#but in the end of it all their was still trust

[enwoso]

How about a lovie angst where harrison kinda breaks alessias teust and does somerhing she wouldnt approve of? x

FRACTURED | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

alessia had always been cautious when it came to harrison, she was still a little wary. but she had no choice but to co-parent with him now that you knew about him and you wanted have your dad apart of your life.

but trusting him was still the main reason why alessia was wary as he hadn't fully earned that badge yet.

alessia was sitting on the couch, unwinding after training. you'd having been with harrison since yesterday afternoon when he’d picked you up from nursery. it being his night, for you to stay at his for the night.

something alessia was still trying her best to get used to.

it still being early days since harrison was able to have you for long periods of time without alessia being present and she'd be lying if she said she didn't have a heavy heart every time you weren't with her.

but so far harrison had been trying really hard to not mess up and it did make alessia happy to see but he still had a long way to go until she trusted him fully.

alessia being just  about to move from the comfort of her couch and make herself some dinner before you got home a little later on, her phone buzzed.

glancing quickly at it, expecting it to be from one of the girls maybe making plans for after the game but the second she glanced at the name and saw harrison's name flash across the screen, her stomach dropped slightly.

harrison | ‘less, can you call me. please.’

her heart thudded against her ribs just that little bit faster as she sat up straighter, her fingers tightening around the phone.

harrison | ‘i don't think it's a big deal but i feel i should probably let you know’

that alone was enough. his uncertainty in her voice was enough to send a sharp bolt of unease through her entire body.

harrison | ‘she's fine, i swear. we’ve had a great day. just need to talk to you. maybe face to face is better.’

a shiver ran through her entire body. she's fine. no, no he wouldn't be saying that unless there was something to not be fine about.

alessia didn't hesitate, shooting up from the couch grabbing her keys with shaking hands. kyra who had been lounging on the opposite end of the couch, immediately sitting up her brows furrowing, "less, what's wrong?"

alessia didn't even stop to explain, too busy shoving her feet into her runners, "harrison, that's what wrong."

kyra was up in an instant, already grabbing her own jacket, "right, let's go."

the drive to harrison's apartment was suffocating, alessia driving in silence, jaw clenched as her fingers tapped against the steering wheel impatiently. kyra knowing better than to try and lighten the mood with a joke, so she just sat tight lipped.

"you want me to come in with you?" she asked when they pulled up outside harrison's place.

alessia shook her head firmly, "no, i'll be okay." kyra hesitated before nodding, "i'll wait here, just in case you need backup"

alessia didn't bother responding—she was already halfway out of the car.

—

harrison barely had time to even register who it was at the door before alessia was shoving past him into the flat, her eyes scanning the room frantically.

you were curled up on the couch, your tiny frame being swallowed by a hoodie that was far too big for you. your hair all tangled and your face puffy from exhaustion but other than that you were unharmed.

alessia let out a shaky breath, just enough to stop her heart from hammering out of her chest, but relief was short-lived.

"mummy?" your voice was small, groggy as you looked up at alessia as she forced a smile moving to crouch down in front of you. "hey lovie, you okay?"

you nodded, rubbing at your eyes. "daddy let me stay up really, really late! we watched loads of movies, and then we went to see uncle jamie!"

silence. the kind that made alessia's blood run cold. jamie. well he was just not the type of person you wanted around your kids. he wasn't to be trusted.

alessia remembers the first time she met him, back in the states the boy staring an argument with a harmless stranger cause in his eyes he looked at jamie funny. alessia didn't like him, and she certainly didn't want her daughter around him and his activities.

harrison shifted behind her, clearing his throat. "less—" alessia stood slowly, turning to face him. "you what?"

harrison had the audacity to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "we went to see jamie, i didn't think it would be a big deal."

"not a big deal?" alessia repeated, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "you took our daughter to see your brother—without asking me?"

harrion sighed, exasperated he could see just why alessia was so upset about it. "less, he's my family."

alessia let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "family? you mean the same brother who's been arrested more times than i can count? the same one who drinks himself stupid and picks fights for fun? that jamie?"

"he's not like that around kids," harrison argued, but even he didn't sound too convinced.

"you don't know that, you don't know how he's gonna be from hour to hour." alessia snapped. "because you don't know him anymore. and you sure as hell don't get to use our daughter as some kind of excuse for a bonding experience with him."

harrison's jaw clenched. "she is my daughter too, alessia."

"then start acting like it!" alessia's voice cracked, her hands shaking, alessia seeing nothing but anger. "because a real father doesn't make reckless decisions and then text me after the fact like it's nothing. a real father thinks before he acts. a real father asks before putting his child in a situation that could be dangerous."

harrison exhaled heavily, his hands moving to his hips. "ok, i made a mistake, alright. but nothing happened. she's fine, she's happy."

"that's not the point haz!" alessia's voice broke, and for a second, the anger slipped, replaced by something far more painful. "you just don't get it, do you? you weren't there. you weren't there when i was pregnant, when i was terrified and alone. you weren't there when i held her for the first time and promised to keep her safe. you left, harrison. and now you think you can just walk back in and do whatever you want? like none of that ever even happened?"

harrison's face paled, his mouth opening, but no words came out. the past truly starting to catch up on him, quicker than he could imagine as he'd spent years trying to get rid of it.

"you haven't earned my trust," alessia continued, quieter this time, but no less sharp in the way she spoke. "and you sure as hell haven't earned the right to make decisions for her on your own. not without consulting me beforehand"

you watched them with wide eyes from the couch, your little fingers gripping the fabric of the hoodie as you tried so hard to concentrate on the film on the screen. alessia swallowing hard, forcing herself to pull it together.

she turned back to you, kneeling down again. "lovie, go and grab your things, okay? i think it's time to go home."

you hesitated, glancing at your daddy before nodding. "okay, mummy." you slid off the couch and padded towards your bag, your small frame weighed down by exhaustion.

alessia turned back to harrison, her voice dangerously low. "if you ever, ever do something like this again, i swear to god, you will not be seeing her without me there. do you understand me?"

harrison nodded slowly, guilt flashing across his face. "loud and clear."

you returned with your tiny backpack slung over your shoulders, your stuffed esme the elephant clutched tightly in your arms as you looked up at your daddy with tired eyes. "bye, daddy. i love you."

harrison's expression softened instantly just at the innocence of your words. he crouched down, opening his arms. "come here, little one."

alessia's body tensed. she wanted to tell you no. she wanted to scoop you up and walk out without looking back. but she knew that would only hurt you more, and no matter how angry she was at harrison, she couldn't do that to their daughter. so instead with a deep breath, she gave a small nod.

you didn't hesitate, stepping into your daddy's arms. harrison holding you tightly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. his eyes shut, as his grip lingered just a second too long, like he was afraid to let go.

"i love you, princess," he murmured against your curls. "you'll always be my little girl, okay?"

you pulled back slightly, your tiny hands resting on his shoulders. "promise?"

harrison swallowed hard, nodding. "promise."

alessia looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. because promises weren't something harrion had ever been good at keeping. but for your sake, she hoped—just this once—he meant it.

[00valentina-writes00]

♡♥︎ Collateral ♥︎♡

Premise: Your father's debt to the mafia caused you to be collateral. You were kidnapped by a mob boss called Abby and her right hand woman Sevika, but now something more has grown between the three of you.

Warnings: Sevika x reader x Abby, Mafia AU, criminal activities slow burn, domestic parts (kinda), smut, Abby and Sev bickering, leaning towards Sev pov at the end

||Part one|| ||Part two|| ||Part three|| ||Part Four|| ||Part Five||

This is part six

You woke up groggy, disoriented, and far too warm. The afternoon light filtering through your curtains painted your bedroom in soft gold, but the heat pressing against you was anything but gentle. You were trapped—caught between two bodies, all muscle and dead weight, limbs tangled with yours like they'd caged you in their sleep.

Sevika was on your right, sprawled out like she had no concept of personal space. Her broad chest rose and fell steadily, her metal prosthetic resting over your waist, anchoring you to the bed. Abby was curled against your left side, her arm slung lazily over your stomach, her face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Their combined body heat made you feel sticky, sweat clinging to your skin, and your sore muscles screamed in protest when you shifted.

The monring came rushing back in flashes. Sevika's rough hands gripping your hips, Abby's soft but commanding touch guiding you through wave after wave of pleasure, both of them completely overwhelming in their own ways. You barely remembered them carrying you back to bed, only the vague sensation of being lifted, warm lips pressing against your skin before exhaustion took over.

Now, though, you just felt gross. You needed a shower.

Carefully, you tried to pry yourself from the mess of limbs, maneuvering Sevika's heavy arm off your waist first. Even in sleep, she grumbled at the loss of contact, her brows furrowing, but she didn't wake. Abby, on the other hand, shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before burying her face into the pillow where your head had been.

You sat up slowly, immediately regretting it when a dull ache throbbed between your thighs. You winced, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and planting your feet on the floor, but when you tried to stand, your knees wobbled. A sharp reminder of exactly what the two of them had done to you last night.

"Jesus," you muttered under your breath, gripping the nightstand for balance.

Your clothes were scattered across the floor—your shorts and underwear near the foot of the bed, your shirt tangled in the sheets. You grabbed them quickly, slipping them on as quietly as possible, and when you turned back toward the bed, you were met with an unexpected sight.

Without you in the middle, Abby and Sevika had unconsciously gravitated toward each other. Sevika was now lying on her back, her arm draped over Abby's shoulders, while Abby had shifted closer, resting her head against Sevika's chest. It was... weirdly cute. Especially considering the way they usually acted toward each other.

You almost wished you had your phone nearby to snap a picture, but you figured that would be pushing your luck. Instead, you shook your head, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at your lips as you turned toward the bedroom door.

Your dog was waiting for you.

—

The evening air was cool when you stepped outside, the sharp contrast to your overheated skin making you shiver slightly. Your dog wagged her tail excitedly, sniffing around the small patch of grass outside your door before finding the perfect spot to do her business.

You took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear some of the lingering fog from your mind. Everything felt quieter out here, away from the suffocating warmth of your bed, away from the overwhelming presence of both Sevika and Abby.

That damn phone call still gnawed at the back of your mind.

Don't trust them.

You shook your head. No. You weren't going to entertain that.

They had saved you. They had protected you. And sure, maybe they were both dangerous as hell, but they had never given you a reason to doubt them.

You crouched down to scratch behind your dog's ears as she finished up, her tail thumping against your leg. "You ready to go back inside?" you murmured. She gave you an expectant look, probably hoping for a treat.

With a sigh, you stood up, leading Rosie back inside.

—

As soon as you stepped into the apartment, you heard it.

"I swear to God, if you don't move your fucking arm—"

"Shut up, Sev, I was here first."

"Bullshit, you rolled onto me."

"You're the one taking up half the bed."

"I'm built different."

"You're built like a fucking tank."

You barely held back a laugh as you turned the corner, finding the two of them still in bed, now very much awake and bickering like an old married couple.

Sevika had one arm slung behind her head, looking completely unbothered despite Abby practically shoving at her side. Abby, on the other hand, looked exasperated, her freckled face scrunched in irritation.

"You two are children," you said, stepping into the room.

Abby turned her attention to you immediately, her expression softening. "You feeling okay?"

You hesitated for a second. The soreness between your legs was still very much there, but there was no way in hell you were admitting that to them. "I'm fine," you said, waving a hand dismissively.

Sevika's sharp eyes flickered over you, lingering on the way you shifted your weight slightly, the subtle tension in your stance. Her lips curled into a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You narrowed your eyes at her. "Don't start."

She chuckled, but Abby shot her a look before turning back to you. "You hungry? We were gonna order something."

You considered it for a moment. Your stomach did feel a little empty, and the idea of eating something greasy and unhealthy sounded pretty damn good right now.

"Yeah, sure," you said, rubbing at your eyes. "What are we getting?"

"Pizza," Abby said. "Unless you want something else?"

"Pizza's fine."

Sevika stretched her arms above her head, her sports bra riding up just enough to reveal the defined ridges of her abs. "Better not be that pineapple shit," she muttered.

Abby rolled her eyes. "We're getting half and half, calm down."

Sevika grunted in response, seemingly satisfied.

You shook your head, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. It was strange—being here with them like this, seeing them in such a domestic setting. You had never imagined this kind of normalcy with people like them. Abby, a mafia boss. Sevika, her right-hand enforcer. Two of the most dangerous women you'd ever met.

And yet, here they were, arguing over bed space and pizza toppings.

Maybe things weren't as complicated as you thought.

The club was loud, packed with bodies moving to the heavy bass rattling the floor. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and expensive cologne, the kind of mix that made your head swim before you even touched a drink. The dim lighting flickered between deep reds and blues, the occasional strobe catching the shine of Abby’s dog tags and the metal of Sevika’s prosthetic as the three of you wove through the crowd.

It had taken some convincing to get you out of the apartment after the soreness from the morning’s activities had settled in, but Abby had been persistent, and Sevika had been… well, Sevika.

“We’re going out. You’re coming. End of discussion.”

And here you were, sandwiched between them as they guided you toward the bar.

Sevika had already peeled off toward the back of the club, where a poker table was set up in a corner of the VIP lounge. The moment she spotted it, she had smirked, rolled her shoulders, and muttered something about “taking some poor bastards’ money.”

That left you with Abby, who leaned against the bar, already ordering drinks. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice smooth despite the music blasting through the speakers.

You barely had time to think before she made the decision for you, ordering you something strong but sweet, something that burned pleasantly when you took a sip.

She watched you over the rim of her own glass, the low club lighting catching on the freckles scattered across her cheeks and the sharp angles of her face. She was intense even in a relaxed setting like this, but it wasn’t the kind of intensity that unsettled you. If anything, it made you hyperaware of how much control she held over any situation she was in.

“You comfortable?” she asked, shifting closer so she didn’t have to raise her voice over the music.

You nodded, taking another sip. “Yeah. I mean, it’s a little overwhelming, but it’s not bad.”

Abby hummed, her eyes scanning the club like she was cataloging everything. It was easy to forget sometimes that she wasn’t just a woman who could pin you to a bed and ruin you—she was dangerous. She ran this city’s underworld with an iron grip, and yet, standing here with her now, she was just… Abby.

Before you could say anything else, a familiar rough voice called from across the room.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re missing the show.”

Sevika.

You turned your head to find her sitting at the poker table, a cigar perched between her lips, stacks of chips in front of her, and several men already looking defeated as she leaned back with that infuriating smirk.

Abby chuckled beside you. “She’s in her element.”

You followed her toward the table, your drink still in hand, as you slipped into a seat beside Sevika. She barely acknowledged you at first, her attention on the cards in her hand, her prosthetic arm resting heavily on the table.

The men around her looked uneasy. They had reason to be.

You watched as she called a bet, her fingers tapping against the edge of the table as she studied the other players. One of them, a guy in his forties with graying hair and a bad poker face, shifted uncomfortably.

“You bluffin’, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to sound confident.

Sevika exhaled a slow stream of smoke, tilting her head. “You think I need to bluff to take your money?”

The man hesitated.

Big mistake.

Sevika laid down her hand—straight flush.

The table groaned. One man cursed under his breath. The dealer simply smirked as he slid the winnings toward her, stacks of chips piling in front of her like trophies.

You couldn’t help but smile. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She turned to you then, that sharp, assessing gaze locking onto yours. “I enjoy a lot of things,” she murmured.

The way she said it made your stomach flip.

Abby settled in beside you, nursing a fresh drink. “Don’t let her ego get too big,” she teased.

Sevika smirked. “Too late.”

The game continued, more men buying in, some leaving with lighter pockets. You watched, sipping your drink, as Sevika cleaned house with practiced ease. It was a side of her you hadn’t seen before—this calculated, sharp-minded strategist who knew exactly how to pick people apart.

It was hot.

Eventually, after wiping out yet another player, Sevika leaned back, stretching her arms over her head before shifting her attention fully to you.

“So,” she said, voice low enough that only you and Abby could hear. “I think it’s about time we make this shit official.”

You blinked. “What?”

Abby chuckled softly beside you, her large hand settling on your thigh, thumb brushing slow circles against the fabric of your dress.

“You know what,” Sevika continued, her gaze dark and unreadable. “The three of us. This thing we’ve got going on.”

Your mouth felt dry. “I—”

Sevika cut you off, leaning in just slightly, her prosthetic arm resting on the table with a dull thud. “Look, we’ve already made it clear we want you. That should’ve been obvious this morning.”

Heat rushed to your face.

Abby was watching you carefully, her expression softer than Sevika’s but no less intense. “We’re not asking you to figure everything out tonight,” she said, her voice steady. “But we want you to know we’re serious about this. About you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. The weight of their attention, their sincerity, was almost overwhelming.

Sevika’s smirk softened just a fraction. “But there’s one thing you need to understand,” she said, voice firm. “You’re not getting involved in the shit we deal with. The business. The mob. None of it.”

Abby’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly. “We want you safe. That’s not up for debate.”

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. It was hard to focus with Sevika looking at you like she could devour you whole and Abby touching you like you were something fragile, something she’d break the world apart to protect.

You swallowed hard. “You two really want this?”

Sevika snorted. “You’re ours, sweetheart.”

Abby leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “Just say the word.”

And God help you, but you wanted this.

Wanted them.

And yet, even as your heart thundered in your chest, you weren’t sure why you were hesitating.

You wanted them. You knew that much. This morning was proof enough of that—the way they had taken you apart, put you back together, their touches lingering even now, hours later. But this was something else, something bigger than just sex.

This was them wanting you.

Not as a passing fling, not as some half-baked arrangement, but something real.

The weight of it settled deep in your stomach, curling like warmth through your veins.

You exhaled slowly, setting your drink down, your fingers curling against the cool surface of the poker table. The room around you was still moving, laughter and shouting and the occasional groan of a man losing all his money, but right here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

You lifted your gaze, first to Abby, then to Sevika. “Okay.”

Sevika raised a brow. “Okay, what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be an ass.”

A slow smirk spread across her lips. “Can’t help it, sweetheart.”

Abby huffed out a laugh beside you, her hand squeezing your thigh, grounding you. “She’s just making sure you know what you’re agreeing to.”

You did.

You really, really did.

So, instead of answering with words, you leaned forward, reaching for Sevika first. She barely had time to react before your lips pressed against hers, her cigar still caught between her fingers as she inhaled sharply through her nose.

She kissed back almost instantly, all heat and confidence, her hand catching the side of your neck, keeping you there as she deepened it. The taste of tobacco and whiskey clung to her lips, the scent of leather and smoke making your head spin. She wasn’t gentle—she never was—but there was something behind the roughness, something possessive, something that said, you’re ours now.

When you finally pulled away, Sevika looked… smug. Completely unsurprised, like she had expected this outcome all along.

Abby, on the other hand, looked hungry.

You barely had time to turn before she was tugging you toward her, her lips slotting against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your entire body heat up.

Where Sevika was all sharp edges and confidence, Abby was patient, calculated, her hands big and warm as they settled on your waist. She wasn’t in any rush, like she was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you melted against her.

By the time she pulled back, your legs felt weak.

Sevika chuckled, shaking her head. “Cute.”

You scowled at her, still trying to catch your breath. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Before you could, a groan from across the poker table reminded you that the world still existed outside of this little moment.

One of the men who had been losing all night sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus. Just take the damn money and get a room already.”

Sevika let out a barking laugh, shoving her chips toward the dealer. “You wishing you were in her position, old man?”

The guy grumbled something under his breath, reaching for what was left of his drink.

Abby sighed, shaking her head. “Alright, I think we’ve traumatized enough people for one night.”

You huffed a laugh, still warm from their kisses, still dazed from the weight of everything that had just happened. Sevika leaned back in her chair, looking at you with something unreadable in her dark eyes.

“You ready to head out?” Abby asked, already finishing the last of her drink.

You thought about it for a moment, the club still buzzing around you, the energy still thrumming through your veins.

“Nah,” you said, smirking slightly. “I want to see Sevika win a little more money first.”

Sevika grinned, looking pleased. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Abby groaned, leaning back in her seat. “Great. Guess I’ll just watch her ruin more egos then.”

You smiled, settling in beside them, their warmth keeping you anchored as the night carried on.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged exactly where you were.

The morning started normally enough—if you could call this normal.

Sevika was sprawled out on your couch in just her sweatpants, metal arm resting against the back cushions as she lazily scrolled through her phone. A lit cigar hung from the corner of her mouth, the scent of burning tobacco filling the room. Abby, ever the early riser, was in the kitchen making breakfast, her blonde hair still damp from a shower. The sounds of sizzling eggs and quiet grumbling filled the space.

Your house—if you could even call it yours anymore—felt different now, filled with their presence in ways that had nothing to do with their line of work. Their shoes were kicked off by the front door. Sevika’s leather jacket was draped over the dining room chair. Abby’s gym bag sat by the kitchen island, half-unpacked, a towel lazily tossed on top.

They had made themselves comfortable.

You weren’t sure when, exactly, they had started acting like they lived here. It had been gradual, subtle, little things here and there—until suddenly, they were everywhere.

And despite knowing exactly who they were—what they did—you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

“Are you just gonna stand there staring, or are you gonna get your ass in here and eat?” Abby’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her blue eyes flicking toward you as she flipped an omelet onto a plate.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You guys take over my house, eat my food, and then demand that I join you?”

Sevika snorted from the couch. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

You shot her a look, but she just smirked, taking a slow drag from her cigar before blowing the smoke up toward the ceiling.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way into the kitchen, stealing a piece of toast from Abby’s plate before she could stop you.

“Really?” she grumbled.

You just grinned, biting into it as you leaned against the counter. Abby sighed but didn’t argue, nudging the extra plate toward you with an amused shake of her head.

It was nice, this—pretending like your life was normal, like you weren’t tangled up in the world of crime and violence that Abby and Sevika carried with them like second skin.

For a while, everything was peaceful.

That was, until the knock at the door.

It was sharp, deliberate—three quick raps against the wood.

All three of you paused.

Sevika exhaled smoke slowly, watching you. “Expecting someone?”

You shook your head, setting your toast down as a strange unease settled in your gut.

Abby wiped her hands on a dish towel before striding toward the door, her movements relaxed but calculated. She wasn’t one to be caught off guard.

You trailed behind her, Sevika pushing off the couch to follow, her cigar now forgotten in the ashtray.

The package was small. Plain. No return address.

The unease in your stomach twisted into something colder.

Abby exchanged a glance with Sevika before crouching down, inspecting it carefully. Then, after a moment, she reached forward, tearing through the tape with a precision that made your heart pound a little faster.

She peeled back the flaps—then froze.

You barely had time to react before Sevika let out a low whistle. “Huh. Would you look at that.”

You stepped closer—and immediately regretted it.

Inside the box, sitting on a neatly folded piece of cloth, was a severed human ear.

You stumbled back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

Abby’s face was unreadable, her expression carefully blank. Sevika, on the other hand, just tilted her head, looking more amused than anything.

There was a note.

Abby picked it up, unfolding it with slow, deliberate fingers. Her eyes scanned the words before she handed it to you.

This is your warning.

Your hands trembled slightly as you read it, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Who the fuck—” you started, but your voice caught.

Sevika plucked the ear from the box with her bare hand, turning it over like she was inspecting a piece of fruit.

“Looks fresh,” she mused. “Probably cut off this morning.”

You stared at her, horrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sevika blinked at you, unbothered. “What?”

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sevika, put the goddamn ear down.”

Sevika sighed, dropping it back into the box like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. “Who the fuck is sending me body parts?”

Abby’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll handle it.”

You stared at her. “Oh, great. That’s so comforting. Glad I’m not completely freaked out or anything.”

Abby’s face softened slightly. She reached for you, her hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “We won’t let anything happen to you,” she said, voice firm.

Sevika nodded, lighting another cigar like the entire thing was just another Tuesday. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

You gestured wildly to the fucking ear. “HOW am I not supposed to worry about it?”

Sevika blew out a slow stream of smoke. “It’s just a body part, sweetheart.”

You gawked at her. “A human body part.”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “People have worse mornings.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Abby shot Sevika a look before turning back to you, her grip on you steady. “We’re serious. You don’t have to worry about this.”

You exhaled shakily, your mind still racing.

This wasn’t some random threat. This was personal.

And whoever sent it—they knew about you.

Sevika stretched, rolling her shoulders like she was bored. “I’ll put the word out. See who’s dumb enough to try and fuck with what’s ours.”

The casual way she said it made something warm settle in your chest, despite the circumstances.

Abby nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

You hesitated, staring at them both, the weight of everything pressing against you.

Eventually, you sighed. “Fine. But if another body part shows up, I’m moving.”

Sevika smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Abby just pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for a moment. “No one’s touching you,” she murmured. “Not while we’re here.”

The ear was gone by the time you woke up the next morning.

You didn’t ask how it was disposed of. You didn’t want to know.

Instead, you found yourself in an oddly normal routine. Despite everything—the body parts, the threats, the fact that your house was now occupied by two deadly women who could kill a man without blinking—things continued as usual.

Well, as usual as life could be when you were sharing a space with Abby and Sevika.

You had gotten used to their constant presence, the way they took over without asking. Sevika made herself at home on your couch, legs spread wide, cigar smoke curling through the air as she scrolled through her phone. Abby had basically claimed your kitchen, cooking meals like she had lived there for years.

They bickered constantly—like an old married couple, if old married couples were also criminals.

Like now, for example.

“I swear to God, Sev, if you leave another cigar butt in my goddamn coffee mug, I’m gonna break your other arm,” Abby growled, standing at the sink with an irritated scowl.

Sevika, utterly unbothered, didn’t even look up from her phone. “You say that every time, but here we are.”

Abby turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I mean it.”

“Sure you do, boss.”

You were half-watching from the table, sipping on coffee and still trying to wake up fully. This was… normal now.

And, strangely, you liked it.

Sure, Sevika was a menace. Abby was overbearing in her own way. But it was nice—having people in your space, having this routine.

You tried not to think about the why behind it.

Tried not to think about how you had fallen into this strange, comfortable rhythm with two of the most dangerous women in the city.

“Are you two gonna keep flirting, or can I eat breakfast in peace?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at them.

Sevika snorted. “This ain’t flirting, sweetheart. This is foreplay.”

Abby groaned, running a hand down her face. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sevika just smirked, finally glancing up at you. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched.

Before you could respond, there was another knock at the door.

Instantly, the mood shifted.

Sevika tensed, setting her phone down. Abby straightened, eyes narrowing slightly.

You swallowed, the memory of yesterday’s package flashing through your mind.

Abby moved first, striding toward the door, her posture casual—but you could tell she was ready. Sevika was more obvious, shifting to sit forward, metal hand flexing against her knee.

You held your breath as Abby opened the door.

It wasn’t another package.

It was one of Abby’s men—a younger guy, looking slightly out of breath, his expression tight.

Abby exhaled, stepping aside. “Inside. Talk.”

He stepped in quickly, glancing at you before looking back at Abby.

“We found out who sent the package,” he said, his voice low. “It’s the Mendez crew.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know much about the who’s who of Abby’s world, but even you had heard of the Mendez family. They weren’t just some low-level threat. They were established. Dangerous.

Abby’s jaw clenched.

Sevika huffed, leaning back. “Figures. Fucking Mendez.”

You swallowed. “Why me?”

The guy hesitated. “They’re trying to get to her,” he nodded toward Abby. “Figured going after you was the easiest way to do it.”

Your blood ran cold.

Sevika sighed, rubbing her temple like this was more of a mild inconvenience than a direct threat. “Amateurs.”

Abby, however, didn’t look amused.

She turned to you, her eyes sharp. “You’re not leaving this house alone from now on.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Sevika hummed, nodding in agreement. “Gotta say, I’m with her on this one.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now you two decide to agree on something?”

Abby crossed her arms. “We’re not letting them get to you.”

Sevika grinned. “Yeah. You’re too pretty to lose an ear.”

You gawked at her. “Sevika, I swear to—”

But Abby cut in, voice firm. “We’re serious.”

You hesitated, searching her face.

And despite everything—despite the mess you had gotten yourself into—you trusted her.

“…Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “But if I’m stuck here, you two are cooking for me.”

Sevika smirked. “Hope you like cigars and whiskey.”

Abby sighed. “I’ll cook.”

And just like that, things settled—danger lurking at the edges, but for now, within these walls, you were safe.

Sevika was out, handling business—which, in less euphemistic terms, meant she was most likely breaking kneecaps or worse. Abby hadn’t told you much, but the way she had clapped Sevika on the shoulder and muttered, Make it messy had been enough.

You weren’t about to ask for details.

Instead, you had seized the opportunity for a rare moment of normalcy, dragging Abby onto the couch for a movie night while she grumbled about being too old for cartoons.

“It’s a classic, shut up,” you had told her, tossing the remote at her lap.

She had caught it with a lazy smirk, settling back into the couch. “Fine, fine. But if this sucks, I’m picking the next one.”

Which is how you had ended up here, curled up beside her, watching Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles while Abby pretended she wasn’t invested.

You could feel her body heat against your side, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. She was relaxed but present, her arm stretched across the back of the couch, her fingers barely grazing your shoulder.

The movie had been playing for about an hour when you felt it—Abby shifting beside you, her fingertips tracing absentmindedly along your thigh.

It was subtle at first.

Just the slow, feather-light drag of her calloused fingers over the fabric of your shorts.

But then her hand moved higher.

Your breath hitched as her fingers pressed into the bare skin of your inner thigh, her touch firm but teasing.

You turned your head slightly, catching the way her lips curled in a knowing smirk.

“You’re not even watching,” you murmured, voice slightly breathless.

Abby hummed, leaning in. “Mm. Guess I got distracted.”

Her breath was warm against your cheek, the scent of her soap and faint traces of whiskey curling around you.

You swallowed as she pressed a soft kiss against your jaw, her lips warm and deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

Her hand squeezed your thigh.

“Abby—”

“You want me to stop?” she murmured against your skin.

You exhaled shakily.

“No.”

That was all the permission she needed.

Abby tilted your chin, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. Her other hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your lower back as she pulled you closer.

You melted against her, your body fitting perfectly against the solid warmth of hers.

The movie played on, long forgotten.

Abby kissed you deeper, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach flip. Her hand wandered higher, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, her fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your hip.

Heat pooled between your legs.

Her lips trailed lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You gasped as she sucked at the base of your throat, her teeth scraping lightly against your skin.

“You sound so fucking pretty,” Abby muttered, her voice husky.

You whimpered, tilting your head to give her more access.

Her fingers curled beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that you were still on the couch—still in the living room—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when Abby was looking at you like that.

Like she needed you.

Like she was hungry.

She lifted your shirt over your head, her eyes dark as they raked over your body.

“Fuck,” she murmured, running a hand down your stomach.

You shivered at her touch.

Her knee pressed between your thighs, spreading them apart as she leaned in again.

You kissed her hard, your fingers tangling in her hair.

Abby groaned into your mouth, her hands gripping your hips as she ground against you.

And then—

She pulled away, her eyes gleaming with something mischievous.

“What—”

“Hang on,” she muttered, reaching beneath the couch.

Your stomach flipped as she pulled out the strap.

Your pink strap—the one she and Sevika had first used on you.

Your breath caught.

Abby smirked. “Knew we forgot something last time.”

You swallowed, your body already aching with anticipation.

She tugged her tank top over her head, then pushed her sweats down just enough to fasten the strap around her hips.

Your mouth went dry.

She leaned over you again, her body caging you against the couch cushions.

“You gonna be good for me?” she murmured, her hand sliding between your legs.

You nodded quickly.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I’ll be good.”

Abby grinned, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“Good girl.”

And then she took you.

Abby didn’t waste any time.

She gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as she settled between them, the pink strap nudging against your soaked folds. The look in her eyes sent a shiver through you—dark, heated, possessive. She loved seeing you like this, laid out and wanting, waiting for her.

She teased you at first, running the head of the strap along your entrance, dragging it up to your clit just to watch you squirm.

“Abby,” you whimpered, lifting your hips, desperate for more.

She chuckled, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against your clit with the tip. “So needy,” she murmured. “Bet you were thinking about this all through the movie, huh?”

Your cheeks burned. You had been.

Abby smirked at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

And then she pushed in.

Your head tipped back, a moan spilling from your lips as she stretched you open, filling you inch by inch. She cursed under her breath, gripping your thighs tighter as she watched the way your body took her.

“So fucking perfect,” she muttered, voice thick with arousal.

She gave you a second to adjust before pulling back and snapping her hips forward, setting a slow but deep pace that had you gripping at her shoulders, nails digging into her skin.

“Abby—”

She hushed you with a kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth as she thrust deeper, the angle hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your toes curl.

You whined into her mouth, your body arching into hers.

She groaned, moving faster, her grip on you tightening.

“Taking me so well,” she praised, pressing her forehead against yours. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto—her arms, her back, the couch cushions—anything to ground yourself as pleasure built rapidly in your core.

She reached between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing in perfect rhythm with her thrusts.

You cried out, clenching around her.

Abby cursed. “That’s it, baby—let me feel you.”

Your legs shook as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge, her movements never faltering, never slowing.

You gasped, your entire body tensing as the pressure in your core snapped, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Abby groaned as you pulsed around her, fucking you through it, her lips pressing hot, messy kisses against your jaw.

You trembled beneath her, body boneless, spent.

But she wasn’t done with you yet.

Abby grinned, her eyes gleaming as she pulled out slightly, then thrust back in—slow, deep, relentless.

You gasped, overstimulated, gripping at her biceps. “Abs—”

She hushed you with another kiss. “One more, baby,” she whispered against your lips. “I know you can give me one more.”

And with the way she was fucking you—praising you, worshiping you—you knew she was right.

Sevika trudged through the door, her boots heavy against the floor as she stepped inside, blood still splattered across her leather jacket. The adrenaline from the hit was starting to wear off, leaving her tired but still buzzing. Her prosthetic arm whined faintly as she flexed it, the metal fingers curling into a fist. The cold air from outside clung to her, but it was the familiar warmth of the house that drew her attention.

She paused just inside the living room, eyes narrowing as she saw the scene before her.

There you were, nestled between Abby and Rosie, your golden retriever curled up on your chest. All three of you were asleep on the couch, peaceful in a way that made Sevika’s chest tighten. It was such a soft, domestic scene, a stark contrast to the chaos that often followed her—especially tonight.

Abby, still in her clothes from earlier, had one arm thrown lazily over your waist, her head resting on your shoulder. Her dirty blonde hair had fallen in soft waves around her face, but her freckles, now dotted with the dust of the day, still stood out in the dim lighting of the living room. She looked relaxed, vulnerable in a way that Sevika wasn’t used to seeing.

And you.

You looked so… safe. Your face was relaxed, peaceful, and if Sevika wasn’t so sure about her own emotions, she might’ve said it was beautiful. The way you fit against Abby, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it was almost as though the whole world had been put on pause.

Even Rosie was sprawled across you in a way that made Sevika’s heart ache with something she couldn’t quite name.

She let out a slow breath, keeping herself still as she observed the scene.

Don’t get soft, she warned herself. You can’t afford that.

But damn it, she already had.

She hated that she cared about this—about you. About Abby, too. The two of you were the only people in her life who didn’t see her as some monster, some mercenary who killed and never gave a shit about anything. You made her feel like she wasn’t just the sum of her actions, the result of a brutal life that had torn away everything good.

She didn’t even know why you’d given her a second chance—why you’d welcomed her into your space, into your life. It didn’t make sense.

And yet, here she was, standing at the threshold of your living room, wanting to freeze time and keep this moment forever. The simplicity of it all was so fucking foreign to her. It made her want to destroy it, just to avoid getting too attached. She knew better than to let people in. She knew better than to trust.

But when she saw you, curled up on that couch, her thoughts shifted. When she saw Abby holding you—her face so soft, the usual hard edges of her dominance and authority softened into something more… human—it made Sevika want to fight every fucking thing in her that said to walk away.

She’d already lost too much. She wasn’t going to lose this.

Taking a few slow, deliberate steps, Sevika moved closer, her eyes scanning the peaceful trio on the couch. Her eyes lingered on you for just a second longer. There was a tenderness in the way you laid there, and damn it, it made her chest tighten.

She was no softie, not by any stretch of the imagination. She’d killed more people than she could count, left bodies scattered across the city, and she’d always come home to a quiet, lonely apartment where she could just be herself—no one to judge, no one to care.

But with you and Abby, something in her shifted.

Something shifted deeply in her.

When her metal prosthetic clinked lightly against the side of the chair, Abby stirred. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, the corner of her lips quirking into a soft smile as she blinked at Sevika.

“Back already?” Abby’s voice was a little rough from sleep, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her tone.

“Yeah,” Sevika muttered, her gaze lingering on your face once more before she moved to the chair near the window. She stood there for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, but her gaze remained fixed on you.

Abby stretched, glancing at her for a long moment, then back at you. She looked like she was about to speak, but something in the air shifted. It was that quiet sort of stillness that came with the realization that things were different now.

Things were more.

Sevika wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but eventually, Abby reached over to gently shake you awake.

“Hey,” Abby said softly, brushing a hand over your arm. “Sweetheart, you awake?”

You groaned quietly but slowly opened your eyes, blinking up at her with that soft, disoriented look. A small smile tugged at your lips as you met Abby’s gaze, but then your eyes flicked toward Sevika.

Sevika felt her throat tighten, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t let herself get too soft. Not now.

“You okay?” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.

Abby nodded, her fingers still grazing your skin. “Yeah. Just wanted to wake you up. Sevika’s back.”

You glanced between the two of them, before your eyes slowly came to rest on Sevika. Her chest tightened again, but she refused to break the silence.

“You’re covered in blood,” you commented, sounding more confused than anything.

“Yeah. Took care of a few things,” Sevika said, her voice blunt, like it was nothing. The usual coldness in her tone was there, but there was something deeper—a hardness she couldn’t seem to shake when she was around you.

She didn’t want to care about you. She didn’t want to let this get too close, but the more time she spent here, the more her mind wandered back to moments like this. Moments where she found herself wanting something she couldn’t quite touch.

You sat up, adjusting your shirt, the warmth of the couch leaving you feeling reluctant to move. “Did you…” You trailed off, the question unspoken. You knew. You could tell.

Sevika’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she sank down into the armchair, her prosthetic arm making an audible clank as she leaned back. She stared out the window, trying to ignore the fact that her chest felt fucking heavy.

Abby leaned forward, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn. “Let her be. She’s not in the mood to talk about it.”

“You two are different,” you said, your voice quiet.

Abby raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so… soft. And she’s… not.” You glanced back at Sevika, then at Abby, as if trying to figure out how to say it.

Sevika’s lips curled, the hard edges of her mouth twitching with a brief smile. “You’re not wrong.”

You gave a soft, affectionate sigh, rubbing your eyes. “I can’t figure you two out.”

Abby leaned back against the couch, her gaze softening as she watched you. “That’s because we’re a contradiction. We both are.” She met Sevika’s eyes across the room, and there was a moment—just a fleeting one—where Sevika felt something shift between them.

“I can handle contradictions,” you said, a slight smile pulling at your lips. “I think I’m getting the hang of you both.”

“You sure about that?” Sevika asked, her voice a low rasp. “Because we don’t exactly come with user manuals.”

Abby snorted, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “She’s not wrong. But we’ll try to make it easier on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your smile. “I’m fine.”

Sevika couldn’t help it. She didn’t know when, but she was starting to feel something for you. Some kind of protective instinct that went beyond anything she’d ever thought she could have.

And the worst part? She was afraid of it. She was fucking terrified of what it meant for her, for the life she’d built—or rather, the life she was still trying to destroy.

But she’d never let anyone take her family.

Not again.

She swore it to herself then, as she sat in the silence of the room, surrounded by Abby and you and Rosie.

She wouldn’t let anyone destroy this. Not now. Not ever.

[subrosasteath]

Making another post actually, because all of the symbolism in Win or Lose is amazing.

Having anxiety be a creature that just grows and grows, and eats away and crushes Laurie down until she can't speak or walk like she used to? Having Laurie's dad always be under the sun, or some kind of light to signify that while Laurie is religious, and looks up to god, what she's really looking to is her father?

The way armour is necessary for some jobs - Frank need to be able to take criticism, and still stick firm to what he knows is true, - and that relief of taking it off? And when it bleeds into personal life, what can he even do? When he's been heart, because he can't open up, doesn't that just make it harder to shed that in the first place?

And then Ira, whose perspective reminds me a lot of Captain Underpants, and is so, so sweet. He's just a little kid, and a little weird, and he just wants friends who like him for that! And he wants his big sister to like him, and spend time with him! And he's so imaginative, the scribbly, cartoon style of his little world he spies through? I was just in love. The fact that he kept picturing the teenagers as super heros and rebels and good guys- and just the fact that he sounds like a kid! Are you kidding, that autraulian joke? I laughed so hard because I've heard kids talk like that, that's what shy, caring little kids sound like when they've been shot down before!

Yuwen's mini me inside his heart screaming like me!!, the version of him he doesn't let out, because it's cardboard and flimsy and so easy to crush. I'm really amazed at the way they portrayed Yuwen and Taylor, because i remember being in middleschool, and while I never dated (cough cough aroace), the depiction of them "picking out curtains and moving in" feels so real, because I do believe that's what love will always feel like, no matter the age. Being in middleschool doesn't mean the love isn't true, or isn't there just because it's not likely to last. And the way they depicted kissing, not by showing them kiss, but by showing what it felt like? I was amazed. Baffled. I can't believe I haven't seen more things like that.

(It's actually incredibly interesting to me, that 2/3 main male characters shown so far, have gimmicks of protection. Protecting themselves, their emotions, and who they are as a person, because they feel they can't be open and honest, they feel they can't trust their emotions to guide them.)

I talked about Rochelle and her mom in a seperate post, but the gasp I let out when I realized Rochelle's gravity was weird because she didn't have the stable force of a mom? Oh my god. Rochelle feels like her family is upside down, that she has to be the adult, and because of that, every force in her life is turned upside. She has no one to rely on and nothing to ground her, until her mom is finally there for her, no phone in hand at the end of episode 4. Gravity rights itself because her mom is there, fully present, to help her.

The way they contrasted Rochelle's episode's mood with her mom's was fantastic, because her mom's felt like a performance. She's performing, always, because she doesn't know how to be otherwise! She performs being a good mom and performs being happy for her audience, and even performs at the party, wether she wants to or not! That was an audience! And everything about her performance has bleeded into the way she sees the world, how everything's pink and sparkling and upbeat. It's only when she finds Rochelle do we see her not performing, we get to see, for the first time, who Vanessa is for just Rochelle. For just her family.

I'm so invested, so obsessed, SO READY FOR THE NEXT TWO EPISODES!!

(As a sidenote, if you haven't seen the storyboards of the cut trans scene, here's a link to the internet archive of them. I can't find them anywhere else. But the Picasso style falling apart, the shattering and splitting of identity, because Kai is scared, and has to act both parts and it's confusing and hurting her and oh- it really just punches me in the gut.

Here's the link directly to the archive: https://archive.org/details/23fr-4r

and the link to the reddit post i got it from: https://www.reddit.com/r/lostmedia/comments/1hhj1zh/partially_lost_deleted_storyline_from_upcoming/

please go watch it if you like the show it's absolutely beautiful <3)

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Turning The Pages of Time

Prince!Zayne x Librarian!fem reader 100 followers special. 1.92k words.

Prince LADS Masterlist

Prince!Zayne, who has always been serious about his royal duties, paying attention to every class, every meeting, every charity work to attend to. He’s praised and loved by all, his professors, family members, generals, soldiers, commoners. The prince often visits the infirmary, with his broad knowledge in medicine, he’s able to help greatly and also win the hearts of injured civilians and knights. 

Prince!Zayne, who got into medicine because his mother was a nurse and her dream was always to be a doctor but was unable to, so Zayne became a Doctor for his mother’s happiness. The prince has a nickname by the common folk, “The Crowned Doctor”, everywhere he went people would call him that. 

Prince!Zayne, who turned down every single marriage proposal, whether it be a recommendation from family or for politics. He believes that if it has anything to do with politics then he can make a peace agreement with other kingdoms without marrying and he always tells his family that he would like to focus on preparing to be the next king instead of worrying about small things like love. 

Prince!Zayne, who carries the weight of everyone's expectations. The army depends on his strategic thinking. The infirmary trusts in his skilled hands. The councilors look to him for his eloquence and wisdom. The prince, now nearing the end of his third decade, feels as though nothing has changed since he was 16—the same heavy expectations still weighing on his shoulders.

Prince!Zayne, who visits the Imperial Library whenever his head throbs with stress or when he seeks answers hidden within the countless shelves of books. The prince feels grounded every time he sets foot inside. The scent of parchment and ink eases his mind, and the nice librarian—who always seems to know where every single book is—makes herself seem helpful without overstepping.

The quiet clicks of Zayne's shoes against the marble floor instantly calm him as he takes in the familiar, comforting sight of endless rows of shelves stretching across both floors. The elegant designs of white marble and gold linings serve the furthermore image of the Imperial Library. 

“What books are you looking for today, Prince Zayne?” You say, emerging from behind the crescent-shaped reference desk. 

Zayne's lips tug into a barely noticeable smile. Just ‘Prince Zayne’—a simple title. Unlike everyone else, who calls him ‘The Crown Prince’ or ‘The Crowned Doctor,’ you don’t dress him up in grand titles. He’s always hated those flashy names so when you say his name like that, he’s never felt more at ease. There was a silent comfort between you—something unspoken, yet understood between only the both of you. 

“Something that’ll take my mind off things.” 

Well, that’s a first. Zayne has never stepped back into the world of nonfiction since he turned 7. For as long as he could remember he had always been reading documents of medicine, war strategies, economics, politics, history, the list goes on and on. 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise for a moment before you start to think, “I think I know just the perfect thing for you.”

Zayne follows you as you lead him to another section of the library, somewhere he has never been before. The Southern Wing is drastically different from the Eastern Wing. With wooden cutouts of mythical creatures and characters, it feels like a setting of the fairy tales his mother used to read him when he was a child.

You stop and scan the shelf in front of you, taking only a few seconds before recognizing the familiar title and spine of the thin book. Pulling it out and handing it to Zayne , you start to describe the basic plot, “This book is about a little prince who finds a village boy who looks exactly like him. They switch with each other, both eager to see how the other person lives. And well, you’ll have to read to find out more.”

Zayne rips his gaze from you, looking at the sea green cover instead as he flips through the pages. With a small nod accompanied by a hint of a smile he walks out and you’re left alone in the world of books again.

It doesn’t even take three days before Zayne finds himself back in the library, his mind full—not with thoughts that make his head throb, but with ones that bring him peace. He finds you with your nose buried in a book, sitting in the worst posture possible. Clearing his throat, Zayne quickly looks away as you snap upright, startled at being caught.

“Oh! Prince Zayne! I didn’t see you there..” Zayne looks back once he sees your now more composed state, though a little red in the cheeks. 

“I’ve finished the book you recommended to me.” He hands the sleek book to you, smiling as his gaze lingers on the cover. A sea green clothbound cover encases the whole book despite its thin width, hinting that it holds something special within.

“What did you think of it?” You asked, a little hopeful as you stood up to return the book where it belonged. You weren’t sure if it would suit his tastes, but you hoped he’d get lost in a world of adventures. To preoccupy him with someone else’s struggles instead of his own. To live fully through the main characters in books, without facing any of the dangers himself. 

In the story you recommended to Zayne, the two boys became sworn brothers. Despite their different upbringings and interests, they always stood by each other. They both were able to achieve their dreams in the end—the village boy was able to rise into power and gain a high ranking while the prince ventured off into the faraway lands with the purpose of adventure.

“I was able to see a new perspective in things. I understand why you like to read these books now.” The clicks of Zayne's shoes are much louder than the one on your feet but they both equally echo around the whole library, “But I’d like to know—why do you stay here? You have more than enough skill to aim for higher positions and grander titles.”

“As much as I’d love to experience the hardships and adventures of these protagonists, I’d much rather do so from the safe walls of this library. I know I might sound like a coward, but life is precious. I can’t just throw mine away. Especially not after everything the people I love have done to raise and protect me.” 

The cogs in Zayne's brain are turning faster than usual, trying to find the right words to respond to you. He wanted to comfort you, praise you, and somehow do it all at once.

Just as Zayne opened his mouth to speak, the massive doors of the Imperial Library swung open with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the vast halls, startling you both. Zayne's personal knight rushed over as he fell to his knee when he approached Zayne,

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Royal Highness, but urgent matters require your attention, Crown Prince.” 

Zayne nods as the knight stands up and straightens before walking out. Zayne turns back around to face you, his eyes softening from his earlier serious demeanor, “I hope you’ll have more books for me the next time I’m here. You seem to know my tastes.” 

As the prince walks off into the distance you follow suit. You weren’t following him or sending him off. You had to be back to the reference counter either way! However, just when Zayne's about to step out of the library, he holds the door and his body lingers for a few seconds before turning back to you for the last time. 

“I would like to know more about your world. I hope you’ll allow me to.”

Prince!Zayne, who spends most of his day thinking about you even as he’s attending to the urgent matters of some rebels in the North. As the prince lies down in bed he realizes that you’ve been occupying his mind for the past few months. Your smile. Your gaze. The way you speak and the way you act when you think no one can see you. It makes Zayne smile as he drifts off to sleep with a mental image of you.

Prince!Zayne, who fulfills his duty as the crown prince, arranging troops and strategies to take down the rebel group, but also showing the people in that village compassion by giving them more food and care. He avoids the library for now, wanting to visit you only when he can fully focus on you and not other stressful affairs. 

Prince!Zayne, who slept for almost an entire day after easing the kingdom’s troubles and solving the rising inflation. He had spent days without rest, traveling to the main cities to calm the common people. But as he woke up that night and saw the moon, full and shining brighter than ever, he couldn’t resist freshening up and heading to the Imperial Library, with hopes that you were still there. 

Prince!Zayne, who felt his heart flutter for the first time when he found you asleep, surrounded by books, your head resting on the counter as you sat in your chair. He didn’t wake you up that night. The prince draped his royal robe over you, the rich satin shimmering in the moonlight as he carefully picked up the book your head rested on. Looking at the cover he started to read it, making sure to put a bookmark in where you had left off. 

Prince!Zayne, who’s halfway through the book when you start to stir awake. You were rightly surprised to see him sitting on the floor, reading the same book you were, and in your sleepy state, you accidentally hit him. You apologized, and he did too, and it was surprisingly cute how you both said sorry about different things. That night, the two of you spent time talking and listening, watching the moon together.

Prince!Zayne, who now visits you everyday instead of his usual once a week. Though he never finishes your book recommendations in that timeframe, he always talks to you about them—his thoughts, questions, and views. And he always asks about yours too, interested in your perspective.

Prince!Zayne, who whenever he ventures out to different cities or outside land always remembers to bring a book from that place—when he had to go to the Northern lands and negotiate a peace treaty with them, he asked for a few popular books of their homeland. Whether it be fairy tales, fantasy stories or nonfiction. He would accept it all and bring it back to you. 

Prince!Zayne, who arranges his schedules so he has one whole day of just reading in the Imperial Library with you. The rest of his week is packed full to the brim now, but he can power through with the knowledge that you’ll always be waiting for him in your shared sanctuary. 

Prince!Zayne, who promises you that one day he’ll make you queen. You’ll be able to read every book in the world, live every adventure and experience every story. And if you ever wanted to experience an adventure for yourself, he’d drop the crown in an instant to venture out with you, ensuring your safety and protection. He has yet to say it, but he hopes you know how much he loves you.

A/N: Rafayel's fic being posted within the next three days! I should've posted this yesterday but well, life. Also I was binging AOT, that's my bad. 😓 THANK YOU GUYS FOR 172 FOLLOWERS?!?!?!? HELLO!?!!?!?!? ILY GUYS SO MUCH <3333333 Dividers by @mikeykuns

[glittering-darmallon]

My Rooks Part 1.: Valrys Ingellvar and Canelo de Riva

Questionnaires behind the break

Valrys Ingellvar

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Nevarra City. However, they were likely born somewhere in the Deep Roads from Orzammar to Nevarra, but they have no way of knowing.

2: What is your character's alignment? Neutral Good

3: Race and class? Dwarf Warrior

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Does this mean where in the Lighthouse? They'd have picked up and relocated that mirror of transformation first off. They'd also likely set up shop on the second floor of the laboratory. It looked like there was enough space up there for a dwarf sized bed.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Affable.

6: What companion are they platonically close with? Their best friends in the Veilguard were Emmrich and Taash

7: Romantically close with? Lace Harding (somewhere in the background proud cries of "That's my wife!" can be heard)

8: Who are they suspicious of? In the Veilguard? None of them. They consider them all like family. They are the kind of person to give benefit of the doubt at first. But once you lose their trust, it is gone forever. They were and are still a little suspicious of Morrigan

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes, very much. They love each and every Mourn Watch member, especially their chosen parental figure VORGOTH and loves Myrna like a little sister

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope. Not only that, they can't carry a tune to save their life

11: Weapon of choice? A maul. They really liked the one named Lawrence.

12: What is their orientation? I don't know if I have the right word for it. They're genderfluid but only interested in women (they love women so much). So I'm choosing to use sapphic.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? They like fighting but not necessarily killing. However, they understand they live in a dangerous world and it's necessary sometimes. They will try to come to a non-violent solution whenever possible.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? They like fashion and history. And the lack of finding the clothes they want that fit them right (this is me being mad that even the robes in the game had pants) had them teaching themself how to sew and make clothes. It's my headcannon that in the future when they and Lace get married, they're making their own gown.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? I've already mentioned Myrna and VORGOTH but they also like Viper and Antoine and Evka. It's not that they have anything against the other faction leaders, they just wouldn't want to hang out with them much. They really liked talking weather with Karash.

They did NOT like Shathan. Yes, they understand she was struggling to understand Taash's identity struggles and did the best she could, coming around in the end. But they did not appreciate her telling them that "Taash was rarely interested in men" while looking right at them (and this is when they were dressed in the most femme outfit I had access to at the time, and a full face of makeup. They were serving looks) and never apologized for that. That whole conversation made them want to break things.

And they really hated Mythal (only time I've fought her so far).

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? They love nuggalopes. It is a life dream to own one for a mount and or pet

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Yes. They love to learn. My plan for Valrys and Lace post-game is to go on journeys to find and compile Dwarven history into a compendium

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Killing every Venatori that dared entering the Necropolis and helping VORGOTH with the hauntings they discover

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? By trying to reason with the wrong person instead of just fighting them

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? They reluctantly sided with him. But they weren't happy about it.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Deadly ground and Reaper. That Spirit Storm ultimate was amazing

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Other than Trade? Nevarran and somewhat fluent in Orzammar Dwarven but that's self-taught and hard to practice back home (they found a book)

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Smash so many things.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Yes. They grew up around spirits. They know there is more.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? Reaper no question...However, if berserker had been an option....

26: What animal best represents your Rook? An elephant: Strong, smart, protective of their own, great memory and generally pleasant unless you wrong them them they're gonna remember forever and make sure future generations know about it.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? As much as they liked it and working with the watchers, the Necropolis was starting to feel claustrophobic

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes. They were trusted with the job and they take it seriously. They have enjoyed bringing everyone together and helping people

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? They'd probably enjoy being a Veil Jumper even though they're not magical. The history they'd get to learn about would fascinate them. They would absolutely refuse to wear those outfits. "No. They do nothing for my figure. I look like a lump of mud. Absolutely not"

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Aside from the fact they're just so good looking? I love how they just let themself feel whatever emotion it is they're feeling. They repress nothing. They're highly emotionally intelligent.

---------------- Canelo de Riva

Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Born in Seleny, moved to Treviso at approx.16

2. What is your character's alignment? Hard to say. Likely a true neutral of the "heroic neutral" variety.

3. Race and class? Elf rogue, veil ranger

4. If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? In the Wolf's Den

5. What emotion did they usually pick? Stoic

6. What companion are you platonically close with? He was bff's with Davrin and Harding (yeah I know. Why did I choose to hurt him like that?)

7. Romantically close with? Lucanis

8. Who are they suspicious of? He didn't trust Solas, Illario, and Invenci right from the get go

9. Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? For the most part. He is close with Viago and the real reason he was sent away from Treviso was for his safety. Canelo suffered a psychotic break thinking he'd found Antaam member responsible for killing his siblings and just went ham on them. Wasn't even aware of what he'd done until Viago told him. He likes Teia a lot as well. They do each other's hair.

10. Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope.

11. Weapon of choice? Longbow specifically the dauntless greatbow he named Jugular (his preferred place to shoot a target)

 12. What is their orientation? Bisexual greyromantic

13. What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? A job is a job, and being an assassin pays better than being a prostitute did.

14. What hobbies does your Rook have? He enjoys making his own arrows, including the knapping of arrowheads when he can find appropriate stone. He likes dancing and making beads for hair or jewelry too

15. What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? As stated above, Viago is very important to him, like an older brother, Teia too. But he likes Tarquin quite a lot, and they both grew up in a lower socioeconomic class. He is to no surprise no big fan of Illario. "I don't care if he's like your brother, mio cuore. He tried to kill you, had you imprisoned in a place where they tortured you. I am never going to like him." He is also no fan of the First Warden

16. Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Dracolisks. He thinks they're awesome. "Lucanis, if you were ever thinking about getting me an extravagant gift...get one of these."

17. Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? He is the kind of guy who would have been happy earning an honest living as a hunter and continuing to raise his little brother and sister and being left alone, but life had other ideas. Adventuring really isn't for him.

18. What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? He'd love to say still working for the Crows, but he is fairly sure Viago would have made him find other work outside Treviso. It was clearly not doing his mental health any favors, and the city was slowly killing him

19. How do you think they'll meet their end? Likely the way most Crows seem to. In a power grab

 20. Would they side with Solas or fight him? Oh he fought him. Every tragedy in Canelo's life could be traced back to Solas giving Corypheus that orb.

The orb explodes and opens the breach

Demons pour out of fade rifts

His parents are killed by demons on their way to Treviso to collect a shipment of spices to sell at their store.

Canelo is too young and doesn't have the brain for running the store, and it goes under. He and his two year old twin siblings lose the house and end up living in a hunter shack in the Tellari Swamps near Seleny. They do okay for about 2 years

Zenzera gets sick, and Canelo has to sell everything but the clothes on their backs and steal the rest of the gold to get them to a special healer in Treviso.

He cannot find a safe job that will let him bring a pair of four year olds along with.

Ends up becoming a sex worker to feed them, but never makes enough to get them off the street

A noble who had been tossed from the brothels for being too violent with the workers their decides to just quit paying for it and assaults Canelo.

This noble that Canelo kills in self-defense was Viago's contract. This results in Canelo joining the Crows.

The three of them are doing okay for a while.

Then the Antaam, who broke away from the Qun after the events of Tresspasser (Thanks again, Solas) invade Treviso.

Antam raid the market where Zenzera and Zafferano are shopping with some fledglings and are killed.

Canelo falls into a spiral of depression, PTSD, and heavy drinking until the above mentioned psychotic break happens and he snaps, killing those two dozen Antaam and wrecking the big plan that had been in the works.

ERGO- SOLAS AND HIS PERPETUAL FAILURES RUINED CANELO'S LIFE. THEREFORE, THERE WAS NO PEACEFUL RESOLUTION TO SOLAS' STORY.

 21. What is your Rook's favorite ability? Hurricane of Blades and Storm's Path

22.  What languages is your character fluent in? Trade obviously, but Antivan and Rivaini with conversational knowledge of Qunlat and Tevene. He's fairly good at picking up languages. Davrin and Bellara teach him Elvhen when they can.

23. What do they do after an absolute crisis? Go hide on the island with the laser that is floating above the Lighthouse Courtyard and have a good breakdown where no one can see it.

24.  Does your character believe in the afterlife? He wants to, but he's afraid that if it's real, he'll go somewhere other than where his family is. Or if he finds them, they will hate him for the choices he made in life

25. What specialization best represents your Rook? He took Veil Ranger, because it was bow focused, and that suits him just fine

26. What animal best represents your Rook? Jaguar- Quiet until they're not, death from above, solitary, master of tactical retreat (Canelo's tactical retreats come when his emotions are too big for him and he needs a safe place to hide and process them)

 27. What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? See the answer to number 20. It wasn't all bad. The first few years with the Crows were great. For the first time in over 5 years they all had enough to eat. When Canelo became a full Crow, he quickly earned a name for himself for being quick and efficient from far away, his contracts never even knowing he was there. Once the Antaam invaded though, it all fell apart

28. Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes, but he'd really rather not be the leader. Someone has to do it though

29. If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? He'd make a good Shadow Dragon.

30. What's your favorite thing about your Rook? He's resilient. He's been served a tragedy buffet and yet, still going. Plus, underneath the stony and or sad exterior he's a lovable person who will lavish his loved ones with affection. Even ones who would REALLY rather he didn't (Viago).

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Yandere Batfam x Bee! Reader

A/N: this is my first post after being a silent reader to the many Yandere Batfam fics I scroll through. Hope I’m good enough for more chapters.

Right, let’s start with the classic neglected! Reader trope for these fanfics. A classic one night stand with a mother, M/N Raine, who was a scientist on her way to revolution. Not just any scientist, but an Entomologist, who studies insects of all sorts.

Your mother, with the funding from Wayne Enterprise, her group searched for a way to sustain life for bees from their mysterious species decline and to study the mindset of a hive mind for potential human advancements.

The funding from Wayne Enterprise got her invited with her science group to galas for support on their Project: Honey, where she met and talked to a young Bruce Wayne. One thing led to another and they had a moment of passion and wine, to which they silently agreed that this wouldn’t lead to anything grand.

It didn’t take long until the symptoms of pregnancy kicked in, and your mother was at a stalemate on what to do. She attempted to contact Bruce through Alfred Pennyworth, however the playboy never responded with her request to meet up.

Your mother couldn’t quit the project, but she couldn’t just give you up. So with her heart on her sleeve, she worked and powered through Project: Honey, never once informing Bruce about her pregnancy until the project ended in tragedy when a crime boss had it out for one of the scientists in her group that ultimately destroyed the lab and every single hard work she and the others had done.

With the project destroyed, your mother decided to not give up, giving birth to a beautiful baby and raising her all by herself lonesome as Bruce turn his back on Project: Honey after the attack from the crime boss and never once contacted any of them, not even your mother to check up on her. Might as well, from what she saw firsthand on how he acted, he never once knew how to act like an adult, so she wouldn’t trust him with you.

Oh how your mother adored you. She may have gotten burned and hurt from the attack, you were still healthy and kicking in her womb. Now that you were able to be seen with her very eyes, she promised she wouldn’t ever leave you. She raised you to be strong, independent, and always keep smiling.

She rebuilt her title from the ground up, earning another funding by another industry that helped her study insects, especially bees. She would hold you in her arms as she studied the worker bees take care of the queen bee. “They protect the queen from the dangers of the outside world. They adore her, just like how I adore you, my little bumble bee,” She would say to you as she kissed your cheek as you watched the bees work.

You looked up to your mother, you saw her as the one who hung up the very stars above you. And just like her, bees fascinate you. Hundreds, even millions of flying insects working hard every single day to make honey and protect their queen? It’s well so amazing and awe struck.

“Why don’t they have kings?” You once asked curiously, making your mom smile and crouch in front of you. “Because only a queen have take care of her subjects, or rather, her children,” She told you while cupping your cheek. “Is that why I don’t have a dad?” You pondered innocently, making your mother’s smile falter, but kept it on the best she could. “Yeah… I doubt he would’ve loved you the way I do,”

It was the age of five when you lost your mother. You were in the greenhouse watching the bees with fascination, letting them crawl on your hand gently before a knock was heard from the front door. You were hesitant to open, but creaked it open ajar to see a tall redhead man with glasses and a beard, looking down with a sad look in his eyes.

You didn’t understand. How can you understand that your mother wasn’t coming back? Where was she? Mr. Gordon, the man who picked you up and took you to the station, gave you a light explanation. Mugging? A criminal? Where was Batman? Oh, he didn’t make it in time…

Where will you go now? Gordon read the records of you and your family. Single mother, no father written on the birth certificate, no other extended families that has been recorded, barely reached elementary school. Not wanting to send you to the foster care, he did the best he can, a DNA test that had sent you into a world of despair and neglect.

If you had known what might’ve happen to you in the future when you were sitting all alone on that police chair, you would’ve taken your chances in foster care.

A/N: I hope you all like the introduction. I have so much story to give and I want it to be good!

And yes, those are redesigns of Beelzebub of Helluva Boss. No, Bee! Reader won’t have the personality of her, I just want the photos for future glimpses of what they will become.

There also a Yandere Batfam fanfic that has bees/honey aesthetics too, and I didn’t want to copy them with decoration wise. So hopefully my story will tell each other apart. Major difference if the drugs topic.

[covenofagatha]

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)

The fourth attempt (based on this brainworm)

Word count: 5k

Warnings: agatha has a penis, restraints (on Agatha), breeding kink, jealousy, edging, orgasm denial, mommy kink, rio's a little annoying, think this is all?

The moment Agatha opens the door to the Westview Event Center for you, you immediately spot Rio’s head snap to look in your direction and you roll your eyes. 

There is obviously nothing to worry about—Agatha would never and you trust her completely, but you still think it’s pathetic how Rio throws herself at your wife over and over again. 

It really doesn't bother you as much as you act like it does, but you get a thrill out of how much Agatha overcompensates in her defense that her and Rio have nothing going on. It always ends up with her cock in your cunt as she tells you how much she loves you with every thrust. 

“Did you look at the auction list I sent you?” Agatha asks. You turn to look at her and take in her silky purple blouse with buttons all the way down tucked into a perfectly-fitting, long, navy skirt. Her black heels tie together the outfit and there’s a glow from her pale skin that compliments her bright blue eyes. 

You reach out and coil a strand of her loose, dark hair around your finger. “I did, but I didn’t see you on there.” You mockingly pout and she laughs before patting your chin. 

“You don’t have to bid on me, honey, my heart already belongs to you,” she says sweetly and you snort. 

“Not for me,” you say and lean in teasingly. “For Rio. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to win a date with you.” 

Agatha gives you an exasperated look and you wink before sashaying away to the hors d'oeuvres table. She follows you and picks the flatbread slice right out of your hand before sinking her teeth into it. 

“You’re really going to start with Rio? We just got here,” she sighs through her chewing.

“And yet, she’s already coming over here,” you say dramatically and tilt your head to the left of the two of you, where the biology teacher is in fact making her way over. 

Agatha confirms this with a quick glance and sighs before reaching out to lay a hand on your arm. “I’m sure it’s just about the assembly or something for next week. Why don’t you go bid on a few items, get something to drink, and I’ll catch up with you later? I promise I’ll get away from her as fast as I can.”

You hum in disbelief and don’t move. Rio saunters up to you, hazel eyes flicking back and forth smugly between you and Agatha. She’s wearing a green suit and you had to admit that she pulls it off rather well. Her shorter dark hair is straight and falls to just below her shoulders with two small braids that connect in the back. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not sounding apologetic in the least, “Agatha, could I steal you for a second? Tony talked to Nick about getting more of a budget for the computer lab.” Her voice drops to a whisper at the last part like she doesn't want you to hear it and you almost roll your eyes. Agatha told you about this last week. 

Your wife peeks at you like she’s asking for approval and you wave a hand dismissively. “Go talk about this top-secret development that no one outside of Westview Prep teachers can know about.” 

Agatha smirks and Rio’s nostrils flare, annoyed at your sarcasm, before taking Agatha by the arm and pulling her away. 

Left alone, like you knew you would be, you grab a plate of finger food and find a table to slump against. You reproachfully watch Agatha and Rio talking in a corner, your wife gesturing wildly, and you can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. 

“Where’s your other half?” a woman asks, sidling up next to you. You turn to find Wanda standing there, green eyes and red hair complimented by the long gray dress she’s wearing. 

You point at Agatha and roll your eyes. You and the English teacher have become close and she knows that Rio gets on your nerves. 

“With her work-wife already?” Wanda sighs and you choke on saliva, eyes bulging. 

“Her what?” 

Wanda grimaces. “In the staff meetings, Rio likes to refer to Agatha as that. Just an inside joke because they sit next to each other at lunch. I’ll tell you as many times as I need to, Agatha does not like her. You should see her every time someone brings you up—god, if someone talked about me the way that woman talks about you? That’s my dream. She loves you very much.” 

Your cheeks heat up but your heart swoons. “Thanks.” 

Agatha and Rio finally walk back over to join you and Wanda and you visibly perk up. Agatha wraps a hand around your waist so she can pull you to her and kiss your head. You lean into it happily. 

“Could I steal you for a second?” you whisper, parroting Rio from earlier and it’s not missed on Agatha. “I want to bid on things.” 

Agatha laughs and excuses both of you and Rio’s eyes are tinged with annoyance but she doesn’t say anything. 

You drag Agatha from table to table, browsing the options. There’s a boat trip you can bid on, there’s a stainless steel grill, there’s a flatscreen television with an entertainment center, there’s signed copies of books—almost anything you can think of. 

Unfortunately, other people have started bidding and the numbers are already higher than anything you’d want to pay so you settle for buying fifty dollars worth of tickets for the raffle, which is an all-expenses paid, one week vacation in Greece for two. 

“Fancy a romantic getaway?” you ask while dropping in your tickets to the slot box and shaking it so hopefully you’ll get lucky. 

Agatha watches you amusedly. “Think there’s a nude beach?”

The question goes straight to your cunt and fuck, now you can’t think about anything else besides you and her, walking hand-in-hand down a sandy beach in Greece, wearing absolutely nothing. Sitting together under an umbrella, her cock hard and your pussy wet from rubbing in sunscreen on each other. Waiting until it gets dark and everyone else leaves before she fucks you right then and there after being tortured all day.

She’s thinking about it, too, if the slight tent in her pants is any indication. 

“Is that for me or for Rio?” you murmur with a smirk. 

Agatha snorts before as casually as possible, tapping your ass. “Jealousy is rather unbecoming on you, honey.” 

You shrug unaffected. “Don’t pretend you don’t like when I ‘be-coming’ on you.” 

“Oh my god,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head, while you laugh at your immature joke. 

The headmaster from Agatha’s school steps up to the podium at the front of the room and announces that prizes will be announced shortly so everyone should make their way back to their tables. Agatha takes your hand, squeezes it, and walks you back to the table with Rio and Wanda. 

“Find anything good?” Wanda asks you. Rio and Agatha dive into a conversation right off the bat and you try to ignore them and focus on the English teacher. 

“I put over fifty tickets into the raffle for Greece. I didn’t bid on anything because the offers were crazy. Someone put like two-thousand dollars on the grill. Clearly they don’t know the wonders of an airfryer.” 

Wanda chuckles. “I’m sure that was Dottie.” She nods over to a tall, slender woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a lime green dress on. “Probably wants to get it for her husband in hopes it’ll keep his attention on her for one night.” 

Your mouth drops dramatically and you cover it with your hand. There’s something about other people’s drama that is so enticing and you can’t wait to talk to Agatha about it later. 

Agatha, who is now casually resting a hand on Rio’s bicep as she says something. Your nose twitches. 

“Hello and welcome to the sixty-fourth annual gala for Westview Prep!” the headmaster says loudly into the microphone and everyone winces at the static. Agatha takes her hand off Rio’s arm and you finally focus your attention on the podium. “Thank you all for coming and we’ve got some really fun prizes to give out, courtesy of the parents. Let’s give them a round of applause!” 

Clapping breaks out and Rio leans over to whisper something in Agatha’s ear, hand on her elbow. Agatha laughs and nods. 

You cannot wait until you get home so you can show Agatha exactly who she belongs to. 

The headmaster begins rattling off the winners of the auction. Sure enough, Dottie wins the grill and you catch Wanda’s eye with a grin. Dottie squeals and gives the man next to her a kiss on the cheek, a short, stout man with a beer belly. 

Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “He’s cheating on her?” 

Wanda raises her shoulders. “I’ve heard some rumors. He’s always at a bar and doesn’t come home until morning. Won’t tell her where he’s been.” 

Frowning, you realize that Agatha’s been staring at you and Wanda. You raise an eyebrow and she blows you a kiss. You return the gesture and she turns back to the front, satisfied. You keep clapping, now almost completely zoned out as the rest of the auction items are sold, and you’re only vaguely aware of Agatha and Rio chattering in your periphery. 

“All right, and now we’ve arrived at the most anticipated item of the night,” the headmaster says and you perk up. “The seven night stay at an all-inclusive resort on the shore of Mykonos!” 

He reaches into the box with the tickets and a hush falls over the room as he fishes around for the winner. You hold your breath and feel Agatha’s eyes on you. Even if you don’t win, you’ll still find a way to convince her to take you to Europe. 

Luckily, you don’t have to worry about that because he calls your name and you squeal with excitement. You pull Agatha by the arm and smash your lips onto hers, feeling her grin matching yours, before running up to shake the headmaster’s hand and get the certificate. 

You pose for a picture and your smile falters when you see Agatha and Rio huddled together, your wife’s hand on her waist and Rio’s on Agatha’s arm. It’s nothing more than a casual touch—you logically know that. 

But the need to remind Agatha that she’s yours is burning your skin and you barely register the headmaster congratulating you again. 

Like you’re on a mission, you storm back to your table where everyone awaits you with happy faces. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to Greece!” Agatha exclaims. 

“I am so jealous and please take me with you,” Wanda croons. 

Rio meets your stare with her own raised eyebrow. “Such a romantic place,” she drawls, reaching over to pat Agatha on the back, and you glower before grabbing your wife’s hand. 

“We need to go,” you say, providing no explanation at all. Agatha has only a second to glance at her fellow teachers with a confused look before you’re leading her out of the venue and to the car. 

You reach into Agatha’s pocket and grab the keys, taking extra care to roughly brush her cock through the inside fabric, and she hisses. You slide into the driver’s seat because you’re sure she’d stall the car until you tell her what’s going on and the only thing you need right now is to get her home. 

“We won a trip to Greece and you’re throwing a temper tantrum?” she asks lightly and you scoff. She sombers. “Baby, you don’t need to be jealous, okay?”

“I’m not jealous,” you say, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “I just want to make sure you know you’re mine.” 

Agatha lays her hand on your shoulder before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Honey, of course I know. I’m all yours, just like you’re all mine.”

You sneak a peek at her to find her staring at you earnestly. Your mouth flattens into a serious line. “That’s right. And if Rio goes anywhere near your cock, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing she ever does.” 

She hums. “You’re hot when you’re feisty.” 

“I’m just possessive over what’s mine. Like your cock,” you say casually and she sucks in a deep breath. “I’m the only one who gets to touch it, to taste it, to fuck it. I’m the only one who gets to drive you crazy with need.” 

Agatha whimpers and a quick glance down at her lap confirms that she’s half-hard, just from your words that barely say anything. You bite back a smirk. Maybe, to teach her a lesson, you’ll cockwarm her. But instead of it being a punishment for you…you wonder how easy it’ll be to get her to come despite you telling her she’s not allowed. How easy it’ll be to get her to lose control. 

You rest a hand over the center console on Agatha’s thigh, feeling her muscle tense underneath you. You’re about five minutes from home as you begin to slowly drag your fingertips up and down the expanse of her covered leg while she grips the door. Each time, you get closer to the tip of her cock and there’s a small darkened spot from her precum. 

As you pull into the driveway of your house, her cock is visibly at full hardness and she’s flushed when you look at her with a smug smile. 

“Shall we?” you ask, turning off the car. Agatha nods quickly and frantically pushes open the door before walking up the driveway. 

You take your time, knowing you have the house keys and wanting to draw out the moment a bit more. Agatha taps her foot impatiently by the front door while you’re in no hurry to check the mail from the box at the end of the driveway and then shuffle through it on your way to her. 

She kicks off her heels the moment she gets into the house and you slide your own shoes off. She heads toward the kitchen, surely for a drink, but you clear your throat. 

“Upstairs,” you say firmly, easily slipping into your role. 

Agatha smirks, bemused by your little attempt to be in control. “Yes, ma’am,” she mockingly salutes. 

You don’t respond and lead her upstairs, right to your bedroom. “Get on the bed,” you order.” 

Your wife flops down onto the center of the duvet and watches you carefully as you walk over to the vanity and slowly take your jewelry off. Your eyes flick up every now and then to meet her gaze in the mirror. There’s wetness starting to pool in your underwear from the anticipation of what’s coming next and your hands tremble when you unclasp your bracelet.  

“You know,” you start conversationally, “I don’t even really mind that Rio likes you.” 

Agatha arches an eyebrow as you turn around and begin to saunter toward her. “Oh?” she prompts levelly. 

You shake your head and open the top drawer to the nightstand on her side of the bed, pulling out two purple silk restraints. Your cheeks heat up at the many memories of her using them on you and you hunger for the chance to turn the tables. 

“She can do whatever she wants and I can’t blame her for wanting you. I mean—” you pause and rake your eyes over your wife’s body, enjoying the way her cock twitches in her pants. “—you’re so fucking hot.” 

Agatha blushes and rolls her eyes. “Look who’s talking.” 

You smile genuinely before getting onto the bed and pulling her right arm to the side and up before tying her wrist to the banister. 

“Is this okay?” you murmur and she flexes experimentally to show you that it’s not too tight and you feel confident enough to move to the next one 

Instead of getting up and walking around, you slide a leg over her body and very sensually grind against her covered cock before moving your other leg over and taking hold of her left arm. 

“It’s the fact that you reciprocate. So now,” you sigh like it’s a burden, “I have to fuck her out of your head.” 

“I wasn’t even flirting with her,” Agatha argues and you roll your eyes, finishing the knot to tie her left hand to the bed bannister. 

“Really? Because it sure looked like it. Her hand on your arm, yours on her waist. I saw the way she was looking at you. Her work-wife,” you retort, a little surprised by how upset your voice sounds. 

Agatha scoffs and strains against the ties. “She was being friendly—and so was I! Look, Rio’s always like that, but it means nothing. The work-wife thing is a joke. People say that all the time about coworkers they’re close to. Honey, you and I are married. I love you. I wouldn’t even consider it.” 

You ignore her and unbutton her shirt all the way down before unhooking the front clasp on her black bra and letting her tits out. You roughly pinch a rosy nipple and her hips buck. She lifts her ass off the bed to help you slide her skirt and underwear off, and even though you’re in the middle of a disagreement, her cock is hard. 

“Guess you like the thought of me punishing you, hm?” you mock before raising an eyebrow. You climb off the bed and peel your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Agatha whimpers. “Unless this is for Rio?” 

Agatha furiously shakes her head. “It’s not—baby, I promise. It’s all for you. Mommy only wants your cunt.” 

Musing on the sentiment, you kneel back on the bed and drag a finger along the underside of her cock before spanking it gently. She groans like she’s been wounded but her dick spits out another strand of precum. 

And to make matters worse for her, Agatha’s phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. She looks over and you both see the contact at the same time—her face gets even paler. 

“Why the fuck,” you say slowly, moving off the bed to pick it up and holding it up to her, “is Rio calling you?”

She babbles something about lesson plans and how Rio’s probably just calling to check in about the upcoming week but you cut her off by straddling her thigh and pressing her vibrating phone against her cock. Agatha moans loudly and pulls against the restraints so hard you think she might have marks after. You watch with satisfaction as she writhes around on the bed from the stimulation. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, honey—honey, please,” she chants, the veins along her length blue and prominent. You can see her throb as more precum oozes out of her tip and down her cock and her toes curl. 

You wonder if Rio will keep trying. “Do you want me to answer it, mommy? So she can hear how desperate you are for me, and only me? So she can hear how I’m the only one who can fuck this cock?” 

Agatha makes a sound and you press her phone against her even harder. 

The headboard creaks with how much effort she’s pulling against the restraints with. 

A loud whine rips itself from her throat and you get a thrill of sick pleasure and grind down against her muscle. You moan loudly, the pressure on your clit affecting you more than you thought it would, and Agatha pulls at the restraints again. 

“I can fucking feel how wet you are,” she chokes out in awe and you dip beneath the hem of your panties to quickly swipe through your folds. She leans forward automatically and you offer her your fingers—she eagerly starts to lap at them while whining from the vibrations still on her cock. 

Her phone finally goes silent and she lets out a long sigh of relief, her cock still twitching with phantom vibrations. You watch the screen with bated breath, hoping that Rio calls back. 

Much to your dismay, she doesn’t and you toss the phone to the other side of the bed. Agatha is trembling, cock spitting out more precum, eyes wide and pitiful. 

“That’s the only time Rio will ever touch your cock,” you say triumphantly. Agatha nods before slumping back against the pillows. 

“Please, baby,” she whispers hoarsely, thrusting her hips up weakly, and when you shift, you can feel how much of your slick is now on her leg. “I need you. I need to feel you.” 

You hum and give her cock a quick stroke, watching her face contort with pleasure. “You’ve come such a long way,” you coo and she grits her teeth. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to fuck me?” Her voice is taut and you smirk wickedly at her attempt to boss you around, even when she’s tied up. 

Shrugging noncommittally, you crawl up until you’re straddling her waist, reach down under your dripping cunt to pull your panties to the side, and grab onto her tip. Agatha keens and you hold her still as you begin to slowly grind along her length. She hisses and you can’t help from moaning as you tease your clit. 

“Please, honey, I need—”

She’s cut off by you angling her cock straight up and your wet, hot cunt enveloping her. You let out a loud gasp as your walls stretch around her and her hips buck into you because she can’t stay still. 

Agatha throbs inside you and strains against the silk ties. “Baby, mommy needs you so bad, please let me touch you, let me fuck you.” 

You clench around her and she lets out a guttural groan. “No moving, mommy. That’s what you get. And you are not allowed to come before I do.” She whines pitifully and you get a rush of endorphins from how easy it is to reduce your wife, who rarely relinquishes control, to this. 

She pulses again when you reach behind you to unclasp your bra and she gasps when you slide it down your arms and your breasts are free. You can practically see her salivating and you repress a breathless chuckle when her mouth drops open as you pinch your nipple and rock forward. 

“Mm, feels so good,” you say sensually, squeezing your tit and starting to gently rut back and forth on her cock. Agatha pants desperately, a trickle of drool slipping out the corner of her mouth. “Wish you were touching me, mommy.” 

Agatha keens and pulls harder against her restraints and even though she’s already inside you, you’re aching for her. You reach down with your other hand to rub at your clit while you roll your nipple and then switch to the other one. She bites her lip hard when she feels you getting wetter at your fingers’ administrations. 

“Please, let me touch you, I wanna touch you,” she babbles quietly, almost in awe as you slowly lift up until only her tip remains in you before sitting back down. Your wetness squelches. 

You pout mockingly. “You say that, but it seems like you’d prefer Rio.” 

She opens her mouth to retort but you grind against her before beginning to lazily ride her and no sounds come out from her. Her cock twitches and almost expands—is she about to come already? Her face is red, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are glazed over. You can feel how tight her muscles are and she gives in and thrusts her hips up, screwing her eyes shut and her chest rises and falls rapidly. 

“You feel so good, mommy, you fill me up so good,” you rasp and she sobs, hips jumping up again. “I’m so full—so full with you, fuck mommy, love it so much, love you so much.” 

“Please, please,” she says frantically and you move up and down on her cock faster, “baby, I need you, I’m gonna—fuck—please stop teasing, I can’t—” 

She’s about to explode, you can feel it, but instead of giving her what she needs, you freeze. Agatha grunts painfully, a hair away from her orgasm and denied, and she looks like she might cry. Her legs shift to try and reposition herself to get a better angle and she begins trying her hardest to fuck you. 

You dig your nails into her stomach and she hisses. “Uh uh, mommy,” you tut. “No moving. I think…I think because Rio stole you away from me again and because of the way you were touching her—oh! And for the ‘work-wife’ comment, I’m going to edge you three times. That was one.” 

The sound that rips itself out of Agatha’s mouth is one that almost makes you feel bad for what you’re doing. But there’s a gleam in her eye that says she doesn’t completely dislike what you’re doing, and that’s enough. 

You start to move again, playing with your tits and clenching around her randomly, and she’s reduced to begging much quicker. You trail a finger down her sternum and then her stomach and you lift yourself up about halfway off her cock and ghost over her base. 

“You’re a little worked up, aren’t you?” you croon and she makes a muffled sound. You spell out your name with your finger on her glistening cock and she bucks uncontrollably. “Is this all for me, mommy? What’s got you so turned on?” 

She twists her hands in the restraints, desperate to get out and touch you, to fuck you. “You better wait, just wait until you let me out, I’m going to spank you until it hurts to sit down for a week, I’m going to punish you so hard, baby girl,” she mumbles rather incoherently and you laugh sweetly. 

Agatha throbs when you sit back down on her and you can’t deny the burning inside your core. Her sounds, the way she’s so needy for you, is making your skin vibrate and you clench tightly around her. 

She throws her head back, hair sprawled everywhere, and she whines again. “I can’t wait to fill you up, baby, gonna breed you so good, my cum’s gonna be leaking out from that cunt all over this house,” she prattles, trying a different approach. It almost works—your rhythm falters and your clit pulses and your toes curl but you shake your head breathlessly and keep riding her. 

“God, you feel so good inside me,” you moan and you can see the frenzy that works her into. 

It doesn’t take long to bring her back to the edge with your clenching and movements and gasps and she is a fucking mess beneath you. You can see how hard she’s trying to obey your rules but she pulses inside you and her abdomen flexes and her hips lift. You can feel your cunt leaking with a mixture of your wetness and her precum. 

��I’m gonna—fuck, baby—mommy needs to come,” she cries and you stop again reluctantly because your own orgasm is building up. You can feel her aching against every ridge in your pussy, her heat is radiating, and it’s too good that you don’t know if you can make it one more time. 

Agatha groans in frustration and your walls spasm. Her cock is still twitching inside you and you think her lip might be bleeding from how hard she’s biting it. 

“Just one more time, mommy, and then you can come,” you say reassuringly and begin shakily grinding back and forth. She whimpers, writhing in sweet agony beneath you, and it seems like so long ago that you were mad about Rio. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” she chants, furiously shaking her head. You can see the knots on the restraints becoming looser and it’s only a matter of time until she’s free, so you start bouncing up and down. 

“You’re mine,” you say with a biting tone, “all fucking mine.” 

Before either of you knows what’s happening, Agatha gasps painfully, her breath hitching, her cock twitching, and she stiffens before you feel warmth spreading in your cunt. 

You don’t even have time to admonish her because she finally slips her left hand out of the rope, reaches down and collects her seed that’s now leaking out of you, and shoves two fingers into your mouth. You let out a surprised moan and begin lapping at her, moaning at the taste, while she ruts into you urgently. 

“I’m all yours, honey, fuck—you’re so full of me, I’m breeding you so good,” she grunts and even though her thrusts are slowing down and you can feel her cock softening, your walls convulse and it only takes a press of your thumb against your clit before you come, garbling around her fingers, pleasure exploding through your body. 

Agatha pats your hip when you finally come down from your high and you lift up slightly so that she slips out of you, along with globs of the mixture of your fluids. You wince at the feeling and move gingerly off of her and flop on the bed next to her. 

“You broke both of my rules,” you say, even though you’re not mad in the slightest. 

Agatha laughs giddily and shrugs. 

You shake your head. “Maybe one day. I was supposed to edge you one more time, too. God, you really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She wrinkles her nose at your teasing before leaning over to kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you in Greece.”

You hum and nod to yourself, satisfied. The moment you’re able to get out of bed, you’re going to start planning the trip. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @loneliestafterparty

[goldfades]

the boys might have a crush on wifey… but I just KNOW some of those football moms are throwing themselves at Joe… and wifey has to remind them he’s take

you weren’t blind.

you saw the way some of the football moms looked at joe. how their eyes lingered just a little too long when he walked by, how their smiles got just a little too bright when they talked to him. how some of them suddenly became way more interested in their sons’ football practices the moment joe started coaching.

at first, you brushed it off. joe was a handsome man, it wasn’t exactly news to you. of course people would find him attractive. it didn’t bother you, because at the end of the day, he was yours.

but then it got annoying.

the first time you really noticed it was after a game, when you were standing off to the side, watching joe talk to one of the other dads. you were waiting for him to finish up so you could all head home, when she walked up.

aubrey.

you knew her. not well, but enough. her son was on the team, she was divorced, and she was too friendly for your liking.

“oh, coach burrow!” her voice was sugary sweet, her hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm. joe, oblivious as ever, just gave her a polite smile.

“hey, aubrey. good game today.”

she laughed, flipping her hair. “i was just telling some of the other moms that we so appreciate you taking the time to coach. i mean, you must be so busy, and yet, here you are. dedicated. it’s really… admirable.”

your eyes narrowed.

joe, bless him, just shrugged. “yeah, well, anything for the kids.”

aubrey tilted her head, her fingers still resting on his arm. “and how is it that you don’t get overwhelmed? juggling the nfl, coaching, being a father… you must have someone at home helping you out.”

joe finally took a step back, subtly putting some distance between them. “yeah, my wife’s incredible.”

you almost grinned at the way aubrey’s face twitched.

“oh. of course.” she fake laughed, brushing it off. “well, if you ever need a little break, some of us moms were thinking about throwing a little appreciation dinner for you. something small. casual. maybe at my place.”

okay. that was enough.

you stepped forward, looping your arm through joe’s and plastering on your sweetest smile.

“oh, that’s so sweet, aubrey, but trust me—joe gets plenty of appreciation at home.”

joe glanced at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. aubrey, for her part, looked like she wanted to sink into the ground.

“oh! i—i didn’t mean anything by it,” she stammered. “just wanted to show our gratitude.”

you squeezed joe’s arm, leaning into him just a little. “oh, i know exactly what you meant.”

her face turned red, and she quickly mumbled something about needing to find her son before scurrying away.

joe finally let out a laugh, looking down at you. “you didn’t have to do all that.”

“oh, i absolutely did,” you said, tilting your head up at him. “unless you wanted to go to aubrey’s for a little appreciation.”

joe grimaced. “god, no.”

you smirked, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “good answer, coach.”

it didn’t stop there.

there were always looks, always too-friendly smiles and light touches whenever you weren’t around. you’d catch glimpses of it every now and then, and it never failed to irritate you.

joe, to his credit, never entertained it. most of the time, he didn’t even notice it. but you did.

so sometimes, you had to make a point.

you’d show up to practice in one of joe’s hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you sipped your coffee, making sure the entire sideline of moms saw the gold band on your finger when you waved at joe.

or you’d bring snacks for the kids and make sure to kiss joe right in front of everyone before handing him a water bottle, your fingers brushing against his wedding ring.

sometimes, if you were feeling particularly petty, you’d sit right next to the moms who always stared a little too long, lean back in your chair, and say something like, “god, my husband’s so hot.” just to watch them squirm.

it was funny to you.

but the best moment was when another mom, katie, jokingly said, “coach burrow, you should hold a football clinic just for the moms. you know, show us some drills.”

joe, looking genuinely confused, just went, “uh, i think that’d be kind of weird.”

before katie could say anything, you immediately jumped in. “oh, joe’s not available for private lessons, but i’d love to teach you a thing or two.”

katie blinked. “…oh.”

joe choked on his water.

you just smiled sweetly. “anytime, katie. just let me know.”

later that night, when you were curled up in bed, joe wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “you really don’t have to do all that, you know.”

you shrugged. “i know. but it’s fun.”

joe laughed, shaking his head. “god, i love you.”

you smirked, tilting your chin up. “i know. i’m so lovable.”

joe pressed a kiss to your temple. “so, so lovable.”

[immortalmolloy]

Daniel knew that he was the one who changed. He became a vampire and then he fell in love with Louis and Lestat. Some of that change definitely caused conflict between him and Mina. She had stayed the same while he was different. He worried that they might grow apart or grow to resent each other like his parents.

Daniel would have taken Mina turning down vampirism easier if it had just been that it wasn’t what she wanted for herself. Maybe it might have stung a bit to think she would rather die than be like them. But the worst part was Mina saying what she would become and how it would ruin their relationship. Daniel knew what it was like to be scared of becoming a monster, but he had trusted Mina and trusted that as long as he had her then he would be okay. Did Mina not trust him? Would she really throw everything away? He didn’t understand. She truly did have a good sense of her own morals and she held tight to them even now. Surely she would still be the same person as a vampire?

Daniel tried to avoid the conversation as long as he could, but eventually it was time for him and Mina to talk. “Let’s talk,” he told her. It was all on his mind constantly stressing him out. He needed to get this over with however it ended up going.

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[cameronsbabydoll]

how do you think rafe would react if reader randomly bumped into one of her old friends and it’s a guy who was considerably older than her as well? even worse, reader insists she just had to hang out with them after seeing them because “it’s the polite thing to do”.

When you casually mention bumping into your old friend who’s much older than you, Rafe would initially hide his true feelings. He'd give you a tight smile, masking the small flicker of irritation behind his eyes.

“An older friend, huh?” he’d ask, his voice calm, but his posture stiffening slightly. He’d be sizing the situation up in his mind, trying to gauge if there’s anything to worry about. “How much older are we talking here?”

As you go on to say you “just had to hang out” with him because “it’s the polite thing to do,” Rafe would almost freeze for a moment, caught between his need to be rational and his protective instincts.

“The polite thing to do, huh?” He'd repeat the phrase with a slightly condescending chuckle, almost as if to challenge you. His brows would furrow slightly. “So, it’s polite for you to go hang out with some older guy, but you don’t think that’d make me a little uncomfortable?”

His tone would be calm, but there’s a hint of something darker beneath the surface. Rafe would be trying to figure out whether you're genuinely oblivious to how this looks or if you’re being a little too naive for his liking.

“You know, baby,” he’d add, his voice lowering a little, “I get it. We’re both older than you. But I’m actually someone you’ve chosen. This guy? I’m not so sure.”

He wouldn’t be outright angry at first, but it’d be clear he’s keeping his guard up. The idea that this older guy could now be in the picture, again, even if it’s “just polite,” would push him into overprotective mode.

Rafe would cross his arms, giving you a long look that would make you feel his irritation even if he isn’t saying much. “It’s not like I don’t know what that feels like, baby. I’m older, too, remember? But when I choose to hang out with someone, it’s because I actually want to. Not because I’m trying to make anyone feel good.”

If you try to brush it off, saying it was no big deal, Rafe would not let it go so easily. He might chuckle again, a little darker this time, before pulling you closer, his hands resting on your hips possessively.

“I don’t care how polite you think you’re being. I’m not thrilled about you spending time with some older guy, especially when it’s so casual for you.” He’d smirk, leaning in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he continues, “You might think it's polite, but it doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t trust the guy, and I definitely don’t like you letting him get too comfortable around you.”

Rafe would give you that pointed look, the one he knows will make you feel the weight of his words, even if he’s still trying to be somewhat reasonable.

“You should be more careful who you let in, sweetheart. People can have all kinds of intentions. You think you’re just being polite, but I see it differently.”

Even though he'd never show it outright, Rafe's mind would be racing—focusing on what this guy's intentions are, how he could be a potential threat, and how he'd need to keep an eye on this “old friend.” He’d try not to come across as too jealous or possessive, but he'd make it clear that no one else would be getting too close to you, no matter how "polite" it seemed.

In the end, his tone would soften, but only a little, as he’d lean in and pull you into a firm hug. “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?” He’d murmur in your ear. “I’m the one you should be focused on.”

Rafe would show his possessiveness in subtle ways after that—asking about the friend more often, reminding you of his presence, and keeping a closer eye on you, all while making sure you knew that he was the one that mattered.

[carnalcrows]

HEAT OF THE MOMENT - CHEONGSAN

pairing: lee cheong-san x ftm reader

synopsis: The real infection here is horniness pt.2

content warnings: 18+, public sex, zombies, very little angst at the start, cheong-san eats reader out.

word count: 1.4k

The rooftop was colder than you expected. Maybe it was the breeze, maybe it was the fear, or maybe it was just the fact that you were watching Lee Cheong-san’s heart get ripped out of his chest without a single zombie in sight.

“I’m sorry, Cheong-san,” On-jo said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t need to hear more. The way his shoulders tensed, the barely-there quiver in his breath—it was obvious.

You weren’t jealous. You had never been jealous. You were just angry. Angry because Cheong-san had spent so much time putting On-jo first, saving her, loving her, and now here he was, getting nothing back.

On-jo turned away like that was the end of it.

Cheong-san didn’t move.

"Cheong-san," you called, just loud enough for him to hear. His head lifted slightly, his expression guarded.

He didn’t need to say anything. You just nodded toward the far side of the rooftop, away from prying eyes. He hesitated before following you.

"You good?" you asked once the two of you were alone.

Cheong-san scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Do I look good?"

You looked him over. He looked wrecked—not just from the apocalypse, but from that rejection. His eyes were unfocused, his jaw clenched tight like he was fighting himself just to keep standing.

"No," you admitted. "You look like shit."

"Great. Thanks."

You shrugged. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. But also, On-jo doesn't know what the hell she's missing."

Cheong-san exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don’t need a pep talk, okay? Just—" He sighed. "I need to get out of my own head."

You knew what he meant.

"You can take it out on me," you murmured.

His gaze snapped to yours.

You took a step closer, testing the waters. "You're all wound up, and it's not like we have much time left anyway." You tilted your head, watching the way his lips parted slightly at your words. "Might as well do something that feels good."

A pause.

Then, something in Cheong-san snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours, all heat and frustration. It was messy, uncoordinated, desperate—like he needed to drown out everything else with you. His hands grabbed at your hoodie, pulling you in until you could feel how fast his heart was beating.

You let him take what he needed, fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly just to hear him gasp against your lips. He pushed you back until your spine hit the cold rooftop railing, his hands bracing against it on either side of you.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered, his breath hot against your lips.

You grinned, tilting your chin up. "Why would I do that?"

A low curse left his mouth before he kissed you again, deeper this time. It was filthy—the way his tongue slid against yours, the way his hands curled into the fabric of your clothes like he needed to ground himself with you.

Cheong-san’s mouth was hot against your skin, his lips trailing downward with a purpose you didn’t quite understand yet. Your hands stayed tangled in his hair, gripping slightly as he pressed kisses lower, across your stomach, making your breath hitch.

Then he knelt, hands sliding to your thighs, parting them with slow, deliberate pressure. You felt the shift in the air, the way his breath ghosted over you, how focused he was.

Your fingers twitched in his hair. "Cheong-san, what are you—?"

A sharp gasp cut off your words as his mouth met your folds.

It was warm. Soft. His tongue flicked out, slow and testing, like he was figuring out exactly what made you react. And, oh, you reacted. Your hips jerked slightly, unprepared for the sensation, a sharp inhale escaping your lips.

Cheong-san huffed a laugh against you, his grip tightening to hold you still. "Relax," he murmured, voice thick, amused. "Trust me."

Trust? That was hard when your heart was slamming against your ribs, your body alight with something you’d never felt before. You were trying to process—trying to understand—but then he did it again, this time with more pressure, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

A whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Cheong-san groaned, low and satisfied, like that was exactly what he wanted to hear. He adjusted his grip, fingers digging into your thighs as he really started working—his tongue tracing slow, teasing patterns against your clit, his lips pressing just right. The wet heat of his mouth sent a shock through every inch of you, and you barely managed to stifle the desperate sound bubbling up.

Your head fell back, fingers clenching in his hair, legs threatening to close around his head from the sheer intensity of it. But Cheong-san held you firm, his movements becoming more precise, more deliberate. Like he was discovering a whole new way to ruin you.

"You’re—" Your voice broke off into a breathy gasp as he sucked lightly, sending sparks straight up your spine. "Cheong-san, what—fuck—"

Another low groan from him, this time more needy, like he was getting just as much out of this as you were. The vibrations made your whole body jolt.

Your thighs trembled against his hold, heat coiling tighter and tighter inside you, something building fast. Your breath came in short, shaky gasps, body arching into him despite yourself.

Cheong-san felt it, heard it, and leaned into it—his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, mouth dragging across every sensitive inch of you until—

Everything snapped.

Your body tensed, a sharp cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it. The heat, the pressure, and the overwhelming pleasure all crashed over you at once, leaving your mind blank, and your body shaking.

Cheong-san didn’t stop. He eased you through it, his hands steady on your thighs, his tongue still working on your cunt—gentler now, soothing, until the aftershocks had passed and you were nothing but a wrecked mess beneath him.

Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide as he stared up at you with something bordering on starved. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavily.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice hoarse, wrecked.

Your chest was still heaving, your limbs feeling boneless as you tried to process what the fuck just happened. You met his gaze, dazed, completely spent.

"...Jesus Christ, Cheong-san."

A slow, cocky grin spread across his face, and before you could fully catch your breath, he was already moving back up, pressing his lips to yours, pulling you back into him like he was far from finished.

You barely registered the sound of something scraping against the building’s edge.

Then, a guttural voice cut through the haze.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You and Cheong-san jolted apart just in time to see Yoon Gwi-nam’s face—half-bloodied, half-deranged—peeking over the ledge as he scaled the school building.

He stared at you both like he had just walked in on his own parents.

A strangled, horrified noise left his mouth, and in his sheer disgust, he lost his grip.

The last thing you saw was his expression twisting in absolute horror before he plummeted back down.

Silence.

"...Did you just kill him by eating me out?"

He blinked, looking back at you. His lips were swollen, his hair was still a mess from your fingers, and he was clearly still too dazed to function properly. "I—" He exhaled. "I think I did."

That was it. You lost it.

You doubled over, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

Cheong-san ran a hand down his face, half in disbelief, half in secondhand embarrassment. "Goddammit," he muttered. "Gwi-nam of all people had to see that? If he survives this fall, he's gonna be even more insufferable."

You wiped a tear from your eye, finally managing to catch your breath. "If he survives, I feel like he’s gonna need therapy more than revenge."

Cheong-san groaned, leaning back against the railing. "I can't believe my first time got witnessed by that greasy bastard."

You grinned, reaching up to fix his ruffled hair. "Hey, at least it was memorable."

"Too memorable," he muttered.

Before you could respond, a voice rang out from behind you.

"Cheong-san?"

You both froze.

Slowly—painfully slowly—you turned your head.

Standing in the doorway, eyes wide and horrified, were Cheong-san’s best friend, Lee Su-hyeok, and the absolute last person you wanted to be here right now—Nam On-jo.

Your pants were still crumpled around the floor, your lower half free from any cover.

Oh, shit.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

What if Sebastian and MC are fighting some Ashwinders. Sebastian finishes the last one off and turns to MC with a huge grin on his face only for it to drop when he sees her crumpled on the ground, not moving. He realises she's dying and just starts sobbing and babbling because he can't do anything else. It doesn't have to end with MC dying but just reading a distraught Sebastian in love with MC holding them bleeding out in his arms in your phenomenal writing would be gut wrenching and beautiful and I need it.

Between Life and Death | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~6,200

Tags: Violence, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Sebastian had always been good in a fight.

It was the one thing he could rely on, the one skill that had carried him through every reckless decision, every brush with death. And tonight, he was in his element—moving like a shadow through the barn, his wand a blur of motion, spells tearing through the air as he cut down Ashwinders one by one.

It was almost fun—if he ignored the fact that he’d nearly died about a hundred times in the past ten minutes.

He ducked low, rolling behind an overturned cart as a jet of green light shattered the wooden beams where his head had been a second ago. He barely had time to breathe before he was up again, wand snapping forward, Expulso sending a wave of concussive force into an advancing foe, throwing the man back so hard he crumpled into the splintered remains of a stall door.

Sebastian grinned, breathless, a sharp rush of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The barn reeked of damp hay, smoke, and blood, the air shimmering with heat from the relentless spellfire. He pivoted just in time to deflect a Bombarda, the impact knocking him back a step, but he recovered fast—too fast for the poor bastard who had thrown it. With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched the Ashwinder’s wand from his grip, then sent a Diffindo slicing through the air. The man hit the ground with a strangled cry, unmoving.

That was the last of them.

Sebastian exhaled hard, wiping a line of blood from his brow where a near miss had grazed him. He should have felt triumphant. He should have felt relieved.

But instead, he felt uneasy.

It had been a bad idea to split up.

The two of you never did that—never needed to. You had fought and bled together for years, perfecting a rhythm that didn’t require words. It wasn’t just trust, it was instinct. And yet, when you insisted, all stubborn confidence and reckless certainty, he had let you go.

He shouldn’t have.

Because the barn was clear, and you weren’t back yet.

Sebastian turned on his heel, bolting through the side door and into the open field beyond. The night air was thick with the scent of burning ozone, the grass scorched where spells had landed. In the distance, flashes of magic still clashed, illuminating the darkened farm in jagged bursts. Red, green, white, blue.

And then your voice. Strained. Furious. Tired.

Sebastian sprinted toward the sound, heart slamming against his ribs. He caught sight of you just beyond the treeline, tangled in a final skirmish against one last Ashwinder. You were still on your feet, still fighting, but something was wrong.

You were hurt.

Your stance was off—your left side sluggish, your dodges not as sharp as they should have been. Blood darkened your robes where a wound had already torn through fabric, your wand arm trembling under the effort of holding your defense.

Sebastian ran toward you, wand already snapping up as he fired off a volley of Basic Casts. The spells shot through the air in quick succession, streaks of gold against the dark. But the Ashwinder barely reacted—his wand flicked lazily, deflecting each attack with a casual ease that made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

"Ah, there you are," the Ashwinder drawled, sidestepping a stray blast that sent dirt flying. His lips curled into a smirk as his gaze flicked between you and Sebastian. "You Aurors always come in pairs, don’t you? Like a matched set."

Sebastian barely heard him. He was too focused on you. The fight had gone on too long, and you were exhausted.

Sebastian held the Ashwinder off with a flurry of casts, slipping seamlessly to your side. He kept his wand raised, breath coming quick and shallow, sweat dampening his collar as he positioned himself between you and the threat. His body thrummed with adrenaline, his mind racing through every possible outcome, every spell that could end this now.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said breathlessly.

You huffed a breath—almost a laugh, but too ragged, too weak. "You took your time."

"Had to make a dramatic entrance."

The Ashwinder tilted his head, unconcerned, his wand still held lazily at his side. There was something about the way he stood—casual, relaxed, too comfortable for a man facing two Aurors in a fight to the death. He was unbothered. Amused. Like he had already won.

"This isn’t going to end the way you want it to, you know." His voice was calm. Certain.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

He’s stalling.

The realization cut through the haze of adrenaline, sending warning bells shrieking through his mind. He had seen this before, too many times, too many fights that had turned just before the final blow landed.

And then he saw it.

The flick of the man’s wrist. A subtle, practiced movement, too smooth to be anything but deliberate, his fingers curling around his wand as an incantation left his mouth.

Sebastian knew dark magic when he saw it. He had spent a lifetime running from it, pretending his hands weren’t just as stained. He had seen spells most would never dare utter, watched them take root in the bones of men who had deserved far worse. And in that instant, he knew.

This wasn’t just any curse. This was meant to kill.

The spell tore from the Ashwinder’s wand in a flash of crimson, slicing through the air like a blade. It was too quick, too vicious, aimed straight for Sebastian's chest, but before he could react—before he could cast, or dodge, or breathe—

You were already moving. There was no hesitation. No pause. No second-guessing. Just you shoving him aside.

Sebastian stumbled, the force of you knocking the air from his lungs. His boots skidded against the scorched earth, hands grasping at nothing as he lost balance for half a heartbeat.

The night exploded in red light, a sickening crack tearing through the air. It was the sound of flesh meeting force, of limbs jerking in ways they weren’t meant to, your body snapping like a marionette with its strings cut.

Then you hit the ground with a horrible, lifeless thud.

Sebastian’s breath locked in his throat. It was like time had collapsed in on itself, like the world had narrowed down to the unbearable stillness of your body sprawled in the dirt.

“No—NO.”

Sebastian turned sharply, wand raised, ready to kill. Ready to rip the Ashwinder apart, to end him with whatever unforgivable curse came to mind first—

But there was nothing. The Ashwinder was gone. Vanished.

With the danger gone, he fell to his knees beside you, hands reaching, grasping, shaking as he hovered over you.

Your body twitched. Shaking like an exposed wire, snapping with electricity, the aftershocks of magic still crackling through your limbs.

Sebastian reached for your face. “Hey—hey, look at me, you’re fine, it’s fine—”

Blood dripped from your lips. Thick and dark, slipping down your chin, staining your skin.

You weren’t fine.

You weren’t fine, and Sebastian—he should have been faster. He should have seen that spell coming, should have moved in time. In fact, he should have ripped that bastard apart before he had the chance to even cast it.

Sebastian’s breath was a harsh, ragged thing in the back of his throat. His pulse thundered so loudly it drowned out everything else. He was shaking, rage burning through his blood so violently it felt like it might split him apart. But he had bigger problems.

Like the way blood was dripping from your mouth and your nose and your ears. The way you clawed weakly at his robes, desperate for something—for him—as your chest heaved in shallow, gurgling breaths. The way your lips trembled, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

Sebastian could feel panic rising. He could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, curling around his ribs, clawing at his throat like a vice—but he couldn’t let it take hold. He had to stay calm. He had to fix this.

He was already moving, tugging at the front of your coat, ripping through buttons and fabric as he yanked it open. His fingers fumbled at your shirt, hands tearing at the fabric, desperate to find the wound.

Sebastian's hands slid over your chest, your sternum, your stomach, pressing desperately, trying to stop the bleeding that had no source, his fingers slick with your blood.

“Where—” His voice broke. “Where is it?”

There was nothing.

No. That didn’t make sense. The spell had hit you dead center. It should have burned through you, should have split skin and shattered ribs, and yet—

No gaping hole, no shattered ribs, no jagged tear of flesh where the spell should have struck. No injury to bandage, no visible wound to close.

Only evidence.

Scarring, curling across your skin in intricate, fractal-like patterns branching out from where the curse had struck, winding across your chest and shoulders like the roots of something hungry. And blood. Not from a single source—not pooling from a wound he could heal—but everywhere. Your nose. Your ears. Your mouth. Your eyes.

Your chest rose in shallow, desperate breaths, each one a ragged, gurgling effort that sent fresh rivulets of blood spilling down your chin. Your fingers twitched against his wrist, gripping at him like he was the only thing tethering you here.

Sebastian’s stomach lurched. You were drowning in your own blood.

You were dying.

This was a curse. Not a wound. Not something he could stitch up or set right with a simple spell. This was something deeper. Something worse.

No. No, no, no.

“Stay with me.” Sebastian wiped your mouth with frantic, shaking fingers as he tried to keep his focus, tried to think. He knew dark magic, had studied it in ways he wasn’t proud of, had seen the aftermath of curses that twisted people apart from the inside out. This wasn’t just an attack—this was designed to ruin. To erase.

He needed to counter it.

Sebastian forced magic into his wand, too much, too fast, the raw surge of it crackling along his arm as he pressed the tip to your chest.

The spell nearly shattered on impact, the sheer force of his desperation threatening to unravel it before it could even take shape. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care., he just had to fix this.

He ran through every healing charm he knew by heart, ones he had practiced for years, ones he had murmured over you a hundred times before, through broken bones and deep gashes, through the bruises and burns of battles past.

"Vulnera Sanentur." His voice trembled, his grip so tight on his wand that his knuckles turned white.

Nothing.

"Episkey." Another pulse of magic, another useless attempt.

"Ferula—"

"Brackium Emendo—"

Every spell bounced off you, the energy dispersing into the air, wasted, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers.

Sebastian’s breaths came sharp and ragged, frustration clawing at his ribs as he tried again. And again. And again.

"Reparifors."

Nothing.

"Anapneo—" His voice cracked. He could hear the blood clear momentarily from your throat, your breath rattling as you sucked in a breath, your chest struggling beneath his hands, but it only took a moment before blood still bubbled from your lips again, your body still shaking, still deteriorating.

"No, no, no—come on—" Sebastian pressed harder, forcing magic into you, trying to make it work, trying to force the spell to take, but the harder he pushed, the worse it got. His own magic sparked, burning too hot, too wild, and it wasn’t fixing you—it wasn’t doing anything. t was like throwing a lifeline into the abyss and feeling it slip through empty air. Like trying to hold back the tide with bare hands.

This wasn’t something he could heal. This wasn't something Sebastian could fix, not by himself.

The realization sent a sickening, leaden weight crashing into his chest, something so final, so wrong, that for a moment, he thought it might break him.

Sebastian had spent years clawing his way out of the darkness, had fought tooth and nail against the temptations of the past, against the reckless desperation that had once led him down paths he couldn’t take back. But right now, with you dying, he would have burned the entire world to ash if it meant saving you.

"Fuck—" His voice broke as he moved, hands desperate as he gathered you against him, pulling you up and into his lap with an urgency that bordered on frantic. His arms locked around you, his body curling protectively around yours like he could somehow shield you from what was happening.

You were feverish. Your skin was slick with sweat and blood, burning against him despite how violently you were shivering. Every breath you took was a ragged, struggling thing, each one sounding more painful than the last.

Sebastian’s hand fumbled for his wand again, clumsy with panic. He cast Anapneo without thinking, without pausing, forcing the magic through even as his voice trembled on the incantation.

A brief moment of relief.

The blood in your throat cleared just enough for you to suck in another gasping, rattling breath. But it wasn’t enough. The moment the magic faded, the blood pooled again, slipping past your lips in sluggish, crimson trails, soaking into your collar, your torn shirt, his hands.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, tugging at his sleeve, using the fabric to wipe at your face, brushing away the fresh blood streaking your chin, catching the slow dribble from your nose, but the blood kept coming, staining the fabric, staining his fingers, staining you.

Another cast. Anapneo. eEnough for another breath, another heartbeat, another second of you still here.

"Hey," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You're okay. You're—you're gonna be okay."

But he could see it in your eyes.

Fear.

It was deep and wide, unmistakable even as you fought to keep your expression steady. You had faced death a hundred times before, had stood beside him in battle without hesitation, had bled for your duty, for him. And never—not once—had he seen you afraid. But now, your eyes were wide, darting, searching, looking to him for something he couldn’t give you.

You knew you were dying.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. His pulse pounded, his vision tunneling to nothing but you—you, shaking, struggling, fading.

Sebastian had seen bodies before. Had watched people die a thousand times in battle, in back alleys, in the ruins of homes left burning, in the aftermath of violence and choices made too late. He had seen blood soak the earth, had heard the final, rattling gasps of those who didn’t make it, had felt the cold, empty weight of knowing that nothing could be done.

But it was never supposed to be you.

His breath hitched—sharp, broken—panic eclipsing instinct, smothering logic, drowning out the training drilled into him over years of war. He was losing you. The realization hollowed him out, left something splintering and raw in its wake.

And then—

Then he was crying.

Not the restrained, bitter tears of grief he had learned to swallow down, but helpless, frantic sobs, shaking him from the inside out, tearing through his chest with every word, every desperate, useless attempt to keep you here.

"No, no, no—" His voice cracked, hoarse and broken, as his hands pressed against your face, as if he could hold you here, as if his grip alone could keep youalive.

Sebastian sobbed, rocking slightly with you cradled against his chest, his forehead pressed against yours. His free hand tangled in your hair, brushing it back from your damp forehead, his thumb skimming across your temple in a helpless, desperate attempt to soothe, to comfort.

"I should have never left you." The words spilled from him before he could stop them, breaking apart at the edges, raw and unfiltered. "I should have—I never should have let you go off alone, I should have stayed, I—fuck, I should have been faster—”

Another tremor wracked your body, and Sebastian choked on his own breath, panic clawing at his ribs, making it impossible to think.

"No, no, no, stay with me—" He cast Anapneo again, frantic. His vision blurred with hot, stinging tears as you sucked in another shuddering breath, but he knew—he knew—this wasn’t going to last. Eventually, you would lose too much blood. Eventually, no spell would be enough to keep your lungs working.

Sebastian let out a strangled noise, something desperate and untamed, something that sounded more like an animal in pain than a person.

His hand smoothed over your hair again, trembling fingers carding through it as he pressed his lips to your forehead, his tears slipping into your hair.

"You shouldn’t have had to take that curse for me." His voice broke completely, all the air knocked out of him as the weight of it crushed him. "Why did you do that? Why the fuck did you do that? That should have been me—I would have taken it, I would have—" He sucked in a sharp, gasping breath. "I should have protected you. I should have—" His jaw clenched so hard it ached, another sob forcing its way up his throat.

You made a sound—weak, barely there. Your fingers twitched at his sleeve, trying to grasp at him, trying to tell him something.

His arms curled tighter around you, his fingers gripping the back of your neck, pressing you closer.

"I love you."

The words tumbled out before Sebastian could think better of it, before he could stop them.

Because they were true. So fucking true.

"I love you—I should have said it, I should have said it sooner, I—I thought—" A shuddering breath, a ragged sob. "I thought I had more time."

His hands pressed to your cheeks, his thumbs smoothing over bloodied skin, his lips ghosting over your forehead, over your hair, over everywhere as if he could somehow kiss you back to life.

"I love you—" Another whisper, another broken, wrecked admission, his heart tearing itself to shreds in his chest. "Please, you have to stay with me, please—don’t leave me."

His voice cracked. His whole body cracked.

Sebastian Sallow, who had spent his entire life fighting, clawing, surviving, was begging. Praying to every fucking god there was, every single god he didn’t believe in, that something—anything would hear him. That some force greater than himself, greater than the world would take pity on him, on you, and undo this.

Because this was losing you. This was your fingers twitching weakly at his robes before going still. This was your lips parting as if to speak only to fall silent. This was your breath—ragged, struggling, fading.

"You are not dying, you hear me?" His voice was wrecked, shaking as he crushed you against him. "You are not fucking dying, I won’t let you—"

Footsteps. Distant. Faint. Like echoes through water, like a sound trying to reach him from a place that didn’t exist anymore. Then shouting. Urgent, frantic voices cutting through the thick, suffocating haze of his grief, his panic, his desperation.

"Sebastian!"

He knew that voice.

Ominis.

Another followed. "Where is she?"

Anne.

There were others too—more voices he should have recognized, voices calling his name, voices filled with alarm and urgency—but none of them mattered. None of them fucking mattered.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into you, his arms curling impossibly tighter around you as his forehead pressed against yours, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. Your skin was so warm, too warm, feverish and slick with sweat, but your chest—

Your chest wasn’t rising.

Your lips had parted just slightly, as if you had meant to speak, to answer him, to tell him something, but there was nothing. No sound. No breath. No pulse beneath his fingertips.

A strangled noise ripped its way from his throat.

"NO—NO, PLEASE—"

Then hands. Hands on him. Grabbing, tugging, trying to pull him away from you, to separate you, and something deep inside of him snapped.

Sebastian screamed.

It was raw, violent, a gut-wrenching, hollowed-out kind of sound that could tear the heavens apart if the gods fucking cared enough to listen. His whole body locked up, every muscle tensing as he fought, thrashing against the hands pulling at him, his grip on you turning bruising, his fingers refusing to let go.

"Don’t fucking touch me—DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME—"

"Sebastian, let go!" Someone was pleading with him, voice trembling, but he couldn’t.

"She’s not breathing!" His voice cracked, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs, his body shaking so violently it felt like he was falling apart. "She’s—she’s not breathing, I—" He gasped, curling over you, shielding you, clutching you so tight it hurt, but he couldn’t let go. "I can’t—I can’t—I can’t let her go—"

"Sebastian, listen to me—*"

"DO SOMETHING!" His head snapped up, his tear-streaked, blood-smeared face twisting with something wild, something feral, something beyond words. "FUCKING DO SOMETHING!"

Anne lunged forward. Her hands clamped around Sebastian’s wrists, firm and unyielding, forcing them away, forcing him away from you. But Sebastian fought.

"Garreth, grab his arm!" A voice snapped, urgency threading through her voice.

Sebastian barely had time to react before strong, freckled hands locked around his bicep, yanking him back. "Sebastian, stop!" Garreth gritted out, struggling against the sheer wildness of him, the way he thrashed like a caged animal, desperate to get back to you.

"I’ve got him—" The other voice came again and an arm hooked around his other side, her grip like iron, "pull him back!"

Sebastian screamed.

"NO—NO—LET ME GO—LET ME GO—"

His voice shattered the air around them, a wrecked, raw agony that vibrated down to his fucking bones, that twisted through his ribs like something that would never heal.

"Sebastian, you have to let them help her!" The woman shouted, struggling to keep hold of him.

"She’s not breathing!" Sebastian roared, his face streaked with tears and blood, his body writhing, his feet digging into the dirt.

"Anne’s got her—" Garreth gritted out, his own voice tight, "Sebastian, stop! You need to come with Natty and I—"

But he couldn’t stop because you were dead. You were fucking dead.

Sebastian's body snapped forward, another frenzied attempt to break loose, and Natty cursed under her breath, her fingers slipping from his arm.

"Garreth, hold on to him—" she ordered before letting go.

Sebastian lurched forward, nearly wrenching free, but Garreth held, struggling to keep him back.

Natsai came into view, her expression grim, her jaw tight. "I’m sorry, Sebastian."

He barely processed the way she raised her wand, the flick of her wrist, the sorrow laced through her voice as she spoke the words—

"Incarcerous."

Ropes lashed around him before he could react. Thick, unyielding ropes snapped tight around his arms, his chest, his legs, dragging him down, binding him, trapping him.

Garreth stumbled slightly as he let go, quickly joining Natsai, Ominis, and Anne at your side.

Sebastian could only watch.

Bound, restrained, helples, his body shaking, his breath coming in sharp, ragged sobs as he knelt in the dirt, completely and utterly fucking useless while the others moved.

Somewhere, buried beneath the all-consuming panic, he knew there was nobody else he could trust with this.

Garreth and Natty—the other top duo in the Auror department, second only to you and him. They had saved more lives than he could count, had fought beside the both of you in battle after battle, had survived things that should have killed them.

Anne—his sister, a professional Healer, with hands steady enough to stitch together miracles.

Ominis—the best fucking Cursebreaker that Sebastian had ever known, with magic deeper than most could ever comprehend.

They were the best of the best.

And still—

Even as Anne worked desperately to force life into you, pressing her wand to your chest, even as Garreth and Natty wiped the blood from your face, their hands trembling as they tried to cool your fevered body, even as they did everything possible to bring you back to life, it wouldn't matter. Because in the end, it came down to breaking the curse, and your life was in Ominis' hands.

All because of Sebastian. Because he had failed. Because he had let you go alone.

Sebastian's vision tunneled in on Ominis, on the precise way he moved, the slow, deliberate motion of his wand over your skin, over the fractal-like curse marks that pulsed against your fevered flesh.

It was taking too long. It was all taking too fucking long.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, his breath coming in sharp, shaking gasps as he yanked at the ropes. “Ominis,” he ground out, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Ominis didn’t respond. His brow was furrowed, his expression drawn in tight, sharp lines as he carefully guided his wand, as if even breathing too hard might unravel everything.

Sebastian struggled against the binds again, his voice rising. “Hurry up! She doesn’t have time for this—”

Ominis snapped.

“If you want her to survive this, then shut the fuck up.”

Sebastian’s breath stalled, the sheer force of Ominis’ voice slamming into him like a hex to the gut.

He had never heard him like this before. Never.

Ominis was always composed, always measured. But now—

Sebastian stared, chest heaving, watching as his best friend hovered over you, his wand moving with painstaking precision, his shoulders tense, his jaw locked so tightly it looked painful.

“If I make one wrong move—if I slip, if I miscalculate, if I rush—” Ominis exhaled sharply, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusted his grip. “There will be nothing left to save.”

Sebastian felt like the world had tilted beneath him. A cold sweat broke out over his skin, his pulse thundering so violently he thought he might vomit.

Ominis didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the way the air had gone deathly silent, didn’t ease the unbearable weight of those words. He just kept moving, slow and meticulous, his wand following the curse marks like he was tracing something delicate, something on the verge of breaking.

Another moment passed. Another eternity.

Sebastian’s breath came sharp and shallow, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lifted his head, watching, waiting, pleading, and then—

A sound. A sharp, gasping breath. A choking, wet inhale.

Sebastian barely had time to process it before Anne gasped, her hands flying to your chest as your body convulsed, your limbs twitching violently, blood dribbling from the corner of your lips as you breathed.

The sound was awful. Rattling, broken, strangled. But it was breathing.

Sebastian’s whole body went taut, his throat constricting with something wild and aching as Anne let out a huff of pure relief.

“She’s— she’s breathing—"

Anne didn’t waste another second.

"Garreth, diagnostics, now!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of fear still choking the air. "Natty, I need a Blood-Replenishing Potion—check my bag, it’s in the side pocket. Ominis, keep the counter-curse steady. If it falters for even a second—"

“I know,” Ominis snapped, his fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

Sebastian barely heard them. because you were breathing again.

His whole body went weak, his vision blurring as another sob tore from his throat. His head dropped forward, his shoulders shaking violently, every inch of him trembling with the unbearable weight of relief and grief and fucking everything.

Sebastian didn't even notice when ropes binding him disappeared. Didn’t feel the shift of magic as it loosened, didn’t realize his hands were free, didn’t register anything beyond the raw, gasping breaths rattling in his chest.

Because you were breathing.

His whole body trembled, his lungs struggling to keep up with the weight pressing against them—grief and relief colliding so violently inside him that he wasn’t sure how to handle it besides weep.

Then a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

Garreth.

"You're alright, mate," he murmured, voice low. "She's alright. Just breathe, yeah?"

Sebastian didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. But when his shoulders gave out and his body slumped forward, Garreth caught him without a word. His arm wrapped solidly around Sebastian's back, his other hand firm against his shoulder.

Time blurred. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t fucking matter.

All Sebastian knew was that at some point, Anne inhaled sharply and leaned over you, her expression flickering with something urgent, something new.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached him—

“She’s asking for Sebastian.”

Everything else fell away. The noise. The movement. The air itself.

Sebastian moved. He didn’t even know how he moved given his exhaustion, didn’t remember breaking free from Garreth’s steadying grip, didn’t remember pushing forward until he was there—until he was kneeling right there, his hands grasping for you before he could stop himself.

You were still too warm, feverish and clammy, but your fingers twitched weakly when Sebastian reached for you, curling toward him, grasping at his sleeve.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, shuddering breath. The he was leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, his whole body curling around you like he could somehow shield you from everything that had already happened.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “I’m here, I’m right here—”

Your lips parted, barely moving.

“…Sebastian.”

A whisper. A breath. A single, fragile word. And yet, it was everything.

A sob ripped from his throat, raw and unrestrained, and he didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care that his hands were still shaking as they smoothed over your hair, your cheek, brushing away the damp strands clinging to your fevered skin. Didn’t care that the others were still there, watching. Didn’t care about anything except you.

"You’re okay," he whispered, his voice breaking apart at the edges, hoarse from screaming, from sobbing, from losing you. "You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay."

Your fingers twitched again, curling weakly around his sleeve, barely gripping, but trying. The effort it took for you to do even that made something sharp lodge itself in his throat.

Sebastian turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against your temple, his breath shaking against your skin. He needed you to know he was here. That he wouldn’t let go.

Your lips parted, the corners barely twitching—too small to be a smile, too exhausted to be anything more than an attempt.

But then, your voice.

Faint. Weak. Barely there. But real.

“…Didn’t… mean to worry you.”

Sebastian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, wet with relief and something close to hysteria.

“You nearly died,” he rasped, his voice rough, wrecked. “You did die.”

Your lips parted slightly, another flicker of movement, your brows barely furrowing.

“…But I didn’t.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, something caught between a sob and a laugh, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He pulled back just slightly, his fingers smoothing over your forehead, your cheek, memorizing every inch of you, grounding himself in the fact that you were still warm. Still here.

His lips hovered over your temple, pressing barely-there kisses against your skin, murmuring half-broken words between every breath.

“I love you.” The words spilled from him before he could stop them, raw and aching and uncontrolled. His chest heaved, his body trembling from the weight of everything. "I love you so much. I should've told you sooner—I should've—fuck, I should've done everything sooner—"

Your fingers twitched against him. Sebastian barely heard your response—so quiet, so weak—but he felt it, the way your lips moved, the way you pressed ever so slightly into him.

"—love you too."

Sebastian stilled. His throat tightened. His heart stopped.

For a moment, he thought he imagined it. Thought his exhausted, grief-addled mind had conjured the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

But then—then you smiled.

And he knew.

You had said it.

You had said it.

A sharp, wrecked breath tore from his throat, his chest constricting so violently it hurt.

He didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve to hear those words, not after everything. Not after how he’d failed to protect you, how he’d let you get hurt, how he’d let you die.

But you had said it anyway.

Sebastian let out a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. His heart was a mess, a tangled knot of fear and relief and love so overwhelming that it threatened to consume him whole.

He had nearly lost you. Had watched you slip away, had felt the unbearable weight of helplessness pressing down on him as your life balanced on the razor’s edge. And now, you were here. Weak, barely holding on, but here.

And you had said it.

You said it.

Sebastian exhaled, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted his head, as he pressed his lips to your forehead, your temple, then your cheek, his nose nudging against yours as his breath hitched.

And then, slowly, carefully—so much more carefully than he had ever done anything in his life—he pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t how he had imagined his first kiss with you would go.

Not with blood still drying on your skin, not with the taste of salt from his own tears mixing between you, not with your body still weak and trembling beneath his hands.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you were alive.

[humanconditionpoetry]

T.W/Tags - This Poem Excerpt Deals with Death(Toward the End)! You Have been Warned!

Because that is all that I have...

Otherwise, the darkness screams across the land.

Trust me, they are loud with a howling screech-

That echos beyond this breech.

Reality Pulls and Tugs...

The Heart Monitor Still.

remaining...

Hope is all I have...

All that prays...

To Make it through the day.

A Miracle that gives-

But does not always forgive.

"Tell me, love-"

Does death have hope that lives?

Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "Porcupine," featured in Devotions: Selected Poems

[millyphobic]

꩜ .ᐟ GREATEST GIRL IN HIS EYES ★ FT. OLDER! LEON KENNEDY

── .✦ Leon loves you. Even if you take forever doing your makeup and make him feel old

wc :: 1.9k

cw :: fem!reader, age gap (twenty-one/mid to late thirties), tooth rotting fluff, gets really suggestive at times but no actual smut, a little cringey oops, horribly explained makeup routine (cut me some slack I don't do makeup often 💔), mentions of the moves the substance and once upon a time in hollywood

note :: I NEED Leon to be my controversially old boyfriend you don't understand but anyways I wrote this in a blur so horribly proofread oops 🥀

"And she's such a fugly cunt, like who do you fucking think you are to call my friend fat? Like, have you seen your shitty boyfriend? Have you seen yourself?"

That actually got a laugh out of Leon. He watches in awe as you chatter away about college gossip, seated on the toilet lid with his head in his hands as you stand in front of the mirror. There's a ton of makeup all over the sink counter, from little bottles of foundations to eyeshadow palettes and brushes of all sizes. You're currently rubbing what you call a toner into your skin, prepping your face for a "full beat" as you like to call it.

Holy shit, you make him feel old.

A lot makes him feel old, actually, but you especially. Right off the bat from the first date you were still a fresh-faced young lady just starting to dip your toes into the adult world. Looks like you wanted him to be the one to guide you, the two of you inseparable from the start. Never mind you barely have anything in common, Leon is more than happy to just tag along for the ride.

From watching you run off the lectures to seeing you drink a disturbing concoction of Red bull and black coffee during finals. Buying your first beer and holding it up to your lips as you took a sip. Holding your hair out of your face as you puke it all up.

You buy overpriced coffee with a thousand things in it because it makes it "better". There's never a day where your lips aren't adored with shimmery gloss and leave kiss marks all over his face and cups. You chug green tea like it's water and make him do at-home Pilates with you. Force him to put on sunscreen, take vitamins and supplements, and go on late night trips for a sweet treat. Put his hair up as you wash his face and tie bows around his bicep and record your giggles as he makes the ribbons break as he flexes his arm.

You make him feel ancient. And a pervert. But you're the greatest girl in his eyes so it's a small price to pay when people think he's your dad in public. But he's just Your Boyfriend and you're just His Girlfriend getting all dolled up for a date. And he loves you all the same whether you're in casual jeans and his shirts or nothing at all. Even now he thinks you're the most precious darling to walk the earth with your tiny skirt that shows half your ass with frilly stockings and a skimpy top. It doesn't matter that you're wearing more clothes on your feet than your chest, he can fight for a reason.

"By the way," you add, pumping foundation on your face and stippling it in with a beauty blender. Not a weird ass egg thing, as you so graciously corrected him in the past. "My friends wanted to know if you wanted to come over for a night out next week. Everyone's gonna bring their boyfriend so you won't be the only guy there."

"Baby, I won't be the only guy there but I'll be the only grown ass man." Have dinner with your gaggle of friends? No thanks, he'd rather not watch a bunch of kids get shit-faced. He already has to deal with you. "I don't think so but tell them thanks for the invite."

And there you go, pouting as you paint concealer under your eyes. A little too bright to be your shade but he trusts you with makeup then he trusts himself with a car.

Scratch that. Can't drive for shit. Can't set the bar that low for you.

"Aww, why not?" Toward the end, you let out a cough, and a whole lot of powder made you wheeze as you baked your face. Leon almost laughs, but the last time he did, he ended up getting whacked over the head, so he bites his tongue.

"Leon, it'll be fun. We're actually going to dinner and not a bar. I think. Whatever, I want the others to actually see you in person. I'm convinced they think I'm lying about you and you're some random dilf I got off Pinterest."

"I can't tell if I should be flattered or not."

"Well, if I was going to lie about having a hot older boyfriend, I would have picked your photo off Pinterest. So, yes, be flattered and come to dinner."

Leon sighs as you blend out your concealer and spray something on your face. Hopefully, it's not water. Definitely not water; he should use his head more often. "Sweetheart, I'm just too old to be around you kiddos," he counters. He's observing as you draw something on your face, contour as you once told him. Gave him a whole makeup lesson but it didn't really stick with him since he was balls deep in your cunt and had you babbling with lipstick smeared all over your face and mascara down your cheeks. How the conversation even got there, he had no idea, but it still makes him laugh when you're not around.

"Bullshit," you huff, dusting on the nicest shade of pink blush perfect for your skin tone. Really does make you look like the cutest dolly in the world. "I don't give a fuck what others think and you shouldn't either."

Should've recorded you and put this on Facebook.

"While I appreciate the Ted Talk, things aren't as easy as you say. Besides, you deserve to have a little fun. Be single for the night and all that stuff."

And you're frowning again. You look like a grouper. A cute grouper, though.

"...Don't want to be single for a night, but whatever. Anyways-" Another spritz of that mysterious stuff on your face, are you trying to melt your makeup off? You fan your face with your hands, and all it does is get him to chuckle at how silly you look.

Before he knows it, he's grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward until your body's nicely tucked between his legs. "Need my help?" And it's moments like these that make his heart ache, your little nod and smile so infectious it's got him grinning like a fool too.

"Hold still, cutie." Leaning forward, Leon gently blows on your face to get you dry again. "What're you even spraying on your face?"

"Setting spray. Makes my makeup last longer. Duh."

"Alright, alright. Don't sass me; you know I'm old."

"No, you're not."

"...I could be your dad. Or your really young grandpa."

"No one's grandpa is in their forties. Or I hope not. Anyways, I'm serious. I love you and don't care that you think you're ancient. I wouldn't care even if you're ancient. As long as you can still get it up."

How heartfelt.

"Just go finish your makeup." Leon twirls your around from the waist and sends you back to finish your makeup with another firm pat to your ass. It's so cute to him, all for him to touch and squeeze and bite into. Which he can only do on special occasions since he always goes overboard with the biting. "You should do blue eyeshadow again. It was really pretty last time."

You scoff, but you're already reaching for your most beloved palette with all the blues in the world. Half of the little tins of pigment are near gone, but there’s still enough of that baby blue he loves, marveling as you take a smaller brush to dust the color on your lids.

“Why do you open your mouth to put that stuff on? Same thing with mascara; it’s got nothing to do with your eyes.”

“Dunno,” you mumble back, waving a thin tube of mascara in front of his face. “Want some?”

“No thanks. Takes forever to scrub off. I should know; I almost always do it for you after date nights.”

"Yeah, because you fuck my face like a maniac and leave me feeling like a pool noodle." You laugh, cheeky thing, and do it on yourself, once again opening your mouth as you coat your lashes. God, he needs to take a photo of you doing this one day. Post it on Facebook along with your motivational speeches.

"Where're we going tonight, anyways? Our usual restaurant or something else?" You're finishing up now, patting on shiny stuff on the tip of your nose and reaching for more types of powder. Shit, you look good. Real fucking good in a way that makes him grateful for all this fancy makeup. Really does make your beauty shine more than it already does.

"I actually got tickets to watch The Substance-"

"OH MY GOD, I LOVE THE SUBSTANCE!"

Leon can tell with the way you practically jump for joy and the lip liner in your hand goes flying in the air, coming back down and bouncing off his head. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought he was stuck in the domestic scene of a tacky yet classic rom-com.

"Got excited, my bad." He just shakes his head, more amused than anything else, as he hands you back the pencil.

"No worries. You look so cute," he hums out, standing up from his spot and making his way behind you. His hands find themselves home on your hips, giving them a little squeeze as he rests his chin on the top of your head. You look cute as you glide the lip liner with such serious focus, brows all furrowed. Once you're satisfied with your handiwork, you finally finish your makeup off with a coat of shiny lipgloss.

"Shit, you look gorgeous," he muses, staring at your reflection in the mirror. A kiss is pressed to the top of your head. One, two, trailing down your neck as your breath hitches and his hands wander. From your waist to your hip to the plushness of your thighs, slipping under your skirt and just barely running a finger over the band of your panties.

"Leon..."

His tugs at the elastic waistband, letting it snap against your skin. Mind's all fuzzy, loopy on a love only you could bring out in him.

"Leon. If we fuck now, we're never making it to the theaters. Off."

Now it's his turn to pout like a kicked puppy, retreating his hands out from under your skirt and back to your hips. And now it's your turn to laugh at him, giggles spilling from your lips as you lean back and nuzzle against his body. "Sorry not sorry for being a cockblock, I really do wanna see The Substance."

You and your love for over-the-top horror films.

"Fair enough, fair enough." Eventually he peels himself off of you with one final kiss to the cheek, feather-light so he doesn't ruin your makeup.

"I can't wait to see Demi Moore. Ooh, and Margaret Qualley! She is literally so pretty, you have no idea." You turn around to finally face him, biting your lips so over-the-top this has to be a joke. A joke about what, he doesn't know, but he makes him chuckle and shake his head all the same.

"Leon, Leon, Leon." You take a step forward, and another until you're stepping on his feet. Arms around his neck as you lean in close, your breath fanning at his face. "Want me to suck your cock while driving?"

...Well damn.

"You're being for real or just teasing me?"

"Now I know you've never watched Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. But I might be for real if you buy me the biggest popcorn tub at the theaters."

Say less.

He's scooping you up without another word, tossing you over his shoulder and crowding his way out of the bathroom faster than you run towards Ulta Beauty when at the mall. Your shrieks and laughs bounce off the walls as he carries you downstairs to the front door, determined to get on the road as soon as he can. 

[randomness-is-my-order]

for me, nothing at all changes about jiang cheng’s end-of-canon circumstances by the reveal that he distracted the guards that led to his capture by the wens after the lotus pier attack and the reason for it is simple: you can’t be redeemed by something you did before you committed your wrongdoing. the change of character and growth needs to happen after you fucked up. his prior “good” choices/“heroic” acts do NOT make him a better person in hindsight because he went ahead and acted like a piece of shit later on, anyway. it’s like saying a murderer should be pardoned because they saved a bird from dying ten years ago or that they donated to charity that one time, “omg look they had a good heart <3”. even the text treats it like this afterthought, contextually, because by the time any of it would be revealed—it’d have been way too late for anything to change. a history of violence and hate cannot be erased nor reduced by an action taken in good faith (if not good sense) before this history ever began.

redemption happens as a response to your choices in the aftermath of your fuck-ups (or in some cases, the narrative effectively nullifies the wrongdoing itself which leads to a blank slate/redemption; but that is NOT the case with jc), not as callback from the distant past when you were perhaps a less shitty person. many think jc revealing this “secret” would be significant in some way. but... how exactly would you expect wei wuxian to react to this revelation? show gratitude after jc’s choice inevitably led to the loss of his golden core? be happy that his once-buddy cared for him before jc contributed to his death and the death of the wens and the death of countless other innocents? imagine someone once close to you lied and betrayed your trust and say, framed you wrongfully so you got jailed. later, they recount how they kicked your bully in the balls when you were both in school. okay...? how the FUCK does that change anything? you are STILL in jail?

jc’s prior good will means nothing after the bridges he’s burned to the ground, burying them twenty feet under. and he knows this. he knows that revealing the truth will make no dents. wei wuxian won’t have a better view of him just because of it. jiang cheng’s actions do not gain a softer edge. the redeeming action has to come after the tragedies he has helped with and participated in. he’s not magically a better person with this context. he’s just as who he was before. because what we are evaluating his morals on was not his supposed love/care for wei wuxian but his actions. his violence. his hatred that targetted people unjustly. these do not change. these don’t go away. these should not go away. these should not be as easy to go away. that’s all.

[x-aefx]

hiii, can i request something about billie x reader, their dating but reader is insecure about Billie’s friendship with Quen and Odessa. Maybe they’re all hanging out and reader feels left out so she isolates herself from Billie.

MIND GAMES - BILLIE ELISH X FEM!READER

A/N: sorry this took so long I took a mini break from writing on here🤍

"Hi baby." Billie walked up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist in a tight embrace, her chin resting on your shoulder as she placed soft, delicate kisses on your neck.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a smile tugging at your lips as you let yourself relax into the moment, into Billie's touch.

"You ok?" Billie mumbled, face resting in the crook if your neck.

You hummed, not trusting your voice to speak.

Wordlessly, Billie turned your body around so that you were facing her. You put on your best smile as to not worry her like you knew she would.

Reaching your hand blindly behind you to the counter, your fingers gripped the bowl of snacks you had preprepared. You held them infront of you, one hand reaching up to cup Billie's cheek.

"I'm alright, I promise." You leaned in and gave her lips a quick kiss.

Whether or not Billie believed you or not , she didn't prey you further for the moment, simply nodding her head and giving you a small smile.

With the bowl In hand you made your way back out to the living room where Odessa and Quen were waiting on the couch, talking and laughing with eachother.

When they seen you return their eyes lit up.

"Finally!" Quen dramatically exclaimed as Odessa placed the bowl of snacks you carried on the coffee table for you.

You smiled at them with a small laugh. "Sorry, got a bit distracted. " You apologised.

"Distracted? We thought you got lost." Odessa joked.

You smiled. Deep down a part of you dreaded this night where Billie had her friends over. You couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you were protective or jealous, you loved seeing Billie so happy when she was with them.

Yet every time she was with them, something in your heart ached as you watched them together. However with that small, easy, interaction with Quen and Odessa, you felt hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different.

Billie entered the room with a large grin on her face as she carried in more food and drinks. The movie was starting and everyone settled on the couch.

You sat at the very end, with Billie beside you, then Quen and then Odessa.

Gradually the sound of jokes being said drowned out the movie, then the jokes turned into inside ones shared only between Billie, Quen and Odessa. Leaving you oblivious as to what was so funny. Then the jokes turned to childish messing around, light nudges and slaps led to games of wresting and fighting for the most space on the couch.

Every now and then, Billie or even Quen and Odessa would try pull you into the chaos, but all you could offer was a quick, forced, laugh, or a small comment to keep your presence known.

As you tried to focus back on the movie that you could barely hear over their laughter, you felt yourself heating up, your eyes pooling and your leg bounced repeatedly. Every laugh, joke or teasing felt like a stab to your gut.

It was silly of you to feel this way, irrational and childish. Yet you couldn't help it.

"I'll be back in a minute." You muttered standing up from the couch.

You didn't wait for a response or to see if they even heard you as you made your way to the bathroom.

Closing the door you leaned your back against it as you looked up to the ceiling, trying to calm yourself as the tears became harder to contain.

With a shacky breath you walked over to the sink, gripping each side with both hands as you weakly looked up at the mirror.

A breathy cry escaped your lips, tears slowly falling one by one. It didn't help that you could still hear them laughing from the bathroom, only their voices slightly muffled.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

You have friends, Billie has friends. There should be nothing complicated about it, you shouldn't be feeling this way. Yet you did.

The aching in your stomach travelled up to your heart. It felt almost as if a rain cloud lingered over your head whilst everyone else basked in sunshine.

You bit your lip to stiffle your cries.

You hated feeling like this.

Why were they so close? What was so funny?

Your head spun with question after question. Your insecurity growing.

You couldn't go back out there. You looked and felt like a mess and you knew seeing them again laughing and having fun would just make you fall apart all over again.

So you didn't. Quietly you left the bathroom and climbed the stairs up to yours and Billie's shared bedroom. You didn't tell Billie you wouldn't be staying with them in the living room.

She would ask you once she noticed your absence, whether that be before or after Odessa and Quen left, and you would make up so dumb excuse to avoid confrontation.

She would join you in bed like she always did and pull you close until you were flush against her, like she always did. Only this time you would tense up and try keep your distance because of your own insecurities.

Instead of dealing with your emotions you couldn't help but isolate yourself from Billie, and especially Quen and Odessa, staying in your own bubble with your thoughts.

Did Billie like them better than you? You couldn't help but wonder. Did she tell them things she's never told you?

Your mind continued to swarm with assumptions and worst case scenarios as Billie and her friends laughter echoed from downstairs.

That familiar ache in your chest returned as you tried drowning everything out, curling up under the covers you held yourself tight as you slipped into a world of your own, your mind continuing to spin with questions.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡