two lights on, his hand in yours, Aaron looked into your eyes and asked again.

“What do you want from me, sweetheart?”

The wiring short circuited. A part of you was baffled at the attentiveness of it. His words were always carefully chosen and spoken in a manner so firm and decisive and you could barely form words. But you glanced down at his hand in yours and he caught you.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“I’m… distracted. I’m just…”

“Use your words.” He squeezed your hand as if to encourage you but it only made your ridiculous spiraling worse.

“Y-you distract me, that’s all it is. You’re very distracting. All of you.”

“Well you’ve got my attention so I’m glad to have yours,” he teased. His lips found your hand again before he held them to his chest. If you were of power, you could hear his heart beating for you so loudly.

“I don’t know if you realize how much of my attention you have, Aaron.”

His head rested against the backboard and he smiled.

“Why the hands?” He asked and your eyes wanted to break away from his stare.

“Are you profiling me in bed, Mr. Hotchner?” You deflected instead. “I thought you said you’d never do that to me.”

“There isn’t an ounce of profiling when you make it so obvious. You sat on that page for longer than it takes you to drink a cup of coffee and I caught you, twice, but you didn’t even notice.”

Your face was on fire and for what? He loved you, you loved him, and you were far from a puritan when it came to what he’d seen and done to you in that very bed.

Maybe it was the shameless way he felt emboldened then. Perhaps it was the rapidness of your want setting in that made your heart skip more than one beat.

“Then… yes,” you settled, “your hands distract me.”

Aaron nodded. One hand still intertwined with yours, he ran the other over your outstretched arm and back. Back and forth, back and forth to soothe the embarrassment he couldn’t fathom you truly felt about it.

“Do you want me to do something with my hands?”

“Aaron,” you sighed and looked away sheepishly.

“What?” He laughed faintly. “It’s just a question baby, don’t be embarrassed.”

“Oh God,” you nearly wailed instead and wiggled your hand away from him, back to you, switched off the light and in an instant, laid down onto your side away from him.

“Goodnight. I love you,” you finished.

He let out a breathless scoff and shuffled down into a lying position too. The light on his bedside table, however, remained on. As if protruding like spotlights, you could sense his eyes on your back. He said your name smoothly.

“Come on,” he nudged. “You can’t ignore me now.”

“I think I can.”

“What happened to goodnight?”

“It’s starting now,” you reset. “Goodnight.”

“I’m not tired and I don’t think you are either. Come on, turn around.”

You huffed, but not in anger. More in an, “I’m so pathetic in my emotions that it feels so awkward to vocalize what I want” way. It was a product of womanhood—the layered shame of saying or acting upon what you want. How it’s lewd or improper to be vocal in bed, or to be vocal about how you want your partner to please you.

Aaron had never made you feel ashamed for wanting things.

He set his boundaries, you set yours, and together you found a balance that kept you both happy and satisfied but there were still times that the old feeling of inept muteness riddled you.

You turned over onto your back anyway.

He was already on his side and waiting for you. The hair on his head gradually fell in the direction of the mattress as he quickly scanned over your face beneath the shadow of what he could see.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop profiling me?”

“I will once you start telling me what’s going on.”

Your eyes bounced around every bit of him that was exposed. His face, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, the hand you could see, his torso. Then you glanced around him and shook your head against the pillow.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s nothing!”

“Distraction is one thing but you’re on another planet.”

Turning again to look away from him, you stared at the ceiling as you settled into the bed on your back. He shuffled closer and you closed your eyes tightly as the feel of him hovering in your space overtook your senses.

“Sweetheart,” Aaron’s voice carried a length of warmth within words.

“It’s embarrassing,” you moaned dramatically. Your fingers covering your eyes and Aaron fought a smile at your distress. He pried them off your face, cupping your cheek gently with one of his hands.

The way he looked at you… how could you ever be embarrassed to say what you want? He knows how you love him, and he you. There is nothing you could say that would make him turn away or cast you aside. This was it. It’s the world he crafted and drew space for you within it beside him at the center.

You kissed his palm softly.

“I am here to bend at your will,” he sounded so poetic. Who knew Aaron had it in him? “And if you need me for something that you want, take it. Take it from me and let me provide.”

“Fine,” you huffed and forced the nerves to the back burner. “You know what I want?”

“What do you want?” He asked once more.

“I want you to touch me.” Aaron moved closer, head hovering above yours. “Make me feel something, Aaron, and I don’t want to think about anything else but you.”

He leaned in, nose bumping yours. “Yes ma’am.”

Aaron’s lips met yours slowly. A barely there touch of his lips to yours as he felt the waters around him. His hand cupped your face, while the other rested with a tight grip at the bottom of where your breast met your ribs. He gripped the fabric of your shirt as he titled your head to better angle you to him.

His mouth met yours again but this time madly. Determined to make you feel something more than just a peppering of love through his passing, but a permanent sting of his presence. You breathed through him; aching to his touch and melding to his body in urgency at his kiss. You returned it as ardently. Lips molding together like a puzzle.

You placed your hand atop his on your cheek. Tracing the raised veins and light pattering of hair that rested at the base along his wrist. He was so firm and adroit.

And you took delight in it. Shuddering to the point of your chest emitting a splutter, Aaron took your hand and guided it up the bed above your head. You opened up for him. His tongue slipping into your mouth with ease at your malleable lure. Both hands grabbed at you tightly, feeling bits of you from palm to chest.

The coarse hand on your chest wandered with knowledge beknownst to only him. A granted privilege of the passage of time and the trust you’ve given him. To explore and caress in curated touches that leveled you to the ground—Aaron being the one to raise you to the peak again.

He tracked his hand along your torso to feel you breathe. You’re here. You’re wanting him. It took in the fabric of your clothes and bunched them into his fist as the sensation of its removal marvel at the skin of your stomach. It fell into the underside, hidden by the clothes and traveled back up to your breasts that pebbled with anticipation.

Over your breast, his thumb glided over your nipple tenderly as his lips separated from yours. Your hot breaths colliding while a pleased look washed over his face. Aaron did it again, palming rougher at the flesh and took note of the way your shoulder rolled as you careened into him, legs knocking into his and hand straining against the one that held you to the mattress.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He rumbled.

He let go of your hand. Designing a new path to the back of his head. You ran your hands along his arms, over his biceps and cradled his head into your hands. Your fingers carded through his short hair, fanning away the strays that laid loose on his forehead. He was so close, so warm in his caging of your body that all you could think of was him.

Him. Aaron. And nothing but him.

Your teeth caught on your lip as you smiled up at him softly. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Kiss me, Aaron.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. He leaned down once more and knew that his lips were sending you to euphoria. The fluttering of your chest seemed to burst. Your hands weaved into his short hair to feel every bit of him as he devoured you. A bolt of electricity shot through you; Aphrodite’s fountain exploding in rejoicing elation.

His lips were soft. Hungry, but careful with every tilt and turn of his head as the pressure of him above and holding you was pushing you into the mattress. Aaron’s tongue long breeched your lips and the teeth that protected against his most valued actions. And when he retreats, he’s rewarded with a pull of his bottom lip between your teeth, letting him linger in your space for a moment longer before separating again.

Aaron loved the feel of your body beneath his fingertips. The plush of your hips and sides and legs. Everything intoxicated him with an irresistible urge to have you any way, every way, until the end of time. His hand worked along your stomach, traveling low to the crux of where your leg perched under the covers.

“Are you gonna keep fondling me like a teenager or do something about it?” You broke the air with a content, yet pushing, sigh.

“You told me to touch you, then to kiss you.” Aaron’s nose traced the line of your jaw as you extended you neck with the recline of your head. “I need more than just a visual offering.”

He laid a whisper of a kiss on the column of your neck.

“You’ve gotta tell me.”

But you couldn’t find the right words because every time you thought them, they sounded… so…

“What if I just showed you myself?”

His eyes met yours curiously. “Yourself?”

You nodded, taking the hand on your stomach and bringing his fingertips to your lips. “I can lead you there. You just have to trust me that it’s what I want.”

As you spoke, the tips of his fingers caught on your bottom lip and pulled down lightly before it sprung back with a new sheen of saliva daubing it.

“Whatever you want.” And he meant it.

You guided his middle finger into your mouth without breaking eye contact. His pupils blown wide, you swirled your tongue around his digit before releasing it back out slowly. Then, you took his ring finger and did the same. Wetting two of his long, thick fingers to prime what was already going to be a welcome encounter.

You slipped his ring finger out of your mouth and directed his hand below the sheets. A man with lesser control would have forced them away, ripping them off the bed to watch his ministrations. Aaron didn’t. He watched your face. The pure, determined stare you kept with him as he breached your sleep shorts and the glaringly lack of panties that his fingertips brushed. You led him straight to you. Barely a gasp left your mouth at his feather touch gliding along the already slicked skin and feeling the most vulnerable parts. But he knew them as well as he knew himself. The gentle caress of skin, the glide of those two fingers casting the shape of your folds sent synapses firing greater than before.

You sucked in a shallowed inhale.

Aaron teased you. Rubbing those two damp fingers along the edges of your cunt at the slight twitch of your body. He saw the shaking breaths, the incline of your hips into his hand. With a growing pressure of four fingers, he dragged them slowly, in a elliptic motion once, twice, and a third for good measure. They gathered the growing wetness—realizing quickly there was no need for the lube in the bedside drawer—and used it to glide his thick fingers around a now-aching clit.

One of your hands folded tightly over the sheets and grasped it hard in your palm while the other latched onto his outstretched arm beside you. It was half holding him up, straining the muscles of his shoulders as he worked two fronts.

“Fuck,” your voice wavered at a wave of pleasure taking over.

“You want me to talk you through it?” He murmured.

“Yes please.”

His fingers slid down and back up. He watched you carefully, waging what he wanted to say and what he knew you wanted to hear. The two fingers that you had taken into your mouth worked low to open you up—a feathered touch at your entrance as his thumb stayed above, putting a consistent pressure on your clit.

“Jesus,” his voice was barely a whisper. It was a hymn only you could hear and meant only for you. “You’re so wet.”

You hummed two different octaves as he pushed his two fingers into your slick pussy. First knuckle deep, Aaron was tight even now. He pulled back and circled where he had just been to spread the wetness along your lips. He guided them in again, deeper than before.

“I know you think about this,” Aaron said. His thumb picked up in pace as his two fingers curled into the most plush spot.

Your back arched toward him. Legs threatening to close in, Aaron clicked his tongue and shook his head. Eyes baring every selfless emotion across his soul while he nearly cooed.

“No, no, no,” he repeated. “Gotta leave those open for me.”

“I know,” you groaned, nails digging into his forearm. You withered at his determined pace. Shoulders tensing and releasing when they hit just right.

“You think about my hands all the time,” Aaron continued on. “Staring at them when I grab my coffee, when I read in bed… you imagine them at work and in the way I hold my gun. You think about when they’d gather your hair as you suck my cock.”

“Well,” you could barely form a coherent sentence as the hormones went straight to your brain, “maybe stop making them look so fucking hot.”

“I’m just existing, baby… that’s all your mind’s doing.”

“Not when—oh,” you careened. He flattened his fingers and drove them deeper. Your toes curled at the feeling of his cock straining in his boxers against your leg.

“Shh,” he encouraged. “Let’s focus on you, hm? You’re doing so well.”

He continued to pulse his fingers in and out, in and out, and all you could think about is how lost you were in him. Utterly captivated by a man who kept himself so controlled and formal until the door was closed and the tie loosened.

“I think about you too,” he said. “How pretty your eyes are, and when you smile at me so tired but don’t care because you just want to sit with me. I think about how lucky I am.”

And your heart swelled just as much as the blood pumping and spiraling elsewhere.

“That you’re too good for me but let me do these things to you. You’re so beautiful like this.”

The hand that was clutching onto his forearm moved quickly to the edge of his tee on his bicep and tugged him down. Aaron could feel how close you were getting.

He could see it in your eyes. The clouded over enamored vision that peered back at his appreciative ones.

“I think about how you feel tight around my fingers,” he spoke on your lips. “God, you’re so tight.”

You whined. Aaron picked up his speed.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He rested his forehead against yours as you wrapped a loose arm around his shoulder. Aaron’s body pressed into yours sideways and his erection’s bulge begged for you to take more than just his fingers. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“Aaron.” Desperate, you squeezed his shoulder.

“You’re holding out on me,” he profiled. “I can feel how badly you want to come, baby. I want to feel it too.”

You nodded and he left a single kiss at the edge of your mouth as he drove his fingers to the end of their own road. A blinding, body-stilling peak hit you like a ton of bricks. Cascading from the place where he remained, a firework exploded into a million colors and sent your the muscles in your body into overdrive. An instant overstimulation; Aaron rode the wave of your orgasm with you.

Face etched in a brilliant awe of what your body could give him without feeling the need of his own release to know it had been a job well done. His fingers brought you down. Slowly stroking out until you were empty of him and all that was left was his thumb on your clit.

Your finish on his fingers found home in the cotton of your pajama bottoms as Aaron’s hand re-emerged and pulled everything back into place.

You closed your eyes at him putting you back together. In minutes, he’d go get a washcloth from the bathroom and grab a new pair of bottoms for you to be comfortable in. Aaron would let you sit with yourself and take from him what comfort you needed to slow the rate of your heart. He’d ignore your incessant asking about going down on him in return because in truth, he may have felt it beneficial but he didn’t need it.

He wanted to please you. He wanted to give you something that you could imagine when he wasn’t there to provide.

So, he’d lay back down and shuffle under the covers before leaning over to turn off the light. His excitement would settle and then he’d turn over to hold you closely with an image of you content and happy replaying in his mind for safe keeping.

This was a version of you he loved. He loved them all, but when you could be honest with him and tell him what you wanted, even passively, Aaron knew that you trusted him—and my, was it all worth it.

a/n: i'm also needy b/c i'm a fanfic writer so... penny for your thoughts? or your likes? or your reblogs?

Ps. There’s a misspelled “too” somewhere and I can’t find it so forgive me.

[obitos-whore]

https://www.tumblr.com/obitos-whore/748760592303718400/how-the-naruto-men-react-to-their-crush-kissing?source=share

This is awesome, can we have more? Not only more, but I mean *much more*

Hey there nonnie. I assume with *much more* you mean some spicy stuff, right? If not, just send another request and I'll see what I can do.

Anyway, enjoy some Naruto men going down on you.

(Kakashi, Obito, Itachi, Shisui, Gaara, Kankuro, Madara, Sasuke)

18+, Minors do NOT interact

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Kakashi

When it comes to going down on you, Kakashi is a downright menace and will do absolutely everything in his power to make sure you'll think of him for days to come

To ensure he has the element of surprise on his side and you don't see what's coming your way, Kakashi will blindfold you and tie your wrists to the headrest of your bed. He can't risk you peeking after all. Besides, there's something so incredibly hot and beautiful about seeing you so helpless and having you at his mercy

Will absolutely take advantage of your vulnerability and take his sweet time bringing you close to the edge, only to deny you the sweet release that's boiling inside just as you are about to burst

Chuckles at the myriad of curses you throw at him for being a dickhead and not letting you fucking cum

But when he does, boy oh boy, does make 'up' for his cruel teasing and make you cum several times in a row, each orgasm more intense than the previous one, ending with you as an overly sensitive mess unable to form a coherent thought, and a very happy and satisfied Kakashi

Obito

Obito is downright addicted to the taste of you. If he could, he'd spend hours between your legs and pleasure you. And sometimes he even does.

He's very vocal during it, showering you in praises and letting out satisfied moans as he pleases you with his mouth

Depending on his mood, he'll either be incredibly sweet and tender, or downright cruel and edge you for hours on end. He'd make you beg and squirm desperately, even going as far as to restrain you with some nice ropes and let his possessive side come through and mark you everywhere, before he even considers giving you what you've been begging for since the beginning

Tends to get carried away rather quickly and becomes quite sloppy during it with saliva coating his chin after being away on a mission for quite some time. Must be the withdrawal symptoms

Would definitely not mind waking you up with his mouth on you every morning

Itachi

Itachi likes to take his time with you and slowly get you worked up by kissing along the insides of your thighs and making his way up to your center inch by inch

Once he gets to it, his ministrations are gentle and sensual, flattening his tongue to give you slow strokes and suckling on the very sensitive parts of your sex

If you squirm too much, he will hold you in place and 'punish' you by going even slower, enjoying the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your hands gripping the sheets or his hair as you let out squeals and moans of pure ecstasy

Praise. Praise. Praise. This man has studied the book of praises and will stop at absolutely nothing to make you feel like royalty, both physical and verbal, while looking up at you with the most pussy dripping and dick hardening gaze that's humanly possible

Once Itachi is done with you, your legs will be shaking for hours. And the mere thought of having him between your legs again will be enough to make you all hot and bothered

Shisui

Just like Obito, Shisui is completely and utterly addicted to you. He just can't keep his hands off of you, much less his mouth

Aside from your incredible taste and the delightful sounds that escape your pretty lips, it's also a way for him to relieve his pent up stress. Being a shinobi of his calibre does come with a huge amount of it after all

Shisui, being the playful little tease he is, will have you beg for him to finally let you cum, while the tip of his tongue playfully dances around your most sensitive spots. Always bringing you so close to the edge before withdrawing just in time to deny you that sweet release and leave you whining in frustration and need

He's also rather shameless and would love for everyone to hear you scream his name, so that they know who's making you see stars at the training grounds during the day. It's like a badge of honour for him

Sometimes he gets so into it, that he subconsciously activates his sharingan and stares at you with a look of pure hunger. Like a predator ready to strike its prey

Gaara

Gaara is the definition of attentive and gentle. He loves hearing you moan his name as he uses his mouth and hands to bring you to heaven.

He's completely devoting himself to your pleasure and will always hold one of your hands, because he's a sweetheart and just craves the physical touch on top of the shared sexual intimacy

Will shower you with compliments and gently coo your name as he watches your face contort in pleasure and feel your body squirm underneath him

Gaara could never deny you anything, you're like his personal deity. However, he's more than willing to comply with your wishes and play a bit more dirty if that's what you're into

To Gaara, giving oral isn't just a way to pleasure one's needs and desires. To him, it's a way to show his deep love and devotion for his partner. It's like an art that demands the finest of skills. And your responses and reactions are the highest of praises one can receive

Kankuro

Kankuro is not only a cocky and smug bastard with a witty tongue and a master of puppeteering. He also knows how to use that mouth and fingers expertly in the bedroom and make you scream his name for the entire village to hear

Knowing that he can make you feel so good only boosts his already big ego and will make him even more eager to have his way with you

He will use his chakra strings to keep your hands tied and your legs nicely spread and open for him to feast upon you to his heart's content. And may Jashin have mercy on you when he's been deprived of it for too long

Of course, given that he can be quite the prick, he won't give you what you want so easily and make you beg for it, relishing in the frustration and neediness that resonates in your tone

"You good, sugar?" He would ask you with feigned innocence between harsh sucks and light bites, plastering your inner thighs with his marks while you are teetering on the edge of heaven and hell

Madara

Madara isn't a man who takes orders from anyone. Not even his little darling. However, if you ask him very, very nicely, he might relent and give you what you desire. But it comes with a price of course

Once he starts giving you what you asked for, there's no turning back. His mouth and hands are constantly on you, possessively touching every inch of skin while enjoying the way your vocal cords sing his name, your squirming body firmly pinned to whatever surface you're on

Madara takes great pleasure in taunting you when you ask for a break because you've come three times already and are overstimulated beyond comprehension

"What's wrong, darling? Tired already? Here, let me help you."

On top of stimulating you until your knees are practically jello, he'll also fuck you senseless afterwards. To remind you that you either play by his rules or not at all

Sasuke

Sasuke is incredibly mean about you wanting him down there, teasing and taunting you about being so needy and will only give in so you stop whining like a 'bitch in heat'. He acts like he's annoyed, but in reality he's totally down for it

He's more on the rougher side of things and will make you whimper and writhe in total ecstasy and desperation as he selfishly takes what you so generously offer

During it, he'll possessively cover your body in bite marks and hickeys and tell you how pathetic you are and how he is the only one who can and will pleasure you

And since he's so nice, he'll go all out on you until he says he's done you're completely satisfied

Of course his 'services' don't come for free and so he will demand some sort of repayment. Whether it's him fucking you, or you giving him a blow job doesn't really matter to him in that moment

[onlinedolly]

SAVIOR COMPLEX

au where leon is a normal cop at raccoon city and you’re a pretty little thing he’s obsessed with ^___^

cw: stalking, kidnapping, drug use, dubcon, dry humping (?), hard language, dead dove do not eat, i think that’s it!

not proof read cuz i’m lazy lol

Leon, in his mind, was a good man.

He’d done a lot in his career, saved countless lives; so when he sees you he thinks it’s no different, not really. You were a young thing, pretty and too naive for your own good. Didn’t you know the world now? How cruel it could be? It made Leon sick to think about it, he’d only seen you once — pretty and smiling and all he could think was how the world was going to fuck you up eventually.

He began watching you then, like a good man does. Following you to your small apartment complex (on a side of town that put a sour taste in his mouth) every night, watching you from your window until you fell asleep, it was all precautionary really, he told himself. Had to make sure you were safe. That nothing bad would ever happen.

It’d been this way for a few weeks, maybe around a month or so until he witnessed the incident that really made his blood boil over. A man, taller and creepy, had been following you around the store for a while now, looking for his way in. Leon definitely couldn’t interject, not now, not when you didn’t know him, bound to just make the situation worse. So he watched, clenching the cart he had in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He almost interjected when he saw the man put his hand on your waist, watching as you cowered away as he grabbed something for you on a higher self. You poor, sweet thing, so naive and stupid. Leon decided then he had to do whatever it would take to help you. That’s what it was really, helping.

Leon was a good man.

-

It was harder than he originally thought taking you, you had a lively group of friends and supportive parents he would no doubt have to figure his way around. But, oh how the heavens must of listened to his prayers when he’d seen you (followed you for more than two hours) stumbling out of a bar drunk and alone.

It was divine timing really, Leon thought to himself. You were stumbling around to a back alley, fiddling with your phone in an attempt to order a ride share to pick you up, no doubt. How stupid were you really, Leon thought. Drunk and alone and ordering a car from a stranger to make sure you got home safe? You really truly knew no better, huh? What if you got hurt, kidnapped, assaulted?

Leon made it his mission all those weeks ago to protect you, help you at any cost, so when he sneaks up behind you placing the rag over your mouth until your body goes limp he’s simply doing it out of protection, out of love.

When he drags your limp body into his car, making sure no one saw, all he can think is how much better off you were in his arms. He was a cop after all, right?

Leon was a good man, he truly honestly believed that.

-

“You’re home now,” He’d explained when you came to in Leon’s apartment. You were scared, huddled in the corner of your pretty pink room ( which Leon had spent a lot of time on in decorating), and Leon really was trying his best to make you comfortable.

He sauntered over to you, and you couldn’t help but notice how he looked like he was a predator stalking his prey, leaning down and reaching his hand out to you in a kind gesture you hadn’t expected, “Let’s talk on the bed, why don’t we baby?” He spoke softly, kindly.

You were still frightened as hell, way too frightened to resist him, so with shaky fingers and sweaty palms you grasped his much bigger one and let him help you up. Leon moved you two to the bed, it was soft and had a pink floral bedspread, and sat closer to you than you wanted.

You had some strength, and you were confused and nervous, “Why?” stumbled out of your lips, hoarse and soft.

Leon nodded his head, “I knew you’d ask that, that’s okay—“ He leans up, brushes some hair off your forehead causing you to flinch, “— I wouldn’t expect you to understand at first, any how.” He spoke like he knew you, how long had he been watching you? Days? Months?

“I saved you.” He spoke matter of factly, it sent a chill down your spine. Saved you? From what?

“I-I don’t need saving,” You found courage to speak, still soft, still so hoarse, “I think you have the wrong p-person I-“

Leon’s jaw clinched as you cut yourself off. Of course you did, Leon’s not fucking stupid. Are you really so goddamn dumb to not realize how scary the world is? What it can do to sweet little things like you? But no, of course you didn’t know that, how could he expect you to? He pushed the rising anger down, Leon was a good man and really only got angry sometimes and he was going to control it if it meant making you like him. Getting you to love him.

“Pretty thing,” He spoke, moving closer to you so your knees knocked together, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

-

Despite everything, you just weren’t seeming to adjust to your new surroundings. Leon had saved you a little over a week ago, and despite trying to make you as comfortable as possible you still just seemed to want to leave.

After your first conversation Leon tried and tried to interact with you, form a relationship with you. He brought you three meals a day, each time watching you struggle to find a new way to escape. First it was the sealed window, the lock picking of the dead bolted doors, even trying to attack him like Leon can’t over power you in seconds. He couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t get you comfortable here.

Why couldn’t you see everything he was doing was for you? You can’t escape, not when the world is just going to eventually eat you up and leave you as broken as him. He was doing the right thing, keeping you here, why couldn’t you see that?

After another week of escape attempts and dry conversations over take out he had gotten you, you finally let up a bit. More open, more willing, the conversation was still dry but at least you weren’t trying to escape anymore.

“Sweet girl,” He spoke kindly,like he always did, as he entered with a tray of food. “I brought your food.” He entered the room, locking the various locks behind him as he sat on your bed. Leon had been nothing but kind in the past two weeks you’ve been here. It made you confused how someone who could so viciously take you was so kind hearted. You walked over to the bed, inspecting the food.

“You didn’t put anything in it, did you?” You asked, just like you always asked.

“Would that make you easier to manage, pretty thing?” He joked. It wasn’t funny, instead it made you feel sick how he could even joke about a topic like that. “No,” He reassured after seeing your fast twist up, “I didn’t put anything in it.” He leaned down, taking a bite of the food to show you it wasn’t contaminated, and only then did you feel safe enough to bring the fork to your lips.

Leon watched you eat for a few moments before speaking, “I was working today—“ He loved these stories, you thought, the ones that make the world seem bad. “— And we got a call. A guy shot his girlfriend. Can you believe that?” He moved to place his palm on your head, smiling at you bright and kind, “Thank god you’re here, right? Not with a sick bastard that could hurt you.”

You could almost laugh, did he not see who he was? A sick bastard in his own right, twisted and fucked up, just kind about it. You simply nodded, it was easier to give in, easier to please him. “Right.” You spoke softly.

-

It was another two weeks and you, embarrassingly so, had gotten more comfortable here. Sleep came more easy to you and Leon was slowly becoming a more comforting presence in your life.

He brought you food, just like always, telling you about his latest work story as you sipped your water. Unfortunately, the stories were starting to scare you, make your hair stand on end as he tells you about a man who murdered his family.

“Make sure to drink it all,” Leon dotes on you, tapping your glass with a big finger, “Need my pretty girl hydrated, hm?” You nod sweetly, just like you’ve been doing the past couple weeks and drink it all in three big gulps.

And okay, Leon was a good man!!! But he wasn’t always honest. He hadn’t been feeding you drugs, but that didn’t mean you weren’t taking them. He’d put them in your drink, mix them up until they were dissolved and make sure you drink it all. It wasn’t anything bad, what he gave you just made you a little sleepy and maybe a little more pliable to what he wanted from you. It didn’t hurt and he wouldn’t keep you out his stuff forever, just until you were ready to be weened off. When you were ready to love him back sober.

When your meal was done and he could tell you were feeling hazy, he leaned down like he always did and placed a soft kiss to your forehead mumbling what a good job you did for him. And you couldn’t help but admit how it made you feel, giddy and comforted.

Leon really wasn’t an awful guy, you caught yourself thinking as he exited the room. He fed you sufficiently, gave you the best clothes and softest towels to shower with, and he really wasn’t that terrible of company. Another 10 or so minutes passed and you were exhausted, falling into a slumber full of Leon.

-

You’d been here two months now, Leon kept you more drugged up than sober these days, but it made you so kind and needy. That’s right he said needy. A couple weeks ago your demeanor began to change, excitement filling you when he’d enter the room, telling him how much you’d missed him while away. He could get used to this.

He’d come to visit you before bed, you were in a pink pretty night gown with your hair in two messy braids when he’d came into the room.

“Leon,” You smiled softly at him, big doe eyes focused on the man by the door way.

“Hi sweetheart,” He spoke, locking the door and walking over to your bed to sit next to you, “Have a fun day, hm?” He pet your hair, giddy in the way that you lean into it.

“Had a good day, watched movies.” Ah yeah, Leon had gotten you a small box tv and some dvds from a resale shop, he was glad you were enjoying those.

“Good, good girl,” He spoke, not missing the way you purred hazily at the nickname, “Little girls deserve to have fun, yeah?”

You nodded at him happily, leaning more into his touch. You’d been such a good girl these past couple weeks, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and he felt how warm you got underneath his touch.

You were so affectionate tonight, would he test the waters more? See what else he could get away with?

“Baby, could we do something different tonight?”

“Different…how?” You spoke softly, flinching a little out of fear. Ah, he expected that to still be there. The thought of something new in this situation was bound to be scary.

“You’ll enjoy yourself angel,” He promised, pressing another sweet kiss to your cheek. He moved so he was laid on the bed next to you, sitting up with his head against the headboard. “Why don’t you give me a kiss first, hm?”

Leon had gotten you to kiss him a couple days prior, you’d been so nervous and fumbling when he’d held your head with his big hands explaining that he deserved a kiss for everything he’d done for you. He was too mean to be the one to kiss you first, waiting for you to stand on you tippy toes and place your lips against his. After a few minutes he’d grown impatient until you did just that, a small peck and turned into a heated session that had you panting into his mouth.

And now you loved kissing him, all hazy and dumb as you would beg him for goodbye kisses everytime he left you. So asking you for a kiss now was nothing out of the ordinary, and it wasnt out of the ordinary for you to climb into his lap and kiss him sloppily and sweet just like you were doing now.

And Leon *loved* it, the patience, the drugging, the kind sweet words was all worth it to lead to moments like this. With you licking at his bottom lip messily until he opened up to shove his tongue down your throat.

He was so happy it wasn’t some punk ass guy doing this to you, a man you didn’t deserve. It had to be him, he was everything you needed. He tested the waters, moving his hands to grip at your waist, he felt you jump beneath him, flinching at the new action. He pulled away smiling at you kindly,

“I told you something new, baby. You gotta trust me,” He gripped your hips tighter, feeling how you shook under him. It was exhilarating having you like this, inexperienced and scared under his touch.

“L-Leon,” You stuttered out, readjusting in his hold, making him groan out softly.

“Be patient, sweet thing.” He demanded, moving you around his lap, releasing another low groan from him.

You could feel something hard under you, hard and big. You gasp, trying to lift yourself off of him and he pushes you back down. “We’re gunna have s’much fun together, ain’t we sweet thing?” He slurred out until he found a good position for you to be in. Leaning his head against the headboard. “Gunna move your hips yeah? Be real weird at first, ‘kay baby? But I’ll make you feel real good sweet girl.” He spoke, leaning up to kiss the shell of your ear.

You’d gotten to the point where it was hard to refuse him, out of fear? Maybe. Or maybe it was something more. So you just nod eagerly, overwhelmed tears filling up your eyes as you wait for his instruction or his motion.

He begins rocking your hips against what you assume is his cock, you gasp softly, the feeling new and foreign to you.

Leon lets out a deep groan, he was loving this. He couldn’t believe he was here with you like this, rocking against his cock. He grips your hips harder, picking up the pace as your clothes cunt rubs against his cock. “God, aren’t you glad I took you, hm?” He’s rambling as you gasp and whine and cry under his hold, “If you’d done this with anyone else baby, I would’ve had to kill them, yeah? Aren’t you glad I rescued you.”

“Y-yeah,” You whine out, over come with this new feeling. The only things separating your cunt and his hard cock was your think panties and his rough pajama pants that rubbed deliciously against your pussy. You’re crying, overwhelmed by the feeling, lashes wet and tears dripping onto Leon’s cheeks (not that he gave a fuck), you move your hands up, shakily wiping the wet from his face as he moves you all at a fast pace.

“Enjoying yourself little girl? Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” You hiccup, hazy and high, “T-thank you..” You whisper out.

“Dirty thing,” He groans out, moving you faster against his cock. He could only imagine what it’d be like to finally sink himself inside of you. He knows for a fact how wet you’d be, how he’d have to work you on his fingers before you take his big dick. The thought could make him cum in his pants.

“L-Leon I feel funny I…” You trail off, gripping his shirt in your smaller hands. He was so muscular it was almost breath taking.

“Yeah sweet girl I bet you do,” He laughed softly, trailing one of his hands down to press against your panty clad clit. You yelped softly, letting out multiple soft moans at the new sensation.

Your body was on fire, lit from the inside out as you gave up and indulged yourself in this new feeling. Your cunt was soaked leaving a dark stain on Leon’s pajamas as he roughly rocked you back and forth.

“God, fuck you’re such a good girl,” Leon grunts out, he was close, with the dry humping and the thoughts of fucking your sloppy cunt until you couldn’t think no more, he was ready to fucking explode. after a few more minutes he’s soaking himself, his pajamas a dark stained mess as he cums all over himself and your pretty panties. He makes a noise that’s almost like a growl as he grips your hip in a bruising hold.

You yelp out at the pain as he is circling your clit in a rough fast pace, you felt like you had to pee, the build up inside of you getting stronger and stronger as he mumbles sweet praises and tells you how he saved you over and over again, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

Finally the coil inside of you snaps as you yell out, a sobbing mess as you twitch and convulse and rut yourself against his big hand. Leon could cum again almost looking at you fuck your wet cunt against his hand.

You were overwhelmed but you couldn’t stop, you were shaking and sobbing at this point as you fuck yourself fast and hard against his hand.

“Baby let’s stop, yeah?” He spoke, pressing his hands on your tummy and back and slowing you to a stop, kissing you on your cheek as he stares at your blissed out face.

Leon Kennedy was a good man, Leon was your savior.

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

Pole Position

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Journalist!Reader Genre: Enemies-to-Lovers, Flirty Banter, Tension → Explicit Summary: You're a sports journalist known for your sharp questions and no-nonsense energy. Charles is famously charming but not used to being flustered—until he meets you. Interviews become a game of flirty deflections and increasingly inappropriate tension. Word Count: 925 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, power-play dynamic, dirty talk, strong language, consensual manhandling, one (1) cocky Monegasque driver getting emotionally wrecked by a journalist

Masterlist

Charles Leclerc made a career out of staying calm under pressure.

Which is why it drove him insane that you, of all people, could fluster him with a single look.

You were new to the grid this season — a sports journalist with a sharp tongue and zero patience for PR fluff. Within a month, you'd become known for calling out bullshit mid-interview, dragging drivers with surgical precision, and, most dangerously of all, not falling for Charles’s charm.

Not even once.

And he’d definitely tried.

Melbourne, Race 1

You leaned forward during the media scrum, recorder out, voice cool.

“Charles, any regrets about that overtake attempt on Lap 19, or did you just fancy a little lawn mowing?”

The other journalists chuckled.

Charles blinked. Then grinned slowly.

“Are you always this mean,” he asked, “or is it just when I’m sweaty and out of breath?”

You didn’t smile. “Let me know when you're ever not those things.”

He coughed — actually coughed — and the clip went viral by sunset.

Baku, Race 4

“Nice save in Turn 3,” you said, cornering him in the paddock afterward.

“Thank you.”

“Shame about the rest of the lap.”

He exhaled, smirking. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you wear that same shade of lipstick every race weekend, and it makes it very hard to focus on your questions.”

You blinked once. “Try focusing on your braking instead.”

He burst out laughing — and still didn’t stop staring at your mouth.

Barcelona, Race 7

He found you alone by the coffee cart, scrolling on your phone.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he said, unprompted.

You didn’t look up. “I’m obsessed with data. You just happen to be a cautionary tale.”

He stepped closer.

“You know,” he said, voice soft, “you’d be a lot less stressed if you let me take you out.”

You finally looked up, slow and deliberate.

“And you’d be a lot faster if you stopped thinking with your dick.”

His jaw dropped.

You walked off with your coffee, sipping like you hadn’t just ended a man.

Silverstone, Race 10

The tension finally snapped.

It started like always — a simple post-quali interview, you cornering him after a P2 result, microphone in hand, your smirk just this side of cruel.

“You were a tenth off pole,” you said. “Heartbreaking.”

He gave you a look. “I’m still on the front row.”

“But not the front front,” you teased. “Max beat you. Again.”

Charles smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful,” he murmured. “Keep poking me like that and I’ll bite.”

You leaned in, dangerously close. “I dare you.”

Something shifted in his face — a flicker of hunger, of impatience finally boiling over. The look he gave you wasn’t flirty. It was a warning.

“You want me to lose control,” he said, low and private.

You smiled. “I want you to admit you’ve already lost it.”

And just like that, the game was over.

Ferrari Motorhome — 6 Minutes Later

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his hands were on you.

No more banter. No more teasing. Just heat.

Your back hit the wall, hard, and his mouth was on yours in the next breath — hot, demanding, all tongue and frustration and finally.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growled, voice muffled against your neck as his hands dragged your shirt up. “Every time you open your mouth—”

“Then shut me up.”

He did.

His lips were everywhere — jaw, collarbone, down your chest — his hands rough, greedy, like he was trying to prove something.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed, sliding a hand between your legs, teasing over your clothes.

“I want this,” you said, breathless. “I want you.”

“Fuck.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you on the low desk behind him. Papers scattered. His fingers were already pushing your underwear aside.

“This what you wanted?” he rasped, eyes dark as sin. “When you taunt me on camera? When you make me think about fucking you right there in the paddock?”

You gasped when his fingers slipped in — slow and deep.

“Say it.”

You whimpered, legs spreading wider. “I wanted it.”

“More than pole?”

“More,” you choked. “More than pole. More than anything.”

That broke him.

He kissed you like he was devouring you — mouth hot and slick, grinding his hips against yours like he couldn’t wait another second.

“Condom,” he muttered, breath ragged. You fumbled to find your bag—he found it first.

And then he was back — rolling it on, lining up, eyes locked on yours.

“You still want me to shut you up?”

“Yes.”

He thrust in one smooth, hard motion and you saw stars.

No teasing now. No performance. Just pure, blistering want.

He held your hips like a man starved, fucking you into the desk hard enough to shake it, your moans swallowed by his mouth, your name muttered like a prayer against your skin.

“Can’t believe you made me wait,” he growled.

“You deserved it.”

“You’re evil.”

“And you love it.”

He groaned — a desperate, broken sound — and came seconds later, hips stuttering, jaw clenched against your neck. You followed with a cry, nails digging into his back, everything going white-hot before it dissolved into aftershocks.

[cece693]

So, I got this silly idea where Pamela Voorhees manipulates the male reader into being Jason's caretaker, because (bless her soul) she knows she won't be here forever. So, while giving this male reader attention and 'motherly' love, she unknowingly gives Jason a bride. And because the male reader is so preconditioned to tend to another person they're like 'okay. This guy is definitely crazy but also kinda hot...' So yeah, this idea is out there, but I like it. Hope you do too!

NEW CAREGIVER.... (AND LOVER)

pairing: jason voorhees x male reader tags: reader is a runaway, shitty home, what else can I say, Pamela is a scheming lady, but you get Jason, so is that too bad???, nah didn't think so, fluff

The moon was an indifferent coin above the highway the night you ran—bare-footed, half-blind with tears, flinching at every blast of a passing horn. Home had never deserved the name; it was a house of slurred curses and shattered dishes, a place where love arrived in bruises. When you finally collapsed at the treeline of Crystal Lake, you expected the cold or coyotes to finish what your father started.

Instead, you woke beneath a patchwork quilt that smelled of cedar and lavender water. An elderly woman sat knitting beside a pot-bellied stove, her smile warm yet oddly knowing, as though she’d been waiting for you.

“I’m Pamela,” she said, voice soft as cattail down. “Pamela Voorhees. You’re safe here, dear boy.” It took you only a day to discover what here meant—Camp Crystal Lake. Pamela called the place a sanctuary and grave in the same breath, yet with an air of how a person spoke of cathedrals.

Mrs. Voorhees’s hospitality tasted like something you’d forgotten was real. She mended the splits in your soles with neat whip-stitches, pressed warm cornbread into your palms, and brushed the tangles from your hair while you dozed by the window. But comfort was only half her gift; the other half was preparation.

“The forest isn’t cruel,” she instructed. “but it is indifferent. If you wish to protect someone in these woods, you must become its equal.” You learned to tread silently through the forest, to smell rain before clouds formed.

“Some wounds,” she murmured, gaze faraway, “don’t bleed red. Treat them anyway.” You practiced on burlap dolls, then raccoon corpses you found tangled in old fishing net. Your stitches grew beautiful and grotesque all at once.

“He’s a growing boy,” Pamela said, ladling venison stew into a third bowl you placed reverently at the empty seat. You’d glance at the untouched spoon and feel a prickle behind the eyes, as if someone watched from the tree line, salivating at the thyme-tinged broth.

You never dared ask why she trained you with the severity of a drill sergeant, only for whom. However, she simply answered with a wistful pat to your cheek: “In time, you’ll meet my Jason.”

Late spring blurred into summer when things irrevocably changed. Lightning split the August sky when a group of camp counselors returned, laughing with guitars and bottles. Pamela’s knitting paused mid-row. The smile she gave you was sad yet resolute: “Stay inside, dear. Boil water. Fold bandages. Wait for me.” Then she slipped into the trees with a hunting knife and a resolve that glinted like frost on iron.

You did not see her alive again.

When dawn paled the lake, the forest stank of metal and rain-damp carnage. You stumbled upon her body by the generator shack—head missing, cardigan soaked black, her eyes forever spared the horror of what she’d done and what had been done to her. Grief tore every stitch she’d sewn into you. You buried what you could beneath a stand of birches, whispering a prayer you half-remembered from a childhood chapel, though God had never done either of you favors.

The sensible thing would be to leave.

But you stayed.

Grief motivated you to continue with your rituals. Keeping the cottage immaculate, preserving her collection of knitted sweaters, sharpening the kitchen knives every Sunday. Nights, you dreamed of water lapping at rotten docks; of a child’s gurgling sobs just beyond the tree line. Then the gifts began:

A butchered stag laid across the porch like an altar offering.

A jar of marigolds—roots, soil and all—placed beside your pillow.

Heavy boot-prints circling the cabin at night, too large for any man you knew.

The first snow had not yet melted when you finally met him. You heard something massive wading ashore, yet before you could grab the hatchet—you froze.

He wasn't a kid, defenseless and weak as Pamela had hinted at. Instead, he loomed in the doorway: a towering figure in mold-streaked coveralls, burlap sack knotted over his head. One eye—wide, milk-blue, yet oddly innocent—studied you. In his fist dripped a wood axe, but he made no move to raise it.

Instinct overrode terror. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, noticing the gash bisecting his shoulder. You reached for the first-aid kit Pamela insisted stay stocked. He flinched yet allowed it, gaze following your every motion the way a half-feral dog watches the only hand that feeds it.

When you finished bandaging, you pressed a palm to his chest. “Jason?”

The name left your tongue like an invocation. The giant’s breathing hitched; then slowly, he retrieved a tarnished locket from inside his shirt—Pamela’s, the same oval cameo she once pressed into your palm for “safekeeping.” Two photographs faced one another: baby Jason…and now, tucked beside it, you.

Pamela had written your name beneath the picture, shaky but intent.

Everything clicked: the chores, the sewing lessons, the knife work, the rules. She’d been fashioning you into more than a ward. You were the keeper of her legacy, the caretaker—the bride—for the son who lived beyond death.

Jason remained mute, but devotion needs no dialogue. You learned his language in nods and tilts of that burlap-covered head: hunger, pain, agitation when strangers trespassed. He shadowed you while you cooked, his hulking frame squeezed into the doorway like a child desperate not to be left out. When you laid a sweater—Pamela’s favorite blue one—across his shoulders, enormous fingers fumbled with the buttons until you guided them.

Nights grew strangely gentle. He’d sit cross-legged by the hearth while you read aloud from Pamela’s brittle prayer book, big head tilting at the cadence of your voice. One evening flames spat sparks; you startled, and Jason’s arm swept you behind him in reflex as if flesh were expendable, you were not. The gesture shocked warmth into your marrow.

And yes, there were killings. Outsiders who trespassed, teens seeking thrills—they vanished beneath the frozen lake or hung like ornaments from the pines. You cleaned the machetes afterward, murmuring that he’d done “well.” Morality blurred; love is an elegantly cruel tutor.

[nottriddlethis]

summary: your rival sees you've been hurt and the only question is "Who?"

warnings: only language I suppose

part 2 part 3

You sat curled up on the couch closest to the fire, you arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Injured cheek was stinging, and faint traces of spells still shimmered faintly along your skin. You were usually good at brushing off the cruel words or petty fights from others, but tonight, it had all caught up to you. You stared at the fire, eyes distant and glassy. You hated being so weak.

“Merlin, is there another ghost here?” The voice, low and smooth with a sharp edge, cut through the quiet like a blade. You didn’t need to turn to know it was Mattheo Riddle. You both had a really strange teasing-ship, eager to leave the last word by each other. But not always.

“Not now, Riddle,” you muttered, not even sparing him a glance.

Mattheo, unfazed, walked closer, his steps soft but firm against the stone floor. “What’s this? Already giving up?” His tone was teasing, but when he stepped into the light and saw your face, the smirk dropped from his lips.

He stopped abruptly, pure fury boiling in his veins, his dark eyes narrowing as they locked onto your cheek. A faint, red mark ran along the tender skin, evidence of a poorly aimed hex. And -bloody mess- your forearms. You tried to hide them in your lap: bore faint scratches and burns. Mattheo stepped closer, following his anger the flames back there in the fireplace flared up furiously, scorching the stones outside. The glasses of the underwater windows started to temble, and you looked around with anxiety in your eyes. The whole common room was vibrating with energy. Was he...?

“Who the fuck did this?” he demanded. His voice low and sharp, and shivers run down your body but you didn’t respond. You were rivals but not enemies, you didn't want him to get in serious trouble because of it. You kept your gaze firmly on the fire, your lips pursed. The flames behind him weren't calming. Mattheo moved closer, crouching in front of you. He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes, but you avoided him stubbornly. As soon as his hands were on the sofa, it started to vibrate. “Hey, love” he said again, this time softer, but with an undeniable edge. “Who?” Your heart sank at the nickname. You knew that he used the most popular one, because he didn't use to call someone pet names. But even though your heart accepted and loved it.

“Let it go, Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice tight.

“Let it go?” he repeated, his anger started to pop up again, and hands grabbed the material of the sofa even harder, “Do I look like the kind of person who would let it go?” you didn't answer. He clenched his jaw and stood up. Stubborn girl. He walked around the sofa, his fists clench and unclench and he can nothing to do because talking wasn't his best part. So as all the parts of humam relationship when you are raised in blood and crucio. He couldn't and didn't want to express himself by words. But there was definitely one thing he did perfectly. Mattheo frowned. He sat down in front of the sofa again, piercing into your eyes and now you couldn't look away. You studied his eyes, actually so soft and so tender, despite his personality. When..something touched your thoughts like a feather. You almost gasped at the insight, not having any will to take your eyes off of his. Click. Click. Mattheo turned his head to heels clicking sharply against the stone. The touch disappeared leaving you suddenly empty. Pancy paused when she saw the two of you, then her gaze flicked to your face and injuries.

“Piece of bird shit” Pansy groaned, her voice laced with irritation as she crossed her arms. She turned her attention to Mattheo. You tried to wave her away before... “Archie Waters from Ravenclaw. The fucker didn’t know when to stop.”

Mattheo stood up so fast that you flinched, startled. His entire demeanor shifted with satisfaction and predatory grin, his fists curled tightly, showing the veins protruding on his arms. His usually cool, dark eyes were blazing with fury.

“Where is he?” Mattheo asked, his voice deathly calm, though the storm brewing beneath the surface was evident.

Pansy shrugged, a small smirk playing on her lips as if she already knew what was coming. “Probably still skulking around the library like the coward he is.”

“Mattheo, don’t—” you started, reaching out to grab his wrist, but he shook you off.

“Don't anyone fucking dare” he growled, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment. The intensity in his gaze made you breath catch. His feral eyes - you never have seen him so angry. “Stay here.” With that, he stormed out of the common room, his long strides purposeful and his fury palpable. You stared after him, stunned. Pansy sat down next to you, crossing her legs as she watched Mattheo disappear. The flimes finally got its normal form.

“Archie’s in for it now,” Pansy said with a grin, leaning back. “Riddle doesn’t take kindly to anyone messing with what’s his.”

Your head snapped toward her, you felt your cheeks flushing. “I’m not his...”

As to respond you all three windows' glasses shattered into pieces with a deafening crash, covering the floor. You jumped on your seat but the magic of the castle held back the waters of the lake.

. ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“I’d like to remind everyone that physical altercations will not be tolerated,” McGonagall finished her speech, her voice carrying a mixture of authority and irritation. She was really angry. “I won’t name names, but I trust that certain individuals involved will take this as a warning. This is Hogwarts, not a dueling ring.”

As soon as the professor took her leave, your gaze darted to Mattheo, who sat lazily in the back corner of the classroom, arms crossed and an infuriatingly smug smirk tugging at his lips. Students around him were whispering and throwing quick glances at him. He cared not at all. His dark eyes locked onto yours almost immediately, and you felt your chest tighten under the weight of his stare. He has only a scratch on his nose, only some dried blood on his knuckles. But you knew since the breakfast that Archie Waters was in hospital wing. They had to invite his parents.

Mattheo tilted his head slightly, as if daring you to say something. There was no remorse in his expression—only pride and a dangerous sense of satisfaction.

When the lesson ended, you rushed to catch up to him in the corridor, your steps quick and determined, “Mattheo” you called, voice sharp. He didn’t stop, forcing you to grab his sleeve and pull him aside. “What happened?”

He turned to you, his smirk softening into something darker, more controlled. “What had to” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

“You didn’t have to put him in the hospital wing!” you hissed, trying to keep you voice down as students walked past. Has he already get a detention?

Mattheo shrugged, leaning casually against the stone wall. “He deserved worse.” Your cheeks flushed, frustration warring with a strange warmth that bloomed in you chest. Protection. “You can’t just—”

“I can, and I did,” he interrupted, his tone softer. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he looked down at you. His eyes -Merlin his eyes- gently touched every inch of your face, where yesterday there were red marks.

You couldn't breathe, your heart pounding in your chest. “Why do you even care?”

For a moment, his guarded expression faltered, but then he pursed his lips, eyes became cool again and he looked to the side with a strange irritation, “Because,” he murmured, his voice rough, “I do.”

Before you could respond, he straightened, his usual nonchalant demeanor slipping back into place. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do. And if you want some words go and read books, love.” He brushed past, leaving you standing in the corridor, your thoughts a chaotic mess. Your heart again responded to the nickname drowning in nagging pain.

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter I

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.267 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

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

Likes, asks, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. This is my first wip in a while, so its a little janky, but I hope you like it! Thank you in advance for reading <3

He’d been gone for almost a year now.

You and your father were never really close. Truthfully, the two of you were never much of anything to each other.

Since you could remember, he’d treated you like some pet his ex had left at his house after a break-up: no warmth, no harshness, just this mild yet persistent annoyance that came from having to be responsible for something he neither wanted nor cared for. He could look down at you, throw a ball for you to catch, or pat your head half-heartedly while he talked to some random stranger that complimented you on the street, but whatever it was that you did right never granted you enough favor to avoid his ever-present disappointment.

That relationship alone was depressing enough as it was, but it would’ve been at least tolerable were it not for his much more obvious and paternal love for your older brother.

You could never really pin-point why it was that your father loved John so much while simultaneously only barely acknowledging your existence. You were both his children, after all. Yes, you were born to different mothers, but John’s mother had abandoned your father just as much as John’s did, and he only ever said good things about her, the same way he only ever said good things about John.

Maybe it was that John looked more like him, or that they thought just like each other, or that they only ever spoke about the same things.

Maybe this weird and cruel dynamic could be boiled down to you just being the odd one out. And though that didn’t make you resent it — resent them — any less, you’d made enough of a peace with it that once he was gone, you actually mourned him.

So why was it that it suddenly felt like he was right there, willingly ignoring you, all over again?

You sat alone on the railing at the Chateau, his ‘Chateau’, drinking budweiser, his favorite beer, wearing an old shirt that most definitely had belonged to him at some point, staring out into the river bank where he’d last been seen, and feeling rejected, exactly the same way he always made you feel.

The man was haunting you.

JJ and Kie lounged together on the sand over some old beach towel.The soft wind blowing her curls against his face. She smiles as she looks back at him, tucking that piece of hair behind her ear, and their eyes remain locked for a moment, gazes drifting back and forth between the eyes and the lips in that indecisive little lover’s dance you and him had been caught up in so many times.

It was excruciating: Sitting there and watching him play the same tricks he’d played on you on someone else, someone you knew he’d had his eye on for a while, like you were some sort of pathetic test subject he took up with the single intention of serving as the canvas on which he practiced his bullshitting skills.

You shouldn’t be surprised that he threw you away as soon as his actual target showed the slightest bit of interest in him, and you weren’t. That’s the worst part: in more ways than one, you knew this would happen. But as if locked in this realm of meta-self-consciousness, the more aware you were of JJ’s general scummyness, the more you convinced yourself you’d never fall for his lines, and the more comfortable you became in rolling over and letting him bullshit you.

You felt John’s approach before you heard him; Those unmistakably careless steps you’d heard just outside of your door all your life suddenly bounding towards you. Ten whole months of his obsessive and undivided attention hadn’t been able to erase the weirdness of him suddenly acknowledging you after seventeen years of pretending you weren’t there, so every time his eyes landed on you, your mind sent up a “something bad is about to happen” signal to the rest of your body.

He smiled awkwardly as you turned around to meet his eye.

– You okay? – The railing creaked as he sat down beside you, a half-drunk beer in his own hand. Your father’s disappearance had taken a lot out of John. At night, he paced. In the morning, he stared at the locked study. In the evening, he bit his nails and scratched his arms. And all throughout, you could see he was thinking of him. Whereas before, your brother had been the poster-child of teenage carelessness, now he could barely hide just how much his sanity had been going down the drain.

It was bad. Bad enough that he’d actually started worrying about losing you, of all people.

It was freaky.

The old John B couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you without cracking jokes at your expense or silently loathing at the burden of your existence. Now he could barely let you out of his sight.

You stayed quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, you shrugged, taking another sip of beer before muttering, – Peachy.

John let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. – You suck at lying, you know.

–Thanks, – you said dryly, setting the bottle down on the railing beside you. – I’ll make sure to add that to my list of things I suck at.

He didn’t laugh this time. You could feel his gaze on you, weighing heavier with every second you refused to look at him. Finally, you turned to meet his eyes—green, sharp, and so annoyingly sincere they made your chest tighten.

–You’re not okay, – He said softly, his voice breaking the kind of silence that felt like it had been years in the making.

– That bad at hiding it, huh? Have to add that to the list too.

– Why do you wanna hide things from me?

You stopped yourself from scoffing before you could hurt his feelings. But the answer was obvious to anyone with eyes: The two of you didn’t know each other.

No matter how much he tried to make you a part of his friend group or make up for the time you two wasted pretending the other didn’t exist, a couple months of effort couldn’t fix what over a decade had set into stone.

Maybe doing things behind his back wasn’t helping.

But you didn’t do it to hurt him. You didn’t plan for things with JJ to go as far as they did, they just did. And you knew it would hurt him if you told him what you had been doing, because JJ was John’s family more than you had ever been, and he’d see it as a betrayal.

For a moment, you wanted to tell him the truth. The real truth, not the sarcastic, deflective shit you’d been feeding everyone since the day you learned to speak.

But you didn’t. Because you’d had seventeen years of practice in swallowing everything you felt until it became a lump in your throat you’d learned to ignore.

– I don’t. I’m not. And I… I don’t want to. – you said instead, your voice as steady as you could make it. – Life’s just been kicking me hard right now.

He studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly, before he nodded. – It's okay. I get it.

– Thanks.

You expected him to leave after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed right there, his shoulder brushing yours as you sat in silence.

It was awkward. It's always been with the two of you. But eventually, he spoke again.

– Look, I… um, how can I say this? – He laughed, dragging his fingers through his hair. – I need your help with something.

You chuckled, a little more light-hearted now, and patted his back softly. – Go ahead.

– So, JJ's been acting weird. – You froze. It was over. He knew. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough that this whole thing between JJ and you had to be completely restructured. Your eyes drifted back to where Kie and the blonde were sitting, trying to keep your panic under wraps. – I was talking to Pope about it, but it's not like he cares enough to know what's going on. And Kie, who is the one that should care, told me I was just acting crazy. But I'm not crazy! He is weird! He's acting very weird!

You wanted to comfort him, and tell him that he wasn’t crazy, that he was right. There was something going on with JJ. But how were you supposed to say that without blowing your cover completely? You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to say the most basic thing you could:

– How so? – Was all you managed, still looking outwards, at JJ and Kie, in an attempt to avoid your brother’s gaze. It turned out to be just as bad a choice as the previous one. Your stomach turned as you saw him whisper something in her ear, earning a giggle from the girl, one that almost grated at your nerves. You took a deep breath, re-claiming the bottle you'd given up on, and taking a swig.

– Like… um, I don’t know. He’s always brushing me off about the most random things. Like, I can ask him a stupid question about surfing, or beer, or I don’t know, whatever! And he acts completely normal, but if I ask him if he slept over he’ll just feed me a bunch of senseless shit that doesn’t even answer the question!

– That’s... really weird.

– Right?! – He looked so relieved as you reassured him. So trusting. Yet here you were, lying to his face, knowing damn well that you were the reason JJ’s moronic ass couldn’t just tell your brother he slept on the couch. – And he keeps making these weird comments.

You were afraid to ask.

– What sort of comments?

– Like, the other day- He stopped himself short, suddenly looking into your eyes and then away again, his whole face suddenly red. – No, no. Um, forget about it. It’s weird.

– Weird? – He hummed and nodded. Eyes still glued to the floor. – Weirder than your ‘That’s so Raven’ phase? C’mon, tell me.

– No, it’s just..

– Just what?

– It’s like… – He gesticulated exaggeratedly with his hands. – graphic. We were... talking about, this site and when Pope made this joke about half siblings he just-

– Okay! –You breathed in, looking away as well. – Okay. So don’t tell me that. Is there anything else?

– Like, look at that! Look at his back. That looks really gnarly, doesn’t it? – You followed his gaze back to the thing you’d just been mulling over, and noticed, for the first time, the thing that had probably been freaking John out all day long: JJ’s back was streaked with nail marks. From beneath the ends of his dirty-blonde hair a couple hickeys poked out. And right there clear as day on his left shoulder, a bite.

You swallowed.

– Damn, I hadn’t seen that. – It wasn’t a lie. You’d never taken pride in the marks you left on people, mostly because after JJ, you often did your best to compartmentalize whatever intimacy you partook in. – Why is that weird, though?

– At first I thought he’d gotten into some catfight or something, that was ashamed to say it, but JJ’s been bitten all over these days, and he makes SUCH a big deal about saying it's nothing. Like, he'll ramble for hours. – He sighed. – I don’t know, but isn’t it weird?

– Yeah, it’s weird.

– Maybe he found some vampire chick to hook up with. – He laughed, though it was clear he didn't find any of it funny. – I don't know, but it's like his head's in the clouds or whatever.

You laughed, speaking before you could stop yourself: – Vampire? – You huffed, taking a swig from your bottle. – I don’t know. Kie doesn’t strike me as the type that only comes out at night. – Your conscience dawned upon you as you put the beer down. Drinking made you reckless, and as soon as you said it, you knew you'd be regretting it for a long time.

– What?! You- You don’t think they’d- No. No. No way.

– Uhm, I… I don’t. I don’t know. It was just like a hunch.

– Did she say something to you?!

She had, as a matter of fact, said something to you two days ago, and it had been burning in your mind even since: You’d been in the kitchen, staring into the empty fridge and trying to think of something you could possibly do with nothing but ketchup and mustard, when someone suddenly kicked the back of your shoe.

Kie had looked back at you with a mischievous smile. “JJ’s been staring at you all day.”

There was something conspiratorial in the way she giggled, poking at your sides like you were both children again, and you couldn’t help but laugh along: “Oh, please. He’d stare at a tree all day if it had tits.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” She looked around again, squeezing your arm. “I think he likes you. Like, like-likes you.”

You didn’t want to tell her that you and JJ had been sneaking around for a while, paranoid that John or Pope might walk past and hear you, so you just laughed. “How much beer did you drink today?”

“Fine, then, don’t tell me. Just know that I’m watching you!” She said it in sing-song, opened the door, and left you there, grinning alone, sure that it had been a completely harmless interaction.

Despite your endless tries, you hadn’t had many girl friends growing up. So when he was gone and John was suddenly forcing you to hang out with him and his friends, you’d been glad to spend time with Kie.

She’d always been nice to you, regardless of the fact she was older and a kook, so of course, you’d always been a little star-struck when she treated you like a friend.

Only a friend wouldn’t say what she said, not at least, when she was planning to spend the whole day after that flirting with JJ.

You wish you could’ve been charmingly aloof to her giggling and preening, and that, despite your definite lack of kook-ness, you would’ve had the grace and etiquette to brush it off as easily as she brushed off your feelings. But you’d never been the sort of person that can deal gracefully with their own negative emotions. So you sulked, and you drank, and you smoked.

The night fell slower than you had wanted that day, but as soon as your brother’s snoring could be heard through the house, your door creaked open, and in came JJ, with his stupid smile, bounding over to you.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t bother to address it until both of you were half-naked.

JJ had this habit of introducing serious topics of conversation just as you were getting comfortable with him. So he’d been beneath you, calloused hands tearing your shirt off of your body, head thrown back as you kissed his neck, when, between a groan and a plea, he asked “What’s gotten you so angry, huh?”

You brushed it off as playful teasing. No one liked to dirty talk better than JJ, and given his talent to make people angry, you wouldn’t be surprised this was some scheme he’d worked out to rile you up. You tangled your hands in his hair, and pulled his head back, kissing him quiet as his fingers sunk into your waist. “What is it, huh?” He thrust into you, once and again, and again, his eyes squeezed shut as his mouth fell open, groaning and moaning against the crook of your neck. “You- ah- You don’t like me talking to Kie? Is that- OH GOD- Is that- is that it?”

You slammed your hips against his and laughed bitterly as you felt a shiver tear through him. JJ babbled for a moment, opening his eyes just for you to see them rolling into his head. Your nails scraped against his back in a way that had him arching into you. And though you were enjoying yourself, a part of you wanted to torture him more than anything.

He’d begged you to slow down, breathless and starry-eyed, his own nails digging into the meat of your thighs as he pulled you in, over and over again, despite his contradicting protests.

When you were finally done, JJ was red in the face as he fell back on your bed, and it took him a while to formulate a sentence. “I should make you jealous more often.” Was what he came up with at the end, heart thumping wildly against his ribcage, enough that you could feel it against your skin.

His breath was as warm as his hands, and just as shaky. The patterns he drew against your back shifted from adoring to exhausted, and you remained there, weaving your fingers through his blonde strands.

“What you should do is cash a reality check.” You hummed, and he barked out a laugh at that, curling up into your arms as you shifted to your side.

“Keep lying to yourself, babe. You know you love me.”

From beneath your lashes, you could see the smile on his face as he watched his hands move against you, hypnotized by steady movement his palms made down the curve of your hips.

You were satisfied by the interaction when it happened. It felt so playful, so soft, you didn’t even have the heart to wake him up as you felt his breath grow deeper against you.

JJ would wake you up hours later, just as the sun broke the horizon, whispering something about leaving before John B came to check on you, and you’d only barely registered his words, still stuck in that void between consciousness and sleep, but you remembered smiling as he kissed up your neck and told you he’d see you later.

He was right about that. But you weren’t glad you saw him again.

You woke up, opened the door, and just between stumbling to the bathroom and wondering if there was anything to eat, you saw him, shirtless on the couch, with Kie on top of him. You turned back around as if the sight had blinded you, trying to force the sound of their kissing out of your mind.

All day long, he’d been attached to her hip. They’d spent the morning whispering and giggling on the couch, the evening eating off each other’s plate, and now there they were, cuddled up on your beach towel, watching the sun go down.

John was still looking at you expectantly. – So? Did she say something?

You sighed.

– Not explicitly. She did ask me if I liked him very suspiciously, though.

– Why didn’t you say anything?!

- Because! – Because you had no idea she would bait and switch you like that. The moment sat heavy on your chest, a constant, gnawing reminder that whatever semblance of camaraderie you thought you had with Kie had only been another cruel thing in your ongoing circus of disappointments. And of course you couldn’t share that with John. The last thing you needed was to light another fire beneath his already manic suspicions. So you shrugged and avoided his gaze, taking another sip of beer. – It was weird, but not weird enough that it merited an intervention.

He’s shaking his head as you speak, unconsciously, almost in denial.

He clearly wasn’t buying that there was nothing going on, and the frown on his face deepened, turning into something like disgust. – Kie wouldn’t… She wouldn’t do that. She’s not dumb, right? She knows what JJ is like, doesn’t she?

You soaked in that unintended insult for a second, wishing you had never opened your mouth. – I don’t know. Maybe they’re not. – But they were, though. –You’ve all had a thing for Kie at some point, right? JJ’s probably just going through a phase.

– Yeah, but she’s entertaining it! She never did that before! – You couldn’t argue against him anymore. You knew he was right, and he, unconsciously or not, did too. But the guilt was eroding at you from the inside out. Despite the decade and some you two had spent trying to ignore one another, you knew him well enough to know that what was bothering him was not that his friends could be in a relationship, but what would happen to his friend group when they inevitably broke up. – I can’t believe JJ would do that.

– He might not be doing anything, John! – You tried to give him some comfort at least, janky though were at expressing sympathy. – I mean, it’s JJ we’re talking about, he’ll flirt with any girl that has a pulse.

– What part of “She’s entertaining it” didn’t you get?! – He turned to you like a coiled viper, eyes dark with an anger you couldn’t really comprehend. The moment his voice sharpens it’s like the temperature in the room has dropped. Suddenly, you’re on your feet, struggling to process how this seemingly normal conversation had turned into a fight.

You try to keep your cool, though you feel that guilt pushing into confusion:

– Hey, you don’t need to raise your voice at me. I’m just trying to make you see the nuance here.

– What nuance?! It’s obviously happening! You were the one who brought up the problem and now you’re just gonna brush it off?

– I wasn’t the one that brought it up, and that’s not what I’m doing!

– Yes it is! And you always do! You bring up these random things about other people, stirring shit up, and when I try to talk about it, you’re suddenly above it? You’re such a hypocrite!

– Why are you mad, John? We were just talking about this like grown-ups and suddenly you wanna argue? Let’s just- Let’s calm down for a second, okay? – You both looked down for a moment, interrupted by your ringtone. Barry’s name flashed on your screen for the third time that day. Yet another one of your bad habits catching up to you. – Uh, hey, Bee. I’m kind of in the mi- Hey! Hey! What the fuck are you doing? – John wrestled the phone out of your hand, turning it off before you could do anything. – WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!

– We’re talking here! I don’t know if you realized.

– Fuck you, John! Are fucking kidding me?! Give me back my phone!

– WE’RE TALKING RIGHT NOW!

– I’m not fucking talking to you after this bullshit! Give me back my fucking phone!

He held it out of your reach, looking at you with spite. – I hate Barry. You know I hate him, why the hell do you keep talking to him?!

There wasn’t much else you could do but stare up in disbelief. – Why are you bringing this shit up now?! He’s my friend, you know that! And you don’t own me! I’ll talk to whoever I want!

You hear the steps coming towards the two of you as John scoffs, pushing you off of him. – Barry’s a drug dealer, for God’s sake! When are you gonna realize this guy is bad news?!

– Oh, sure! Because JJ is such a model citizen!

– Don’t bring him into this!

– You were the one that brought him into this! It’s none of your goddamn business who I choose to hang out with, John! I’m your sister, not your fucking pet!

He raises his hands, laughing bitterly. – Pet? Really? That’s fucking rich coming from you! – That stings more than you want to admit it. The way he throws his words at you like knives. The way he says it, it tells you it’s not just the frustration talking. He means it. – Up until a couple months ago you treated us all like lepers, wouldn’t even look us in the eye! But you want me to believe that the crackhead down the street is somehow more worthy of your time than I am?!

Your composure had gone down the drain now, and the guilt went with it. You could have lied. You should have lied. But because you didn't, now you were punished. – You are so fucking full of yourself, John! I swear to God!

– I’M FULL OF MYSELF?! Really?! I am?!

– Yes, you are! You’re so fucking spoilt! You think the world just revolves around you! You can do whatever you want, you fuck up, you commit literal fucking felonies out there with your friends, and I’m the problem because I’m friends with the guy that YOU BUY WEED FROM?!

He laughs. Not to himself, at you. Just the way he used to do before: – You’ve gotta be really fucking stupid to think Barry, of all people, is your friend. It’s fucking pathetic, really!

– Says the guy who hasn’t made a friend since the third grade!

– Whoa! Whoa! Chill out, you two, what the hell is going on?! – JJ comes rushing in, already pulling John away from you like some sort of white knight, but your brother just pushes him out of the way, still tearing into you:

– Barry’s not your friend. You’re too smart not to see that– Or you know, at least I thought you were.

– Guys, c’mon- JJ can barely get a word in:

– You don’t know what you’re talking about! The people I hang out with are none of your business, and you know damn well you have no room to talk!

– What do you even mean by that?!

You laugh sarcastically. – And you think I’m the one who is fucking stupid?

You feel a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you back. Kie stands behind you, her dark eyes full of pity, a concern that is more judging than kind. – Guys, Guys, please. Just stop it. You two are not thinking straight.

– We’re talking here, Kie, stay out of it! – You can see the lack of patience in your brother’s eyes as he speaks. And you take the opportunity to try and grab your phone again, but JJ grabs you before you can get to him. – Get off of me, JJ! None of this shit concerns you! Can you fuck off?!

– JJ’s just trying to help. – Kie says. She pushes JJ off of you, trying to stand in between. –Look, let’s calm down.

– We don’t want your help!

– Don’t talk to my friends like that!

– Like what? Like the way you and dad talk to me?

– You’re not putting dad into this fucking conversation right now! Jesus, you are so fucking pathetic! – He’s always thought that about you. In all the time you’ve known John, which is all the time you’ve been alive, that’s the word he most commonly attached to you: pathetic. And it echoes in your head as you look at him. The edge in his eyes repeating that word again and again. – You’re literally a child! You’re trying to butt into my friends lives because you don’t have any, and dad’s supposed to be at blame because you had no fucking life until I tried to include you?!

– Oh, oh sorry! Sorry! I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a Saint! I thought I was talking to the guy who bullied me in middle school at the same time he had me help him with his High School homework! My mistake! GO FUCK YOURSELF, JOHN! It took dad disappearing for you to acknowledge the fact I wasn’t some fucking plaything for you to kick around when you’re bored! Get off your fucking high horse!

You see the rage forming on his face again.

– You’re rich! You’re really fucking rich, you know that?!

– I don’t give a fuck what you think of me, John! I don’t care! I can take a humbling from a lot of fucking people, okay, but I don’t wanna hear shit from you! You’re a spoiled brat! Dad never had the guts to tell you no on anything, so you think you’re entitled to everyone’s shit! You think you can control your friends lives, you think you can boss me around and use the money THAT I’M FUCKING MAKING to fund your little parties and make yourself feel better about the fact Dad walked out! Well I’ve got fucking news for you, bro! You’re the fucking child here! YOUR ASS CAN’T EVEN GET A JOB!

– You’re really gonna make this about money again? Is that the problem?!

– Oh my fucking God! TAKE A FUCKING HINT, JOHN! LOOK AROUND YOU!

JJ calls your name again, holding your brother back as Kie begs you to stop. You hadn’t even realized they were talking. – Please! That’s not who either of you are! You’re angry! You’re saying things you don’t mean.

– Oh he means it, Kie. John might be stupid but he’s damn sure not crazy, and he knows what he says! That's what he thinks of me! He thinks I'm some dumb little kid who can't make friends! That I'm some loser who doesn't have a life! He thinks EXACTLY WHAT HE SAID! He thinks I'm fucking pathetic!

– AND HOW EXACTLY ARE YOU PROVING ME WRONG RIGHT NOW?!

– Fucking stop this already! Just GIVE IT BACK! – You were livid now, pushing past Kie and reaching for it, but John yanks it back like it’s some kind of trophy just so he can see you rage.

– You’re not even listening to me! All this shit you’re doing, the screaming, the shouting, the running off to Barry or whoever the hell else— That’s exactly the shit you’d pull when we were kids! It’s like you haven’t grown up at all! You’re fucking doing this or attention!

– Fuck you. Just fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!

JJ’s the only thing standing between the two of you now, a wall in the middle over which the two of you scream. Kie holds you by the shoulders, pleading.

You’re glad for them at that moment, because you can’t be sure you wouldn’t scratch your brother’s eyes out if he came too close.

Your head is spinning. You wanna tear your hair out of your head. And as if what was going on right then wasn’t bad enough, JJ has the gall to open his mouth and tell you to step back: – He’s right. You’re being childish. Just let this go.

You were about to, until he said it.

– I need to let it go?! He was the one that started this shit in the first place! HE took my phone! HE started screaming! HE’S the one calling me fucking names and talking to me like a fucking child! And I’m the one that needs to let this go?! NO! FUCK YOU JJ! THIS SHIT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU! FUCK OFF!

– STOP TALKING TO HIM LIKE THAT, HE’S MY BEST FRIEND!

– Yeah?! And you’re doing such a great job of showing it right now, huh? Freaking out over some scratches on his back and trying to make it into some great betrayal! You’re out of your fucking mind!

– FUCK YOU!

– You’re obsessed! You’re losing your mind over some stupid shit that doesn’t even matter! You can’t fucking handle it when people do things without telling you because you think you know better about their lives than them! Guess what John: Maybe people don’t owe you shit!

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head and pointing at you as if he was some great detective: – You’re going really hard on this aren’t you? You’re hiding something! I know you are!

– What?! Are you seriously accusing me of–? God, you’re insane! GET OVER YOURSELF JOHN! The world doesn’t revolve around you and your little posse!

You can hear a rumble in the distance, the roar of an engine you couldn’t quite place, and you look away, the rage within you giving way to exhaustion. You want this to end, but John keeps going:

– Stop tearing into my friends just because you don’t have any of your own, okay?! This jealousy, this envy shit, it isn’t even funny. It’s just pathetic! IT JUST IS! The fact that nobody gives a fuck about you is not anybody else’s fault! – The words came out like venom, sharp and deliberate, but they struck true.

You kept your eyes on him for a moment, jaw clenched, face still. You could see JJ and Kie looking between themselves in the tension, sort of hesitating, completely clueless as to what to do.

Your brother’s face fell, slowly, as if he was reliving every word that had just come out of his lips in a play-by-play. The emotions flitted through his face like seasons, first it was confusion, then shock, then regret, and finally guilt.

You wished you could’ve said something, something cold, and cruel. Something that he’d be thinking about for a long time. But you couldn’t. Just the effort that it took for you to be able to breathe without crying had frozen the words within your throat. So you were kept silent, took the beer from the railing, and pushed past him.

– Wait- – John reached for you, but you shrugged him off before he could get the attention he needed to formulate his next words. You didn’t want to hear him, be near him, you didn’t want him to exist.

Instead, you look out into the lawn.

– Look, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just- John falters mid-word, the rumble of the engine cut through the tension like a knife, low and guttural, growing louder as it approached. Both of you froze, your argument abruptly suspended as the sleek black Range Rover pulled into view. You frown for a moment, trying to piece together the fragments of memory you have of seeing this car, but JJ scoffs from behind you on the porch, and when you see Kiara’s expression twist into one of contempt, you know exactly who it belongs to.

The driver stays put, engine still running as if the car itself was too impatient to linger. And for a moment no one gets out.

You approach carefully.

You’ve never spoken much to Rafe Cameron, you only saw him whenever he came to see Barry, and even then, it was always quick. A glance, a smile, a double entendre he says while he eyed you, without ever addressing you directly.

You look over your shoulder again to see if maybe he’s come for Sarah. But she’s been laying in John’s room all evening, and the doorway is empty, no sign of her.

John’s face twists back into anger. He wraps a hand around your arm, stopping you in your tracks. His jaw is clenched as he looks at the Rover, and he seems eager, like a cat ready to pounce.

The passenger door swings open right then, and you see him. Not Rafe, not Topper, or any of his Kook friends, but Barry — A grin splits his face as he steps out, the light catching his golden tooth as his smile widens, a cigarette dangling from his lips. – Well, look who’s got the whole neighborhood in an uproar! – He drawls, voice teasing but warm. – What’s going on, darlin’? You look ready to throw hands.

Despite yourself, you feel your shoulders relax, the weight of the argument easing slightly. – Barry! – You’re surprised by how light your voice sounds as you run to meet him, standing arms open before Rafe’s car, he wraps you up and spins you around quickly, his laughter blowing against your hair. – What’s going on?What’re you doing here?

– Phone call got cut short. – He winks as you pull away, glancing over your shoulder at John. His smirk widens, deliberately provoking. – Figured I’d swing by and see what the fuss was about. Looks like I walked into a family reunion.

– It’s none of your business. – John snaps.

Barry raises his hand in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. – Touchy, touchy. Don’t worry, man. I’m not here to stir the pot. Looks like y’all already took care of that.

– Sorry about the call. – You whisper. – Things are kinda weird around here.

– Not your fault, sweetheart, – He taps your arm with his pointer finger, fixing you a smile as he dragged a hand through his hair and threw the cigarette on the ground. – Some people just don’t know how to let things go.

– I’ll tell you what’s letting go, Barry. You’re gonna let go of my sister and fuck off back to your rat’s nest!

– Ignore him. – You beg, no less worried as you hear your friend whisper an “always do”. – So. What is it?

– What? I can’t just be here for the pleasure of your company? – He pats your back softly, feet swaying as he speaks. – You wound me, sweetheart.

– You’re a peach, Bee. A real charm. But I’m guessing this favour you’re about to ask me isn’t a work-from-home sorta thing. You’ll have my company regardless.

Barry leans against the open car door, his smile fading. He breathes in deep. – You’re not gonna like it.

– Well, I hate you already, – You teased. – can’t see how things could get worse.

– I was gonna tell you on the phone, but the troglodyte over there wouldn’t let me. – He looks over his shoulder, and back at you. – There’s a party, over at figure eight. Boss’ gonna be there. You remember him, right?

A shiver tore through you just at the thought. – How could I forget?

Barry chuckles, shaking his head. – Yeah, well. He kinda likes you, y’know. Thought maybe you’d tag along, help me keep things smooth. – You felt your chest tighten. He pauses, eyes glinting with something unreadable. – Missed you, too. Thought maybe your boy over there was keeping you on house arrest again.

– I can hear you, Barry. – John said coldly, stepping forward.

– Oh good. – He didn't miss a beat. – Thought maybe I’d have to file a request just to get five minutes with her. What’s next, man? A sign-in sheet? You running this place like a damn prison, now?

– Shut up! – Your brother snapped again, his fists clenching. JJ came up behind him, eyes fixed on the arm Barry held over your shoulder.

– Relax, big guy. Nobody’s stealing anything from you, we can’t all break into people’s houses and take their money while they’re gone.

You cringe at the memory. – Barry, please. Don’t.

– Me? I’m not doing anything, sweetheart. We’re just playing around, right, boys? – He chuckled, squeezing you closer as he looked at them.

JJ was the one to speak then: – Get off of her, man.

– Shit, what am I now? A cradle robber? – Barry looks at you with a pointed smile, but he’s not talking to you, he’s just riling them up. – You don’t even like me like that, do you, sweetheart? Unless you do, and then, well…

JJ grabs him by the shirt, but Barry just keeps laughing. – I’m telling you to get the fuck off of her, man!

– JJ, chill the fuck out, what are you doing? – You push him back, away from your friend. There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite read as he meets your gaze. Anger, frustration, sadness. His hands rest on your shoulders, and he opens his mouth, as if to tell you something, but Barry’s laughter cuts in again, and suddenly all you see in his face is anger.

– He’s pushing it! – The blonde retorts, almost childishly.

– Ooh, down pitbull! – He’s almost cackling now, and you can hear a second laugh, something shorter, softer, coming from the car. Rafe’s looking at you too, you can feel his eyes on you. – I’d watch out if I were you, John B! Looks like your buddy here is looking to catch some friendly fire.

– Barry, for fuck’s sakes!

He just laughs at your words, resting his hand on the car door again. – Sorry, sweetheart. But it’s just too easy! – You hesitate, looking back at your brother, whose scowl has deepened. – C’mon, let’s just go.

– She’s not going anywhere with you, – John spits the words out like poison, stepping in to stand next to JJ. – Not with you, and sure as hell not with that psychopath! – You can hear a scoff from within the Range Rover, Rafe seems to be enjoying himself. Enough that he just sits back and grins, waiting for your brother to keep talking.

Barry lets out a whistle. – Ooh, now we bringing Rafe into it? You’re scared of a little country club action, huh? What’s the problem, John B? Brother-in-law not good enough for you?

– What the fuck did you just say to me?!

– Oh, for fuck’s sakes. Stop it. Just stop this shit, I’m tired of it.

– Not my fault your brother’s got a stick up his ass.

– Barry! – You sigh, feeling the limit of your patience encroaching as you turn around. – Give me back my phone, John.

– No. – He swiped it out of your reach again. – You’re not fucking going, and you're gonna thank me for it later. Barry is bad news, as it is. But Rafe? – His eyes darken. You can hear that same chuckle again, and you can tell they're looking at each other. – Rafe’s even worse. You’re not going anywhere near that nut job if I can help it.

– You hear that, Country Club? Surfer boy’s scared of you!

– I swear to God, man. If you don’t shut up–

You pushed him back, long past your wit’s end:

– Quit it. I’m getting really fucking tired of your shit, John. I’m not joking, give it back.

He looks at you for a moment. He'd managed to keep his face smooth for the duration of this talk, though he never could hide his temper, but now he looks as if he could kill you:

– Come and get it, if you want it. It’s right here. – He held it out over his head, smiling without a hint of joy on his face.

– Are we really doing this, right now?

– You said you wanted it. Well, do you?

You look over your shoulder, pondering the options.

Barry’s eyes meet yours as he climbs back into the car, smirking. – Door’s open, sweetheart. Tick tock.

John’s voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and angry. – She’s not going! – He tried to grab you again, but you didn’t think, you just moved.

You ducked under his grasp, twisting away before he could get a hold of your arm. The sudden motion made your heart race, adrenaline flooding your veins as you bolted toward the car. John cursed behind you, his footsteps heavy on your heels, but he was too slow to catch you.

Barry already held his hand out, his golden grin flashing into laughter as you dove inside. You barely registered the hand that steadied you before you landed ungracefully in his lap, your momentum knocking the breath out of both of you.

– Damn, sweetheart. – Barry drawled, his hands catching your waist steady, where Rafe’s had just been, and the door closes behind the two of you with a bang. – Didn’t know you missed me that much.

– Drive! – You snapped, ignoring the heat rushing to your face.

Rafe’s laughter erupts from beside you, loud and mocking, as the car lurches forward. You glance up just in time to see him smirking at you, his hand casually draped against the steering wheel. The engine revs beneath you as the Range Rover moves, kicking up a cloud of dirt.

You turn around to look at the window, catching sight of JJ and John as they stumbled to a halt. Your brother shouts something – Your name, maybe, or a string of curses – But the roar of the engine drowns him out.

Barry chuckles against you, leaning back on the seat with his arm around your middle. – Remind me to do that again sometime.

– I will man, don’t worry. – Rafe laughs.

– The two of you are sick. – You can feel Barry nodding, his laughing lips pressed against your shoulder, the road before you suddenly becoming clear. They say something else, something you don’t quite catch, as the situation finally dawns on you:

You’re in a car with Rafe Cameron. And it's too late to go back.

[queenuchiha89]

hello! love u! would you pretty please consider writing itachi violently non conning his younger sister after an argument when they're home alone but teen sasuke returned early from his mission with team 7? sasuke loves his big sis but he doesn't really help her, incredibly liking the sight of his sibs together.

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI! ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️WARNING ⚠️ this story contains noncon, foul language, incest, voyeurism, and other themes that may not be suitable for some audience. Viewer discretion is STRONGLY advised!

Itachi and his little sister Y/N had been at each other's throats all day long. Their parents were gone, Sasuke was off on an assignment with team 7 and every time Itachi and Y/N were alone, they always seemed to fight. "I'm so sick of you acting like you're better than everyone else in the family Itachi! You really look down on me and Sasuke!" She yelled at him as he turned to walk off towards his room in an effort to end the argument before I went too far. She watched him as he walked off, her arms folded, cheeks red in anger and frustration. Why he couldn't just... Be nice to her?! "You're just like Father..." She mumbled under her breath, but with his hearing and skill, of course itachi heard her. He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning his attention back towards his little sister at the opposite end of the hall. "What did you say Y/N..?" Itachi asked, his voice low and flat with a different kind of angered tone she had never before heard come from her older brother.

The color began to drain from Y/N's face as he swiftly began to walk towards her, and she had no time to attempt to block herself from any actions he may have took on her. He was far too fast, and she knew it. He grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around, and pinning her body to wall. All his weight was against her as she struggled helplessly to escape his grasp. "If you think I'm like father, then I will show you just how cruel Father really is!" He said viciously, his rage boiling over as her words echoed in her head. He spun her around, grabbing her by her hair and dragging her into his bedroom kicking and pleading for him to let her go. "Itachi stop! Let me go!" She screamed but to no avail. No one was around to hear her.

Itachi yanked Y/N up by her hair, and threw her on to his bed, wasting no time climbing on top of her. He pinned her arms down to the bed, and watched with a smirk as she kicked and flailed trying to get him off of her. "Itachi please!! Stop!" She cried out realizing that this was not a good situation to be in. She was in serious danger. Tears began to stream down her face, as all hope of her escaping his clutches left her. He was far too strong for her to over power, and all she could think to do was plead her case. "Itachi I'm sorry! Please, I didn't mean it!" She cried, and whimpered under him, powerless to stop his vicious assault. "Too late for apologies princess. You're going to take your medicine!" He growled as he gripped her throat in his hand, squeezing and watching her eyes widen in fear as she felt her airway closing in his grip. She gasped and choked as she struggled to break free of his grip, this only excited Itachi more.

While all this was going on in the Uchiha family household, Sasuke had returned from his mission earlier than expected, and was about open the front door and announce his arrival. However, as he entered, he stopped before calling out hearing strange sounds coming from upstairs, and what sounded like the voices of his elder siblings. Curious as to what could be going on, and getting an ominous feeling that something was definitely wrong, he slowly made his way up the stairs. He walked down the hallway, inching ever closer to Itachi's room- the origin of the sounds- and when he looked inside he was frozen in shock by what he saw. There was his older brother Itachi, pinning his big sister beneath him, fingers round her throat and her face turning a bright red color. "I-itachi? Y/N???" He whispered to himself, a strange fear creeping up this spine.

Itachi reached down between them, and fumbled with his pants as he removed his thick cock from his pants. Y/N wriggled harder as she saw her older brother's sizeable cock spring free from his pants and slap against her inner thigh. "You're going to take every last inch of my cock, and you're going to like it!" He threatened, as he held her still, and positioned himself against her open. "Are you- are you enjoying this??" Itachi said feeling how wet her pussy was in the moment. "You twisted little bitch..." He grunted as he pushed his cock deep inside her tight cunt. She cried out in pain as itachi stretched out her tight walls, feeling him rip her as he did. Sasuke watched in horror as Itachi raped their sister, watching his big sister's face contort in pain as he forced his cock inside her. It was awful... But he still couldn't look away, and as Itachi began to fuck into their sister, he felt a twinge of something else begin to rise up from within him.

Y/N took every inch of her big brother's cock, her body shivering in pain, and then in an unwilling pleasure as he continued his vicious assault. Itachi could feel her walls gripping around his cock, and knew she was about to cum against her will. "That's it. Don't fight it, just let this happen. Doesn't your big brother feel so good fucking you?" Itachi teased making her feel ashamed. With a gasp, and a small cry that sounded more akin to a cry of grief than pleasure, her walls gripped around his cock, and she came for him, shame filling her being as she did. "That's it, cum for me. Fuck little sis, I'm going to fill up that tight little pussy." Itachi growled as his thrusts became more erratic. With one final thrust, Itachi grabbed his little sister's hips and held her still as he shot his hot potent Uchiha cum deep inside her fertile womb.

From the hallway, Sasuke watched. Helpless, but achingly hard inside those shorts of his. He watched as his big sister was forced to cum all over Itachi's cock, and pumped full of his seed. Without warning, Sasuke's cock twitched, and he gasped steadying himself by grabbing the door frame as he came in his pants. The sight of his older brother viciously taking his big sis was far more than he could handle. Itachi caught his breath before giving his little sis a kiss on the forehead, and putting his cock away. "Maybe next time you'll learn to quit while you're ahead..." Itachi said cruelly as he reached for the towel on his bedroom floor. "Go clean yourself up princess..." He said before turning towards the cracked door. "You too Sasuke..."

A.N: spelling errors, and other such typos will be corrected when I am able. In the meantime, have fun and enjoy responsibly! 🥰

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 10: Under Pressure

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: don't piss Paige off...she becomes a beast

Welcome to the chapter 10 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Y/N’s POV

The whirlwind of paige and I being in a private to public eye relationship, my final project, and rumors building up. It was hard but we'd managed to keep it together, now at out next away game the pressure was buliding up.

The stsdium where the Marquette vs Uconn game was held was loud—so loud I could feel the vibrations in my chest as the Marquette fans cheered on their team. I stood courtside, camera poised and ready, capturing KK as she lined up for a three-point shot. She released the ball, and I clicked the shutter at the perfect moment, already picturing how the shot would look when edited.

“Why’s she even here? She doesn’t belong with them!”

I stiffened as the words cut through the crowd noise.

“She’s just a leech! Following Paige like a lost puppy!”

"Yeah, she's such a clingy bitch!"

My hands tightened around my camera, my heart sinking as the cruel words continued. I glanced over my shoulder, spotting a group of fans pointing at me, their laughter grating against my ears.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard something like this, but today, it hit differently.

“Y/N!” KK’s voice jolted me from my thoughts, and I turned to see her smiling at me, oblivious to the taunts. “Did you get the shot?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “It’s perfect.”

But my voice wavered, and I knew she caught it.

Paige did too.

From across the court, I saw her eyes narrow as she glanced in my direction, her jaw clenching when she followed my gaze to the group of fans. She couldn’t do anything, though—not during the game.

When a timeout was called just before halftime, I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest felt tight, my breaths coming shorter with each second. With the overwhelming and over stimulating noises, I quickly slipped through the tunnels, camera clutched to my chest as I found my way to the locker room.

Paige’s POV

The second-quarter buzzer blared, signaling halftime. I jogged off the court with the team, my mind half on the game and half on Y/N.

“Where’s Y/N?” KK asked as we entered the locker room, her brows furrowing when she didn’t see her.

“I’ll find her,” I said quickly, brushing past the team and heading further into the back.

I found her in the corner, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. Her camera lay beside her, forgotten. Her hands trembled as she tried to catch her breath, and the sight of her like this broke something inside me.

“Y/N, baby,” I said softly, crouching down in front of her.

She looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “Paige… I-I couldn’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” I interrupted, taking her hands in mine. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, okay?”

I inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. She mimicked my breathing, her trembling gradually subsiding.

“They called me a leech,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Said I didn’t belong here, even called me a clingy bitch.”

My blood boiled, but I pushed the anger aside for now. Y/N needed me to be present. “Listen to me,” I said firmly, cupping her face. “You belong here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Those people don’t know you, and they sure as hell don’t know how incredible you are. You're my photographer extraordinaire, definitely not a bitch.”

She sniffled, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, P.”

“Always,” I said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Now, let’s get through this game, okay? I’ll handle the rest.”

Y/N’s POV

I stayed in the locker room gathering myself, Paige went back out with the team. My chest still felt heavy, but her words lingered in my mind, grounding me.

I could hear the game from the hallway, the crowd roaring as the second half began. Paige was on fire. She moved across the court with a ferocity I hadn’t seen before, sinking shots with ease and making impossible passes.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the score was neck and neck.

Paige’s POV

I had one chance to end this. With .8 seconds left on the clock and the score tied at 87, Azzi passed me the ball just outside the arc. The crowd roared as I squared up and released the shot.

Swish.

The buzzer sounded, and the scoreboard lit up: 90-87. We won.

The team rushed the court, and I found myself in the middle of a celebratory huddle. But my eyes searched the sidelines for one person.

The reporter smiled as she held the mic out to me. “Paige, you dominated the second half. What sparked that performance?”

I still thinking of an answer opened my mouth, but Azzi leaned forward to the mic, her arm slinging around my shoulders. “Let’s just say Paige had determination, and adrenaline in her.”

The team erupted in laughter, knowing the truth was cause of y/n and I couldn’t help but smile slightly, even as I felt my cheeks heat up.

Once back in the locker room the team was buzzing with energy as we filed into the locker room. Y/N was sitting on one of the benches, her camera back in her hands. She looked up as I approached, a shy smile on her lips.

“Nice shot, superstar” she said softly.

“Thanks, ma” I replied, sitting beside her. “You okay?”

She nodded, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

I wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Always.”

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 ,.... (more to be added)

[crimeronan]

musing on horror fiction and disability.

i've seen a lot of interesting discussion recently on whether or not disability horror is Okay (TM). the most common conclusion (from people who, like, care about ableism) is that disabled protags should Exist, but their disability shouldn't be the source of the horror, and should perhaps even help them survive. and there's been a lot of good horror fiction written around this specific concept!

it's a pretty sensible starting point because, like. disability Actually Exists. you don't want to write a story where the point is to gawk at an actual subsection of your readers n go "wow, GOD, that would suck!! how scary!! so glad it's not me!! okay byeeee"

On The Other Hand, though. when i write horror, i DEFINITELY plot using chronic illness and other disability-related stuff as a key source. so i'm musing on that.

people who already Know my horror work are gonna say "yeah, because you're writing from experience!! so you do it Right!!"

and if we're gonna set Rules (TM) on what narratives are or aren't done "right," then... yeah, i agree. i know what i'm doing and i will not stop doing it anytime soon, regardless of where the Discourse (TM) falls. but i'm trying to figure out what, specifically, makes it Right. you know??

so.

i think some of it is about knowing Why the thing is scary. the Why is what makes horror effective in the first place, anyway! if you know the Why, then you can lean into & manipulate your audience's feelings!

and sometimes the Why is just. shitty.

like, psycho is scary because crazy men in dresses with DID might kill you in the shower. split is scary for similar reasons. i'm trying to remember bad horror about physical disabilities but my mind is protecting me. let's just say, like, the whole subgenre about haunted hospitals with scary disabled patients. the PATIENTS are going to hurt you??? the PATIENTS??!!?!

but the Why re: disability isn't Always othering or cruel or inaccurate, imo.

sometimes being sick Is Scary. not gonna get too deep into it here, but like. it just is. it just fuckin' is. it's scary both internally and externally. the loss of control is scary. the loss of ability itself is scary; the consequences for that loss of ability are also scary. the loss of autonomy is scary. it's scary when doctors don't know what's wrong, and it's scary when they do. it's scary to undergo treatment, and it's scary not to have access to treatment. it's scary not to know what the future holds. it's all fucking scary!!

so like. the "why" in "why is it scary," for me at least, often boils down to "because it is Real."

disability is coming for everyone who's blessed with old age. disability is coming for a wide swath of much younger people, too. it is happening. that's a scary thing for people to reckon with on a personal level, and so it just seems sensible to me for this to crop up in horror.

what is scary about being sick?? take your pick. but for the love of god, ground it in truth.

then the Other thing is: i think you Have to know your audience. and i think you Have to assume a good portion of your audience Will share the disability in question.

i write my horror FOR chronically ill people. i don't really care about anyone else or anybody else's opinions.

and that's part of why stuff like psycho sucks -- the othering. the takeaway is "people like you are frightening and dangerous." another example that's not actually horror, but which Does hurt my feelings, is a little life by hanya yanagihara -- that book is engineered to tell all the disabled rape victims in the audience that the only sensible course for their lives is suicide.

but then, like. the episodes of the magnus archives dealing with hospitals and psychosis and addiction are Fucking Brilliant. because they're taking the Very Real Horror of those Very Real Experiences and telling the audience, "no, you're not crazy. that was fucked up. it was fucked up that it happened and it's fucked up that it still happens and you are right to feel violated. that's the horror here"

and like. that is!! SUCH an enormous comfort!! at least for some of us!!

so. i write about how being sick is fucked up. and i do it for the people who want someone to tell them, yeah, it sucks, it hurts, and it's fucked up.

not everybody wants this! many disabled people want The Exact Opposite of this in their horror stories. which is why the "disabled horror protag beats the slasher villain to death with their prosthetic leg" stuff rocks.

but different people want different things from their fiction.

for example, on a purely personal level, i can't Stand fluffy escapist fiction about no-ableism worlds where the disabled protags are all perfectly cared for n happy. it just makes me unhappy and upset about the world i'm currently living in.

but that specific genre is a lifeline for other people!!

so. anyway.

i don't know if any of this makes sense.

i will conclude by saying that i'm remembering something hank green said about how he only takes cancer advice from fellow cancer patients. his example was that if someone tells them weed helped with their chemo pain, he's like, thank you, that's great to know!! but if someone tells him to do weed for cancer bc they're.... just a stoner.... then he's like, "uh.... i do not care."

in that vein, i always always Always find it really valuable to hear from other people with the same kind of autoimmune diseases and degenerative illnesses i have/write -- those perspectives on horror/representation/visibility are Wonderful. (even when disagreeing with me!)

but if people's feedback amounts to "well, being sick Doesn't suck for me, so you should be more careful about writing sickness that sucks"

.....i'm like. well. i.... don't think this conversation is about you. i don't think i was talking to you.

maybe sometimes what's scary is being told you're hurting your own community by having. the Wrong Feelings.

[velvetdolor]

The Last Time | J.WY final

genre: exes to lovers, alluded soulmates, hurt/comfort, suggestive, fluff. part iii/final part of my drabble series, i give my first love to you. this is wooyoung's ending.

͙͘͡★ pairings: first love/ex wooyoung x first love/ex reader

͙͘͡★ wc: 2.9k

͙͘͡★ summary: this was the last time wooyoung was halfway to loving you.

͙͘͡★ or a mini drabble series beginning with an unsent love letter. I crafted two endings for the first drabble and to provide some vague insight for the characters relationships— but one of the endings is based in an alternate universe. You, dearest reader, are free to choose who to love and what universe is entirely yours—and what love almost was.

inspired by taylor swift’s and gary lightbody’s song—the last time. you should definitely listen to this during or before reading!

<pt.i the unsent letter [i give my first love to you] <pt.ii san's ending: [green light]

͙͘͡★ < currently reading: [the last time, final]

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he’s here at the bar you work at. Ever since he’d last saw you at a cafe in some handsome guys arms, things have steadily gone downhill. 

Mina knew about you.

Of course, she did– Wooyoung wouldn’t be Wooyoung if he’d never known you. She’s heard your name in passing and knew the look he’d wear on his face whenever you came to mind, which was regrettably more often than not. She fell in love with Wooyoung knowing that you’d been the one to build him into the man she held in her arms. You were a steady apparition haunting his dreams again like clockwork and he’s back here seemingly at step one. As forgiving as Mina was, he hit her boiling point when he slurred your name out accidentally at a bar with all of his friends–safe to say everyone’s face had gone three shades lighter, paling at his sudden crime. Everyone knew the phantom truth attached to your name, if they’d truly knew Wooyoung, then they knew about you. Though it’s been years since Wooyoung’s uttered your name out loud, somehow you were still in every room he’s walked into since the day you closed your door on him.

Mina screamed at him the moment they unlocked the door to her apartment and all he could do was hang his head in apology. The moment he saw her typically gentle features crease into a permanent hurt, he knew there was no verbal apology sincere enough to say for her sake. If he apologized, it would only sound like he was trying to appease his own guilt. She saw it right then in his eyes, all of the unresolved heartache and a cruel dawning washed down on her. 

She could only stay with him if she could live with the fact that he would always be halfway to loving her, never stepping a foot forward beyond that point, head turning 180 degrees behind him. And she couldn’t. Not when the last of her patience and hope washed itself down the drain tonight. The last sentence she uttered to him, which she did with all the strength she had to steel herself into pushing through with it was “–go, go and figure it out, but please don’t come back.”

It’s not that Wooyoung didn’t love her. He just couldn’t love her in a way that’d ease her worries. With a shaky breath Wooyoung stepped back, his dark bangs obscuring his vision, and a lump forming in his throat at the hurt he knew he’d feel in her absence, too. 

“Mina, I’m just sorry that it couldn’t only be you.”

He couldn’t tell her he loved her because it wouldn’t be fair to her if he did. But Wooyoung did love her. Just not enough to forget you—but he didn’t think he’d ever be able to love anyone enough to do that.

He turned and shut the door behind him for the very last time, picking up his pace, and hoped that you still worked at that old bar. Mina slides her back down the door, fumbling to pick up the pieces of her broken heart, still wishing him luck with the last of her love.

On his way to you, Wooyoung prayed that someone would love her well—that someone would love her even when they’d try their best to move forward, only to fail and march their way back to her. Wooyoung believed in the vastness of the universe, knowing that it wasn’t hard to love Mina in the slightest, and prayed to the best of his ability on his way back to you that all of the love in the universe would find itself at Mina’s door. He knew where his love had to be tonight and it was either a fifteen minute walk or a seven minute run. His choice was obvious in his emotional desperation.

As his lungs caved and ballooned inside of him, aching from the coolness of winter– he hoped he’d be greeted by the sight of your unintentionally warm eyes that’d make up for the fact that he’s running outside in the sharpest bite of winter. 

It was a sudden memory of the shake of your laugh that gave him the strength to push the pumping of his legs a little harder, as he turned the corners of the blocks leading up to the bar he’d met you in one fateful night. Strangers watched him, aghast and alarmed at the strangeness of his creasing face, pained and cursing himself for his recent lack of cardio.

He couldn’t blame them. There’s a man running wild and they wondered if he was running from something or to something. Nonetheless, he found no shame in running like a fool to wherever you might be. You’d call him dramatic, but he’d run cross country, take a boat (despite the fact that he had a horrid case of motion sickness), and skydive just to arrive at your mapping points. 

It was alright if he left with nothing but closure– he could at least end the night with a glimpse of your familiar face. If he was lucky, he’d be blessed to see your laughter, even if he wasn’t the one to cause it and see how time has touched you in detail in the last three years. 

“Ah, fuck. God, I hope she’s there.” He wheezes out on the brink of taking a break, slowing down a bit before he passes by your favorite food stall and the scent wafts in another bit of nostalgia that crushes him. He remembered the first time he kissed you right there under that streetlamp— the one hovering over the food cart like a little angel after talking on the bench nearby for a couple of hours without realizing how’d the time gone by. It was long after the owners left with the plastic covering crinkling in the wind, similar to the way your eyes curled upwards after he’d finally let go of you. That was the first time he’d ever saw you smile without reservation; without the pretense of a false coldness you’d only wore for protection. 

Wooyoung doesn’t take the break. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to you once he gets there, but this is the last time he’ll allow himself to love you out loud, reprimanding himself for trying to push the thought of you behind him after all of this time. Maybe Mina would’ve been spared the heartbreak if he’d just confronted the truth of it all: that all of the dreams he had after meeting you transformed so they could accommodate your shape and presence. None of it mattered if you weren’t there. 

The things he’d give just to see your silhouette, he thinks to himself. 

When he finally makes it, Wooyoung takes a second to gather himself by holding a palm against the wooden beam near the entrance, inhaling, exhaling. A song plays from the bars outside speakers, simultaneously calming and igniting him.

‘Find myself at your door, just like all those times before, I’m not sure how I got there. All the roads, they lead me here. I imagine you are home, in your room, all alone, and you open your eyes into mine and everything feels better’

Wooyoung steels himself, ruffling his hair anxiously as he takes a slow step towards the door. This is the final stretch and he’s somehow walking past the boundary he feared and yearned to move towards the most. The tune carries on

‘No past, no reasons why–just you and me. This is the last time I’m asking you this, put my name at the top of your list. This is the last time I’m asking you why, you break my heart in a blink of an eye.’

He walks in and is instantly floored, body instinctually brightening at the sight of you, heart suddenly clicking back into place in a way that had him grabbing at the fabric above it. 

As if sensing him, you lift your head as you wiped down the bar– there’s a humdrum of people milling around, but everything goes radio silent, muting every conversation attempting to barge into this sacred moment. You’re immediately reminded of the first time you’d met the man himself. 

You felt yourself waver. Of all nights, he had to come after the second to worst break up of your entire life. You called it quits- couldn’t watch San stifle himself every time you saw something that reminded you of Wooyoung. He said he understood that it’d take time but you couldn’t watch him endure for the sake of keeping you both afloat, and you couldn’t ease the anxiety that weighed on you for not telling him you loved him all of this time– because you did love San, but you needed to tell him when you were ready for him to be the only person accommodating your heart, and you didn’t know how long that would take and if it’d be worth it for him in the end.

You prayed you’d never meet Wooyung again.

You also prayed every day that you’d see him again, a lot more frequently than you’d care to admit.

Even if it gutted you.

Both options would pain you either way. 

His hair had grown; his features sharpened with time. You’d left him partially a boy and he’d returned to your doorstep as a man. When did that happen? How much have you missed?

In the background, the lyrics of a song resonate and you would laugh at the parallels if you’re heart wasn’t suddenly in your palms, ready to return to its rightful owner at the mere sight of him. 

‘This is the last time you tell me I’ve got it wrong. This is the last time I say it’s been you all along. This is the last time I’ll let you in my door–this is the last time, I won’t hurt you anymore’

Time stops for a moment, and you stand completely still, taking the other in. Wooyoung’s the first to move forward, sliding onto a bar stool for a moment, stuttering a familiar line out shyly. 

“W-what’s in a Gin and Tonic?” You stare at him for a couple of beats and a loud laugh leaves your body before you even realize it.

These were the lines that signaled Wooyoung’s first arrival into your life– the first words you’d ever heard fall from Wooyoung’s lips the night you’d both met. 

Your eyes gleam like starlight for the first time in the last three years, a comet crash landing back into your orbit, suddenly falling into place before replying.

“Well, Gin for starters… and Tonic. That’s it.” You reply dryly, mimicking the cadence your younger self wore before Wooyoung softened you. These were your first words to him and it’s almost jarring that they’re leaving your older bodies. Time has flown but  Wooyoung’s pull on you has only intensified. As he sat there under the dim lamp light, eyes beholding you with equal amounts of silent hope and fear, you’d come to the sudden understanding that you still adored him as much as you did the day you had to leave him.

“Maybe you’re asking about the lime wedge?” A grin breaks open the citrus of his face, the sun shining through the cracks of his smile, and you didn’t realize how long it’d been since you’d last felt like you could breathe. A shaky laugh filled with unadulterated joy shuffles itself out of his body, thick dollops of tears falling onto your bar. He breathes heavily into his smile, gazing at you with unrestrained wonder, and you question how you’d lived the last few years without those pair of eyes on you.  You find yourself breaking through the layers of the last three years, following suit.

Wooyoung finally caves to the present. “I’ve missed you, you know?” He starts with.

“I… tried seeing someone new. Halfway to loving her, scared of the final stretch because it’d take me further away from you– from us.” Your body fills with a cold heat, in disbelief that the very words you’d written were falling from his mouth when you could’ve sworn the letter was still in your drawer, resting under the graveyard of Wooyoung’s shirts you still haven’t been able to put out.

“You know, I think you’re my soulmate. No– I know you are. The more I allow myself to look back on it, on the love we had?” He laughs for a second, wistfully. “ —It’s like you were already there inside of me waiting for the day we’d meet so it could click back into place. Since the day you left, I’ve been a husk of the man I was. You made me better, we were better. When I saw you in some sharp, dark, and handsome man's arms, I thought I could walk away after giving my first love to him– but I can’t. I can’t walk the final stretch towards someone else if you’re there on the other side.” 

His hands clutch and scratch at the wood of the bar. You’re leaning your arms against it, peering closely at him, still taking him in, already knowing what you’re going to say but still wanting to hear his voice say these things so clearly. 

“I know we were cowards– we were too young, maybe. Intimidated by our playing at adulthood, figuring out credit scores, taxes, rent payments, and shared grocery lists– I really missed grocery shopping with you, by the way.” He sniffles as he randomly interjects with the fact, wiping at his nose and you find yourself guffawing again. 

His eyes flick up to you, finally hearing that laugh– the one he’d ran all this way just to hear, because he was scared that the memory would leave him forever if he didn’t, and needed a desperate reminder that it was real. A reminder that there existed a time when you’d loved and laughed together, even if he were to hear it from the back of the bar. ‘We were here’ His heart reminds as he continued

“You know—I loved you in this bar, near that old food cart, in your purple room, and our lived-in shared apartment, and even if I haven’t been with you for the last three years– I have loved you in every room, place, and city I’ve been in since. You were always there. You’re still there, still here. I’m scared out of my mind, but I’ll always run to you even if it makes me look like a fool.  I came tonight not knowing what to say but here I am, because I still love you, and I needed to know if you’re alright and happy with someone else so I could finally walk away and accept that I might not end up with my soulmate in this universe. This is the last time I’ll try and power through. I won’t bother you again and I’m sorry if I already have in the process of being here. “ 

You drink in his words, not knowing where to start. Opting to grab his wrist and pull him down the back hallway and near the emergency exit. The flickering lights remind you of all the times you’d searched for his neon form in crowds, and you leaned your head against the flat of his chest. 

Your palms find their way to the same spot, gliding upwards and passed his neck, noting the way he shivered as goosebumps raised on his skin. His body still remembered you– he remembered you and you both finally realized that there was no unwriting any of this. 

You tuck him closer to you, cupping his cheeks in your hands as you rest your forehead on his. 

And then you kiss him for the first time all over again. It’s unforgiving at first, like you’re reprimanding the both of you for waiting so long. You kissed him instead of saying “I’m sorry for being a coward and I always remember you. I never once forgot.” A sudden bravery pulses through your body demanding that you hold him this time instead of watching him kneel on the ground in front of you. 

You cave to the shaking of your body, almost tasting the familiar summer fair lemonade on his tongue. All your days of sun with Wooyoung, of childlike innocence thumb through you like pages, and you suddenly reunite with the girlhood you left behind to his care. He curls into you, locking his body into yours as he grasps your hands on his cheeks, tongue in mouth, equal amounts of innocent craving that simultaneously border on the hostility of years' worth of desire. Your back hits the wall as he pushes you with a fervor he would’ve been too scared to introduce when you were younger, holding your hands tighter to his face, and sliding them down to grip your wrists. 

The red light dances on your body like a warning sign and you have to remember the one thing you’d wanted to say, pushing his body away with slightly heavy breaths.

He gazes at you with a certain darkness you’d never seen him wear before, lips bitten raw, bearing the color of blackberries. Only a fragment of his boyishness glimmered at the bar, but you suddenly feel a prick of grief at all the time lost– at all the things you didn’t see happen for yourself.

You grab at his hand again and hold it to your chest. “Wooyoung, this is the last time.” His eyes widen with momentary heartbreak before you continue “ –I won’t give my first love to anyone else. This is the last time I’m letting us back in and there’s no letting you go.”

A sudden emotion fills you, like divine timing was relieved that you’d met it halfway. Wooyoung leans his head against yours with a slow and relieved nod. 

A laugh leaves you as a sudden thought interrupts the moment.

“What’s so funny, huh?” He utters, thinking you were being a bully and making fun of his puffy eyes that started to look like someone punched him in the face hard enough to leave a swell.

He swears your smile could lead him off a ship willingly as you say, “There’s a letter I need to give you.”

In this universe, you meet your soulmate for the last time and never let him go again. 

P.S In this one, you live a life full of adventure never leaving room for a singular ‘what if’. 

After the years went on and the years then became decades in seemingly a flash, you’re both silver haired as you greet death hand in hand– walking the final stretch beyond the boundaries and into another universe where you’ll find each other again and again.

author's note: aaaand that's a wrap! wooyoung's ending was much longer and in depth than san's, but since the series started with a letter to him it was easier to find a semi-satisfactory end point. though the small and brief series is now finished, i might end up writing an extended version of san's ending that actually has a direct reader interaction/memory from his universe with the reader, esp their daily life. wooyoung’s ending definitely gave early 2000’s rom com with the soapy ending and that was the first time i’ve written something like that lololol maybe i’m just a sucker for a reunion/soulmate trope but i also am someone who’s profoundly moved by a chosen love. is it weird that although i like this ending i sort of wish i made it more painful? i’m an emotional masochist.

again, it's up to the reader to decide which ending is in your universe and which ending is the alternate one—who did you guys end up choosing? your soulmate or your chosen, found love? i hope you enjoyed these little drabbles! it was nice to take a quick break from writing my heavier manuscripts/ practice fics. this was sorta fluffy and bittersweet and the writing didn’t demand a lot out of me so i actually adore this series for being kind to my brain｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ feel free to check out my masterlist to see my steadily growing works lol.

[sarawritestories]

Come Here, Sweetheart

Cassian X Fem Reader

CASSIAN WEEK DAY 7

Summary: You are suffering from burn out and having a meltdown. The General of the Night Court's Armies ensures you give him your best smile.

Content Warning: Feelings of burnout and worthlessness, anxiety and mental health decline as a whole. Exhaustion tears and Cassian being one hell of a mail. Not proofread.

@cassianappreciationweek

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

A/N I am so heartbroken that I couldn't bring much to Cassian week but I've been in a slump and a lot is happening in my life (Good things but stressful) but I wanted to provide something.

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

You rubbed furiously at your chest. That familiar feeling that you were once able to tuck deep in the confines of your mind had reached a boiling point. The tightness in your chest constricted your ability to breathe properly. You barely made it to your bedroom when you collapsed to your knees.

The pressure of getting words on the page were becoming too much, Nesta's badgering of getting the next installment of your novel along with the constant fan mail asking for updates on the release made the feelings of inadequacy fester into a monster you couldn't ignore and definitely couldn't slay on your own.

You felt like you were failing your readers, though every time you sat with a blank page and fresh ink the words refused to come. As though they were mocking you as if to say you didn't deserve the success you had received.

Your mate who normally quieted the evil voices that would seep into your mind had been called away on a mission and so the cruel worlds morphed from a small dark spot into your mind into maelstrom of feelings worthlessness and as though you should give up your dreams all together.

Wrapped so deep in your thoughts, you barely registered the warmth of your tears running down your cheeks or the door of the bathroom opening revealing Cassian emerging. His gaze caught your crumpled form and he tried tugging on the bond only to find you had blocked him out.

Cassian in nothing but his sleep pants, his hair damp from bathing, and his wings tucked in tightly approached you. "Sweetheart," He whispered as he lowered to his knees giving you the distance to gauge the situation but close enough that his fingertips grazed the top of your hands that held your skirts in a vice grip.

You were a captive to your mind, the overwhelming anxiety gripping onto you tightly you couldn't even reach out to your mate. The words swirling trying to ingrain their lies.

You are not worthy.

You are pathetic.

You are talentless.

Give Up.

Cassian didn't need the bond to see what was occurring that the brilliant mind he adored so much was rendering you into a state of darkness. "Come Here, Sweetheart." Before you were able to register what was happening you were in his arms, the scent of Sandalwood and the lingering leather eased your breathing slightly.

He placed you on your feet and began to undress you. It was when he had you bare did he speak, "Shower, or bed?" His voice held no judgement only love and tenderness for you. Cassian's hands stroked your arms and the action alone caused the darkness to recede in your mind and you were able to come to the present.

"Bed." you whispered, voice dry from the crying.

Cassian kissed your shoulder, "Of course." He held out his hand and your favorite silk night dress appeared thanks to the House of Wind. "Arms up, My Love." You did as he asked and he got you dressed for bed. The cool material lowering the temperature of your overheated skin. Cassian gripped your head, "Come on, let's get you to bed."

You simply nodded your head as your mate led you to your side of the bed. Making sure as you began to get comfortable in bed that he was still touching you. He knew you needed his touch more than anything right now and went as far as crawling across you to his side of the bed to not break the contact. Once he adjusted his wings into a comfortable position he pulled you close to his chest. Your head pressed against his chest the steady beat of his heart, like a beacon of light blasted the dark thoughts and your breathing became easier as the voices quieted.

"We don't have to talk about it tonight." He whispered, his lips pressing against his forehead. "We will be talking about this in the morning along with planning a holiday away for a while."

Your lip trembled as he stroked your face with his thumb., "I love you. Thank you." Your eyes met his warm hazel ones, and you gave him a smile.

He returned your smile, "There's my girl." He placed his lips to yours pulling away lazily. "I love you, Sweetheart. Let's get some rest."

In a matter of seconds your eyes had fluttered shut and lulled by the heartbeat of your mate.

Cassian: General of the Night Court's Armies, The Lord of Bloodshed, but for you? He was your Knight in Shining Armor.

Always there to make sure the darkness never consumes you.

Your Hero.

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

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@kylaisra @nickishadow139 @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover @demirunner

@marvelbros-oneshots

[tojismain]

toji x sick!reader synopsis. you have a migraine and mama bear toji takes over (I love him)

This was not an attractive position to be in. Not in any way you can think of. Face planted into the bed, body stiff and straight, Toji confused and worried. 

With work piling on your desk and people speaking to you in different tones of aggressive, work had been more than exhausting. You made it home at 5pm, Toji still caught up in whatever he was doing. A migraine caught up to you faster than you could change out of your clothes, and so, with your blouse unbuttoned and your shoes taken off, you opted for taking away your senses, and shoving your face into the mattress. 

Toji makes it home and is in the midst of loosening his collar as he walks into the bedroom, when his eyes are caught on your figure. Toji is not a stranger to you taking naps, he usually joins you. This time, something was clearly off. 

"Sweetheart? You asleep?", he asks as he turns on the lamp on your bedside table. Although your face is mostly covered, the light makes it through the gaps— making you want to cry as the headache worsens. In a sloth-like movement, you use your hands to cover your face even more, hence, inciting the worry he's now certainly feeling. 

He grimaces at your action and turns off the light, "headache?". Toji knows that the headaches you got every once in a while, were anything but desirable. He notices a slight movement of your head, which indicates a 'yes, toji, im currently dying, so please stop talking', which he's also familiar with. 

He takes a seat next to your place on the bed and asks you to roll over slightly, mindful of his gruff voice. You do as he says and his hand —which dwarves over your own— is then placed on the back of your neck. You can feel his stillness as he calculates what's an okay temperature.

You see, Toji's mean, unbelievably so, cruel intentions and an even crueler smile. Not with you. Never with you. It's different, the way he looks at you, the way his eyes soften after coming home, his guard down, and his head light. But even then, he's still learning, what's okay, what's not, when you need him and when you're capable. Right now though, you needed him, desperately. It was either him, or feeling like someone was actively banging metal in your head.

So he decides that the heat coming off of your neck was not normal. He learns, for you. His scarred hand moves over to your forehead as your eyes are screwed shut. As his hand moves to lift off, you decide that's not good enough, so you grab his hand and lower it back on your forehead. It was warm, and surprisingly helping with the migraine. 

"Baby, i'll be right back, okay?", he says worriedly. Unaware of why you're gripping his hand so gently against your skin.

You whimper shaking your head. "It hurts."

"Where does it hurt baby?", he seems relieved to hear you talk. 

You drag his hand to the right side of your head. "Here", you whisper, sighing as his hand relieves some of the ache.

He brushes his thumb delicately over the same place. 

"I'll get you some pain killers, it's definitely a migraine." 

You shake your head once more, "just a second", you promise as you keep holding his hand against your head. 

"Just a second", he vows with softening eyes. He uses his other hand to cup over your adjacent cheek, brushing your hair out of the way.

When Toji lets go, he leaves the room to grab painkillers, and unbeknownst to you, he also boils water for a heating pad, grabs a mug of steaming water— boiled with lemon and ginger, and he got a ton of water bottles. A ton. He would never admit that he definitely googled all of that.

When he's back, you're back to your position against your pillow, head sinked in, arms surrounding your face. 

He places the tray with everything on your bedside table. You turn your head and spot the contents, you squint at him.

"Are you going to drown me?".

Toji chuckles and shushes you, "you need to stay hydrated", is his response

"Mmm", you hum in reply. A sharp pain then shoots behind your eye making you screw your eyes shut and you let out another whimper. 

"Sweetheart?", Toji is careful not to touch you, knowing that now, it could make it worse. 

The pain fades for a second, and you open your eyes as you feel tears prick in their corners.

"Hey, why are you crying?", Toji's eyebrows furrow in concern. His sentence more of a demand than a question. A pout visible on the creases of his lips.

You don't answer him, only looking for ways to stop the headache, it was excruciating, more so than usual. But you knew it would go away, especially with him here. 

And so Toji uses his warm hands, warm tone, and light touch to lull you to sleep after taking the pills, knowing that it was the only way the painkillers were going to work best and how your migraine would go away. 

As you're sleeping, Toji sits next to you on guard. It was almost as if everything disappeared, and your frame was the only thing visible in his sight. If anyone asked him, he would probably say you had a halo over your hurting head. To Toji, his senses almost heightened when you were sleeping, he didn't want you hurt, ever. He needed you safe and he hated seeing you vulnerable. His hand hovers over your head, caressing whenever he knew he couldn't wake you. He grabs a warmed cloth and puts it on your forehead, careful not to press too much weight onto your head.

For a big person, he was small in his gestures— soft, and willing. 

An hour later, you feel a feather-like touch caressing your nose as you're waking up. Your eyes slowly blink open, looking up at Toji with a drowsy confused expression. He grins at your state, you look incredibly innocent this way. 

"Sleeping beauty is up."

You smile in response, letting your eyes blink a few times to shake off the sleepiness. You then notice Toji's hand hovering over your face with...a makeup wipe?

"What're you doing?", you ask and his smile widens at your groggy voice.

"You fell asleep with your makeup on", is his only explanation.

You could possibly combust right now. 

"Close your eyes."

—aurelia—

[veniik]

𐔌♫ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆ NAMGYU HEADCANONS ‎ . ݁₊ ♱

!disclaimer: this is solely my vision of this character, if you disagree with my opinion you can simply skip this post ‎♡ MENTION of substance abuse, smoking and gambling??

The author has never uploaded fanfics or headcanons before, so please, no pressure.

1. He’s a fan of experimental music and specific genres, particularly industrial metal and gothic rock, along with other metal sub-genres.

—> That’s why he tends to act like a music enthusiast who looks down on everyone else’s taste, trying to come off as a cool, indifferent snob. But in private, he goes through phases of listening to early 2000s pop, and when he’s working at the club, he doesn’t mind nodding along to the occasional cheesy DJ remixes (Ofc he does this only when no one’s paying attention to him or when he’s high)

2. I kind of disagree with the idea that he wouldn’t give a flying fuck about his appearance. Sure, he probably feels comfy in baggy pants and a zip-up hoodie, but let’s be honest—he’d easily spend at least 20 minutes picking out the right outfit for work or any event that matters.

—> He smells divine, like something woody and spicy, probably ‘Boccanera’ by Orto Parisi or ‘Jazz Club’ by Maison Margiela layered with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, because he definitely smokes a lot.

3. He’s unapologetically rude, never stopping to think before spitting out some new bullshit comment about someone. His anger simmers just beneath the surface, so bottled up that when someone who actually benefits him pisses him off, all he can do is mutter something bitter under his breath while keeping up the fake friendliness. But sometimes the rage boils over, and he says things so cruel, so razor-sharp, they stay with you long after. The worst part? He’ll never apologize. Not out loud. But it eats him up inside, especially if you actually matter to him, which is a rare thing in itself.

4. Oh, he loves compliments so much, but of course he would never admit it or show any gratitude. You compliment his rings, and he’ll just nod with a smirk, saying it’s obvious—but afterward, he’ll keep wearing those rings constantly, feeling even more full of himself.

—> He’s tired of his long hair, but since most people told him it suits him a lot, he continues to put up with constantly pushing strands out of his eyes.

5. If he actually had a crush on someone, he’d drive them absolutely insane — teasing them, pushing their buttons just to see them react, like it’s his favorite game. He’d act like a menace, say something infuriating, then immediately apologize… only to do it again five minutes later with a grin.

—> Picture stepping out for a smoke with him behind the club, the cold air biting at your skin while he lazily exhales a cloud of grey smoke straight in your direction, smirking like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’d ask the weirdest, most intrusive questions just to see you flustered, and when you finally snap and tell him to knock it off, he’d just chuckle, pat your head and say, “Aww, poor you. It’s okay if you can’t contain your emotions, hehe.”

And despite how maddening he is, your heart still stumbles every time he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

6. Even though he’s a professional when it comes to the nightclub scene (and all the other shadowy things he’s got his hands in), he absolutely hates the chaos of the main floor. The packed crowds, the heat, the sweaty, drunk bodies clawing for air under strobe lights and deafening bass — it’s not his scene. Never was.

If he needs to cut deals, settle scores, or talk business with anyone remotely important, you’ll never catch him doing it out there. He keeps to the VIP zones, tucked away behind smoked glass and velvet curtains, where the music is just a hum and the people are filtered. Controlled. Where he can lean back with a drink in hand, sharp eyes watching everything unfold from a distance, untouchable, unreadable.

That’s where he thrives — in the quiet tension of low-lit rooms and conversations laced with double meanings.

7. He’s an absolute gambler—and I’m not even talking about crypto. He lives for the atmosphere of a real casino. The kind of elite place you’d find in Monaco, where the rich sit at blackjack and poker tables, brows furrowed in silent tension, pushing obscene amounts of money into the game. The walls are painted in that slightly over-the-top rococo style, just enough to make you believe that aristocratic paradise isn’t quite dead yet.

When his business was thriving, he fed his ego there every weekend. Surrounded by fake friends and so-called business partners who’d sip absurdly expensive whiskey and throw sleazy glances at women hunting for their next rich ‘daddy.’ It was all shallow, glittering rot—and he loved every second of it.

But when things started falling apart, bad investments, crypto losses, gambling debts, he didn’t stop. He kept showing up, wearing the same mask of arrogance, pretending everything was fine. But underneath, he was unraveling. Drinking more. Getting high more often. Not to party—just to blur the edges of the growing emptiness inside him. The slow, sick feeling of losing control.

Eventually, he became that guy everyone politely ignored. No more invitations. No more glittering weekends. Just whispers behind his back and a door quietly closed. And that’s how he ended up in the Squid Games.

[despazito]

what is type drifting in dogs and what does it have to do with the chow?

It's a contentious topic, type drifting refers to the general appearance of a breed changing over time.

I should clarify that it's disingenuous to assert that dogs inherently had better structure 100 years ago, we definitely know more medically and genetically about how dogs work now than we did back then. i'll sometimes see old photos of dogs whose heads i find very pleasing but the postcranial structure is an inharmonious mess (and it's not about what 'looks' right aesthetically, the way joints are arranged decides how efficiently a dog can move which can have some big impacts on working ability and quality of life). we can thank good breeders for smoothing out a lot of those imbalances in their dogs. You know when you see a funny shelter dog that has the proportions of 3 different animals cobbled together? It is the work of breeders that purebreds as a general rule don't have that structural funkiness going on.

Over the years the desired "type" of dogs within a breed becomes standardized (after all the word conformation literally derives from "to conform"), so the population settles for a desired direction to take their breed in. The controversy starts when for whatever reason, usually a variety of factors such as judge preference, breeder preference, whose kennel is bigger or more influential in a given area, etc... that you can see desirable physical appearance drift towards certain traits over others throughout the decades.

These changes can be structurally harmless, the roman nose of the bull terrier doesn't cause any dysfunction and boils down to personal preference of what folks think a perfect bull terrier should look like. Other changes can pose more harm, such as the preference for a french bulldog to have a completely flat face+meaty neck+wider skull+pinched nostrils together creates a dog much more prone to breathing issues.

As a trend though I do feel like a handful of breeds have drifted towards a cobbier build, reduced muzzle length, a more domed head shape, more skin, and more bone. which like, isn't inherently cruel or anything, but i think we should ask ourselves why some dogs are drifting that direction because there also isn't anything to be gained from it beyond aesthetic preference.

Chow chows have gotten quite a bit meatier and stockier, here's some top chows of 2024

compared to prized chows at the turn of the 20th century when they were still novel dogs to the west, there's definitely structural differences and the dogs just looked more moderate overall.

I think where folks get confused is that it's not so much saying that meatier chow are all diseased and should cease to exist, we can still have those chows (within moderation lol), it's the frustration people like me have that the old type champion dogs if shown today would not get praised as good looking chows even though they're still purebred chows and there's nothing wrong with them! I wish clubs were more flexible in this way and were more openminded on what a purebred should look like so long as the dogs are healthy. And i don't believe drawing a line in the sand to call it a different breed is the solution either because on average purebred populations are in need of more gene flow.

How this ties in to china is that chow chow originated in china. the meatier and western type chows can be found there but so can the more moderate old type that has become harder to source from a western breeder nowadays. When you search chow chow on chinese social media (i can't read mandarin but i've copy pasted various terms from chinese dog sources) you will find a more diverse range of dogs. there are dogs that look closer to the ancestral landrace songmao, more western-style dogs, and a wide spectrum of stuff in between (unfortunately extreme breeding happens over there too, i've seen dogs with CRAZY amounts of skin that are even more exaggerated than western type).

If you're like me and have a strong preference towards the old style of chow and the native songmao i think you can understand why we have some strong opinions on the direction that western lines went lol. I'm just absolutely in love with these guys that you can still find in china, I want to meet some so bad!!

(songmao dogs)

[austinbutlerslovers]

Love/Hate

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin becomes a hotshot model with an even hotter temper, paired with your spark of an attitude it makes you both destined to ignite.

⚠️ Hardcore Smut⚠️ mean Austin • cocky Austin• love/hate relationship •toxic couple•taunting• name calling• lying• aggression • insecure reader • hot head reader • dirty talk • slut shaming • dubcon •rough sex against a wall• clit pinching • taming with male dominance • objectification •sexual pacification•make up sex •orgasm •creampie • kiss it better

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📖 Proofreader @peggyao3 🗳️ Based on Unanimous 🔗 Poll Decision

🏆 1st Devotion 2nd Daddys Doll 3rd Love/Hate 4th Wild Hearts *Special thanks for voting 😍 & enjoy the upcoming fic!🤩 🗳️

Love/Hate

The moment Austin walks through the door, you know he’s in one of his moods. His long blonde hair sways perfectly, styled from whatever shoot he just came from, his sharp jaw set in that familiar smirk that makes your stomach knot…but there’s an edge to it now, something crueler than before.

His success is getting to his head. 

The modeling gigs, the money, the attention. It was fine when you were just another couple of broke teens in a bad apartment, when you’d fight over who got to use the hot water first. But now? Now…he thinks he’s a god.

And maybe he is. Maybe he always was.

You lean against the kitchen counter arms crossed, watching as he tosses his backpack on the couch. 

He’s wearing some designer leather jacket, black and expensive, and when he shrugs it off, his shirt rides up just enough to tease his tight abs and the sharp V-line of his hips. 

His fingers rake through his long blonde hair as he eyes you up and down, slow and assessing, and you already know what’s coming.

“What are you wearing babe?” he mocks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he strides past you toward the fridge.

Your favorite crop top clings to your chest, showing off your midriff, paired with low-rise jeans hugging your hips in a way that should make his mouth water, should make him stumble over his words like he used to.

Your jaw tightens, a hot flush of shame burning through you. “What, you don’t like it?” you respond, the uncertainty of your words sinking in.

He knows you wore it just for him, he loves this outfit on you, and as his smirk deepens, it’s as if he wants you to snap, like he thrives on watching you get worked up.

He twists the cap off a drink and takes a long swig, his throat bobbing with each swallow, his full lips wrapping around the bottle’s edge.

When he lowers it, his piercing blue eyes, cold and cutting, drag over you again, intense and unyielding, stripping you bare with a single look.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” you grit, your voice shaking with a mix of hurt and fury. “You’re different now, huh high off being some big-shot model” you snap.

“Not my fault you’re insecure,” he taunts, his blue eyes glinting with something cruel as his full lips curve into a knowing grin.

“And it’s definitely not my fault you can’t handle how famous I am now,” he says, the words decimating whatever confidence you had left.

You inhale sharply, your blood boiling as tears well in your eyes. “You act like I’m supposed to worship you or something, and I’m sick of it,” you retaliate, your voice hushed and trembling.

“That right?” he says, tilting his head, savoring the way your emotions flow unchecked.

“You’re sick of it” he repeats, stepping closer, his blue eyes gazing into yours with a possessive intensity.

“Didn’t seem that way when you were all over me last night,” he adds softly, his voice lifting as his eyes glint with quiet amusement.

Your face burns from how much you hate what he’s become, the way this shadow of your boyfriend, who once adored you, now takes every opportunity to point out your insecurities.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you lash out, turning away, but his hand nabs you first keeping you firmly in place.

“Nah-uh, I don’t think you wanna do that,” he says, slow and knowing, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your lips.

“You don’t get to decide when you leave me,” he says, his fingers sliding up your throat, firm and unyielding, tracing the frantic pulse there before pressing just hard enough to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

You push at his chest, but it’s useless, he’s solid muscle, immovable against your feeble attempts, and his eyes only grow darker at your retaliation.

“I hate this,” you whisper, your voice trailing off as you look into his eyes.

“You love it,” he rasps, his full lips curving into a slow, smug grin.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as fury burns in your stomach. You hate how gorgeous he is, how unfairly pretty he looks when he’s like this.

You want to wipe that smirk off his face, make him feel even a fraction of the insecurity he makes you feel and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

“I hate you,” you breathe, the words laced with hurt.

“Yeah?” he challenges, his voice low, his blue eyes unyielding as they lock with yours, his jaw muscles clenching tight.

You hesitate, your mind racing deciding what to do, and in one swift motion, before you can react, his hands grab your wrists, forcing your back against the wall, his body pressing in close.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze and your body betrays every ounce of composure as your resolve weakens in his strong hold, and he notices, of course he notices.

He leans in, his mouth ghosting along your jaw, his fingers tightening around your wrists.

“You talk a big game,” he whispers, his breath brushing your skin, “but we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the arousal surging through your core, but he sees right through you.

His mouth lowers onto yours, all heat and hunger, swallowing the moan that slips out.

He kisses you like he owns you, like he’s taking his claim all over again, and you hate how easily he unravels you.

You hate him.

You love him.

And the worst part? He knows it.

Your teeth bite his bottom lip in defiance, but he only pulls back, his grip on your wrists tightening.

He yanks your wrists higher above your head in one hand, keeping them firmly against the wall. His body presses against yours, forcing you to feel every inch of his long hard cock as it strains through his jeans, pushing insistently between your legs.

“You act like you’re so tough, like you don’t need me,” he muses, his mouth skimming along your jaw, hot and teasing. “But look at you.” His knee slots between your legs, the pressure against your clit just enough to make you gasp. “You’re already wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You try to resist how hot he is as his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue licking just enough to make you squirm, savoring the way your body betrays you.

“You gonna admit it yet?” he taunts, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Or do I have to fuck it out of you?”

You glare at him, but it’s weak, your body already giving in, and he knows it. He lives for it.

His free hand lowers to pop the button of your jeans, teasing the zipper down and pushing them low on your thighs. His eyes lock on to yours before flicking down to watch his fingers press the fabric of your panties feeling the slickness of your heat.

The sensation is maddening, light, fleeting, and nowhere near enough, and as you push forward seeking more his smirk deepens.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he whispers.

Your stomach clenches, anger and arousal twisting together into something volatile. You want to slap him, to shut him up…but more than anything, you want him to finish what he started.

“You’re such a dick,” you retort breathlessly.

He hums, his long hair tickling your skin as he dips his head lower. “And here you are,” his voice drops to a whisper, smug and knowing. “So fucking wet for me.”

His fingers stroke the front of your panties until the squishy wet sensation makes your thighs clench as a choked sound escapes you, half a curse, half a plea.

And that’s all it takes for him to ruin you.

He frees your wrists to grab your hips, spinning you around and pressing your chest firmly to the wall, his body flush against your back.

His breath is hot against your ear as his hands roughly drag down your panties.

He lowers them on your legs, leaving your ass exposed, the slickness between your thighs betraying every ounce of defiance you have left.

“You must hate your boyfriend so much” he taunts, his voice a low tease as his fingers deliver sharp smacks on your pussy, your hips jerking as the wet, slick sounds prove just how much your body craves him.

You moan as his fingers spread you open, dipping into your soaked core, circling your entrance with slow, torturous strokes until your hips tilt back from the sensation.

He pushes them inside, two at once, plunging in deep, pumping his fingers hard, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes your walls spasm, his palm grinding against you with every rough thrust.

A ragged moan tears from your throat, your hands clawing at the wall as your body tenses, caught between resistance and surrender.

You fight every second, biting your lip hard trying to hold back the sounds he’s ripping out of you, but it’s impossible when it feels so good, his fast, brutal thrusts pounding into you, making a slick mess.

His fingers slip out, leaving you aching and he hums, the sound dark and triumphant, as his lips trail up to your ear.

“You wanna fight?” he breathes, his voice low and rough, his fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of your ass. “Or do you wanna fuck?”

You don’t answer…because you can’t.

He unzips his jeans with a slow, teasing pull, guiding his hips forward until the tip of his cock presses hard against your slick heat.

Your core throbs as he pushes in, your walls clenching his cock tight as an eager moan escaping your throat. He thrusts in deep, stretching you open with several fierce strokes, and it feels so good you want to scream.

Your body jolts against the wall, the rough surface scraping your cheek as his hips clap against your ass with a possessive force.

You pant heavily eyes fluttering in a haze of pleasure as he increases the pace, his thigh smacking the back of yours with every thrust, the rhythm relentless, driving you up the wall until your toes barely touch the floor.

“Say it,” he demands, one hand snaking up to grip your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. “Say you love this.”

“I …hate you,” you curse, but it’s shaky, and breathless broken by the way he’s fucking you senseless.

He laughs low and mocking as his hips snap harder. “That’s not what I heard last night.” He says as his other hand slips between you and the wall, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, torturous circles. “Say it, baby. Say you’re my little slut.”

The pleasure is unbearable, his cock hitting so deep, his fingers circling relentlessly, and you hate how much you love it. “I’m yours,” you gasp, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“Louder,” he taunts, thrusting so hard your body rocks against the wall, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your little slut,” you choke out, repeating it as he drives into you, each word punctuated by a thrust that makes you see stars. It’s humiliating, intoxicating, and it only makes you hotter, wetter, tighter around him.

“That’s right,” he rasps, his breaths ragged now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to dizzy you. “You love this, don’t you? Love how I use you.”

You do. You let him. Your body trembles, pinned and obedient, every thrust shoving you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, gripping, bruising, teasing, like you’re nothing but a fuck toy for him, a mess of moans and pleas. “Austin,” you whimper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

“Again,” he demands, his voice intense as he fucks you harder, his fingers pinching your clit in a way that’s both agony and ecstasy.

“Austin,” you cry, louder this time, your voice breaking as the pressure builds, coiling tight in your core.

“Beg me,” he taunts, his thrusts turning brutal, his thigh slamming against yours so hard it stings. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please, Austin, let me come,” you sob, repeating it like a mantra, your pride shattering under the weight of how good he feels, how much you need him.

He groans, low and primal, and you feel him twitch inside of you, his control slipping.

“Come for me,” he demands, and it’s all you need. Your orgasm crashes over you, so intense it whites out your vision, your body convulsing against the wall as waves of pleasure rip through you.

He feels it as he groans, burying his cock deep, his thrusts punishing, riding out your climax as he chases his own. “I’m gonna come so fucking hard,” he grits, his voice strained, as he feels the slick warmth of your release coating his cock and dripping down your thighs.

You can’t respond, too lost in the aftershocks, your body going limp against the wall as he finishes with a final, shuddering thrust, spilling inside of you with a guttural sound.

Your legs shake, the fight completely drained out of you, leaving nothing but breathless exhaustion.

He leans into you, his breath heavy at the side of your neck, savoring how satisfying he feels in the aftermath.

“You good?” he asks, his voice softer now, as the tension fades.

You nod, still panting as he runs a hand through his long, sweat-damp hair pushing it back. “Knew you couldn’t resist me” he breathes as smug as ever.

You manage to turn your head just enough to glare at him. “I fucking hate you.”

He grins, leaning in close, his nose flicking against yours. “Yeah?” he says, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing and familiar. “Then why do you love me so much?”

END ❤️‍🔥

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