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steddiealltheway · 2 days ago

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As soon as Steve hears the phone ring, he sighs.

Robin is away visiting her family in Kentucky for the holidays, and the only other person to ever call would be...

"Dustin," Steve says, his free hand coming up to rest on his hip, "why are you calling?"

There's a pause on the other line before Dustin whines, "How do you always know when it's me."

"Because your irritating energy bleeds through the phone."

Another pause. "You got that from Robin, didn't you?"

Yes. He did. Sue him for wanting to be witty and taking a few notes from Robin. "What do you want?"

"Okay, so..." Oh boy. "I've been meaning to talk to Suzie for a while now, and we made plans not to talk on Christmas because she would be with her family all day, and I knew my mom wouldn't want me to be away for too long so-"

"The point, Dustin."

Dustin mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like multiple curse words before continuing, "The point is that I'm taking Cerebro to that hill, but I'm going to need a ride."

Steve frowns, walking toward the nearest window until the phone cord is fully stretched so he can pull a curtain open. He winces a bit at the bright light. "Dustin, it's freezing out, and the hill will be covered in snow."

"You would've done the same for Nancy!"

Steve's eyebrows raise. "Not the best approach if you want a ride, dude."

"I'm not trying to approach the whole you and Nancy thing. I'm trying to make a point," Dustin emphasizes a little too loudly into the phone. "You would do anything if you were in love! Even sit out in the snow for a few hours just so you can talk to the person you love."

"Have you ever heard of the phone?"

"Have you heard the number of siblings she has that would jump at the opportunity to listen in on our call? Plus, Cerebro is our thing."

Steve really wishes Dustin were in front of him, so he could see the way his cheeks are flushing during this exact moment. "You just like using your Cebro thing because it makes it feel like your love is forbidden."

"I do not!"

"Alright, Romeo," Steve says with a laugh, "I'll give you a ride. If you promise to only be there for an hour."

"Not including the time it takes to get there, set it up, and leave."

Steve sighs and knocks the phone against his head for a second before reluctantly agreeing, "Yes, but you better be bundled up so much that you're sweating out there. I don't want to hear you complain." He also secretly worries about the kid getting frostbite or something, but he'd never admit to it.

"Fine I'll see you in an hour?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Steve says as Dustin hangs up. "A thank you would've been nice..."

He really hopes he doesn't regret this.

-:-:-:-:-:-

When Dustin climbs in the car, he's bundled from head to toe but still manages to laugh at Steve who is wearing the same amount of layers as him. "Look in the mirror," Steve comments dryly before driving off.

The drive there isn't too long, and although Steve saw Dustin a few days ago - after Claudia insisted he spend Christmas with them instead of home alone - he's kind of glad to hang out with Dustin again. It's not often he gets a lot of one-on-one time with the kid anymore.

Which is why Steve is particularly bitchy when he pulls up to the familar area below the hill and find a familar van there.

"Dustin..."

"I didn't think you would agree to take me here and stay! So, I asked Eddie to give me a ride back this morning-"

"This morning?"

"And he said he was already going to be in the area and wanted to briefly meet Suzie and my Cerebro, so he's here now! And if you want, you can just drop me off. Think of it as a late Christmas gift."

Steve shakes his head. "And leave you in Munson's capable hands only to find out you two froze to death? No thanks." He gets out of the car with thoughts of a mourning Claudia Henderson on his mind.

"We wouldn't freeze to death!" Dustin practically shouts as he climbs out.

At that same moment, Eddie exits from his van, wearing his usual attire, only with maybe an extra added layer - a leather jacket.

Steve turns to Dustin, raising his eyebrows and gesturing toward Munson. Dustin sighs before going to the trunk to dig out all the different Cerebro parts.

Before Steve can join him, Eddie approaches him with a big smile. "Steve Harrington. Looking awfully toasty."

Steve rolls his eyes in response before openning his car door and reaching toward the back, grabbing the spare pair of gloves and a hat that he keeps whenever Robin forgets the extra layers - which is often. He hands them to Eddie without a word then helps Dustin grab his things before heading to their snow covered destination.

Eddie only lasts a few minutes up the hill before he manages to push into Steve's space while Dustin hurries ahead of them. "So, you look happy to see me."

"Just peachy, Munson."

Eddie snorts. "I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I would be tagging along when you got here?"

"And I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I was planning on staying."

"Actually," Eddie says, nudging Steve's shoulder, "I told him you would jump at the opportunity to hang out with him, and there was no way you would drop him off to freeze to death."

Steve narrows his eyes as he looks at Eddie.

Eddie shifts things around in his arms to grab his shirt and jacket and lift them up enough to show off some of his scarred skin. "Our matching battle scars will forever bound us, Steve. I wonder if the bats gave us telepathic abilities," he says, way too cheery for Steve's liking.

"If it did, then I would teleport up to the top of the hill right now."

"Telepathic means the ability to read each other's minds. The word you're thinking of is 'teleportation.'" Eddie corrects him without judgement - something Steve's always found surprising.

"Oh. Then guess what I'm thinking about right now."

Eddie hums before leaning in to mumble in his ear. "You're thinking about getting a piece of this."

Steve laughs and shoves him away. He's glad it's cold out so he blame his blush on the cold. For some reason, he's still not entirely immune to Eddie's flirting. "Definitely not what I was thinking about."

"You are now," Eddie teases.

Steve swallows heavily, pressing down those thoughts and many... many.... images. "I think you're confusing my thoughts for your own thoughts."

"Tell me about it," Eddie sighs dramatically.

Steve is relieved when he sees they've reached the top of the hill. He's even more relieved when Dustin doesn't ask for his help to put Cerebro together, but Eddie is all too happy to help while calling Dustin a genius - in various annoying, dramatic ways.

It's not long before Dustin is awaiting Suzie's response while Eddie bounces on his feet. Steve's not sure if it's from excitement or being cold - probably both.

"Dusty bun?"

Dustin's face lights up in a way that is entirely too endearing for Steve's heart to handle. The jedi has learned the art of love from the master - or something like that. "Suzie poo! I'm here with Steve and Eddie for the next few moments. Eddie wants to say hello."

Steve frowns and raises his voice, "I want to say hello, too! Eddie just wants to be dramatic about it."

"Because I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the lady," Eddie argues before turning up the charm. "Suzie, it's a pleasure. I'm sure you've heard nothing but wonderful things about me just like I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you. Unlike Steve over here who you've probably never heard a good thing about."

"Hi, Eddie, it's nice to meet you," Suzie replies, giggling. "And hi Steve!"

"Hey, Suze. Don't let Eddie win you over with his charm just yet. It's bad for his ego."

"You think I'm charming?" Eddie asks, batting his eyelashes.

Steve makes a see? gesture before realizing Suzie can't see him.

"Alright," Dustin says, "Now they're going to leave us alone for the next hour."

"Hour? It's already been at least five minutes," Steve complains.

Eddie grabs him by the shoulders and steers him away. "Don't worry, Suzie! I'll make sure you get the fulll hour!"

Steve lets Eddie guide him a little down the hill, ignoring when Suzie asks, "Do they always bicker like an old married couple?"

When they get a comfortable distance away, where they're out of earshot but Steve can still see Dustin to make sure he doesn't freeze to death, Steve sits on the ground. He glances up after he gets as comfortable as he can get on the side of a hill, only to find Eddie frowning down at him.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. "Doesn't seem fair that you get to sit on the ground, and I can't."

Steve's eyes scan over Eddie's body. "Not my fault that you didn't wear a long enough jacket to cover your ass when you sit."

"Not my fault that I wasn't born into a wealthy family that can afford those jackets."

Steve's stomach flips, but he knows Eddie isn't looking for an apology. "Why don't you sit in your van then?"

"Wouldn't want to miss my chance to hang out alone with Steve Harrington," Eddie says with a wink.

Steve nearly scoffs and gives him a snarky reply, but his thoughts go out the window when he notices Eddie's teeth chattering. "Shit," he mutters.

"What was that?"

Steve groans and stands up before unzipping his large jacket.

"Am I in a dream?" Eddie jokes, but his voice shakes a bit.

"You're about to be living one," Steve says dryly as he stands in front of Eddie and opens his coat. Eddie just stares at him. Steve huffs out a breath that becomes visible in the cold air between them. "Come here."

"What?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at Eddie before tugging at his coat. But Eddie continues to stare at him with wide wandering eyes. "I'm not letting you freeze to death up here, so come here before I tell Dustin to pack it up because you're cold."

Eddie crosses his arms a little tighter. "I'm f-fine." A shiver visibly runs through Eddie's body.

Steve rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundreth time this day and wraps Eddie in his jacket before he can protest.

He's stiff for a moment, then Eddie relaxes enough to wrap his arms around Steve who is able to close the jacket around them. They linger in each other's arms long enough that Eddie stops shivering and Steve wonders how much time Dustin has left with Suzie.

"Better?" Steve asks to break the silence.

He feels Eddie nod over his shoulder before he pulls back enough to look him in the eye, nose brushing against Steve's as he whispers, "I know something we could do to keep ourselves warm."

Steve's heart beats a little faster in his chest.

Eddie laughs and tucks his head into Steve neck, his lips far away enough from Steve's that it's no longer the only thing on Steve's mind. With the new brain space, he can feel Eddie drum a nervous rhythm onto his back and bounce a little on his face. He wonders if maybe Eddie was onto the whole scars making them read each other's minds thing because he swears he knows the first part of what Eddie's about to say before he says it.

"Sorry if that was too much. No guy has ever let me flirt at them the way you do."

Steve gets stuck on flirt at and, "No guy?"

Eddie lets out a short humorless laugh. "No guy."

And for some reason, Steve has to ask, "Has any guy let you kiss them before?"

Eddie pulls back to look at him with a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "What are you getting at, Steve?"

Steve glances at Eddie's lips, slightly chapped but they've never looked more inviting. Maybe it's time to listen to Robin's knowing looks whenever Eddie is around and Steve finds himself simultaneously drawn to him while also wanting to run to the bathroom with Robin to have another floor talk. "What if one guy let you kiss them?"

"Steve..." Eddie whispers, his eyes flicking over his shoulder.

Steve turns to find Dustin, facing away from them. Still he loosens his hold on Eddie and says, "Wrap your arms around my neck instead of my back."

Eddie does as he's told, and Steve gives him no warning before saying, "Hopefully this goes alright." Then, he slightly picks up Eddie before falling back, letting the snow break their fall as he lays back with Eddie on top of him.

"That went better than I thought it would," Steve says with a big smile then asks, "Can Dustin see us?"

Eddie glances up and shakes his head.

"Perfect," Steve says, heart practically beating out of his chest when Eddie looks down at him. When he doesn't make a move, Steve can't help but tease, "So you really are all bark, no bite."

"Shut up, Harrington," Eddie says before finally kissing him.

For only a moment, Steve nearly laughs at the fact that Eddie Munson told him to shut up. But then his brain goes nearly haywire yet completely silent when Eddie's lips meet his in what he thinks might be the single most transformative kiss of his life.

His arms tighten around Eddie's back, and Eddie's hands move to cup the back of his head as they deepen the kiss. Somehow, laying in snow, Steve has never felt warmer.

They eventually break the first kiss reluctantly, both of them going back to steal more as they catch their breath, which turns into laughter and giggles between more kisses. Then, Eddie breaks away long enough to say, "You know, the van is seeming like a really great option at the moment."

"And Dustin's a smart kid. He knows how to not freeze to death," Steve says, kissing Eddie every chance he gets.

"You're right. No need to stay here in the snow," Eddie replies.

"Right."

Neither of them make a move to get up, but they both move to kiss again.

It's only a little while later before they hear Dustin yell out, "Guys?" And that's when they finally break away.

Eddie pops up first and calls out, "Yeah?"

"Let's pack up! It's been over an hour! Come on!"

Steve pulls Eddie back down into the snow one more time for a kiss before stomping up the hill. "Alright, alright. We thought you'd be happier that we gave you more time and that we both waited for you."

"it's cold," Dustin complains.

Steve nods, but he still feels warm.

Eddie joins a few moments later, stealing glances at Steve before asking Dustin what they're doing next.

"I'm thinking we change out of our snow clothes and get food somewhere maybe..." Dustin trails off and frowns at Eddie. "Why are you covered in snow?"

"We were making a snow angel?" Eddie hurriedly says.

Steve tries not to laugh.

"One?" Dustin asks.

Eddie nods. "You'll see it on the way down."

Sure enough, on the way down, they all see one horribly disfigured snow angel.

While Steve laughs and Eddie smiles proudly, Dustin shakes his head and mutters something like more curses to himself. In a volume that's able to be picked up by the other boys, he asks, "Eddie, you'll drop me off at my house, and we'll meet back up in an hour at my house?"

"Hour and a half," Steve says. When Dustin opens his mouth to complain, Steve explains, "I need to take a shower so I don't get pnemonia. Plus, I'm not letting my hair freeze on my way to your house."

"Fine," Dustin sighs. "See you then."

"See you then," Eddie echoes to Steve, winking at him once.

Soon after Steve gets home, he hears a knock on the front door, and when it's Eddie on the other side, Steve pulls him in and says, "Maybe you were right about the telek- tele-"

"Telekentic abilities?"

Steve nods as he closes the door behind Eddie and traps him against it. "I definitely know what you're thinking about now."

Eddie cocks his head to the side and wraps his arms around Steve's neck. "Yeah? What am I thinking about?"

"Kissing me again," Steve says, leaning in.

"Actually," Eddie says turning his head away, "I was thinking about a lemon."

"Crazy. I happen to have lemon scented body wash," Steve comments as he grabs Eddie's hands and tugs him up the stairs.

They're both a little late to Dustin's house. And maybe their hair freezes a bit.

But Dustin was right. There's a lot of things Steve would do for love.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet #dustin henderson

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nemesyaaa · 2 days ago

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get in, loser || simp!classmate!rafe x mean!popular!reader

summary : admiration ? too light. obssession ? not enough. devotion ? perfect treatment.

warnings : +18 content. minors dni. smut. oral. sub!rafe (boy toy). act of devotion. public masturbation. p in v. verbal humiliation. lollipop. facesitting. mean girls. a lot of teasing. fingers sucking. a bit of cum eating. be aware of the warnings before reading. very pink content, i'm sorry.

author's note : i just wanted to write another thing about them...this is highly depraved.

you never had a boyfriend and you’ve never wanted one because you didn’t know how it would serve you. you already had everything, you didn't need a man by your side to be the center of attention. you were the perfect replica of the mean girls from the cult films of the 2000s. you could just as easily be a Regina George or a Jennifer Check. the world revolved around you, which meant that without you, everything fell apart.

and above all you didn't need a boyfriend because you had a boy toy now. rafe cameron. he was so obedient and docile, well he was especially so because you were a good mistress.

he didn't listen to you because he was afraid of you, but because he would do anything for you. he lived by your rules and your principles.

and today you wanted to have fun. it was the last day of school before the weekend and you were wearing one of his favorite t-shirts, a white tank that allowed him to see the size of your boobs and your perked nipples through the clothing. but above all, you didn't wear a bra so they swayed in slow motion with each of your steps. the way they were slowly bouncing simultaneously pressed together in the fabric while you walked towards him, phone in hand.

you wore a plump gloss which gave volume to your lips, but above all which made your mouth so luscious and shiny.

when you sat next to him, he shifted slightly but mostly stared at you because it wasn't usual. you were always near your girlfriends, you always took care to ignore him in class and even in public. you loved playing with his feelings. as a bitch, you were good at this.

you loved laughing with your girlfriends watching him while knowing he would feel miserable and pathetic because he would never know if it was him you were talking about. you loved getting him hard before going to class just to see him squirm in his chair, and be unable to form two sentences in front of the teacher without stammering. but above all, you loved being cruel, pretending through messages that you were going to touch him, suck him, drive him crazy to finally change your mind in front of him. “oh really? when did i say that? you know, i'm very confused. "

"o-on...by message..."

"are you saying i'm a liar, cameron?" you approached him threateningly, your eyebrows furrowed and your pout upset, forcing him to step back because your heels kicked on the ground was quietly intimidating. “oh you're gonna cry, stupid ? "

he softened himself, thinking that you will be kind to him. his shoulders slumped and he swallowed hard. you slid your mouth next to his ear. “you should, loser. ”

his eyes were in tears as you were playing your favorite game — bully him. sometimes you could be such a whore. but you were also terribly hot and he hated as much as he loved the effect you had on him.

you bust out laughing, before running a hand through his hair to gently pat his head. “I was kidding. don't be mad at me...or let me do something for you..." you pushed his hand into your panties. “do your job. and you better do it well. ”

he shaked his head vividly, as you could feel his fingers making their way to your pussy. he loved being inside you so much, even if it was just his hand. but sometimes you managed to make him so sick because you purposely didn't whine just to make him frustrated. you watched him exhaust himself with a puppy glaze, his completely soaked fingers thrusting in and out, fucking you deep, pooling your own wetness out of your cunt while fingering you. “h-he…lp…” he pleaded, his own saliva running down his chin.

and you stood there with your lips sealed while he moaned against the side of your face because it felt so good. but it was also hard for you to contain all the spasms and pleasure that was coursing through your body. you were forced to control yourself, to not show anything while his fingertips moved back and forth inside your walls, slamming down your canal. his cock was so hard in his pants. it was terribly painful at this point. and you didn't care. all that frustration you inflicted on him, he took it out on the sex doll in his room. all the cum you didn't let him implode was going to be released in this girl's pussy.

today, you sat next to him, placing your bag noisily on his table.

“I thought you didn’t want us to be seen together. " he commented.

" oh don't worry. I told my friends I was doing charity today. " you replied.

class had started and you had a lollipop in your mouth for a few minutes. and you knew very well that Rafe was unable to concentrate on what the teacher was saying when you were sucking that shit so close to him, with your sticky tongue latched on over the candy. you were making discreet but obscene noises. it was a classic cherry lollipop.

his cheeks had heated. you twisted your tongue around the candy, playing with it a little.

your muscle curled around the lollipop like you did so well around his cock, a few dripping licks had been liberally placed while you pretended to concentrate on the lesson.

“get your dick out.“ you ordered. “i want to have fun.”

you didn't need to say it twice before his cock was released, springing free against his thighs. you don't know why you were always so amazed at his size. However, you had already seen it several times. but damn, that was the only thing he could dethrone you on. his heavy cock hung in the air, precum beading at the red tip.

he wore the cock ring that you ordered him to wear. “you're gonna be even bigger, loser. “you encouraged him.

you pushed the lollipop out of your lips to bring it to the glistening tip of his dick. you used the side of the candy to feel the precum wetting the sugar with amusement. you let the substance soak into the candy before letting it run down his erect shaft. you aimed the sweet treat at his penis, tracing the hard veins that ran along his member, while teasing him softly with the edible part of the stick.

you stroked his cock with the lollipop, teasing his entire length. you drove the candy over his hardened cock, watching the blood pressure enlarge his thick veins. the lollipop was so small next to it. when the candy had been completely wet and dripping, between a mixture of cum, sugar and saliva, you had slipped it between Rafe's lips. you pushed it against his tongue, forcing him to gasp over it, before applying pressure to his cheeks with your fingers to watch him swallow.

but you weren't finished, you wanted more. you spat discreetly into your hand before wetting his entire cock. you wanted to please him a little so you gave him this handjob he dreamed of in class. you fisted him up and down, feeling him grow in your grip, while you worked all dick. his balls were hard and heavy, perfectly caged between his legs.

he was trying so badly to hide his urge to moan, his lips were twisted and tense, his teeth buried inside his bottom one. he squirmed in his chair, his tummy twitching hard from the pleasure. you were so good with your hand. while you stroked him, you loved to tighten your fingers around him. it was at this moment that his gasps were more intense and that you started to pump him faster. the speed of your movements let him so weak, as cries rolling down his cheeks.

he was so pretty when he was about to explode. “ is your dick hard for me, or because you're enjoying being a pussy ? ” you murmured right in his ear.

strangely, you let him take your virginity on the same day. after you invited him to your house. and then there was no one at home, no evidence, no traces. no one would know.

“get on the bed. ” you commanded. “ you've got such a pretty face, will you let me sit on it ? i know you will because you will do anything to please me. ”

he obeyed in a second and you undressed. you had taken off all of your clothes before sitting on his face. you had always dreamed of doing this and this was the perfect opportunity.

“now, it's your choice. you can be a good boy that makes me cum with his tongue...or just a good dog that only knows how to lick. show me how you want to be treated. ”

" y-yes...yes..i just want to make you feel good." he just pleaded, before being silenced by the contact of your pussy on his lips.

you were heavy. but in such a good way, he was so turned on by the way you were sitting on him, pressuring the weight of your body on his mouth, making yourself a seat on his face while he was already lapping at your soaked folds, tearing your lips apart with his tongue and starting to licks at your parts. your taste was so sweet, filled with the froth of his saliva. you began to rub yourself, pushing your cunt deeper inside his mouth to muffle his pathetic wimps. his voice was so needy.

as you were fucking his whole face, your asscheeks was brushing his nose, making him even more horny. his dick was thick, literally twitching over his flat tummy. the hard lines of his muscles were swollen.

you couldn't help but moan, but you wouldn't dare saying his name. he was lapping with such devotion, feeding your greedy cunt with needy and fat laps. his tongue was inside you, ruining your walls with appetite. he was drooling at the corner of his mouth, and on the underside of your butt.

it was as if his tongue only belonged inside you. you tried to stay in control even though you couldn't deny the pleasure that consumed you. “It feels so good..." you had escaped, holding your breasts in the palm of your hands.

you gripped the sheets when he started to get wilder in the thrusts of his tongue. your body moved in sync. as he was below you, you took the opportunity to move your ass above him, lightly slapping his face with the jiggles of your cheeks. oh god, he was so pathetic, completely hard being crushed under your weight, having his face below your soaked pussy, being covered in your wetness and drool, having his cock painfully hard and leaking, because his mouth was fucked. you could feel his heavy breath coating the heat of your core.

he had cum all over his own stomach, and you rolled your eyes. it wasn't the first time he came without warning, it was so compulsive for him. he couldn't control it.

you lay down next to him before collecting the cum on his tummy, teasing the sticky white steam with your fingers before plunging them inside your pussy. you filled yourself with his releasing, your two eyes on him, white loads leaking at your entrance. “ are you gonna Fuck me or do I need to make all the job by myself ? ”

“ i-i…”

“ such a pathetic boy, can't even speak properly with his mouth. ”

you spread your legs, and he came closer. he was so needy that he was nervous. his hands were shaking, barely able to hold his throbbing cock. you had to wait a few minutes before he slipped inside you. he whimpered all his way to your walls at the comfort of your pussy around him.

because he couldn't wait any longer, he conducted several forceful thrusts into the deep of your core. he could see his own cum floating with your wetness at the outline of your swollen cunt. his cries was loud as he pounded into you deeper, making sure he strikes your spot everytime. he was sweating, a drop of sweats watering from his torso. your legs was locked againt his arms as he was fucking you like he ever dreamed of.

his breathing was running shorter and shorter as the heat was stronger. he sunk every inch of his dick in your hole.

he never fucked a girl and he didn't know if he was doing good but his head was empty. all his neurons were dead and it was all about sex and pleasure. and you were nothing better, all dumb by his fat cock, his merciless length feeding your insides. his face was hidden in your neck, his lips salivating on your flesh. " i-i-m...cu..a-aah..plea.se…"

it wasn't already more than ten minutes but he couldn't help. he could cum literally every five minutes inside you, because of his urges, because of the way you make him feel. you were stuffed hard, all his shaft buried in your canal. every hard back and forth left his dick all red and sticky while he was leaving beads of cum on your slit. “ that's a good boy. ” you praised, biting your lower lips. “ but now, are you gonna make me cum ? ”

you wrapped a hand around his throat while he was on top of you. you let him fuck you and abuse your cervix. when he felt your fingers around his neck, it completely turned him on. and all his thrusts had become even more intense as he was increasing the pace. your stomach was spiraling, and his eyes were glued to that.

“h-harder..please..." he was begging at you from more pressure.

"such a freak..." you replied, before wrapping his neck tighter.

your grip was now tight around his throat, his eyes rolled back as he was still fucking you raw, all your pussy milking him. you were draining him. the blue of his gaze was perfect, shiny in the light of the room because of tears. he exploded again and again until his dick start to play difficult to fuck you another round.

he was so handsome.

it wasn't your habit but you kept him in your arms. you felt the need to be nice to him after all his efforts. he was still sweltering and sweating, his body decorated with cute red marks, and you couldn't help but smile.

“hey, you did so good for me. i'm proud, very proud. ” you gently said.

your compliments had given him chills. and his tears had again welled up in his eyes.

“please, cameron.stop being a crybaby. ” you sighed with an annoying tone. “god instead of cries, i should hear how grateful you are to let you fuck me. ”

“thanks...y-you...”

“if your friends saw you like that..." you scoffed. "and if they saw you like that..." you whispered against his ear. "I can already hear the gossip...oh and your father, what would he think of you?"

you felt him shiver under your touch. “that's why you need to be kind with me, rafe. but you're a good boy, aren't you? say it, say it to me. "

“I'm...your good boy. ” he cried out with a gasp, shaking tears on his cheeks.

“ look at yourself, not only are you a good boy, rafe cameron but you're also such a pathetic thing. this is why i need to make you mine. all mine.”

you stood up to take a red marker and marked on his back with permanent ink. “ y/n’s private property. "

“now, i wish you luck in hiding that you belong to me. “

he grimaced. “ do you understand what it means ? you have my name on your fucking back. and you will have such a hard time removing it. you wanted to be obsessed with me ? fine, because now i leave you no choice than being devoted to me. you wake up, it's me. every time you jerk off, it's me. everything you think, it's me. everytime you breathe, it's me. i want everyone on that fucking island to know which pussy make you so dumb and pathetic. is it clear ? ” your hands were gripping around his throat as you spoke.

he nodded his head like a good sub.

“ words. ”

“ yes…i just…i just want you. ” he sobbed, your hands around his neck making it difficult for him to answer properly.

“ so what are you thinking right now ?”

“ you. ” he replied with such a pretty feverish tone.

“ good answer, little boy. ” you praised, while giving him a little pat on the cheeks. “ now, who do you like ? ”

“ you. it's you. ” he repeated.

“ do you want me ? ”

“ i want you. ” he confessed, moving into the space of your spreaded legs. his head was now on your lap, while you stroked his hair gently. “ i need you…” he continued.

“ of course, you need me. i'm the only one to care about you. ” when you rubbed his bottom lip, feeling the sweet wetness of his drool against your thumb, he let out a soft moan before opening his mouth, allowing you to brush fingers in his tongue.

his gaze was precious, a bit teary as his whole mouth was starting to suck your fingertips. his lips were moving faster around your fingers, taking them to the back of his warm tongue. you loved to watch your digits disappear on the side of his muscle, the sucking sounds filling the room as you could feel him grow again in his pants. he was whining at the feeling of pleasure, keeping your fingers in his mouth.

“ mmh…stay like that. i want to take some pictures…” you said in your casual mean girl tone. “ you know, baby…for sleepovers with my girlfriends , we really need something to make fun of and nothing makes us laugh more than pathetic men. ”

your gaze went down his thighs. “ oh god, i'm gonna take such beautiful pictures…please, continue to make your dick leak. soak yourself, show them how pretty you are. i want them to be jealous of what we have. ”

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hischierslovergirl · 2 days ago

Note

“I don’t like them all looking at you.” with Luke Hughes please 🥺🙏

Thank you so much for requesting! xx

Spending the summer with Luke was something you had been looking forward to since he asked you all those months ago, and now it was finally here. You had arrived in Michigan a few days ago with Luke and Jack, spending the time since then getting settled in to their lake house and waiting for a few of their friends to arrive. It was a quiet and relaxing start to what would likely be a busy and loud next few weeks, but you weren’t complaining. You were ready for it.

The house was stocked full of hockey players, beer, and a whole lot of food by the fifth day of the trip. They had been running around practically since the sun had come up, making sure they had everything they needed for their first big get together of the summer. Luke mentioned that a few of the guys had, thankfully, invited their girlfriends or girls that they knew around the area, and you were appreciative to not have to drown in that much testosterone by yourself. You loved Luke and his friends, but they could be a bit too much for you to handle all by yourself on occasion.

“Luke, stop making out with your girlfriend and help me get the chairs out,” Jack yelled from down stairs as you walked out of the bathroom.

“I’m coming,” He shouted back, mumbling under his breath in annoyance as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Duty calls,” You giggle at him as you pull open the drawer that contained your bathing suits, “Go help them. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

With a swift kiss to your temple, Luke begrudgingly joins the boys down stairs to help them with whatever they forced him in to. You slipped into a red bikini that accentuated you in all the right ways before grabbing one of Luke’s t-shirts to use as a coverup. Once you found the sunscreen and a couple of towels tucked under your arm, you made your way down the stairs and towards the pool.

You heard everyone before you could see them, an aggressive mixture of light arguing and cheerful shouting filtering in through the open door. Though you weren’t all that surprised given how many people had planned to come. The second you stepped through the door, you could feel the sun beating down on your skin and it made you let out a quiet sigh of content. This was your favorite time of the year, and you couldn’t be happier now that it was finally back.

“Hey! I’m Dylan, one of Luke’s buddies from school,” A face you had seen in many pictures introduced, holding his hand out towards you, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hopefully good things,” You playfully snicker as you shake his hand, glancing at Luke who was carrying a bunch of outdoor chairs while Jack pointed to a spot by the pool.

“Oh, trust me. We’ve all heard very good things,” Another boy interjected. A boy you recognized to be Ethan, if your memory proved to be correct.

“Right,” You drawl, subtly raising your brows at them as you retract your hand, “Well, I’m gonna go.”

You left the two twenty year olds behind as you made a beeline towards your boyfriend, who was now graciously free from the labor he was forced into. He was wiping away at the sweat on his forehead, his biceps flexing in a way that made your cheeks warm, as he tried to catch his breath. Luke had always had an affinity for knowing when you were near before you got to him, and today was no exception as he abandoned his conversation with his brother to find you.

“Hi, baby,” You lightly greeted, giving him a small smile, “Ready to go for a swim?”

“You have no idea,” He eagerly rushes out before placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You follow Luke to one of the empty lounge chairs, placing your towels on the backs of them before stepping out of your shoes and slipped the shirt over your head. A small bout of silence suddenly fell over the group around you, and you could see Luke’s eyes narrow on those that were already in the pool. You peeked over your shoulder, quietly chuckling when you noticed that everyone was dramatically glancing everywhere but in your direction.

“Hey! Quit ogling,” He shouts, shifting to stand in front of you, “You too, Alyssa!”

For the next two hours, you spent the majority of your time switching from playing various pool games with everyone, or lounging on one of the chairs with some of the other girls. You could feel the occasional pair of eyes linger on you for too long, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Luke did, though.

You were in the kitchen talking with Mark’s girlfriend when Luke walked through the back door with his lips turned down at the corners. His hair was damp from the pool, his cheeks and shoulders tinged red from the sun, but he looked like someone had wrongfully insulted his hockey skills. Farah exchanged a knowing look with you before she excused herself and slipped past Luke, who didn’t even glance in her direction.

“You okay,” You called out, meeting Luke as he leaned against the center island.

“No,” He groaned, finally meeting your gaze when you slid your hands around the back of his neck. His hands instantly found purchase on your hips before he began to massage the skin underneath his fingers.

“What’s wrong, baby,” You delicately ask as you slightly tilt your head and absentmindedly twirl his curls around your fingers.

“Everyone keeps staring at you in your bathing suit,” He murmurs, jutting his lip out in a pout, “I don’t like them all looking at you. I know you’re hot, but you’re my girlfriend. They can’t look at you.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to keep yourself from giggling, flattening your palm at the nape of his neck. His hands slid from your hips to wrap around your waist and press you closer against him, your hot skin slightly sticking together.

“Luke, you can’t stop people from looking,” You started, quickly continuing when his eyes widened in panic, “But that’s all they can do. You’re the only one who can do anything more than that. You’re the only one who can touch—”

Luke cuts you off by swooping down and slamming his lips on yours, using the leverage he has on you to slightly lift you off your feet. It was short and simple, but it was also a promise. A promise that he was going to put all the privileges he had as your boyfriend to use later.

#youvegotmail!📥#from: anon #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #viwrites ⌨️

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corroded-hellfire · 3 days ago

Note

For the Christmas requests ⛄

Imagine Christmas when Eliza is old enough to believe in Santa and everything is rather new to her, especially since her brothers are teenagers and probably don't have the same excitement as her and Eddie's emotional cause his boys are grown up now and very excited trying to make the most of the holidays with Eliza helping her write a letter to Santa, decorate the house etc etc

I simply fell in love with this idea the moment I read it 🥰

Words: 2.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Downstairs is quiet, the soft hum of the fridge all that’s piercing the calm silence. The living room is dim, the only light coming from the white twinkle of the Christmas tree in the living room. It casts a warm, inviting glow over the kitchen, making everything feel peaceful and still on this cold December night.

Ryan and Luke are tucked away in a corner of Ryan’s bedroom, a video game controller in each of their hands, fiercely battling one another to see who can kill the most zombies. You’re in the shower, letting the hot water take the chill out of your bones.

Eddie pads gently into the kitchen, looking to grab one of the frosted sugar cookies you made with Eliza earlier in the day. He pulls back the cling wrap and slips out a red frosted stocking-shaped cookie topped with snowflake sprinkles. As per usual for him, the cling sticks to Eddie’s fingers and he has to fumble his hand free without smearing any of the other cookies or ending up with multicolored frosting coating his skin.

Once he’s made a successful escape, Eddie lifts the cookie to his mouth—but stops halfway. He pauses, a small smile coming to his face as he looks at the cookie. Suddenly he’s transported back to when the boys were little.

“I don’t know why that’s in with the Christmas cookie cutters!” Luke crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs his small shoulders. The three-year-old is firm in his opinions already.

Eddie chuckles and uses his forefinger to dab flour on the tip of his younger son’s nose.

“Because it’s a stocking, duh!” Ryan says from the other side of his father.

“It looks like a J!” Luke replies, gesturing towards the offending cookie cutter in question.

“There aren’t any other letters here though!” Ryan retorts.

“Boys,” Eddie says, calmly putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a stocking or a J, does it? Santa is going to love it no matter what when you leave it for him tonight.”

Luke picks at the bottom corner of the rolled-out sugar cookie dough in front of him. He pinches it off before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you think Santa will leave us more presents if we put chocolate chips in them?” Luke asks.

“Oh, good idea!” Ryan adds, face lighting up in excitement at the prospect.

“I think we can manage that,” Eddie says. He steps away from the counter to grab the bag of chocolate chips out of the pantry. When he turns back around, he watches his sons from behind as they move closer together.

“We gotta leave Santa the biggest cookies,” Ryan tells his younger brother quietly.

“So we can’t let Daddy eat them!” Luke adds, nodding emphatically.

Eddie lets out a silent chuckle before walking back to his previous post between his two sons.

“Alright, so why don’t we use the chips as buttons with this snowman cookie cutter?”

He smiles wistfully at the cookie in his hand before sinking a bite into it. The sound of his chewing prevents him from hearing the less-than-graceful footsteps that are slowly coming down the stairs.

Cookie fully crammed into his mouth, Eddie swipes a paper towel from the roll and wipes his hands off on it before turning to toss it in the garbage can under the sink.

Unruly curls catch in Eddie’s periphery and he does a double take when he sees Eliza standing there, long pale pink nightgown hanging around her, and her stuffed pig Penelope dangling from her hand at her side.

Eddie swallows the cookie and tosses the paper towel into the trash bin.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” he asks. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Your three-year-old shakes her head, clearly tired.

“What’s going on, huh? Did you have a bad dream?” Eddie cocks his head to the side and takes a few steps closer to her.

Eliza shakes her head and rubs her right eye with her free hand.

“Can’t sleep,” she says.

Eddie frowns and crouches down to be at her level.

“Why not?”

“I not write my letter yet,” she says.

Your husband’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“What letter?” he asks, head tilting to the side.

“For Santa.” Her dark sleepy eyes widen and Eddie can see the true worry there. “If I don’t write it for him, he won’t get in time.”

“Ah.” Eddie nods in understanding. He remembers the days when Luke and Ryan would write their letters together at the kitchen table, always peeking over to see what the other was asking for and double checking that they weren’t asking for the same toys. There’s a sudden pang in his heart that the boys are teenagers now; that young, joyful, magical wonder is long gone from their Christmases. Eddie knows he should tell Eliza that they’ll write the letter tomorrow and to get back to bed. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to indulge in this joy with her. To help her keep her endearing innocence when it comes to Christmas magic.

“Why don’t we fix that right now, huh?” Eddie asks. “Write your letter real quick, then you get back to bed and I’ll send it out to Santa before I go to sleep.”

Eliza nods, bedhead curls bobbing with the movement. She takes a few steps forward and lovingly rests her forehead against Eddie’s right cheekbone. Your husband smiles at the sweet, if not sleepy, gesture.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he says. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of her head before standing back up to full height.

The drawer next to the sink gracefully glides open and Eddie pulls out a notepad and pen. He holds them both in one hand and offers the other to his daughter.

“Shall we?” he asks.

Eliza’s small hand folds into his much larger one and the two walk towards the dining room table. Eddie pulls out a cherry oak chair and lowers himself down on it. He effortlessly lifts Eliza and sets her on his left thigh, facing in toward the table. The blank lined paper stares up at the pair of them and Eddie lets a black pen roll from his grip.

“So,” Eddie says, uncapping the pen with one hand while the other arm holds Eliza safely in place. “What are we going to tell Santa?”

The little girl plucks the pen from her father’s grip and presses the tip to the top of the page of paper.

“How I spell ‘dear Santa?’”

Eddie guides her through those letters, occasionally correcting her on how to properly draw them out. After she writes her greeting and adds a comma that’s longer than her father’s hair, Eliza tilts her head up at Eddie.

“Now what do you want to say?” Eddie asks her.

“Ummm…” Eliza looks back down at the paper. Her nose scrunches up as she tries to envision the perfect letter in her mind. “Wanna tell him about me.”

“Go ahead, sweet pea.”

“Daddy, can you help me write?”

A soft smile graces Eddie’s face before he presses a few gentle kisses to the top of his little girl’s head.

“Anything for you, Lize.”

Eddie’s right hand gently curls around Eliza’s, guiding it below the greeting, to the next line.

“Uh, I Eliza,” she says, trying to figure out what content to add.

“How about how old you are?” Eddie offers.

Eliza nods and relaxes back against her father’s chest as they continue to write as a team.

“Can I ask him questions?” Eliza asks, peering nervously down at the sheet of paper.

“I think he’d love that,” Eddie assures her.

Dear Santa,

My name is Eliza and I am three years old. I have been very good all year. Except the time that I took one of my brother Luke’s cleats cleets baseball shoes. I didn’t want him to go to baseball practice, I wanted him to stay home and play with me. But I gave Luke his shoe back and he said it was okay, so I don’t think that is something to put me on the naughty list for.

There are lots of things I want for Christmas but Daddy says I can only tell you the ones I really really want because you’re busy with all the other kids. I would please like a new Barbie doll. I want her to have red hair because then she will look like my best friend Mia and my Aunt Max. I also want a new princess crown because I don’t have a green one yet. Can I also have a tea set so I can have tea parties with my mommy? I want to ask for one more thing and Daddy says Mommy won’t like it, but I want a tiny dragon who can sleep on my bed with me. But no fire breathing because that is too hot.

Santa, is it always cold in the North Pole? How many reindeer do you have? Are there more than the ones you fly with? Where do they live? Does Rudolph have a bigger house than the rest of them? Maybe I can name my dragon Rudolph!

Okay, I have to go to bed now and I want my daddy to send this letter to you right now. So bye and I hope you get lots of yummy cookies but none that are yummier than the ones I made with Mama.

Love,

Eliza Marie Munson

Eddie smiles as he helps her sign off with the final “n” of their last name.

“Feel better now?” Eddie asks.

Eliza nods, stretching her mouth wide open in a yawn as she does. Your husband presses a few kisses to the girl’s head as she leans back against his torso. Penelope the pig starts to slip off of her lap but Eddie is able to make a quick save and set the doll on the table.

When he peers down at her, Eddie can see that Eliza is already fast asleep. Her body goes pliant as her soft breathing evens out. Solid arms wrap around her tiny frame and Eddie holds her close to his chest as he pushes the chair away from the table and stands up.

He manages to finagle her more to his left so he can scoop up Eliza’s beloved Penelope in the other hand. Slowly, Eddie heads towards the stairs and takes one careful step at a time until he reaches the second story of the house. Eliza’s room is at the end of the hall and, just as the two of them pass by the door to your bathroom, you pull it open.

A smile graces your lips when you see the peaceful face of your sleeping daughter. You tie the belt of your plush bathrobe as you follow Eddie down the hallway to Eliza’s room. First, Eddie tosses Penelope down onto the small bed. Then he slowly, as not to wake her, lowers Eliza’s fragile form, cradling the back of her head with one large hand.

The moment her body comes into contact with her blankets, Eliza buries her face in her pillow and curls up against her crumpled and bunched-up comforter. A content sigh is all you hear before her soft breathing fills the room.

Arms now free, Eddie pulls you against his body and the two of you just stand there in the moment. It reminds you of how you’d simply stare down in awe at your daughter when she was a newborn. Everything about her was new and exciting. Now, you admire how those features have changed. Her cheeks still hold that round but chubbable marker of toddlerhood. The little button nose she’s had from the moment you laid eyes on her hasn’t changed at all—even though it crinkles up more these days whenever she laughs.

“She’s perfect,” Eddie whispers, bringing you back to the present.

“Of course she is,” you reply at the same volume. “We made her.”

After taking one last look at your sleeping daughter, the two of you quietly slip out of her room. The sound of Ryan and Luke battling one another in some form of virtual combat leaks out into the hallway and you chuckle. Eddie listens as well, remembering when those voices weren’t as deep as they’ve started to become recently and were excited about the things Eliza is now.

You head down the stairs, Eddie right behind you. The soft white lights gleaming on the tree fill the living room with a warm glow that’s unlike any other during the year. Swaddled up in your robe, you sit down on the couch and pat the cushion next to you. Eddie takes the cue and settles in at your side. The serenity of the moment lulls you into sleepiness. You rest your head on your husband’s shoulder and he gently lays his head atop yours.

After a few quiet moments, Eddie whispers, “I missed this.”

“Missed what, Eds?” you ask, letting your eyes succumb to their heaviness.

“The magic,” Eddie replies wistfully. “The Santa, and the reindeer, and the pure innocence and joy of those little faces when they see what’s under the tree for them. Christmas is still so meaningful with the boys at this age, but there’s a spark that’s missing once they know the truth. It’s back, though. Even with the boys, I can see it. The way they ask Eliza when she wants to go see Santa at the mall or if she wants to make reindeer food to leave out for them on Christmas Eve.”

A soft chuckle rumbles through your chest.

“What’s reindeer food?” you ask.

“Basically trail mix,” Eddie says with a soft laugh of his own. “It was Luke’s idea when he was little.”

“I’m glad you feel that magic again,” you tell him. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

“Don’t go singing carols on me,” Eddie teases.

You laugh and turn your head to bury your face in his neck, the familiar scent of Irish Spring soap making you take a deep breath in.

“How about we just enjoy this silent night then?” you ask, pressing a light kiss to the side of Eddie’s throat.

“Good thinking,” Eddie says, tucking you into his side. “It’s only a matter of time before we get interrupted by one of our little drummer boys—or girl.”

“Hmm,” you hum, resting your head on your husband’s shoulder. “Then I think I’ll soak up every second of this cuddle time with you.”

“Merry Christmas to me.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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yourcutelittlegayfriend · 2 days ago

Text

✧✦✧ Chapter 4 ✧✦✧

Oh Love, Why can't I See You?

Yandere Platonic Bat Family x Neglected Regressing GN Reader

Warning this part contains: Blood, Biting, Fighting&Yelling, Batman beating the shit out of people and Joker, almost drowning, usage of Lazarus pit and Mental breakdown.

Notes: Bruce's POV HA! I hope I did him justice and not too OOC, I notice a lack of actual Yandere themes on this fic from the family so I started with the patriach first because why not?

MASTERLIST Pages ↻3 , ...

Now Playing ↻◁ ||▷↺ Underground - Cody Fry ılıılıılılılıılıılı

𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪

It's weird

I see her face again, but not on her; I see it on her child's face. If I met her when she was young, their chubby and plump cheeks would look like hers, and their small stature would be strong and fierce, just like hers, if I remember correctly.

and yet why-?

Why do I see myself in her eyes? tired and exhausted, burnt out even? feeling like the world has already killed you from the inside and only your body can be seen by people who would never look past your walls?

Why do you look so much like me?

I stare at them as they tense up behind Alfred's legs after they told me their name, they were scared yes but I could see their anger behind those eyes, hatred and hateful like the boiling pits of lava, Scalding to touch by anyone and ready to erupt any day something that I couldn't stop if it were to happen.

As I watch them walk away from me and hide, I turn to Alfred and talk to him about last night. Unconsciously, something in my mind is already forgetting about them.

I haven't even known you that long, yet I'm already guilty of choosing a whole city over you.

𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪

It was a rough and tough night in Gotham, I was new and the evil I've been fighting has been longer than me.

Groaning I limp out of my office and head to my father's medical room when I stumble and crash on the floor, wincing I hold my side from the gunshot in one of the fights tonight, Eyes turning blurry as the air in my lungs get scarce as well as my body who beg for a rest, I can only hear my heartbeat and rushing of my blood on my ears as I lay on the carpet floor bleeding heavily until-

A tiny pair of footsteps reverberate on the floor, thudding slowly until they stop and shuffle in front of me, opening my eyes and look up to see the child looking down at me, they tilt their tiny head before turning on the side as they open their mouth like they're talking to somebody.

"...........do I-?.......... won't matter-...............never remember anyway". Their voice were all over the place as they conversed alone then their eyes turned back to me, they stared deeply through my soul, Judging me and criticizing me with just one look, Something a child shouldn't have, and yet this one was more mature, Like me- funny how they look like an exact replica of when I was just a boy, Who would have thought that there's another kid like me laying around, having the exact pain and trauma I've endured.

I feel my body get dragged on the floor as I hear their grunts and pants from pulling my cape turning, I see their face, even with frustration written on them I can still see a sliver of a child peeking through behind their cold and quiet front betrayed by their tiny pout and small huffs, never notice that before- why did I never try to notice you before?

Blinking back from the darkness, I suddenly found myself staring up at the ceiling with the familiar warm lighting from my father's old fireplace illuminating the design carved on it- Mother loved it and Father wanted her to feel welcome when she stayed on the couches reading books with me as we wait for him to finish his paperwork.

I grunt in pain when I felt something touch my side, Looking down a pair of small hands was wrapping my abdomen with a roll of gauze, They stop and look up at me, A look of indifference on their face before looking back down again and continued on before cutting the wrap and finished.

"....You.....when did you-". I tried to talk but they just looked at me making me quiet.

"..... It's best if you just stayed quiet and rest Mr. Wayne... You won't be of use when you're....." Their eyes traveled on my wounds and shots that were perfectly clean and wrapped before continuing.

".....Dead". They hummed making me tense from their choice of words before walking away as I watched them clean up the medical tray and any bloody equipment and put away saline solutions and gauze back.

My brows frowned when their words came back into my head, I touched my face not feeling the familiar texture of the cowl on my face making my eyes slightly widen and I stared at the back of their head.

-Why do I feel less scared on the thought of you knowing my identity was revealed?.

Why do I feel hurt when you won't call me Fa-.

Hearing a clutter I turn and see them adding more wood to the fireplace and poking the embers with a fire poker before putting it away and turning to me.

Both of us stare at each other, the fire behind them grows larger as their shadow grew and cast over me while their eyes seem to glow and light up with a roaring fire, a child too small and vulnerable to face the world and the evil within this city and yet they looked more than ready to burn this city to the ground and eradicate the devil's weed growing on the cracks of broken concretes of the people, something Batman has yet to do, something I can never do.

"Goodnight, Mr. Wayne". They said before walking out and closing the door behind them with a soft thud.

I look at the wooden fixture and become surprised when I see my good arm thoughtlessly reaching out for them.

𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪

A few more years have passed and I find myself paying attention or moving my sights over them more and more, how they walk so silently that you can't even hear it until you finally spot them when they practically stand out in the open, They even blend perfectly anywhere like they don't want people to see or even look at them and how their voice is always on that same lower volume where you can hear them perfectly but thought it was just the wind whispering something.

But I do, I always knew, it was like seeing gold shining around their form, and anything they did it's like everything was duller except them, I even took note of little things like the twitch on their lips when something annoyed them or a raise of their brow when they're interested.

So why do you look so angry when I just want to give you attention?

"No I don't want a debut, Mr. Wayne". They replied with a glare as they sat on the other side of the table barely eating the dinner Alfred made when I asked them to join me.

I was baffled and slightly vexed at their choice and the way they didn't even take the time to think about it, or maybe it's because you still kept looking at me with that-.

"No? What do you mean no? It's only right for you as a Wayne to debut especially for your birth-". I insisted but they cut me off by slamming their hands on the hardwood surface of the table, The dishes jumped, and the pitcher of water almost tipped over from the force while my glass of wine tumbled on the side and spilled the contents.

"I said No! I don't want anything, especially from you-!". They send me a hateful look pointing a finger at me.

"And don't you ever use my birthday on anything!". They shouted before pushing back their chair and walking away, Everything was moving so fast, I could hear my heartbeat pumping harder as my breathing became heavier and faster before I knew it I was already out of my chair as my hand was just reaching for them then gripped their arm tightly.

"Where do you think you're going? This conversation isn't over". I snap as I tug them harder, They look at me in surprise as I saw fear peeking in their irises before hiding it back and hardening their eyes as they pry off my fingers from their arm.

"Yes, it is! Now let go!". They cried as the two of us continued tugging before I let go when I felt sharp pain erupt from my hand I looked and saw a bleeding bite mark on the side of my palm.

Looking up in shock, they stood there holding their arm back as a trickle of my blood dripped down their lips while they bore their teeth at me like what a scared animal would do.

"I'm sorry-". I tried to reach out for them but they only backed away until Alfred came -probably from the ruckus we made- who escorted them away before focusing on my hand.

As Alfred was cleaning my hand I kept looking at the direction they left as I listened to him chastise me on how I approached the situation.

"I only wanted to give them what any child would have wanted Alfred". I reasoned with him but I knew deep inside I already said the wrong answer.

"You are correct to some extent sir and I understand you have good intentions, Master Bruce, They may be a child but a different one, Their only world is gone just a few months ago and not only that but their Mother died on their own birthday as well". Alfred confessed the reason behind their actions making my blood turn cold from the truth.

"-You, yourself must understand what it must feel like to have everything gone in just a flash". He said before tying up the gauze and backing away from me.

"Give them time and if you are still persistent about the event then let me have a discussion with them first and let the child have a say or even a few choices on the matter". He added as he started to fix up the mess while he left me thinking.

𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪

After Alfred had a chance to consult with them, from what he relayed is that they agreed as long as they want the choice to leave whenever they wanted and no fancy stuff that exceed on what most normal people's party should be. By taking any wins that I could get, I personally planned everything that where only proper to call a normal party making sure it's not too extravagant, an event of finally viewing them as a Wayne, to show everyone that they are my child.

How did everything go so wrong so fast?

Joker and his newly formed goons who escaped Arkham Asylum after I foiled his plans months before crashed and destroyed the party and took them away.

"So sorry for being fashionably late Mr. Wayne! I was a little heartbroken when you decided to invite all of Gotham except lil' o me SO! I've decided why not both of me and this little ball of joy have the same debut! I'm sure Batsy won't mind right?" They cackle before driving off to who knows where while I stress as the people run like ants in the rain.

I was quick, I knew I was, searching for them like hell and made sure no stone or concrete was unturned in the city even if my hands were covered by the blood of his goons or other criminals that tried to get in my way but-

When I saw them falling down that green boiling pits I knew I should have arrived sooner, I should have never let them go in the first place, I should have hidden you instead.

I yelled out for them like a desperate man till my throat was raw as their hands -just inches- slipped pass mine, their body plummeting down the liquid as they tried their best to reach out the surface and stay afloat, I pounded my wrist on the metal catwalk that I dropped onto before rushing down and rounded the clown till he was down on the floor wheezing and bloodied, his face more purple and black than his pale white ashy skin.

I knelt down in anguish gripping the rocky shore of the green glowing pool when I heard a splash, looking up to see them crying out in pain and screeching like a bat out from hell making my heartbeat stop and started to pump again as adrenaline shot through my muscles as I quickly fished them out, they cried and cried in my arms while screaming out as their body spasm and muscles twitch as green veins cracked their skin.

Shushing their cries as I hold them close and tightly, tears slowly dropped from my eyes, running down the mask till they landed on their face as they whined from fatigue yet their head looked up as our eyes met, I pulled them near my chest as I lay their head on my shoulder as I try to whisper sweet nothings into their ear, hands trembling as I dig on anything my hand could touch, my voice wavering but not my promises to protect them, to give them what they want, to love them and to stay with them forever.

"Everything is alright now, you'll be alright, Father's right here I'm not going anywhere." I whispered as I kissed the top of their head and swaying them back and forth trying to lull them to sleep.

"I see you now, I'm right here and I won't let you out of my arms ever again"

𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪 𓆩𓆪

Hope this ain't too shitty hahaha inspired when silco tried to save jinx with shimmer kept dreaming about it last night.

#No More Chances #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere #yandere platonic batman #yandere platonic batman x reader #yandere platonic Bruce Wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader

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nachrosas · 2 days ago

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AUTUMN MEMOIRS | s.reid x reader

summary: in which spencer decided to take you to a cozy weekend in the countryside to relax after a difficult case. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: mentions of past case, brief childhood mentions, a little bit of angst, teasing, praising (i think), oral sex (f receiving), dirty talking (one sentence tho), fingering (r receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex (tap it before you do it), +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH IT!! (i think this is all) word count: 4.4k a/n: hello hello! this is the first one-shot for the “nachrosas season” with the theme being autumn/fall! also this is the first time i wrote a long fic (+ 1.5k) and smut in a very long time (i think it’s almost 10 years), so please let me know if ends up good (still self-conscious posting this tho)! i had fun writing this and i really hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat! till the next one! (also, want to thank @mggslover for encouraging me to write the smut of this fics!!)

For a few weeks now, all the houses in the quiet neighborhood — a very small number, by the way — had been decorated with orange and brown leaves falling from the surrounding trees. The few children and young people walking along the streets took the opportunity to play with the huge piles of leaves made by the residents of those houses — in a failed attempt to keep their yards clean and organized.

Spencer slowed the car as the trees opened up, revealing the cottage in front of them. Small but inviting, it looked like it had been taken out of an autumn painting, with its dark wooden façade framed by dried vines and surrounded by fallen leaves in shades of gold, copper, and red. The engine turned off with a soft roar, and a welcoming silence took over the room, broken only by the sound of the wind blowing lightly, swaying the bare branches of the surrounding trees.

You climbed down from the old but cozy car with a tired gesture and leaned on the door. You closed your eyes and a few memories still danced through your mind in flashes that you tried to forget in the past. Recalling them was never pleasant, especially about things that hurt you in some way and that you had no control over.

You opened your eyes and realized that Spencer had repeated your movements, stopping right next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “It's prettier than it looks in the photos, don't you think?” he commented with a serene smile lighting up his face, his eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and relief.

“Yes, it's perfect,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper, as if something in that place called for silence, for respect.

In the background, the sound of children's laughter reached both of them. They were a few meters away, but their voices echoed amid the stillness of the field. From a distance, you could see a little girl in a red scarf, who you guessed was no more than six years old, run up to a particularly high pile and dive into it, scattering leaves everywhere, while a little boy tried to catch up with her, laughing.

Spencer hugged your waist a little tighter and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if to record the smell of the air. “Smells like fall... dry leaves and wet earth... oh, and probably the fire in the cabin. Do you feel it?” he looked at you, with that enthusiasm you loved, a gleam of genuine curiosity that made everything seem more interesting.

“Yes, I do. And it's delicious.” you replied, with a small smile on your face, as you pulled on your jacket to protect yourself from the wind.

He let go of your waist and walked around the car to open the trunk, but not before looking at the cottage again, as if analyzing every detail. “The woodwork on the façade is well preserved. It's probably been restored recently… It's an interesting project, using rustic materials, but…”

“Babe.” you interrupted him with a laugh. “We came here to relax, not to do an architectural study.”

He laughed, a soft, relaxed sound, and closed the trunk, balancing two backpacks in his arms. “Okay, okay, you're right. I bet the inside is even cozier.”

You walked to the door, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot marking every step. The key turned in the lock with ease, and when Spencer pushed the door open, a pleasant warmth enveloped you, accompanied by the faint scent of burning wood and something sweet, which you quickly recognized as cinnamon.

“Welcome to our weekend getaway.” he said, placing the backpacks next to the door and looking at you with a satisfied smile. “Ready to start relaxing?”

You looked at him, at the delicately prepared fireplace in the corner of the room and at the strategically positioned sofa near the window that offered a perfect view of the golden countryside outside.

“Ready.” you replied, already feeling your shoulders relax as you closed the door behind you.

The crackling of the fireplace filled the silence of the cottage, casting dancing shadows on the living room walls, its comforting sound blending with the subtle howl of the wind outside. But you couldn't feel completely warm. You were sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, your back against the sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket, your legs folded under your body. In your hands, she held a mug of tea that Spencer had insisted on making for you. The warmth of the fire and the steam rising in slow spirals seemed to ease the tension that had settled permanently in your shoulders since the last case, but the promised comfort seemed distant.

Spencer was sitting next to you, his legs stretched out on the floor, and one of his hands holding your thigh. He hadn't said much since you arrived, just enough to make sure you knew he was there. And now, in the silence of the cottage, it was impossible not to think about the case.

“I can't stop hearing that poor girl's voice,” you said, finally breaking the silence. Your voice sounded low, almost fragile, but firm enough to show that you were trying to confront your own thoughts.

Spencer turned to look at you but didn't interrupt. He knew you needed to get everything you were feeling out in the open.

“She looked… so scared, Spencer. So lost. And I… I told her everything would be okay. I promised her she'd be safe.”

“You did what anyone would do,” he replied softly. “And you did the best you could. Promises like that are… difficult, but they have a purpose. They give people a reason to fight, a hope to hold on to.

You shook your head, your hand squeezing his. “But she wasn't well! We couldn't get there in time. And the worst thing… was seeing her die like that and seeing how it hit me in a way I hadn't expected. That little girl could have been me. I saw so much of myself in her…” Your voice faltered, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on escaping.

Spencer moved closer to you, lightly squeezing your thigh in an attempt to convey comfort and support. “You're absolutely right. It was personal. And that's why it hurts so much. But it also means that you care. You empathize with her because you have a huge heart, and that's not a weakness.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the security that his close presence conveyed, but the words still came, as if a dam had been opened. “I just… I can't deal with it for long. It's too heavy. And when it's personal like this, it feels like I'm carrying the whole world on my back.”

“Then you're not carrying it alone.” he said, his voice firm now, but full of tenderness. “That's what I'm here for. I always will be, even if you don't realize it. Even if you don't ask. And… you know that, don't you?”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes. There was an unwavering sincerity there, something that almost made your chest ache with how comforting it was. You nodded, finally allowing the tears to fall, because you knew that there, in the safety of that cottage and in Spencer's presence, you could be vulnerable.”

He smiled softly, wiping away a tear that ran down his cheek. “Now, how about we make a deal? The next two days are for you to heal. No pressure, no judgment. We'll go for a walk, cook, look at the stars... and if, in between, you need to talk more about the case, about her, or whatever you want, I'll be here, listening. Always.”

You took a deep breath and leaned against his body, feeling the weight of the moment begin to ease, even if just a little. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “You did the same thing for me when I was arrested, I'm just returning the favor.”

A few hours had passed since that conversation, and you couldn't tell if the weather was mild or cold. You knew it was 18°C, but you couldn't decide if it was really cold for you, since Spencer had re-lit the fireplace and the heat from the flames was taking over the room.

You could hear music coming from a few houses down the block. The area had few people and plenty of space. And you mentally thanked the cottage for being so far from the city.

Spencer was in the small kitchen, stirring something in a small pot with his usual precision. The scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon filled the air, bringing a soft nostalgia that warmed as much as the fireplace. He hummed softly, an almost imperceptible sound, but enough to draw a smile from you.

“It's ready!” he announced, bringing two mugs to the coffee table. He placed one in front of you before sitting down next to you. “I know I've said this before, but let me make it clear again: this is officially a worry-free weekend. No work, no answering messages from Garcia, no worrying about the team, nothing. It's just us, the fire, and maybe some cookies, if you ask nicely.”

You can't help the laugh that escapes. “So you kidnapped me to fill me up with sugar and keep me from thinking too much?”

“Basically.” he replied with a satisfied smile. “It's a foolproof plan.”

His smile was infectious, and for the first time in days, you felt the weight of the last case finally dissipate completely. You plopped down on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you held the warm mug between your hands. On the opposite side, Spencer was relaxed, with his legs folded under him and his head slightly tilted, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Did you know that in some cultures, autumn is considered a time for reflection and gratitude?” he began, his tone calm but charged with that peculiar enthusiasm that appeared whenever he shared something new. “In ancient China, for example, the Mid-Autumn Festival was a celebration of the harvest, but also a time to gather the family and enjoy the full moon.”

You arched an eyebrow, a smile appearing. “Let me guess, you know why the full moon is important?”

“Of course!” he replied, leaning forward excitedly. “In Chinese mythology, there's a legend about the moon goddess, Chang'e, who drank the elixir of immortality and went to live on the moon. During the Festival, people make offerings to the moon as a way of honoring her and celebrating the connection between heaven and earth.”

“You really know everything, don't you?” you joked, but there was genuine admiration in your voice.

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “Not everything, but I like learning about traditions. It's fascinating how different cultures interpret the changing seasons. If you look at Europe, fall was seen as a period of transition, as if it were a moment between life and death. It's because of this that many transitions, such as Halloween, have their roots in rituals to honor the dead.”

You smiled and took a sip of your hot chocolate, letting the warmth soothe your throat before answering. “It's funny how something as simple as falling leaves can have so much meaning. I've never given it much thought, to be honest. I've always seen fall as… a reminder that the year is ending.”

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It's a period of closure, but also of preparation. Trees lose their leaves to conserve energy during the winter so that they can bloom again in the spring. A necessary cycle, you know?”

You watched him for a moment, admiring the way he saw meaning in everything. “You can turn anything into a life lesson, can't you?”

He laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I think fall is special to me because it reminds me that change can be beautiful. Even when it seems like something is ending, there's always room for a new beginning.”

There was a comfortable silence after that, as you let his words echo through your mind. Then, leaning forward, you asked. “And what's your favorite memory of autumn?”

Spencer smiled, his eyes wandering as if searching through the archives of his mind. “When I was a child, my mother and I used to walk through the park near our house. She loved to quote romantic poets as the leaves fell. One time the wind was so strong that it lifted the leaves everywhere. She told me that it was as if the world was dancing to entertain us. I will never forget that.”

Your chest warmed at its memory, and you reached out for Spencer's hand to hold, giving it a gentle squeeze as soon as you found it. “It's a beautiful memory, Spencer. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He smiled, squeezing your hand back. “And you? Any fall memories you like to recall?”

You paused to think, letting the moment linger. “I think mine is something simpler. I remember playing with leaves as a child, throwing them up in the air, and running through the trees. It wasn't anything big, but there was something magical about it, you know? And it ended up annoying my parents a bit,” you laughed.

Spencer nodded, his eyes fixed on yours. “That's what I like about fall. Little moments, full of meaning, even if they seem simple.”

You stood there, the warmth of the fireplace and each other's company filling the cottage with a rare and welcome tranquility. The comfortable silence continued for a few more minutes, with the sound of the wind outside and the warmth of the fire creating an almost hypnotic atmosphere. You stretched out your legs, letting the blanket slip off slightly as you watched the soft light from the fireplace illuminate the rustic walls of the cottage.

Spencer moved next to him, leaning over to pick up the mug he had left on the table. He took a sip, his distracted gaze lost for a moment in the movement of the flames. When he looked back at you, his eyes were filled with a serene calm, but also with something else - a closeness that went far beyond the words you exchanged.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his tone almost casual, but the slight smile on his lips gave away that the question had more meaning than it conveyed.

“More than comfortable.” you replied, pulling the blanket over your feet again. “I can't remember the last time I felt so at ease.”

He nodded, his smile softening. “That's all I wanted for us. A place where we could just… exist. Without rushing. No worries.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, and then you pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “I think I'll go closer to the fire. It's so cozy in there.”

Spencer smiled, watching as you got up and walked over to the rug, taking the blanket with you. He didn't take long to follow, bringing another cushion to settle down next to you.

As you settled in, the conversation dwindled, but each other's presence seemed to say enough. Spencer propped himself up on one elbow, watching you as the fire reflected in his eyes. You, for your part, remained mesmerized by the flames, allowing the calm of the moment to envelop you completely.

It was as if the world outside had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, the warmth of the fire, and the promise of a night that seemed to have something more in store.

Spencer held out his hand, his fingers gently brushing yours. The touch was so delicate that it almost seemed accidental, but when you looked at him, the look in his eyes said something else. He smiled sideways, a little shy but determined, before entwining your fingers in his.

“Come here.” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer.

You let yourself be guided until you were so close that you could feel the warmth of his body rivaling that of the fireplace. He slipped an arm around your waist, enveloping you in a hug that, although it started innocently enough, soon changed a few seconds later.

His hand gently pulled your waist, making you sit on his lap. You felt his breathing change, slower, deeper, as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart soar.

“You look so beautiful…” he whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Heat rose to your face, but you didn't look away. It was impossible to ignore the way the glow from the fire danced in his eyes, making the moment almost magical. He leaned in slightly, their faces so close now that you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Spencer…” you murmured, but anything else you could have said was forgotten when he finally ended the distance between you.

The kiss began slowly, hesitantly, as if he was savoring every second. But soon, the intensity grew, a fire that seemed to reflect the flames in the fireplace. His hands gripped your waist more firmly, pulling you even closer.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your eyes fixed on his. He smiled, that shy, adorable smile, but there was something else there now — a desire you'd never seen so clear before.

“If at any point you want to stop…” he began, but you quickly interrupted him, smiling as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I don't want to stop, Spencer.”

And with that, you leaned in again, your movements surer now, as if you knew exactly where this would lead. You narrowed the space between the two of you, gluing your lips more fiercely to his. Spencer stood still in shock, since you had never kissed him so fiercely, and you closed your hand in his hair, running your tongue like a demand against his lips. Let me in. When Spencer came back to reality, he murmured something against your lips, his cold hand slipping under your sweater and dragging up your skin, higher and higher.

Your kiss was interrupted as shortness of breath overtook you both. Spencer's breath Your breathing faltered when his hands stopped at your breasts, above your bra, gently caressing them. A restrained moan escaped your lips, causing Spencer to press his hand harder.

fueled your feelings, the taste of hot chocolate now a ghost between the two of you. You inhaled the scent of Spencer's perfume sharply, his heartbeat vibrating in your ears.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured into your skin and you finally feel his cool hand sliding across your skin.

“Spencer!” you shouted, pulling away from him.

He smiled. “I'm sorry, my love.”

He got up and sat back against the sofa, watching the way you undressed in front of him. Your jeans slid down your smooth legs, stopping calmly at your ankles as you bent down to take them off, and you quickly took off your sweater, revealing the lilac lingerie that Spencer loved so much.

You moved your hands to your bra, intending to take it off, but he stopped you. “Leave it on, you look even more beautiful with it on.”

Pulling you by the waist back towards him, one of his hands ran down and rested on your ass before giving it a spank. You stayed still, looking at him sitting on the floor.

“Have I mentioned that I love it when you wear this lingerie?” he says to you, running his fingers along the lilac lace.

“I know,” you smile.

Spencer pulled you down to lie on the floor again, this time sitting between your legs, one on each side of his body. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. Spencer pulled your pants aside, his gaze fixed on your pussy and, without warning, he slipped two fingers into you. The moan that came out of your mouth was like music to his ear.

His fingers curved upwards, and his back arched with an enormous sensation of pleasure that consumed his entire body. Your hand reaches down to grasp his wrist, but he gently pulls it away, using his free hand to pull your two hands together and rest them on top of your head.

“Behave yourself.” he tells you, adding a third finger.

You unconsciously spread your legs wider, giving him more room to get on top of you. Spencer's cheek touched the inside of your thigh, and he watched as your face contorted with pleasure and he smiled,

Spencer felt your eyes on him, taking the lilac panties that were still on his body and gently pulling them down his legs, letting them fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes. He wants you to look at him. Your hips jerked when you felt his tongue against your clitoris, and you used your free hand to grab his hair.

He knew you like the back of his hand, so when you closed your thighs around his head, he held them in place while his tongue attacked your clitoris again.

Three fingers inside you and Spencer looked up, watching as you threw your head back, your eyes closed, and his hand, which he had previously held above your head, groping your breasts. Between the magic of his fingers and tongue, your orgasm was close to coming, and he knew it.

Spencer withdrew his fingers carefully and a groan of disapproval left his lips.

“Come here.” He stood up and patted his lap.

With his help, you managed to stand up. Your legs seemed to have turned to jelly as you climbed into his lap. Spencer's hands stopped on your ass, his fingers roaming up and down the curve of it. It was only then that he realized: you had already removed your bra.

Spencer brought his hands down to your stomach and sneaked his fingers up your skin until he reached your breasts again. He hummed, totally focused on your breasts and oblivious to everything that was going on around you. Holding his chin between your fingers, you pulled his face towards you.

“Please fuck me!” you murmured, a hint of desperation hanging in your voice. Spencer smiled, nodding with a look you'd seen on his face many times before.

Your hands went straight to the zipper of his pants and he helped you, pulling them down enough for you to get his cock out of his underwear. One of your hands rested on his shoulders, giving you physical support as you sank down onto him.

You went back to watching Spencer, watching as he spread kisses over your chest, lightly brushing over your breasts until he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, running his tongue over it. Your hand tangled in his hair again and a moan of his name escaped your lips.

His other hand passed over your hip until it reached your other breast, his fingers twisting and rolling your nipple gently between your thumb and forefinger.

“Spence.” you breathed, rocking your hips forward in response to all the stimulation you were receiving.

“Fuck, you're so perfect,” he said, closing his eyes. “Your pussy looks like it was made just for me.” His hand slapped down hard on your ass. Your lips found his neck, leaving a trail of marks and sloppy kisses all over the end of it. “Come on, Baby, come for me.” Spencer pleaded, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold off much longer.

Between the movements he made with his lips and the fact that his cock was hitting all the right spots inside you, he pushed you over the edge. The knot in your stomach loosened and Spencer watched as you came. The mixture of your come and a few more quick, sloppy thrusts, he came right after you.

The dim light from the almost extinguished embers still cast a few soft shadows across the cottage room as you stood entwined in front of the fireplace. The remaining warmth of the fire, combined with the heat emanating from Spencer's body against yours, created a delicious bubble of coziness that seemed to isolate you from everything that was happening outside. You could feel Spencer's calm breathing against your hair, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and this, for you, made the situation even more perfect than it already was.

“I should have made more hot chocolate.” he commented suddenly, his voice slightly husky and a little sleepy, which made it all the more adorable.

You lifted your face to look at him, the corners of your lips curving up in an amused smile. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes.” he continued, his eyes half-closed as he stroked your back in an unpretentious way. “Hot chocolate is practically obligatory on nights like this. The two of us together, fireplace on... it's definitely a classic.”

You laughed, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I think you've just found the only flaw in this weekend.”

Spencer opened his eyes, feigning an expression of indignation as he tried to hold back his laughter. “Flaw? I think we've just made it even more perfect.”

The laugh that escaped your lips was like music to his ears, and he smiled in satisfaction as if it was the reaction he'd been waiting for. Spencer pulled you closer, kissing your forehead and murmuring against your skin. “I promise to make it up to you next time. With marshmallows and everything.”

“Oh, right,” you joked, giving him a smile. “I'll charge you.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes shining with something that seemed like pure affection. “Are you happy?”

It was a simple question, but full of meaning, making your heart squeeze at the way he cared. You nodded, pulling the previously forgotten blanket over you both. “Very much. Thank you for that, Spencer. For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it myself.”

He closed his eyes again, a satisfied smile on his face. “I'll always know. You're my favorite spot in any season, anywhere.”

With those words, the comfortable silence took over again. Little by little, Spencer's breathing became slower, and you realized that he was starting to fall asleep.

You smiled to yourself, snuggling further into his arms, while also letting the weight of tiredness carry you off to dreamland.

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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miyakiwiii · 10 hours ago

Text

RUN MY HANDS THROUGH HIS SHORT BLACK HAIR..。o○

-KANG DAE HO X GN!READER☆ミ

Woah! First time writing squid game chat! This is going to be probably buns but uh... hope you enjoy!1!1

TAGS

Comfort fic, reader and dae ho arent requited in squid game... for now, sleepy dae ho? Idk but theres sokting bad

WORD COUNT:602

The sound of raindrop's pierce through your ears as it hits the window.

The bed isnt too comfortable,but that should do it for the both of you. It was comforting enough that he was beside you.

You look at the window, the rain pours loudly yet again, he shuffles in the bed as sign's of discomfort showed on his face.

You noticed the moving, and went to look at him, he was gripping you tightly, Startled by the action of dae ho.

"Dae ho?" You say, facing him. He grunts more as he held you more closer to him, his body warmth mixing with your warmness.

"Dont.... go." He grumbles silently, he snuggles his head in your chest.

"Im not going anywhere, y'know? As if.. i can go somewhere.." i say as i whispered the last five words and one letter that came out of my mouth.

Well, debt's debt i guess.

You ran your hands through his hair, you untied the hairtie that was about to fall off as you put it on your hand, he probably wont notice it was gone.

His face eases up, now his face is not snuggled up your chest.

You smiled slightly, relieved since now he didnt show any discomfort.

"So soft.." You ran through his hair again as he was sound asleep now.

Feeling tired and hazy, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh.

Waking up, the sun haze's into your features as your eyes slowly rose to open, feeling tired just a little bit, you rubbed your eyes so it could stay open.

'Who- who even is that dae ho guy?!?' 'Mom wait no- please.. dont-'

'IM GETTING YOU OUT OF THIS PLACE.'

I sighed, rubbing the temples of my head, '...these strange memories keep coming back... i guess.'

'Even if i risked it all just for love, its worth it.' I said in my mind as i looked into dae ho, he opens his eyes slowly as he looked at mine, opening and closing his lips slightly then, yawning.

"[Name]?" He replies hazyly.

"Good morning... or whatever, dae ho." I replied.

I sit up as he went to sit up too, the sheets in the bed turning messy, the blanket shuffling as you leaned your head into the head board.

"Y'know... you should touch my hair more often, its... nice." He says, swinging a hand in your shoulders as he leaned you to his shoulder, the feeling of the wooden headboard gone from the back of your head.

"Oh, you felt that?" You asked, it was like a murmur.

"Uhuh, yeah." He replies softly, like a whisper that gazed your ears.

You giggled as he followed, he pressed a kiss in your forehead and smiled. It made the feeling inside the room too comforting, it all felt too.. loving.

Even if he was kinda arrogant at times, he still knew how to respect, he was a gentleman, basically.

Being in a family filled with girls, and him being the only boy? He could definately be a gentleman.

Comforting silence fills the room as it eases, you smiled but the smile falters as you broke the silence.

"Hey dae ho.." you say.

He raises a brow and asks "Yeah?" Turning and positioning his head to look at you.

"I hope we can have the chance to be finally free from this situation." You say, closing your eyes slowly, and opening it back once again.

"Dont hope, say 'we can' instead yanno'?" He smiles.

After all, he was lighting up the worsest days for the both of you.

THIS IS SO BUNS. IM SOREY CHAT.

#squid game s2 #squid game #kang dae ho #kang daeho #kang daeho x reader #daeho x reader #dae ho #dae ho x reader #kang haneul #player 388 #squidgame #squid game x reader

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daenysx · 2 days ago

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hii, maybe i'm a bit late but i saw you asking about marauders and sleep, who do you think would need pressure on them to sleep/relax? like one of those weighted blankets or someone laying on top of them, i think i can see remus on either end, james id definitely a human blanket but idk about sirius...

oh, you're definitely not late, gorgeous- i can always talk about sleepy marauders!!!

okay if we have to think each of the boys separately, i feel like james would love feeling someone laying next to him, like cuddling and sharing body warmth. just thinking of him, he'd love putting his head on the chest of his lover (super romantic i know) he likes being fast asleep to the sound of a heartbeat. playing with his hair, tangling legs with his, holding his hand to draw shapes on his palm as he closes his eyes. he'd be down for all these.

i feel like remus is a light sleeper, he takes more time and effort to fall asleep unlike james. i've always imagined him liking late night readings or watching a few movies when it gets too late, maybe it's because he has hard time falling asleep. he'd like soft whispers and talking before sleeping, just a story or a part of his book.

and sirius- i think sirius is the type of person who sleeps super late because he's a night owl and he can never wake up on time, he doesn't even hear the alarm. it probably takes a long long time until he gets used to having someone next to him in bed but after that he just gets obsessed with it. i mean- just thinking of playing with his hair until he closes his eyes. he'd love slow scratches on his neck and the warmth of the sheets after a tired day.

um- i think that's all?? please send me more on this, i'd love to talk more about it <3333333

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anistarrose · 2 days ago

Text

you know, sometimes there's the Red Robe putting up a facade that sounds nothing like the Barry we all know and love. but sometimes, on the other hand, there's Barry trying to get through a dramatic speech despite Tres Horny Boys' best efforts, and you're just like. oh. yeah. I can see the resigned and beleaguered Red Robe jumping out of this guy

[ID: transcript reading:

Barry: This is that force. It’s that desire to be desired that The Light gives off. Magnus: Craveability. Barry: (sighs) It’s the craveability.

End ID.]

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #barry bluejeans #magnus burnsides #strikes me as so similar to the cosmoscope interaction these two have #“a billion billion? that's a lot!” (in the most long-suffering tone possible) "it sure is...”#barry and lucretia have so much in common for this and other reasons

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yinemw · 16 hours ago

Text

𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

context: celebrating bf Toji’s bday and also new years 🎇 (female reader)

warning: swearing, mentioned sex

character: Toji Fushiguro from JJK

m.list

“I wonder, how did your mother feel like when she gave birth to you and heard fireworks outside the hospital” you think out loud as you lick your fork, swallowing the rest of the chocolate cake you had made for Toji. Half of it already eaten by the birthday boy, well, birthday man.

“You’re an odd woman” Toji snickers as he cuts himself another piece of cake. A golden birthday hat sitting on his messy black hair as some confetti was still stuck to his clothes. This year it was just you and Toji celebrating his birthday and New Years. So you had surprised him when he came home from work, opening the confetti right in his face as he stepped into your shared apartment.

Letting out a soft giggle, you wrap your hands around his bicep and lean your head on his shoulder. “Remind me again why we’re not going to Shiu’s New Year’s party? It’s been fun every year”

Toji shrugged, taking another bite from his piece of cake. Humming when the velvety chocolate taste melted on his tongue, he always loved your baking. “I’m getting older, jumping around with a bunch of drunk adults isn’t really how I feel like spending the night. Besides, you’ve been talking about how you wanna go to the roof of the apartment complex and see the view. I bet we’ll see the fireworks even better from up there” he explains, seeming genuine for once.

Nodding along, you place a kiss to his jaw before pulling away. “Whatever my man wants on his birthday, as long as I get to kiss you at the countdown”

“You always do, brat”

A few hours went by, Toji and you enjoying your evening together. He was right, it certainly was cozier and quieter spending new years just the two of you.

A glass of wine rested between your fingers, your third glass that night, Toji’s fourth glass, yet he remained sober. Though his kisses did start to taste like red wine and chocolate.

“Always someone who has to start early” Toji grumbles as you hear fireworks go off outside. “Still 20 minutes till midnight”

“20 minutes goes by fast” you get up from his embrace on the couch, placing the wineglass on the table before hurrying to the kitchen. Hearing Toji groan from the living room as he follows after you. “We’ll need champagne, also I bought sparklers, and we can’t forget to put on jackets and scarf because it’ll be cold—”

“I stayed home so we wouldn’t need to stress, woman” your boyfriend snickers, pulling you by your hips right back into his chest. “Sparklers? Really?”

“Oh come on, if not for new years, at least let’s light them up for your birthday” you look up at him, batting your eyelashes as your hands sneak up his chest and neck.

“Fuck, you’d think it’s your birthday with the way I’m agreeing to your stupid ideas”

The two of you get dressed, Toji reluctantly having to wear a scarf after you wrapped it around him. He said he doesn’t need it, but he knows you won’t leave the apartment without him fully clothed.

“Whoa, how come we’ve never been up here before?” your eyes practically sparkle as you enter the rooftop. It was fairly high up, giving an amazing view of the city and starry sky. “We’re lucky, no one else is here”

“Fucking snow”

Turning around, you see Toji grumble annoyed as he steps through the snow.

“Told you to put on boots, yet you didn’t listen. I on the other hand have dry socks and no snow in my shoes”

“Whatever smart-ass”

Standing close to the railing, you take in a deep breath of the chilly winter air. It truly was a beautiful view from up here, and with Toji standing next to you, holding a bottle of champagne in his gloved hands, you can’t help but agree with him. This would be a much better new years.

“Hey Toji”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday”

The older man let out a scoff, a slight smile on his lips as he kicks some snow. “Yeah whatever, thanks pretty”

Before you could say anything else, the sky gets lit up by fireworks. Flinching at the first few, you quickly get used to the loud sound as the various colors paint the night sky. “Shit, did we miss the countdown?!”

Toji looks at his phone, the time showing 00:00. “Yup”

“Told you 20 minutes goes by fast!” Wasting no further time, you wrap your arms around Toji’s shoulders and lean up to his face. Kissing his lips quickly, you continue to hear the fireworks around you as Toji pulls you closer. Not shying away from the kiss, Toji made sure that the first kiss of the year would be one you wouldn’t forget until next year.

Pulling away from his lips, and pushing Toji away slightly before he could go in for another smooch, you take the champagne bottle from him. “Quick quick, we’re already behind”

Toji watches you struggle to open it, letting out a chuckle as he admires the way the colors of the fireworks reflect off your face. “Gimme that, chicken arms”

“Chicken arms? Oh I see how it is, grandpa”

“It’s a new year, and the first insult you give me is grandpa—”

Finally, you manage to open the champagne, the cap going flying somewhere off the roof. “Uhm…”

Toji bursts out laughing, actually wholeheartedly laughing. It wasn’t often you saw him like this, but seeing him happy and carefree warmed your heart. Letting out a few giggles too, you pour two glasses of champagne and clink them together.

“Happy new years Toji”

“Happy new years brat”

“Would it kill you to be sweet for a second?!”

After chugging his champagne, Toji took out a lighter and the sparklers you had bought. “There, happy now?”

Smiling, you can’t help but nod your head. Taking out two sparklers and lighting them up. Twirling yours around, seeing the patterns it created. Even Toji seemed to be fascinated, following your lead and twirling it around, the light illuminating his face and making his eyes sparkle.

“What a pretty man I have”

Toji can’t help but smile, turning his head to look at you. Though he teased and made annoying comments, he was happy, more than happy. He felt content and whole.

“Seems like it’s a good thing we didn’t go to Shiu’s party”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

Toji lifts his phone for you to see. Shiu’s panicked messages of how chaotic his party was going and asking for Toji to come over and help.

“Poor Shiu…oh well, anyways, new years sex?”

“You read my mind”

#toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #Spotify #Toji birthday

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magicaldestinyharmony · 2 days ago

Text

In Life and Death Pt. 4

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 4

CW: mentions of fire, burning bodies, fighting, beating, abuse, hunting of humans, death, killing, fatal wounds, blood, torture and whipping.

WC: 5.5k words

A/N: I don't know what happened guys I'm sorry (ToT) I blinked and it became this long. Enjoy I guess?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

“What’s your name?”

“What?” Lucca turns to the female voice beside him, perplexed at the question.

She should already know his name.

“I asked you what your name is,” the fifth daughter of Count Balcom repeats.

Lucca blinks again. Completely and utterly confused. “Why does it matter?” he asks.

“Well, since you’re in my care now, I think I should call you something other than ‘boy’ or ‘you’,” she says.

“You can call me ‘slave’ like everyone else does,” Lucca helpfully supplies.

Her face takes on an Are you crazy? look.

She doesn’t say anything else, clearly waiting for an answer to her earlier question. An answer she isn’t going to get. Lucca keeps his mouth shut, hoping the silence will get her to stop asking and leave. The quiet stretches out.

Finally, she jumps up from her perch on the stool beside his bed. “Fine! It’s obvious you aren’t going to tell me so I’m going to leave and you can keep your stupid name to yourself!”

Instead of feeling satisfied with getting what he wanted, he feels bothered that she’s leaving upset.

“Wait!” his hand grabs her wrist before she can completely leave.

She cocks an eyebrow, silently demanding he let her go.

“Lucca,” he whispers.

“What?” she asks.

“Lucca,” he repeats, a little louder.

She smiles and sits back down. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lucca inclines his head.

“Can I call you ‘Lucca’?”

He blinks at the question, then nods.

She grins. “Thank you, Lucca.”

◇◇◇

“Mommy?” a much smaller Lucca peaked around the door of his parent’s bedroom.

A graceful woman brought her fingers to her lips, a silent indication to be quiet as she left the bed and approached her youngest son.

“Come, sweetheart, let’s go downstairs before we wake up your father.” The mother picked her son up in her arms and headed to the kitchen on the first floor.

She sat him on a chair, knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Is everything okay, love?”

Lucca sniffled. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, Lucca, honey.” She pulled him into her arms again in a comforting hug.

“I woke up alone in the dark and that scared me,” Lucca admitted quietly.

His mom pulled him in even closer and patted his back.

They stayed like that for a while. Nothing like a mother's love to chase away the demons of the night.

“Lucca, love.” She pulled away enough just to wipe away the little boy's tears. “Do you know why I picked ‘Lucca’ as your name?”

Lucca shook his head.

His mom smiled and caressed his cheeks. “‘Lucca’ means ‘bringer of light’. I picked this name at the time you were born because the first time I held you in my arms, the sun's rays burst through clouds, bathing you in its golden light.

“The name sounded fitting. But as you grew up from a tiny infant to a strong, healthy child, I realized that this is the perfect name for you. Everything you do, you do with the biggest smile on your face. Your smile is radiant, my love. Just like the light.”

Lucca watched his mom speak, hanging on to her every word. And when sleep gripped his young form again, he fell to its clutches with a happy smile on his face.

◇◇◇

“Hurry up, Beck, Lucca!” A young girl waved at Lucca and their older brother, beckoning them closer.

“We're coming!” Both boys looked at each other and grinned.

Beck smirked and started sprinting. “Last one to Hazel is a rotten egg!”

“Hey! Not fair!” Lucca took after his brother, trying to reach his older sister first.

Beck, with his head start, reached Hazel. Lucca shuffled in a little later, bending over. “That’s not fair! You should have counted down first!”

“Too bad.” Beck smugly shrugged.

Lucca squinted his eyes at the older boy. Beck is the oldest of three children. Then it's Hazel and Lucca.

Lucca grinned mischievously. “Uh-oh, I don’t like that lo–” Beck started but Lucca lunged at him.

“Whoa!” Beck managed to evade the lunge but Lucca started chasing him around the meadow.

“Boys! That's enough! The picnic is all set up!” their mother called for them.

She sighed, a smile playing on her lips as her boys overlooked her call.

Her husband, the boys' father, laughed. “I'll go get them. Why don't you get Hazel started?”

Hazel reached the sheet and plopped down. Their mother smiled at her family’s antics and settled down beside Hazel.

“Dad! Let us down!” The boys struggled in their father's hold playfully as he neared the picnic. He set them on the sheet and sat next to them.

The family had fun out together all day.

◇◇◇

“Are you sure, Hazel?” Lucca asked.

“Yes, Dad gave me my allowance to use didn't he?” Hazel nodded.

“True. But we aren't supposed to go to the market alone,” Lucca hesitated.

“It'll be fine. We’re old enough aren’t we?” Hazel assured him. “And”–she wiggled her eyebrows–“Mom, Dad and Beck are gonna get home late. If we beat them, how are they gonna know?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her.

“Do you think Beck would like this?” Hazel held up a wooden horse figurine.

“Maybe, he always wanted to ride a horse.” Lucca shrugged.

“Ugh.” Hazel set the figurine back down and sighed. “Why is he so hard to shop for? And you aren't any help at all!”

“You just find it hard,” he teased her. “I’m uninterested because I already got him his gift.” Lucca stuck his hands in his pocket.

Hazel sighed dramatically.

“Let's just go home now, Hazel.” Lucca looked up at the sky. “The sun is gonna set soon. If we don't start going home, we'll get there at night and Mom and Dad will know that we went out without permission..”

Hazel sighed dramatically again. “Fine, you're right. Let's go home.”

The two rented a carriage. Their home was located in the forest. To reach it, you had to go through a bend in the road that led straight to their house.

As the carriage reached the bend, Lucca perked up. He stared out the window intently.

“Stop!” He yelled out to the carriage driver.

The carriage screeched to a halt. “What's wrong, boy?”

Lucca caught Hazel's startled gaze. “Lucca? What's going on?”

Lucca smiled hesitantly. “It’s alright, Hazel. I just remembered that I never bought Beck a gift.”

“That’s not true! You told me you had a gift for him already!” Hazel stared at him with wide panicked eyes.

“I lied. I lied, okay?” Lucca stepped out from the carriage.

He turned around and held Hazel's hands. “Promise me you won't leave the carriage until you reach town.”

“But–”

“Promise me!”

Hazel took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Will… Will I see you again?”

Lucca smiled sadly. “I love you, Hazel. Forever and ever.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. “Lucca? What do you mean? Lucca?! Why are you say–?!”

Lucca slammed the door shut. Her fists pounded on the wood. “Lucca! Open the do–!”

He moved away, gave the carriage driver money and instructions to drive back to town and ran the rest of the way home.

Lucca stared at the hot, orange, gaping inferno swallowing his home.

Where was his family? His mom, dad and older brother?

Lucca gaped at the sight. He blinked, disbelieving what he was seeing.

He suddenly felt the need to do something. He raced towards the flames destroying his childhood memories.

“A kid! There's a kid running to the fire!”

“What?! Where did he come from!?”

“Is he in his right mind?!”

It was only when Lucca heard the voices, did he see the hooded figures in black. There were multiple of them, moving away from the glowing blaze. Their beady eyes peered at him.

Lucca ignored them and continued into the burning building.

“Mom?! Dad?!” he yelled around, looking for them. “Bec–!”

He gasped. There on the floor are the burnt bodies of his family. Lucca gagged at the smell of burning flesh and dropped to his knees.

“Beck? Beck?!” Lucca nudged the hand of his older brother.

The older brother who comforted him when injured.

The older brother who played with him.

The older brother who would sneak him food at night.

The older brother who had a smile that lit up the room.

The older brother who had an infectious laugh.

The older brother who's lifeless now.

The older brother who he can't see, hear, smell or touch anymore.

The scream that burst out of Lucca is gut-wrenching.

His face hardened.

He will never forgive the people who took his happiness from him.

Never.

He got up.

Ever.

Wiped his tears.

Ever.

Once Lucca stepped into the warm, dark air, it was with the determination to get revenge.

He glared at the men in black. He took one menacing step forward, then another. They snickered at him. What can a child do against many, grown mercenaries?

Lucca growled and picked up the nearest and heaviest branch. His roar had adult men hesitating.

“Capture him. Alive,” an authoritative voice called out from the darkness.

“Yes, my lord!” The mercenaries surrounded Lucca, holding swords.

A small fight ensues. Lucca managed to knock down five mercenaries before he was captured.

A hooded figure in red stepped out from the blackness. Lucca was made to kneel in front of him.

“You are one bold kid.” The man took off his hood, revealing his face.

“Do you know who I am, kid?” he demanded.

When Lucca refused to respond, the man gestured at one of the mercenaries.

The next thing he felt was the hot, searing pain of being kicked.

“Well?” the man urged him.

Lucca still didn't say anything.

Another gesture, another kick, more pain.

Lucca grunted.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Lucca spitted out.

“There you go. Was that so hard?” the mysterious man asked.

Lucca shrugged and went silent again.

“Well,” the man started. “I’m Count Balcom, the closest advisor to the emperor, one of the wealthiest nobles in the empire and have one of the best lineages.”

Lucca just stared blankly at the count. As a commoner, he wasn’t the most knowledgeable about nobles and their complicated ways.

Count Balcom walked around Lucca, giving him an appraising look.

“You would make for interesting prey.” He crouched and held Lucca’s chin up. “There’s fire in your eyes. I’m sure quenching it would feel fantastic.”

“I will never break. Never,” Lucca growled.

The count backed away and laughed. “It would be better if you cooperated.” He tapped his chin. “I believe a carriage was here. It was carrying your sister wasn’t it?”

Lucca’s eyes widened. “You leave her alone!”

Count Balcom laughed again and grinned wickedly. “If you cooperate, I’ll leave her alone.”

Lucca didn’t even hesitate. “If she stays safe I’ll come with you.”

The count gave an eerie smile. “I give you my word.” He turned to a nearby mercenary. “Take him to the wagon.”

The mercenary nodded and Count Balcom left in a flourish of red robes.

Lucca might have walked into the Balcom Manor willingly but it was hell on earth. He was abused daily and deprived of meals and water. He gave up figuring out time, in that damp, dark, dingy cell.

He hated it. What did he do to deserve this? What did his family do to deserve death?

These thoughts never left him. They circled and screamed. Wanting attention.

Yet he held on.

He must survive. He must survive. He must survive for Hazel. If he dies before he lets him he’ll kill her.

He ate whatever he was given and held on.

Then one day, Lucca was taken out of that gloomy cell. He was put on a wagon and taken to a forest.

When he saw the arrows and horses, he realized what the count meant by ‘prey’. He was going to be hunted.

He was instructed to stay in a small, open field in the woods. The field was beautiful with big trees and colourful flowers. It wasn’t a bad place to die.

He survived for Hazel. Keep on living, okay, Hazel?

When the arrow hit his heart, he had one last thought, he would finally be able to see his loving family again.

However, when Lucca opened his eyes, it wasn’t to the sight of his late family. It was to the sight of a mass of people yelling.

“The Divine Warrior woke up!”

“It’s the Divine Warrior!”

“Save us, Divine Warrior!”

Lucca was confused. What was going on?!

The High Priest explained it all.

Apparently every 1000 years, the evil dragon, Tanan, manages to break the seal placed on him. And every 100 years a Divine Warrior is born.

The Divine Warrior has a stronger physique, superior senses, a good intuition, heals faster, uses aura and has three lives. That means that the Divine Warrior has two other chances at life if death gets to them.

The Divine Warrior awakens when they turn 18. If they die before that, their soul is preserved at the Grand Temple. Once their soul turns 18, they awaken in their older body. Once awakened, two marks appear on the Divine Warrior’s hand. It is only visible to them and counts how many lives they have left.

The job of the Divine Warrior is to reseal Tanan. If Tanan hasn’t broken free yet, their job is to save the people from evil beasts who are his underlings.

As of right now, Lucca has already lost one life, courtesy of Count Balcom.

“I see,” Lucca said, staring out the window. “So now what?”

“Now,” the High Priest began. “Now, you start your training. It is soon time for the evil dragon to break free.”

“Very well.” Lucca turned to face the older man. “But first, I want you to find someone for me.”

The High Priest nodded. “Sure. Who are they?”

“Hazel. Her name is Hazel Puhlavan.”

“What?! She's what?!” Lucca slammed his fist on his mahogany desk.

“I apologize, Your Eminence. Hazel Puhlavan is dead,” the High Priest repeated.

Lucca shoved away from his desk. She was dead?!

“But how?! I did exactly as he said,” he murmured.

Lucca whirled around to face the man. “How? No, when?”

The High Priest bowed slightly, fearing the Divine Warrior’s wrath. “She was killed on a carriage three years ago. It seemed like murder but the case was closed because of insufficient evidence.”

“Damn it!” The desk received another punch.

He shouldn't have trusted that bastard's words.

Hazel was dead but he was here and alive.

Lucca dropped back into his seat. “You're dismissed.”

The High Priest immediately scurried off.

Lucca sighed. He survived this long for what? To find out that the fate of the world rests in his hands? To find out that his sister is dead?

What did he do to deserve this?

“Hahaha! A mere mortal tries to defeat me? Me, the great Tanan?!”

Lucca wondered if all the Divine Warriors before him had to go through this. The evil dragon is very full of himself.

“Come at me, mortal. You'll never be able to defeat me!”

Lucca gripped the Divine Sword. It's the Divine Warrior’s ultimate weapon. It's crafted from lodyed, a precious stone given to Divine Warriors. It allows them to imbue the Divine Sword with aura.

Red light glinted on the silver, polished blade, giving it a crimson look. With Tanan came, what the temple calls, the Haur Moon. It's the source of his power and hangs in the sky. Shadows cast the field of the face-off in black. The combination of red and black gave the place an ominous feeling.

Tanan stood tall, taunting Lucca with his prowess.

“If you're so great, how come you keep getting resealed?” Lucca raised an eyebrow.

“How dare you! You're a mere human!” Tanan lunged at Lucca in anger.

A deadly fight starts.

The evil dragon shot a fireball. Lucca jumped away to avoid it.

The bloody dance continued. Lucca swung his sword. It grazed the dragon’s arm. Tanan roared. His massive tail came crashing down beside Lucca, creating a big dust cloud causing him to cough.

The dust blocked his vision. His head snapped up just in time to see the mighty tail strike again. Lucca raised his sword to injure and ran backwards, keeping the sword up. He left a gaping, bloody wound in his wake. Tanan howled, no doubt in pain.

“Where are you, human?! I will destroy you!”

While Tanan frantically looked around for him, Lucca used the shadows to his advantage. He crept up on Tanan. Using his aura to propel him upwards, Lucca jumped to land the final strike on Tanan's head.

“There you are!” the dragon suddenly turned around, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

Lucca's own eyes widened in surprise.

Tanan struck Lucca with his claw. He barely eluded the fatal point but it still pierced his arm.

“Ugh.” Lucca got the wind knocked out of him when his back hit the ground.

With his arm bleeding, Lucca stood again. He grabbed his sword.

It was time to end this. It was Lucca or the dragon.

Lucca jumped again and growled. He imbued the Divine Sword with aura. When he penetrated the hard layer of scales and the soft tissue under, so did Tanan's sharp claw into his torso.

Lucca heaved as blood rushed up his throat. He fell with a thud and coughed some more.

Tanan thundered and collapsed in a heap on the field. The evil dragon has finally been defeated.

I have to perform the sealing spell.

Lucca blinked against the blackness filling his vision. He coughed up more blood.

I have to–

The blackness consumed him.

Lucca convulsed and opened his eyes. The once red field was now bathed in a reddish-orange glow. Lucca spied the sun sinking below the horizon. The Haur Moon was gone.

He sighed. Everything was finally over. Two gruelling years of training have finally paid off.

Lucca spotted Tanan’s black form.

Well, everything was mostly over.

He sat up and propped his arm on his knee. The gash Tanan left him has healed completely. No matter how many times it happened, Lucca’s ability to quickly heal never ceased to amaze him.

A glance at his right hand told him what he feared. He lost another life. Only one gold mark remained. It sparkled in the glow of the sunset. Lucca had one more chance at life.

Lucca sighed again and raised his tired form. He trudged over to the source of much grief and horror.

With the evil dragon defeated, Lucca can finally breathe easy.

It would also be time for his vengeance.

After finishing the sealing spell, Lucca headed out to perform the necessary steps to complete his revenge.

He would amass great power and wealth. And once he did, he would destroy Count Balcom.

Screams filled the dim halls of Balcom Manor.

“No! Please! Please have mercy!” A maid cried at his feet.

Lucca silenced her sobs. He didn't even twitch at the smell and sight of red oozing out of the corpse on the heart pine wood floors.

The staff that weren't on the floor cowered. Lucca brandished his sword and restained the wood red.

Yells echoed in his ears but he kept moving.

Lucca would get his revenge.

“Stop right there, you monster!”

He looked up to see a flock of knights blocking his advance.

“You won’t make it past us!” The knights all pointed their blades at him.

Lucca laughed. His face hardened and he charged. The sound of piercing flesh reverberated in the hallway.

“Wa-wait! Please spare me!” The last knight recoiled.

“Where is Count Balcom?” Lucca prompted.

“H-he’s in the ballroom. The re-rest of the ar-army is with him,” the cowering man gulped.

“Thanks.” Lucca stabbed the knight.

He stepped over the body and continued in the direction of the ballroom.

When Lucca reached the immense mahogany doors, his sword was dripping and his dark blue clothes were splattered with the same liquid.

When the doors swung open, shouts rang out.

“Stop! Drop your weapon!”

“Surrender and you might be spared!”

But one voice stood out. “You’re one brave young man. Your rampage ends here!” Lucca recognized the condescending tone.

He scoffed. All of his staff lay dead and all he did was barricade himself here.

Lucca swung his sword, cutting knights down left and right.

Count Balcom stared in horror at the man who was slaughtering his knights. A wary smile played on the count’s face. He was arrogant enough to think he was invincible. However, when Lucca towered over him, the smile fell off his face.

“Wait! Tell me what you want! Money? Power? Women?” Count Balcom reeled and Lucca stepped forward.

“If you want women, I have plenty of daugh–”

“Why did you burn that house in the forest five years ago?” Lucca cut him off.

Confusion marked the man’s face. “What?”

“And the girl. Why did you kill the girl in the carriage?” Lucca asked again.

After a long silence, it became apparent that the count didn’t know what Lucca was asking.

Lucca laughed. It was a sad, bitter and angry sound.

All that fury and resentment and anticipation for revenge. The five years he spent bending to powerful figures to get honour and wealth. They all amount to nothing if he couldn’t inflict pain and fear upon Count Balcom’s haughty face.

In his daze, Lucca didn’t notice when Count Balcom picked up a sword from a fallen knight.

“Die, you filthy peasant!” The count sloppily swung the sword in a feeble attempt at killing.

Lucca easily avoided the blade and retorted with a swing of his own. His sword plunged swiftly into Count Balcom's chest.

“I hope you rot in hell,” Lucca whispered in the count’s ear.

Lucca left the man in a bloody heap on the once beautiful heartwood floors and took off to find the rest of the Balcom family.

Now there was one left. The fifth daughter.

Lucca approached the fifth daughter’s chambers. She was the last piece to complete his revenge.

He opened the doors and an eerie creak sounded out. He found her standing in the room with her back to him. The moonlight barely illuminated her form.

Lucca’s sword grazed the wooden floors. He stopped right behind the woman. He knew she was the fifth daughter, yet he asked anyway, “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?”

She turned around and said, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

Lucca scowled. He wasn’t expecting the sarcasm. The woman gave him a once-over.

Silence rang out. Big and heavy.

“Spare me!” cut the sinister quiet.

She boldly stared into his eyes.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate. No one associated with the Balcom name will live. He would make sure of it.

The woman frowned. “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’, would you spare me?”

He snickered. Nothing anyone did would erase the pain, guilt and sorrow. It won’t bring his family back to life, would it?

“No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.” As long as the Balcom blood ran through her veins he would kill her.

She flinched at the gleam of his ruby-coloured sword. With a sudden movement, the woman swallowed something and doubled over in pain. Lucca hesitated, confused. But just as quickly, she fell to the floor and clutched her chest.

A weird feeling washed over him. He blinked. However, when he opened his eyes again, it wasn't to the moonlit room.

◇◇◇

“Is he still in the wagon?” a masculine voice asked.

“Yeah, I made sure of it. The last thing we need is Count Balcom’s anger,” another answered.

Lucca looked around him, very bewildered. What he saw was an oak wood wagon. Crates and barrels filled it, crowding the small space. The contents were jostled around with the caravan’s movements.

He remembered this wagon. Lucca was brought to Balcom Manor on this wagon. Was this an illusion? Did that woman cast some spell on him?

The caravan abruptly halted to a stop. Lucca heard gravel crunching under leather boots before the back covering was removed.

“Come on, kid. Get out. Don’t pull any tricks or the girl gets it.” The same grotesque mercenary and the same words.

This wasn’t making any sense.

Lucca was roughly pulled out of the wagon and brought before Count Balcom.

“Let’s go, son. I’ll show you your new home.” The count stood at the front doors with a conceited grin on his lips.

He motioned for Lucca to go in first. Stepping inside, Lucca saw the foyer. The front hall was beautifully decorated. A grand and alluring glass chandelier graced the cream-coloured plaster ceiling. An immense wooden staircase stood at the back of the space. Lots of vases with colourful flowers filled the chestnut-coloured corners. In the heart of it, the staff and the occupants of the manor bowed in greeting of its owner.

A girl eased out of her curtsy and focused on him. She looked like a younger version of the fifth daughter. She frowned in confusion at the sight of him.

Did she place a curse on him? Was he now fated to relive the grief, regret and misery? Did she think that having him relive all of that would spare her?

Well, she was mistaken. He would never spare a living Balcom. Just like he lost everything and everyone he held dear and fell into misery he would make sure that they felt despair too.

“Hey, you!” Count Balcom rudely bellowed from behind him. “Take the boy to the dungeons.”

A maid nodded and hurried him down. Down to darkness and torture.

Lucca blinked and saw feminine features. The fifth daughter peered down at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I tried to be as gentle as possible. I’m sorry if it hurts.”

Only then did Lucca notice the salve and gauze sitting beside the girl. The throb on his back was evidence of her treatment.

Was this some kind of new game? A new form of torture?

She pulled out bread from her bag. “Here, I got you some food.”

Lucca stared at her. Was she going to show him kindness and then brutally stab him in the back? Was she going to give him light in this blackness and then take it away?

She took out a pastel pink handkerchief and placed it with the bread in front of him.

He blinked three times.

“Don’t worry! I didn’t do anything to the bread. It’s not poisoned or anything,” she affirmed.

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone.” She stood and dusted herself off. “I’ll come back tomorrow to heal your wounds and get you some food!”

Her absence didn’t quiet his raging thoughts.

The same events over the next 10 years repeated themselves. Getting killed at Count Balcom’s hand, waking up as the Divine Warrior, resealing Tanan and currying favour with the kings of the continent.

The only change was the death of Count Balcom’s fifth daughter. He found her in the same room but he managed to cut her down and she didn’t swallow anything.

Yet the same strange feeling engulfed him again.

◇◇◇

“He-her Ladyship isn't at th-the manor,” the attendant stammered.

“Explain,” Lucca urged.

“Sh-she left as so-soon as she turned 18. No one has he-heard anything from her ever since.”

Lucca laughed. So she was the one who sent him back in time. Did she think leaving would stop him?

With a slash of his sword, Lucca stopped the sputtering man in his tracks. “Thanks.”

The fluttering of Lucca's cape echoed in the soundless manor as he left in pursuit of the runaway lady.

“There you are. I finally found you,” Lucca spoke to her turned form.

She froze. “I admit that leaving the empire was a smart move on your part. It was quite hard to track you down,” Lucca continued.

She didn’t say anything.

“Well, I guess the chase ends here.” Lucca raised his sword and struck her.

For some reason, the sight of her blood on his sword and the sand made him frown. And the same weird feeling from before made him frown harder.

◇◇◇

At the sight of the same oak wood wagon for the fourth time, Lucca sighed deeply.

These time loops need to stop. And the fifth daughter of Count Balcom has the answer.

This time, Count Balcom’s fifth daughter got married to a baron in the countryside.

“Stupid wench! You dare talk back to me? If I tell you to do something, you do it! Why do you never learn?! Do I always have to beat you for you to understand?!”

Lucca shook as he saw the man strike her.

How dare he hurt her?

Lucca kicked down the door and pulled out his sword.

“Who dares to interrupt me?! I specifi–” Lucca didn't let him finish. He landed a blow on his jaw.

“Ho-how dare you!” the man spluttered on the floor.

Lucca scoffed. This man has some guts.

With a slash, the man’s head rolled. A low shriek made him turn around. The sight of the fifth daughter hunched over on the ground reminded him of his purpose.

The haze of anger cleared and the red faded away. He loomed over her.

What was he doing? She was the daughter of his enemy. He couldn’t be feeling bad for her. She was the reason he was reliving his life for the fourth time.

With another slash, Lucca killed her. And on cue, the strange feeling came again.

◇◇◇

“Th-the lady has gone crazy!”

“She was de-demanding ways to drain her bl-blood!”

“Count Balcom or-ordered her to re-re-recuperate at the southern villa!”

“She hurts herself all the time!”

“She has truly gone insane!”

Lucca’s steps reverberated in the hall of the Balcom Southern Villa. It wasn’t hard to locate. A quick interrogation of the servants also told him where the room of its occupant was.

He stopped at the door. Through hell or high water, I will find you and kill you.

Lucca opened the oak wood door. The room was nicely done in shades of light blue and white. But the appearance of the fifth daughter made him frown.

She was tucked into bed. But the iron chains holding her hands up were a morose contrast to the elegant room. Her head was down, her hair a curtain to her face.

He trod into the room and she looked up. The sight of her face was worse. Scratches lined her cheeks and there were bags under her eyes. Her body was skinny and marred by scars and wounds. Her eyes remained blank as she took him in.

For some reason, Lucca’s heart hurt. With a jolt, he realized that he hated seeing her like this. Helpless and wounded.

But Lucca wasn’t one for emotions. So he struck her anyway. His eyes closed in anticipation of the same feeling.

◇◇◇

She approached him. “Hello. Are you alright?”

“For injuring my precious daughter, you will receive 15 whips.” The count grinned creepily.

With a grip on her head, the girl responded, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-it’s the Balcom way, right?”

“Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.” With that, Count Balcom departed.

At the intense throbbing from the whip marks, Lucca opened his eyes. He saw Count Balcom’s fifth daughter and scowled. She glared at him, shook her head and continued working.

She patched up his last wound, left some bread and got up. He watched her in silence. Why did she keep helping him, a murderer? No matter how many times he killed her, she treated him without fail.

“Why do you care?” His voice was a little hoarse.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care,” she said firmly.

He scoffed and she shrugged.

She started leaving and Lucca crushed the urge to stop her. To tell her to stay. To tell her that she was the only kindness he experienced through all the time loops. To tell her that he–no he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and, therefore, his enemy as well.

Lucca turned to his side, giving her his back. He heard her footsteps fade away as he told himself to not be emotional. He couldn’t afford it. Survival wasn’t for the weak and emotional. And he certainly wasn’t weak and emotional.

◇◇◇

“Lucca! Are you listening to me?” Count Balcom’s fifth daughter exclaims.

“Ah.” Lucca nods.

She smiles. “So, as I was saying–” she continues telling her tale.

Truth is, Lucca didn't hear most of her story. He was too busy watching her animatedly talking.

Tags!

@dreamlessnight

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messymoonmad · 2 days ago

Note

Not sure if you've listened to this part of the odyssey yet but after seeing your art this one passage from the odyssey has been torturing me

"Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her: “Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, be of good cheer, and let not things distress thy heart. That man lives not, nor shall live, nor shall ever be born, who shall lay hands upon thy son Telemachus while I live and behold the light upon the earth. For thus will I speak out to thee, and verily it shall be brought to pass. Quickly shall that man's black blood flow forth about my spear; for of a truth me, too, did Odysseus the sacker of cities often set upon his knees, and put roast meat in my hands, and hold to my lips red wine. Therefore Telemachus is far the dearest of all men to me, and I bid him have no fear of death, at least from the wooers; but from the gods can no man avoid it.”

[448] Thus he spoke to cheer her, but against that son he was himself plotting death."

(Book 16 Murray translation)

imagine odysseus during hold them down, stringing his bow, turning around and seeing a boy,now man, he used to sit on his knees plotting to kill his son and assault his wife. Every other suitor he is just angry at but with eurymachus he is betrayed and upset. (Either that or he's flabbergasted, like "boy you used to drool all over my shirt. What are doing acting all tough)

Also what if as eurymachus dies, he looks into odysseus face and starts to feel guilty.

I love you cause i did base my design and hc off the odyssey (i listen to an audiobook with samuel butler's translation playlist on youtube) and THAT PART YOU JUST WROTE I LOVE

Cause my genuine reaction was "oh thats cute one of them suitors is actually kind and protective of telemac-" and then the narration goes "thus he spoke to cheer her but against that son he plotted death" I WAS SHOCKED at his hypocrisy cause i really fell for it.

Also in book 23 or 24 antinous mentions that he has seen odysseus when he was a little boy and it just makes me wanna draw them (anti and eurym) back when they were young probably comming to ithica as guests (with their parents) and they used to admire him but as they grew up that admiration turned into envy and they became greedy

#putting a pin in it #so i can draw it later #baby suitors omg #epic the musical

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eepwtf · 2 days ago

Text

MY ATOMS HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOURS.

jock!ben x nerd!reader

that’s what connection is, right? the swallowing of one soul into another. taking them in, letting their essence burrow into your flesh until you couldn’t tell where they ended, and you began. like a splinter, painful and irritating, but impossible to remove. that’s what you were to ben: a splinter digging beneath his skin, refusing to let go.

and maybe that was all ben wanted—to let you haunt him completely. to be tainted by you, stained in ways that could never be undone. to let the memory of you—the presence of you—sink into his skin, his blood, his bones, until he could no longer tell the difference between himself and the ghost you’d left behind.

tw; boarding school au, slight academic rivals, homophobia, toxic masculinity, might make this a continuation perhaps, ben being a big gay yearner, slight cannibalistic imagery used, shotgunning, weed hazy make out sesh… no actual smut like i said, i’ll probably make a continuation for that! wc; 12k...

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

⎯⎯⎯ 𖣂 ⎯⎯⎯

THE boarding school was a monolith of old money and grandeur, tucked away in the rolling countryside where the world felt muted and distant. the architecture itself seemed to loom over its occupants, cloaked in ivy and perpetually blanketed by a haze of mist. it was a place meant for the finest, the best, where boys were molded into men who would conquer whatever battlefield lay ahead, whether in the world of business or the trenches of war.

you didn’t belong here—not really. you were the outlier, the scholarship kid among pedigreed names that dripped from tongues with the weight of generations. yet, even in a world built to dismiss you, you excelled. your mind was a razor, carving through equations and essays, leaving the sons of wealth and privilege scrambling to keep up. you had a knack for reducing their inherited confidence to a quiet simmer of insecurity, your brilliance a sharp contrast to their entitled mediocrity.

then there was ben, the golden boy of said school.

ben had everything: the chiseled features of a carved from marble, the charm that made others forgive his outbursts, and a physicality that turned the sporting fields into his personal stage. he thrived in the chaos of competition, the thrill of victory lighting him from within. but you—oh, how you irritated him.

it was in the classroom where his temper simmered, where his smirk faltered just enough to reveal the cracks. he hated the way your hand shot up before anyone else’s, the way your answers came not with arrogance but an ease that suggested you didn’t even need to try. every time you walked past his desk with another perfect score, another commendation from the professors, ben felt the bitter taste of inadequacy curl on his tongue.

he wasn’t used to losing, least of all to someone like you—a quiet, unassuming boy who didn’t play by the rules of their unspoken hierarchy. he couldn’t pin you down, couldn’t challenge you to a fistfight on the quad and settle it like he did with everyone else. you lived in a world of ideas and intellect, a realm where his strength and bravado were meaningless.

and so, ben did what he did best: he turned his frustration into cruelty.

it started small. a snide remark as you passed him in the hall, his voice low but cutting, designed to stick in your mind. then came the more deliberate acts—your books knocked off your desk when he sauntered by, a "careless" shove in the crowded dining hall that sent your tray spilling to the floor. his friends laughed, their amusement a chorus that fueled his superiority. but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him.

he wanted to break you.

he couldn’t stand the way you remained steadfast, unshaken by his efforts to knock you off your pedestal. your defiance wasn’t loud or confrontational; it was in the way you picked up your books without a word, the way you returned to your seat and continued to outshine him. it was maddening, a mirror held up to his own shortcomings, reflecting a boy who was not the best, not even close, despite everything he’d been told his entire life.

the tension between you grew like a festering wound, unnoticed by the professors who were too enamored with ben’s charm and too indifferent to your quiet suffering. in the dormitories, where the shadows stretched long and the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and boyhood sweat, ben would corner you with his pointed glares and low mutters. you could feel his hatred radiating off him, a scorching heat that threatened to consume you both.

and yet, beneath the animosity, there was something else. something ben didn’t understand and refused to acknowledge. a fascination he couldn’t shake, an obsession born of the way you refused to yield to him. it gnawed at him, this unwanted fixation, turning his frustration inward even as he directed it at you.

for your part, you noticed the way his eyes lingered too long, the way his anger seemed almost personal, as though he despised not just your intelligence but something deeper, something he couldn’t name. you began to feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, pressing against your skin, making your pulse quicken in ways you didn’t want to admit.

THE lacrosse field was a battlefield, churning with the restless energy of aggression. the boys moved like packs of wolves, bodies colliding in fierce pursuit of the ball, cleats tearing into the damp, overworked earth. you didn’t belong here. not really. the game wasn’t yours, not in spirit nor in skill. your talents lay elsewhere—in the orderly realm of equations and analysis, where every move was deliberate, not reactionary. but the school demanded bodies as much as minds, and so you played, driven not by passion but by necessity.

ben, on the other hand, owned the field. his movements were fluid, muscles taut beneath his jersey, every step bursting with the kind of confidence only bred from years of unearned praise. the coaches shouted his name from the sidelines, their booming voices dripping with approval. he thrived on it, fed off their praise like a starved beast. and yet, even in his glory, his focus was fractured, his gaze drawn to you like iron to a magnet.

it was infuriating.

you didn’t belong on his field, didn’t deserve to occupy even a sliver of his thoughts. but there you were, darting past him with that maddening air of quiet competence, your presence a thorn in his side. he loathed you, not just for your brilliance in the classroom but for the way you existed in his world without bending at his will. He couldn’t stand it.

you weren’t fast, and you weren’t strong, but your sharp, calculating mind had a way of slicing through the frenzy of the game. you saw patterns where others saw chaos, predicting movements before they happened, slipping through gaps in the defense like a shadow. it wasn’t enough to make you a star, but it was enough to unsettle ben. to remind him that even here, in the one place he should reign supreme, you found ways to upstage him.

he couldn’t stand it.

the game had reached a fever pitch, players shouting, the ball whipping between sticks like a bullet. the air was electric with sweat and tension, the faint tang of impending rain mingling with the iron bite of blood from scraped knees and bruised lips. you were darting forward, the ball cradled neatly in your stick as you made for an opening.

ben saw you, and something snapped.

it wasn’t enough to win. it wasn’t enough to be the best. he needed you to know you didn’t belong here.

he moved in, a predator stalking prey, his green eyes locked on you with singular intent. his shove was perfectly calculated—not enough to earn him a foul but more than enough to send you staggering. you stumbled, feet slipping in the mud, but you didn’t fall. you were steadying yourself when his stick came down, the blunt edge catching your face with brutal precision.

the sound was sickening, a wet crack that silenced the field as you crumpled to the ground. pain exploded across your face, sharp and immediate, a fire that spread from your nose to your temple. for a moment, the world narrowed to a single point of agony, the coppery tang of blood flooding your senses as you pressed a shaking hand to your face.

and then the laughter started.

it began with ben, his cruel bark of amusement breaking the tension. he leaned casually on his stick, grinning like a boy who’d just pulled off the perfect prank. his friends joined in, their laughter swelling into a chorus of mockery that filled the air like smoke.

“didn’t think lacrosse was a contact sport, huh?” one of them jeered, the others howling in response. ben chimed in, his voice dripping with venomous charm. “guess it’s not a game for delicate types. better stick to books, nerd.”

the words hit harder than the stick had.

you stayed on the ground for a moment, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the blood dripped steadily down your face, soaking into the white of your uniform. the grass beneath you felt cold and damp, grounding you in the midst of the humiliation crashing over you like a wave. but you didn’t cry.

when you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your knees shaking, your vision swam with the effort. your face was a mess of blood and bruises, the metallic taste thick on your tongue. the coaches had yet to intervene, their eyes blind to the golden boy’s cruelty.

ben’s laughter faltered for a split second when your gaze met his. there was something in your eyes—defiance, yes, but also a quiet strength that made his stomach churn. he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the cheers and jeers of his friends. for the first time, he felt something other than triumph in your presence.

it was guilt, sharp and unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his bravado.

ben forced himself to laugh again, louder this time, shoving the flicker of shame deep down where it couldn’t touch him. his grin widened, and he turned back to his friends, letting their approval wash over him like a balm. but as the game resumed, the image of your bloodied face lingered in his mind, a grotesque reminder that even in victory, something about you made him feel defeated.

he told himself he didn’t care. but the knot in his chest told another story.

YOU dreamt of ben’s teeth in your skin that night, or at least you think it was a dream. the memory lingers too vividly, too viscerally, as though your subconscious left it smoldering just beneath the surface of your waking mind. in your dream—or nightmare, perhaps—it wasn’t the boy you knew from the halls and the fields who loomed over you. it was something else. something primal, something that wore ben’s face but moved with a hunger that no human being could possess.

his green eyes burned bright at first, clear and sharp, their intensity the only thing anchoring you to what little humanity remained in him. but then the green began to darken, swallowed by black until his pupils eclipsed everything else. his grin followed, shifting from the boyish smirk you had come to associate with his cruelty to something far more animalistic. it wasn’t a smile anymore—it was a snarl, predatory and sharp, his teeth bared like a beast ready to strike.

you remember the feel of his hands on you, strong and unrelenting, pinning you down with an ease that made your breath catch in your throat. his fingers dug into your arms, their grip just shy of painful, but it wasn’t his hands that truly frightened you. it was his mouth.

his teeth found your flesh, and for a moment, the world became nothing but sensation. you felt the pressure first, the sharp edge of his canines pressing into your skin, threatening to pierce it. then came the pain—hot and electric, spreading through your body like wildfire. your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, your senses overwhelmed by the strange, horrifying intimacy of it.

and yet, even as your dream-self writhed beneath him, a strange thought took root in your mind. it wasn’t just fear you felt. it was something darker, something that churned in your gut like a sickness. there was a perverse fascination in the way he consumed you, a twisted part of you that reveled in his domination, in the way he claimed you as his prey.

when you woke, your body was slick with sweat, the sheets tangled around your limbs like the remnants of a trap you had barely escaped. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, the phantom pain of his bite still throbbing beneath your skin. your heart raced, not just with the adrenaline of the nightmare but with something else—something you didn’t want to name.

you told yourself it was just a dream, a grotesque product of your mind’s restless wanderings. but as you lay there in the predawn darkness, your room quiet except for the faint rustle of wind against the window, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than that.

because when you thought of ben, when you recalled the way his gaze lingered on you during the day—those fleeting, almost imperceptible glances—you felt a similar unease, a similar pull. he thought you didn’t notice, but you did. you noticed the way his jaw clenched when you outpaced him in class, the way his hands gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.

you noticed the frustration in his voice when he barked orders on the field, the way it always seemed sharper, louder, when directed at you. and, most unsettling of all, you noticed the way his anger gave way to something else entirely in those rare moments when your eyes met.

it wasn’t just hatred that burned in his gaze. there was something deeper, something raw and untamed, something that made your skin prickle with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. it was as though he was waging a war with himself, his fury at you battling against some unspoken truth he refused to acknowledge.

maybe your dream had simply dredged up all the pieces of him you couldn’t reconcile—the cruelty, the rage, the intensity that bordered on obsession—and twisted them into something monstrous. or maybe, just maybe, your subconscious had glimpsed something real, something lurking beneath the surface of ben’s golden-boy façade.

you lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling as the first pale rays of dawn crept through the window. the memory of his teeth haunted you, the phantom sensation of his bite refusing to fade. you told yourself it was absurd, that you were letting his presence in your life warp your thoughts.

but deep down, in the quietest corners of your mind, you couldn’t deny the truth. you had seen the way ben looked at you. and worse still, you had felt the way his presence made something inside you stir—a festering thing, raw and ugly, that refused to be ignored.

the morning air felt heavy, clinging to your skin with a dampness that did nothing to ease the lingering unease from the night. you shook yourself off, trying to dispel the fog that clung to your mind, your hands coming up to rub at your eyes in a futile attempt to erase the dream—or nightmare—that still burned at the edges of your memory. the pressure of phantom teeth seemed to linger on your flesh, a strange sensation you couldn’t quite shake.

your uniform hung stiff and scratchy against your skin as you pulled it on, the starched fabric doing little to comfort you. the ritual of dressing, buttoning and tucking with practiced efficiency, was almost enough to settle you. almost. but when you glanced at your reflection, bleary-eyed and pale, the faint shadows under your eyes told the truth you couldn’t ignore. you looked like someone who hadn’t slept, not properly, not peacefully.

the hallways were already stirring with life as you stepped into them, the low murmur of voices mixing with the squeak of shoes on polished wood. you kept your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary interaction, your thoughts still churning with the vestiges of the dream. your skin crawled at the thought of ben—not the boy from the nightmare, but the one who existed here, in the real world. the one who seemed to take up far too much space in your mind, even when you weren’t asleep.

you were halfway down the corridor, lost in your thoughts, when a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you to a sudden halt. the touch jolted you, your pulse spiking as you turned quickly, your body bracing instinctively for something worse than what it was.

“don’t you know it’s rude to creep around?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could soften them. your voice was rough, gravelly from the lack of proper rest, but the irritation in it was genuine.

your friend raised an eyebrow, unbothered by your tone. “you look like shit,” they said bluntly, their arm swinging casually around your shoulders as if to soften the blow of their words.

you rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth twitching in faint exasperation. “i was studying,” you replied, the lie slipping out easily, though the weight of it settled uncomfortably in your chest.

studying. sure. if “studying” meant spending the night caught in a cycle of half-sleep and vivid, unsettling dreams about ben—dreams that left you waking with your heart pounding and your skin clammy. dreams that made facing him now feel like a task monumental enough to deserve its own place in Dante’s Inferno.

your friend gave you a knowing look, their gaze sharp despite their casual demeanor. “studying,” they repeated, dragging out the word as if testing its weight. “rightt.”

you shrugged them off, stepping out from under their arm and continuing down the hall. “drop it,” you muttered, not looking back.

but as you walked, the knot of unease in your stomach only tightened. you didn’t want to see ben today, not after last night, not after the way his imagined teeth had sunk into your flesh with such terrible intimacy. but you knew you would see him—of course you would. he was everywhere, an unshakable presence in your life that clung to you like a shadow. and despite yourself, a small, treacherous part of you wondered what it would feel like if the dream wasn’t entirely a fabrication. if the pressure of his teeth wasn’t just some cruel trick of your subconscious.

you shook the thought away, your hands balling into fists at your sides as you forced your feet forward. it was a new day, you told yourself. you would face him, endure his glances, his comments, his presence, and you would survive. even if the memory of his grin haunted you all the while.

of course, your friend, blissfully unaware of the strange, festering thing coiling tighter in your chest, slung their arm around you again, jostling you with a kind of ease that only highlighted your growing sense of unease. their presence might have been grounding if it weren’t for the chaos swirling behind your eyes, the dream—or nightmare—still clinging to your thoughts like cobwebs you couldn’t brush away. each step down the corridor felt mechanical, your body moving on autopilot as the slick, oily remnants of the dream seeped deeper, threatening to consume your focus entirely.

christ, you thought bitterly, why couldn’t your mind just give you peace for once? the dream’s claws had sunk deep, its venom spreading even now, and the weight of your friend’s arm was a tether you couldn’t decide whether to cherish or resent. you couldn’t even focus on their words, the low hum of their voice turning into static, a meaningless buzz drowned out by the feverish imagery curling through your mind.

that is, until their voice cut sharply through your spiraling thoughts:

“she has, like, a nice fucking ass.”

the vulgarity slapped you out of your haze, and you blinked, frowning instinctively. the raw disbelief on your face was almost comical as you turned to your friend, your voice rough with irritation. “what the hell are you talking about?”

your friend snorted, their bark of laughter echoing through the otherwise quiet hall. they shoved lightly at your head, their hand ruffling your already unkempt hair with an irritating kind of fondness that only deepened your scowl. “jesus, man, how long did you study last night?” they teased, their tone dripping with faux concern as they rolled their eyes. “i’m talking about the new teacher. you know, the one half the guys are practically drooling over.”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, shaking your head as they continued to chatter, unbothered by your lack of engagement. their arm stayed slung across your shoulders, anchoring you to their easygoing rhythm, their words spilling out in a cascade of exaggerated admiration. descriptions of the teacher’s figure, her looks, and the collective hormonal obsession of the student body filled the air. it was almost laughable how much they cared about something so fleeting.

but their words served their purpose—they drowned out the dream, tamping down the ghost of green eyes and imagined teeth, pulling you further into the mundanity of the day. you grunted noncommittally, letting their words wash over you without actually processing them. you didn’t care about some teacher everyone was ogling like a piece of meat, but their chatter had pulled you far enough from your own thoughts to notice the weight pressing against your ribs had shifted. something darker, heavier, had begun to bloom there.

and then, like a blade of glass slicing through skin, you saw him.

ben stood further down the corridor, leaning against the wall with the kind of casual confidence only he could pull off. he was flanked by a few of his cronies, boys who lingered like shadows, echoing his movements and amplifying his presence. but it wasn’t his posture or his pack of admirers that stopped you dead in your tracks. it was his eyes.

they were locked onto you, glinting like shards of polished emeralds in the muted light of the hallway. you froze under the weight of his gaze, something sharp and disquieting curling in your stomach as he looked—not at you, but at the arm slung so comfortably over your shoulders. his jaw shifted slightly, tension flickering at the corners of his mouth, though his expression remained infuriatingly neutral.

your first thought was that it was hatred. of course it was. what else could it be? ben had spent months making your life a quiet misery, his snide remarks and calculated glances digging under your skin like splinters. the idea that his stare could mean anything other than disdain didn’t even cross your mind.

his lips curled upward, but it wasn’t a smile—not really. it was more like the barest hint of teeth, a silent warning that you couldn’t quite decipher. and yet, something in his eyes felt different, something darker and unfamiliar, like the faint glimmer of green fire.

your friend, blissfully unaware of the tension coiling in the air, kept talking, their voice a low hum in the background as you stood frozen, caught in the snare of ben’s gaze. the weight of their arm around you, once grounding, now felt suffocating, a heat rising in your chest that had nothing to do with your lack of sleep.

ben shifted slightly, his frame leaning off the wall as his gaze flickered back to your face. it lingered for just a moment too long before he turned away, his attention snapping back to his friends as though the moment had never happened.

you exhaled shakily, realizing you’d been holding your breath. the knot in your stomach twisted tighter, a strange mix of unease and... something else. whatever it was, it made you feel raw and exposed, your skin prickling with the faint sensation of being watched, even as you forced yourself to keep walking.

your friend gave you a nudge, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. “earth to you,” they said, their voice teasing. “you okay? look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

you forced a shrug, your movements stiff. “i’m fine,” you muttered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie. fine. sure. if you ignored the way your heart still raced, the way ben’s stare had burned itself into the back of your mind. fine, if you ignored the strange, festering feeling that had been planted in your chest and was now threatening to bloom.

ben sat across from you, his body a picture of restless arrogance, sprawled as though he owned the desk and everything around it. his fingertips tapped a jagged, uneven rhythm against the varnished wood, a staccato counterpoint to the droning monotone of the professor’s voice. the lesson, whatever the hell it was about, was already a blur in his mind—some dull lecture he’d never bother to commit to memory. he let out an gratuitous sigh, sinking lower into his seat with an air of theatrical boredom, the edges of his lips curling in a smirk as a few nearby classmates glanced his way.

but the act was just that—an act. his attention wasn’t really on the class, nor the eyes that occasionally flicked toward him, drawn like moths to the flame of his ever-present bravado. no, his focus was on you.

it always came back to you.

his green eyes found the back of your head as they so often did during these torturous classes. you sat two rows ahead, perfectly aligned to torment him with your quiet diligence. he watched the way you leaned slightly forward, the slight tension in your shoulders betraying the focus you poured into every word spilling from the professor’s lips. your hand moved quickly, a blur of determination as you scrawled across the page in front of you. he couldn’t see exactly what you were writing, but he knew it was notes.

of course, it was notes.

you always took notes, didn’t you? like some kind of academic machine, recording every detail, every thread of information the professor dared to offer. and for reasons ben couldn’t quite articulate, it infuriated him. or maybe “infuriated” wasn’t the right word. maybe it was more complicated than that—more warped.

his fingers stopped their tapping as his gaze narrowed, following the precise movements of your pen. he imagined the lines and curves you etched into the paper, the careful way you transcribed thoughts into words, words into meaning. the idea of it made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

ben wanted to see it.

no—he needed to see it.

he needed to know what went on inside that overactive mind of yours, what ideas and thoughts swirled in your brain like storms. what made you so goddamn meticulous, so disgustingly perfect in your execution of everything you did? his teeth clenched, his jaw tight as he stared harder, as though sheer will alone could penetrate the barriers between his mind and yours.

he didn’t just want a glimpse into your thoughts—he wanted to crack you open.

the intrusive image came to him unbidden, vivid and visceral: his hands on either side of your skull, his thumbs pressing into the delicate curve of your temples. in his mind, the bone would give way beneath his strength, splitting like an overripe fruit. he’d tear through the lining, past the fragile casing of your brain, his fingers sinking deep into the valleys and folds of sulci and gyri. he’d feel the sticky heat of your thoughts, the pulse of your consciousness against his fingertips.

and maybe then—maybe then—he could understand.

understand how you worked, what made you tick, why you were always so goddamn far ahead of him. why, no matter how hard he tried to best you, to shake you, to drag you down to the level where he felt safe, you always managed to stay just out of reach. it was maddening. it was humiliating.

and it was intoxicating.

ben’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his fixation on you tightening its grip around his ribcage. he wanted to hate you—god, he wanted to hate you. it would have been easier if he could. but there was something else, something darker, slithering in the spaces where hatred should have lived.

infatuation wasn’t the right word for it, but it was close.

you were perfect in a way that was almost grotesque to him, a reminder of everything he lacked, everything he could never be. and yet, he couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop wanting to pull you apart piece by piece until he understood the atoms, and cells inside you.

the professor’s voice droned on, a dull hum against the roar of his thoughts. his eyes didn’t leave you, not for a second. to anyone else, ben looked like a bored boy enduring another tedious class. but inside him, something wild and restless clawed at the walls of his chest, something primal and impossible to name.

SOMETHING about you clung to ben like a splinter buried deep under his skin. no matter how much he tried to scrape it out, it remained lodged there, a constant irritant—and yet, perversely, he didn’t really want it gone. it was the kind of ache that grew familiar, even welcome, as though having a piece of you stuck inside him, digging in, was better than losing the connection altogether.

he told himself it was nothing, just a weird, passing fixation. but mondays tested that lie in ways that made his jaw clench and his heart pound harder than any game ever did. mondays meant your ritual: the library. the coffee beside you, still steaming faintly as you leaned into the table, your head bowed over a fortress of books that seemed to grow taller with each passing hour.

he wasn’t sure what you read—probably something mind-numbingly boring, some dense intellectual nonsense he wouldn’t bother to crack open even if someone paid him. but you, with that maddening concentration etched into your brow and your soft, barely-there frown tugging at your lips, made it look like the most important thing in the world.

and when you read, oh god, when you read—you spoke. not loudly, no. just the faintest whispers, as if the words spilled from your mouth by accident, a soft, private litany that no one else was meant to hear. but ben heard. he always heard.

it wasn’t fair, the way your voice wrapped itself around the silence of the library, low and melodic and unbearably intimate. it felt deliberate somehow, like a knife turned just for him. it was as though you knew he was watching, knew he lingered there in the shadows of the shelves, pretending to look for some book he’d never even crack open.

if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think you were reading for him.

he should be at practice. that thought nagged at him like a coach’s whistle in the back of his mind, sharp and insistent. practice, where his teammates would already be warming up, their easy camaraderie and loud laughter filling the field. that’s where he belonged, where he thrived. that was his kingdom. but mondays had become something else entirely.

mondays were for you.

ben found himself lingering near the library door, his shoulders slouched just enough to blend into the background. his bag hung limply off one arm, forgotten, as his green eyes tracked every movement you made. the way your fingers flicked over the pages, precise and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world. the slight tilt of your head when you paused to scribble something in the notebook you always brought with you. the way your lips, soft and just barely parted, formed each word you whispered like a prayer.

you were calm and focused, untouched by the chaotic energy that always seemed to coil beneath his skin. you looked... at peace. it made him burn.

ben clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. he hated this feeling, this raw, inexplicable pull toward you that felt less like attraction and more like possession. you weren’t doing anything to him—just sitting there, existing, being you. and yet, it was as if you’d reached inside him and turned something vital upside down, leaving him unsteady on his feet.

he didn’t want to care about your stupid coffee cup, the way the steam curled up and caught the faint light spilling through the high library windows. he didn’t want to notice the way your glasses slipped slightly off the bridge of your nose, how you’d brush them back with an absent-minded grace that seemed so effortless it made his chest ache.

and yet, there he was, still standing there.

still watching.

still pretending to give a fuck about some random book he wouldn’t even bother to carry out the door.

ben shifted on his feet, the weight of his indecision heavy in his chest. he should leave. he should walk out, get to practice, and stop wasting his time on you. but the thought of leaving, of stepping away from this quiet moment where he could just... see you without consequence, felt like tearing that splinter from his skin. he’d lose the ache, yes, but he’d also lose the maddening comfort of its presence.

so, instead, he lingered.

and when you whispered another word, your lips brushing the silence like a kiss meant for no one in particular, ben’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag. because deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he wanted to believe it was for him.

it was stupid, reckless even, the way ben’s feet moved without permission, as if something unseen was yanking at invisible strings tied to his ankles. he wasn’t sure why he let it happen, why he allowed this force—this festering pull inside him—to steer him closer and closer to where you sat. he could have stopped himself, forced his body to obey logic, but something in him resisted the idea of turning back.

the quiet sanctity of the library enveloped him, all hushed whispers and the soft rustle of turning pages. the faint, bitter aroma of coffee mingled with the musty scent of old books, filling his lungs as he neared your table. it was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet strangely intoxicating. the closer he got, the more he felt like the world narrowed to just this: you, the fortress of books around you, the steam curling from your cup like it held some secret.

it was too much. too close.

ben swallowed hard, his tongue suddenly dry as he hovered behind you. from this distance, he could see the tiny grooves in the back of your chair, the faint scuff marks on the floor where your restless foot tapped. his pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the low hum of the library’s fluorescent lights.

what the hell was he even doing?

he didn’t have a plan. of course, he didn’t. ben didn’t do plans; he acted. he relied on brute force, sheer confidence, and the kind of charm that usually bulldozed any obstacle in his way. but here, now, standing behind you, those weapons felt dull and useless.

you shifted slightly, leaning forward to jot something into your notebook, and ben’s eyes tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. his stomach tightened, not with hunger, but with something worse—something sharper, more desperate.

and then, like some unthinking beast lurching forward, he moved.

the table loomed in front of him, the edge digging into his thigh as he planted himself there, far closer than he should have been. his shadow fell across your books, an expanse of muted light eclipsed by his frame. the breath hitched in his throat, and for a fleeting, wild moment, he considered bolting. running back to the lacrosse field, to the safety of shouting and fists and controlled chaos.

but the thought passed as quickly as it came, crushed beneath the unbearable weight of his need to say something—anything.

he opened his mouth, and what escaped was not a clever remark, not the smooth confidence he wielded on the field or in front of his friends, but a sound. a low, guttural grunt that made him cringe internally the second it left his lips.

you turned at the noise, your brow furrowing as your eyes flicked up to meet his. your expression was a mix of curiosity and mild irritation, as though you were trying to decide whether this interruption was worth your attention.

ben’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his palms damp and cold despite the heat radiating from his body. the words he’d been grasping for, the half-formed excuse to explain why he’d crossed the boundary of your space, caught in his throat.

what the hell was he supposed to say? that he couldn’t stay away? that your stupid books and coffee and concentrated pout had been haunting him for weeks?

no, he needed something else—something neutral, something that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot.

“i, uh…” his voice came out rough, rasping like sandpaper against the quiet of the library. he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “i need tutoring. in, uh… math.”

the words hung in the air like a poorly thrown pass, wobbling and uncertain. it was a flimsy excuse, half-true at best. sure, he wasn’t exactly excelling in math, but he could’ve asked any of his teammates for help. hell, he could’ve charmed one of the teachers if he’d wanted to. but none of them were you.

you blinked, your lips parting slightly as if you weren’t sure whether to laugh or take him seriously. ben felt a flush crawl up the back of his neck, his pride warring with the strange, gnawing feeling that he might just implode if you said no.

“i’m… not great with numbers,” he added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his posture stiff despite the casual tone he was struggling to maintain. “figured you could help. since, y’know, you’re always… doing all this.” he gestured vaguely to the books and notes sprawled across the table, his movements broad and almost clumsy.

there. it wasn’t perfect, but it was something. a lifeline, thin and fragile, tossed out into the silence between you.

the air is dense, clinging to the library like an unwanted second skin, thick with the sour tang of aged paper, spilled coffee, and the faint decay of something almost alive. it’s the kind of air that wraps itself around your throat and sinks into your lungs, suffocating and intimate, a silent predator. ben breathes it in deeply, like he needs the burn to keep himself tethered to this moment, to you. but there’s something else here, too, something sharper, something that cuts through the miasma and lodges itself inside him.

it’s you.

it shouldn’t be so distinct, yet it is. a clean, woody undertone, with a hint of leather that somehow feels ancient and personal, like it carries stories older than either of you. it threads its way through the stagnant library air like an interloper, lacing itself into ben’s senses until it becomes the only thing he can taste. it doesn’t belong here. it doesn’t belong in this quiet, suffocating place of rot and whispers. but it belongs to you. and that’s enough.

he swallows hard, his throat tightening as though the scent has wrapped itself around his neck like a noose. it fills the hollows of his chest, seeps into the marrow of his bones, and carves itself into the darkest corners of his mind. It’s a scent that shouldn’t linger, but it does, a ghost that haunts him in the silence. you’ve branded him, burned yourself into him without even trying, and he can’t tell if he resents it or if he craves it more than his next breath.

“didn’t think you’d need a tutor,” you had said, a faint smirk on your lips, sharp enough to cut. but you didn’t say no.

and that’s how he found himself here.

the silence between you is a strange kind of beast. ben isn’t used to silence—his life is noise, chaos, endless sound that fills every corner of his world until there’s no room for anything else. his father’s voice, sharp and grating, tearing through the walls. the roar of the crowd on the field, his teammates’ shouts blending into a cacophony that drowns out the sound of his own thoughts.

but this silence isn’t like that.

this silence is alive.

it breathes. it stretches. it crawls into the space between you and grows, not oppressive but thick and full, like it’s waiting for something to happen. it hums with potential, a quiet pulse that syncs with the rhythm of his own heartbeat, and ben finds himself leaning into it, letting it wrap around him.

this silence isn’t empty. it’s full of you.

you sit beside him, close enough that he can feel the faint warmth of your body bleeding through the small gap between you. the edge of your sleeve brushes his forearm when you move, and it’s enough to send a spark of something sharp and electric jolting through him. he shouldn’t be able to feel you this acutely, shouldn’t be so hyperaware of every tiny shift in your posture, every soft inhale you take.

but he is.

the scent of you still lingers, curling around him like smoke from a burning altar, like something ancient and sacrificial. it feels alive, like it’s slithering into his veins, infecting him with the ghost of your presence. he breathes it in and lets it take root, lets it crawl through him and fill the hollow spaces he didn’t even know were there.

and the silence stretches on.

it’s not the kind of silence that demands to be broken. it’s a language all its own, a secret shared between you, full of things unsaid and unspoken truths. ben doesn’t need words to fill it. he doesn’t need to speak to know that you’re here, beside him, so close he can feel the heat radiating from you.

but the quiet is also dangerous. it lets him think. let’s his thoughts spiral into darker, hungrier places.

ben’s gaze flickers to you, catching on the curve of your jaw, the faint furrow of concentration in your brow as you scan the open book in front of you. he lets himself linger there, drinking you in like a starving man given his first taste of water. there’s something almost holy about the way you look right now, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, your fingers brushing absently over the edge of the page as though the words have bewitched you.

but ben doesn’t feel holy.

the hunger inside him is sharp and unrelenting, a gnawing thing that writhes beneath his skin. it twists through him, dark and consuming, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to pull you apart, to see what makes you tick. it’s not obsession. not really. obsession implies something fragile, something rooted in longing or insecurity. this is something deeper, more primal.

ben doesn’t need you. not in the way that people talk about need. but he wants you. he wants to unravel you, to pry you open and dig his fingers into the soft, vulnerable parts of you. he wants to understand what makes you sit here every monday with your coffee and your books, what makes you whisper to yourself like you’re reading something meant only for him to hear.

it’s curiosity, he tells himself. nothing more. just curiosity, burning hot and insatiable, spreading through him like wildfire.

but curiosity doesn’t feel like this.

curiosity doesn’t feel like his chest tightening every time you glance his way. it doesn’t feel like his hands itching to touch, to hold, to possess.

THATS how it went. mondays transformed into something entirely different, a new ritual that ben couldn’t explain and wouldn’t dare question. practice? a memory. the familiar rhythm of drills, the roar of his teammates, the barked orders of the coach—it all faded into insignificance the moment you came into focus. he told the coaches he was studying, his voice steady, unwavering, despite the lie rolling off his tongue like poison disguised as honey. they believed him, of course. why wouldn’t they?

ben didn’t bother telling himself he cared about the material. the textbooks, the equations, the neatly drawn graphs—they were background noise, static that faded into nothing the second you started speaking. he told himself he was there because it was convenient, because it was an excuse to escape, but deep down, in some festering corner of his mind, he knew that wasn’t true.

it was you.

you, with your quiet focus, the way your lips would move ever so slightly as you read aloud to yourself without realizing it. you, with your unwavering concentration, the crease that formed between your brows as you worked through a particularly complicated problem. you, who seemed completely oblivious to the way your presence had carved itself into ben’s very bones, anchoring you there like some unwanted parasite he couldn’t bring himself to kill.

ben would sit there, his body rigid and his mind anything but, trying to focus on the numbers sprawled across the page but failing every single time. he wasn’t looking at the work. he was looking at you. watching the way your fingers skimmed the edge of the paper, how your pen would tap against the table in rhythmic little bursts as you thought. every tiny movement, every subtle shift in your posture, dug deeper into him, threading itself into the marrow of his being until it felt like you had become a part of him.

when you spoke, your voice soft and even as you explained some mathematical concept that should have been straightforward but felt like greek to him, ben didn’t hear the words. he wasn’t listening to the numbers or the logic. he was too busy taking in the way you looked. the curve of your mouth as you formed each syllable. the way your eyes would light up, ever so slightly, when you solved something particularly tricky.

fuck, it wasn’t fair.

it wasn’t fair how easily you filled the empty spaces inside him, how effortlessly you seemed to occupy the corners of his mind he didn’t even know existed. you didn’t just exist in the same room as him; you invaded it. you seeped into him, into the cracks and fractures he thought he’d hidden so well, spreading like rot until you were everywhere.

and he let you.

even as he told himself he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter, that this was just about studying—just a convenient excuse to avoid practice—he knew the truth. he cared too much. he cared in a way that scared him, a way that felt too big, too heavy, too impossible to contain. he cared about the way your voice would drop into a lower register when you were focused, the way your laughter—soft and fleeting—would bubble out when you realized you’d made a mistake and corrected it.

he cared about how you made him feel.

like he was tethered. like he was drowning. like he was alive in a way he hadn’t been in years.

and maybe, just maybe, a part of you already knew. maybe you sensed the way he hung onto every word, every glance, every accidental brush of your hand against his when you passed him a paper or a pen. maybe you could feel the weight of him sitting across from you, silent and heavy, his presence wrapping itself around you like an unspoken confession.

or maybe you didn’t notice at all.

maybe it was all in ben’s head, this strange, suffocating thing that had planted itself inside him and grown wild and unruly, its roots digging deeper with every passing monday.

but it didn’t matter.

because mondays weren’t about practice anymore. mondays weren’t about drills or games or any of the things that used to define him.

mondays were you.

this monday was different. this monday, you were in his dorm. the space felt alien with you in it, as though your presence had shifted the walls closer, warped the air, and made the small room hum with something electric and volatile. you sat on his bed, legs crossed, one deft hand tapping against the spine of a book you hadn’t opened yet. ben’s eyes were drawn to your fingers, tracing the slow rhythm of your movements, catching on the faint smudges of ink and the tiny doodles that crawled over the back of your hand. they looked like they were singing to him, little glyphs alive with secrets, symbols carved straight from your soul and offered up to him like a taunt.

he couldn’t stop staring.

the thought came unbidden, crashing through him like a breaking wave: if i could, i’d swallow you whole.

not in some grotesque, animalistic way—at least, he didn’t think so. no teeth or sinew or blood. it was something deeper, stranger, something even more horrifying. he didn’t want to eat you; he wanted to absorb you. to make you a part of him. he wanted to pull you inside him, past skin and muscle, past the fragile shield of his ribs, until you were tucked deep into the raw, pulsing places no one else could see. he wanted you to haunt him, to bury yourself in the cracks and crevices of his very being, until you became inseparable from the rest of him.

he wondered, if he did it—if he somehow consumed you, if he allowed the essence of you to dissolve into him like sugar in water—would a part of your soul become his? would it taint him, change him, twist him into something unrecognizable? and, more importantly, would it leave anything of you behind?

would he be carrying the ghost of you forever, absorbed into his marrow, etched into the fabric of his being? would you haunt him in every heartbeat, every breath, every restless night spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling and tracing the memory of you through the air?

ben’s gaze drifted back to your hands, to the tiny movements of your fingers, the way they danced against the book like they were keeping a secret. his own fingers twitched, aching to reach out, to press his palm against the back of your hand and feel the warmth of you seeping through his skin. would it burn? would it leave a mark?

his chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, the sound loud and awkward in the thick, oppressive silence of the room. you didn’t look up. you were so focused on whatever small thought was flitting through your head, your brows furrowed, your lips pressed into a soft line. you had no idea, did you? no idea that you were unmaking him with every passing second, tearing him apart piece by piece, leaving him raw and exposed in a way he’d never been before.

maybe this was what ghosts were, he thought. absorbed parts. fragments of someone else clinging to the living, refusing to let go. maybe you were already haunting him, slipping between the cracks in his thoughts, curling around the jagged edges of his mind.

maybe he was already swallowing you. piece by piece. moment by moment.

and maybe you didn’t even notice.

ben turned toward his bedside locker, moving with a calmness that betrayed the storm inside him. his hands, rough and deliberate, fumbled just slightly as he tugged the drawer open and reached beneath a clutter of barely concealed items. a tin rattled faintly as he pulled it free, his movements revealing a quick flash of glossy porno mags and a half-used tube of KY jelly. he didn’t flinch at the sight; shame wasn’t something he had much room for these days. instead, his fingers found the prize he was looking for—a small plastic bag filled with neatly rolled joints, their pale paper taut and waiting.

the tin hit the desk with a soft thud, and ben’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a grimace as he turned back to you. the dim dorm light caught the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but his voice came out smooth, easy, coaxing. “you should relax,” he said, rolling a joint between his fingers as though it were the most casual thing in the world. his green eyes flicked over you, your expression caught somewhere between curious and wary. “we’ve been at this all week.”

it sounded reasonable enough, like he cared about the tension in your shoulders, the furrow of your brow, the way you kept pushing yourself harder and harder. but it wasn’t reason that fueled him—it was desperation. he wanted to see you like this, to be the one who unraveled you. the idea of you finding comfort, your edges softening under the haze of weed, made his pulse quicken in a way that felt dangerous, electric.

he thought about it as he pulled a lighter from his pocket, the small metallic click breaking the thick silence between you. the flame danced for a moment before he brought it to the end of the joint, inhaling deeply, the embers flaring bright red. he let the smoke roll out slow, curling upward in tendrils that hung heavy in the air between you.

ben could almost feel it already—the way the weed would soften your movements, blur your sharp edges, make you pliant and lightheaded. the image lodged itself in his brain, searing there like a brand. he didn’t just want you to relax; he wanted you to sink into his orbit, to feel like the world outside his dorm didn’t exist anymore. he wanted you in the palm of his hand, trusting him with that quiet, unspoken vulnerability.

he held the joint out toward you, fingers brushing yours as you took it, and he didn’t miss the way the slight contact sent something sparking through his veins. you hesitated for a moment, your lips parting like you were about to protest, but instead, you leaned in, bringing the joint to your mouth.

ben watched, captivated, as your lips curled around the paper, as you inhaled slow, tentative. he wondered if you could feel him watching you, if you knew the way your every move seemed to carve into him, marking him deeper and deeper.

he leaned back against the edge of the bed, feigning nonchalance, though his body felt taut as a bowstring. smoke curled lazily around you, and ben’s voice cut through it, low and coaxing. “better, right?” he said, the words deliberate, his green eyes glinting like embers in the low light. he wanted to keep you here, tethered to him, letting him smooth out your edges until there was nothing left but the two of you and the thick haze of smoke.

and maybe—just maybe—you’d feel it too. that pull, that invisible thread that kept bringing him closer to you, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

ben’s breath hitched as he watched you, utterly transfixed by the way your eyelids fluttered shut while the smoke swirled slow and steady from your lips. you looked at ease in a way he’d never seen before, and the sight carved into him, leaving grooves he didn’t want to smooth over. when you handed the joint back to him, the faint dampness of the paper and filter from your saliva caught his attention like a beacon. it wasn’t just a joint anymore—it was touched by you, part of you lingering there. that tiny, fleeting connection left his pulse skittering wildly beneath his skin, though he’d never admit it.

“would you believe me if i said this was my first time?” you asked, your voice light, tinged with nervousness but carrying that easy charm that made ben feel like you’d handed him a piece of yourself. he took the joint from your fingers with a nonchalant shrug, though his heart thundered like a war drum beneath the surface.

“yeah,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he brought the joint to his mouth. the ember flared red as he inhaled, using the moment to steady himself. “i don’t doubt that for a second.” he exhaled slow, the smoke curling between you, a fragile wall of haze that couldn’t stop the pull he felt toward you. as the words left his mouth, ben forced a smile, throwing it your way in what he hoped passed as charming. but his smile faltered slightly when he caught the way your cheeks flushed, a soft bloom of red spreading over your skin.

god, red looked so good on you.

it wasn’t just the color—it was the way it transformed you, made you seem more tangible, more real. the heat rising in your cheeks told him he’d affected you, that his words, his smile, had reached you in some small, undeniable way. it was addictive, watching your reaction, seeing how you twisted under the weight of his gaze without even realizing it.

ben’s grip tightened on the joint, his thumb running over the paper as he took another hit, letting the sharp burn fill his lungs. he needed the edge of it, the distraction, because the truth was threatening to claw its way out of him. the truth that he wanted more than this. more than just mondays, more than stolen moments of proximity. He wanted to press closer, to watch the way that blush deepened when he was too near, to feel your breath against his skin as you stumbled through words you didn’t yet know how to say.

“you’re a natural, though,” he said, his voice a little rougher now, smoke coiling in his throat. “could’ve fooled me.”

it was a lie, of course, but he said it anyway, watching as your lips twitched into a small, bashful smile. and he wondered—did you know what you were doing to him? did you know that with every glance, every word, every touch of your fingers against his when you passed the joint back, you were branding him, marking him as yours?

"yeah, whatever, man," you mutter, the words slipping out on a breath of smoke, your tone carrying that threadbare edge of disinterest. disbelieving. coy. ben’s ears latch onto the inflection like a predator catching the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. coy he can work with. coy feeds his craving in a way that’s both maddening and exhilarating, like the sharp burn of whiskey sliding down a raw throat.

coy is fragile. it’s the flickering light of a candle before the flame gutters out. it’s a wounded fawn—big, trembling eyes and wobbling legs—abandoned in an open meadow where every shadow hides teeth. vulnerability wrapped in a thin veneer of bravado. It invites, dares, the predator to inch closer, closer, until there’s nothing but a gasp between them. you, he realizes, are his own personal Bambi. and he, the beast in the long grass, stalking, waiting, savoring the taste of the moment before the pounce.

“no, really,” ben murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, taking on a warmth that shouldn’t be there, a softness that belies the feral pull beneath his skin. he watches you carefully, the way your lips curve slightly around the filter of the joint, how your lashes cast soft shadows against your cheekbones in the dim light of the dorm.

something inside him sparks, an idea crawling up from the depths of that writhing, unnamed thing he keeps locked in his chest. before he can think twice, he’s moving. “here, let me.”

the joint burns between his fingers as ben takes a deliberate, slow drag, holding the smoke deep in his lungs until it stings. and then, before you can react, his hand comes up, warm and sure, and it cradles your jaw like he’s done it a hundred times before. his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, just barely, but it leaves a trail of heat that lingers, sets your pulse stuttering in your throat.

you blink, caught off guard but not pulling away, and that’s all the invitation he needs. ben leans in, the space between you vanishing in an instant, his breath warm against your lips as he exhales the smoke directly into your mouth. it’s intimate in a way that feels invasive, his lips hovering a whisper away from yours. the smoke curls between you, sliding over your tongue, into your lungs, leaving its bitter trail in its wake.

your eyes widen, and ben feels the way your breath catches, just barely, but enough. enough to tell him you’re unsteady, uncertain, caught in the moment like a fly in a spider’s web. your vulnerability is intoxicating, your wide-eyed stare a silent surrender.

his lips barely graze yours, not enough to call it a kiss, but enough to blur the line between audacity and desire. his grip on your chin tightens ever so slightly, grounding you, tethering you to him in this suspended moment.

the seconds stretch thin before he finally pulls back, his eyes dark, hooded, like he’s barely holding himself together. “see?” ben’s voice is rough now, a low rasp that scrapes at the edges of silence. “easy.”

ben doesn’t get the chance to say anything—doesn’t even get the time to process the swirl of thoughts clawing at his mind—because your lips crash against his. the force of it sends him sprawling back into the pillows, his head hitting the worn fabric with a muffled thud.

oh.

oh, this is something he can work with. this is something he’s dreamed of, imagined in fragments during sleepless nights when the thought of you wouldn’t leave him alone. but this—this is better.

this is you. raw. over him. devouring him like he’s something worth breaking.

ben’s always been a master manipulator, a professional at weaponizing sexuality, at using it to tilt the odds in his favor. it’s a game to him—one he always wins. and now? now he has you, ravenous and unrestrained, a perfect storm pressing him into the mattress. he knows how this should go: make you pliable, make you vulnerable, use your hunger to turn the tides in his favor. but the second your lips meet his, it’s like the script is ripped out of his hands, and all he can do is follow where you lead.

and god, are you leading.

you don’t taste like he expected. ben thought you’d taste bitter, sharp, like the sting of smoke lingering on the back of his tongue. but instead, there’s something sweeter, softer beneath the haze of weed—something that feels like a reward he hasn’t earned. the thought sends a shiver through him, his hands gripping at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the world.

you’re relentless, teeth dragging across his bottom lip, tugging with a force that’s just shy of painful. a sharp gasp escapes him, swallowed by the heat of your mouth. you’re moving now, climbing on top of him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. your weight settles over him, and he’s distantly aware of how you’ve slotted yourself perfectly between his legs, forcing them open, pinning him in place with nothing but your body.

the desperation in your movements is a mirror of his own—hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer, deeper, harder. until he wonders if you mean to tear him open and climb inside. it’s messy and frantic, all teeth and tongues and muffled moans, the kind of kiss that’s more a battle than an embrace. but ben loves it. He loves the way your hands roam across him like you’re mapping him out, pressing against his thigh, his waist, his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

your fingers find his throat, wrapping around it with a precision that makes his breath catch. it’s not enough to choke him, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold him still, to remind him who’s in control. and that—oh, that sends a spark of something electric racing through him, pooling low in his stomach. his neck has always been a weak spot, something he’s never fully admitted, and the way your grip steadies him, grounds him—it’s almost too much. it feels like you’ve reached inside his chest and curled your fingers around his ribs, cracking them apart to get at the soft, beating thing underneath.

a small, breathy whimper escapes him before he can stop it, barely audible but undeniably there. it’s embarrassing, humiliating, but he can’t bring himself to care when your mouth is on his again, swallowing the sound like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his hands find your back, sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press against the bare skin beneath, feeling the way your muscles shift and tense under his touch.

ben’s lips part, his tongue sliding against yours in a move that’s both practiced and desperate. you both moan at the contact, the sound muffled but unmistakable, a shared release of tension that only feeds the frenzy between you. his heart thrums in his ears, loud and insistent, and he can’t help but think of prey animals in their final moments, blood pounding as the predator’s jaws close in.

“if i’d known you’d like shotgunning this much,” ben pants against your lips, his voice rough and uneven, “i would’ve done it sooner.”

the words are punctuated by a low groan as you press into him harder, your hands fisting in his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. the scent of you—smoke and sweat and something uniquely yours—fills his senses, drowning out everything else. it’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and ben can feel himself unraveling beneath you, his carefully constructed facade slipping away piece by piece.

your lips travel from ben’s mouth to his jaw, teeth sinking into the flesh like you mean to strip it away, gnaw it clean from the bone. it’s violent, carnal, the sound of your bite wet and obscene, and ben feels the sharp pressure like a knife slipping under his skin. he’s powerless to stop the groan that escapes him, low and guttural, as your hand clamps down on his jaw, your fingers digging into the hinge with a precision that feels surgical, deliberate, inhuman. he’s the mangy dog under your heel, and the dull ache of your grip feels like worship.

his green eyes squeeze shut, his breath hitching as the pain shifts to something addictive, something alive. every nerve in his body sparks to life beneath your touch, the sensation of your nails scraping against his flesh leaving a trail of fire in their wake. his blood sings for you, a desperate hymn to the beast in you that has claimed him for its feast.

“and i think you don’t hate me as much as you pretend,” you growl against his throat, the words coming out like gravel churned in a rusted, grinding machine.

ben laughs, the sound ragged, hollow. “i think you’re full of shit,” he manages, but the way his head tilts to bare his neck betrays him. your hands are satin-soft as they explore him, but the sharpness of your intent is anything but. ben’s hands, by contrast, are rough, leather-worn, and scarred—hands made for tearing, clawing, and surviving. yet here, under you, they’re useless, twitching at his sides as if unsure where to land, as if afraid to touch the thing consuming him.

your hips grind against him, deliberate and cruel, and he feels every drag like it’s carving him open, splitting him down the middle. the pressure is maddening, a firestorm radiating from every point of contact. “oh, fuck,” he breathes, the words barely more than a rasp. his head falls back, exposing more of his throat to your hungry mouth, his body betraying him further with every grind of your hips.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands grab at his shirt, tugging with a force that feels like you’d tear it clean off him if it wouldn’t come loose fast enough. “take this fucking thing off.”

ben’s too far gone to resist, his laugh airy and broken as his fingers fumble to obey. “mm, yes, sir,” he teases, the words forced through a grin that barely holds together. he doesn’t miss the flash of something dangerous behind your irises—a flicker of control you’re savoring like a wolf tasting the first blood on its tongue.

ben’s known guys like you. guys who’ve been crushed, splintered into jagged pieces by the weight of the world. broken little boys fumbling to piece themselves back together but too desperate, too fucking hungry for control to do anything but burn. and ben? ben’s always been the kindling, the spark, the gasoline-soaked rag ready to go up in flames for someone like you.

your hands work with fervor, helping him strip the shirt off his body. it’s discarded to the ground like the wrappings of a fruit too ripe to resist, and your fingers trace the lines of his chest. your fingernails rake across his chest, leaving pale, raw lines in the tan expanse of his skin. they sting, those scratches, like ghost wounds from some darker thing, as though you’ve marked him for death. ben doesn’t care. he wants to wear your marks, wants to let them fester, to let a part of you be with him.

your mouth crashes against his again, desperate and sloppy, all teeth and tongues. he can taste the bitterness of smoke still clinging to you, mingling with the salt of his own blood where your teeth have nicked his lip. the metallic tang hits his tongue like a blade, and he moans into your mouth, a sound thick with surrender.

as one hand pops the button of his pants and slips beneath the waistband, the other wraps around his neck, digging into his flesh like it’s meat you intend to rip apart. your lips travel down his throat, sucking, biting, leaving bruises that bloom like rot beneath his skin. you pull back long enough to mutter against his neck, “i’m guessing you’ve done this before.”

ben can barely suppresses an eye roll. don’t get respectful on me now. he doesn’t need your reverence, your curiosity. he needs you to keep consuming him. he nods, the motion jerky and strained. “obviously.”

he reaches for your belt, his fingers trembling as they tug the leather free from its loops. he’s rushing now, frantic to get it off, his hands moving like they belong to someone else. “condoms. lube. drawer,” he rasps, the words cracking as they leave his throat. his hands are shaking, distracted by the way your teeth drag over his collarbone, the way you bite down hard enough that he thinks he can feel the crack of bone beneath the surface.

your hand fumbles blindly through the chaos of his locker, searching for the stash he swore was there—a condom, lube, anything to keep the fire between you burning. your fingers brush over cold metal, loose papers, the faint grit of something unidentifiable, but the haze in your brain and the heat building in your gut make the task feel impossible.

behind you, ben curses under his breath, the sound more growl than word as he wriggles out of his jeans. the fabric catches on his knees, and he fights with it, hips lifting off the mattress as he struggles to free himself. there’s something almost pitiful about the way he moves, so desperate and clumsy in his rush to shed the last barriers between him and you.

you’re so focused on your task—so consumed by the feverish need to keep this moment alive—that you don’t hear the door at first. the creak of the hinges barely registers, a ghost of a sound swallowed by the pounding in your ears. but then:

“ben?!”

the voice slams into the room like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile intimacy you’d built. it’s loud, sharp, cutting through the thick fog of arousal like a jagged blade.

your hand freezes mid-rummage. ben freezes too, mid-push, his jeans tangled around his thighs in a way that makes him look utterly ridiculous. ben groans—a guttural, agonized sound that’s halfway between a growl and a plea for mercy. “oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, his head falling back against the pillow. his voice is muffled, but the irritation in it is clear, as palpable as the sweat clinging to his chest.

the voice called again, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob jiggling. “ben, you in there?”

ben’s brain scrambled for a plan, any plan, but his thoughts were a tangled mess, caught between the ache of his body and the dread clawing its way up his spine. of course it had to be now. of course his teammates couldn’t pick a better time to come barging into his dorm, not when he was like this—half-naked, flushed, with you practically draped over him like some pagan offering.

he looked down at himself—his jeans bunched awkwardly around his knees, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, his boxers doing a piss-poor job of hiding just how far this had gone. the situation was bad. no, worse than bad—it was catastrophic.

“shit,” ben whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp as he reached for his jeans, yanking them up in a hurried, graceless motion. the denim stuck to his skin, damp with sweat and urgency, and he cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the zipper.

you didn’t move at first, still hovering over him like a statue caught mid-motion, your eyes wide and dark with something that wasn’t fear—but something close to it. “do we answer?” you whispered, your voice low and hoarse, and ben almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.

“yeah, sure,” he muttered sarcastically, his hands fumbling at his belt. “let’s just invite them in, have a nice little chat while i’ve got a fucking hard-on.”

the knock came again, sharper this time, more insistent. “ben, come on, man! open up!”

they wouldn’t leave. ben knew they wouldn’t. his teammates were persistent, nosy bastards who treated each other’s business like communal property. if they thought something was up, they’d dig until they unearthed it, and ben couldn’t let them. because if they saw you here—if they saw him like this, disheveled and flushed and exposed—it wouldn’t just be teasing. it would be annihilation. they’d tear him apart, not in private, but where it hurt most: the locker room, the field, the hallways. his every movement would be shadowed by whispers and pointed laughter. they’d know.

they’d know he wasn’t like them, wasn’t the ben they thought they knew—the one who made dirty jokes and leered at teachers and bragged about conquests that never existed. they’d know he was a fraud.

ben shoved at you lightly, a signal to get off him, to move, to do something, but the moment his hands touched your sides, you didn’t budge. if anything, you leaned in closer, your lips quirking into that infuriating small smile.

“oh, this is funny to you?” he spat, his voice a harsh whisper, trembling with frustration and fear.

your lips twitched, the corner of your mouth curling into a grin you couldn’t quite suppress. “it’s a little funny,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

ben rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in exasperation as he stumbled off the bed. his jeans still weren’t properly fastened, and he could feel the waistband slipping down with every step. he grabbed a discarded hoodie from the floor and threw it over his head, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slick skin as he stalked toward the door. he needed to look normal. casual. like he wasn’t all over you, like you weren’t tearing him apart.

before opening the door, he turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mix of desperation and warning. “not a word,” he hissed, the words as sharp as a blade pressed to your throat.

ben took a deep breath, his face schooled into a mask of nonchalance, as he yanked the door open. his teammates stood there, grinning like idiots, and ben felt a fresh wave of dread wash over him.

“what the hell took you so long?” one of them asked, stepping forward as if he had any right to barge in.

“busy,” ben grunted, leaning against the doorframe to block their view of the room. he prayed they couldn’t see you through the narrow crack, prayed they wouldn’t notice the flush on his cheeks or the faint bruises forming on his neck.

“busy with what?”

“homework,” ben said, deadpan, and the lie was so ridiculous that even he almost believed it.

#eepwtf’s works ! ( •)▄︻テحكـ━一💥#soldier boy x male reader #x male reader #the boys #wrote this while half asleep #also listening to she by tyler the creator i think it might’ve been a little inspired #soldier boy x reader #the boys tv #also i made this for me but if you like it you’re an angel #gay yearning #soldier boy #18+ mdni #top x bottom #cannibalism used as imagery #the boys smut

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mythicmanuscripts · 2 days ago

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Hey 🙋‍♀️,

First of all I LOVE your writing! It feels so wholesome. It's great. So I thought I could leave my two cents here maybe.

So the idea is Aegon is very happy, that his partner accepts him beeing a sub and that he loves their softdom side and he starts to build a healthier lifestyle all together. But Aegon thinks he has to brat to keep things interessting for his partner, even though he wants nothing more than beeing praised and be called a good boy. And maybe he had a bad day and breaks down and tells his partner, that he can't brat for them today and they are confused, becaus they never expected him to do it in the first place, just thought he was into it.

And then he notices, that his partner is not his mother. They will praise him, just because he tries and does not expect him to be perfect or anything and he really realises just how safe the safe space with them really is.

I just wanne cuddle the puppy and call him good boy. I'll be honest.

Again I love your writing. So do with that what you want, or dont, if this is not your cup of tea. Thats fine.

I'm happy you're back. Lots of Love. 🥰

Oh good lord I love this.

Sub!aegon below the cut with some non-explicit NSFW themes :))

My immediate thought is that I think this most likely stemmed from how in his childhood he learnt that a) he couldn't do anything right and that b) if he acted out then he'd get some attention. He could never seem to get positive attention, could never be good enough for praise. He used to try so hard to meet his mother's expectations and when he never could, she'd just ignore him or give him another task without acknowledging all the work he had done trying to meet her previous expectation.

But... when he misbehaved? Then he'd have both his parents storming into his room. Yes they were telling him off and criticising him, but he didnt invisible. It often felt like if he did something right no one bothered to even glance at him, so he'd rather do something more fun and have everyone working with him, even if they were working to punish him.

When he marries you, he expects you to either see him as a burden or barely see him at all. But you're nothing like that.

The first thing you do that makes him pause is when you actually just ask him about his day? The marriage is arranged of course, but you want to make the best of it. And when you discover how he lights up when you speak with him, and how gently excited he seems when you compliment him, you start to realise that maybe this could be something more than just politics.

Aegon falls into the submissive position so easily with you. There's something about the gentle yet firm way you speak to him that makes his little mind shut off. He relaxes with you, tells you how he feels, even dares to try and please you.

He loves being your good boy, loves seeing your smile and knowing he's making you happy. He'd be with you every second of every day if he could. You're the only person who doesn't make him feel stupid, and not only that, you're also the only person who can guide him without making him feel belittled. When he asks his mother or small counsel for advice they tend to scoff and seem disappointed that he didn't know the answer to his question already. But with you, you just smile and help him, and if you dont know then you take him to the maesters' rooms and try to find out together. He just loves how easy it all is.

At first he used to talk back and disobey to get your attention. But once he realises he gets far more of your time by being good, then he dives right back into being your good boy.

The issues start to occur when he's been good with you for so long that you start to predict what he's doing? You walk into your chambers to find a pretty flower on your nightstand for the third time that week, and while of course you thank him, you add, "Again? Well I'm awfully lucky." You say it off handedly, and you really are touched by the flower he left you. He seems quieter that evening but not so out of character that you get worried.

Then a few days later you're sitting by the fireplace in your chambers, reading a book when he comes in. He kneels at your feet, really wanting to relax and feel your hands playing with his hair. You do it of course, and you tell him how pretty he is. But you also comment that you should get a thicker carpet if he's going to be kneeling often for the sake of his knees.

To him, things like those comments suggest you're getting bored with him? Growing up he always had to switch out tactics the moment someone realised what he was going because once they knew, they'd always just use it against him or ignore him. If he was predictable, then no one would need to actually come find him and watch him because they'd all know what he was doing already.

Of course you don't mean it like that, but he doesn't know that. How could he possibly know that when he's been so used to the other way?

He has always been a bit of a brat with you, but that seemed to fizzle out quickly as he got comfortable. You're surprised when suddenly is returns, and even more surprised when suddenly Aegon is not only breaking his rules but almost gloating?

Aegon isn't allowed to drink more than two cups of wine if you arent with him. It's a rule that at first he didnt like but he grew to genuinely love. It was hard turning down the third glass, but not hard enough that he would break his rules. He'd feel genuinely proud of himself when he sees you afterwards and tells you how good he was.

So when he comes to you and tells you he had five cups of wine, you're honestly much more worried than you are angry. You don't understand what on earth made him break that rule. But, you have the rules for a reason and you follow through. He gets his punishment and then it's over.

He wants so badly to beg for forgiveness and ask for help and promise to never disobey you again. But he's scared that if he does that then you'll once again start to know what he's doing.

He starts to yoyo from good boy to absolute brat every few weeks, and you're getting concerned.

It all comes to a head one night when he retires to bed late and had been told off by several small council members that day. He wants to badly to just fall to his knees and ask for guidance, to let his mind turn off and let you guide him. But he did that two nights ago, and he doesn't think you'd be happy with that again.

So he tries to be cheeky and bratty and tries to talk back to you. Only he can barely even finish his first sentence before tears are gathering in his eyes and he's begging for forgiveness. You're very confused about what he's sorry for but he's in no state to tell you, so you just comfort him and hold him and kiss his head and promise him that you'll help him work out whatever is going on.

It's that last part that makes the damn break. He starts mumbling about how you can't help him work through this because he's not able to do what he's supposed to, how you're going to get bored of him soon but he just couldnt take having to disobey you.

Of course you set him straight and tell him that you love him, and that you'd never want him to force himself into something just to please you, you won't allow it.

He's so relieved when he hears that, so much so that he sort of just collapses against you, looking up at you with wide, misty eyes that show you how much he just wants to listen to you.

He's your good boy after all.

#sub!aegon #aegon targaryen imagine #king aegon #aegon x reader #aegon the second #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd aegon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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pankowcrumbs · 22 hours ago

Text

Complicated ( Lando Norris X reader and Charles Leclerc X reader)

Work count: just over 7K

Plot:

You are Lando's girlfriend but he has cheated on you. When you find out you find yourself at Charles's house and one thing leads to another and you guys end up having sex and then you're all confused because Lando tells you what really happened and you feel horrible for sleeping with Charles. Lando finds out you slept with Charles and you both decide not to stay together and move out but you get pregnant.

PS your name is Maeve i just felt it was easier to have an original character that you can put yourself in the shoes off - let me know any feedback!

It was 1 Am and I was still sat on the couch watching TV and scrolling through Tik tok, Lando was out with the F1 boys Clubbing, It was a boy's night they did this every now and then which I loved, they were such a lovely and supportive group of men and I was glad he got along with them all.

"hmm I guess we should go to bed huh Frankie," I said to our 2-year-old Dachshund and led him to the bedroom he settled into his little bed beside ours and I hopped under the fresh sheets and placed my phone on the nightstand and turned the light off rolling over to fall asleep.

After what felt like about 30 minutes I was still awake just thinking about things I needed to do, I struggled to sleep without Lando which meant whenever he went away if I wasn't able to come I would constantly have trouble sleeping.

I tossed and turned a few times before I decided to just go back on my phone until I felt sleepy.

I was scrolling for a bit when I saw it. I had to sit up and rewatch it a few times and I kept zooming in. It was a tikTok with the caption 'Lando Norris Spotted in a club in Nice Kissing a mystery woman who is not his Girlfriend Maeve Piastri fellow Mclaren Driver Oscar piastri's Twin sister. We will be interested to see if they have recently broken things off as they were spotted together just last week walking their dog Frankie in the streets of Monaco, Updates to follow.

"What the fuck" is all I say in disbelief

I let the video replay and reply in my lap and I try and convince myself that isn't Lando but I know it is I'm not blind.

I immediately call Oscar since he was there and I wait impatiently as it rings and rings. No answer shit.

I text him

Maeve: WTF Oscar where are you all? Did you see it happen? I'm freaking the fuck out here please call me.

I need to speak with you, please

please call me as soon as you can

I'm gonna throw up Im so fucking mad

I wasn't getting a reply but I need to find out more so my next bet is Charles, he was the one I was closest with besides my brother and Lando, he's always been so kind and welcoming.

I dial his number and wait for him to pick up

"Mae, Mon Amour, what's wrong it's so late why aren't you asleep?" he asks

I just burst into tears

"oh my god Mae what's wrong love" he sounds very concerned

"L-L-Lando cheated on me" I finally get out

"WHAT," he says angrily "When?"

"tonight....I saw a video"

"send me the video," he says so I do I forward it to him for him to watch, I wait on the line still sobbing to myself.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," he says

"I can't get ahold of Oscar," I say

"He Left the club hours ago, and so did I, I promise you Maeve if I had been there I would have not let that happen"

"I know" I went silent "I don't want to be here when he gets home"

"I know mon amour I'll come get you. You can sleep in the spare room and in the morning you can talk to Oscar and see what you want to do okay?"

"thank you, Charles"I get out through my tears

"not to worry love I'll be there shortly" he said and hung up.

"come on Frankie, Let's go to Charle's, daddy doesn't deserve to come home to us tonight," I say getting Frankie and taking him to get his collar and lead on.

10 minutes later I heard Charles pull up the driveway and I grabbed the bag and quickly threw stuff in.

when I opened my door I saw him standing there and he opened his arms for me which I graciously accepted

"come on let's get going before he turns up"

we got in the car and started Driving

"I called Daniel and he said they didn't see it happen that he had gone off with a group of girls and they didn't think anything of it they said he just left the club but he didn't tell them if he was coming home or what he was doing" he looked at me nervously.

I looked down and took a small breath "So what you're telling me is that he could have left the club with one of those girls right now and gone back to fuck her" I bit my lip as to tremble trying not to cry again and moved my head to face out the window.

"I'm so sorry Maeve I promise we will fucking kill him when we see him next"

"Oscar is going to kill him," I said still looking out the window. "you know" I paused for a second, " Oscar told me to not get involved, he told me what he was like and I went ahead and did it anyway, I thought he would be different with me I guess I was just another name on his list"

"Maeve" Charles says slowly.

"No it's okay I've seen his true colours now, I should have known better is all"

my sadness was turning into anger and resentment.

When we got to Charles I put my stuff in the Spare room and Charles offered me a wine, which I accepted.

I turned my phone off knowing I didn't want to speak to Lando when he got home and noticed I wasn't there

we sat and talked on the couch for a bit trying to avoid the topic of what had happened that night so I wouldn't cry again.

A few drinks later I was getting a bit drunk, I knew I wouldn't get to sleep tonight with my adrenaline I had passed the point of tired, Charles was good at distracting me which I was thankful for.

We ended up playing some silly card games and were honestly beyond drunk by 5:40 Am when the sun was rising.

"Charles look" I got up and walked to the balcony overlooking the Beautiful sunrise and the city of Monaco was breathtaking

he came to join me on the balcony where we watched the sunrise silently. "Maeve" Charles broke the silence I turned my head to face him and realised how close he was I looked into his eyes and then down to his lips and back up again he did the same. the tension was thick or maybe it was just because of how much we had to drink

"Can I?" he said in a low voice and I nodded

I knew I probably shouldn't but with everything that had happened tonight I knew Lando had done worse.

It started off slow and then became needy and sloppy he grabbed my waist and pulled me close to him.

"hop up" he tapped my butt and I jumped wrapping my legs around his waist and he walked us back inside and to his bed.

He placed me down on the bed and then pulled his top over his head and then gone were his shorts leaving him in his boxers.

I also took off my Pajama top and bottoms leaving my breast bare and just a pair of Knickers on

his eyes went wide as he saw me on the bed "well Fuck, Lando is a fucking idiot"

"Shhh don't mention his name," I said back "Come here," I said and he did

he crawled on top of me and began kissing again, he slowly made his way down my neck to my chest and over my breasts. He focused on one breast at a time the other in his hand making me moan a little.

"Charles please." I said very needy for him down lower

he smirked and looked up and me as he kissed his way down further and hovered over my heat with my leg wide open. I could feel his hot breath over my Clit

"Charles omg please do something" he giggled and pulled them aside and attached his lips to my core using his tongue to pleasure me sucking on my clit and then he added two fingers.

He kept at it and I must admit he was very good at this. I was getting closer and starting to clench. He pulled away making me whimper and he came back up to my lips kissing me again and letting me taste myself.

He pulled down his boxers and lined himself up at my entrance and pushed in after looking me in the eyes for confirmation.

"Fuck" I said

"Oh Mon Dieu" he said and then he started speaking French under his breath

he kept thrusting in and out and we were getting sweaty and our kissing got messier and he started kissing my neck again

"I'm going to cum" he said

"me too," I said back, truth be told I normally never came by penetration with Lando he usually had to use his fingers on my clit rubbing it while he fucked me for me to cum so this was a new experience for me.

He came first and it wasn't too long after we came down from our high and he rolled off me.

"I'll be back" I said and excused myself to the bathroom.

When I came back he followed suit,

We both lay in his bed under his sheets and the sun was flowing through the windows

my eyelids were getting heavy and I let them fall closing my eyes and falling asleep.

I'm not sure how long I was asleep when I was woken by a phone ringing over and over,

"Omg can you please shut that thing up," I said out loud

I heard a grumble next to me and then someone got up out of bed and answered the phone

"Sault" I heard a familiar voice.

My head was pounding and everything was so goddamn loud so it was hard to pinpoint who it was.

I groaned and put the pillow over my head.

"No she doesn't want to speak with him," the voice said "I don't know if that's the best idea she's asleep currently and it took her forever to fall asleep last night, what if I get her to call you later when she's awake and ready?" he paused before he continued "Okay thank you Oscar" and then he hung up I opened my eyes at the mention of my brother when I saw the room around me I started to remember what happened last night.

"omg my head hurts so much" I said turning around to see Charles standing next to the bed Naked "omg Cover yourself up Charles" I yelled covering my eyes with my hand.

"Wow rude." he laughed "I'm going to have a shower you can have one when I'm done"

I ran through what happened last night and how I ended up in bed with Charles Naked.

I rubbed my eyes and thought what the fuck have I done. I got up after Charles came back and had a nice hot shower which was much needed.

Once I was dressed I got my phone and turned it back on and saw the notifications flood in from everyone the most were from Lando and Oscar but I saw ones from my parents and siblings who heard the news too.

"I better call Oscar" I said to Charles who was now in the kitchen making coffee

"No worries" he said

I pressed his contact and didn't wait long for him to answer.

"Mae are you okay?" he answers

I took a deep breath "Not really."

"I'm so sorry Mae if I hadn't left early I would have been with him and this would have never happened"

"Don't do that it's not your fault he made a decision that's all him, if he had been stopped last night he just would have done it somewhere else. OMG do you think this isn't the first time he's done this"

"I fucking hope this is the first time I'm seriously going to give him an earful believe me and if Mclaren would let me I would probs make him crash next race"

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you"

"I know Mae it's okay I really thought he had changed for you"

"Me too."

"Do you want me to go over there and speak to him? He has been calling me all morning."

"No that's okay I'll send him a text so he can at least know I'm ok not that he deserves that."

"Okay call me later when you're ready I'll come pick you up."

"Okay, thanks Oscar love you."

"Love you to Mae."

The call ended and I decided to text Lando.

Maeve: I'm at a friend's house. I don't want to speak with you I just wanted to let you know I'm okay and that I know. Please respect that I need space

Lando: Mae I Promise I didn't do anything please just hear me out It's not at all what it looked like I didn't kiss her

Maeve: Really? what's this then

https://www.tiktok.com/@Newslive_Now/video/72729282397449936953602 (not a real link)

Lando: Maeve seriously I know how it looks I promise it wasn't like that at all please let me explain to you in person where are you?

Maeve: nothing can change what happened Lando i can see it with my own eyes you can't argue with that.

He didn't reply thankfully.

I walked over to Charles and he handed me a cup of coffee Frankie was at my feet licking up some food Charles had given him.

"How did that go?" he asked

"Lando messaged me saying it was how it looked but what a load of shit you can't argue with that video."

"it definitely is hard to argue when it's caught on video. Want some Breakfast" he offered

"Yes please I'm starving, it was an exhausting night." I said and then realised we hadn't addressed what happened last night "Um Charles we really should talk about what happened last night"

he sighed and stopped what he was doing and turned around to face "Look Mae, Im not going to sit here and pretend I didn't enjoy what happened last night, or that I haven't liked you more than a friend for a while now but we overstepped a boundary last night I know we were drunk and you were vulnerable and I apologise if you feel I took advantage of you."

"Oh wow thank you for being so mature Charles." I sent him a small smile.

"I do really like you Mae but I know you are not in the right place right now to even explore if there is something between us so I just want you to know I am not going to cross that boundary again unless you want me to."

"Thank you Charles" I said as he went back to cooking breakfast

it honestly wasn't a shock he liked me as I said he was the one who was the closest to me part from my brother and Lando and I had a small suspicion he liked me but thankfully never acted on it until last night.

Charles passed me my plate of food when there was an aggressive knock on the door that startled us both.

I removed my gaze from the door and looked at Charles knowing who it was

"Do you want me to go kick him out?"

"I'll deal with it," I said getting up and walking to the door.

I opened it and saw Lando honestly looking shit like he hadn't slept all night.

I closed the for behind me and pulled him away from the door slightly

"what the fuck are you doing here?" I asked looking around the street to make sure no one was around.

"Daniel told me you were here I had to come and speak to you please Mae just give me 5 minutes to explain."

"Fine 5 minutes talk fast" I sighed rolling my eyes.

"Okay so I was there and this group of ladies came up to me telling me it was their friend's hen party and that her Fiance was a huge fan of mine and that he would be so jealous if she had a photo with me so I went over with them the bride was so drunk and while we were posing she kissed me, I pushed her off as soon as I could and nothing else happened that's all Mae I didn't even kiss her back and I left straight away the only reason I wasn't home quicker was I had to wait for an uber and they kept cancelling on me, I promise you, baby, I would never cheat on you ever I love you way too much"

I bit my lip and looked away from him. Fuck what the fuck have I done.

"Mae baby say something."

"I just need a moment to think" I covered my face with my hands and started to swear "Fuck fuck fuck shit omg" I paused and pulled my hands down and looked at Lando looking so exhausted and shit and here I was fucked by his co-worker and friend last night...I'm the cheater, not him.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," I said feeling so guilty I could be sick

"What's wrong? What did you do fuck Charles" he joked a smile on his face laughing off what he said

I closed my eyes and covered my face again with one hand and softly shook my head

"Oh my fucking god did you Maeve?" he said shocked I didn't answer

"Answer the fucking question Maeve" he was stern now

"It wasn't like that" was all I could get out

"Jesus Christ I can't fucking believe you my side of the bed was cold for 5 seconds and you went and fuck my friend, you didn't even ask me what happened before you went and fucked him" he shouted.

"I was drunk and in an emotional state I wasn't thinking I thought you had gone home with that woman"

"But you never fucking asked me Maeve I would never do that to you, but you would" he was crying now and my eyes were getting teary.

" you know what have a nice fucking life Maeve you and Charles deserve each other," he said and walked up the driveway out of the property to his car.

'Fuck me" I said wiping my tears that wouldn't stop falling from my eyes.

I stood out there for about 10 minutes trying to compose myself before I walked back in to Charles.

When I went back in he saw me crying and came to hug me "What happened."

"He didn't cheat but I did" I cry more into his shoulder

"What do you mean he didn't cheat?" he asked shocked

"She kissed him and he pushed her off and then he left and I'm such a fucking idiot, I told him what happened last night and now he's gone and honestly I deserve it I fucking cheated on him I'm worse than he is" I was a blubbering mess.

Oscar came and picked me and Frankie up later that day and took me to his.

I didn't want to outstay my welcome so when I knew Lando was out the next day I went back to our house and packed up all the things I would need and dropped Frankie off at home and then Oscar dropped me at the airport, I was going to go home for a bit to London and just take some time to heal I stayed at a hotel for a few weeks not wanting to cause a fuss at my parents.

The media was in a frenzy it was all over the news and all F1 media, Lando got a stern talking to from Mclaren Oscar told me and I heard from Daniel that Oscar also gave Lando quite a talking to even after knowing the truth of what happened he still was mad at Lando for the kiss happening in the first place. Lando had to release a statement on what happened.

Charles hadn't reached out giving me my space and I was glad that i couldn't think about it or I would feel sick to my stomach with what happened. Apparently, Lando went over to Charles and they had a fight that ended with Lando punching Charles.

Lando hadn't spoken to me but had organised with Oscar for all my stuff to be moved out.

He told Oscar he was mad at me for what happened but didn't blame me he told him he blamed Charles for taking advantage of me in the state I was in and getting me drunk while I was already in a vulnerable state and Charles told Lando about how he felt about me and that's when he punched him saying he probably made me think bad of Lando so Charles could get in my pants a swoop in.

I felt sorry for Charles, as much as yes he did take advantage of the situation he had apologised and backed off and was mature about it I didn't think there was any ill intention.

4 weeks after staying at the hotel I decided I needed to get myself an apartment so I went flat hunting and found a small one-bedroom in Belgravia and signed the lease. I was ready to start fresh away from Monaco.

2 months in my new flat and I was out at the supermarket and went down the toiletries section. I was glancing at the shelves when I saw the Pads and Tampons and I realised I hadn't had my period in two months.

God I was a fucking idiot I put a pregnancy test in my trolley (shopping Cart for all the Americans)

When I got home and had packed away my shopping I took the test. I waited the 3 minutes anxiously.

My phone timer went off and I flipped over the test and saw the 2 pink lines. Well fuck.

Who's the fucking Father.... Charles or Lando? both of them I had unprotected sex with around the same time.

I have no idea what I do next.

I decide to call my brother cause he was the one person I was closest to, Being twins we shared everything.

It rings a few times before he answers.

"hey Mae, what's up?"

"Oscar I'm going to tell you something and I need you not to freak out"

"well now I'm worried what's wrong?"

"I'm...pregnant"

silence

I can hear him breathing and he lets out a big sigh "Do you know who the father is?"

"No, I mean I slept with them both within a couple of days it could be either"

"Alright what are we going to do?"

"No Oscar not we. I need to be a big girl and do this myself."

"Mae seriously what are you going to do, turn up to their house and tell them to give you their DNA? Can you even find out this early?"

"Yeah you can, I don't know do you think there is a better way to do this? I've never exactly plan for this to happen."

"I know Mae I'm sorry it sucks this has all happened you gonna fly out here then?" he asked I could hear the pity in his voice.

"I guess I'm gonna book a doctor's appointment first to get all checked out and then I'll come I'll text you when I get an appointment."

"Okay Mae, hey whatever happens you know you have us all and we will support you"

"I know thanks Osc, love you."

"Love you too Mae."

time to book an appointment

I got an appointment for the following Monday and it was all I could think about what was I going to say to them both?

I laid down on the table and the technician pulled my top up

"This might be a bit cold.," she said and squirted the gel onto my stomach area

I take a breath and look up at the monitor on the wall and that's when I see them. My beautiful baby my heart just melts that's a little me in there.

"There they are not a shy little one they are looking at about 3 months is that about right?"

"Yeah 3 months."

"And you had no symptoms?"

"Um I mean none that I attributed to this I was a little sick I thought I just had food poisoning but it went and I mean I have been out of breath and a bit fatigued but again I didn't think I was pregnant I just moved back to London so I just thought it was because of that"

"Okay well that's okay not everyone gets all the typical symptoms, and bubs seems to be healthy so just make sure to take it easy from now on, we will do another scan at week 18 but we can book a check-up if you want in between just to get your blood test done and any tests you may want to do, and I see on your form you noted you would like to do a DNA test will you be bringing in the potential father or just a sample?"

"Um can I do that just get a sample?"

"Yeah it's just a cheek swab so if you want to get him to complete it and then send it off to the lab for testing we can take a blood test sample today so we have that on record"

"He's in Monaco do I have to get him to fly to London or can I bring the swab back?"

"He can take it in Monaco and then you can mail it I can give you a parcel for it"

"Thank you," I said and looked back up at the little baby on the screen

"Would you like to know the gender or are you wanting to wait?"

"Are you able to write it down for me so when I'm ready I can know?"

"No worries" she goes to write it down and then when she comes back she goes to take some blood and completes some health tests on me.

Walking out I look at the photographs from the sonographers and took a picture to send to Oscar. I hadn't told the rest of the family yet only because I wanted to know who the father was first.

I went home and packed for my short trip back to Monaco and spoke with Oscar and his girlfriend Lily while I packed and spoke about the appt.

"Who are you going to ask to do the DNA test?" Lily asked

" I was thinking Charles only because why bother Lando who clearly wants nothing to do with me unless it is his baby and I don't want to bring up everything that has happened unless I need go"

"Good thinking, Lando's has been in a real mood ever since best not to annoy him unless needed"

"Have you started showing?" Lily asked

"yeah only the last few days I've really started to pop and can see my little belly so who knows how long until I can't hide it anymore, I'll have to tell the family as soon as I know and have discussed a plan"

"Yeah wow this is so reaI i can't believe we're gonna have a niece or nephew" Lily seemed excited and look in any other circumstance iIwould too i love kids and I've always wanted to be a mum but it was so scary to think of the future of me and this baby.

"Alright well we have to go I'll pick you up from the airport in nice tomorrow at 9AM okay?" Oscar said and I nodded

"Thank you love you both bye."

They waved and ended the call.

Once I finished packing my small bag I settled on doing a bit of work on my laptop before bed.

I was so glad to work was so flexible for me, I was a social media manager for a few clients as well as having my own social media make me money with Advertisements and sponsorships.

the next morning I was up early to travel to Heathrow for my flight. Luckily the airport wasn't too busy this morning and I went through quite quickly and waited for my flight.

After the short flight I arrived in Nice and went out to see Oscar waiting for me, He pulled me into a tight hug

"Missed you Mae."

"Naw I always miss you Osc, I don't like not being in the same town anymore" i looked at him sadly.

"You didn't to leave you know, you could have stayed"

"I know I just needed some space and time away to get myself in a good space"

"I know! come on let's go I wanna take you out to breakfast before I talk you to see Charles"

"Okay sounds perfect"

We drove to Monaco which wasn't far from Nice and just chatted about life and the drive there.

He took me to our favourite Cafe.

"So do you know if iI'm having a Neice or a nephew?" he wiggled his eyebrows

I laughed "About that I'm gonna give you something to hold onto and yes you can read it but I swear to god Oscar if you do read it I don't want to know just yet what gender the baby is" I said seriously

"Omg no I can't be trusted with no spilling that secret"

"Give it to Lily then it's so tempting to look but I want to save that for when I know if it's Lando or Charles we find out together"

"Oh god just promise if I do read it and spill the beans you won't yell at me lol"

"No promises" I laugh and sip my juice

After breakfast, he dropped me off to Charles' house who was aware I was dropping by as Oscar asked him if he would be home

I walked down the driveway and knocked on the door

He opened the door.

"Mon Amour I missed you come in" he gave me a small hug and stepped aside to let me in.

"Thanks for seeing me."

"Of course, Oscar said you needed to speak with me, Please sit can I get you a drink?"

"Just a water please" I smiled and sat down on his couch.

"Sure" he smiled and disappeared in the kitchen

when he came back he set the drinks on the table and sat on the couch next to me "How have you been?"

I smiled and let out a small laugh "I've been better but the reason I'm back and sitting here in your living room is that I um..." I paused" Fuck this is a lot harder to say thanIi thought it would be" I took a breath and he placed a hand on my thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's okay take your time" he gave me a nod of encouragement

I took a sip of water and then a deep breath "Im..Pregnant" I watched his eyes go a bit wild and his mouth fell open a small bit

"Oh, and i'ts mine?" he looked at me questioningly

"truthfully I don't know so I need a DNA sample to test with and I didn't think Lando would speak to me "

"Oh Mon amour I'm so sorry you're in this situation its completely my fault I didnt even remember that we didn't use protection to be honest id just assumed even drunk I would have remembered that"

"Yeah I didn't think about it either and Lando and I had been intimate in the same week and he had just pulled out so there's still always a chance it was him. which serves us right for using the pull-out method if it is his"

he sighed "Still I feel guilty for my part in all of this"

"I'm sorry he punched you" I said

"Dont be I deserved it"

"I'm sorry you're now in this position too, if I'd noticed my period was late earlier I could have taken a pill and we wouldn't be in this situation right now"

"Oh Mae I wouldn't have wanted that and you know Lando wouldn't have either"

"Anyway here is the cheek swab and the parcel you can do it and post it whenever you feel like it they already have the babies DNA on file" I said and looked down to my belly and rubbed it and his eyes followed suit

"You know Mae if it's mine, I will love and support you both forever you know that right? I know it may not be exactly how I planned to be a father but my Papa was the greatest man alive and I will strive everyday to be half the man he was for that baby"

I place my hand on my heart "I know Charles, you know he is already so proud of the man you are"

"Thank you Mon Amour, I'll get this test done ASAP and send it for you so you can know"

"Do you want to see a photo?" I asked and he nodded a smile on his face

I reached into my bag and brought out the Photos from the ultrasound.

"Oh wow look at them so small and beautiful like their mama already" he said taking the photo from me and making me smile looking at him.

I spend a few more days with Lily and Oscar in Monaco just hanging out before leavving back for London and thankfully not bumping into anyone else I know and especially not Lando.

2 and a half weeks later it was a normal day I had been out for an appointment for work when I came home and checked my letter box seeing I had 3 letters I took them into my apartment and flicked through them as I took my shoes off, one from the bank, one from the local council and one that didn't say who it was from. I opened that once first as I was curious to see who it was from hoping it was the DNA results.

The letter read:

PATERNITY TEST

Dear Miss Piastri,

We recently received a sample From C. Leclerc to Compare to the sample provided by you regarding the paternity of the unborn Child.

Alleged Father Details

Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc 16 October 1997. HECAASGU_0032

Mother Details: Maeve Elizabeth Piastri 6 April 2001. HECAASGA_0034

Regarding the sampling of the participants please refer to the protocols in copy. We received the originals of the identity confirmations and of the consent statements.

Method:DNA isolation was carried out separately for all samples. Genetic characteristics were determined by the following PCR-single-locus-technology analysis.

Results:

The results of the analysis are shown below:

DNA-System DNA-criteria Charles Leclerc

HID123830_001DNA-criteria Charles Test

HID123830_002AM X, Y X, Y

D3S1358 14, 15 14, 18

D1S1656 16.3, 17.3 16.3, 13.3

D6S1043 11, 17 15, 19

D13S317 9, 12 8, 9

Penta E 10, 16 14, 18

D16S539 12, 15 19, 13

In all analyzed PCR systems, Charles Leclerc does not show the genetic markers which have to be present for the biological father of the child. The biostatistical analysis of the PCR systems was performed according to the method of Essen-Möller. The probability of Mr. Charles Leclerc being the biological father is < 01.9999 %.

Conclusion: Based on our analysis, it is practically proven that Mr. Charles Leclerc is not the biological father of the child.

"oh Shit" I breathed out.

Lando is my only thought. I need to tell him. I'm already 4 months pregnant now he needs to know.

I booked the next flight to Nice which is tonight and quickly packed a small bag and got ready.

I left for the airport and organise a car to pick me up in Nice. when the car arrives at Landos... and my old house it's about 9PM

I thank the driver and walk down to the front door. I take a deep breath before I knock.

I wait patiently as I hear him coming down from upstairs and Frankie barking like mad already down to the door like always. I had a jumper on that was a bit baggy so it isn't as obvious that my bump is there for when he opens the door.

The door swings open and he looks taken aback "You're not my Pizza" he says

"I'm sorry to just show up like this am I able to come in and talk?" I ask

"um.." he hesitates "Sure" he steps aside and lets me in

"I'm sorry this was a last-minute trip I've come straight from the airport and I wouldn't come unless it was important"

he looks at me expecting me to spit it out while I was here

"Right sorry, I'm here because well" I pause for a small second "I'm pregnant and it's yours"

He blinks his eyes a bit and then they get wide looking at me as if I am a fish out of water

"You're what?" he said shocked

"pregnant" I pull up my jumper to show my belly through the tight white top I had underneath

His mouth falls open while he stares at my bump he closes his mouth and sits down on the chair just behind him just staring straight.

a knock at the door goes off and he doesn't move an inch.

I look at him and realise he hasn't even noticed the knock

"I'll get that then" I said slowly and began to walk towards the door and answered it and took the pizza from the delivery man and walked back towards the living room with it and put it down on the table.

he is still sitting where I left him

"you're scaring me Lando" I said and put my hand on his Shoulder

"You're pregnant....and it's mine?"

"yeah I got a DNA Test done" I said and put the letter down and the photo from the sonograph. As it landed on the table it caught his eye and he reached to pick them both up,

"So you thought it was Charles'?"

"I had no idea and I thought it would be easier to ask him to do a DNA test because I didn't think you would speak to me"

He closed his eyes and shook his head a little "So wait how far along are you?"

"4 months"

"4 MONTHS," he said loudly "Holy shit so your'e like almost halfway" he covers his face.

"I'm really sorry Lando, I had no idea I was pregnant until it was too late"

"You now I don't blame you for that night, I was so fucking mad at myself and at Charles and at you I just exploded, but you thought i'd cheated and so you went to Charles for protection and he fucking used you the bastard, you were in such a vunerable state and he was the one who gave you all those drinks and knew he could take advantage of you in a situation like that and he should have known better. I mean your not completely innocent in this all but neither am I and I get it why it happened"

"None of it ever should have happened but it did and I'm sorry that it all happened"

"Dont you apologise, I know you're sorry and I'm sorry we are in this situation, I guess my pull out game isn't as strong as I thought and my Sperm seem to be as fast as Max verstappen " he jokes cracking a small smile.

"Ew" i laugh "So what happens now?"

"I don't know Mae, I mean I always knew it may happen and although it happened in the complete opposite way I imagined, its' still happened so I guess we just do the best we can. Do wanna start as friends and take it slow and find ourselves again and if we're meant to be then we will get there and if not we deal with it as it comes.

I nod almost crying.

"Oh come here you" he says getting up and giving me a hug "You wanna stay for pizza and Frankie cuddles?" I nod into his shoulder.

"I'd like that" I replied.

We sat down and then I remembered 'You better call Oscar and put him out of his misery he knows the gender he hasn't spoken to me in 4 days because he was worried he would spill the secret" I laughed and so did Lando

He pulled out his phone and Facetimed Oscar

"wasssapp" Oscar answers the phone and immediately sees us both in the frame

"OMG OMG OMG RED ALERT MAE I CAN NOT KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT" he panics

I laugh "It's okay Oscar you can tell us"

He burst into a smile and takes a big breath "You're having a little boy" he bites his bottom lip with happiness

I let out a breath and my eyes start tearing up and I turn to Lando "a little boy Lando"I say as he wipes away a few stray tears

"I'm gonna have a little boy to race with" he says and looks over to me in disbelief

"He's gonna be a Piastri Fan I can feel it in my bones and wanna race with Uncle Oscar"

We laugh and have some small talk before he let's us go to work everything out

"you wanna move back in?" Lando asks grabbing a slice of pizza and handing it to me

"I would love that, I've been so lonely" I say honestly

"me too, it's just not the same without you here" he says and Frankie jumps up on the couch and cuddles into me "We've both missed you so much"

#lando #Lando Norris #Lando X reader #Lando Norris X reader #Charles #charles leclerc #Charles x reader #Charles Leclerc X reader #Oscar #oscar piastri #Formula one #F1 #Reader #X reader #Fanfiction #one shot #F1 grid #Y/n

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