#and then you’re ripped away from that being

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 9

Series Summary: In order to save money for law school, you accept a job working as a maid for high end clients. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in more than just your curiosity peaks.  Word Count: 5k CW: see small red lettering below the cut AN: I'm going to miss them!! I'm absolutely heartbroken that I'm done, but so fucking proud of myself for what I've created. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being my beta from pretty much the very beginning. I am so grateful to you and so honoured (yes, with a u because I'm Canadian lol) to call you my friend. Also little shoutouts to @for-a-longlongtime, @alltheirdamn, @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for listening to me go on about them for 80% of 2024. As always, graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: unprotected p in v, one spank, multiple orgasms and Overstim hinted at, pining, heartbreak

Eight Months Later

Joel

“I got yelled at by a feisty brunette last night at that gala,” Tommy says as the two of them sip whiskey at the bar of the club. 

“Probably deserved it.” Joel deadpans and closes the folder of invoices he’s looking over.

He should be doing this in his fancy, and newly renovated, office across the street. He was in the large office for all of three minutes the day after you left when he could only see the ghost of you. From the chair you sat in when you first asked him to teach you how to be a sub, to the door he pinned you against and confessed how out of his mind he was over you, everything was you, and it had to go if he had any chance of following what you needed from him. Joel hasn’t even been in his room at the club out of the fear of what it would do to him. Would I still be able to smell the lavender of her shampoo in there? Still be able to hear her beautiful cries of pleasure and pain bouncing off the walls?

“She thought I was you,” Tommy says, glancing over at his brother and interrupting Joel’s impending spiral.

Joel sighs, slipping his reading glasses from his face before taking a long pull of the amber liquor from his crystal glass. Tommy looks straight ahead as he continues.

“She’s doing great, by the way. Or at least that’s what her friend said when she was scolding me.”

 Joel winces at his words, “Of course she is, Tommy.” Even though it's been almost a year since you left, just the mention of you rips his barely-mended heart back in half. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, he still feels like he did in his kitchen. 

The very fibers of his being ache just as hard for you now as they did then. He longs to see you and touch you, to feel your warm, soft skin under his hands again. Anyone before you was always, ‘Yes, Mister Miller,’ even when they weren’t in a scene; but not you. You weren’t afraid to be curious and unapologetically yourself. He hasn’t laughed as hard with anyone, including Tiffany, as he did with you. But the part that he misses the most is the way you look at him the first time you see him. Your eyes soften, velvety pink lips parting slightly before they curl into a smile that makes his heart hammer behind his ribs. Then, he watches your shoulders relax and it makes him feel like he hung the moon and stars for you, and if he could have, he would have.  

He clears his throat and then rasps, “She’s too smart to not be doing well.”

Tommy stands, bringing his hands to rub at Joel's shoulders. He squeezes his tense deltoid muscles and with a hint of mischief in his voice he says, “Lots of pretty girls here tonight if you feel like moving on.”

Joel shakes his head and pulls away from Tommy’s grasp with a grunt. “Never gonna happen. Get outta here before you get yelled at two nights in a row.”

“Just too bad for me that you aren’t a hot brunette,” Tommy says with a laugh.

“I have brown hair,” Joel replies defensively, running his fingers through the grown out curls. 

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but it’s mostly grey at this point.”

Joel holds up a single finger at Tommy over his shoulder as he laughs and walks away. 

Two and a half years later

You

You’ve been up to your eyeballs in studying as you prepare for your finals. These last few years in California have been the hardest yet most fulfilling time of your life. Two nights in a row now, you’ve fallen asleep in the library, only waking when your Spotify would switch from the white noise playlist you use to help you focus, to your “getting ready” playlist. After dragging yourself to your dorm room in the dead of the night, you’d get a few restless hours of sleep before heading right back to your favourite studying spot. You can’t believe that in just a few short weeks you’ll be graduating and stepping into the life you’ve always envisioned for yourself.

The unmistakable FaceTime jingle fills your AirPods. Jamie’s name is splayed across the screen of your phone, along with a photo of the two of you at Albany Beach when she visited this past Christmas break. You put your highlighter down and slide the answer toggle over. 

“Hey!” She says, her warm smile shining up at you. You squint, trying to place where she is. You don’t often let yourself think of Joel, but the cracks across your screen make FaceTiming difficult, and the selfish side of you always wishes you had grabbed that new phone before you left. Your head cocks to the side; broken screen or not, you don’t recognize the background.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. How are you?” She jests with a mocking eye roll.  “I’m at a cabin.”

“What cabin?” You say, glaring at her jokingly. A deep laugh comes from the otherside of the phone and your eyes widen. “Who’s that?”

The man's voice comes from offscreen, “I can’t believe you thought she wouldn’t ask where you were. She’s going to be a lawyer, for god's sake.”

“Jamie, who is that? What is going on here? Blink twice if you need rescuing!” You joke. 

Jamie blushes, looking over the phone at whoever that voice is coming from. “I just wanted to call to see how the studying is going, and to let you know that I got the graduation tickets.”

A glass of white wine appears in front of Jamie and she smiles before puckering her lips in a kissing motion towards the man in the room with her. “Ok, seriously, who the fuck is that and where are you?”

“I was also calling to let you know that Laren can’t make it anymore and Odette is in New York,” she takes a small sip of her wine.

“Oh, well that’s ok,” you say, trying to squash the disappointment and hoping it doesn’t show in your voice or face. You wished that at least two of your three best friends would be there for you. “It can just be me and you, baby!” 

“Well…I’m wondering if I could maybe bring my boyfriend? Might be a good opportunity for you two to meet.”

“What? What boyfriend?” You say, officially abandoning all study materials until you get some answers. Jamie raises a perfectly manicured finger and calls the mystery man over. 

You swallow hard as Tommy Miller appears beside her. 

Jamie glances up at him, her bright green eyes full of admiration, his mirroring hers. The starry look in their eyes tells you everything you need to know; they’re so far gone for that even a search and rescue team wouldn’t be able to save them. She looks back at you. “Meet again, I guess.”

You try to push for answers, but either of them give in, claiming you need to focus on finals. Before you hang up, Jamie promises to tell you the entire story when you see each other next. You’re happy for your friend, especially seeing the way Tommy looked back at her. Even through your cracked screen you could see the love, but as you try to go back to studying you have a hollow feeling in your stomach.

Graduation Day

You

The late afternoon sun fills your dorm room, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around you. After walking the stage tonight, you are going out to dinner with Jamie and Tommy, and then he has paid for a hotel suite so the two of you can have a girls’ night. You can’t wait to hear how Tommy went from, in Jamie’s previous words, “my dad’s new asshole friend” to her boyfriend. 

You step in front of your floor length mirror, zipping up the black graduation gown over your knee length, form fitting, deep emerald velvet dress. The California sun has been good to you, your tanned legs and sunkissed nose and cheeks are glowing. You place your blue and yellow Berkeley Law stole over your head and then grab your cap, ensuring the ‘Class of ‘28’ tassel is secure. You fluff your curls one last time as a light knock comes from your door. 

“Ready to graduate, gorgeous?” Ronan smiles at you, eyes trailing down your gown. He’s the type of handsome that’s almost painful to look at, but more importantly - you wouldn’t have made it through these last three years without him. You met the first day - the lock on your door wasn’t working, and he waltzed in on you half naked when he mistook your room as his. 

You smile at him in your doorway now; remembering the way you screamed at him that first time, trying to cover your chest, and him scrambling to close the door. His eyes were clamped shut, and he slammed his finger so hard that you had to take him for stitches. Now, several years later, he fills out his graduation gown perfectly with those wide rugby shoulders, a sight you couldn’t even have imagined back then. Whichever angel made him didn’t make a single mistake - he’s tall and insanely broad, with dark sandy blonde hair, and clover green eyes that in the right light are a golden hazel. He’s easily one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and an incredible athlete. The cherry on top, because of course there’s more: he’s an international student and has a panty-melting Irish accent. 

“Beyond ready. Let's become lawyers, babe.”

He steps aside, one arm out in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. Handsome, charming, and thoughtful - a dangerous trifecta. You slide your hand in the crook of his muscle-lined arm and walk across campus together.

Ronan jerks his head towards the coffee cart. “Remember when you spilled your entire coffee on your new puffer jacket?”

You glare up at him, you saved for weeks to buy that jacket. “No, but I remember you throwing up in that trash can after the Halloween party last year.” 

“Well, if Beach Party Barbie had helped Lifeguard Ken with all those shots we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?” You laugh as Ronan puffs out his chest, but you both know he was more than willing to take your half of the ‘Best Couples Costume' shots. 

Finally, you reach the courtyard where the law students will be walking across a stage that acts as the symbolic bridge to the rest of their lives. I’m a lawyer, you think to yourself and try to force a smile. The magnitude of the day only really starts to sink into your bones as you see the friends and families of your classmates start to take their seats. The excited feeling you had earlier starts to morph. You’re proud of yourself for what you’ve done these last three years, and this was just the first step. You have so much to look forward to, so why do you feel a sense of dread building in the pit of your stomach? 

Ronan walks you to where you need to line up alphabetically, kissing your cheek and then, after leaning in and placing his large hand on your lower back, he whispers a joke about how you better not trip. You glance around the thick crowd for Jamie and Tommy. After realizing it’s hopeless to try and spot them in a group this large, you slip your cap over your hair and get in the procession line. 

You try to soak in every minute of the day, from the speeches to the birds chirping in the background, but something akin to loss flutters at the base of your spine. You’re just as sad to be leaving Berkely as you are excited to carve out your future. Leaving here isn’t what’s causing you to feel this way, however. You try to tell yourself that maybe it’s just nerves; even with all the job offers coming in from your internships, it’s normal to be nervous about what comes next. 

As the student union president gives his toast to the family and friends, you look down at your lap, pushing back the cuticle on your left thumb. Maybe it’s leaving Ronan. He’s been an anchor for you, grounding you almost every day of the last three years and you don’t know how you let yourself become this dependent on anyone, especially a man, again.  

You shake your head at yourself and try to move your focus to the cuticle on your other thumb. Seeing the skin clean from the nail bed eases the tension slightly for you. ‘I’m allowed to be nervous when leaning on people, but not everyone will leave me,’ you recite almost automatically in your mind, the mantra you’ve had these past few years whenever you feel yourself getting this anxious. Just as you finish the thought, a car revs in the distance and the realization of what - or who - you’re actually missing slams through you so hard that you almost feel winded. Your lungs ache, tears pushing behind your eyes as his name rings loudly through your mind.  

Joel.

You kept yourself busy since the minute you left Austin. The busier you were, the less time you had to focus on the void in your heart. During the school year, you didn’t have to find things to stay busy with; law school nearly chewed you up and spit you out. Over the summers, you worked as an intern and visited your friends. There was never a quiet moment, never too much time alone with your thoughts, and it was better this way. You can confidently say that you’d only thought of Joel six times since you walked out of his house that day: when you fell asleep on the beach and were so sunburnt you could barely move for three days; when you failed your first test; when your rusted SUV, that acted as your ticket to freedom at eighteen, died on the freeway in rush hour (from that point on you had to rely on public transportation to get you to the homes you cleaned). When you experienced your first earthquake; when you stayed up for forty-two hours straight after your partner in a group project didn’t have their side of the work done; and, lastly, this past New Year’s Eve when you were in Austin and thought you saw him at a party. 

“Is he here?”, that little box of feelings that you shut away in a vault long ago wonders. “Has anything changed for him in the last three years?” 

The small smile that pulls at your cheeks, and the excited flutter of your heart when you think about the possibility of seeing him again, proves that maybe nothing has changed for you. As the minutes tick by, your mind races with all the possible scenarios for after the ceremony. What if he is here? What will you say? What will he say? How will Ronan react, you know he has strong feelings about what happened between you and Joel. Even worse though, what if he’s not here? But maybe he’s at the hotel where Tommy and Jamie are staying?  

Before you know it, your row is standing and walking single file towards the stage. With each strike of your high-heeled strappy sandals against the concrete, a memory of Joel floods your system. The toast he made you in his kitchen, the kiss in that dimly lit hallway on your birthday, the way he walked you through his club and how calmly he talked about you being in charge before going into the voyeur room. The multitude of orgasms he gave you within the four walls of his private room. Him singing on the small stage of the dive bar you found, followed by him spanking you right there in the bathroom with his hand clamped to your face to keep you quiet. His strong hand grasping your thigh as he drove you to his house. The way he tasted on your tongue. The smell of his skin: all ash and leather, occasionally mixed with whiskey or mint. The feel of his body: hard, broad and hot. His shuddered breaths as he confessed so many things in so few words. 

‘It’s only you, sweet girl.’

‘Just call me Joel.’

‘I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.’

You carefully walk up the stairs, forcing the thoughts of Joel from your mind, just in time to hear your name announced as a graduate of Berkeley Law. You float across the stage, grabbing the piece of paper that acts as your degree until the real one comes, shaking the hand of the Dean who flips your tassel before you walk to the stairs on the other side; the stairs that symbolize the ending of your time here and the beginning of the rest of your life. 

As you reach the top of the steps, you look out into the audience and see Jamie. She pumps her fist in the air and before you can process the empty seat beside her, you feel it; a strong tug from behind your navel. It takes you less than a heartbeat to find him and the sight before you floods your body with a familiar warmth. Standing under a large tree at the edge of the audience, dressed in all black, and holding his Stetson hat to his heart, is Joel. For the first time in years you feel whole again.

 You keep your gaze on him, worried that if you so much as blink that he’ll be gone. You are supposed to follow your classmates, but you veer left, walking towards Joel. The closer you get, the more at ease you feel. He’s real, you think, he’s here. You stop a foot or so in front of him. 

“Hi, Freckles,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes dance around your face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling exactly how you are.   

“Hi, Sweet Cheeks,” you say, the same tremble in your voice, as you try desperately to hold it together. “You’re here.”

He nods and you give him a tight-lipped smile as your mind races. There’s so much you want to say, but now that he’s standing right there in front of you after three years, you don’t know where to start. 

Joel breaks the silence, jutting his chin in the direction of the other graduates as he says, “I saw you come in with your boyfriend. When I saw you kiss, I was going to leave, but I made you a promise.”

You knit your eyebrows together and take a step closer. “Boyfriend?”

“The man you walked over here with,” Joel says, his black Stetson sliding down the chest you so desperately want to touch as he drops his hands to his sides. He’s left no barriers between the two of you except the heartbreak that’s evident on his face. 

You laugh quietly, “No, he’s - that’s Ronan.”

Joel nods. “Okay.”

“He’s my friend,” you clarify, and when Joel’s face stays the same, you add, “And he’s still as gay as the day we first met!”

Joel lets out a whoosh of a breath and closes the distance between the two of you, his free hand comes to one of your curls, twirling the end of it around his thick fingers. Soft and silky meets rough and calloused. “I’m so proud of you, Freckles.”

You don’t miss how he watches your tongue dart between your lips, “Thank you.”

“So? How does it feel?” He gives you a soft crooked smile, his dimple carving into the short facial hair of his salt and pepper beard. Between that smile, and the way his brown eyes wash over you, you’re overcome with affection. He let you go. He did exactly as you asked him. He didn’t chase you or try to convince you to stay. You told him if he really loved you, then he’d do exactly this; and in turn, he did what he said he would. 

He showed up. 

“I love you,” you state and the air between you turns electric, almost like this moment could either set you both aflame or act as a generator for your future together. Joel gives you that look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. He lets the curled end of your hair slip from his fingers, reaching up towards your graduation cap but hesitating.

“May I?” He rasps and swallows hard.

You nod, and knowing exactly what he’s going for, you take the Stetson from his other hand and place it on your head after he removes your cap. The brim of it blocks out everything but the two of you.

“Say that again, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” it’s barely a whisper this time. “Even after three years apart, you are everything to me. I asked you to let me go so I could accomplish this, and you did. You’ve always done what I asked, what I needed. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, but I am sorry that I missed out on getting to spend the last three years with you looking at me how you are now. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He brings his lips within a breath of yours, and your body practically vibrates with the knowledge that if you leaned just a bit forward, you’d finally have his mouth on you again. You can almost taste the mint on his tongue as the familiar fragrance of ash and leather surround you. “I have dreamed of hearing those three words leave your beautiful lips more times than I can count, baby. You’re it for me. I’ll do anything for you, even if it means breaking my own heart, but I’m always going to be here for you, rooting for you and encouraging you. I’m glad you’re not sorry, because I’m not, I’m so fucking proud of you. I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

Finally, he presses his warm, firm lips against yours while pulling you tight to his body. You wrap an arm around his neck, holding the black cowboy hat against your head with your other hand. It doesn’t matter that the ceremony isn’t done, or that there are hundreds of people to your right. For the first time in three years, everything goes quiet. He hums contentedly and you feel yourself melt against him, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. He parts his lips, letting you take the first swipe of your tongue against his. Need floods your system, and based on the way he grinds into you, he’s feeling the same. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours. “Take me home,” you practically purr.

“Where do you want home to be? I’ll go anywhere,” Joel rasps, running his nose down the bridge of yours. 

“Austin,” you respond, your breath catching as his lips ghost along the side of your mouth.

“I sold my portion of the club to Tommy and Tess. I don’t have anything holding me in Austin anymore, sweet girl. If you have a job offer you really want, that’s where we’ll go.” You pull back to look at him. You can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s serious. 

“I want to go to Austin. I have a job offer there.”

“Good thing I told Tommy not to touch my room at the club then.”

“That’s a very good thing,” you moan and then pull him in to kiss again. The audience behind you erupts into cheers, celebrating the accomplishments of every student in that crowd. 

You’re a lawyer, and suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so scary.

Joel

Taking you home to Austin that night unfortunately wasn’t an option. After finding Jamie in the crowd, and being formally introduced to Ronan, he called the car to pick up the three of you. You all met Tommy at the restaurant, celebrating with all the expensive homemade pasta and overpriced wine that you wanted; even though seeing you in that curve-hugging velvet dress was slowly killing him. Joel had kept at least one hand on you since seeing you again, and he doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. 

He didn’t want to rush you on your big night, so he waited patiently, listening to you tell stories of your last three years, and revelling in the evident joy that you and Jamie share over being together again. When dessert comes around he catches Tommy’s attention and gives him a small smile. It’s fitting that the two brothers, who have been so close their entire lives, would fall in love with best friends. 

Once in his room, he spent two hours stripping you down at an almost painfully slow pace. He kissed every inch of your skin twice over and has pulled five orgasms, and counting, out of you so far. 

Now, Joel is seated in the wide velvet arm chair in the corner of his hotel suite. His cock is buried deep inside of your tight cunt as you straddle him. Your skin feels like butter under his hands as he trails them along your back and the globes of your perfect ass. He’s missed tying you up, but this is what he longed for: the earth shattering intimacy he feels with you in these moments.   

“Please,” you mumble into his neck, desperate to move your hips.

“Not until you answer me,” he demands softly. “How many times was it that you needed me, but were too stubborn to reach out?”

Earlier tonight you told him about the six times you really needed him. He’d kissed you softly after each confession, returning the trust with a time he needed you. After the last one, he’d pulled back to look at you with dark eyes. He’d hated that you needed him and he couldn’t be there. He’d clenched his back molars twice before he said you’d be denied six orgasms the next time you were at the club, but tonight you have permission to come as often as you need to. 

He swats your already reddened ass cheek and your pussy flutters as you cry out. “Mister Miller, stop. Please, just let me move.”

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

“No,” you respond with a pout. 

“How many times?” He says again through gritted teeth, even though already knows the answer. 

“Six,” you sob. 

He tuts and then growls, “That doesn’t sound like my good girl, does it?”

You shake your head against his throat and moan a sound of disagreement.

“Do you want to come for me again?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. Please!”

He trails his fingers up and down your back again, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin makes it easy for him to caress you. He smiles to himself at the shiver that racks through your body at his touch. You react so beautifully to him. “Yeah? You wanna grind your swollen little clit on my piercing, baby girl?”

“Please,” you whine again, stretching out all the vowels in the word.

“Show me. Ride my cock, take what you need.” 

You lift your head from the crook in his neck and pull back slightly, rocking your hips back and forth; a sultry laugh leaves his lips at your eagerness. You look at him with hooded eyes, hair stuck to your forehead. His eyes trail down your neck to the bruises he sucked into your collar bone earlier and then to your breasts; both of which are covered in his marks. He watches the little gold nipple clamps, and the chain that connects them, bounce with each flick of your hips. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. You look like a goddess, my goddess. Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, baby,” you say through shallow breaths. He pulls at the chain and you cry out in pain. “S-sorry, Mister Miller.”

“Again, sweet girl. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, y-you, Mist -” his hands come to your face and when he whispers your name the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

“Just call me Joel.” The commanding voice of his alter ego is gone as he says it. 

Your hips slow, changing from a frantic back and forth to a sensual swirling motion. “I’m yours, Joel. Forever.”

He kisses you softly, a silent telling of how vulnerable he is at this moment. “Don’t ask me to let you go ever again.”

The smile you give him causes his heart to skip, “I won’t.”

“You might, sweet girl. I won't survive it if you do, so I’m going to remind you of this moment as often as possible for the rest of my life. Remind you how much you’re loved and supported. You’re mine, Freckles.” Your hips swirl and he feels you tighten up around him. “Come for me, my sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, fuck, Joel!” It’s a cry and moan all at once. 

“I’m here, it’s ok, baby.” With that, your body shudders and you fall into him as you shatter. Your pussy clenches and releases rapidly around his length. His cock twitches, and once he can’t hold it anymore he relaxes, letting his orgasm rock through him in time with yours.

“I’m yours, too,” he gasps as he melts into you.

The End

Coming Soon:

Curious how Jamie ended up with her "dads new asshole friend?"

Part 2 of the BDSMaid Trilogy coming mid 2025!

Also, stay tuned for the epilogue for Joel and Sweet Girl.

[undercoveravenger]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[quarterlifekitty]

can you write out or create the hardest fuck konig has ever given reader when they first move in together???

❤️❤️❤️

make it nasty if possible, thank you so much for everything you put out 🫶

so I started this about a million years ago, and it's not really what I'd call done, but I just wanted to get it posted lol

König loves coming home knowing that you’re already there. It just makes him feel so warm inside— to turn onto the street and see the lights on already. Sometimes he waits at the door for a moment before coming in because he likes to hear the tap of your footsteps coming his way— he knows you listen for his car, you like to come to meet him at the door. When he does open the door, he barely crosses the threshold before you’re jumping into his arms. 

“Happy that I’m home, honigbiene?” He can feel you nod, lifting his hood to kiss his neck. He finally sets you down so he can take a look at you. He’s pleased to find you freshly showered, sweet-smelling, and wearing one of his shirts as a nightie. “And what did my darling do all day today?”

“I waited for you to come home.” And suddenly you’re back in his arms, being swept away to your room upstairs. He’s almost trembling with how much he needs you. 

“Do you have any idea what it does to a man? To hear his woman say things like that, schatz?” He’s almost panting, his heart in his throat from how raw and scorching your words make him feel. He thinks about tossing you onto the bed for just a moment, but he decides he doesn’t want to be separated from your warmth for even that long, and neither would you. 

He wrenches his hood off so he can kiss you like he’s trying to eat you alive, his tongue stroking into your mouth. He wants you so bad he doesn’t even care to be self conscious about all of his scars on display. 

König pulls at his belt, though he’s tempted to just rip everything down and deal with the chafe later. He lays you down and parts just enough to push your shirt up, moaning at the sight of your cunt getting your panties so wet that they’re almost see through. He’ll pull those off— but leave his shirt on you. He can swear he sees strings of your wetness clinging to the cotton. 

“How long have you been wet like this, meine liebe? Since I came through the door?” He doesn’t pause his motions for you to answer, pulling his cock free and smacking it against your mound. 

“I dunno… maybe.” The smile on your face isn’t quite temptuous, but it certainly isn’t innocent either. He leans down to kiss it clean off of your face.

[nomie-11]

Figure Skater!Vi x Figure Skater! Reader - Like Flying

masterlist!

*note: Vi and Y/n are in high school in this AU

Time to Nationals: 5 months, 0 weeks, 0 days

The grin on your coach's face was downright evil. She was clearly enjoying your suffering as your panicked eyes darted between her and the girl with bright pink hair next to her. 

“As I was saying,” Mel continued, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “This is Vi, she’s your partner for the time being.” 

Your jaw dropped, furiously shaking your head. 

“No. No way!” You fervently denied. “Does she even know how to do a lift? What happened to Jayce! Nationals is in five months, that’s not nearly enough time to get used to a new partner!”

Coach Mel just grinned a little wider. “Jayce tore his rotator cuff and is out for the rest of the season. Vi is your best bet at hitting nationals with a bang, and she’s looking to switch from solo free skate to duos, so this will be beneficial for the both of you.”

You opened your mouth to argue—Vi looked like she belonged in a punk rock band, not on the ice. And she hasn’t skated duos yet? She wasn’t even in skating clothes, for god’s sake. She was wearing ripped jeans and cargo boots!

“Ah!” Mel interrupted before you can even get a word out. “Save your complaints for someone who wants to listen to them. Vi knows how to do the tricks you need her to know. Stretch and get on the ice.” 

With a suppressed groan and the hardest urge you’ve ever had to roll your eyes, you just nodded and muttered a quick “yes, ma’am,” before slipping off your skate guards and stepping onto the rink. 

You tugged at the sleeves of your practice jacket, trying to channel your irritation into something other than glaring at the infuriatingly calm figure strolling toward the rink. Vi, as it turned out, wasn’t a total beginning, but her whole vibe screamed chaos in a way that didn’t mesh with the precision and discipline you lived for in skating. 

Your coach clapped her hands sharply, breaking you from your thoughts. “Alright, warm up together. Start with some side-by-side moves, then work on synchronization.” 

Vi smirked as she stepped onto the ice, her movements fluid and confident, her combat boots and jeans swapped for training clothes and a pair of beat up skates. “Don’t worry, Princess,” she drawled, her tone teasing. “I promise not to drop you.” 

You bristled, your cheeks heating. “Let’s see if you can even keep up.” 

—---------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 4 months, 3 weeks, 4 days. 

The first week was an exercise in frustration and patience. Vi was strong—absurdly so—but her timing was off, and her edges weren’t as clean as yours. During a particularly rough attempt at a pairs lift, she lost her balance and stumbled, sending you tumbling into her arms. 

“See?” she quipped, catching you and holding you upright with ease. “Didn’t drop you.”

You shoved her away, your face burning. “Try harder next time.” 

—------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 4 months, 1 week, 2 days

It wasn’t all bad, though. By the third week of working together, you had gotten used to each other’s patterns. Vi’s lifts had become sharper, her footwork more fluid next to yours, and you became more trusting. You hadn’t yet attempted what had once been your and Jayce’s signature move—a death spiral—but she was tossing you up into the air easier and easier with every practice. 

“You’re not bad at this,” you admitted grudgingly after practice, laying back on the ice, both of you completely spent and sweaty after hours of relentless conditioning as per Mel’s orders. 

Vi grinned, her chest heaving beside you on the ice. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.” 

—----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days

As the time passed, you couldn’t deny the chemistry you two shared on the ice. Twist lifts became effortless, your bodies moving more in sync than you and Jayce ever had, as if you’d been partners for years. The adrenaline from landing a perfect throw jump or pair lift had you grinning uncontrollably, and Vi’s smile was just as infectious. 

After one particularly rough session, the two of you were stretching in the locker room, the soft lights casting a warm glow over your features as you pressed yourself further onto the mat by your locker. Tilting your head upwards, you matched her gaze, and Vi reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair from your bun behind your ear. 

“You’ve got talent, Princess,” she said softly, smiling up from her impressive split. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

Your heart fluttered, and you shoved the feeling down with practiced ease. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.” 

—---------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 2 months, 1 week, 6 days

The problem wasn’t just that Vi was good at skating—no, that wasn’t a problem at all. It was the way she made you laugh when you were frustrated, the way she caught you effortlessly during lifts, the way her hand lingered on your waist a fraction too long. But every time your thoughts strayed into dangerous territories, you stomped them down, reminding yourself that you didn’t like her that way. 

It was during an off-ice practice that it all came crashing down. You and Vi were practicing a star lift, a trick you had never managed to nail on the ice, with her hands firmly planted on your waist, until she finally managed to let go, holding her arm out in a position that finally had Mel happy. 

She held you up there for one second, then another, then another, until you had been up in the air for a full minute, every muscle in your entire body tense and poised, until you rolled down into the dismount, firmly held in her arms. 

When she set you down, she grinned. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.” 

You stared at her, heartbeat loud in your ears. “I—I never doubted you,” you stammered, your denial crumbling. 

Her faze softened, and for the first time, you saw something in her powder blue eyes that made your chest ache. “Good,” she murmured, her voice low. “Because I’ve got you. One the ice and off.” 

And that was when the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were falling for her. No, scratch that—you had fallen. You had fallen for a girl. 

—-----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 3 weeks, 1 day

It had started with little things. You’d forgotten the sequence of a spin, mistimed a jump that hadn’t been a problem in months, or pulled out a death spiral too early, sending you both crumbling to the ground. Mel’s sharp words and kind eyes would snap you out of your daze, and you’d brush it off as exhaustion. But the truth was gnawing at you, unrelenting: you couldn’t stop thinking about Vi. 

Her smile, the way she called you “Princess” with that infuriating smirk, the way she steadied you during the lifts like you weighed nothing. It was distracting. Worse, it was dangerous. 

You weren’t gay. You couldn’t be. That wasn’t part of the plan. You’d always pictured yourself skating at nationals, nailing every jump and spin with perfection, earning scholarships, and making your parents proud. Falling for your punk-rock skating partner?

Absolutely not on the agenda. 

—-----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 2 weeks, 2 days

It was during a waist lift—a move you’d done a hundred times before. Vi had lifted you easily, her hands firm on your waist as you extended your arms and prepared for the dismount. But your focus slipped—the way she was holding you, the way she was touching you—instead of planting your landing, you panicked, your legs tangling underneath you awkwardly. 

Vi tried to catch you, but the momentum was too much. You hit the ice hard, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you skidded across the smooth surface of the rink until you hit the barriers with a soft thud. 

“Whoa, whoa—hey!” Vi’s voice was panicked as she crouched beside you. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Talk to me.” 

Your chest heaved as tears pricked your eyes. It wasn’t just the fall—it was everything. The pressure, the confusion, the unbreakable weight of feelings you wouldn’t dare admit to yourself. 

“I—” Your words got caught in your chest as she lifted you to a sitting position, her grip underneath your shoulders gentle and strong. “I’m fine,” you choked out, but the tears spilled anyway. You pressed your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking as everything inside you came crashing down. 

And Vi didn’t say a single word. She just sat next to you on the cold hard ice as you sobbed until your ice time was up, and the hockey kids came in. 

—--------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 2 weeks, 1 day

You didn’t go into the rink the next day. You couldn’t. The thought of seeing Vi—of facing everything you were feeling—was too much. So you sat outside the rink instead, leaning against the cold concrete wall with your knees hugged to your chest. 

You told yourself that you were just taking a break, that you’d go inside in a minute. But hours passed, and you stayed rooted to the spot, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. 

What if everyone found out? What would your parents say? What would Vi say? 

You heard footsteps before you saw her. Vi rounded the corner, her skate bag slung over one shoulder as her combat boots hit the pavement, already back in her casual clothes after practice. 

“You weren’t at practice,” she said simply, sitting down beside you. 

You didn’t respond, staring at the ground instead. 

She waited a beat before continuing. “You scared me yesterday, you know.” 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but your voice cracked. 

“No, you're not.” Her tone was soft, but firm. “Talk to me.” 

You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill again. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you wou;dn’t understand!” The words burst out of you before you could stop them, your voice breaking. 

Vi was quiet for a moment. Then, she reached out, her fingers brushing against yours. “Try me.”

You looked at her then, really looked at her, and the weight of everything you’d been holding back threatened to crush you. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered. “I can’t think straight anymore. And you—you make it worse.” 

Vi blunked, her expression unreadable. “Worse how?” 

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling. “You make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. I can’t—I’m not—”

“Gay?” She finished gently. 

You flinched, the words hitting you like a slap. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice small. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I don’t know what to do.” 

Vi exhaled slowly, her gaze trained on the pavement in front of the two of you. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with you. Second… it’s okay to feel scared. I was, too, at first.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. “You…?” 

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. It’s obvious, right? Took me a while to figure it out. But you don’t have to figure everything out right now. And you definitely don’t have to do it alone.” 

You didn’t say anything in return, but the weight in your chest eased just a little, her words wrapping around you like a lifeline. Maybe, it would be okay. 

—-------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 1 week, 4 days

One chilly afternoon, Vi met you at the rink with an unusual entourage. Trailing behind her were two kids—a tiny girl with bright blue hair clutching a stuffed bunny, and a boy with white hair who tightly clutched Vi’s hand. 

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as Vi grinned at you. 

“Introducing my little sister, Powder, and her best friend, Ekko,” Vi said proudly, ruffling Powder’s hair. “They’ve been bugging me to let them skate for ages. Thought you might want to help me teach them. You know, something fun for a change.” 

Powder looked up at you with wide, hopeful blue eyes. “Vi says you’re the best skater ever. Can you show me how to twirl like a princess?” 

Your heart melted a little despite yourself. She was so cute. “Of course,” you said softly. 

What followed was a chaotic but heartwarming afternoon. Powder clung to your arms for dear life, while Ekko, full of bravado, tried to show off and immediately fell on his butt. Vi laughed so hard she almost toppled over herself, and even you couldn’t stop smiling as you guided Powder through her first shaky glide across the ice. 

By the end of the session, Powder declared you her “favorite princess,” and Ekko demanded a rematch against Vi on who could skate fastest. Vi leaned against the boards, watching with a soft smile. “Told you they’d grow on you.” 

“They’re not so bad,” you admitted, catching her eye. “Thanks for this.” 

“Anytime, Princes,” she said, her voice warm in a way that made your heart stutter. 

—---------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

“Y/n,” one of your friends waved you over to the window of your physics classroom. “Who is she?” Your friend pointed down to Vi at the gate to your high school, her pink hair catching the late afternoon sunlight. 

“A friend.” You replied, a tad too rushed as you grabbed your papers from the desk and started to shove them into your backpack. “I’ve gotta get to practice, see you later?” 

Your friend nodded, not really making a motion to move from the windows. 

“Thank you Mr. Heimerdinger! I’ve got to run to my locker and head to the rink.” You called as you darted out of the door and down the hall to grab your skate bag. In less than a minute, your skate bag was slung over your right shoulder book bag over the left as you darted down the hallways down to the front gate. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your heart doing an involuntary little flip. 

“Thought I’d walk you to the rink,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

You blinked. “You know I can get there on my own, right?’ 

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” she shot back, grabbing your school bag and slipping onto her own free shoulder. 

It became a routine after that. Every day, Vi would meet you after school, her presence an anchor that steadied you when your thoughts threatened to spiral again. She’d walk you to practice carrying your bag, and then, after you were both sweaty and exhausted, she’d walk you home, filling the air with her easy laughter and stories about Powder’s latest antics. 

One evening, as you stood on your porch, she paused before leaving. “Hey,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “You’re doing better.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and managed a small smile, a bit of blush rising up to your cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks, Vi.” 

Her grin returned, but softer this time. “Anytime, Princess.”

—--------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 0 week, 6 days

It was seven days before nationals, and Mel had made it very clear you were to stick to your strict diet. No sugar, no junk, no exceptions.

“Let’s make this as easy on Vi as possible, okay?” She had said, and you responded with an eager ‘yes’ because you were an idiot in love. No sweets, no pastries, and absolutely no cupcakes. 

So naturally, Vi showed up at the rink with a cupcake. 

“Vi!” You hissed as she held it out to you, the scent of vanilla and frosting wafting through the air. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” 

She smirked. “Relax. It’s just one cupcake. Besides, I figured you could use a little pick-me-up.” 

You hesitated, torn between guilt and the overwhelming urge to devour it. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Live a little,” she interrupted, her smirk softening into something gentler. “You’ve been working your ass off. You deserve this. I can handle you plus an extra cupcake.” 

With a sigh, you took the cupcake, breaking off a small piece and popping it into your mouth. It was perfect—sweet and comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. 

“See?” Vi said, her eyes sparkling. “Was that so bad?” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “You’re impossible.” 

“You’re stuck with me anyways,” she quipped, leaning against the boards as she watched you eat. 

As you finished the last bite, you caught her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. “Thank you, Vi,” you said softly, meaning more than just the cupcake. 

“Always,” she replied, her voice low, and the warmth in her eyes made your chest ache in a way that was starting to feel almost familiar. 

—------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 0 weeks, 0 days

The crowd was still roaring, the lights unbearably bright as Vi lifted you up onto the top step of the podium and stepped up after you. Gold medals hung heavy around your necks, the ribbons digging into your sweat-damp skin, and bouquets of flowers rested in your trembling hands. 

You’d done it. 

Months of blood, sweat, and tears—of doubts and fears and broken-down days—had all led to this. Your free skate had been perfect, every lift effortless, every step breathtaking. The arena had held its breath as Vi spun you through the final move—a death spiral, her hands firm in yours, your head inches from the ice. And when the music ended, you both stood there, panting, clutching each other as the audience erupted into applause. 

Now, standing here under the harsh spotlight, you were supposed to be smiling. But all you could do was stare at Vi. Her pink hair was matted with sweat, her face flushed from exertion, but her eyes—those steady, warm eyes—were locked on yours. 

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The screaming crowd faded, the cameras didn’t exist, and the world slowed. 

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Vi was already moving. 

She cupped your face with her free hand, her palms cool against your overheated skin, and then she kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant. It was firm, certain—like she’d been waiting for this moment for forever. Her lips were soft against yours, and the weight of months of confusion and denial melted away in an instant. 

The crowd went silent for a split second before erupting into even louder cheers. Somewhere in the chaos, you heard gasps, whistles, and someone—probably Powder—yelling, “That’s my sister!” 

When Vi finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and she was grinning so wide it was infectious. 

“You okay, Princess?” she whispered, her breath brushing against your lips. 

You let out a breathless laugh, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m fantastic.” 

Around you, confetti rained down, flashed from cameras sparkled, and the world cheered for the two of you. But none of it mattered. 

Because here, on the top step of the podium, gold medal heavy on your chest and Vi’s hand in yours, you finally let yourself feel it—no fear, no hesitation, just her. 

And it felt like flying. 

-------

this totally isnt based off of my own experience

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[nodoubtily]

MMMM THE WAY-

Fuck. The way I’d actually showcase my cunt to him.

TW:// smut so mdni! Switch!Sunoo x Switch!Fem!Reader, p in v, dirty talk, degrading as fuckkkk, possessiveness, talks of edging but not really detailed, not proofread as this was written at 1:11 am. UPDATE: proofread at 3:28 am

Not your fucking good boy.

“Please-“ he begs, his hands scrunching the bedsheets because you so cruelly won’t let him touch you. And normally he’d be a brat, but he actually wants to fucking cum.

“I don’t know. I feel like you can beg better then that.” You giggle, so happy he’s under your control. “You wanna cum?”

That question opens up a barrage of frustration-filled cries of desperation.

“Yes, oh god- please!” He begs as your hand speeds up around his shaft again before quickly letting go completely, denying yet another orgasm.

“Not good enough. Do you not want to cum? You don’t want to finally release?” You’re laughing, feigning a shocked expression.

“What do you fucking think?” His question stops your wrist moving, but he doesn’t really flinch. Instead, his larger hand grabs your wrist and flings it away from his cock, before moving up to your arm as he manhandles you under him. He straddles your stomach, annoyance covering his face. “Asking stupid fucking questions as if I haven’t been begging.”

He grabs your (his) shirt, pulling it off your body. Thankfully, you’re only wearing panties under, so your pretty breasts are on display. He then moves off you, ripping your flimsy panties off. You, out of instinct, go to close your legs when he wrenches them open, sliding himself in between, his hot throbbing cock resting on your clit.

“Sunoo- you’re not being a very good boy-“ your breath hitches as he slowly starts grinding over your crotch. “Right now.”

“Do you really think you’re in the position to say shit like that? I suggest you keep that dirty mouth closed before I put it to good use.” And for some reason, that shuts you up.

Sunoo pulls back far enough where his cock doesn’t touch your folds, until his fingers spread you entrance wide. With a quick thrust, he slams his dick straight in, quickly bottoming out. You exhale a whine elicited with pain mixed with pleasure. He just straight up groans.

“S-sunoo!” You gasp out, adjusting to him.

“Fuck, how is this pussy still so tight?” His voice is laced with whimpers he’s not afraid to let out.

“M-move.” Your hips don’t even get the chance to create fiction until Sunoo lowers, one hand clamped around your throat while the other comes to your face, fingers mushing your face as he stares into your soul.

“You aren’t making decisions anymore. All you can do now is lay here like the obedient slut you are and take my sensitive cock. It’s your fault I’m like this now.” After that, he begins moving, hips thrusting in short sharp japs, the sound of skin slapping against skin quickly filling the room. “Edging me, trying to make me beg as if I’m your fucking good boy.”

“You ar-are.” Your voice cracks, airway limited due to his hand grasping your neck like a necklace.

“And yet you’re not my good girl, are you?” The question irks you, wondering the last time Sunoo was like this. One particular thrust sends desperate vibrations straight to your pussy, clamping your walls tightly around his cock. “Fucking hell.” A breathy moan escaped from his chest. “This fucking pussy- is mine. All. Fucking. Mine- oh fuck.” Every word is followed with a hard thrust, jolting your body. “Who’s pussy is this?” He asks, feeling you squeezing him, signalling you’re going to cum shortly.

“M-mine.”

Sunoo stops moving, taking away the warm pleasure that’s been building. “Say that fucking again. I dare you.” His voice sounds dangerous, and you know better then to egg him on more. So you stay silent. That wasn’t going to suffice him either. “Who’s. Pussy. Does. This. Belong. To?” Short stabs abuse your g-spot. Pride and wanting to cum fight, but the latter wins.

“you. This p-pussy is yours.” More whines escape from Sunoo’s throat as he continues to relentlessly pound into you.

Sunoo scoffs. You went from smirking to begging quickly. “That’s right. Mine.”

@jyikeu THANKS FOR THE IDEA POOKIE

[kawaiiwritingcomputer]

sonic characters when they have a crush on you || headcanons

Sonic 🍄

Sonic is the “doesn’t make it too obvious” king of guy. You give him something, he takes it with grace and a simple thank you and nothing more but behind closed doors he admires it. He holds everything and anything you give him or do for him dearly. His love language is gift giving but makes it seem like it was nothing.

“Oh yeah this old thing? No worries, just had to get rid of it anyway.” Meanwhile he totally thought of you and what you had mentioned. He’s the kind of hedgehog that can’t go too long without your attention without feeling weirdly huffy but refuses to admit he had a crush on you!

“Has anyone seen (Y/N)? I’m gonna go check on them.” Yeah. He totally doesn’t have a crush.

Tails 🍄

Tails makes his crush totally obvious. He’s inventing you things saying you might need them. Tails explain it thoroughly so you’re always well equipped and know what to do! He’s always looking for you everywhere just in case… Just in case what? Well, for just in case. Tails gets a little nervous that you might not like him back so he tries to overcompensate as a true friend! He’s so easy to fluster. He laughs at everything you say! Even if it’s not funny sometimes. Tails listens to every detail of your life and closely pays attention. Tails loves you so much to the point he’ll create anything for you!

Knuckles 🪼

The echidna will treat you with the respect he gives any other, overall being a kind person. He wouldn’t know what do to with himself, caught in your flames of love. He thinks of you often, yearning to have you in a hug. He’s so strong,, but not strong enough to deny these feelings. He is bad with hints, and to be honest he’s rather blunt.

“Y/N, here are these flowers I picked for you; and also some grapes! I think you are beautiful/attractive, and I would like to court you on a date!” He’s so serious, it’s very silly but you think it’s endearing and sweet. He’ll try to impress you and make a fool out of himself, eventually winning you over in the end because he’s such a silly cute guy and he makes you laugh.

shadow 🪼

He pretends like his feelings don’t exist, for as long as he can stand it. Damn, you’re just so cute, doing your own thing and enjoying every moment of it. You’ll try to drag him along somewhere for fun, and he’ll pretend he hates it but he’s loving every minute with you. He doesn’t make eye contact with you and he seems to be blushing a lot. He’ll only start to open up to you in private moments.

Shadow will show you small physical affections, like an awkward hug or simply trying to hold your hand. If you seem even a little bit off he will pull away, fearing you may think of him as a monster. You’ll have to reassure him yourself and make some of your own moves. “You don’t think I’m,,, dangerous?” He’s scared of hurting you, he doesn’t want to lose something he loves,, have it ripped away from him again.

silver 🍄

Oh Silver. He’s so awkward and shy! He can conversate for sure but if you show too much interest with your pretty eyes he starts to shut down. Silver practically melts but tells himself he must keep strong. He doesn’t want to look weak to you. He has everything under control! Including his crush on you… Or so he thinks. He yaps about the future and his special interests to you. Silver isn’t a show off kind of guy but if he thinks something will impress you, he’ll try to impress you for sure! Even if it embarrasses himself. Anything to hear you laugh!

scourge 🪼

Scourge always gets what he wants, even if he has to take it. From the moment he set his eyes on you, he wasn’t gonna give up. He had to have you. You would look so good as royalty by his side, sitting atop a throne. He would shower you with gifts, anything even stuff you wouldn’t care for. You may be flattered, but he’s a bad boy. He’s trouble, a straight up red flag that’s erratically waving!! He would make any comment he could about you, often really lewd stuff. Obviously staring at you from beneath those flashy sunglasses. He does have a hidden gentlemanly vibe on the inside, though, when he’s fallen into your trap instead. He’s like a moth to a flame fr.

“Have anything ya want from me, please, just take my heart already! I can’t stand it, someone like you lookin’ so good, you should be mine! Come on, I ain’t as bad as everyone says!” His huge fanged grin says otherwise, but at least he’s trying to be honest about his feelings. You get to be royalty, and he may not seem like it but Scourge is a very loyal partner to you.

amy 🍄

Amy is sooo obvious about her crush with you. She’s daydream scenarios and sighing dreamily to herself. You can always feel her eyes on you, and even feel her smile from miles away. Amy reads her tarot cards about you weekly to see when the perfect day to confess is but she gets nervous. What if it ruins the friendship? She can’t stand the thought of not being anything at all! Amy makes you home made gifts as a token of her love. You say you want new earrings? She’s on it! You saw a cute blanket? She’s knitting away! You would have to be blind to not see her crush. Will you accept her feelings?

rouge 🍄

Rouge is hot and cold with you. Is she being nice or is she flirting? Is she being mean or is shy flirting? She’s also very touchy, in a sly innocent way. If you questioned her, she would just shrug innocently. “Ya had something on ya, I was just trying to help.” Rouges love language can be hard to pinpoint. She comes and goes when she pleases but she always makes sure to talk to you. She doesn’t gift you anything because she doesn’t buy anything but she might steal you something. Rouge is playing the long game with you, slowly working her way into your life completely. She just thinks it’s cute watching you get flustered.

sticks 🪼

Sticks is attached to you in an endearing way, and she likes to talk a lot, so hopefully you can keep up with her. She’s not a prize to be won, you have to earn her respect and show her comfort before trust. She’s been through a lot,, and will be glad to have someone to finally talk to and lean on! She would make you primitive looking gifts, or go hunting to bring you something. She feels like she needs to give you something to represent her feelings.

She is quite flirtatious, and it could be confused with her also just being friendly- because she talks without thinking a lot. She makes compliments on your appearance, offers to show you new things, and tends to be kinda handsy. “You n me get along so good, we might as well become partners!” She would remark, hoping you’ll get her hints.

blaze 🍄

Blaze is direct. She befriends you and talks to you a lot. She goes out of her to see you then will go see others. You’re like a soft and safe place for her. She’s got a cool exterior and she feels like when she’s with you, it can be dropped. She knows she can be quiet or talkative around you and you’ll gladly just show up for her. Her love language is quality time and sharing things!

belle 🪼

First thing about Belle, she’s gonna stand up for you in all situations. She is very reliable, and also super intelligent and interesting. She’s so cute, she would love having your company,, someone to chat with while fixing up inventions. She longs for a partnership, and a bond where she doesn’t get hurt in the end. She’s a little shy when it comes to her crush on you,, and you’ll notice she’ll be more nervous and blushy, words don’t seem to come out right and she’s scared of messing up!!

When it comes to how Belle would confess, she would try to make it fantasy line for you. A beautiful environment to look upon, stars in the sky, and she would make you something related to your interests as a gift,, to show you she cares and she has a heart even if she is made of wood and other materials. She would protect you with all of her power, and always try to keep you happy.

bonus: robotnik

What?! Feelings?? Ivo has never felt such things, in fact he would rather laugh!! There is no feeling, only knowing, he claims to believe, and being deemed as unwanted all of his life has only driven these thoughts in harder. In truth he’s honestly scared of emotion,, he doesn’t like the way things can hurt him,, he doesn’t like to care. Vengeance against that hedgehog and his friend is his motivation…. At least until you came along.

There had never been any processing,, if there was room for love in his life. He’d try to calculate it into his plans,, but such an unforeseen situation would have his mind scattered. He’s a lil stressed about it, and may give you harsher conditions to try and push it all away- but he realizes he feels bad about it. Remorseful, he’s gonna apologize to you and try to set you free, you’re better off without him. If you try to stay— well he wouldn’t know what to do, but would blindly accept the situation, and fess up to you. He will always put you first and would never judge you. He never realized before how badly he craves touch,, and someone to love.

[sun-kissy]

fairytale | j.p.

james potter x reader

summary: james takes you to the amusement park on your birthday

cw: fluff!! so much fluff

a/n: i’m dedicating this to my lovely friend rese, @foodiegoogie, happy birthday <333

James’ eyes narrow as he looks at the little signboard on the cotton candy booth. “You’re sure you don’t want the Mickey Mouse shaped one? Like — absolutely sure?”

You tsk, crossing your arms over your chest. “Enough of the whole Mickey Mouse agenda, Jamie. Look at us.”

You do jazz hands towards yourself. James has to admit you’re right — you’re wearing a headband with the iconic round ears, and his sweatshirt has a picture of the happy-go-lucky rodent on it.

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “Can we at least get the heart-shaped one?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you boop his nose teasingly. “It’s my birthday. I think you should let me choose.”

The booth vendor stares blankly at the two of you.

James pretends to pout, but he’d easily let you choose, birthday or not. He doesn’t think he’d ever have the heart to say no to you. “Fine then, go on and pick.”

He takes pride in making you beam so brightly. You turn to the vendor excitedly.

“Can I please get a…” you pretend to think with the tip of your finger tapping your chin. “Hmm… a heart-shaped one, perhaps?”

James grins, bending down to stamp a kiss to your cheek. “You naughty minx.”

“Hey!” you say between giggles, leaning away as he tries to pepper your face with kisses. “That’s not a nice thing to say to the birthday girl.”

He wraps his arm around your waist to hold you in place, giving you a firm peck on the lips. You happily oblige.

“I’ll say anything I want to the birthday girl, cos she’s my girl,” James murmurs into another quick kiss before straightening up and taking the cotton candy from the vendor.

You roll your eyes. But it’s no use, you know you probably look as giddy as you feel. “Flirt.”

James grins proudly. He steers you towards the rides with a hand on the small of your back. “Which one should we go on next?”

You and him had been here all evening. Because you’d been talking about going to the amusement park for weeks, he thought he’d surprise you by getting tickets for your birthday. You weren’t exactly surprised — your boyfriend wasn’t very subtle about it, his own excitement slipping out a lot in the days leading up to it. But you were happy; that’s all that James needed.

You tear some cotton candy off the stick before handing it back to him. “What about…” you ask between stuffed mouthfuls of the sugary cotton, “That one?”

James turns to look at the rollercoaster you’re pointing at, and has to refrain from outwardly gulping.

It’s big, really big, and black, sort of like a metal beast with its fangs to the sky. He feels a shudder go through him at the thought of being flung off those tracks.

“Um…” he scratches the nape of his neck nervously. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m not sure if — if you can handle it.”

“Me? Or you?” you snort, looping your arm through his and pulling him towards the attraction. “Relax, babe. We’ll be fine. Unless…”

You pull him to a stop and squint at him, glaring. James gulps. “Unless you’re scared?”

“Nope! No, nuh-uh. Not scared at all. That monst — rollercoaster’s got nothing on me,” he blurts out immediately and puffs out his chest.

You grin, giving him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. The two of you join the queue outside the entrance.

You didn’t think James was secretly just a teenage girl. But judging by the pitch of his screams on this rollercoaster, maybe he was.

Laughter bubbles out of you as the wind rips through your hair, twists and turns pulling your stomach in every direction possible. You turn to look at James.

He’s positively terrified, hands in the air and shrieks getting louder by the second. It makes your laughter worse.

The rollercoaster finally screeches to a halt. You hop off and wait patiently for James to stumble out.

“God,” he groans, immediately wrapping his arms around you as soon as he gets close. He makes another pained sound as he leans forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “That really was something.”

You giggle, rubbing his back consolingly. “You okay? You were so brave up there.”

“So brave, wasn’t I? So brave,” he mumbles, as if to convince himself.

“Very brave,” you nod, easing him off you and gently steering him away.

James mutters some incoherent agreement, leaning against you and pressing a kiss into your hair. You pat his back and squeeze his hip encouragingly.

“So,” he mutters as he straightens up, as though dreading it, “What next?”

You take a glance around you. You were too preoccupied to notice it before — but the sun had begun to set, sky losing its light. Maybe it was time to let James get a taste of the love he so easily showered you in.

You turn to him. “You choose.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he coos and kisses your cheek, marveling at how red you instantly turn. “This is why I love you.”

You pout. “Because I let you choose a ride on my birthday?”

“Exactly,” he grins unapologetically, intertwining your fingers in his before pulling you in the direction of whatever he had in mind. You sigh and follow behind.

“Here we are.”

The two of you come to a stop in front of a looming, lit-up, circular structure, and your smile widens. “Ferris wheel?”

“Ferris wheel,” James confirms.

“You’re so cliché.”

“You love it,” he chuckles. He takes you to an empty cabin and helps you in.

James gets in next to you. His arm goes around your shoulder and open palm on your lap, like he always seems to be doing these days. You take his hand.

The wheel starts up, cabin moving upward. You turn away to look outside and feel your heart swell with something like love at the sight.

Beautiful is too less of a word for it. The sky is painted in hues of pink and golden, straight out of a movie. There’s so many people down below. They get smaller and smaller. The amusement park is adorned in lights and liveliness and laughter; and you think you might just be looking at the closest-to-textbook-definition depiction of love.

That’s until you hear James’ voice from beside you. “Y/n?”

“Hm?” you mumble, eyes fixated on the sinking sun.

“I love you.”

James told you this a thousand times an hour, twenty four hours a day. But something about the way he just said it made you turn around to look at him, and you’re glad you did, because the view was even better.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that mattered, like the loveliness of the sunset didn’t stand a chance against yours. And you want to melt. You want to melt and you want to kiss him and you wish you could do everything all at once; there was just too much love in your heart to be shown through one singular gesture.

Instead, all that comes out is a soft, “Oh.”

James smiles wider.

“I love you too,” you babble, and you know you sound like a lovesick fool. You can’t bring yourself to care. “I love you too, James. So much.”

He doesn’t even give you a second to recalibrate before his hand is on your cheek, lips gently pressing onto yours.

It didn’t feel like a fairytale kiss — like you were a princess, and there were fireworks in the background. It felt like home.

Like his lips had found their safe haven on yours, because you’d definitely found yours in him. James kisses you like he loves you, and you know he does. You know because he says it, because he’s holding you like you’re the most special girl in the world.

You may not have been a princess that night — or any night, for that matter. But you got to be James’ for now, maybe forever. What more could you want?

You pull back, breaths mingling in the loved air for a few moments. James grins and leans in for another one, which you happily give.

“I love you, sweetheart. Happy birthday,” he murmurs, hands threading through your hair as he presses a sweet kiss to your nose.

It really was a happy birthday.

[schlattslambo]

drunk words, sober thoughts || schlatt 18+

a/n: im really sorry for the delay 😭 please enjoy

warnings: female!reader, rough sex, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, belt used to tie hands together, the word cunt used a few times

——————

“say that shit again and we’re breaking this bed,” jay’s words send heat directly between your legs.

“make me scream,” you smile, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip.

jay growls low in his throat, his hand wrapping around yours. your smile grows as he puts pressure on your neck, leaning down and pressing his forehead to yours. his breath fans out over your lips.

“you drive me absolutely fuckin’ crazy toots,” jay saya before crashing his lips down to yours in a heated kiss.

jay’s teeth sink into your bottom lip as he tugs on it ever so slightly, eliciting a mewl from you. his fingers comb into your hair, tugging at your scalp so your head goes back. you let out a moan as he nips along your neck. his nips and kisses trail down to your collar bone.

“this is in the way,” jay mumbles, ripping your dress down the middle.

you gasp loudly as you go to yell at jay for ruining your favorite dress, but he does the same with your bra, instantly bringing one nipple into your mouth.

“j-jay!” you yelp.

“i’ll buy you another one,” jay mumbles against your skin. “i’ll buy you anything you want.”

his sweet words continue to warm you up from the inside as his tongue and mouth warm you up from the outside. he licks up the center of your chest to yours collarbone before nipping and sucking at your skin. he blows over the now growing mark making you shiver.

“get on with it,” you whine, pushing his head toward your crotch.

in response, jay whips his belt off.

“hands,” he orders.

you stick your hands out and he binds them with the belt.

“hold them above your head,” jay continues. “if you move them, you’ll get punished.”

you nod, licking your lips. “yes sir,” you respond.

jay continues to kiss down your body. by the time he gets to your waist, you’re squirming. despite the growing need that you have, you keep your arms above your head. you love being worshipped like this, even if it drives you absolutely insane. jay’s cheeks are still flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes are glazed over. not from drunkenness, but from carnal desire. he’s never looked so hot.

your thoughts are halted by your panties getting yanked down your legs. you glance down and jay licks his lips as he spreads your legs. you feel shy for a moment, not even sure why. jay’s seen you at all possible angles and loves every bit of you. he loves you from your head straight down to your toes.

jay smiles at your wetness. your eagerness for him. he spreads you open gently, watching as your cheeks flush, just like they always do when he gets a good look at you like this.

“you’re so beautiful,” he rasps. “so, so wet for me.”

with that, he lies on his stomach and kisses your thighs. he holds your legs open as they tremble. one swipe of his tongue through your wetness makes your back arch as you gasp loudly.

“j-jay!” you gasp. “fuck!”

jay chuckles against you, tongue circling your clit. the nub quickly swells from the stimulation and he sucks on it. your hips buck up into his face as you cry out. jay looks up at you from between your legs and you feel him smile against you.

your eyes are screwed shut and you’re biting your hand. it’s cute, how much you’re trying not to cum already. a finger teases your hole, gently pushing in. with one adjustment, jay grazes along the spot that makes your vision blur at the edges. he pumps his finger a few times before entering another finger. this step is necessary because no matter how wet you are, you have to prep for his thick cock.

“j-jay,” you breathe. “another one. please.”

“such a good girl, using your manners.” jay smiles, taking his mouth away from your clit just long enough to speak before adding a third finger.

your back arches at the stretch, pussy fluttering over the three fingers that are buried inside of you. you reach back and grip the pillow behind your head in an attempt to keep your hands from gripping jay’s hair.

“s’close jay!” you cry out.

in an instant, jay’s fingers are out of you. your pussy pulses over nothing as you whimper.

“so mean to me,” you pout.

jay chuckles as he takes his pants down.

“i’m gonna be rough with you tonight, toots,” he says. “okay?”

his grin falls as he asks. he doesn’t want to hurt you, as rough as he wants to be. he wants to ravage you, but he doesn’t want to really hurt you in the process. as his brown eyes bore into yours, you smile.

“tell me its okay to fuck you as hard as i can,” jay pleads. “i need to fuck you into the mattress.”

at your nod, jay is on you. his cock is lined up at your entrance instantly and he kisses you with such passion that it takes your breath away. he pulls away, cock sliding into you. he doesn’t just have a long cock, but it’s thick too. when you first had sex, you were sure it would rip you in half. now, you love being literally impaled by it.

“fuuuck,” jay moans, forehead resting on yours. “your pussy feels so good baby.”

you moan and bring your lips to his as he bottoms out. you lift your arms around his neck, the belt binding them at the back. jay starts thrusting as the two of you kiss, growling as his thrusts get sloppier and harder.

“hands above your head.” jay orders.

you comply and he holds them there while fucking into you. his hips snap to yours as his balls slap against your ass. his cock is hitting every single spot in your pussy, making you see stars.

“fuck, i need you over the bed.” jay says as he takes the belt off of your wrists.

you do as you’re told, getting up and bending over the bed. jay slaps your ass, forcing you to yelp. he’s quick to smirk at the pink now blossoming on your cheek in the shape of his hand. he rubs the spot before his hand comes down on the other cheek.

“j-jay, please fuck me!” you plead, gripping the sheets. “fuck me as hard as you can!”

without a word, jay slams into you again as your toes curl. his hand goes to your hair, yanking your head back. you arch into him as he fucks you. jay leans down and growls in your ear.

“my beautiful slut,” he smiles. “you love when daddy fucks you like this huh? with his cock buried deep in this pretty cunt of yours?”

the way you clench around him says everything you cant. pleasure shoots through you at the angle you’re at, and you fist the sheets as you’re fucked.

“y-yes!” you manage. “love it daddy!”

“yeah?” jay growls against your ear. “you love being treated like my personal fucktoy?”

you nod against his grip. “yes daddy!”

when jay is rough like this, it’s easy for him to get caught up in the moment. he never, ever talks to you like this outside of rough sex. and rough sex is a rare occurrence.

“god, you’re gonna make me cum,” jay grits through his teeth as his grip on your waist turns bruising.

“cum in me,” you breathe. “fill me up.”

jay takes your head and shoves it into the mattress as his thrusts get sloppier. he’s chasing his high and you’re not too far behind.

“g’na cum!” your words are slightly muffled due to your cheek being smushed against the bed.

“cum for me,” jay says. “cum all over my cock.”

as you begin to unravel underneath him, you feel jay’s cock pulse inside of you, painting your pretty insides white. you scream in pleasure, toes curling and a grip on the mattress is nearly ripping it.

jay lays on top of you after the two of you are spent, breathing heavily into your ear.

“god, i love you so much.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “you mean the absolute world to me and i am so happy that i get to wake up next to you every day.”

you smile with your eyes closed, heart still thrumming against your ribcage. “love you so much baby,” you mumble.

jay gets off of you and helps you up, ignoring the fact that his cum is literally dripping from you currently. the two of you are sticky from sweat and flushed. you’re pretty sure the sex sobered the two of you up, but you aren’t sure.

“c’mon,” you say as you extend your hand out. “lets shower together.”

so you do. you take the time to wash each other’s hair, kissing and softly touching each other. this results in jay literally kneeling with his back to the water as you writhe against his mouth against the tile.

once all is said and done, the two of you snuggle in bed. jambo and the other one snuggle together at the foot of the bed while the two of you wind down. jay’s arm is around you as you listen to his heartbeat. you’re both sober, having had ordered chinese and taken some pain killers just to be on the safe side.

“hey babe?” jay’s voice comes out softly.

“yeah?” you ask, looking up at him from his chest.

“when i said that i cant wait to marry you?” he asks. “I really meant it. do you think you’d wanna get married one day?”

you sit up and kiss jay on the lips.

“of course, jay.” you smile. “i can’t wait to be your wife one day.”

that night, you slept in jay’s arms just like you did every night, but there was a deeper meaning this time. he’d said that he wanted to marry you. images of your wedding flashed in your mind as you drifted off to sleep, even with your future husband needing to take a whole boob in his hand just to fall asleep.

[sslovqm]

YOU DON'T BELONG TO ANYONE ELSE

WARNING: Contains extreme jealousy, possessiveness, manipulation, and toxic relationship dynamics.

THE warm afternoon breeze brushed against your face as you waited for Rafe Cameron on the dock by his house. You had rehearsed this moment over and over, going through the words in your head, trying to find the best way to tell him that whatever this was between you two needed to end. But now that you were here, with your stomach tied in knots, it seemed like no words were enough.

When you heard the roar of his motorcycle engine cut off, your heart skipped a beat. You watched him approach with his usual confidence, hands in his pockets, an expression of curiosity mixed with that arrogance that always seemed to follow him.

“Why so serious?” he asked, a half-smile playing on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We need to talk, Rafe.”

His smile vanished instantly, replaced by a dark look you knew all too well.

“About what?” he asked, though it seemed like he already knew the answer.

You took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage that seemed to waver with every step he took closer to you.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do us anymore, Rafe.”

His reaction was immediate. His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer so fast that you instinctively stepped back.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m saying this doesn’t work. You don’t work, Rafe. You’re… you’re jealous, controlling, and you don’t even have the guts to tell anyone we’re together.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, devoid of any humor.

“That’s what this is about? That I won’t make it public? Really?”

You looked at him firmly, even though you were shaking inside.

“It’s not just that. It’s everything. You don’t let me breathe, Rafe. You’re always asking where I am, who I’m with. You treat me like I’m your property, and I’m not anyone’s.”

That seemed to ignite something in him, something dangerous.

“Oh, really?” he shot back, his voice low and chilling—sending shivers down your spine. “Because you seemed pretty comfortable being mine up until now.”

“I wasn’t. I was scared of you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and the truth in them seemed to hit him like a slap. For a moment, the fury in his eyes wavered, but only for a second.

“This is about him, isn’t it?” he spat, his voice rising a notch. “About those damn Pogues. Is it Maybank? Of course, it’s him. That bastard always looks at you like he wants to rip your clothes off.”

“This has nothing to do with JJ!” you shouted, desperate to make him understand. “This is about you. About what you make me feel.”

Rafe stayed silent, but his jaw was clenched, and his fists were tight at his sides. Then he stepped closer, his face just inches from yours.

“You’re not leaving, Y/N. I’m not letting you go.”

“You don’t have the right to decide that, Rafe.”

“You’re mine,” he insisted, his voice filled with a fervor that sent a chill down your spine. “And if you think I’m going to sit back while you run into that Pogue’s arms, you’re dead wrong.”

You stepped back, trying to put some distance between you, but he wouldn’t let you. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly and forcing you to look at him.

“Let me go, Rafe.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but don’t push me.”

Your heart pounded as you tried to free your hand, but his grip was unrelenting. Finally, you managed to pull away, stepping back a few feet as you looked at him with tears in your eyes.

“This isn’t love, Rafe. And no matter how hard you try to hold on, I’m not staying.”

His gaze darkened even further, and for a second, you feared what he might do. But then, he just stood there, watching you as you turned around and walked away, feeling his stare burning into your back.

You knew this wasn’t the end, that Rafe Cameron wasn’t the type to let go of what he thought was his. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d reclaimed a little bit of your freedom.

[ghostgirl-22]

thoughts on forcefem! art?

Oh god. No. Because he loves it. Acts all annoyed but the flush gives him away. When Patrick walks in on him in the bath and insists on helping him shave his long legs (“gotta be aerodynamic,” Patrick agrees just to get his hands on him). Patrick asks if he can dress him up when they’re done, pretty please!! It’s just silly, and he’s bored, please.

“This is stupid but fine,” Art says like he isn’t already half aroused by the way Patrick helped him lather up with shaving cream. Famous last words.

Patrick knows how to do make up and everything. As the youngest his sisters used him as a guinea pig. He’s even got the perfect little skirt, his ex left it and stole his favorite hoodie and basketball shorts he might as well get some wear out of it.

It’s so fucking short on Art, barely hides his cock. Arts legs are so long. Patrick doesn’t have any panties, but he’s got a pair of sheer tights from the same girl. Gets on his knees to roll them up over Arts baby smooth calves. Trying to ignore the obvious rush of blood to Art’s cock and the way it’s swelling up.

Ignoring also the tiny little breaths that come from Art as he rolls them up over his thighs, over his dick. Or the way he steps forward just a little… a silent plea for Patrick to suck him off.

“Not yet,” Patrick whispers, calls him pretty girl and gets to his feet. He makes Art sit on the toilet seat and straddles him. Using Tashi’s old mascara she left in his hotel room he presses Arts bangs back and lengthens those already long eyelashes. Blue eyes going glassy and dilating just from being this close. And with Tashis tinted lip gloss, another trinket she forgot to pick up…(or maybe Patrick snuck away) he paints Arts lips a shimmery shade of pink. Kissing him every minute just to taste it. Sticky delicate kisses.

“Fuck,” Art shivers, squirming under Patrick’s weight. Especially when Patrick keeps calling him “princess” and “angel” and teasing his titties. Giving them little sucking kisses too and then blowing on them till his nipples are taut and hard.

Arts so fucking eager now. Patrick can feel him. God. he can feel him. Nowhere to hide in that little baby skirt and no panties. Patrick’s pretending he’s not equally as hard, maybe harder.

“You’re my good girl aren’t you,” Patrick whispers, standing up. He can hear the door outside. Art’s college roommate’s home. An English major, steps away from writing Art a sonnet to declare his love. “Wanna show your roommate what we did? Ask him if you look pretty?”

Art flushes more. “No, Patrick please,” he whimpers.

“Come on baby, you’re always talking about your roomie. How funny he is? You don’t think he’d like you like this? Pretty princess?”

“Patrick,” Art breathes.

Patrick chews his cheeks, his body is heated from the inside out. He knows he did it but he feels like he’s going insane looking at Art like this. Pretty isn’t really enough. Patrick can feel his heart pounding in his dick. “You don’t think he wants to fuck you just like this?” Patrick continues rambling. He’s steps away from Art. Plays with one of his nipples just to watch him squirm a little more. “You don’t think he wants to suck on your tits. Kiss your cunt.”

Art hitches his breath and looks down, toeing the ground, knees knocking together. Damp blonde curls falling into his eyes. There’s already a tear in the tights. He’s got his hands intertwined, just in front of his cock, trying to hide the way it’s lifting the skirt upwards, nearly exposing everything. The blush is spreading to his collarbone. His nipples are red, sticky and erect from Patrick’s kisses. His tight little tummy rising and falling with his anxious breaths.

God. Patrick doesn’t want to fucking share him. “Think you can be quiet?” He asks softly.

Art nods, eyes dilated, shimmery wet lips parted.

“Promise?” Patrick asks again.

“Mmhm.”

And Patrick rips at the tights because he’s lost patience and fucks him up against the bathroom sink with just a few pumps of liquid hand-soap as lube. Arts coming all over the skirt, spilling it in the sink in no time. He looks so pretty and debauched when Patrick’s done, eyes glassy, flushed all over, mascara smudged, lip gloss smeared, sticky kisses all over his throat. He’s grabbing at Patrick, kissing him wet. Patrick almost shoves the skirt up and does it again.

[scaredyspooks]

Training.

Chapter 8 of Neighbours. (Stalker!König x reader)

AO3 (Chapter also below cut-off ♡)

CW: voyeurism, masturbation.

Tags: @backseatsoldier @lostintransist

The dishes from breakfast are still sitting, half empty, on the coffee table. The ring from his mug is bound to be permanently stained into the wood grain by now. A mostly full bag of rubbish waits by the door, meant to have been taken down hours ago. And the giant is nowhere to be seen. The worm of a man is tucked away, small, condensed, folded down and down to fit under the floor, like he’s practicing for when he crawls inside your ribs to become a part of you. To make you a part of him. He’s been watching for nine hours. Nine hours of frustration, of lust, of adoration, of need, of hatred. You did nothing today. You sat, and you scrolled, and you typed away on your phone. You wasted the day, and in doing so you made him waste his as well. He should punish you for that alone. You haven’t earned his forgiveness yet.

The sun has gone down, he can tell from the darkness invading your sanctuary, as if his own gaze is slowly permeating the pores of your cheap, plasterboard walls. You get up, you walk to your bedroom, his favorite show has ended for the day. Reluctantly, and with an aching creak of his joints, König pulls himself out of his floor, having to lay out flat on top of it in an effort to realign his sore back. He stretches his arms high above his head, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Perhaps if you’d just look up, you’d see him. See the glint of his eye as it watches you. If you saw him, would you be afraid? Would you even guess it was him? The thought makes him shiver. He can’t tell if it’s nerves, or anticipation. The thrill of getting caught. An undercover mission failed as he finally gets to shed the façade and bare his teeth.

After each vertebrae in his spine cracks back into its proper place, he heaves himself up from the floor, joining you in your routine as he stumbles to his own bedroom, rubbing at his hip as it protests his activities of the day.

As he enters his room, the sweetest melody of all reaches his ears. Low, breathy, constant, accompanied by an electronic hum. His ungrateful Feldmaus is… Indulging. Well, that must mean he can indulge as well, after all you’re nothing now. Not until you prove him wrong. A challenge you don’t even know he’s set you.

He’s listening, and gods above it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. His cock is jumping at every needy little sound you breathe out of those gorgeous lips, he can’t help imagining what you must be doing. How you must be punishing yourself. Maybe there’s another hole in here. Maybe he can make one. Maybe it’s worth the risk of being caught, just to see what you’re doing, what’s making you spill such sweet noises for him.

Perhaps he can be greedy. Perhaps he will be lucky. Thick fingers dip and dig, hooking under the edge of the carpet and slowly ripping, the staples connecting the rough fabric to the wooden boards creaking their way out, teasing him with how their little burrows grip them, threatening to announce his presence. Ah, you wouldn’t hear it. You’re being far too loud down there.

Gradually, he pulls it up, finding yet more shoddily covered insulation space. Thank the gods for the landlord special. He squeezes down, quieter than he’s ever managed to before, and he could cry with joy as he finds a hole around one of your light fixtures, giving him a perfect view of-

Oh Gott…

His heart is racing, thumping and beating at the inside of his rib cage, trying to force its way out so it can throw itself down into your arms, where it truly belongs.

He has to bite back a strangled groan when he sees the state of you in the throes of self-administered pleasure. Your perfect, angelic form, kneeling in prayer atop your mattress, and in this position he is your god. Your head is thrown back, lips parted, eyebrows arched as if begging for his glorious mercy, your eyes thankfully closed. One hand palming at the soft mound over your heart, the other holding the tool of your worship, whirring and purring against the apex of your thighs.

But no, there’s another tool, he can barely make it out where you have it trapped between your thighs and the ever-growing damp patch on your bedding, but whatever it is it’s thick. Hellishly thick. And then he notices the curves. The circular embellishments. Suckers. Dear god, his perfect little field mouse is fucking herself with an over-sized tentacle dildo. He can’t take his eyes off you, can’t stop his gaze from darting and sweeping over the different details of everything you’re doing. It’s almost overstimulating. No, it is overstimulating. Your moans, your whimpers, the steadily changing pitch of the wand as you press it harder and harder against your aching clit, the sound of that knotted toy popping in and out of your sopping, stretched hole, the sight of the sweet tears streaming from the corners of your eyes; diamonds sparkling in the light, the trail of drool running down your chin, dripping down the valley of your breasts, god your breasts; the way they’re bouncing, taunting him. His own mouth is watering. The flutter of your eyelashes, the crescent moons printed into your soft flesh from where you just can’t stop squeezing and pulling at yourself. Are you imagining his hands? You could have his hands. He would touch you, he would give them to you, he would leave them with you if you only asked. If you only showed that you wanted them, wanted him. You would use them for far more important tasks.

What does he need them for? Cooking, cleaning, bathing, building? He can learn to do those things without them, he would be honored to, if it meant watching you use them for this delicious purpose. He knows he’s being fucking insane. While one side of his mind fantasizes about you somehow using his severed hands to grope yours, the other side is spiraling, screaming, asking how Kilgore König became reduced to this. This disgusting, perverse, degenerate, self-destructive little earwig.

The pervert wins the battle.

In a second, his fist is buried in the tight fabric of his pants, his pre-cum slicked cock slipping through the too-tight hole he gives it, trying to emulate what he’s sure you must feel like. Why else would you be stretching yourself for him? What other reason could you possibly have for spearing yourself on something so large, so grotesque, unless you’re trying to train yourself to take him. Oh, that adds a dangerous inflation to his ego, even if deep down he knows he’s being delusional. He could make you feel even better than that thing, though. He knows it. You know it too.

His other hand is up at his jaw, his knuckles trapped between his teeth, as he tries desperately muffle his grunts, eyes wide and staring, scared to even blink in case he misses a single second of… you. Gods, you. You, you, you. He could cry, he thinks he might be, he can’t tell anymore. What’s sweat, what’s tears, when it’s all just salt in the wound of his overwhelming need for you?

You’re getting faster, no longer easing up and down with a pained, silent whine, but bouncing, mouth hanging open, the hand not holding your wand now braced in front of you on the mattress, like a bitch in heat sitting pretty for him. Moving so fast, god that means you’re taking it… You can take him… Fuck, the thought has his drool dampening the rafters of your ceiling. You, putting yourself through the hot ache of stretching yourself, opening the gates of your sweet, needy heaven for him, just for him. Just for him. Nur für ihn. Du gehörst ihm. Du gehörst ihm.

If this is your plan, if this is your gift, to rectify your cruel rejection of him, perhaps… Perhaps he can find it within his generous heart to forgive you. To give you another chance. Perhaps he can tolerate you being a whore, if you’re his whore.

Seine Hure.

As if on cue, your body slumps forward, shoulders crashing into the sheets, cheek pressed into the plush down of your pillows, giving him the perfect view of your ass bouncing desperately over your toy. He just knows your pillow’s already damp with the drool pouring from your lips, dry from the heavy breaths that have been rolling past them for the last hour. The way the plump rounds of your rear lead down into the tantalizing curve of your spine, it’s like a heart beating below him in rhythm with your thrusts, a locust beating its wings. Thinking of you as his end, it shockingly speeds him towards a different end, and he has more questions to puzzle over whenever his mind isn’t a fuzz of lust and need.

The crescendo of your symphony answers his earlier question. He feels it running down his cheek, tickling its way down into his beard. He’s crying. But who could blame him? Perfection embodied below him, sobbed moans, beautiful whines and whimpers filling his ears.

You collapse against the bed, body trembling, chest heaving, as you roll onto your back. He can’t bring himself to worry that you’ll see him, he doesn’t care anymore, he’s so fucking close, it almost hurts. He’s surprised he doesn’t taste copper from how hard he’s biting his knuckles.

The sight that breaks him is the bulge of your toy slowly disappearing as you pull it free from your tight heat with a flood of arousal and a soft, wet pop. It’s so lewd, so graphic, so juxtaposed to how he thought he saw you until now and the quietest whimper he can allow himself to make escapes him, his balls tightening as his cock finally pulses in his tight fist, red, angry, and bruised as he paints the inside of his boxers, panting and shaking, his eyes wide in horror at the realization that he’s never felt it like that before.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[shalscumbunny]

Could I maybe get some Noncon uvogin crumbs if you like writing for him, if not Shalnark crumbs 🙏🏻

Hungry | Uvogin X Female!Reader

Summary: Uvogin clearly loves you, needs you, he is completely obsessed, your body is a treasure, the best appetizer that life can offer him, your body is simply so beautiful, so sensual, it makes him hungry for you.

Pairing: Uvogin X Female!Reader

Warnings: Vaginal sex, aggressive sex, female reader receiving oral sex, nipple sucking, vaginal bleeding, cumflation, pet names, stomach bulge due to penetration, non con, body manipulation, dacryphilia, impregnation kink, size kink

Author’s note: Good news! We will do both and start with Uvogin! because you deserve it! ❤ I hope u like it!

Sites: AO3

Being captured by Uvogin was a far cry from what the other members of the Phantom Troupe would have done. While the others would opt for discretion, leaving no traces and avoiding trouble, Uvogin literally had no problem capturing you in broad daylight and carrying you off like a rag doll thanks to the significant size difference. Even with all your strength, you wouldn't have been able to put up any resistance. 

And now you'd regained consciousness and your breath caught in your throat as you saw him standing at the foot of the bed where you lay, that giant, muscular figure, even bigger than a bear. You couldn't even swallow, your eyes fixed on him.

"You're a heavy sleeper, I like that" His deep voice made you tremble. 

"Please... let me go... I don't have any money" You begged, looking at him fearfully. 

"I don't want money, I don't use it" He replied mockingly. 

For someone so big and heavy, you were astonished when, in the blink of an eye, he was on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You only just noticed then that the bed was his, no one else would have a bed that big.

For the first time in your life, you were genuinely scared. You recalled the countless wildlife documentaries you’d watched during idle hours on television. For the first time, you identified with those small animals in the jaws of their predator.

“I’m a thief, thieves just take what they want…” You jumped as you felt his large hand grab your lower hip. “I want you, from the first time I saw you… so I’ve decided to take you.”

“I’m not an object you can possess” You tried to defend yourself, completely terrified but indignant.

You heard his deep, rumbling laugh. He seemed amused, as if he were playing with his prey, mocking your boldness at this moment.

And indeed, Uvogin was enjoying himself. From the first time he saw you, he liked you, he liked you a lot. Beside him, you were small, like a rabbit next to a bear, but it wasn’t just your appearance, he liked your personality a lot too.

He always saw you arguing, shouting, and being so stubborn, which was charming. He was surprised by how much naughtiness there was in such a small and... delicious... body.

“I should teach you how to behave in front of me. You’re mine now, you must obey me and respect me, especially obey me”

You froze as you watched his left hand wander and position itself on your abdomen. The hand was bigger than your torso; he could literally grasp your entire body with just one hand. You wanted to scream at him to stop, but you didn't have the courage when you looked into his eyes.

You twisted as his hand moved up your chest, his heavy fingers playing with your breasts aggressively, your legs trembling.

"W-wait... d-don't do that" You gasped, trying to turn away.

You wriggled trying to avoid him, but it was literally easy for Uvogin to rip your clothes off in a second, leaving you in just your panties. Your eyes filled with tears, and your face flushed.

"Do you really think you can stop me? Come on! Keep trying, it's fun to watch you struggle" Uvogin removed your bra, revealing your breasts, your nipples erect from the stimulation and the sudden cold.

"Let go of me!" You whimpered between gasps until his mouth captured one of your breasts, sucking and biting aggressively.

You were speechless, only forced moans came out of your mouth, while your legs managed to kick him, but you didn't really hurt him in any way, on the contrary, you began to feel a terrifying bulge forming in your kidnapper's crotch.

Your body trembled as his teeth tortured your breasts, as if they were flavored gum, a flavor he loved, while his big hands obscenely massaged your hips and ass.

Your weak hands tried to force him back, scratching and pinching, but that only excited him, it excited him to see you so tearful and defenseless, so much his...

One of his hands left your hip forcing you to open your legs revealing your wet panties which made him smile, he was hungry, hungry for that wet treasure on your legs.

“I don’t think you’re hating this” He whispered in your ear licking it and at the same time making you whimper.

Completely stupefied you saw his large middle finger caress your wet underwear making you move your hips involuntarily at the feeling of need.

“Are you wet, bunny?” He whispered caressing your clit with the wet fabric of your panties, the friction stealing your breath

“No! Please not there! Stop!” You begged between desperation, shame and pleasure

Uvogin was having one of the best times of his life, his middle finger roughly massaging your pussy, which looked tiny and small in his hand. Ecstatic to hear your whimpers and shame. It pleased him to be the one who inspired pleasure and terror in you, he was proud.

You couldn't hold out much longer, you came in your underwear between cries and begs and Uvogin was quick to take them off, revealing your excited and sticky pussy, you couldn't even anticipate Uvogin's animal acts, he took your breath away by sticking his finger inside you, already filling you completely.

Your cry of pain and pleasure made you open your mouth, which Uvogin took advantage of to plant a dirty kiss on you, inserting his tongue in your mouth and capturing yours.

All you could do was whimper on his tongue while your pussy squeezed his finger completely needy, you felt like it was pumped inside you quickly and roughly, making you cum several times.

“Good bunny, you see, you wanted it” He congratulated you with a growl in your ear, pulling his soaked finger out of your dilated pussy.

You saw him stand up, so you thought it was all over, however, the relief didn't last long, as you saw how he spread your legs and positioned his face between your thighs.

“I’ve been starving for hours” He murmured, licking your pussy with his tongue, making you shiver

“Please… no more” You begged, overstimulated

“Calm down bunny, now that you’re mine, we’re going to improve the stamina of this delicious pussy” Uvogin kissed your clit “My name is Uvogin, yes bunny? That’s the only name you’re going to moan from now on”

You tried to kick weakly, but with no effort Uvogin spread your legs wide and began to devour your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in years, within seconds you had already cum for the first time, your insides were moving as he sucked on your clit, red with excitement, and his tongue penetrated your rubbery walls, it was more than you could handle, your head was clouding over and you were losing your mind.

At first you were just begging him to stop as you came on his tongue and chin, but every time you came, you started to lose track of the fact that you were literally being raped by your captor.

But soon Uvogin’s middle finger started pumping into your tight pussy as his tongue tortured your raw clit, making you cry for more and more as Uvogin greedily tasted your pleasure juices.

“Ah! Uvogin! Uvogin” You moaned his name, practically screaming it, exploding with pleasure

Uvogin proudly stood still, proud of the mess you were, seeing the bed all wrinkled from your attempts to escape and then the writhings of pleasure he caused you, because only he could, because you were only his.

You looked so silly with your mind clouded with pleasure, innocent even, like a submissive little bunny to him, adorable and tiny next to him, yes, you were definitely a bunny, his bunny.

“You know, I love bunnies, they’re so cute and pretend to be innocent, just like you” He purred in your ear as he pulled down his pants, your mind was so clouded with pleasure that you didn’t even notice the giant, hard cock between your thighs, completely swollen, veined and throbbing to be inside that fertile little pussy of yours.

His huge tip throbbed at your soaked and needy entrance, he knew it wasn’t going to fit in the easy way, so he would get it the hard way and teach you to take it the hard way, from now on that would be your duty.

“But bunnies are just like you, little whores eager for someone like me to fill their cunts and impregnate them” His deep voice made you writhe in pleasure

Uvogin took your chin, opening your mouth, kissing you once and at the same time giving you a deep thrust with his huge cock that knocked the air out of you, causing you to bite his mouth in the kiss, but he didn't care.

The strong stab brought you down from the cloud of pleasure, your body trembling from the pain, you even felt like you were going to faint, everything upset you, even feeling the blood from Uvogin's lips in your mouth.

You managed to break away from the kiss in tears, the unbearable burning and pain making you kick to separate yourself.

“Ah! It hurts! Please I don't want to” You begged between cries, watching your pussy bleed from the aggressive and huge intrusion

Uvogin loved you in the end, as much as he wanted you, so he comforted you by kissing your hair and caressing your clit to help you cope with the pain.

“Shhh… shhh… you’re taking it well” He whispered hotly to you pulling out a little and again penetrating you all the way “You’re going to like it, you’re going to get used to it”

You didn’t even have the strength to fight, you just whimpered into his hairy, big chest, amazed because only half of his huge cock was inside you, you even felt like you were going to die, you saw his fat cock stretching your rubbery, aching walls while you clearly saw how your belly was slightly bulging in its shape.

This time it took you a long time to get used to it, you cried every time he entered and exited your sore pussy that at least wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the stimulation on your clit managed to make you finally cum after a long time.

“See how you’re getting used to it, bunny, look how well you’re taking me” Uvogin congratulated you, increasing the pace of his thrusts

Your pussy squeezed him in such a delicious way that he felt lucky, it was a dream to see you so pretty and so small receiving his huge, fat cock while his heavy balls contracted, eager to release the semen they held.

All you could do was gasp and whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders and back, the intrusion was no longer so painful, your clit was so needy that it enjoyed Uvogin’s attentions and your pussy squeezed his cock as if it were begging for more, you didn’t even last long when his head hit your sweet, rubbery spot that made you forget the pain.

“I can’t anymore… ah… ah…” You begged between moans

Uvogin also knew that he wouldn’t last any longer, so he didn’t care about hurting you, he began to penetrate you with more force and kiss you needily.

“Pretty bunny, I’m going to fill you up, just like you deserve it, okay?” Uvogin’s muscular arms held you tight to him “I’m going to impregnate that pretty womb of yours, I’m going to make you a pretty mother of several children so that you remember who you belong to forever”

You didn’t even understand it well, your mind was clouded, completely lost between pleasure and pain, Uvogin wanted to impregnate you? Who cares! You only needed that thick, hot semen to satisfy you, to end the hot need of your body, even though your mind and heart cried out for help.

It finally happened, you rolled your eyes in pleasure as Uvogin filled you to the brim, brutally hitting your cervix, while hot, copious loads of thick cum filled you, starting to bulge your belly.

“Good bunny” Uvogin moaned in pleasure as he licked and bit at your neck “I was so hungry for you”

Thank u so much for reading this shit 🖤

Shalnark version-> HERE

[bitkahuna]

Dáin was on his back, slowly being crushed under the weight of a dead troll. Twenty minutes ago, he had become aware of the spear in his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the ground. He gave up on trying to crawl away and focused on his breathing. It was getting harder and harder. He did his best to suppress the panic that threatened to take all his air, as something warm and wet leaked from various points of his body. The edges of his vision were blurred and his head pounded. He wouldn’t stay conscious for long.

There was a shouting voice, strained and desperate. He couldn’t understand what was said from under the troll. He tried to take a deep breath. It burned.

“Fucking move it!” That strained voice roared as the troll’s body began to shift. He could hear clearer now.

“’S fuckin King Dáin!”

The king let out a sob of relief when he realized what this meant. The fight was over. They won. He was being rescued.

What he didn’t expect was for some small hobbit to begin assessing him the moment the troll was off. The dwarves, many his own men, surrounded them but stayed back at the hobbit’s instruction.

“Dirt’s fine, blood’s deadly. Who has clean cloth?” The hobbit barked as he began ripping at the king’s tunic around his exposed shoulder, revealing the wound.

“I’ve some.” A melodic voice answered, some elven woman ripped part of her dress and offered the cloth. Dáin wondered if he was dead, because there was no way an elf just did that.

“What’s your name?” The hobbit’s voice turned kind and comforting, speaking as if they were good friends.

“Uh, Dáin.” He answered slowly, feeling as if he was on the edge of wake.

“Dáin, you’re bleeding a lot, but you’re gonna be alright. Okay? Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He tried, but winced.

“Where does it hurt?”

Dáin tapped at the armor on his stomach.

The hobbit’s quick hands undid it and pushed it aside, revealing another wound. Dáin couldn’t see it, but he saw the hobbit freeze as he took careful control of his reaction. It was bad.

“Dáin, this is gonna hurt pretty damn bad. You’ll have a fever and be exhausted the next few days. No matter what, never turn down water. Understand?”

Dáin nodded and winced once more, grimacing as the small hobbit tore the spear in half before the king was pulled into a seated position, the spear staying in the ground as what remained passed through him. Alcohol burned his wound before the hobbit wrapped his shoulder in a soft and stretchy fabric from the elf’s dress.

He was laid down again and the hobbit tended to the wound on his stomach, continuing to bark orders to others as they did their best to help others who were injured. The hobbit chugged half a carafe of water that he was handed before dumping the rest on the king’s stomach.

“‘Ave some fuckin respect! Tha’s King Dáin!”

The hobbit didn’t even turn to acknowledge the shout as he knelt down to better examine the wound, gently pushing a puss out. “No. This is Dáin, my patient, and he’ll get the same treatment as anyone else. Unless you’d rather take over?”

Silence.

“Whatever got you was poisoned. Not too badly, though. Tremors and stiffness ‘ll set in soon, you’ll have a fever by nightfall. Drink water and rest often. I’ll make another round at night. Keeping that puss out of you is a priority. You’re going to be okay, Dáin.”

From there, the next three days came to Dáin only in flashes. Most of them being the hobbit kneeling over him, tending to his wounds and whispering reassurances. In some lucid moments of his dreams he could still hear that kind voice. That kind voice that seemed to care so much. Whispering to him that he would be okay, he just had to keep breathing, he would be okay. The voice that comforted him and make him unafraid, regardless of how bad it got. He was okay.

-----

Yavanna, Guide Me chapter 16, I couldn't resist making Bilbo a medic in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies

[resande]

Steddie fic idea

‼️‼️‼️If you’re a writer that wants to collaborate with me into giving life to this big project, hmu. I’ll draw for it and all i need is someone who will put into words and also help me build up more on this story and fill the gaps. Also someone that won’t give up on the project when it’s not completely done. This story will also have nsfw scenes in it so take that into consideration aswell.

This project doesn’t have a deadline at all. It’s my baby and i wanna give it the life and attention it deserves because i love this idea so much.

Soo, if you’re interested, DM me🫶🏻

Also if you have other works, i would like to see them aswell. You can attach them to your message, in case there’ll be more people that want to take the place.‼️❤️❤️

The idea in question: (copied from x)

Edward being a witch and in a life before this, him constructing this Colossus of a gothic cathedral for his love, Stephen, who was a priest.

The town found out because the cathedral was finished too soon (stephen was terminally sick and edward wanted him to see this monument dedicated to their love while Stephen was still alive, so he said fuck it and used his powers to finish what supposed to be a +600 years of work.

The town people found out he was a witch and began a witch hunt so they can burn him at the stake.

Eddie faked his death right before the burning thing in the middle of the town, right in front of the cathedral happened. No one knew except Stephen. There was a scarecrow made to look like eddie (magic happened there aswell). And because Stephen was The priest of the town, he

was forced to burn the witch. (Including here a “no one mourns the wicked” scene because that tore my heart out and i need it here and also bc Stephen felt like the real wicked between the two, because of betraying god (but also without any remorse towards it)

Once he set fire to the scarecrow, the town tried to set fire to the cathedral aswell. But it never burned. The fire would go out as soon as it started and the skies would rip apart and heavy rain would fall. So the cathedral will stay intact.

For as many years as Stephen had, and so many more after that, the town tried to burn down the cathedral thousands of times. The only thing that happened was the color of it became black. And it stayed that way, protected forever by eddie’s powers.

They promised eachother they will find one another in afterlife, until stars will cease to exist. Stephen told Edward “to make your searching easier, you’ll find me right here. In our home (the cathedral)

“In every life i’ll live, until my soul will decompose, i will cherish our love.”

Also right before eddie would get captured, eddie made a scene in front of the cathedral and the whole town, by swallowing the cathedral’s front door keys. (Magician trick Get it. Or nawt) as to show everyone that no one has power over what he created, other than himself (n stephen ofc).

————

After hundreds of years, a mechanic & struggling musician called eddie, got a hitchhike by an old weird man, and kinda got kidnapped into a town that.. weird enough, doesn’t show on the map… . Stuck in time, set in the 40-60’s, and has in the middle of the old town the most bone chilling creation eddie had ever seen. That damned colossal cathedral. (Eddie also has a tattoo of an old key on his sternum)

eddie gets into town And has so many weird reactions from peers when they look at his face.

(They have pictures of the witch that created the cathedral and eddie looks identical to him). He has a breakdown out of nowhere while stopping in his tracks, right in front of the creation. All the people surrounding him, not moving a muscle. They’re convinced they are assisting to a historical moment. The prophecy. The second coming of the witch.

No one dared to touch eddie while he was sobbing and having a panic attack on the ground.

No one, except a young priest,

In his 20’s.

Calming him down. And taking him away from prying eyes. In the back gardens of the cathedral, where only priests and nuns are allowed. Found an empty spot and sat eddie down. Told him everything.

Eddie had one week until the mark of the 300 years, since the death of the witch. To do what the whole town - turned into a cult, wanted since Edward died. To open the old chest that lies in the attic, so “the second coming of christ will come” or so that’s what all of them

Believed. (Actually someone sniffed edward and stephen out and selfishly wanted to open that chest to prove everyone that stephen must die for his sins. Basically a Carver invented one of the oldest lies they ever heard.)

If people find out about the key tattoo eddie has

That he got from his dreams, make a real copy out of it and try to open the front doors + the chest, and it works, “then the second coming of christ is happening and at dawn everyone and their animals will enter in the afterlife/eternal heaven.”

They also need to burn the witch

Again so he won’t stop “this process for once and for all.”

From here on out, in this one week, eddie faces the psychological horrors of this fucked up cult town, hunted by its people, couple of times but gets away because now steve sees through all the bullshit he got indoctrinated all his life, has time to fall in love with eddie, helps him out, and tries to put a stop to all of this.

In the end it becomes a ghost town, while eddie and steve get away, steve getting to see life outside of the town’s walls, for the first time in his life.

It’s not all thought out but this horror-ish idea i’ve had for a long ass time and i wanna draw for it… my babey🤲..