#and the white knuckle grip on control of everything around her

[whiskeyswifty]

Idk what else is going on I just need to know if Taylor has seen Tár and what her knee jerk reaction to it was.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

[pastryfication]

Heyy I loved your cochlear implant story! I was hoping you could do something similar where reader has really bad eyesight if she's not got her glasses on? It's a big fear of mine bc I can hardly recognize different faces without my glasses 😊🤞

the thick lenses help you navigate a world that would otherwise be a blur of shapes and colors, and you rely on them more than anything, so you’ve always been very careful with your glasses. that’s why, when you hear the sound of them hitting the floor and that awful crack that follows, your heart sinks.

you stare down at the bathroom floor, but it’s just a hazy blur of light and shadows. the outlines of your broken glasses are barely visible, and the realization that you can’t see them clearly makes your chest tighten with fear. you sink to your knees, fumbling to pick up the pieces, but your hands are shaking so badly that you can’t even grasp them.

“no, no, no…” you whisper, your voice trembling as panic starts to build. you know how dependent you are on your glasses, how lost you feel without them, and now you’re faced with that terrifying reality.

“oscar!” you call out, your voice cracking with desperation. you feel a wave of helplessness crash over you, the room spinning as you struggle to keep your breathing under control.

oscar’s footsteps echo in the hallway, and within seconds, he’s at your side, his expression shifting from concern to alarm when he sees you on the floor, your hands clutching at the broken glasses. “hey, what happened?” he asks, his voice full of worry as he kneels down beside you.

“they broke,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “i don’t have a spare… i can’t… i can’t see anything, oscar.” the words come out in a rush, your panic spiking as you try to explain just how bad it is, how everything around you is just a terrifying blur. “i don’t know what to do. what if something happens, and i can’t—”

oscar cuts you off with a comforting hand on your shoulder, and immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice fighting hard to stay steady and calm, though you can hear the underlying worry. “i’m here. you’re going to be okay. i’ll help you.”

you clutch onto his shirt, your knuckles white with the force of your grip. you’re trying to breathe, but the fear is overwhelming, making it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you can’t see, that you’re completely vulnerable. “i’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just feel so helpless.”

oscar tightens his hold on you, his hand gently stroking your hair in a comforting rhythm. “i know,” he says softly. “but i’m not going to let anything happen to you. we’ll get through this together, okay? we’ll get you new glasses as quickly as possible.”

you nod, but the panic is still there, making your heart race and your thoughts spiral. “but how… how can i do anything without my glasses? i can’t see, i can’t…” your words are choked off by a sob, and you press your face against oscar’s chest, trying to hide how scared you really are. it may be an overreaction, you’re well aware of that, but the thought of being completely dependent on someone else, the thought of not being able to do anything, is making your heart beat faster, feeling like it’s pushing hardly against your rib cage in an attempt to get out.

“hey, it’s alright,” oscar says gently, pulling back just enough to be able to study your expression. “you’re not alone in this. i’m going to guide you through the whole day, and we’re going to take it one step at a time. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ll be your eyes until we get new glasses, okay?”

you nod again, feeling a small flicker of relief at his words, though the fear still lingers. “okay,” you whisper, leaning into his touch as he cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have started to fall.

“let’s start with breakfast,” oscar suggests, his voice gentle as he helps you up from the floor. “i’ll guide you, and we’ll take it slow.”

your grip on his arm is tight as he leads you out of the bathroom, every step feeling uncertain without being able to see anything.

oscar’s presence is a lifeline, his calm, steady voice reassuring you as he carefully guides you through the apartment. “there’s a step here,” he says softly, pausing to make sure you’re steady before continuing. “and here’s the table—i’ve got you.”

he helps you into a chair, then places a plate in front of you, gently guiding your hand to it. “scrambled eggs,” he says with a smile in his voice. “your favorite.”

you manage a small smile, though your hands are still shaking slightly as you reach for the fork. oscar doesn’t leave your side, watching closely to make sure you’re okay, his presence a constant source of comfort.

the rest of the day is a blur of anxiety and dependence, but oscar is there for every moment, helping you navigate the world that has suddenly become so much more daunting. whether it’s walking you around the apartment or helping you find your way to the couch, he’s right there, his hand steady on yours, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your panic.

at one point, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “you’re doing great,” he murmurs into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. “i know it’s scary, but you’re handling it so well.”

“i don’t feel like i’m handling it well,” you admit, your voice small as you cling to him, your fear still simmering just beneath the surface.

“you are,” oscar insists, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “you’re being so strong, and i’m really proud of you. just remember, you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here, always.”

you nod, burying your face in his chest again, taking comfort in his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. you’re still scared, still feeling vulnerable and lost without your glasses, but with oscar holding you, guiding you, you know you’ll make it through the day. he’s your anchor, your calm in the storm, and you know that as long as he’s with you, you’ll always be okay.

[helen-with-an-a]

Again 1 person reblogged asking for this so here u go (@p0orbaby)

Don’t judge me for writing new years stuff in August - when the mood takes u the mood takes u

This won’t be posted until New Year’s Eve btw

THIS IS ME BEING PETTY For anyone who hasn’t employed their critical thinking skills - they are having gay sex (they are using a strap) 😘✌️

Beautiful Girl Sneak Peek (18+)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: It's New Year's Eve and R and Alexia celebrate in the best way

Word Count: 696

TW: Smut

I'm cutting it here because it is literally straight smut from the outside

As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful but with an underlying edge of command. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.

You continued your slow, careful progression, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, and it fuelled your desire to tease her even more. You kept the pace slow, letting her feel the full impact of each movement, each stretch, knowing that the build-up was as much a part of the pleasure as the act itself.

“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. Sometimes… when we’re both away… on camp…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw honesty. “Sometimes ... I take ... I take it with me so I can imagine you're with me.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. The idea of her seeking out that connection with you, even when miles apart, was intoxicating. It was a powerful admission of just how deep her need ran, how much she craved the feeling of you, even in your absence.

“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly as she bared more of herself to you. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, it makes me all happy inside. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She moved her legs to wrap around your waist, urging you to go deeper and faster.

Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness that only heightened your desire to give her exactly what she needed. The image of her carrying that sensation with her, letting it serve as a reminder of you, of everything you could do to her, made you want to stretch out this moment for as long as possible.

“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement designed to push her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You could feel the way she responded to your words, the way her body tightened around you, the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic.

Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand clutching yours while the other fisted at the sheets beneath her, her knuckles white with the intensity of her hold. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.

“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

I would love for ur feedback/opinions

[entitled-fangirl]

His betrothed.

Barty Crouch Jr. x reader

Summary: The youngest Black sibling is getting near courting age. Regulus and Barty have a plan, and Sirius doesn't like it.

Warnings: the Black family literally, cursing, siblings fighting, idk

Author's note: I wrote this while I had a fever, so if it's horrendous, let's not judge :|

Part 2!

Masterlist

....................................................................

"Siri…?"

Sirius turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

Sweet little Y/N Black was standing behind him with a worried look in her eyes.

Being the caring older brother he was, he pushed James slightly, making room for her to sit next to him at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall. She accepted, sitting down gently, her expression never changing.

Remus saw the look as well, and seemed to be just as concerned, "What's going on?"

They weren't the only two marauders concerned. In fact, they all were.

When Sirius' sibling Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius had physically cringed. He couldn't stand seeing his darling little sister go through the Black family's mental and physical abuse due to her house. At that point, away from Walburga's watch, the marauders had taken the girl under their wings. During the summer, she still remained in the Black household at Grimmauld Place with her twin Regulus. But during the school year, she was raised by Sirius.

Hence, where this situation had come from.

James threw an arm around the girl's shoulder, leaning close to her ear, "Whatever it is, you can tell us. That's what we're here for."

She simply stared at the plate in front of Remus across the table.

The four boys stared at each other, worried and unsure of what to do at this point.

Her small voice came out, "Mum is having me go to my first… meeting…. This winter…"

Sirius' hand had a steady grip on his fork, his knuckles turning white. His voice was low. Scarily low, "What."

Remus leaned forward to him, "Pads, control yourself in front of everyone."

Sirius' head lifted to him, "I would, but she's 17 fucking years old. Too young to be staring this… this shit…."

The girl remained unmoving, James' eyes never leaving her, "Y/N…?"

A small sigh came from her lips, "that's not all…"

Sirius looked as if he would explode. "Not…all?"

Peter finally peeped, "Is everything going to be okay?"

She looked up at him, "I'm not sure…"

Sirius rubbed his hands over his face before leaning on the table, "Alright, sweetheart. Tell me."

"Mum is… well… setting up… alliances…"

Sirius knew what that meant. Merlin, he knew what that meant. And he was angry. Beyond angry.

Remus' eyebrows furrowed, "…alliances?"

She nodded, her frame getting smaller as if she was shrinking into herself with every word, "It's…. Well it's when-"

Sirius interrupted, "Mum's marrying her off."

The table went silent, each boy trying to come to terms with what they had heard. 

Finally, Peter spoke up, "to…. To who?"

All of their eyes were on her. Well, almost everyone's eyes.

She shrugged, "Mum hasn't told me yet."

James, who had been staring off past the siblings to a different table, was holding a slight smirk to his face. "I bet I can tell you who it is."

Y/N looked up to him with teary eyes, her emotions finally getting to her, "Who?"

His eyes never left the person, his head moving as if to point in that direction. Sirius and Y/N followed his gaze.

Barty Crouch Jr. sat at the Slytherin table, his eyes flickering up in her direction every few seconds. When he saw the entire table looking in his direction, he quickly looked down at his food, as if forcing himself to not look up at her again until they looked away.

Sirius' voice was practically a growl, "It's. Not. Gonna. Fucking. Happen."

James sighed, "I don't know if you get a choice, Pads."

Remus looked up at Y/N, who was near tears. His hand reached out, grabbing hers from across the table, "Hey. Are you alright little dove?"

That was their name for her. Little dove. She was no animangus. But, hoping to make her feel included, they had given her a name during her 3rd year. And it had stuck ever since.

She shrugged, her bottom lip quivering. "I'm not sure."

He nodded, "That's alright. We'll figure this out… Pads?"

Sirius was in his own world. His eyes flickered around the room at every person, as if anyone could jump out and take her from them. 

When Regulus entered the Great Hall, Sirius immediately jumped up, walking to him. "Regulus…"

Regulus stopped, confused. Sirius never spoke to him unless it had to do with Y/N. "…what."

"I want you to tell me what the fuck Mum is doing to her."

Regulus sighed, "Let's…," his eyes wandered around, "Let's get away from listening ears."

…

"What the hell, Reg?!"

"Hear me out, Sirius!"

"No! You're letting Mum marry her away like a piece of fucking meat-"

"-THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

Sirius went quiet. The only sound in the hall was the occasional student that walked a few corridors over. His voice finally came out calm, "What… what do you mean?"

Regulus sighed, "It's… complicated."

"Yeah, I can fucking tell…"

"Crouch…," Regulus looked like he was ready to get hit by his brother, "he asked."

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed, "Asked for what?"

"Sirius, please. Don't make me spell it out."

"He asked for Y/N?"

Regulus nodded, "He's liked her for the longest time, really. Since I can remember. And when Mum mentioned that she was going to make arrangements for me soon, I panicked knowing she'd be soon after. I told Crouch, and he said he'd happily marry Y/N. And I helped him win Mum's favor." He looked back up at Sirius, "Look. Don't judge me. I'm doing what's best for her."

Sirius scoffed, "'what's best for her'? What's best is getting her away from the hellhole we call our family. They don't fucking deserve her. Marrying her to a fucking death eater, Reg? Not the brightest idea you've had. Merlin…"

Sirius slowly began to walk away until Reg spoke up again, "I thought it through, Siri. Swear to God."

The 7th year stopped, turning around once more, "…how?"

Reggie sighed again, "Crouch… he's… he's only a first generation death eater. There's not many responsibilities he has to hold. He's loyal only to himself and those he deems worthy."

Sirius thinks it over, "And would he be loyal to her?"

Regulus let out a small laugh, "Merlin. He is already."

When Sirius didn't answer, Regulus continued, "He may not be close to his father, but… it gives her options. If they decide to run away, he can protect them. And if she decides just to leave Bartimus, then his father could protect her on his own. Crouch brought it up to Mum as a way to give more connections between the death eaters and the Ministry. But, we both know. It was for her protection."

Sirius was staring to be slightly shocked at his brother's reasoning, "I…. Okay?"

Regulus gave a final statement. "And He'll treat her well, brother."

"How can you be sure?"

Reg shrugged, "Don't believe me? Make them interact. You'll see. He's like a loyal dog. He'll do anything for her."

Sirius sighed, "I should wring your neck. But I won't. Because you've thought this out so well. I won't say I'm agreeing with it. But… I'll let it grow a bit. To see where it goes."

Regulus smiles, "That's all I ask, brother."

….

Sirius entered the Great Hall once more, sitting in his spot with a huff. At this point, James is gently running his hands through the girl's hair. She's talking to Peter and Remus over an omelette, her mind far from the previous conversation.

He interrupts, "We're talking about this later. The four of us."

She turned, "Not me?"

Sirius' tone turned condescending, his voice harsh, "When have you ever been a part of the four of us? You're not a marauder."

James' hand in her hair immediately paused, Peter dropping his fork clumsily. Remus choked on his drink. But none of them said a word in her defense.

She stared at her brother with a guilty look that slowly morphed into slight hatred. Her voice was still as soft as always, but it held a bite to it, "Fine. I didn't want Mum to know I'm around the Black family traitor anyway." She stood up, leaving the table without another word. 

Remus stood up, watching her go, "Dove?"

But she had already left.

She approached the Slytherin table, her red and gold tie standing out from that side of the room. 

And Barty Crouch Jr. was already looking for her, noticing her leave from the Gryffindor table. 

She stood behind him, quietly trying to speak up, "Excuse me?"

Barty's eyes closed. Her voice was so sweet. He never got to hear it. And she was trying to speak to him. This situation couldn't be better. 

He turned around on the bench, a small smile gracing his face and a happy look in his eye, "Hello. What do you need?"

She pointed to where Regulus always sat, "Could I… maybe…?"

He looked over to the spot next to him before immediately, "Oh. Yes. Please."

She sat, finally taking note of the people around him. The most notable one being Lucius across the table.

Lucius held an arrogant look in his eyes, "What? The blood traitor finally got tired of you too?"

Barty's jaw clenched, "Watch your tone, Malfoy."

Malfoy snickered, leaning forward. "Why are you here, Black?"

Barty was becoming highly irritated, "Hey. What did I fucking say?"

Lucius held his hands up in a surrendering way, not saying a word, but his eyes were saying more than his mouth needed to.

She stood, "I'm sorry. This was a dumb idea…"

Barty grabbed her wrist. "No, please. I want you to sit."

She hesitantly does so.

A silence falls over the table before Barty breaks it, "Regulus hasn't been back since Sirius drug him out. Think he beat him up?"

She laughs, "No. I'm sure that just had a small fight is all."

Barty smiles, "I have a feeling I know what it's about."

She nods, deciding to avoid the subject. "Do you have classes today?"

He nods as well, "Just one. Potions. Tell me yours."

She pulls out her wand, waving it. A small piece of paper lands on the table, her entire schedule written on it. She begins to study it to give him an answer.

He leans over to her, peering at it slightly over her shoulder. He smiles, "You have astronomy tonight?"

She nods, "It's my favorite."

He points at one of the classes for the day. "I know where that is. Why don't I walk you?"

She shakes her head, "You don't have to. I know where it is, I just-"

His voice was a whisper, "-please. I would love to."

She decided to look at him finally, and when she did so, she found their faces to be inches apart, his deep brown eyes staring longingly into hers. She felt her face heat up, a light pink shade overtaking them. They stayed this way for a while before she decided to talk first, her voice softer than a whisper as she caught him staring at her lips, "Do you really want to marry me, Crouch?"

He smiled, "More than anything."

The moment sat for a while before she looked away, now a deep shade of red. "Perhaps you can walk me to class then."

"And a walk after dinner."

She looked up at him, "…a walk?"

He nodded, "Please."

He points at another class on the paper, "I can walk you to this one as well… if you'll have me?"

Her eyes soften as tried to see if this was a joke. If he had an ulterior motive. But he didn't.

Regulus came up from behind, completely unnoticed until Y/N felt a kiss to the top of her head and a small, "scoot over."

She did so, pushing herself closer to Barty, who held a smile on his face the entire time.

Regulus could feel the stares from the Gryffindor table. He looked up to meet their gazes, smiling in an almost mocking way at the sight of the two betrothed finally bonding.

She was still looking at Barty, "I…. Yes. I would…. I would like that very much."

He nodded, "Then it shall be done." He stood up, grabbing his books next to him, "I must get to potions, but I'll meet you by the Gryffindor common room entrance before your class, yes?" When she nodded, he gave a nod to her brother, "Regulus," then took his free hand, grabbing the girl's hand, kissing it gently, "Y/N." And with that, he left.

.................................................................

[baelabong]

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀʟʟᴇʏ

(ᴋᴀʀɪɴᴀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

plot: karina as Rose and y/n as Lily. Karina can’t handle the thought of losing y/n, takes matters into her own hands, not very maturely …..

Pairing: toxic! Creditor! Karina x idiot! duchess!Fem!reader

Note/warnings: kissing, swearing, also this wasnt requested but again, i am working on requests because i love everything being requested so far. Karina isnt as much of an asshole as rose in the actual webtoon 🫣 but that’s because i believe lily can fix rose 😟😟 (i lie)

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the mansion's garden. You’re sitting on the stone bench, Aeri beside you, the two of you huddled close as you whisper and laugh softly. Your hands are busy weaving a daisy chain, your fingers brushing occasionally, sending little sparks of warmth through your veins. Aeri’s presence is calming, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions you often feel around Karina.

From the balcony above, Karina watches you, her expression darkening with every shared smile between you and Aeri. Her lip twitching in annoyance. There’s something raw and feral in her gaze, a storm brewing in her chest. She grips the railing so tightly her knuckles turn white, her breath coming out in slow, measured huffs as she tries to keep her temper in check. But the sight of Aeri’s hand resting on your thigh, her lips so close to your ear, breaks something inside Karina.

Karina’s thoughts are a chaotic mess as she leaves the balcony, her steps heavy as she makes her way down the stairs. Each step feels like it’s amplifying the burning rage in her chest, the jealousy searing through her like a wildfire. The image of Aeri’s hand on your thigh, her lips brushing against your ear, fuels her anger, twisting her thoughts into darker territory.

By the time she reaches the garden, the gravel crunching under her feet, the sound alerts you and Aeri. You both look up, your laughter dying down as you notice the storm brewing in Karina’s eyes. The shift in the atmosphere is palpable, the lightheartedness you felt moments ago vanishing into thin air.

“Karina,” you start, a soft smile playing on your lips, an attempt to ease the tension. But that smile quickly fades when you see the fury etched across her face, the way her eyes seem to pierce right through you.

“Leave,” Karina’s voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet of the evening like a blade. Her gaze is locked on Aeri, who flinches at the venom in her tone. “Now.”

Aeri hesitates, her eyes flicking between you and Karina, uncertainty evident in her expression. “Karina, I—”

“I said leave!” Karina’s voice rises, the anger she’s been holding back finally spilling over. Her fists clench at her sides, the tension in her body clear. Aeri’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can see the hurt flash across her face, but she doesn’t dare to argue further.

Aeri stands, her movements slow, as if she’s afraid to provoke Karina any more than she already has. She turns to you, her expression softening. “I’ll talk to you later, Y/N,” she says quietly, offering you a small, apologetic smile.

You nod, trying to reassure her, but your attention is mostly on Karina, who hasn’t taken her eyes off Aeri. As Aeri walks away, her footsteps fading into the distance, the silence that follows is thick, almost suffocating.

You finally look at Karina, whose chest is rising and falling with the effort to control her breathing. The fury in her eyes hasn’t subsided, but there’s something else there too—something raw and desperate.

“What the hell was that, Karina?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly, though you try to keep it steady. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”

“Didn’t I?” Karina snaps, taking a step closer to you. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch her touch you like that? To see you laugh with her like... like I don’t even exist?”

That’s not even true! “” you insist, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re reading too much into this, Karina. Aeri is a friend, nothing more.”

Karina starts walking back towards the estate, heavy breathes and clearly stomping as she walks.

When you’re alone, Karina turns her gaze to you, her eyes wild and dark. “Do you enjoy making me jealous, Y/N? Do you like to see me suffer?”

You blink, taken aback by the accusation. “What are you talking about, Karina? Aeri’s just a friend—”

“Just a friend?” Karina cuts you off, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m blind? The way she looks at you, the way you laugh with her, it’s more than friendship, and you know it.”

You stand up, your own anger rising to match Karina’s. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m allowed to have friends, Karina.”

Karina steps closer, her voice low and dangerous. “Not when they touch you like that. Not when they look at you like they own you. You’re mine, Y/N. Mine.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a chaotic blend of fear, frustration, and a strange thrill at Karina’s possessiveness. “I’m not your possession, Karina. You can’t just control me like this—”

“Can’t I?” Karina’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper as her hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with a force that makes you wince. Her eyes darken, her pupils dilated with a mix of anger and something more primal. “You belong to me, Y/N. I’ve given you everything, and I won’t let someone like Aeri take you away from me.”

The intensity of her words sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to back down. “This isn’t love, Karina. This is obsession,” you say, your voice trembling but steady.

For a moment, her gaze wavers, and you see a flicker of vulnerability beneath the fury. “I love you,” she whispers, the desperation in her voice almost breaking your resolve. “I just... I can’t lose you. The thought of you with someone else... it drives me insane.”

Seeing the cracks in her tough exterior, you decide to take control. You pull her closer, dragging her towards the nearest chair with a force that surprises even you. Before she can protest, you push her down onto it, and in one swift motion, straddle her lap.

Her breath hitches as you move her hair away from her face, your fingers gentle as they trace her cheek. “Would I ever do this to Aeri?” you ask softly, your voice a low murmur against her skin.

Before she can respond, you begin kissing her face, your lips brushing against her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—anywhere but her lips. Each kiss is soft, deliberate, meant to convey the depth of your feelings for her. You can feel her body relax beneath you, the tension in her shoulders melting away as she leans into your touch.

“Y/N...” Karina’s voice is barely audible, a shaky breath escaping her as you press your lips to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Her hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

You trail kisses down her jawline, taking your time, letting her feel every moment. When you reach her neck, you suck gently on the skin, earning a quiet, breathy whimper from her. The sound sends a thrill through you, spurring you to kiss her harder, your teeth grazing the soft skin of her neck.

“Does this feel like I belong to anyone else?” you whisper against her throat, your voice teasing but laced with sincerity.

Karina’s grip on you tightens, her nails digging into your sides. “No,” she breathes out, her voice trembling with need. “No, you’re mine... only mine.”

You pull back slightly to look into her eyes, your hands cupping her face. “Exactly,” you say, your tone firm but loving. “I’m yours, Karina. You don’t need to be afraid of losing me. But you have to trust me.”

She looks up at you, her eyes glossy and vulnerable, and you lean down, capturing her lips in a deep, heated kiss. Karina responds immediately, her hands sliding up your back and pulling you closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together. The kiss is desperate, a little rough around the edges, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, tugging lightly before she soothes the sting with her tongue.

You let out a quiet moan, your body arching into hers, and she takes that as an invitation to explore further. Her hands slide under your shirt, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, her touch both possessive and gentle. The sensation makes you shiver, and Karina takes advantage of your distraction, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you pull away to catch your breath, Karina’s lips follow yours, pressing soft, needy kisses along your jawline. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” she murmurs between kisses, her voice rough with emotion. “I can’t... I won’t lose you.”

You press your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling as you cradle her face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, your lips brushing against hers with each word. “I’m right here, Karina.”

Karina’s eyes flutter shut, a shaky whimper escaping her as you begin to kiss down her neck again, your lips and teeth working together to leave a trail of possessive marks. Her body trembles beneath you, her hands clutching at your shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I love you,” she breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words are laced with so much intensity that it makes your heart ache.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft but filled with conviction. You kiss her lips again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the way she melts into your touch, her body surrendering to you completely.

Karina’s hands slide back up to your waist, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns languid, a slow exploration of each other’s mouths, as if you’re both trying to memorize every detail, every sensation.

As the kiss deepens, a soft rustling sound reaches Karina’s ears. She freezes momentarily, her gaze shifting toward the source of the noise. Her heart pounds when she sees Aeri standing at the edge of the garden, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. Karina's lips curl into a subtle, satisfied smile.

Unaware of Aeri’s presence, you continue to kiss Karina, lost in the moment. Karina, however, sees Aeri clearly and feels a surge of possessiveness and triumph.

The kiss becomes more urgent and assertive, each touch and movement calculated to reaffirm her hold over you. Karina’s eyes, though half-closed in the intensity of the kiss, occasionally flicker back to where Aeri stands, her satisfaction growing with each second.

Without breaking the kiss, Karina turns her focus back to you, her grip on your waist tightening. The sight of Aeri's distress fuels something dark and possessive within her. She deepens the kiss, her lips moving with a fervent intensity as if to stake her claim.

You're lost in the kiss, oblivious to Aeri's presence, but Karina is acutely aware.

She revels in the knowledge that Aeri has seen her in this intimate moment with you. The kiss becomes more urgent, her movements deliberate, each touch meant to assert her dominance and ensure that Aeri understands her place.

"Does this feel like I'm letting you go?" she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin.

When Aeri finally turns and walks away, the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance, Karina pulls back slightly but maintains a smug smile. Her eyes meet yours, and you see a mixture of possessive satisfaction and triumph.

Eventually, you pull back slightly, your breath mingling with Karina’s. “I need to freshen up,” you murmur, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek before heading toward the mansion.

Karina watches you with a possessive gaze as you make your way through the grand hallway and into the bathroom. She then turns back toward the garden, her mind still buzzing with the intensity of the moment.

As Karina walks toward the bathroom, she unexpectedly bumps into Aeri, who has been waiting in the shadows. Aeri’s eyes are red, her face a mask of hurt and confusion. Karina’s smile widens, a dark satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

“Did you enjoy our little show?” Karina’s voice is low and taunting, laced with a sinister edge. She steps closer to Aeri, her gaze piercing.

Aeri flinches at the words, struggling to maintain her composure. “I... I just needed to clear my head,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karina’s smile remains fixed as she leans in slightly. “Well, now you know your place,” she says softly, her tone almost a purr of satisfaction. “I suggest you stay out of our way.”

Without waiting for a response, Karina brushes past Aeri and heads toward the bathroom, her demeanor radiating a mixture of triumph and possessiveness. The night’s events have left an unspoken tension hanging heavily in the air, with Karina clearly asserting her dominance over the situation.

[neontokyoo]

(nsfw or not) Halsin (elf form) in heat from bear mating season and dry humps or ferally takes tav? (consented obviously)

Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Genre: smut

Summary: Halsin’s animalistic behavior is too much to bear

Warnings: I’m unable to write rough sex while keeping Halsin in character, rough animalistic sex, this wasn’t proofread because I’m tired and more focused on getting this posted before I forget about it and never do it.

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It was that time of year. Halsin couldn’t stand being around anyone right now. All the different smells in the air were making him fucking crazy. Despite not being an actual bear, the Druid found his bear from becoming a part of him over the past few years. The more time he spends in his bear form, the less control he has over the bear in certain situations. And this was one of those situations.

Running the grove was incredibly hard today. Usually mating season wasn’t a huge pain in his ass. Sure, he was always horny and more sensitive than normal, but usually he was able to handle it on his own. This year, however, was different. Maybe it was because of the new adventurer who had been staying at the grove for a while, while they planned their next move. That sounded about right. Ever since Tav showed up, he’s found it much harder to control the beast within him. He hasn’t been this turned on in over a century.

Halsin let out a frustrated groan as he felt his arousal getting stronger. His cock was rock-hard by now and his pants were painfully tight. How the fuck was he supposed to be in charge here if everyone was looking at him like he just crawled out of hell? Obviously, the tension was visible. In several ways. The way he walked like he had a stick up his ass, the way he was grabbing onto everything when he had to sit down, his grip so tight that his knuckles were changing to a ghostly white color. Everyone could tell something was wrong with him, but nobody said a thing.

It got to the point where his only options were to either talk to Tav about his current situation, or retire to his room for the night and fix it himself. And he found the first option to be too embarrassing. So, the elf went back to his room and began to undo his pants. Gods, just undoing the zipper felt much more comfortable than his cock straining against his pants.

But of course right when he was about to take care of his problem, there was a knock on the door. Halsin groaned out of frustration as he quickly put his pants back on and straightened himself up before opening the door. His body tensed as he saw her waiting on the other side. He wasn’t sure if he could hold back much longer now that she was so close to him.

Tav gave him a concerned look, opening her mouth to speak before he harshly grabbed the girl by her wrist and pinned her to the wall of his room, finally burying his nose in the crook of their neck.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice even trembling. “I’m sorry, my love… I don’t know what’s happening right now.”

“Halsin, what’s going on?” Tav arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. She wanted to pull away, but her body craved the connection, the intimacy.

Halsin's breathing grew heavier, and he pulled his face from her neck, his eyes flashing green with hunger. "I need you, Tav," he whispered hoarsely, his voice no longer the calm and sweet one she had grown accustomed to. "Please let me have you. I’m sorry, I’m not myself right now.”

Tav hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked with his, before nodding. She bit her lip, the anticipation making her body tremble. Halsin wasted no time as he quickly undid her armor, his fingertips brushing against her dampness. Tav shivered as another small moan escaped her lips. She knew exactly what was happening, and maybe Halsin wasn’t the only one acting like a bitch in heat. Her own arousal betrayed her.

"So wet for me," Halsin breathed, his voice thick with lust. He pulled his hand away, continuing to undress her until she was completely exposed before him, then swiftly unbuckled his trousers, freeing his throbbing cock. Tav's eyes widened at the sight, her arousal intensifying.

Of course, she and Halsin have been flirting back and forth with each other for a while now, occasionally teasing each other and stealing glances. But she never would have thought she’d be able to have him. Nor did she think it would happen like this.

Halsin hoisted Tav onto the table, spreading her legs wide enough to expose her glistening heat. He positioned himself between them, his cock nudging against her entrance. Tav's hands clenched sage green tablecloth, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Halsin…. Please….”

Halsin's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he took in the sight of Tav's naked body spread out before him on the table. The scent of her arousal filled the air, driving him wild with desire. He couldn't hold back any longer. With a low growl, he thrust his hips forward, burying himself deep inside her tight, wet heat.

"Fuck, Tav," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

Tav cried out, her back arching off the table as she was filled completely by Halsin's thick, hard cock. It stretched her walls deliciously, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The new position made the girl let out a loud, pornographic moan as the elf continued to pound into her, hitting her most sensitive areas while also grinding against her clit.

“Halsin…. Fuck-“

Halsin's hands gripped Tav's hips tightly, his body moving in a primal rhythm as he continued to fuck her. His thrusts grew harder and faster, his muscles straining with each powerful movement. Tav's moans grew louder and more desperate, her nails digging into his back.

Tav's words cut off as the elf's lips crashed onto hers, his tongue invading her mouth in a passionate kiss. Halsin's cock throbbed within her, his animalistic hunger for her not abating. He continued to pound into her, their bodies slapping together in a wet, rhythmic symphony.

Usually, Halsin wouldn’t be so rough if it wasn’t for his animalistic desires that were taking over him. There was just something about Tav that made her absolutely intoxicating, making it incredibly hard for Halsin to control himself.

Tav's mind was spinning, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. She could feel her orgasm building with each thrust, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within her until it was nearly unbearable. She could feel Halsin's own climax approaching as well, his thrusts becoming more frantic, his grunts more desperate.

With a final, powerful thrust, Halsin's body tensed, his cock pulsing deep within her. Wave after wave of his seed filled Tav, the sensation pushing her over the edge. Her own orgasm crashed through her, her inner walls gripping Halsin tightly as she cried out his name.

Halsin's body shuddered as he continued to fill her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, he pulled out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum as it slipped from her slick walls. Tav lay there, panting, her body trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Halsin leaned down to kiss her forehead, his breathing finally starting to even out. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice soft and gentle once more. "But I needed that."

Tav looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Don't be sorry, Halsin," she whispered, her voice thick with contentment. "I needed it too."

The two of them stayed there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. Halsin helped Tav down from the table, wrapping a blanket around her shivering form. They shared a tender kiss, the tension between them dissipating.

[chelseeebe]

there’s a honey

title based on there’s a honey - pale waves

i would give you my body but am i sure that you want me?

the one where eddie’s probably in love with you and yet you can’t even be seen in public with him.

kinda really angsty and sad i’m sorry

18+. mdni. smut. r is kinda very mean to poor eds here, maybe there’s a ltitle redemption/hope at the end.. who knows. modern au i guess.

eddie’s not supposed to be doing this, your number had been deleted and he knows he should’ve just let it ring out.

but he’d recognised those last three digits and hadn’t be able to help himself. at least this time he’d let it ring out a couple of times before picking up.

and now here he was, hand fisting your shirt, pulling it tight around your waist as he slams his hips against your doughy ass, the bed frame matching his pace as it slams against the wall.

he felt terrible.

chrissy was probably somewhere across campus waiting for him to text back while he was here, balls deep in the girl he’d sworn off last week.

they weren’t together, he’s not even sure if they’re talking but he knew he at least liked her. thought she was cute and not mean to him, but truthfully, she’s not you. she’s never going to be you.

and he’s not stupid enough to think that while you’re still in his life, they could ever be anything.

nobody else that he had ever had sex with had ever felt like this, not that it were a long list of people but still. he thinks that’s what keeps him coming crawling back every single time.

“oh my god,” you whine, arms collapsing underneath you as you fall into the mattress. moving back against him in unison, his palm coming to slap your ass, his handprint lingering.

he takes that as a sign to keep going, slamming into you with such ferocity that the sound echoes through the tiny room. the wooden bed frame close to smashing through the drywall.

“fuck,” he grunts, keeping his grip tight on your shirt, “you feel so fucking good,” unable to contain his babbles. breath becoming laboured as you squeeze around him.

your noises are muffled, face pressed into the blanket as you incoherently mumble what he thinks is his name. he can tell you’re close just by the way you’re breathing. he’s had years of experience, learnt every trick in the book to get you there before he was.

he lands another smack to your ass before pressing his chest to your back, lips sloppily connecting to the back of your neck, pressing you further into his rocking bed.

this new position allows him deeper, nudging himself against your sweet spot, just about able to keep his body hovering over yours.

“shit.. i’m close eds don’t stop,” you whine breathlessly but he already knows that. can feel himself teetering on the edge though it is absolutely necessary that you go first.

“i know.. i know,” he pants, sweaty body melting together as his pace falters, giving you everything he had for the last however many seconds.

your legs begin to shake from underneath him, fist balling his tousled bedsheets while his name falls from your lips like some kind of prayer. eddie will never tire of hearing you whine and cry his name nor the way you clench around him, turning to mush right before his eyes.

it’s the only time you’re ever soft, malleable even.

“that’s it,” he soothes, open mouth pressed to your clammy skin, hand finding your hand and resting his palm on your white knuckles as he topples over.

“fuck.. oh fuck,” he pants, slamming into your quivering cunt, painting your walls with his load, his forehead falling to the skin between your shoulder blades, head spinning a hundred miles an hour.

his arms let out, collapsing on top of you, breathing into the crook of your neck as he regains any sort of semblance of control. he eventually rolls off, outstretched on the tiny slither of bed as you come to.

“jesus,” he weeps, pulling his boxers back up around his waist, the elastic dealing a harsh snap to his skin.

you don’t honour his words with a reply, turning to lean back against the pillow, readjusting your t-shirt. you’d be off soon, he can sense it. not so long ago, you’d maybe stay the night but now it was out of the question.

eddie misses it dearly, maybe it was his fucked up way of playing make-believe for a little while but he missed it nonetheless.

“you going to tina’s party?” he asks from the pillow, eyes narrowed as you shift around.

“yeah i think so,” you shrug, readjusting your bra straps. you’re itching to leave, christ, you won’t even entertain him with a little pillow talk now.

“who’re you going with?”

you sigh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, not willing to entertain this conversation, “i’m not sure yet,” grabbing your discarded clothes with a haste.

“why don’t we just go together?” he asks, knowing that it’ll probably push you over the edge. he can’t help himself, has never been able to understand why you’re so evasive about your relationship.

“oh my god eddie,” you frown before slipping into the connected bathroom, eddie jumps up from the bed, he’s not gonna let you run away from him again.

“oh so you are still doing this?” eddie asks, following you into the bathroom. he stands in the doorway, watching as you comb your fingers through your hair.

“doing what?”

“pretending that you don’t want me,” he pokes his finger into his temple, “playing your weird fucking game that nobody else understands,” he should stop there, but he doesn’t, “you know, nobody cares if you fuck the freak, we’re in college now, right? you’re the only one that gives a shit,” it’s truly cathartic to get it all out but he knows he’s going to regret it.

“what?” you mutter, speechless. confused why he’d just unloaded all of this onto you seemingly out of nowhere. spinning on your heel to face him, still half-dressed and disheveled.

“you heard me. and you know what? maybe i understood why you didn’t want anyone to know in high school but we’re adults now, you can’t pretend that you’re still worried about people finding out,” the scowl deep-set and unbudging on his lips.

“well i don’t want you eddie,” your face turning sour, jabbing your finger into his chest. “maybe you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that this- the sex, means more than it does, but it doesn’t,” you’re angry now, he’s got you riled up, exactly how he wanted, “i don’t care if you’re a nerd or you play board games or whatever the fuck it is that you do, i just don’t want anyone to know that i’m fucking you.”

your words are bitter, sharp even. slicing through his chest with harsh force. it’s not true, he knows that much. it’s no secret that you do care about that shit, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.

he just can’t understand why you still think anybody else cares. everybody’s too busy to give a shit about outdated cliques and who’s fucking who. it’s your worst-kept secret anyway, by the end of the night you were always hanging off of his arm or pulling him out of whichever bar you’d both coincidentally fallen into.

“you’re a liar,” eddie bites, levelling his eyes to yours, “even you don’t believe that,” he steps closer, brows knitted together as you rage on.

“fuck you,” you spit, deciding to do something he could’ve never expected. smashing your lips to his, it’s a short, passionate kiss, your fingers twisting into his shirt before he pushes you off.

“you’re fucked in the head,” he utters, voice full of sorrow. he pities you, truly. because he knows that if you’d just shake whatever weird self-doubt you still carried, that the two of you could be good together.

you push past him, pulling your jeans on as you grab the rest of your belongings. you’ve done this before, plenty of times. stormed out of here because eddie had asked you a question you didn’t like, only to call him up next weekend begging for his attention.

and he gave it, time and time again.

at your mercy, completely.

it’s the only way he’d known, not enough self-respect to end it completely. and even now, when it feels different, permanent somehow, he knows you’ll be back.

“don’t call me again,” eddie calls out, still lingering in the doorway, “i mean it, delete my number, block me, whatever. just don’t fucking come back,” his arms folded over his chest, like he meant it this time.

“oh i won’t, don’t worry,” turning to face him one last time, eyes full of spite before you disappear into the hallway, not for the last time.

-

unbelievably, the two of you had gone weeks of no-contact.

not even a drunken text to lure him over. nothing. nada. zilch.

eddie had taken that as a sign and asked chrissy if she wanted to go to the party together, at least this time he hadn’t been met with slamming doors and a screaming match.

she’d helped him do his makeup, dotted fake blood around his mouth and made them take a picture for her instagram, an incredibly foreign experience to what he’d ever had with you.

you’d taken selfies before, stupid ones that never saw the light of day. lounging in bed with a joint hanging out of your lips, refusing to ever send them to him incase he did something unthinkable. like post them or dare show anyone.

he shakes his head as if to rid his brain of the memory, trying to zone in on whatever bullshit chrissy’s friend heather was droning on about. he can’t focus, not when he knows you’re here.

see, it’s different when you’re apart. he can compartmentalise you, all of your memories, bury you in the back of his brain and enjoy the time he had with chrissy. it’s like you’ve infected him, weaving your web throughout his mind.

eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling him out of the hole he’d burrowed himself into.

those familiar three digits flash across the screen.

bathroom 5 mins

he hasn’t even seen you yet, not that he had been keeping an eye out (he had). he shifts over from where he and chrissy sat squished on the couch, too engrossed in the conversation to have seen his phone.

“i’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” he smiles, guilt running through his veins, “get me another beer?” using that as an excuse to not do anything stupid.

though he knows himself, knows you too and most certainly knows that won’t happen.

“okay,” she grins, none the wiser, making him feel so much worse. her halloween costume was completely different to anything you’d ever worn, opting for a cute little rabbit as opposed to the ridiculously sexy getup you usually had on.

he wonders what you’ve chosen for this year, what low-cut, revealing outfit will have him on his knees, regretting his decisions this time around.

there are hoards of people everywhere, crowding the hall as he tries to shuffle through, not even bothering to knock as he reaches the bathroom.

he slips inside, quickly locking the door behind him as you sit perched against the sink. he was right. you’re in some tiny red dress, horns adorning your head. it’s fitting, really.

“so you didn’t block me,” you state, smug as shit as you lean against the white porcelain.

eddie just rolls his eyes, “is that all you wanted to say?” his hand already clamped around the door handle. it’s an empty threat, he’s not going without a fight, or a kiss, but probably both.

you bite down onto your bottom lip, the red lipstick already slightly smudged, “i missed you,” squeezing the words out, as if they physically hurt to verbalise.

“me? or my dick?”

“can’t it be both?” you smirk, pushing yourself from the sink to near him.

“not if you’re lying about the first one,” keeping his head stood tall, not letting his gaze wander, no matter how much he wanted to peer down your dress.

“i’m not,” placing your hand on his chest, looking at his lips rather than his eyes, “you didn’t miss me?”

you’re so.. so terrible. for him. as a person. whichever.

because he knows that you know he can’t resist. all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and speak softly to him and he’s right back at your feet. eddie wants to be stronger this time. to turn around and march out of here with his dignity still in tact.

but then your hand creeps lower, fingernails dragging down his unbuttoned shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake and he knows he’s fallen for it again.

“of course i did,” he whispers, barely audible because even he doesn’t want to hear it.

“who’s that girl you’re with?” you question, fingers lingering at his belt buckle, gaze flickering between his eyes and his parched lips.

“chrissy,” he feels like a dick for even speaking her name right now.

“she’s cute. she your girlfriend now?” teasing him, drawing a line down to his crotch your finger.

his breath hitches in his throat, wetting his lips, “no.. she’s- uh,” stuttering when your palm meets his dick, already rising in his pants.

“she’s what?” grinning devilishly, hah.

“she’s waiting for me,” he chokes out, just about remembering that he’d asked her for another beer.

“why don’t you run along back to her then?” knowing full well that he wouldn’t. couldn’t even.

the words tangle in his throat, coming out in a squeak, “tell me- tell me that this is just sex and i will,” finding a spurt of courage from somewhere deep within.

you don’t reply, keeping a firm hand on his shifting jeans, “eddie,” more as a warning than anything else.

“or tell me you want me,” swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, “and i’ll stay,” he’s pathetic, begging for an inch of your love, just a little of your heart.

“i can’t.. i can’t be who you want me to be,” you choke, dropping your palm from his zipper, hanging limp as you back away.

“why?” reeking of desperation, pitying himself more than you ever could, “i don’t.. i don’t understand,” the party bounces on outside and eddie can’t think of anything worse than having to go back out there with teary eyes and a tent in his jeans.

you turn away from him, keeping your palms pressed to the porcelain as you stare into the basin, “why don’t you just leave? i’m not going to have this conversation with you again,” point blank refusing to even look at him anymore.

eddie scoffs, swallowing his despair to make one last statement, “you’ve ruined my life,” choking back his cry before swinging the door open, elbowing his way through the crowd.

he pushes past drunk assholes until he reaches the front door, storming out onto the sidewalk, gasping as the fresh air hits his nose. all he wants is to scream, or puke or maybe both. he can feel the eyes of concerned partygoers as he stumbles out onto the street.

everything sounds weird, metallic like ringing through his ears until a familiar voice calls out from the doorway.

“eddie?”

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eighteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence. A lot more violence than usual. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : if you haven't already voted for what you want to see me write next, you've got a day and a half left

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eighteen

It felt like the world was unravelling around him, like he was coming apart at the seams. While he’d said the words hours ago, it wasn’t until that moment that he started to feel the weight of them. He loved you. He loved you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to love anyone else. He loved you in a way that was so deep, so visceral that if he lost you, he knew he’d never recovered. 

You were inexorably linked, two halves of one soul. You were everything to him and Billy knew he couldn’t go back to the empty, bleak life he’d been living, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself overwise over the last couple of months.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, running a red light to get to Krista’s building. Frank and Madani were talking but, to Billy, it all just sounded like static in his ears.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Pulling up, he killed the engine and before anyone could think to speak or question, he was out of the car, clearing the steps to the building two at a time. Frank and Madani had to rush to keep up with him, each still talking, calling after him. But Billy didn’t care about waiting, about figuring out ‘what to do’. No, Billy knew what he was going to do; he was going to make Krista talk, he was going to make her understand why fucking with you had been the worst decision of her life

It was a blur and, for a few minutes he lost himself; he kicked the door open and the next thing he knew, he had his hands around her throat, with Frank yelling at him to calm down.

“Where is she?” The voice that left his lips wasn’t quite his own.

“Gone. I don’t know where,” Krista answered, grinning despite the grip he had on her. “You’ll never find her. Just like you never found Mary.”

Somehow Frank managed to wrench Billy away but Krista didn’t even try to escape. She was enjoying the scene playing out before her, she was taking pleasure in his pain, glad that she’d had some small part in causing it.

“Mary?” It was Madani who spoke, gun drawn, stepping forwards. “Mary Poots?”

“Poor little Mary,” Krista said in a sing-song tone, barely holding back a laugh. “You thought you could replace me with someone so... fragile...”

“You killed Mary Poots?” Madani tried to continue her line of questioning despite the fact that Krista’s attention was fully on Billy.

“Now you’re going to lose the new one,” Krista carried on, all eyes on her. “I’ll take the next one, too. And the one after that. All of them. Every last one, until I’m all you have left.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Billy spat and that drew a laugh from Krista.

“If I am, it’s because of you, because you infected me...” she laughed again. “Or, no, I suppose it was Layla... not that it matters. You fuck up everything you touch, don’t you, Billy?”

“Just tell me where she is!” Billy demanded.

He lunged towards her, but Frank was too quick, too strong, wrapping an arm around him and holding Billy back.

“I don’t know,” she answered, still smiling, seemingly unbothered. “I never asked and he never told. You shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride. Her fiance was so happy to finally have her back.”

Billy snapped and snarled, struggling against Frank and against himself, his last shred of control quickly starting to split and fray. He wanted to kill her, wanted to do what he knew he should have done months ago.

“She’s not worth it, Bill,” Frank told him, trying to pull him away.

“You’ve just confessed to murder in front of a Federal Agent,” Madani finally piped up, earning a laugh from Krista, before her attention shifted to Frank and Billy. “If Justin Drake has her and they’re still in the city, we’ll be able to track her down.”

“And what if she’s not still in the city?” Billy snapped. “There’s only a few hours until dawn...”

“We’re going to find her,” Madani answered, her tone sharpening to match his.

“And what about her?” Frank dared to ask, drawing all eyes back to Krista.

“I can send someone to pick her up.”

Krista finally moved, attempting to bolt for the door but, somehow, Billy managed to wrench free of Frank’s grip and lunged for her, knocking into her so hard that they both fell to the ground.

She ripped and tore at him with her nails, sinking her fangs into his shoulder and not letting go until his elbow connected with her face. They rolled, Billy ending up on top before she caught him across the face, clawing at him. She rolled him, straddling him as she landed another hit across his face while Billy’s hands gripped her throat.

By the time Frank pulled her away, they were both bloody and bruised, each bearing the marks of each other’s hatred. She kicked and screamed against Frank’s grip as he pushed her face first into the wall, pinning her there while Madani cuffed her to a radiator.

“You think that’s gonna hold her?” Frank asked, eying Krista as she dropped to the ground.

“It’s all we can do for now,” Madani answered. “We need to move.”

“She needs to die,” Billy snarled.

It felt like his body was vibrating with rage, like the thing inside of him had finally won. But, before he could move, Frank was on him, forcing him backwards, hands shoving him so hard that he knocked the breath from Billy’s lungs.

“You wanna waste time on her while your girl’s out there? You wanna throw her life away and yours just so you can settle a score with this crazy bitch?” He barked in Billy’s face, shoving him again. Billy didn’t have an answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now fucking move, this guy isn’t gonna find himself.”

------------

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and gripping the edge of the table was all you could do to keep yourself from falling. It had never made sense why he wanted you, why he’d been so adamant; you weren’t anything special, you weren’t worth anything (certainly not when compared to the amount of money your parents owed him). But, now you finally had answers, it made even less sense.

He was doing this because you looked like a distant relative who you shared only a fraction of your DNA with. 

He was doing this because she had denied him, just like you were trying to deny him.

He wanted you to be a vampire, to spend an eternity at his side.

“No.” The word fell from your mouth with a certainty that you didn’t feel.

“You don’t have a choice,” he retorted, already sounding like he was done with your denials and insolence.

“Yes, I do,” you answered back, remembering all the times Billy had told you as much.

You hadn’t believed it at the time, you’d thought that it was just a line, something he was telling you to make you feel better but, now, faced with someone who wanted to remove your choice, your agency, you realised that Billy had been right all along. Lifting your head and sitting a little straighter, you silently promised yourself that you weren’t going to cower before him, you weren’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man decide your future.

“You can do what you want to me. I’ll never be yours,” you told him. “Even if it takes my whole life, I’ll do everything I can to escape you.”

“I don’t know what you think you can -”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you interrupted, not letting him get the upper hand, not letting him treat you like the naive child you had been when you last sat across from him. “You will never get what you want from me.”

Anger flickered across his face and it took him more than a few seconds to tamp it down again. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting such resistance from you.

But then came the laugh, a sound that caused dread to coil in your stomach.

“Like I told you; I’m a patient man and I have an eternity to bend you to my will,” he sai, his voice softer than his expression. “There might be nothing I can do to you anymore, but I already told you that your sister, her children...”

“You won’t hurt them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll lose your leverage over me if you do,” you answered, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice, hating that you were gambling with your sister’s safety. “And if you think I’m being difficult now, you’ve got no idea how much worse I can be.”  

Drake let out another callous huff of laughter, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re right, but there are other ways to hurt you, aren’t there? Other people close to your heart...” he trailed off for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What about William Russo or his little human friend? Karen is it?”

As much as you wanted to remain defiant, the thought of anything happening to Billy made you feel sick to your stomach. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You wouldn’t. 

Before you realised you were doing it, your hand was gripping the knife in front of you. 

It took him by surprise when you lunged across the table, aiming the blunt knife towards his chest despite knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. You didn’t care. The outcome of this didn’t matter; either he would die or you would. Either way, Billy would be safe.

Plates and glasses smashed as you half-fell over the table, tipping his chair back and knocking him to the floor, you on top of him.

His fingers gripped your wrist, stopping you as you tried to bring the knife down, holding the tip only a few inches from his chest.

There was noise all around you and it wasn’t until some time later that you realised it was you, that you were screaming, telling him you were going to kill him, that you wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

The struggle felt like it lasted a lifetime when, in reality, a few seconds after you’d cleared the table, one of his goons had arrived and pulled you off him. Kicking and screaming, you were carried back to your room and thrown inside.

You landed with an awkward thud, pain radiating up your bad arm despite the cast. But, seconds later, you were back on your feet, banging against the door, trying to get out, only to find that you were locked in. But that didn’t stop you from continuing to kick and scream at the door, telling him that you were going to kill him, that the only way he’d stop you was by killing you.

------------

After they’d left Josie’s, Frank had text Karen to let her know what was going on and where they were headed. She decided to stick around and keep asking questions around the bar, making sure that nothing had been missed but, after half an hour or so, she decided to call it a night and head home.

She left with your suitcase, having stuffed Bill the Beagle back inside, rolling it along the sidewalk behind her. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away and, despite the late hour, she’d never felt particularly unsafe walking home from Josie’s.

“Hey, uh, excuse me Miss?” A voice rang out.

Not thinking, Karen stopped and turned, seeing a large man dressed in a dark suit heading towards her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, finally noticing the limo parked in front of Josie’s.

It couldn’t be a coincidence; Josie’s wasn’t the sort of place anyone would want to leave a limousine, especially not twice in one night. Karen took a step back, realisation causing her blood to turn ice cold in her veins.

“Yeah, I think that suitcase belongs to a friend of mine,” he answered, slowly stepping towards her. 

The moment he started to move, Karen reached into her purse, trying to find her gun but not taking her eyes off of him for even a second.

“Funny,” she answered, “because this case happens to belong to a friend of mine.” 

Gun in hand, she lifted it, pointing it straight at him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. She couldn’t be sure if he was a vampire or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, and aimed the gun at his chest. It might not kill him, but it would definitely slow him down.

“Where is she?” Karen demanded.

“It’s none of your concern,” he answered back, daring to take the slightest step but hesitating  again when Karen lifted the gun a little higher, aiming for his heart.

“I said, where is she?” She repeated, taking a step of her own.

“She’s with her fiance and if I were you, I’d just hand over the case.”

Karen opened her mouth about to refuse again when he moved, clearing the distance between them with a supernatural speed, knocking the gun from her grasp and into the road. As she moved to grab the suitcase, he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement.

Karen scrambled for the gun but, by the time she had it, he was almost back at the limo, throwing the case into the passenger side before moving around to the driver's door.

As he started up the engine, Karen noticed a taxi and quickly tried to flag it down. When it didn’t stop, she stepped out into the street in front of it, making it stop for her.

“Follow that limo,” she told the driver as she climbed into the back.

“Listen, lady, I -” the driver started to refuse.

“No, you listen, the piece of shit that owns that limo has kidnapped a friend of mine and I have a gun, so you can either follow that limo and get paid at the end of this, or I’m going to have to take your taxi.”

The threat hung in the air for a few seconds. She could see the driver wearily eyeing her in the rearview, no doubt taking note of the gun in her lap and her split lip.

“Alright, fine, just don’t go doin’ anything crazy,” he muttered before starting after the limo.

------------

They were barely outside of Krista’s building when Frank got the call. Billy watched as his friend's expression dropped from one of calm control to absolute rage in less than five seconds. He’d been busy listening to Madani, to all the measures she was putting in place to try and track you down; tracking the limo, credit cards, checking hotel guest lists. It only vaguely occurred to him that it wasn’t until then that he heard your so-called fiance’s name for the first time tonight.

Justin Drake.

Not that it mattered what his name was; he’d be a dead man the moment Billy got his hands on him.

But, for a few seconds, all of that stopped mattering and his attention was fixed on Frank.

“Are you okay?” he demanded of the person on the other end of the call. “Did he hurt you?” There was a pause for an answer that Billy couldn’t quite make out over the sound of traffic. “Where are you? No - no, stay outside and wait for us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked the moment Frank ended the call.

“He sent one of his goons after the suitcase. Karen followed him back to the Park View hotel, she thinks that’s where he’s got her.” Frank explained.

A second later Madani was relaying that information on her call, but Billy was already moving for the car, and Frank was quick to follow.

“Wait, I can get back up and -” Madani started, falling into step behind the men.

“We ain’t waiting,” Frank answered.This time it was his turn to be angry. They’d gone near Karen and, now, it was personal for him. 

The conversation continued as they got in the car and carried on until they arrived at the hotel; Madani wanted to wait for back-up. Billy and Frank didn’t. It was that simple. They weren’t going to wait.

“You can help us, or you can stay here,” Frank told her, though his attention was immediately focused on Karen the moment he saw her, his blood starting to boil at the sight of her split lip. “We’re killin’ this fucker.”

“Yeah we are,” Billy responded.

Frank gave Karen some quick instructions, telling her to go wait in the car and to stay out of the way. He tried to tell Madani to wait with her but the Homeland Agent refused, trying one last time to convince them to just wait a few more minutes for back-up to arrive. Before she could even finish, Billy was moving past her and heading for the hotel’s entrance.

He moved through the lobby, drawing stares from everyone that looked his way; blood from the wounds that Krista had inflicted was still fresh on his clothes and he looked as if he’d just torn someone apart with his bare hands.

By the time he reached the front desk, there were already two members of the hotel security team standing there.

“I’m Agent Madani with Homeland Security,” she spoke before anyone else had the chance, and before Billy had the opportunity to do anything stupid. “You have a Justin Drake staying here, I need access to his rooms, now.” 

“I can’t just -” the receptionist started to answer.

“He has a woman with him up there, doesn’t he?” Madani asked, stepping up to the desk. “A woman that turned up earlier tonight?”

Billy took a step forward, getting ready to take matters into his own hands.

“I can’t reveal -” the receptionist tried again.

“He kidnapped her,” Billy snapped, “and he’s planning on hurting her. So you can either let us in peacefully, or we can make you.”

The security guards moved closer but then, at the sight of Frank stepping forwards, they seemed to shy away.

“We can wait for a warrant, or you can let us in now. Either way, if anything happens, it’ll be on you,” Madani explained. “Call Homeland - hell, call the cops, the FBI, whoever you want. Have us arrested when we’re done. But if anything happens, her blood will be on your hands.”

“And we’ve got Karen Page from The Bulletin sittin’ outside waitin’ for her friend to come out, so I suggest if you don’t wanna be named as complicit in this...” Frank let the threat go unfinished.

The receptionist had turned snow white, her hands trembling as she handed over a keycard and directed them to the elevator. The two hotel security members followed after.

------------

You heard the commotion before everything went to hell.

There was a phone call; from what you could gather they had a friend in the FBI who’d gotten wind of a Homeland investigation, and there was about to be a raid on the hotel. They needed to get out of there, as quickly as they could.

“Come on,” he demanded, holding out his hand to you.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” he muttered, his voice changing, turning softer. “Now, come with me.”

When he held out his hand again, you took a step towards him, wanting to do exactly as he said.

“N-no,” you said, shaking your head, trying to block him out, trying not to let him sway you.

“Come on, come with me. Right now,” he tried again.

Again you took a step, then another. Something inside of you told you to stop, to fight him, but you couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go with him.

“That’s it, come along and -”

“Boss, they’re in the elevator!”

The sudden disruption was enough to snap you out of it. You stepped back, reestablishing the space between you. You weren’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Told you I’d never be yours,” you muttered defiantly, triumphantly.

You both knew that there was no way that Drake was going to get out of this, at least not with you at his side. He’d have to let you go if he wanted to escape.

But you realised all too late what letting go looked like to Justin Drake.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He asked, starting towards you. “I would have given you everything if only you’d chosen not to act like a tempermental whore. But it’s really no bother. I’m sure when your niece is old enough she’ll be far more amenable, far more grateful for what I have to offer.” 

You stepped back as he closed the distance, until you found yourself against the window.

“At least I get to have one last taste,” he muttered darkly.

“No!” 

Your arms shot out, trying to push him away, trying to keep him from biting you. But he was bigger than you and infinitely stronger. He pushed you back, held you in place despite your thrashing and screaming. You tried everything you could to stop him from pressing closer and closer, trying to turn away as he bowed his head towards your neck.

“Not so defiant now, are you?”

“Please, no - no!” You screamed and begged, tears streaming down your face.

He bit down. Hard. 

Fangs tore through flesh, but rather than lingering to feed, he pulled back, his lips and chin dripping dark with your blood.

It took a moment for you to realise that blood was slowly filling your throat, that he’d left you with more than just a puncture wound.

Your hand lifted as he pulled back and started to walk away, feeling the wound he’d left and the way blood was spurting from it. Lightheadedness quickly over took and you found yourself sliding down the glass and onto the floor. Desperately you reached for the hoodie you’d discarded on the floor when you’d changed for dinner, pressing it against the wound, hoping you’d survive long enough to see Billy one last time.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you heard gunshots and shouting. Then someone was at your side, her hand holding the hoodie tighter against your wounds and shouting for Billy. 

Madani.

(What was Madani doing there?)

“Hold on, help’s on the way,” she told you, but the words barely registered.

You had so many questions but it seemed too late to try and ask them.

But finally - finally  - Billy was at your side. Dropping to his knees, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of you.

“B-Billy,” you managed to choke out despite the blood filling your mouth and lungs, “you’re h-here...”

You felt him squeezing your hand, holding you so tight, like he never wanted to let you go. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you and you knew exactly what they meant; you were dying. In your efforts to save him the pain of watching you die, you’d brought it about decades early.

“I told you,” he muttered softly, “I’ll never let you go.”

Madani continued to press the cloth against your wound but you could tell from Billy’s face that it wasn’t helping.

“S-sorry,” you tried to mutter, wishing that you had more time, wishing that you could apologise properly.

“Don’t,” he told you, “don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.”

“I l-love -” you couldn’t finish, there was too much blood and you were starting to feel so cold, so tired.

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” Billy told you, but his voice sounded so far away. 

You struggled to hold his gaze, some part of you glad that you’d gotten to see him one last time, but the rest of you hated the agony on his face and the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter, like he was trying to hold you in this life and not let you slip away. “I love you and - and I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate me but...”

The rest faded into the sound of your own panic, some part of you knowing what he was trying to tell you, knowing what he wanted to do. You tried to shake your head, tried to pull at his hand but you were so weak you could barely move. 

You were so far gone that you didn’t hear him screaming and pleading with Frank, nor did you hear Frank’s initial refusal and Billy’s threat to do it himself. 

Your eyes went wide when Frank loomed over you, looking at you for a moment, an unspoken apology colouring his features. You tried to speak, trying to say something - though, confronted with your own death, even you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. But you felt Billy’s hand squeezing yours and some piece of you wanted to hold on, wanted to have his hand in yours for longer than this moment, longer than the six months that you’d had together. 

You wanted him.

You wanted the man you loved.

(It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave him.)

But it was too late. Your eyes fell shut and you let out a gurgled breath, and the last thing you heard was Billy’s shouts.

End Note : So, yeah... I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. I know it jumps around and I'm not the greatest at action sequences (I'm working on it). And I know people won't like the ending and so on, but I'm having fun. I'm not sure if next week will be the last part now or if I'll have an epilogue the week after to tie up loose ends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and it wasn't a let down! Also I'm sorry if any typos slipped through, I lost a night of writing to go see Deadpool last night..

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! Have a great weekend!!

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[slutforsilverfoxes]

Shy(but a bit bratty) ! Sub! BAU! Reader x Mean! Dom! Hotch : Cockwarming

R knew not to try and mess around with Hotch but decided she wasn't patient enough to wait for back up before going into the unsubs workplace.

Hotch decides to teach her patient by making her sit unmoving on his cock for almost the whole day without fucking her while he works on reports.

Edging her every time she moves with a vibe.

And of course, she moves a lotttt at first even though he is edging her but then she just wants to cum and Hotch knows this so even when the day ends and he fucks her, she doesn't get to cum at all.

Oh I love your brain !! I modified just a bit to get it out in a reasonable time bc I couldn’t wait on this one 😮‍💨 But I might have to expand on it at a later date… 👀

—————

Patience is a virtue.

It’s just not one you possess.

“Aaron,” you speak his name on a sigh, trying to control the waver in your voice for fear of it being interpreted as a whine. “Please? It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He doesn’t deign to respond to your most recent round of whinging, instead clicking his pen closed and dropping it on the stack of reports he’s been meticulously working through for hours in exchange for the remote by his coffee mug. He presses a single button, and the answering vibration is a welcome relief. Wordlessly, without so much as a glance your way, he returns his focus to his case file.

Your open legs, perched on either side of Aaron’s thick thighs, quiver at the stimulation against your overly sensitive clit. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours of this torture, but that band deep in your belly has been coiled and ready to snap since Aaron called you into his office and sat you down on his cock with the promise of making you learn your lesson earlier today.

Squeezing the edge of the wooden desk in front of you in a white-knuckled grip, you try to control your breathing. Maybe if he doesn’t hear you, he’ll let you cum this time.

“No.”

The vibrator turns off and yet another orgasm dissipates into the ether, eluding you.

“You think I don’t know what you’re playing at?” The low rumble of his voice from behind you sends a shiver racing down your spine. “I taught you everything you know about profiling.”

“Aaron, please-”

“Which, again,” he cuts you off with a slap to your inner thigh that forces you to gasp and involuntarily rock against him, “means you should’ve known better than to enter that building alone.”

Hot tears well up in your eyes, a mix of desperation for release and immense guilt at the clear disapproval in his voice threatening to send them spilling down your reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” he counters in an even tone, shifting his hips beneath you in a way that has his thick cock dragging torturously along your walls. You let out a whimper, bracing your hands against his knees but not daring to move any further for fear of retaliation. His hand skims along a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, then he grabs your chin roughly to force you to face him, fingers digging into your cheeks. He lowers his mouth to yours but stops just shy of a kiss, determined to deprive you of any tenderness before murmuring darkly, “But you will be.”

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I adore your fic. Can you write about Antoine Richis/fem.reader ( nc17,21) ? Please😍🥰😘

Title: A Secret Beneath

Summary: In the shadows of a grand estate, a maid and her master, Antoine Richis, hide their forbidden love, navigating a web of passion, jealousy, and the impossibility of their desires.

Pairing: Antoine Richis × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Possessiveness, obsession, jealousy.

Author's Notes: Honestly, when I got the request for Antoine, I was totally stumped on what to write. So, I just went with the flow and hoped for the best! 😅 I’ll admit, it’s not my finest masterpiece, but I was satisfied enough to hit that ‘post’ button. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Also read on Ao3

For months, you had been living a secret life in Antoine Richis' grand estate. To everyone else, you were simply a maid—dutiful, obedient, and invisible in the grand scheme of things. But behind closed doors, when the world was shrouded in darkness and silence, you were something else entirely. You were Antoine's secret, his forbidden indulgence, the woman who had unwittingly breached the walls of his carefully controlled world.

Your relationship with Antoine had started almost innocently—an unspoken tension, stolen glances, a lingering touch that lasted a heartbeat too long. It wasn't long before that tension boiled over into something physical, something neither of you could resist. Antoine was a man of power, of composure, but when it came to you, he was something else—hungry, desperate, and possessive in ways that left you breathless.

It was a dangerous game, one that both thrilled and terrified you. Antoine was not just any man; he was wealthy, influential, and bound by the rigid expectations of his status. He could never acknowledge what you had in the light of day. To the world, you were beneath his notice—a maid, a woman of no consequence. But in the privacy of his study, his chambers, or wherever else he decided to take you, you were everything he desired.

Tonight was no different. You had been summoned to his study under the guise of bringing him his nightly brandy. The heavy oak door had barely closed behind you before Antoine had you pressed against the wall, his lips crashing down on yours with a force that took your breath away. It was a kiss filled with urgency, with the desperation of a man who had denied himself for far too long.

He had stripped you of your dress with practiced ease, his hands rough and impatient as they roamed over your bare skin. There was no tenderness in his touch tonight, only raw, unfiltered need. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, filled with the hunger that always lurked just beneath his carefully controlled exterior. “You drive me to madness.”

You whimpered under his touch, your body responding instinctively to the roughness of his hands, the heat of his breath against your skin. Antoine was not gentle, not tonight. He was a man on the edge, and you were the only thing that could pull him back. He spun you around, pressing your chest against the cold surface of his desk, his hands gripping your hips with a force that left bruises.

“You’re mine,” he hissed in your ear, his voice laced with a possessiveness that made your heart race. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desire. It was a truth you had come to accept, even as you knew that what you had could never last. Antoine would never truly be yours, not in the way you wanted. But in these stolen moments, in the darkness where no one could see, you could pretend that he was.

Antoine’s hands tightened on your hips as he drove into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He was relentless, taking you with a ferocity that left you gasping for breath, your knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the desk to keep yourself steady. He knew exactly how to break you, how to push you to the brink and pull you back just before you fell.

But no matter how much pleasure he gave you, Antoine never allowed himself the same release. He would pull out at the last moment, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries as you came undone beneath him. He would finish himself off with quick, efficient strokes, his eyes never leaving yours as he spilled his seed onto the floor or a nearby cloth. It was his way of maintaining control, of keeping you at a distance, even in the most intimate of moments.

He would never risk coming inside you. You had asked him once, in a moment of vulnerability, why he always pulled away. His answer had been cold, calculated, a reminder of the world that separated you. “I can’t afford to take any chances,” he had said, his voice devoid of the warmth you had come to crave. “You’re a secret, nothing more. I won’t risk ruining everything for a few moments of pleasure.”

His words had stung, but you had accepted them because, deep down, you knew they were true. Antoine liked you, perhaps even cared for you in his own way, but he would never admit it. He could never afford to. You were his dirty little secret, the woman he took solace in when the pressures of his world became too much to bear. But once the sun rose, once the world woke up, you would go back to being just a maid, and Antoine would go back to being the man of composure and control, the man who could never acknowledge what you had.

And yet, despite the pain, despite the knowledge that this could never be more than what it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Because in those moments, in the darkness of his study, you were his. And that was enough.

As the months passed, your relationship with Antoine continued in secret. The danger of being discovered only heightened the thrill, the forbidden nature of your trysts adding fuel to the fire that burned between you. Antoine’s cold exterior would melt away as soon as the door closed behind you, and he would become the man who craved you, who needed you in ways that neither of you could fully understand.

But as much as you tried to deny it, you knew that you were falling for him. Every touch, every stolen kiss, every whispered word in the dark made you long for more, for something that could never be. You knew it was foolish, that you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, but you couldn’t help it. Antoine was like a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.

Antoine, for his part, seemed to struggle with his own feelings. He would pull you close one moment, his touch tender and almost loving, only to push you away the next, reminding you both that this was temporary, that you could never be more than what you were. He would never admit that he cared for you, but in those quiet moments, when the world outside ceased to exist, you could see it in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper, something he tried desperately to keep buried.

One night, as you lay tangled in his sheets, the remnants of your passion still lingering in the air, you found the courage to ask him a question that had been gnawing at you for months.

“Antoine,” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced lazy patterns on his chest. “What are we doing?”

Antoine stiffened slightly at your words, his gaze turning cold as he looked down at you. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice guarded, as if he already knew where this conversation was headed.

You hesitated, unsure if you really wanted to hear the answer, but you pressed on anyway. “I mean… this. Us. We’ve been doing this for months now, but… what are we to each other? Am I just a convenience to you?”

For a moment, Antoine said nothing, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he considered your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, devoid of the warmth you had come to crave. “You know what this is, what it has to be. I can’t offer you anything more than what we have now. You’re a maid, and I’m a man of status. This… whatever it is between us… it can never be more than what it is.”

His words cut through you like a knife, the harsh reality of your situation crashing down around you. You had known, deep down, that this was always going to be the answer, but hearing it from his lips still hurt more than you could have imagined.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your emotions in check. “So that’s all I am to you? A secret, a… a distraction?”

Antoine turned his head to look at you, his expression softening ever so slightly as he reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped down your face. “You’re more than that,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible in the darkness. “But it doesn’t change anything. I can’t give you more, no matter how much I might want to.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. You knew he was right, that there was no future for you here, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. For months, you had been living in a fantasy, pretending that what you had was enough, but now the reality of your situation was impossible to ignore.

And yet, despite the pain, you knew that you couldn’t walk away. Antoine had become a part of you, a piece of your soul that you couldn’t simply discard. You would take whatever he was willing to give you, even if it wasn’t enough, because losing him completely was a thought too unbearable to consider.

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice filled with a sadness that you couldn’t hide. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, Antoine. Even if it’s just for a little while longer.”

Antoine’s grip on your cheek tightened slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the truth in your words. After a moment, he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a kiss that spoke of regret, of longing, of all the things he would never allow himself to say.

And as you lay there in his arms, the world outside forgotten, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep living this lie, how long you could keep pretending that what you had was enough. Because deep down, you knew that one day, this secret life you had built with Antoine would come crashing down around you. And when that day came, you weren’t sure if you would survive the fall.

That night, you found yourself once again in Antoine Richis' study, the familiar tension hanging heavy in the air as the door clicked shut behind you. The soft glow of candlelight cast long shadows across the room, the flickering flames reflecting in Antoine’s hazel eyes as he turned to face you, his expression a mix of desire and restraint.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you close, his lips crashing down on yours with an urgency that left you breathless. His kiss was rough, possessive, as if he was trying to claim every part of you in that single moment. You responded eagerly, your hands clutching at his coat, desperate to feel him, to lose yourself in the forbidden pleasure he offered.

Antoine wasted no time, his hands working with practiced ease to strip you of your clothes, his breath coming in short, heavy bursts as he took in the sight of your bare skin.

“Monsieur… please…” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Please?” Antoine repeated, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his grip on your hair, his other hand moving to undo his trousers with practiced ease. “You want this, don’t you? You want me to take you right here, while my daughter sleeps just down the hall? You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond as the need in your core grew unbearable. Antoine wasted no time, spinning you around so that your chest pressed against the cold, hard surface of his desk. The roughness of the wood against your sensitive skin only heightened your arousal, making you gasp as he nudged your legs apart with his knee.

The sound of his trousers hitting the floor was followed by the unmistakable sensation of his hardness pressing against your entrance. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape as he pushed inside you, filling you completely in one powerful thrust.

“God, you’re so tight,” Antoine groaned, his voice rough with lust as he began to move, his hips slamming against yours with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you with a ferocity that bordered on desperation.

You struggled to keep quiet, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as each thrust drove you closer to the edge. But it was impossible to stay silent when he felt so good inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with a precision that left you trembling with need.

Antoine sensed your struggle, and with a growl, he reached up to grab your hair, pulling your head back sharply as he leaned down to hiss in your ear. “Be quiet,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want Laure to hear you. Do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill out. “I’m sorry, monsieur,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be quiet, I promise…”

But Antoine’s movements were relentless, his thrusts growing harder, faster, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing over you until you were trembling on the brink of release. His balls slapped against your clit with every thrust, the sensation almost too much to bear, and despite your best efforts, a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Antoine snarled, his grip on your hair tightening as he slammed into you even harder, the force of his thrusts driving you into the desk. “You’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you? You can’t even keep your mouth shut when I’m fucking you."

Tears of frustration and pleasure welled up in your eyes as you fought to control the sounds threatening to escape, your body shaking with the effort. But it was no use—Antoine felt too good, his cock driving into you with a precision that left you gasping for breath, every nerve in your body on fire.

“I… I can’t…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you clung to the edge of the desk, your knuckles white with the effort of staying quiet. “Monsieur… please… I’m going to…”

Before you could finish your sentence, Antoine’s hand moved from your hair to cover your mouth, muffling the cry that erupted from your throat as your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing around him. The force of your release sent you spiraling into oblivion, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Antoine’s breath hitched, a low growl escaping his lips as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation pushing him dangerously close to the edge. But he wasn’t ready to let go just yet—he wanted to savor this, to draw it out for as long as possible.

He slowed his pace, his movements becoming more deliberate, more controlled, as he rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm. You could feel him pulsing inside you, his cock twitching with the effort of holding back, and you knew he was close—so close.

“Please…” you whispered, your voice muffled by his hand as you turned your head to look at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and need. “Don’t stop… I want to feel you come inside me…”

Antoine’s eyes darkened at your words, a low, dangerous growl rumbling in his chest as he pulled out of you abruptly, his hand still covering your mouth as he spun you around to face him. “You think I’d risk getting you pregnant?” he hissed, his voice low and rough as he held you in place, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “You’re nothing more than a dirty little maid… a secret… and I can’t afford to have a bastard running around, ruining everything I’ve worked for.”

You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sent a shiver down your spine. “But… I want you…” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and longing. “I want all of you, monsieur… even if it’s just for tonight…"

Antoine’s expression softened slightly, a flicker of something—perhaps regret, perhaps something deeper—crossing his features before it was quickly replaced by the cold, calculating mask he always wore. “Maybe one day,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “But not tonight. Not until I know it’s safe.”

With that, he released you, stepping back to fasten his trousers, his movements quick and efficient as he regained his composure. You stood there, trembling and exposed, your heart aching with a longing you knew could never be fully satisfied.

Antoine glanced at you one last time, his eyes lingering on your flushed, tear-streaked face before he turned and walked toward the door. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered, his voice cold and detached once more. “And remember—this never happened. You’re a maid, nothing more. Do you understand?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak as you watched him leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a leaden cloak. You knew he was right—there could never be anything more between you. You were a woman of no title, no status, and he was Antoine Richis, a powerful merchant with everything to lose.

But even as you wiped away the tears, even as you gathered your dress and tried to compose yourself, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for just a moment, you had glimpsed something deeper in him—something that went beyond his cold, controlled exterior. And you couldn’t help but wonder if, one day, he might let that part of himself be known.

Days had passed since your last encounter with Antoine, and life in the Richis household resumed its usual rhythm. You kept to your duties, tending to the daily chores, always aware of Antoine's presence but careful never to overstep the boundaries that had been so painfully drawn between you. The memory of that night still lingered in your mind, the intensity of his touch, the harsh reality of his words. But there was no time for reflection as you had other responsibilities to attend to, including your role in looking after Laure, Antoine’s beloved daughter.

Today, you had accompanied Laure to the local market, a task that was both a pleasure and a burden. Laure, young and full of life, enjoyed these outings, chatting animatedly as you navigated the bustling market stalls. You couldn’t help but smile at her excitement, but there was an undercurrent of tension in you—an awareness of the secrets you harbored, of the forbidden relationship that lay beneath your calm exterior.

As you returned to the Richis estate, Laure wasted no time in running ahead to find her father, eager to share the details of her day. You, meanwhile, carried the groceries inside, your thoughts preoccupied with the need to maintain the facade that had become your life.

Antoine was in the living room, seated on the plush sofa, his sharp eyes skimming the newspaper in his hands. The room was quiet, the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound. When Laure burst in, her cheeks flushed with excitement, Antoine looked up, a rare smile touching his lips as he set the newspaper aside.

“Papa!” Laure called out, her voice bright and cheerful as she hurried to his side. She sat next to him, her youthful energy filling the room. “Nous avons eu une journée tellement amusante! Il y avait tellement de choses à voir au marché aujourd'hui.”

Antoine chuckled softly, his gaze warm as he listened to his daughter with the attention he always gave her. “Tell me, Laure,” he said in his deep baritone voice, his hand resting affectionately on her arm. “What did you see today that has you so excited?”

Laure’s eyes sparkled as she began to recount their trip to the market. “Oh, Papa, there were so many beautiful things! The flowers were in full bloom, and there was a man playing the violin—his music was so enchanting! But the most exciting part was when the baker’s son came over to us.”

Antoine’s expression remained calm, though his eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, sensing that there was more to the story.

“Laure,” he prompted, his voice gentle but with an edge of curiosity, “what about the baker’s son?”

Laure giggled, leaning closer to her father as if sharing a secret. “He brought flowers, Papa. A whole bouquet of roses! But they weren’t for me—they were for her,” she said, glancing towards the kitchen where you were putting away the groceries.

Antoine’s smile faltered, his expression darkening slightly. “For her?” he repeated, his tone carefully controlled, though a storm began to brew behind his hazel eyes.

“Yes, Papa,” Laure continued, oblivious to the shift in his mood. “He gave them to her with such a charming smile, and you should have seen how she blushed! It was so sweet. He’s been courting her, I think. The other maids at the market were whispering about it too.”

Antoine’s hand tightened around the arm of the sofa, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I see,” he said quietly, his voice now tinged with something darker, something possessive. He forced a smile for Laure’s sake, but his thoughts were already racing, the image of you accepting another man’s attention, another man’s gifts, igniting a fire in his chest.

Laure, completely unaware of the tension building in her father, continued to chatter on, describing the baker’s son with all the enthusiasm of a young woman romanticizing a potential suitor. “He’s quite handsome, Papa, and so polite! Everyone says he’s one of the most eligible young men in the village. Don’t you think it’s wonderful that she might have someone like him?”

Antoine’s jaw clenched, his mind whirling with jealousy and a growing sense of possessiveness. The idea of you with another man, of someone else touching you, courting you, was intolerable. The thought alone was enough to make his blood boil, yet he kept his face carefully neutral as he responded.

“Laure,” he said, his voice carefully measured, “it’s good that you had such an enjoyable day. But sometimes, young men can be… frivolous with their attentions. The world can be a dangerous place, and not every suitor has the best intentions.”

Laure frowned, puzzled by her father’s sudden shift in tone. “But Papa, he seemed so sincere…”

Antoine cut her off gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he did, ma chérie. But let’s not rush into any conclusions, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s important to be cautious.”

Laure, sensing the firmness in her father’s voice, nodded, though a hint of disappointment lingered in her eyes. “Yes, Papa. You’re right, of course.”

Antoine offered her a tight-lipped smile, his mind already working on how to deal with this unexpected development. He couldn’t afford to let someone else come between you, to let another man encroach on what he had claimed as his own. His gaze drifted toward the kitchen door, where you were still busy with the groceries, completely unaware of the conversation happening just beyond your hearing.

“Why don’t you go and rest for a while, Laure?” Antoine suggested, his voice returning to its usual warmth. “You’ve had a long day, and you deserve some time to relax.”

Laure nodded, smiling up at her father before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Papa. I think I will.”

As Laure left the room, Antoine remained seated, his thoughts dark and tumultuous. The fire crackled in the hearth, the soft glow of the flames doing little to warm the coldness that had settled in his chest. He knew he had to confront this, had to ensure that you understood your place and the boundaries that came with it.

Rising from the sofa, Antoine made his way to the kitchen, his steps deliberate, his expression unreadable. He found you there, arranging the groceries with the same meticulous care you applied to all your tasks, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to break.

“Chérie,” Antoine’s voice cut through the silence, causing you to startle slightly as you turned to face him. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, your hands freezing mid-motion as you met his eyes.

“Monsieur,” you responded, your voice polite, though the tension in the air was palpable. You could sense that something was wrong, that the easygoing mood from earlier had shifted into something far more serious.

Antoine stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the small space of the kitchen. “I hear you had an interesting day at the market,” he said quietly, his tone deceptively calm as he took another step toward you.

You swallowed, your mind racing as you tried to decipher his mood. “Yes, Monsieur, it was a pleasant outing with Mademoiselle Laure. The market was lively.”

Antoine’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “And what about the baker’s son? I hear he was quite… attentive to you.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension at the mention of the young man. “He… he gave me flowers, Monsieur. It was just a gesture of kindness. Nothing more.”

Antoine’s jaw tightened, the faintest hint of a sneer pulling at his lips. “Kindness,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “And did you enjoy this kindness? Did you blush for him the way Laure said you did?”

You felt the weight of his gaze, the possessiveness that radiated from him like a tangible force. “It was nothing, Monsieur,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t ask for the flowers. He just… offered them.”

Antoine reached out, his hand cupping your chin with a firm but gentle grip, forcing you to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, the words laced with a dark promise. “No one else has the right to court you, to give you flowers, to make you blush. Do you understand?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sent a shiver down your spine. “Yes, Monsieur,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desire. “I understand.”

Antoine’s gaze softened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he leaned in closer. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Because if anyone ever tries to take you from me, if anyone dares to think they can have what belongs to me, they will regret it. I won’t let anyone else have you.”

His words were both a warning and a vow, the possessiveness in his tone making it clear that he would do whatever it took to keep you under his control. And as you stood there, caught between fear and longing, you realized that there was no escaping Antoine Richis—no matter how dangerous your connection with him became.

In the days following your confrontation with Antoine, a heavy tension settled over the estate. You continued to go about your duties as a maid, but the words he had spoken to you in the kitchen lingered in your mind, like a dark cloud that refused to dissipate. His possessiveness had taken you by surprise, leaving you to grapple with the contradictory nature of his feelings toward you. Antoine had always been a man of control, his emotions carefully contained, his desires tightly reined in. And yet, when it came to you, those reins seemed to slip, revealing a side of him that you were only beginning to understand.

You found yourself in a constant state of confusion, torn between the man who had dismissed you as nothing more than a maid and the one who now claimed you as his own, with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. How could he say that you were nothing to him one moment, only to turn around and act as if he could never let you go the next? It made no sense, and the more you tried to make sense of it, the more elusive the answers became.

One evening, as you prepared to retire to your small chamber in the servants' quarters, you were summoned once again to Antoine’s study. The request was not unusual; it had become routine for him to call for you late at night, under the guise of needing some trivial task done, when in reality, it was simply an excuse to have you near him. But tonight, as you stood before his door, a sense of dread coiled in your stomach, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you.

You knocked softly, waiting for his voice to grant you entry. When the command came, you pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside, your gaze immediately falling on Antoine, who was seated behind his desk, his eyes shadowed by the dim light of the candles that flickered around the room. He looked up as you entered, his expression unreadable, and gestured for you to approach.

“Close the door,” he ordered, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You did as he instructed, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence of the room. The tension in the air was palpable as you walked slowly toward him, your steps tentative, as if you were approaching a lion in his den. Antoine’s gaze never left you, his hazel eyes piercing through the shadows, searching for something in your expression that he had yet to find.

When you reached his desk, he motioned for you to sit in the chair opposite him. You hesitated for a moment, but his eyes were unyielding, and you knew better than to disobey. You lowered yourself into the chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap as you waited for him to speak.

Antoine leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded you with an intensity that made you feel as though he could see right through you, laying bare all the secrets you had tried to keep hidden.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice deceptively soft, “why did you accept those flowers from the baker’s son?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, unsure of how to respond. “I… I didn’t think much of it, Monsieur. It was just a small gesture of kindness. I didn’t want to be rude by refusing.”

Antoine’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, his gaze growing colder. “Kindness? Is that what you seek, then? Kindness from a simple baker’s son? Do you find that more appealing than what I offer you?”

Your breath hitched at the sudden sharpness in his tone, and you shook your head quickly, trying to quell the rising panic in your chest. “No, Monsieur, of course not. It was nothing. I never sought anything from him. I didn’t encourage him, I swear.”

Antoine’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something dangerous. “And yet, you accepted his gift. You allowed him to think that he could have you. Is that what you want? A simple life with a man who can offer you nothing but bread and flowers?”

You flinched at the harshness of his words, the contempt that dripped from his voice. “No, Monsieur,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I don’t want him… I don’t want anything from him. But I do have desires, like any woman. Desires for a family, a husband to care for, children to raise…”

Your words trailed off as you saw the anger flash in Antoine’s eyes, the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a force that made it scrape against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet of the room. He paced around the desk, coming to a stop in front of you, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over you.

“And you think that baker’s son could give you that?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You think he could give you a life worth living? A life that I couldn’t provide?”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of the storm of emotions that raged within him. “I… I never said that, Monsieur,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never compared you to him. How could I? You’re a man of status, of power… he’s just a baker’s son.”

“But you did compare us,” Antoine shot back, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You think I don’t know what you’re really saying? You’re telling me that you want a simple life, a life that I can’t give you because I’m not the kind of man who can offer you that. You think you would be happier with him, don’t you?”

“No!” you cried, shaking your head vehemently, tears stinging your eyes as you reached out to him, desperate to make him understand. “No, Monsieur, you’re wrong! I never meant that! I don’t want him—I don’t even know him. I’ve only ever wanted you, even if I know it’s foolish.”

Antoine’s gaze softened ever so slightly at your words, the fury in his eyes dimming as he saw the sincerity in your expression, the desperation in your voice. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down your face.

“Then why?” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Why would you talk about desires for a family, for children? Why would you bring that up, knowing full well that I could never give you those things?"

You closed your eyes, the weight of his hand on your cheek grounding you as you tried to find the words to explain the turmoil in your heart. “Because it’s true,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling. “I do have those desires… desires that I know you can’t fulfill. But that doesn’t mean I want anyone else. I don’t want to leave you, Monsieur, but I’m afraid of living a life where I’m always hidden away, always in the shadows. I want more than just stolen moments in the dark. But I know it’s impossible, and that’s what tears me apart.”

Antoine’s expression was one of deep contemplation as he listened to your confession, his hand never leaving your cheek. His anger had subsided, replaced by a sadness that you had never seen in him before—a sadness that spoke of a man who was trapped by his own circumstances, unable to give you what you longed for, no matter how much he might want to.

“I’m a selfish man,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken you for myself, knowing full well that I could never give you the life you deserve. I’ve made you my secret, my indulgence, and I’ve kept you in the shadows because that’s where I believed you belonged. But hearing you speak of desires that I can’t fulfill… it makes me realize how much I’ve taken from you.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, your heart breaking at the sorrow you saw there. “You haven’t taken anything from me, Monsieur,” you whispered, your hand covering his as it rested on your cheek. “You’ve given me something I never thought I could have—your attention, your desire. Even if it’s not enough, it’s more than I ever imagined. But I’m afraid of losing myself in this, of becoming nothing more than a secret, a shadow.”

Antoine closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he fought to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t give you what you want either. I’m bound by my status, by the expectations of the world I live in. I can’t risk everything for a few moments of happiness.”

You felt a pang of sadness in your chest as his words confirmed what you had always known deep down—that there could never be a future for you with Antoine, not in the way you desired. But even as you accepted this painful truth, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away from him, to sever the bond that had formed between you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “But I don’t know how long I can live like this, always yearning for something more, something that I know I can never have.”

Antoine’s grip on your cheek tightened ever so slightly, as if he was afraid that you would slip away from him, disappear into the night like a dream that could never be recaptured. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, almost desperate kiss, as if he was trying to convey all the things he could never say.

When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with a deep, abiding sorrow, the weight of his own choices pressing down on him like a leaden shroud. “I wish things could be different,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “But they can’t be. You deserve more than I can give you… but I’m too selfish to let you go."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks as you clung to him, the warmth of his body the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. “Then don’t let me go,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet desperation. “Keep me close, even if it’s just for a little while longer. I’ll take whatever you can give me, even if it’s not enough.”

Antoine’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not worthy of you,” he murmured, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. “But I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have you. You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

You clung to him, your heart aching with the knowledge that you were both trapped in a web of your own making, bound by desires that could never be fully satisfied. But even as you accepted this painful truth, you knew that you couldn’t let go of him, not yet. The bond between you was too strong, too powerful to be severed so easily.

And so, you remained in his arms, the two of you locked in a silent embrace, each of you grappling with the impossible choices that lay before you. The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to the struggles of two souls caught in a dance of desire and regret.

But for now, in the quiet of Antoine’s study, with the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls, you were his, and he was yours, if only for a little while longer. And in that fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that it was enough.

Translation:

Monsieur - Sir

Nous avons eu une journée tellement amusante! Il y avait tellement de choses à voir au marché aujourd'hui. - We had such a fun day! There were so many things to see at the market today.

Papa - Daddy

Mademoiselle - Miss

Ma chérie - My darling

[raven-cincaide]

 Who is Megumi? 

Summary: You find a picture, stuffed carelessly amidst Toji’s stuff, of a beautiful dark-haired woman with a baby in her arms. So you must ask the question you don’t want to: Who is Megumi? 

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Toji Fushiguro

Back to the Basics prompt: 3 → Disappointments  

Wordcount: 2.7K

Warnings: Cursing & insults, suggestive theme and use of the nickname 'bunny', hurt-comfort, dark including hint at toxic relationship, domestic violence (hitting, rough handling, abduction? sound torture??), (unfounded/suspected) cheating accusations, attempt at a break up, I think those were all but let me know if I missed any. it's dark content. You've been warned.

“Who is Megu-?” 

Your voice shakes so much you can’t finish speaking the woman’s name. The lump in your throat is overbearingly suffocating. You feel like no air is getting past it into your lungs. You’re heaving. Your hands grip your knees even tighter, knuckles white in a desperate attempt to calm yourself down—a gulp of air, another like a fish out of water. Focus, you think to yourself; you can’t let the pain- the feeling of your entire heart shattering right in your chest- control you. 

Focus, you need to focus. 

Another gasp, and you hear how it echoes in the space around you. The once-filled room, full of your stuff, furniture, the latest technology and decor, is now stripped bare to a jointly bought rug on the floor and worn down sofa. The TV mount is empty- the large screen safely tucked away into a storage unit on the other side of the city. Much of the remaining apartment is the same; bed and bedding remain, but beside-cupboards are removed, and the closet is stripped of the full-length mirrors you installed as doors. The empty hangers stare back at you from one side with no reminisce of your clothes in sight. The other side of the closet is still full of his clothes, left in messy piles and laundry bags. Clean, but neither hung up nor ironed- just like he had left them. You were generous, leaving behind all the jointly bought items. Even the yet-to-be-gifted branded shirts and weapon holsters are left behind for him- the wrapped gifts stare back at you from on top of the closet. 

You have no use for those anyway. 

The walls are barren but for the scuffed wallpaper and poking-out screws from where pictures and artsy paintings once hung. The costly vase- your favourite gift that Toji ever got you- stood rejected in the middle of the counter. You took the fake flowers with you, though. And the wine fridge stuffed with hard liquor where the vase once stood on top of. And the adjacent espresso machine.And the gimmicky fancy drink maker you bought but never actually used. 

No, all the things you bought, got or brought with you when you moved in were gone.

The only remaining things are the last two bright red newly packed suitcases with clothes you don’t really care about. The only reason you plan to take them with you instead of leaving them behind like trash is out of principle. After all, all the essential, precious and expensive stuff is already in your storage or car. But you’d be damned three times over before you left even a single one of your things behind. 

No, in a little while, nothing will be left to indicate that you have ever lived here. 

“W-who’s Me-” You try again but fail; fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. Instantly, you bury your face in your hands. “-M-Megumi?” You finish the sentence with a sob, your whispered voice completely muffled by your hands. It isn’t only the hurt that brings you to tears but also the burning rod of anger and humiliation that came with being ‘the other woman’. For being taken for a fool, living with a man, and not knowing or assuming he’d lead a double life. For giving him everything only for him to take your best and then rub it in your face that you’re ‘not good enough’. You hate him, and you hate yourself for loving him. 

“Who’s Megumi?” the question finally makes it out in an annoyingly high ear-piercing pitch. It’s the kind of shrill cry that could rival an infant's wail. You didn’t even know you could produce such a horrendous sound- but you aren’t complaining. If anything, it is perfect given the situation. You just hope you could reproduce the wretched sound once Toji finally shows his bloody ass ‘home’. 

Another try, you need to be sure you won’t waver in your execution: “Who is-” 

“ -What the hell are you whinging about this time, bunny?” 

Your head snaps towards the voice; your eyes land on Toji, who stands in the middle of the doorway, glaring down at you in his murderous glory. His arm is raised to the upper part of the door, gripping the frame like some ‘cool’ delinquent. As if his entire build isn’t enough to block the exit, he went as far as to prop his oversized sword on the opposite side of the worm, effectively blocking off any space. Unless he let you out, you wouldn’t be leaving through that door. Although located on the third floor, the window beside you looks like a far more viable exit.

You don’t care- don’t take the apparent hint in his tone and expression that he isn’t in the mood for jokes. Toji had just come back to an empty apartment, and you had all of thirty seconds to tell him that you were either robbed or evicted before he got pissed off. You don’t heed that warning, feeling the sad, painful tears shift into humiliated ones. How fucking dare he call you ‘bunny’ when he is the one fucking around like a rabbit in heat. 

“You tell me!” you snap, moving close to him.” Huh? Well? Who the hell is Megumi?!” 

“ Hmm?” Toji raises an eyebrow at you in an unbothered fashion. He rolls his head before resting it against his raised arm, looking down at you. “Who’s that?” 

You reel. Flying to your feet, you cross the room quickly until you are in his face. Your hand reaches up into your pocket, grasping the crumpled picture you had found stuffed in Toji’s tool kit while searching for a screwdriver. You slap it hard against his chest. “I don’t know. You tell me,”  you scream at him, spit and tears going everywhere. This wasn’t like the shrilled cry you made earlier, but you are sure it gets the message across. 

Your only regret is not being cowardly enough to leave without a goodbye- independently if it means Toji will hunt you down later or not.

“Pick your next words carefully-” Toji warns, pushing you away from himself. His hand reaches up, wiping the spit off his cheek onto the back of it.” Bunny”,

You glare at him as your anger reaches new highs. “I have a name!” You hate how he is still not taking this seriously. He looks as calm as ever, not even breaking a sweat, growing angry or moving out of the fucking way. No, Toji stares down at you like you were a child throwing a temper tantrum instead of actively breaking up with him. You hate how he looks so in control as if he could decide what happens in your relationship. 

Jerk. 

A sexy jerk that– you cut your trail of thoughts off as your fingers curled around the crinkled picture tighter. Your eyes flicker down to it—a beautiful woman with an infant in her arms. The back of the image had nothing besides a single word- the cursed female name. Megumi.  

“ You know what Toji?” You eyed the baby dressed in a yellow suit with its small head of patchy black hair pressed against the woman's hoodie-clad chest—the peaceful expression on her face, the casual, messy hair and the bright smile. You could tell she was the type of woman who could light up the room with just her presence. The type that gets treated like a high-class lady while wearing worn-out jeans and a hoodie. The kind that rolled out of bed and looked like a 10- the type you inadvertently felt jealous of. 

“You crossed a line this time; I can close my eyes on a lot of things,” you make a motion towards the worm on his shoulder and the sword at the door, the undoubted dirt, sweat, blood and muck that was just barely hidden by his black t-shirt “I can forgive a lot of things too, but this- this crosses a line¨-” 

“ - Is this what you’re yapping on about?” Toji reaches down and snatches the picture from your hands. He stills for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. It isn't an expression you're used to seeing and it confirms your suspicions. 

Fucking bastard. 

You feel the tears burning in your eyes again, but you’d be damned before you let him see how much this affects you. You move to brush past him, to hell with suitcases, but his hand shifts down lower on the doorframe, blocking you from leaving. “It’s over!” you snap. 

He doesn’t move his arm. His eyes locked on the picture in his other hand. 

You growl, feeling a wave of fresh tears rush down your cheeks. You proceed to shove his arm out of the way. When he doesn’t bulge. You slam your shoulder into his. The action earns you a quiet growl, a warning that he doesn’t appreciate your actions. You respond by doing it again, your hands coming up to claw at his shoulder, grabbing at his hair and clothes in a feeble attempt to get him out of your way. “I said it’s over; I don’t wanna hear it anymore. You’ve had your chance-” 

“-Let’s go meet ‘Megumi’.” Toji interrupts you, swiftly catching your batting hands with one of his—the grip on your wrists bruising. You momentarily grow silent, stunned by how easily he restrained you. 

“What?! I don’t wanna meet your whore!” You exclaim, digging the heels of your feet into the carpeted floor. A single yank from Toji sends you flying after him. Like a weightless paper doll. “Hey, Toji, HEY!”

Toji ignores you and pulls you straight out of the front door. He does not even give you a chance to put on shoes, jacket or even to grab your keys. He just tugs you behind himself, walking with unbothered steps. Each one of his strides, however, is like two to three of yours, making you run after him. Between keeping up with him and paying careful attention to where you set your feet, you had little time to protest. Until you came to the side of the house, where both your cars were parked; yours neatly and within the parking space and his truck.. Well, it is parked, and the handbrakes are engaged for a change, so much you can tell. 

“Let me go!” 

Toji’s response is to open the passenger side of his trunk and toss you in like a sack of potatoes. He slams the door shut and gets into the driver's seat, starting the truck with one hand and pulling on the seatbelt with his other. You pause a moment, realising he is serious about you meeting Megumi, and fly towards the door. The second you touch the handle, the ‘click’ of the child lock echos around the car. Instantly, your eyes flicker towards Toji. 

 “You’re an ass!” The fact that Toji isn’t replying annoys you even further. It is like he is silently laughing at you or finds you too childish to engage with. It’s a realization that turns your confusion vengeful. “ This is illegal, I’ll scream!” You threaten, taking a deep breath and leaning closer to his ear, reading your scream.

Ear plugs or not, you're sure you'll get through to annoy him! 

Toji reaches over and turns on the radio. “Scream all you want, bunny; the louder you are, the more music we’re gonna listen to, you and me.” he taunts before turning up Country Roads to max volume. 

By the time he pulls over, your ears are ringing; you feel dizzy and nauseous. Your head is buried in your knees, and your arms are wrapper around your head protectively, desperately trying to escape the awful country music and the occasional even worse jazz song. 

“Up you go.” When you don’t move out of the truck, Toji grabs your wrist and tugs you out of your seat. He throws you over his shoulder, going back to treating you like a sack of potatoes. You growl as the world shifts around you, the pounding in your ears intensifying. It makes you disoriented and confused. And the darkness of the tall parking garage opposite a far too loud and bright a shopping mall complex does not help with your orientation or confusion. 

“Put me down!” you huff and place a well-timed kick into his stomach. Toji doesn’t set you down, but he does grunt in response “I’m serious. Put me down, or I’ll throw up on you– h-hey!” 

You did not expect he’d throw you down; your ass makes painful contact with the concrete lane divider, which separates the different parking sections. Toji continues walking forward, around the barrier and towards the very edge of the building. Then he points down at something several stories below.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

Wrapping your hands around yourself, you walk over to where he is standing. The garage complex towers high enough to see into the back of a sports arena. There are several running lanes, lanes for high jumps, and distance jumps, and a green field of fake grass in the middle that is perfect for football. Right in in the middle of the green field is a pink-haired guy, and a short brown-haired girl sparing with each other. Off to the side, with his face in the books, is another guy with dark hair. Something about the way he sits and seems completely unbothered by his friend getting his ass kicked by a girl catches your attention. 

“ I named him”, Toji states, lighting himself a cigarette. He takes a deep drag before blowing the smoke to the side. The wind picked up, slapping you with the wretched stench. 

“ Him? Megumi is a he?” you cough, waving your hand in front of your face. As if on cue, the girl screamed to the not-sparing guy, ‘Are you just gonna sit there all day, Fushiguro!’

Fushiguro. Megumi Fushiguro.  

You remember Toji mentioning that he had a son. You just didn’t expect them to live in the same city, within a short car drive from each other. Your eyes flicker over to Toji, his bored expression hidee his emotion perfectly. However, you can see him chewing on the bud of his smoke- a nervous habit that made his poker face readable to you. 

“He doesn’t know you’ve survived, that you’re around?” you ask, watching the smoke-bud closely. The way he pauses chewing it for a split second before resuming gives you more of an answer than Toji would ever speak aloud.  “ Why? Don’t you wanna reconnect? He’s your son, after all.” 

You grow quiet as Toji reaches up his hand and rests it on your head, forcing you to face the sports arena again where the three teenagers moved from one on one sparing onto wrestling each other instead. “Megumi’s a good kid; it’s better this way.”

You don’t know what to say. 

It is rare for Toji to explain himself, let alone openly admit he cares about anyone but himself, smokes, drinks or who the next strongest opponent is. It tells you that Toji cares about him, about Megumi, so he stays away. But not far enough not to know his son's schedule, how he is doing, where to find him, or that this garage, from this floor, would give the correct view to the sports arena below during the times it is used by Megumi and his friends. This revelation makes it difficult for you to think of a reply. 

“ Now that that’s solved, we have another issue.” 

Realising what he means, you gulp, trying to make yourself pitifully and apologetically small. “S-sorry?” you peep, your heartbeat quickens. 

The belly laughter that leaves his mouth fails to ease your nerves. If anything, it made you all the more nervous. Your anxiety and something else coil in the pit of your stomach as Toji tangles his hand in your hair. Not painfully, not yet. 

“ But since you’re so good at jumping to conclusions, Bunny,” Toji looks back down at you, the cigarette in between his lips failing to hide the pure sadistic smirk that promises a whole new type of punishments “Why don’t you show me how good you are at jumping on my-” “TOJI!” you yelp, slamming your hands over his mouth to muffle the shit he is saying in broad daylight, in public no less.  

Not that it would be the first time, but you sure as hell don’t need to turn that into a habit... 

Author note: It's almost 23 oclock and the last thing I'm doing tonight is updating this thing. My first try at a Toji fic, I hope it was worth the slight delay you enjoyed it~

Also I haven't written in present tense in so many years this was actually really hard. But there's nothing like re-learning it, right?

Tags: @pixelcafe-network

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[freesia-writes]

Ch 26: Confrontation

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.2k

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Song: “Already Gone” by Sleeping At Last (Cover)

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The afternoon was beginning to lose its battle against evening as Hunter wove his way through the trees, his gut protesting each step along the familiar path. His mind was racing so quickly that he was utterly lost in it all, instead trying to simply focus on where he was going rather than what he would do when we got there. He pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, then pulled them back down, then tugged at the waistband of his brown pants. As the sound of the sea grew louder, he emerged from the densely wooded forest into the meadows that sloped toward the cliffs above the ocean. The rickety white fence greeted him with its crooked posts grinning in a cruel smile, and he pulled the gate open with more force than he intended, stalking toward the cottage and trudging right up to the front door.

He knocked, three hard blows that sounded as angry as he felt. 

No response. 

He listened intently for any trace of motion or sound within. 

Nothing. 

He turned abruptly and walked around the side of the house, scanning the backyard and garden until his eyes settled on her form, bent over some vegetable plants as she pulled weeds without a care in the world.

Without a care in the world.

Hunter took a deep breath, setting his jaw with deliberation to avoid letting his emotions get the best of him. Strategy, he reminded himself. Everything came down to strategy. There was no point in abandoning reason, no matter how relentlessly the pain churned his stomach. He approached slowly, making a point to step on some dry twigs to announce his presence. Lyra stood up, shifting the basket on her arm as she glanced around the yard. Her brown hair was in a loose braid, her soft form covered by a rather shapeless cream-colored dress with a long brown cardigan on top. 

Then she saw him. 

The basket almost slipped from her elbow, but she caught it with a white-knuckled grip as she stared at him, mouth falling open slightly as a myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Hunter was surprised to see how they mimicked his own, and the sheer amount of thoughts and feelings attacking all at once created a sudden wave of nausea. He came within a few paces of her and stopped, keeping a healthy distance between them as his hands fidgeted at his side before he stopped them with tightly-crossed arms. 

“What are you doing here?” he growled, a million critical thoughts besieging him immediately at his question.

“I live here,” Lyra pointed out, eyebrows drawing together. “But you’ve got a lot of nerve just tromping right into my backyard… after what you did.” Her anger felt brittle, a thin veil over the sadness that threatened to spill out along with the tears in her eyes.

“What I did?” Hunter echoed, dropping his arms to his side as he stared at her in disbelief. “What I did?! That’s rich. Why didn’t you just turn me in from the start? Why drag me to some other planet? Why just me, and not all of us?” The questions were flowing freely now, and his frustration at his own lack of control made it all feel that much worse. “You call it in and then disappear, like a coward… Couldn’t stand to watch the consequences of your own actions?” 

“What?” came her dumbfounded retort, and the shock in her eyes gave him pause before the dragon in his chest rose again. 

“Now you’re going to play dumb?” he challenged, relishing her flicker of hurt before charging onward. “Came back to finish the job and you’re still pretending like you don’t know what’s going on?”

“Hunter, you left me!” she exclaimed, eyes glistening. “I cared for you, let you in… And you turned around and sold me out without even knowing all the facts!”

“Sold you out…” 

“Were you just waiting all along until you could get both of us? How long did you know?”

“About what?” he challenged, anger and hurt battling for center stage as he stared at her beneath hard brows.

“Never mind. I can’t believe you’re turning this around on me,” Lyra said, voice cracking with emotion. She turned away, shoulders hunched in despair as she quickly wiped her eyes. 

“Are they coming here next?” Hunter continued, taking a step closer.

“Who?” she asked, whirling back to face him. 

“Whoever you thought you could make a quick buck from,” he muttered, fighting back the lump rising in his throat, furious at its mere existence. “Is that why you came back? The Empire isn’t very forgiving when you don’t deliver. Must have been a real bummer that I got away, eh?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, face contorted with despair. “I came back to the hotel to find it swarming with Imperials. They were looking for us. They knew I was there. Breslin, too. I heard one of them say ‘they’ll be back, he said so.’ What does that sound like to you?” 

He took a breath, mouth open and mind racing, but the words didn’t come, so he snapped his jaw shut, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he stared at her. The complete impassivity on his face hurt her more than his sharp words ever could, and Lyra turned away again, throwing her basket on the ground nearby. Hunter’s brows furrowed more deeply, and he rubbed his face with a hand before starting again. 

“You’re a traitor to the Republic,” he said quietly, every word laced with vitriol. “It’s not my fault they found you – you probably gave yourself away trying to turn me in.” 

“Turn you in for what?!” she yelled, kicking the basket before whirling back to face him.

“Why are you still pretending to be innocent? That you don’t know?” Hunter said, voice rising to match hers. All sense of strategy had flown out the window, and he found himself wanting to hurt her, to exact revenge for every single moment she’d tricked him into thinking he could be happy. “That we’re clones, wanted by the Empire, harboring fugitives, on the run?” Each inflection was a verbal stab, but instead of any kind of dark revelation at being exposed, Lyra’s expression grew increasingly shocked with each admission. 

“Clones…?” she repeated, face scrunched in disbelief. Her befuddlement seemed so authentic that Hunter was beginning to feel as though he were the crazy one. But what other explanation was there? He continued to glare, emanating rage and indignation as he watched her like a hawk, scrambling to make sense of the conflicting information from her words and the events that had transpired. 

“Why else would the Empire have called an entire squadron on our hotel room, right after you conveniently disappeared? After you…” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “After you kissed me on the forehead and said you were sorry. Sorry for what?” The pain was threatening to overtake the anger, but he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Sorry for keeping things from you,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks now. Her resolve was melting by the second, chipping away at his own fortified defenses. “About my past… About Breslin… The truth about all that had happened. I thought I could leave it behind.” 

Hunter took a deep breath, glowering at her as though it could drive the answers out into the open. It didn’t. The two of them stood in the garden, each one rooted in angry confusion and insulting misunderstanding. Lyra was slowly wilting, unable to look at him. When the discomfort grew to an unbearable pressure, she began to speak, exhaling her story in miserable resignation. 

“I thought I was working for a simple political office on Coruscant. But I found out they were doing some weird experiments. Totally unethical and downright cruel… something about cloning or DNA stripping… I tried to expose it; I gathered some evidence and took it above my boss’s head. I thought I was doing the right thing… But I went to the wrong people. They were in on it too.” 

She stopped, grief overtaking her for a moment as she sniffed, looking to the sky and willing the tears to stop. Hunter waited, motionless. 

“So they threw me in prison to make sure I wouldn’t talk anymore, spun some story about how I was a traitor, and the Republic became the Empire overnight. I’d given Breslin the evidence and made escape plans for her with a friend before they took me away. I was in jail for weeks, and I started to see how other inmates would just vanish without a trial or anything… So when some shady pirate dressed as a guard came by and offered me a chance to get out and disappear, I took it.”

Now it was she who paused for a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again, still unable to meet his gaze. 

“I tried to find Breslin, but her transport had been attacked. Our friend was killed, and I had no idea where she ended up. The pirate conned me out of almost everything I had, talked me into some ‘deluxe package’ to keep me safe. Turns out it was a load of Bantha fodder – a pile of cheap weapons and explosives. What was I supposed to do with that? But he found a safe place for me to live, and I was able to get some long-range communications equipment so I could keep looking for her.”

“What, so you could get the evidence back?” 

“No,” Lyra said, finally looking up at him in offense. “Because Breslin is my daughter.”

Hunter stared wordlessly. 

“I had her when I was young and dumb. We almost grew up together. Then all of this happened. I felt horrible for dragging her into it. I never should have given it to her. I put her in danger too. And then I lost her… for years,” her voice cracked, and she clamped her mouth shut, turning away as her shoulders shook with irrepressible grief. “I would change a million things about it if I could. So many stupid decisions. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Seconds ticked by. 

“Apparently, Breslin settled down on Keytoll,” Lyra continued, lifting her chin to the horizon. “She changed her name to Neon, shaved her head… Made some friends, got a good job in data encryption. When she dug into the evidence I’d given her, she realized it was nothing she wanted to be caught up in, so she hid it and moved on. Claimed that her hobby was playing around with radios, technology, and communicators while she tried to reach me. But we hadn’t had time to set up any kind of code or whatnot. She was the smart one who broadcast a message with some childhood memories disguised as an audioholo that I picked up. Anyway… I found her… I thought we could come back here and be safe… just live simple lives without the constant fear of looking over our shoulders…”

Hunter hated how much that same yearning resonated deeply with him. 

“I don’t know how they found us, if it wasn’t you,” she said softly, turning back to face him with a scrutinizing expression. “We hid on Keytoll for the last few months, came up with a plan. Well, Breslin did. She had some contact that turned out to be the same pirate who helped me escape from prison. He had quite a... bold... personality. Tried to con us again, but she was smart enough to catch it. So with his help, we faked our deaths, published it to the right sources… Then I came back here in the hopes of moving on once and for all.”

“And Breslin?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“More secrets?” His eyes narrowed.

“Why would I tell you?” Lyra retorted, her anger returning. 

He remained silent, the deep hurt of betrayal and loss of trust muddied by the utter confusion and sheer overload of information. 

“Besides,” she continued, advancing on him now. “What’s all this about you? You’re a clone? A fugitive?” 

Hunter shifted on his feet, furious at himself for having revealed his hand in a moment of recklessness. He still wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. It sounded like a plausible story, but he’d been so shamefully fooled by her entire facade that it could be yet another cover-up, a ploy to let his guard down again for whatever else she needed. Perhaps she wanted to protect her own place of safety by taking him elsewhere for capture. He shook his head, rattling the thoughts out of the way, and met her gaze. Two pairs of brown eyes locked in hurt and outrage. 

“There’s all kinds of stories out there. Same as you… Lies of the Empire to get rid of any opposition.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna be vague?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. 

Lyra looked down at her basket, its contents strewn across the ground, then wrapped her arms around herself as though barely holding it together. She glanced back up to him with a single, profound look. 

“Take care, Hunter.” 

And with that, she turned toward the house, picking her way through the garden beds with slow, defeated steps. Hunter’s eyes darted back and forth across the ground in front of him, lips twitching, then he crossed his arms again. 

“Just giving up and running away?” he called after her, despising every word as it came out. 

Lyra stopped, head hanging low, and he watched her shoulders slump beneath the weight of his cruel accusation. She began to turn, but hesitated, tightened her arms around herself, and continued into the house, disappearing inside without a backward glance. 

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Song: A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera – Say Something Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

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[virginsexgod69]

❝Here for You❞

paring: Rick Grimes x f!Reader

summary: After Lori's death, you're there to comfort Rick in any way he needs.

Set in season 3 in the prison after Lori's death

word count: 1,569

content warnings: NSFW // smut // angst // hurt no comfort // pining

cross posted on ao3!

You've always had a thing for Rick. Ever since he arrived at the camp in Atlanta, you had your eye on him.

But he was married.

You weren't a home-wrecker. You wouldn't dare intrude on the happy relationship of a man who was reunited with his family he thought was dead. But that didn't stop you from stealing glances. Sometimes you swore you could feel his blue eyes staring at you too. At some point, those stolen glances turned into the two of you looking longingly at each other. Maybe, just maybe, he felt the same about you?

But be was married.

The longing looks weren't the only thing setting your heart ablaze. It was the way Rick would place his hands on your hips whenever he needed to get by. The way his touch would linger. Not only that, but he was so protective of you, but never controlling . He even took the time to teach you how to properly use a gun. And he always, always made sure you had something to eat, even if it meant less for him. He had to have liked you just a little bit, right?

But be was married.

You knew for sure you'd never have a shot with Rick after you found out Lori was pregnant. Even if nobody could be sure the baby's his, he still stuck by her and who were you to get between that.

But still, that did nothing to stop the fleeting moments between the two of you. In fact, they seemed to happen even more. Maybe he indulged in his desires a bit to soothe his aching heart from the pain of not really knowing if his unborn baby was his. Despite all of this, you fought hope. You wanted him so so bad, but you knew there wasn't a chance in hell it would happen.

Because he was married.

But then he wasn't. Shit hit the fan: the farm was overrun by walkers, Sophia turned, Shane was killed, Andrea never came back, a prison became a home, a baby was born... oh , and Lori died.

It's not like that made you happy. You were sad that she didn't get to say goodbye, that she didn't get time with her newborn, that Rick lost his wife. It took a toll on him. He wasn't the same. He was crazy even. Everyone was on edge around him, constantly walking eggshells as to not set him off. There was just so much tension.

And the tension felt even more uncomfortable as the two of you made your way back to the prison after an unsuccessful run. The tension practically filled the little green car with all the words left unsaid, questions left unasked, feelings left unknown. So, you decided to speak to him for the first time in months.

"Are you okay?" you asked timidly.

His knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

" 'M fine," he mumbled not taking his eyes off the road.

That was a damn lie and you both knew it.

"Rick," you said softly, "we're alone now. If you want to talk abou-"

"I said I'm fine!"

He may not have wanted to talk, but you could tell he needed to be comforted and you wanted to be the one to offer him that comfort, no matter how he wanted it. No matter how he needed it.

You placed a gentle hand on his knee, much like how he used to do to you before everything happened.

He sighed with relent before pulling the car over and putting it in park. He placed his hand on top of yours and looked over at you. You fought not to get lost in the sea of his blue eyes as you stared back at him.

"I'm.. I'll be fine, I promise."

You leaned closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

"Y'know I'm here to comfort you, right? In any way you need me, I'm here," you promised.

His baby blue eyes drifted from yours down to your lips. His whole demeanor changed. He relaxed for the first time in a while. So much so, he let his inhibitions go as he pulled you closer and crashed his lips into yours.

So many feelings rushed through your head the second your lips made contact. You were shocked. You dreamed and fantasized about this moment forever and now that it was finally happening, you weren't going to let it slip through your fingers. You reciprocated the kiss, indulging in every second before Rick hastily pulled away.

"I'm so sorry," he said between gentle pants "I shouldn't have done that."

Your heart sank. You resented that he regretted your happiest moment.

"Rick," you said with your forehead still against his, "I want this. I want you ." You didn't care how desperate you sounded. Once you got a taste of Rick, you needed more.

And perhaps he felt the same about you because he didn't hesitate to pull you back in for another kiss. Trying your best not to break the kiss, you climbed from the passenger seat onto his lap. His tongue found its way into your mouth and tasted you as if he'd never get another taste. You moaned against his mouth as you tangled your hands in his curly hair. His hands traversed your body before practically tearing off the button up shirt you wore.

"You sure you want this?" he asked. His blue eyes, glistening in the sunlight, looked at you with uncertainty. You could tell he wanted this, but even more so he didn't want to hurt you.

You responded by grinding against his hardening bulge as you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. His hands firmly gripped your hips as ground you onto his clothed erection. He pulled away from your mouth and placed open mouthed kisses down your neck. You didn't miss the occasional grunts you coaxed out of him which only encouraged you to keep going. He reached up and unclasped your bra, slid it off your arms, and tossed it aside. Embarrassed by the exposure, you automatically moved to cover yourself, but Rick caught your wrists.

"Don't. Let me see you. You're so beautiful," he rasped.

Oh Rick. He was even sweeter than you anticipated which set you ablaze and drove the butterflies in your tummy crazy. You needed him. You hurried to undo his belt as he was fondling your breasts while placing kisses along your collar bones. He lifted his hips just enough for you to pull his pants down. He took a nipple into his mouth as you palmed his bulge through his boxers.

"I-I need you," you wantonly moaned.

" 'M all yours."

You freed his rock hard erection from his boxers and stroked it a few times before moving to pull off your own pants. Rick helped you get out of them, stopping for a second to admire the wetness accumulated in your panties. He pulled them aside and lined his dick with your entrance, letting you slowly sink down on it. He stretched you so good that the pain only added to your pleasure.

"I've fantasized about you since you arrived at the camp in Atlanta," you confessed.

"I can't say I haven't wanted you this way for a while too. Whenever I caught you staring at me with those doe eyes, my imagination ran wild."

Once you felt comfortable enough, you began to move. You held onto his shoulders for support as you bounced on his dick. He threw his head back as he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. He couldn't take it anymore and held onto your hips again as he thrusted up into you. He watched you with admiration in his eyes as your breasts bounced with each and every one of his thrusts.

"You feel so good around my cock, princess."

"Oh god Rick, I think I'm gonna-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence since he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down for another kiss. Your walls clenched around him as his thrusts grew sloppy. You were both about to cum.

"That's it, cum for me Lori."

You both froze. The butterflies in your tummy were stabbed to death by the shards of your broken heart. You felt a lump in your throat as you tried to hold back the hot tears burning the corners of your eyes. Rick looked at you brokenheartedly with shame swimming in his eyes as you pulled yourself off of him.

"Lor- er, Y/N, I'm sor-"

"Don't."

God you sounded so... broken .

You both dressed yourselves in awkward silence. Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, which was good because you'd have ignored him anyway.

"The sun's setting, we should get back to the prison," you said cooly.

"Y/N, I-"

"Just stop!"

A beat of silence passed and Rick finally started up the car and resumed the drive back to the prison.

You let your tears fall silently as you stared out the window, but you eventually closed your eyes. Your stomach churned at the sight of his wedding band's reflection in the window, signifying that even though his wife was dead, he was still married.

[hypersonic04]

Heaven In Your Eyes

Hi everyone! I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of writing, both in terms of actually writing and also feeling mentally okay to delve back into tumblr. This is pretty basic I fear, so please bare with me lol. I’m not too sure what the word count is, but it’s not super long. I’ve missed you all so much, and really hope you enjoy <3

“I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Breathy laughter tumbles down the telephone line, your knuckles white as you grip the phone in your cold fingers. Looking both left and then right, the street is bare of taxi’s. It’s 3am, you’re stood outside a nightclub alone in the middle of London, and there’s only one address you know off by heart.

“Y/n? Are you still there?”

His voice brings you out of your panic, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to get rid of the wine-instilled haze that seems to be clouding them.

“Yeah, sorry.” You inhale sharply, quickly glancing at the gaggle of girls falling out of the club doorway in loud giggles and clicking heels. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah, is everything okay? You’re worrying me, where are you?” The sound of him shuffling to his feet - you picture him in those navy plaid pyjama pants you’d bought him last Christmas, weary eyes and a furrowed brow as he awaits your reply.

“Can I stay over?” You grimace as the words slip out of your mouth. Asking to stay over at your ex-boyfriend’s flat because you can’t remember the address of your hotel is quite possibly your lowest point yet. Your feet hurt in the strappy heels wound tight around your feet, the spaghetti straps of your dress offering no warmth to your bare shoulders. It’s November, for Christ sake.

“Course.” He responds after a few beats, “do you need me to come and pick you up?”

“No, it’s okay, I can Uber.” Licking your lips, you spot a cab making it’s way to the queue, holding your arm out for it. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay, let me know when you’re nearly here.”

With that, you hang up and jump in the cab. The address rolls off your tongue without a second thought, like it’s tattooed onto your brain. It makes your heart ache a little. You wonder if it’s the same for another girl somewhere out there, if in the three months you’ve been separated, Ross’ flat has become someone else’s drunken retreat. You find yourself picking around the edge of your nail as you picture the unidentified her in his bedsheets, the ones you used to tuck tightly around his mattress in the mornings because you knew he liked it, the very same bedsheets that once smelled like you.

The taxi driver coming to a halt surprises you, and when you look out of the window, sure enough, his apartment building looms next to you. You pay the driver, sliding out of the car and sending a quick text to him.

It’s all too familiar, the way you wait under the porch, leaning against the brick while you wait for him to come and open the door for you. You reminisce in a way that you’ve avoided for the entirety of your time apart, a way that you knew would leave you sobbing if you dared to delve into the memories of him.

You stand up from the wall when his figure approaches through the frosted glass, tall and looming. Opening the door, his eyes are exactly as you pictured them - dark, creasing slightly at the corners as he smiles softly at you, tired from touring.

And he is wearing the pyjama pants.

“Hi,” he smiles lopsidedly, standing to the side to let you in.

“Hi.” You say quietly, quieter than you anticipated. “Thank you so much.” You turn to face him as he shuts the door, swallowing heavily. He just looks so comfy, familiar, home.

“You know you’re always welcome.” He scratches the back of his neck as he stretches a little, and it takes every ounce of self discipline and control to not watch as his sweater rides up, fingers tingling with the thought of running them over the soft skin at his waist like you used to. His hair is longer, it makes your breath hitch, and you know he notices in the way his eyes trail down your throat, your neck flexing as you breath in.

“Yeah, well, I’m really grateful.” You nod, the silence all consuming.

You follow him up the stairs as he takes the lead, heels clicking on tiles and your hand clinging to the handrail. He lets you into the flat first, and the way your stomach drops at the sight of it takes you by surprise. It’s like you can see ghosts of yourself in every corner - tangled together on the sofa, dancing together in the kitchen, sharing a cigarette on the balcony.

The sound of the door clicking shut and locking fills the room. You sit on the edge of the sofa and undo your shoes, his gaze burning into you. He’s stood against the doorway, eyes following your every move.

“Why are you in London, anyway? Alone?” He asks, and you can hear the almost jealous tone in his voice.

“Someone’s party, some publisher, I don’t know.” You mumble, the free cocktails finally taking their toll. “And yes, alone. Go on, call me a loser, I know it’s on the tip of your tongue.”

He chuckles lightly and you roll your eyes. That laugh, the hold it’s had over you from the second you heard it all those years ago, makes you angry, in a way. How dare he have that power over you? How dare his slightest chuckle remind you of every Sunday morning spent together, every drunken walk home, every party where you’ve been the only two people in the room?

Walking over, he takes your heels from you and sets them in the hallway, before coming to sit next to you. You’re looking up at the ceiling, knees pulled to your chest as you lull your head back.

“This is nice.” He muses, taking the sparkly material of your dress between his fingertips, rubbing it against them.

“Do you think?” You smile sleepily, tilting your head to the side, his eyes trained on the material draped over your legs.

It’s silent in the flat, and it dawns on you that he probably just stayed up to wait for you.

“Why were you up at 3am? I didn’t think you’d answer.” You say quietly, watching as his eyes meet yours for a second, before flicking back to the ceiling.

“Can’t sleep these days.” He huffs, chest rising and falling heavily. You remember how he used to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, head nuzzled into your chest, impossible to wake up, in fact.

He turns to look at you for a second, gaze falling to your lips, over your cheeks, nose, meeting your eyes again. It’s been three months since you’ve been face to face, and it almost makes you laugh how you ever thought you could forget him. It feels like you were tracing the outline of his lips only yesterday, every inch of his existence at the forefront of your mind, like a textbook you’ve read every day, laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

“How was the rest of the tour?” You whisper, still facing him.

“It was good, really good.” A faint smile ghosts over his lips, eyes softening ever so slightly as he thinks of the band. “Missed home though.”

“Hm, I bet.” You nod.

“How’s work?”

“Shit.” You say with a sputtered laugh, smile widening as you look at him, shaking his head with a giggle.

“Seriously?” He looks at you with tilted brows, wincing almost.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, moving away from home. I don’t know, I just wanted a change after everything…” Your voice trails off. Silence consumes the room. You swear you can hear your heart beat against your chest, or maybe it’s his. “I guess I thought that if I moved away, if I changed every other area of my life, then maybe it would fix everything.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands.

“And it didn’t.” You glance at him as the words leave your mouth, wishing that you could get a glimpse into that brain of his. Cogs turning slowly, calculated, pondering over every word.

“When I heard you were moving, I assumed it was because you were going to be happier away from me. That’s why I didn’t do anything.” He runs a hand through his long hair, your eyes following as he does so, “Because you were leaving and I didn’t want to be the knobhead ex-boyfriend telling you to stay.”

“Who told you I was leaving?”

“George. He told me about the phone call.”

You inhale sharply, brow furrowing slightly as you remember that day vividly, sat in your London apartment surrounding by boxes, listening to George begging you to stay. For Ross, for the band, for Dirty Hit. How could you stay? How could you work for your ex-boyfriend’s record label, looking at pictures of him every day, his music playing constantly, surrounded by him? That’s no condition to move on. How can you pretend someone doesn’t exist when your to-do list at work revolves around him?

“If you’d have told me to stay, I would have.” You bite down on your bottom lip, glancing at him. It’s true. His shoulders rise and then fall as he listens to you. It goes quiet, the tension in the air turned to a sadness.

“I’ve missed you.” He says through a strained voice.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You smile softly, sadly almost.

His dark eyes twinkle in the dim light of the floor lamp. They’re chocolate, they’re pools of honey, they’re heavenly. Sticky and sweet and enticing, and you just know you shouldn’t have them, shouldn’t let yourself fall into them.

“Have you been seeing anyone?” He asks abruptly.

There’s a shift in the air, his eyes fixed on your lips as your tongue swipes at them, still sweet from the sugar of the mojitos you’d drank earlier. You wonder what his taste like as you stare at them, perfectly met, gravelly stubble begging to be met with your soft fingertips. You know what they taste like, and that’s the problem.

“No, have you?”

He shakes his head.

“God, we’re boring, aren’t we? No sex in three months. We’re in our prime, Ross.” You laugh loudly at yourself, his eyes crinkling as he does the same. He always loved the way you found yourself funnier than anyone else in the room, obnoxious giggles escaping your pretty lips as he watches them curve into a wide, toothy smile.

“You’re right, it’s tragic.” He huffs.

You glance at him, features soft, hazy under your gaze. He’s propped himself up with his hand, elbow leaning on the back on the sofa, looming over you ever so slightly. You watch as he brings his fingertips lower, lower, brushing a curl from your collarbone, twisting the end of it between his fingers, gentle, quiet, slow. You smile at him softly as he does so. Moving from your hair to the strap of your dress, your skin feels cold, goosebumps over every inch of you. He notices, dark eyes glancing at yours for a second.

“Ross…” you whisper.

He looks at you intently, a sense of worry in his eyes, almost. He wonders if he’s overstepped, if he’s misread the sighs.

“I’m sorry, I just…” he sighs slightly.

“No, I…” you shake your head at him lightly, “I don’t want you to feel like this is why I’m here. I didn’t come here to have sex with you, Ross. I came here because you’re all I could think of.”

He rubs at his chin, watching as your turn to face him properly.

“No matter where I am, London, Manchester, even the other side of the world, all I can think about is what would have happened if I’d not have left, if we’d have worked things out.” Tears prick at your eyes, maybe the alcohol, maybe the way he softens as you speak, as you place a hand on his knee. “I’m an idiot, and I run away when things get difficult, and this was the first time in my life I realised I’d fucked up massively.”

“You’re not an idiot.” He tucks some hair behind your ear.

“No, I am. I should have stuck it out, talked to you.”

He places his hand over yours on his knee.

“Stay, y/n.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, sighing deeply.

“You said that if I’d have asked you to stay, you would have. I’m asking you now. Stay.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in yours. His other hand is on the back of your head, pulling you to hun until your lips are slotted together. Your hands find either side of his head, leaning into him even more, feeling his fingertips brush the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

“I’m never leaving you again.” You mumble between kisses, feeling him nod as your lips meet.

[soulofapatrick]

Everything to me - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader 

Summary: You return to Beacon Hills after being away for a year

Words 2.1K

Warnings: none 

Y/N's POV

As I drive up the narrow, winding trail to the newly rebuilt Hale House, my heart pounds in my chest with a force that feels almost supernatural in its intensity. The familiar landscape of Beacon Hills blurs past the windows, and each turn of the wheel brings me closer to a confrontation I've been dreading for the past year. The supernatural world that once fascinated me had become a nightmare, and the war with the hunters left scars deeper than any physical wound. The most significant of those scars is the bite I received, a mark of the werecoyote now a part of me. The fear of rejection, of being an outcast in the pack I once called family, gnaws at me relentlessly.

Leaving without a word, without a goodbye, was the hardest decision I've ever made. I remember the night vividly, the moon high in the sky, casting eerie shadows as I slipped away. I couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt, in their eyes. I didn’t want to face their questions or their possible rejection. So, I ran. Chicago became my refuge, its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces a strange comfort. An old family friend helped me regain control over my new werecoyote side, teaching me to harness my abilities and temper the beast within. But no amount of control can temper the anxiety coursing through me now as I approach the Hale House.

The mansion looms ahead, a testament to the resilience of my friends. Its imposing structure is both a symbol of strength and a reminder of everything I left behind. As I park the car and cut the engine, the silence is deafening. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. I sit there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but the mix of anticipation and fear swirls within me like a storm.

What if they don’t want me back? The question haunts me, each scenario playing out in my mind. I picture Lydia’s disappointment, Scott’s silent judgment, the pack turning their backs on me. What if I’ve been replaced, my absence a void too painful to fill? What if they see me as a traitor, someone who abandoned them in their time of need? The thought is almost too much to bear, and for a moment, I consider turning the car around and fleeing once more. But I can’t. I need to face them, to face the consequences of my actions.

I barely have time to unbuckle my seatbelt before a high-pitched squeal pierces the air. Lydia’s voice. I turn just in time to see her racing towards me, her red hair a bright streak against the backdrop of the mansion. The next moment, I’m nearly knocked off my feet as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that’s as fierce as it is unexpected. My arms come up automatically, hugging her back, and a wave of relief washes over me. Oh god, I’ve missed my best friend.

Over Lydia’s shoulder, I see the others emerging from the house, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and wariness. I know what they must be thinking. I left without a word, disappearing into the night like a ghost. I see the questions in their eyes, the unspoken accusations. But there’s something else too—a glimmer of hope, of welcome. Maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost them entirely.

A sharp sting on my cheek snaps me back to the present, and I wince as Lydia pulls back, her glare intense enough to make me squirm. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving like that!” Her voice is a mix of anger and relief, and I can’t blame her for either emotion.

“I—” I start to explain, but the words catch in my throat. How do I explain the fear, the desperation that drove me away? Before I can find the words, Scott steps forward, sweeping me into a hug. His embrace is strong and comforting, a silent promise that he’s still here for me. He murmurs something into my hair, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s holding me, accepting me, is enough.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. We shared secrets, fears, and feelings we never dared to voice before. His sleep-filled voice was my anchor, and now, seeing him in person, my heart aches with the need to close the distance between us.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heart pounding even harder. He stands there, fidgeting nervously, his eyes darting away when they meet mine. His uncertainty mirrors my own, but beneath it, I see the same longing, the same hope that kept us connected all those nights.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I see the worry, the fear of rejection, mirrored in his gaze, but also the unwavering affection that has always been there.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heightened senses picking up every detail. The scent of his anxiety is sharp, mingling with the familiar notes of his cologne and the underlying scent that is uniquely his. But there’s something else, something deeper—an intoxicating mix of love and need that almost makes me dizzy.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I can practically taste the tension in the air, feel the electric pull between us. His eyes, a rich cognac colour, are filled with a mixture of fear and hope, mirroring my own emotions.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me. His skin is warm under my touch, a comforting reminder that this is real.

“I meant everything I said,” I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes widen, and before I can say anything else, he’s moving. His hands grip my shirt, pulling me towards him, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is desperate, needy, but it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve been longing for. His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a fervour that sends shivers down my spine. I can taste the salt of his tears mingling with our kiss, and it breaks something open inside me. My heightened senses pick up every nuance—the rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of mint on his lips. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, a sensory overload that drowns out everything else.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responds in kind, his hands tangling in my hair, holding me as if afraid I might disappear again. The world fades away, and all that exists is the two of us, locked in this embrace, sharing a kiss that speaks of everything we’ve been through and everything we hope for.

“I love you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice raw with emotion. Tears blur my vision, but I smile, whispering the words back to him. “I love you too.” 

In this moment, with Stiles in my arms and the pack around us, I know I’m finally home. Werecoyote or not, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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