#but it's better than when my frustrations were one-sided

[deliciousangelfestival]

You're The One - 4

Summary: A daughter uncovers the wild, untold story of how her parents’ marriage began—and it’s way better than any romance movie she’s ever watched.

Character: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Words Count : 1,654

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Present Day

“Nu-uh.” Bucky glanced at his watch. “She’ll be here any minute, and I need to get to the airport.”

“I’m coming with you!” Jade yelled, already bolting to her room to change.

“Why the sudden interest in coming along?” Bucky called after her.

“Because you won’t tell me the rest of the story, so I’ll ask Mom instead!” she shouted back.

Bucky froze for a moment, muttering under his breath, 'Well, shit.' Then he called out, “Her version will be way more dramatic!”

Jade popped her head out of her room, gasping with excitement. “I have to hear it from her now! Let’s go!”

After a long drive, the two finally arrived at the airport. Standing near the arrival gate, Bucky shifted impatiently while Jade scanned the crowd.

Finally, you appeared, wheeling your suitcase behind you.

“Mom!” Jade ran toward you, wrapping you in a tight hug.

You blinked, startled but touched. “Jade? I didn’t expect you to come along with your dad!”

Speaking of which, Bucky huffed quietly, clearly annoyed that he missed the chance to hug you first. Instead, he settled for a side hug, leaning in and murmuring, “Welcome home,” before grabbing your suitcase.

You smiled warmly and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”

“I thought you’d be staying another week,” he said as the three of you began walking to the car.

“I wasn’t feeling great, and being sick abroad just made me more homesick,” you explained. As a game development director, you’d been away overseeing the final stages of a new project. It had been a long trip, and you were glad to be back.

Bucky asked, his voice laced with concern, "Are you alright, dear? Have you checked with the hospital? I'll call our doctor."

You shook your head gently, a soft smile playing on your lips. "No, babe. I've got the results, and everything's alright."

Relief washed over Bucky and Jade's faces. Bucky let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Jade, on the other hand, beamed with joy, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Mom,” Jade whispered conspiratorially in your ear. “Dad told me he kidnapped you from Clark Jordan.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “He did?” You turned to glare at Bucky, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Let’s just go home,” he grumbled, ignoring your laughter and Jade’s giggles.

On the way back, Jade couldn’t hold in her curiosity. “Mom, what happened next after Clark hit Dad?”

You smirked knowingly. “Oh, he told you about that part, huh?”

“Yup,” Jade said eagerly, leaning forward in her seat.

You shook your head, chuckling as the memory came back. “Well...”

🔔💍🔔💍

Flashback

Clark arrived at the location in a rush, his wedding suit slightly disheveled, the jacket discarded in his haste. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his face was etched with determination. He’d come as soon as he could after getting the tip-off about your whereabouts.

Bursting onto the scene, he froze when he saw you and Bucky. The two of you were arguing—your words sharp, your tone frustrated—but there was something unspoken between you. A connection Clark could sense but had never felt with you himself. It wasn’t just Bucky’s audacity that made him furious; it was the realization that something deeper existed between the two of you, something he would never have.

Without thinking, Clark lunged at Bucky, his fist connecting with his jaw. Bucky staggered back but quickly caught himself, his own eyes blazing with fury. He grabbed Clark by the shirt, stopping the second punch, and delivered one of his own in return.

“Stop it!” you yelled, stepping between them.

Both men froze, fists mid-air, their heavy breathing filling the tense silence. They glared at each other, neither saying a word, the tension crackling between them.

You felt a pang of fear—not for your physical safety, but for what might happen to Bucky. Clark wasn’t just a powerful man; his family had the connections to ruin someone’s life with a single phone call. You couldn’t let that happen.

“We should go back,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

Bucky flinched, his arm dropping to his side. He stared at you, stunned. “What?”

Clark took the opportunity to grab your arm gently, his grip firm but not harsh. “Let’s go.”

As he led you away, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Bucky was still standing there, watching you. His expression was unreadable, but you couldn’t help the small flicker of disappointment in your chest. You’d hoped, even for a second, that he would stop you, but he didn’t move.

---

In the car, Clark broke the silence first. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His voice was calm, but his worry was clear.

“No, he didn’t do anything,” you reassured him.

He let out a long sigh, relief washing over his face. “Thank God.”

You hesitated before speaking again. “Clark… about the wedding.”

He cut you off gently. “It’s alright.”

You blinked in surprise. Clark had always been kind and patient, but this… this was different. He seemed far too calm for someone whose fiancée had just been kidnapped.

“You must have been terrified,” he continued, his gaze focused on the road. “Out of the blue, someone takes you away. My heart nearly stopped.”

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Clark’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m getting a restraining order. He won’t come near you again.”

“It’s not that simple,” you said quickly, but he cut you off again.

“He kidnapped you, and you’re still not mad at him?” His voice was quiet but filled with hurt.

You flinched at his words.

“I knew you're a brave woman,” he said after a long pause. “I heard you went into a store with him. You could’ve screamed for help, but you didn’t.” He glanced at you briefly, his tone full of disbelief. “It seems like you were willing to go with him.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of his words pressing down.

Finally, Clark spoke again, his voice soft but resolute. “The wedding’s canceled.”

“What?” you whispered, taken aback.

“I realized something today,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “You’re not the one for me.”

You stared at him, struggling to find the words.

“I saw the way you looked at him,” he continued. “The way you argued, the fire in your eyes. It’s something I’ve never had with you. He’s the one for you, not me.”

You couldn’t deny it. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I am too,” he said with a sad smile. “I thought maybe there was a chance for us. But it seems like you’re meant to be with someone else.”

“You’ll find someone who’s right for you,” you said softly, genuinely.

Before either of you could say more, a loud whirring sound filled the air. You both looked up to see a helicopter hovering above the car.

“What the hell?” Clark exclaimed as you saw the door open.

There, standing boldly with a megaphone in hand, was Bucky. “Stop! In the name of love!” he shouted.

“What the fuck!” you and Clark said in unison.

Clark pulled the car over as the helicopter landed in the middle of the road.

You turned to Bucky as he stepped out. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “I had to make a grand entrance.” He extended his hand toward you.

You glanced at Clark apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Clark nodded, his face pained but understanding. “Go. Before you make my heart bleed even more.”

You stepped out of the car, your heart pounding as you took Bucky’s hand. He helped you into the helicopter, securing your seatbelt and placing a headset over your ears.

As Bucky climbed in, Clark called out, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What exactly did you do? How did you even afford this?”

Bucky smirked. “I’m the owner of Bitcoin.”

Clark's jaw dropped. "You?!" He had invested some money in crypto and knew a bit about the Bitcoin story, particularly the anonymous creator's preference for secrecy. Could Bucky be the creator of this coin?

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah. I like to keep it low-key.”

Clark muttered to himself, still stunned. “Unbelievable.”

Bucky offered a hand in truce. “Hey, man. I’m sorry I ruined your day.”

“And I’ll hate you for it,” Clark said honestly, shaking his hand. “But at least everything’s clear now.”

Bucky nodded. “You’re a good guy. I hope you find someone who’s perfect for you.”

With that, he climbed into the helicopter and shut the door.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “So, what now?”

“We finish your bucket list,” he said with a grin.

You sighed. “No, we don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone will definitely stop us,” you said knowingly.

“Who?”

“My dad,” you said flatly.

Bucky’s face fell. “Oh, fuck.”

Present Day

“I feel bad for Clark,” Jade sniffled from the backseat, dabbing her eyes dramatically with a tissue.

Bucky groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Oh, come on. He’s fine. Stop acting like this is some soap opera.”

Jade ignored him, her phone in hand as she scrolled through a quick search. “Wait a minute—oh! Clark got married two years after you two. To his childhood friend! And they have… five kids?! Woah!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow but said nothing, keeping his focus on the road.

“At least he got his happy ending,” Jade murmured, her tone softening. Then her eyes sparkled with realization. “What about Grandpapa? How did Dad win him over?”

Your lips curved into a sly smile as you glanced at Bucky, who suddenly looked tense. “Let’s just say Clark was a beginner level, but your grandfather? He was the Grandmaster level boss.”

“Oh, great. I hate this part,” Bucky muttered under his breath, his face a mix of annoyance and dread.

Jade leaned forward, her curiosity piqued even more by her father’s reaction. “Tell me everything!” she pressed, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

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[millieisawriter]

Workin' girl

arthur morgan x reader

summary: the one where arthur pulls a john — falling in love with a working girl. it was never supposed to happen, yet it did, and now arthur is left with two choices. either he, again, walks away from a woman that loves him, or tries to fight for her.

wc: 2k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

a/n: i see this happening in blackwater in case i decide to write a 2nd part, but when i started writing i imagined saint denis, didn't see any town/city names mentioned as i was proof-reading, lmk if you see something i missed <3

Life has never treated you kindly so eventually, as soon as you could leave your family home, you turned to the oldest profession in the world. Even if that kind of life was better, it still wasn't ideal, but it was the best you could do. Eventually, you started to like it because even with its issues and dark sides it wasn't that terrible. Some would even dare saying it was 'easy money', which you actually knew wasn't true.

Luckily for you, you ended up in one of the more expensive brothels. Maybe it was the 'splendor' of the place, the luxorious interior, that made you feel somewhat safe. Safer than you would feel in some cheap saloon where the patrons consisted of drifters with a questionable past.

You had your regular patrons, ones that you got along with well — one of the reasons why they were your regulars. These were the men that could stay a bit longer after the service itself was done without making it awkward. Ones that you could have a conversation with, ones that saw you as another human being, not just an item to relieve their frustration.

It was a normal evening, the building was neither empty nor full. You didn't have that much on your hands, you and a fellow working girl were entertaining a group of men. They sat by a table, a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other, and two of these men had a companion in their lap — you and your friend. Ending the evening in the bedroom wasn't certain, for now you were just trying to make them spend as much money as possible on the drinks.

Then, Arthur walked in. One of your regulars, one you were particularly fond of. The chemistry between the two of you was so strong sometimes you wanted to tell him he didn't have to pay.

His eyes immediately found you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel jealous seeing you in the man's lap. But you, as if on command, turned to look at Arthur and as you noticed your favorite patron, you excused yourself from the table.

"Mister Callahan," you beamed, approaching the man, "so good to see you again."

He tipped his hat to you, his lips curling into a soft smile. "Evenin' darlin', thought I'd stop by again. You been keepin' busy?"

The way he always called you darling, every time, made you feel so warm and bubbly. Of course, he wasn't the first man to do that, but when it came from him, it felt almost sincere.

"Busy enough," you replied, glancing over your shoulder at the table of men you just left, "but I'll always make time for you, mister."

"Well, reckon I'll take you up on that. How bout we find a quiet spot?"

"Your wish is my command." Giggling, you took Arthur by the hand to lead him upstairs where your room was. Even if he already knew the way well enough.

Your room was just like any other room in that brothel — furnished with the most luxorious-looking furniture, tastefully decorated with expensive ornaments, every little detail taken care of.

As the door to your room clicked shut behind you, the world outside seemed to fade miles away. In that moment right there it were just the two of us, bathed in the dim light by the fireplace's glow.

Arthur's hat found its usual place on the small table by the door and he turned to face you, "I can never stay away for too long." Shortly, his hands landed on your waist, resting on the corset of your dress.

"Then maybe you should visit more often..." You suggested, your own hands finding their way to the man's shoulders.

"I'm afraid it ain't a good idea, darlin'. I always look forward to seein' you. But sayin' goodbye..."

"I get what you mean," you chuckled, "so what's it gonna be today? Just the regular service, or you want something extra? It'll be on the house."

Every time Arthur visited you, it was both blissfull and painful for him. You were so good at what you were doing it felt like a religious experience, but the attachment he held for you left a hole in his heart each time he had to say goodbye.

He had always wished he could just ask you to leave this life, and join the gang, but which woman would agree for this? Your current life, your current job, as oppressing as it was, couldn't be worse than living on the run. In Arthur's eyes at least.

In the brothel you had your own room, a wardrobe with many dresses. You had a somehow stable income, it didn't seem as if money were any issue to you. All this, compared to what you could have in the camp, was much worse. And you didn't even know his real last name, there was no reason for you to leave this life you had for a criminal.

Why did Arthur even fall for a working girl? The exact same thing happened to John, which Arthur would often make fun of him for. Maybe life just decided to pull a joke on Arthur now. But he just couldn't control himself, from the first time he saw you, you were different. With other women it didn't take long to notice they're just playing a role, but you... from the first time you even smiled at Arthur, he was drawn to how genuine it looked. And now, you had become not just a pretty face to entertain him, but someone he felt at ease with.

This time, as many times before, Arthur didn't hurry to get dressed and leave the room, return back to camp after getting what he wanted. Instead, he stayed under the covers in your bed, smoking a cigarette as you kept going on about something that happened a few days ago.

He didn't mind, he could let you yap his ears off, your voice was such a calming sound. It was almost hard to believe you weren't just a hallucination he made up. How could such an ethereal being just lay there, next to him, head propped propped on your palm as you lay on your stomach, talking about whatever nonsense? How could this happen to a man like Arthur Morgan?

"...so then," you paused to take the cigarette from Arthur, take one puff and hand it right back, "you'd think a man like him would have some sense, right? Well, no, he was so damn thick in the head, she just told the guard to throw him out!"

Arthur chuckled, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Bet he didn't see that comin'. I'm glad I ain't made it onto your list of thick-headed fools yet."

"Yet!" You playfully reminded him. "You seem to have more sense than others, although I can't say I'm some weak little girl. I don't even need a guard, but the madam insists it's for safety."

A thought lingered in the back of Arthur's mind. It was weird, in a sense, to know there's a guard right outside your door whenever you had a man up there. Even right then.

"I don't doubt you could handle yourself, darlin'," Arthur smirked, taking one last drag from his cigarette, "but it don't hurt havin' someone lookin' out for you."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "Guess you're right, mister."

Arthur stubbed out the ciragette into the ashtray that stood on the bedside table, knowing what it meant. His time was up, he extended the time of his visit as long as he could. Now that his usual cigarette was finished, it was the time for him to go.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. You watched as he reached for his clothes that had been thrown onto the floor, and for the first time a single tear started to burn the corner of your eye.

With his jeans already on, and his shirt for now unbuttoned, he reached to the pocket, retrieving the usual payment. You wiped the tear away as it escaped your eye. It was always the same routine, but it didn't make it any easier to watch him go.

"Here it is." He said almost robotically, placing the money next to the ashtray, throwing in a little tip.

You looked at the money with sadness in your gaze, then your eyes shifted to look at the man. "You know, you shouldn't have to pay, because you don't make it feel like work."

There they were, the words Arthur was so afraid to hear. Him having a more romantic kind of attachment to you was one thing. However, knowing that you reciprocated the feeling, made it more difficult.

"Good," he nodded, "cause you don't make me feel like the bastard I am," as he buttoned up his shirt.

You sat up on the bed, pulling the sheets harder around you, since you were still naked. "Arthur..." You sighed, the rest of the sentence dying in your throat.

The fact that for the first time you had used his actual name instead of calling him mister as always, made it only more difficult.

"No, darlin', don't."

"You know you don't have to leave, right?"

Oh, he had to leave. If he overstayed his welcome too much, the guard at your door would become highly suspicious. And that would only cause issues for you.

"I have to, don't wanna make it harder." Arthur replied.

"Harder for who? I know a man's nature well enough, and I can tell there's something more in the— the way you fuck me, Arthur."

He thought maybe playing dumb would help him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you were to ask me to... to abandon this life for you... I would."

Arthur gulped. It was just what he wished for, but what he couldn't allow to happen. "I've got nothin' to give you. I live on the run, it ain't somethin' you wanna be a part of, trust me."

"You think I'd rather keep fucking strangers to survive, than travel the world with a man I lo—"

"You don't." Arthur interrupted you. "You don't know what you're talkin' bout." Love was a word of huge weight, there was no way it was what you felt for him.

You insisted. "I know what I feel, and I know what you feel, I see it in your eyes, I feel it when you're in my bed, Arthur. I wanna leave this life for you."

"It ain't gonna be no escape, though, just another kind of trap. You deserve better than fuckin' strangers to get by, but you also deserve better than runnin' and not knowin' which day will be your last."

"I don't want better!" At that point you didn't care if the guard outside will hear. "I want you, Arthur!"

"I want you too, darlin'," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly, "but... you're safer here. I can't sentence you to a life of an eternal wanderin'."

His words had a final tone, but as well as you could read his eyes, you could tell he regrets saying what he had just said. You could have had a roof over your head, and locks in your door, but it wasn't safety. It was survival.

You stepped closer, reaching out to grab Arthur's hand. You knew he didn't want to leave, you were sure he wants you just like you wanted him. "Arthur..."

His heart ached when he saw the way your beautiful eyes looked at him, but still he decided to kiss you. It only made it worse, making another cut in Arthur's already damaged heart.

"I gotta go." He stated, freeing his hand from yours.

"No." You refused as if you had any say in that matter. You could demand he takes you with him now, wherever he's headed, but what would it do?

"I can't make promises," he continued, putting his boots and jacket on, then his hat, "but I'll figure somethin' out."

You stayed silent, watching him leave the room, not knowing if he's going to keep his word. All you had now was the money, that you didn't even want from him, and the promise that could have been empty.

[hoover1st]

A Likely Pair

Summary: Astarion has been desperately attempting to earn your affection. At the tiefling party, he uses your drunken inhibitions to his advantage. Not knowing you have your own share of trauma, his evening is derailed, likely for the better… Gender Neutral!Reader/Astarion Tags: Implied SA, Angst and Fluff, No Pronouns, Sexual implications but nothing happens, reader has sexual trauma, follows events of Act 1 Astarion Romance. Word Count: 2k AO3 | Masterlist

*A/N: This is extremely self-indulgent. Inspired by a beautiful fic from @tavs-tressym. I didn’t want to make this an OC, because I want my writing to be as accessible as possible, but it’s glaringly obvious that this is written from my own experiences… Again, TW for SA*

Your world has been turned upside down since the day that damned illithid parasite wormed its way into you, but more so since meeting the colorful band of companions who’ve chosen to join you.

Some will still deny it, but you’re magnetic. You don’t complain or nag, rather just handle situations without missing a beat, and your relentless optimism isn’t as suffocating as one might think.

You hate the term leader. You’re not above any of your companions, you just happen to do the talking and the problem-solving. 

The independence that was so valuable throughout your life is hard to unlearn, relying on your companions is still something you’re grappling with. But above all else, the quality that comes to mind when thinking of you is that damned charm. 

You were always teetering on the edge of plausible deniability. Your companions have started to expect it from you, most believing it’s just your personality. You’re attractive, decently kind, and effortlessly funny. 

Mix those qualities, and you get someone whose banter and compliments confound most. You can’t help it, it’s just who you are. It doesn’t help that you genuinely find each of your companions endearing.

There are these moments when you’re spending time with one of them, and they attempt to reciprocate. That’s where the delicate dance begins. Once it clicks in your head that they’re flirting or making implications, you’re gone. Leaving them in their bemusement.

There’s one companion who’s especially engaging. The banter is never dull, because he too has learned this dance. It’s not hard to admit Astarion is indisputably gorgeous. Your personalities are two sides of the same coin. The mischief is like a song, the harmonies balanced.

It’s plain to see that Astarion is pursuing you with the most vigor. You act coy, but you secretly enjoy it, even if it frustrates him to no end. He should have been able to seduce you by now. Knowing that if he could be the one to have you, he’d be protected.

Every time he thinks he’s got you, and his words are more than innuendo, you’ve cleverly removed yourself from the equation. You’re not sure why you do it. Astarion is attractive, and the flutter in your stomach can’t always be blamed on shitty cooking.

There’s something in you that stops anyone from getting too close, at least in that way. You don’t know why? You’ve healed, right? It’s been years since it happened. The touch of others doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to.

Mother always said it’s natural to touch and kiss others. So why is it that every time they get close, you pull away?

Tonight, the people you so 'selflessly' saved in the Emerald Grove have insisted on throwing a party. Your flirtatious nature is only amplified by the increasing amount of alcohol in your system. You might have even met your match with the Arch-Druid Halsin, but no one is trying as hard as Astarion, and with your inhibitions lowered, you’re starting to consider his proposal.

Swiftly shooting down every other offer is second nature, but for whatever reason, you leave Astarion’s up in the air.

The party stretches on, and you’re not ready to turn in yet, a force compels you back to the rogue’s tent. A drink in hand, you drunkenly saunter back to Astarion, your body leading you like a moth to flames.

Astarion sees you cross back over to him, his gaze unabashed as his eyes rake over your form. This was it, he was finally going to seduce you. As a drunken grin stretches across your face, he feigns a pout, his voice a purr,

“I’m glad you’re back darling. I started to consider you’d found company elsewhere”

You grin and shake your head teasingly, “Most of the ‘company’ has turned in. If there’s someone I know to stay up late, it’s you Astarion dearest”

The wolfish grin you know all too well returns to his face, and he leans in closer, “Well darling if staying up is what you desire, my offer still stands~”

Normally this would be when you’d conveniently snake your way out of the conversation, but the alcohol, and the way he looks in this dim lighting, have you considering it.

Of course, Astarion notices this immediately, and his grin only widens. He knew alcohol would be the key to finally having you. Without letting you respond, he’s moving closer, his voice lowering,

“I’m gonna take that as a yes. Finish that drink of yours and meet me in the clearing near the stream, I’ll be waiting darling.“

With that, he’s gone, slipping away to not give you the chance to say no. Your mind is reeling, did you just agree to do this? Now you feel obligated to go, what if he’s there waiting all night for you? 

Finishing your drink, you go back to your tent to check yourself, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

As you walk out to the clearing, you look good. A drunken saunter looks sexy on everyone, right? But it’s not your looks you’re concerned with. 

You can do this. It’s no big deal, right? Maybe he doesn’t even actually want sex? But even so, it’s fine. Sex is normal. People do it all the time. Why can’t you?

As you walk into the clearing, he’s posed against a tree, and saunters from his spot. It’s almost comical to you. There’s something so practiced about his movements, the way he’s already lost his shirt.

His body is gorgeous, he’s placed himself so the moonlight casts shadows on the lines of his body, illuminating his pale skin. You wouldn’t be surprised if he scouted and planned this days ago.

Even his voice is perfectly practiced as he purrs, “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You keep up your playfulness, despite your racing mind, “Poor thing, I was worried you’d be out here all night.”

Astarion cocks a brow and hums, “Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve been reconsidering? it’s so obvious you want this, you mustn’t deny it any longer darling.”

You narrow your eyes teasingly, “And what’s that Astarion? What is it you think I want?”

His predatory expression grows more intense, but inside, he’s growing impatient. Why are you so difficult? “Darling, I think it’s pleasure you want. To lose yourself in me”

You grin, finding comfort in the stalling, “Astarion dearest, I quite like myself. But what is it you want?”

Your question takes him off guard. You see his eyes flicker as if you’d struck some nerve. It takes him a beat to get back on track, and as quick as it was there, it’s gone. The suave charm back,

“What do any of us want, darling? A pleasurable distraction. To find solace in each other.”

His words combined with your intoxication have you nodding, but you’ve lost the playfulness. “If that’s what you want, I’m inclined to agree”

Astarion notices your shift, but he’s too focused on going through his motions, doing what he knows, what he can control. Astarion won’t admit it, but he likes you. Yet, at the end of the day, his focus is on his survival.

At your agreement, he’s moving in. Not wanting to squander the opportunity. Knowing if he doesn’t seize it now; you might pull away, like you always do.

Astarion breaks through your drunken haze, his touch light and experimental, feeling your body before he closes the distance between you. You start to like it. Your senses zoned in on his touch, enjoying the feeling of his caresses. He moves a hand up to cup your cheek and kisses you.

At first, the kiss was nice. It feels good to kiss him, maybe it just took having a handsome stranger like Astarion to cure you?

The kiss becomes more heated, and you start to melt into him. His hands wander, and he kisses you hungrily, but something feels off.

It starts to become all too much to handle. You’re attracted to Astarion, a lot, but when the kiss grows deeper, your face scrunches up into a whine. Astarion likes you, but this is a job to him, something he deems necessary for you to like him. He’s already on autopilot, his brain registering your whine as one of pleasure.

Your fists clench and you start to shy away from him. Something is wrong. This doesn’t feel right, your issues, mixing with your intuition tell you that neither of you is entirely present. You bring your hands up to his chest and apply pressure, after a moment you gently push him away from you.

Your face is scrunched up as your chest heaves, except it’s not from pleasure. Astarion’s eyes widen as he looks at you, taken completely off guard, nothing like this has ever happened to him.

After a moment of staring at you in confusion, he speaks up, his voice betraying his offense, “What’s wrong?!”

You’re curling into yourself, feeling embarrassed. You shake your head and avert your gaze from him, “I’m sorry, I just, I…” you trail off looking for the words, Astarion cuts you off with a huff, 

“What in the bloody hell is your problem?”

Astarion’s mind is racing, has he lost the one thing he was good at? His only valuable asset?

You don’t respond, you can’t stop it, you’re caving into yourself. You try to take deep breaths, your arms wrapped around yourself. Astarion has never seen you behave like this, you’re always the strong, confident one.

Astarion stares as you curl into yourself, watching you walk to the stream nearby, sitting on the bank.

Astarion doesn’t know what to do, he can't remember the last time he cared to comfort another. Why should he? Not like anyone would give a shit if he broke down. He doesn’t even know what to do but his feet are moving, and he gently sits down next to you on the bank, staring into the moving water.

After a long moment, you speak up, eyes never moving from the stream, “I’m sorry Astarion, I hope I didn’t disappoint you”

Whatever Astarion was expecting, it couldn’t have prepared him for the way your words tore through him, he gaped at you his voice unsure, “What do you mean?”

You tear your eyes from the stream, meeting his gaze. Your expression is pained, your voice quiet, “I know you’ve been wanting this Astarion, and I thought I could do it, but it all felt so wrong.”

Astarion’s expression is unusually unguarded. It's as if he’s so perplexed, that he can’t think to put on his usual charming smirk. He stares at you, brows furrowing. Before he can stop himself, his voice uncharacteristically insecure, he’s asking “Did I do something wrong?”

You’re immediately shaking your head, trying to reassure him, “No, no Astarion it’s not you. I just, struggle with things like this”

You both break eye contact, going back to stare into the stream. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. After a while, you’ve calmed down and sobered up, you turn to Astarion with a soft smile, “You could put your shirt on if you’d like, you look a little chilly”

Astarion grins up at you, glad that your teasing is back. He rolls his eyes, “Darling, I’m a vampire, I don’t get ‘chilly’. Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to those beautiful eyes of yours to cover all of this” he gestures down to his bare abdomen.

You laugh and shake your head, “I never said I didn’t appreciate the view Astarion dearest, just trying to be considerate”

As the two of you sit on the bank of the stream, things have finally returned to some semblance of normal. It’s nice. Neither of you talks about your past, or what just happened, but there’s this feeling between the two of you, one of understanding. 

Tonight didn’t turn out the way either of you expected, but sometimes things happen this way for a reason. Maybe the two of you had more in common than you could ever imagine?

*Again, sorry that this was so self-indulgent, thank you for reading!!*

[magical-reid]

The Spell Gone Awry

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 1.9 K

It was a quiet afternoon at Hogwarts, or at least it was supposed to be. The Great Lake glimmered in the autumn sun, and the grounds were bustling with students making the most of their weekend. You had intended to spend the afternoon exploring the castle’s nooks and crannies, but fate had other plans.

The courtyard near the Clock Tower was unusually noisy. As you walked through the archway, you realized why—two Slytherins were dueling.

“Expelliarmus!” one voice shouted, and a wand went flying.

You paused, recognizing the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy. He stood with his wand raised, his silver-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, and his trademark smirk firmly in place. Opposite him was Theodore Nott, his face set in determination.

Normally, you’d avoid scenes like this—public displays of superiority were practically a pastime for Draco—but today, curiosity got the better of you.

You were mid-step, walking through the duel’s perimeter, when Theodore shouted, “Stupefy!”

Before you could process what was happening, a jet of red light hit you square in the chest. Your body flew back, the world spinning as you crashed into the stone pavement with a sickening thud.

“Y/N!”

Draco’s voice cut through the fog in your mind, sharper than the pain that spread across your body. You tried to sit up, but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Move, Nott!” Draco snapped, shoving Theodore aside as he knelt at your side. His hands hovered over you, unsure where to touch. “Someone get Madam Pomfrey!”

Through your hazy vision, you saw the concern etched into his face. It was an expression you’d never seen from him before.

“Draco…” you murmured weakly, but the darkness claimed you before you could say more.

The Hospital Wing

You woke to the sound of murmured voices. The faint scent of medicinal potions hung in the air, and the soft rustling of curtains told you where you were—the hospital wing.

“Finally,” came a familiar voice, tinged with relief.

Turning your head, you saw Draco sitting in a chair beside your bed. His tie was loosened, his robes slightly rumpled as though he’d been there for hours.

“How long have I been here?” you croaked, your throat dry.

“Since this afternoon,” Draco said, leaning forward. “You’ve been out cold for hours. I thought…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t have been walking through the middle of a duel.”

His tone was accusatory, but his eyes betrayed his guilt.

“I didn’t know there was a duel,” you said softly.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You could’ve been seriously hurt, Y/N.”

You tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through your back. Draco was immediately at your side, adjusting your pillows and muttering about how careless Nott had been.

“Draco,” you interrupted, “it wasn’t your fault.”

His hands stilled, and he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “It doesn’t matter. You got hurt because I was being…well, me.”

You managed a weak smile. “You mean a show-off?”

His lips twitched, but the smirk you expected didn’t come. Instead, he sat back down, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Why did you stay?” you asked after a moment.

Draco scoffed, though his ears turned pink. “You’re in my House. It would’ve been…unbecoming to leave you here alone.”

His words didn’t quite match the look in his eyes—soft, vulnerable.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.

Whispers in the Shadows

The following week was strange. News of the accident spread quickly, and students whispered about how Draco Malfoy had stayed by your side until you woke. Some called it an act of guilt, others a show of loyalty to a fellow Slytherin.

Draco, however, seemed to avoid you. In the Great Hall, he sat at the far end of the table, his gaze fixed on his plate. In Potions, he worked silently, not once glancing in your direction.

It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

One evening, as you wandered the castle in search of solitude, you found yourself in the library. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the shelves, and the room was mostly empty.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name made you turn. Draco stood at the end of the aisle, his hands buried in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, surprised.

He hesitated before stepping closer. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You could’ve done that anytime,” you said, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. “But you’ve been avoiding me.”

Draco stopped mid-step, his pale complexion flushing slightly. His hands fidgeted in his pockets, a rare sign of discomfort. For once, he didn’t have a witty retort or his usual confidence.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he said quietly, though his tone lacked conviction.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Because that’s what it felt like.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his platinum hair. “Fine. Maybe I was. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you.”

You frowned, confused. “Then why?”

Draco hesitated again, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot. When he finally met your gaze, his gray eyes were unusually vulnerable, stripped of their usual smugness.

“Because you make me feel…unlike myself,” he admitted.

You blinked. “Unlike yourself?”

“Yes. And I’m not sure I like it.” He let out a frustrated huff and leaned against the bookshelf, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Ever since that day in the courtyard, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About what could’ve happened if that spell had been stronger, if I hadn’t stopped Theodore fast enough.”

You softened at his words, the anger draining from your posture. “Draco, it wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it. I’m not used to…caring about what happens to anyone else.”

You couldn’t help the small, surprised laugh that escaped your lips. “That’s not true. You care about your family. Your friends.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But this is different.”

The vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Draco, I don’t know what you’re so afraid of. But I don’t need you to be anyone other than yourself.”

He looked at your hand on his arm, then back at you, his eyes softening. “That’s what’s terrifying,” he murmured. “You see me—the real me. And I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

You smiled gently. “Maybe you don’t have to be ready. Maybe it’s enough to just feel it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The library seemed impossibly still, as though the castle itself was holding its breath. Then, slowly, Draco reached up and covered your hand with his own.

“Why are you so…kind to me?” he asked, his voice almost breaking.

You squeezed his arm lightly. “Because I see the real you, Draco. And I like him.”

The Dance of Distance

In the days that followed, Draco became a near-constant presence in your life. He walked with you to classes, found excuses to sit beside you in the Great Hall, and even waited for you after Potions.

But the closer he grew, the more complicated things became. The whispers among the Slytherins grew louder, their sharp comments cutting deeper. Some accused you of using Draco to climb the social ladder. Others claimed you’d bewitched him, that no one like you could possibly hold the attention of someone like him.

And yet, through it all, Draco stayed at your side.

One evening, as you sat by the Black Lake, he found you staring into the water, lost in thought.

“You’re quiet today,” he said, sitting beside you.

“Just thinking,” you replied, your tone subdued.

He frowned, leaning closer. “About what?”

You hesitated before meeting his gaze. “About us. About how everyone seems to think we shouldn’t…be together.”

His expression darkened. “Let them think what they want. Since when do their opinions matter to you?”

“They don’t,” you admitted, though your voice wavered. “But I don’t want them to hurt you, Draco. And I feel like being with me is only making things harder for you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his gray eyes searching yours. Then, without a word, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You’re the only person who’s ever looked at me and seen something more than a Malfoy. You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m worth something beyond my name. Don’t take that away from me because of a few gossipy idiots.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “You really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said, his voice softening. “Besides, you’re stuck with me now.”

An Unspoken Confession

The Yule Ball arrived faster than you expected, and with it came the usual flurry of excitement. Dresses were chosen, hair was styled, and students buzzed with anticipation. You hadn’t planned on going—until Draco appeared outside the Slytherin common room, dressed impeccably in black and silver, his hand outstretched.

“Come with me,” he said simply.

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Draco, I don’t even have—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupted, smirking slightly. With a flick of his wand, a set of elegant green robes appeared in his arms.

You stared at him, speechless.

“I took the liberty of having these made,” he said, his smirk softening into a small, hopeful smile. “For you.”

The warmth in his gaze made your chest tighten. Wordlessly, you took the robes and stepped back into the common room to change.

The Dance

The Great Hall was transformed into a winter wonderland, with snowflakes falling from the enchanted ceiling and twinkling lights illuminating the room. Students swirled across the dance floor, laughter and music filling the air.

Draco guided you to the center of the room, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

“People are staring,” you murmured nervously.

“Let them,” he said, his smirk returning. “They’re probably jealous.”

You laughed despite yourself, relaxing as he led you through the waltz. For the first time in weeks, the whispers and the stares didn’t matter.

As the music slowed, Draco leaned closer, his voice low in your ear. “You know, I’ve been trying to tell you something.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “What is it?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment before saying, “I’m falling for you.”

Your breath caught, and your heart seemed to skip a beat. “Draco…”

He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

But you did say something. Leaning up on your toes, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, his expression was equal parts shock and joy.

“I think I’m falling for you too,” you whispered.

His grin was brighter than any spell he’d ever cast.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

[captainsophiestark]

Crib Construction

Cassian x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: ACOTAR

Summary: Cassian and his mate have been tasked with putting together Nyx's crib. Unfortunately, it's a harder task than they thought it would be.

Word Count: 1,282

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cass, come here. Does this look right?"

My boyfriend didn't waste a second before joining me on the floor, kneeling behind me and looking over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a minute, then I heard a rustling of paper as Cassian sighed.

"Yeah, it looks right. That hasn't stopped it from being wrong before, though."

"Well, let's just hope for the best."

I could feel through the mating bond just how little Cassian wanted to do that, but he knew as well as I did that we didn't have much other choice. I took a deep breath, then gently pressed the two pieces of wood before me together, trying to get them to link like they were supposed to.

Of course, it didn't work. I added slightly more pressure, but still nothing. I put my entire weight and all of my strength into it, and when the damn thing still didn't budge, I let out a scream and shoved both pieces away from me before I could really lose my temper and accidentally break something.

"This is bullshit!" I shouted, whirling around to face Cassian. He had a look of grim resignation, meeting my eyes with sympathy. Our positions had been exactly reversed about ten minutes ago. "Rhys set this up as a way to get back at you for winning the snowball fight last time, and I'm getting caught in the collateral. This sucks."

"Honestly, maybe he did," Cass said, sighing and leaning back on his hands. "Or maybe Az did something to break this one too before he got kicked off the job."

I groaned, flopping over and into Cassian's side to lay against his chest and stare at the ridiculous contraption that had been defeating us all afternoon. Rhys and Feyre had asked us to assemble Nyx's crib, and at first, we'd been honored and happy to help. But hours later, when nothing was going right and none of the pieces were fitting together the way they were supposed to, I was about ready to throw all of it out the window and into the Sidra below.

We'd been given the task in the first place because Az had shattered the same type of crib to pieces after spending a day being stumped by the puzzle. Cassian and I had inherited the task for our ability to keep each other calm, and because we were generally less destructive when continually frustrated by a puzzle. This crib was about to ruin that reputation.

"Okay, maybe we should just start over from the beginning," I said, sitting up and turning to face Cassian after our brief rest. "Like, take everything apart and lay it all out on the floor again, then start back from step one."

Cassian groaned. "Honestly, I hate that idea. But what we're already doing clearing isn't working, so..."

"So let's try it. Deep breaths, and then a total reset. A fresh start."

"...Alright. Let's do it."

With a lot of heavy sighing, Cassian and I took apart what little progress we'd made, separating the crib back into its individual parts, the way it had come. Once we got it all laid out again, I took the instruction manual from Cass and laid that out in front of us, too. With one last deep breath, we started in again at step one on page one.

I wish I could say this attempt went better. But it didn't. Cassian and I almost destroyed the whole thing Az-style in a fit of frustration three times each, one of us barely managing to pull the other back every time. We were just lucky our destructive streaks never lined up, or the pieces of the crib before us would've already become nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Alright, that's it!" Cass finally shouted, standing up abruptly from where we'd been trying to wrestle together the corners of the crib with no luck, despite using both our strength at once. "I'll be right back."

"What?" I flung my arms out to either side of me as Cassian headed for the door. "You're abandoning me? Seriously?"

"Not abandoning! Changing tactics."

Before I could ask for clarification, Cassian was out the door. I stared after him, waiting for him to reappear or say he was kidding or something, but he didn't. I huffed, then shook my head and turned back to the crib, its pieces still mostly laid out on the floor.

I sat there and stared at the pieces for a few long beats, contemplating my next move. Honestly, I'd just about decided to throw them out the window and tell Rhys the thing'd never been here when the door came swinging open again.

I turned to find Cassian striding towards me, the confidence and determination back in his step. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"I've solved all our problems."

I snorted, but smiled at Cassian all the same as he came to a stop before me. The fact that he'd managed to make me laugh at all in the middle of this nonsense was exactly why we were mates, and it made me love him even more.

"Cass, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, but... I'm having a hard time seeing how that could possibly be true. Unless you convinced Mor to take over for us...?"

"No, but just as good." I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian's grin widened as he dropped down next to me. Slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a hammer, tape, and a few other supplies.

I just stared at everything for a moment, then snorted and leanded into Cassian. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Babe... we can't use that stuff to put this crib together."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be sturdy enough! We don't want it to give out while the baby's in it. We both know we can't risk that."

Cassian hummed, rocking forward just enough to get a few of the pieces of the crib into his hands. He lined them up like we'd been doing all day, then raised the hammer in his other hand.

"Maybe you're right about the tape," he said. "But all we need to fix this is a little extra power. We can't force it together with our strength alone, so we'll use a hammer."

"Cass-"

Before I could get another word out, Cassian swung the hammer. I could see him putting his full Illyrian strength into it, and sure enough, the pieces whacked together. Unfortunately for us, they also splintered into more pieces than would be fixable, even with tape.

Cassian and I just stared at the wreckage for a moment, neither of us speaking. Cassian was the one to break first.

"Shit."

I laughed, all the stress and ridiculousness of the past few hours disappearing along with our hopes of actually succeeding at our task. I leaned into Cassian, and a moment later, he joined me.

"Well, that didn't go like I was hoping," sighed Cassian. I laughed again.

"Really? That's not what you were going for?"

"Not quite."

We shared a smile, then slumped back together, Cassian's arm around my waist as I leaned into his chest. I sighed, staring at the ruins of the crib before us. Not a single part of me wanted to do something about fixing it.

"So... how about we call Mor and find a way to pass this on to her?"

I laughed, then nodded as I leaned even further into Cassian.

"Baby, I was thinking the same thing. You, me, and Az have had to tear our hair out over this thing already, I think it's her turn."

"And even better, if any of us has to call Amren in, it'll be Mor."

"Exactly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Maasverse Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[maddiethedogstories]

The Glasses - The Dark Side

Author's Note: I'm trying something a little bit different with this story. I'm calling it a mirror story. I am going to write a story with the same basic prompt and ideas in two different ways. One wholesome and one dark. This is the dark story. I hope you all enjoy it! Read the wholesome version here.

Greg fancied himself an intellectual. He had a PhD, was the top of his field, and respected by all of his colleagues. He spent all of his free time reading books and papers, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Or at least he did, until he met Daddy.

Daddy was everything Greg desired. Daddy was tall, strong, assertive, and brilliant. Greg found himself immediately under the other man's spell.

The first day Daddy brought Greg home, Daddy sat Greg on the couch and pulled the glasses off of Greg's face.

"That's much better," Daddy growled confidently as he watched Greg's panic set in.

Greg, in contrast, found all of his self-confidence leave him as his corrective lenses were removed. Without his glasses, all Greg could see was a soft blur where Daddy's face should be. Greg was almost completely blind. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he hated it.

"Um, could I please have my glasses back?" Greg asked timidly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach from the fear of being left without his glasses for any expanse of time, "I can't see anything without them."

Daddy laughed in response.

"Oh, my pet, you only get to see when Daddy says so."

Horrified, Greg dives for where he thought his glasses were, only to find himself perfectly draped over Daddy's lap.

"Oh, Greggy, you need to learn whose in charge!" Daddy said before Greg felt his pants pulled down to his knees and blows begin to rain down on his bottom.

Daddy never returned Greg's glasses that night, and, despite his horror at being effectively blind, all Greg made no attempt to get them back. With a sore bottom, Greg didn't dare cross Daddy again, especially once he realized that he was entirely reliant on the dominant man to care for him.

Over the course of the night, Greg struggled to care for himself. He sat frustrated through the whole movie, unable to tell what was going on.

He stumbled through Daddy's unfamiliar apartment, unable to tell where he was going. He made a mess of himself eating dinner, unable to see the food he attempted to shovel into his mouth or the utensil he was using to feed himself. And worst of all, Greg eventually ended up wetting himself when he couldn't find the restroom in time to relieve himself.

The whole time, Daddy looked on and teased him.

"Careful, big boy! If you're having this much trouble walking, maybe you should crawl?"

"What a messy boy! Looks like a certain someone could use a big!"

"Oh no! Did the big, smarty-pants professor go potty in his pants?"

Over the course of the night, Greg felt more embarrassed and humiliated than he had ever felt before. By removing just one of his possessions, Daddy has functionally reduced him to a small child.

When they parted that night, Daddy gave Greg his glasses back before showing Greg some pictures and videos on his phone. Greg, able to see again, looked on in horror at images of himself covered in food like a toddler, crawling on the floor after tripping, and, worst of all, wetting his pants.

"What do you think all of those smart colleagues you have would think of you if these ever hit the internet?" Daddy asked like a spider who knew it's pretty was now stuck in its web.

"Please, no…" was all Greg could say in response.

After some 'negotiation,' Greg was able to convince Daddy to keep the images private in exchange for Greg's future cooperation.

As Greg left Daddy's house that night, he felt a strange since of dread set in at the prospect of what the beautiful man had in store for him next. He couldn't imagine giving in and losing his personal autonomy like that again.

Pursuant to their deal, Greg kept seeing Daddy after that night. Their dates took on a common form. At the start of each one, Daddy would remove Greg's glasses and take control over the other man. In turn, Greg would find himself fully submitting to Daddy and all of the humiliations he had devised for him. The few times Greg balked at his treatment, a quick trip over Daddy's lap, a reminder of the photos in Daddy's possession, and a threat to set Greg free without his glasses was all that was needed to remind the submissive man of his place in their relationship.

Over time, Greg--the PhD, the intellectual, and the brain--found Daddy taking more and more autonomy from him each time they met. It was painful for Greg, a struggle and hit to his ego each time he lost a part of himself. However, with Daddy's power over him he could do nothing to stop each relinquishment of freedom.

Over time, Daddy started picking the food Greg ate. He found his mature diet replaced with bland Cheerios, dino nuggets, and other foods designed for the picky palates of toddlers. When he complained, Daddy just pointed out it was easier to eat those foods with his fingers, since he couldn't see well enough to use utensils without his glasses.

He began drinking all of his drinks, which had predominantly become milk, out of baby bottles. Daddy told Greg it was to keep him from spilling given his lack of depth perception, but Greg could help but fill like an infant everytime the rubber teat was pressed between his lips.

Having his pants and underwear removed and replaced with pull-ups and, eventually, diapers each time he entered Daddy's apartment was similarly mortifying. Daddy made sure to emphasize the importance of the extra protection each time he dressed Greg in the infantile garments, given Greg's proven inability to make it to the toilet on time (something made worse each time Daddy changed him out of his soggy padding after Greg repeatedly failed to locate the bathroom in Daddy's home).

Daddy also stopped letting Greg pick out his own clothes. Daddy pointed out that the artificially blind man couldn't see them, and Daddy was the one who had to worry about getting Greg's clothes off to change him anyway, so giving Greg the freedom to dress himself just didn't make sense.

However, no matter how much control Daddy took from Greg, at the end of every 'date,' be it for a few hours or a weekend, Daddy would hand Greg his glasses back, returning Greg to the adult world of academia and filling Greg with a sense of hope that maybe, this would be the last time Daddy would call him over to play.

That pattern continued until one day, Daddy finally made the declaration that Greg had been dreading to hear for months.

"Baby boy, I think it's time you moved in with Daddy full time."

Greg started to cry in his place on the floor where he sat on a soft blanket dressed in only a diaper and onesie while failing to stack wooden blocks due to his poor vision.

Greg immediately crawled (walking haven been forbidden after a particularly nasty trip) over to the Daddy shaped blur sitting on the couch and stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please no, Daddy? Please! I hate it here! I hate being your stupid little baby!"

Daddy beant down, wrapped his large hand around Greg's cheek and chin before shoving a pacifier between Greg's lips.

"Hush, pet," Daddy growled softly, his face menacingly close to Greg's, "I've made it very clear who is in charge in this relationship. It seems like you need a reminder."

Daddy then harshly pulled Greg over his lap before proceeding to deliver the worst spanking Greg had ever experienced. At the end of it, the apartment was filled with nothing but the sound of Greg's soft sobs and the crinkling of his diaper, as he thought about the ramifications of daring to question Daddy's judgment.

The next few months passed in a blur. After moving into Daddy's house, Greg found himself wearing his glasses less and less.

Deprived of his ability to see, Greg spent more time forced to participate in infantile activities like playing with blocks or trucks or futilely trying to color in a coloring book instead of reviewing the latest literature in his field like he used to.

Greg's coworkers started to notice how the once brilliant, workaholic man's performance had dropped off. Greg was pulled into his boss' office and lectured on his need to improve, but, Greg, who once prided himself on his career success and independence, found himself unable to improve his performance at work given Daddy's humiliating restrictions at home.

After six-months of living together, Greg's boss had had enough and fired his once best employee.

Sitting in Daddy's lap in nothing but a soggy diaper, Greg cried as he told his tormentor about his lose of a job.

"Daddy," he began softly, hesitant for fear of judgment at what was coming next.

"Yes, pet?" Daddy asked Greg, his ever predatory tone dripping from his every word.

"I was, was, was fired today," Greg chokes out between sobs.

Daddy smiled, although Greg couldn't see it. He rubbed Greg's back possessively.

"Oh, did someone's boss finally realize what a soggy little pants wetter he really is? I can't say I'm surprised, but I am ~very~ excited for what that means. You can finally be my diapered little pet full time!" Daddy said triumphantly.

Greg's sobs redoubled at his sudden understanding of the truth in Daddy's words. He tucked his thumb in his mouth, a soothing habit Daddy had long ago trained in him, and continued to cry in his tormentors arms.

Daddy brushed Greg's hair with his fingers, relishing this moment of absolute victory.

"Daddy is so excited for you to be my soggy little pet forever."

Daddy laughed a little as Greg continued to cry before grabbing a small object that Greg couldn't quite make out off the table.

"I guess you won't be needing these anymore. Maybe we should get them mounted for posterity?"

Greg frowned.

"What, Daddy?"

Daddy responded with a guffaw.

"Your glasses!"

Greg felt his heart drop in sudden realization. Daddy was right. As Daddy's permanent pet, he would probably never wear be allowed to wear glasses again. His world was now fated to forever be a blur.

[dexteri0us]

i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter

summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."

w/c: around 5k

a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)

You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.  

Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.

You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy:  I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.

You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.

“Can I help?”

“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.

You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.

“I could make you something to eat…”

Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.  

“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”

“I said no.”  

You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.

“Do you want–”

He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”

Finally. Bait taken.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.

You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.

His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”

You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.

“Who’s them?”

Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.

He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.

“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”  

Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.

His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.

He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.

Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.

The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.

Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.

Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.

What the fuck?

He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.

“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.

Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.

He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.  

“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.

You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.   

The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.

Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.

He was in the mood. And it hit you.

He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.

“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”

His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.

“Not today.”

“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.  

“Drop it.”

“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”

The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

That was easier than you thought.

“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.

“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”

Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.

“You really want to test that theory?”

You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.

The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.

Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.

“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”

Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!

“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”

“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”

And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.

“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.

Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.

Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.

Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.

“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”

You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.

Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.

“Listen to yourself. So messy.”

Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.

Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.

“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”

The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please, can I come?”

“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.

Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.

Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.

The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.

Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.

“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.

Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.

Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.

One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.

Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.

He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.

You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.

He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.

“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.

You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“You think you can?”

The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.

 “You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.

“Let go of the headboard.”

Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.

For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.

Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.

You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.

Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.

His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.

Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.

He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.

You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.

Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.

But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.

“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.

Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.

With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.

“Oh, and your hands only.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

His face dropped again.

“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”

You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.

“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.

He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.

“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”

“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.

“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”

You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.

He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.

“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”

“It kinda has.”

He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.

a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Imma need this haah so I was watching the race yesterday and I heard Nando come on the radio to say he would have given in by now but he needs to do it for a few people etc and I’ve seen the video at the end of the race where he’s struggling to get out of the car I can’t send it if you haven’t seen it and was thinking of Nando x reader based around this. You know me throw some angst in there and lots of fluff please 🙏 your my favourite Nando writer I love your work ❤️

I am so sorry this took so long I have an exam today and just wanted to finish it before I went in!! i hope you like it :)

For you

Fernando Alonso had never been one to back down from a challenge or a fight.

It wasn’t in his nature.

He never caved, never gave up, no matter how overwhelming the situation or how drained he felt.

That was what made the Brazilian Grand Prix such a shock—not just to Aston Martin, but to you, especially.

You had been by Fernando’s side for over 10 years, and his wife for 7 of those.

You knew him inside out, perhaps better than anyone else. You knew how stubborn he could be, how relentless, especially when it came to the risks he took behind the wheel.

The race had been brutal.

The heat was suffocating, visibility was near zero in certain sectors, and the pressure to deliver was immense.

You’d been watching from the edge of your seat, every moment fraught with anxiety. You were praying to anyone who could hear, hoping for a safe race. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the fear that his age was beginning to catch up with him.

Fernando wasn’t the young firecracker he once was, yet he never showed any sign of slowing down.

To the media, to the world, he was as fit and strong as ever. But with you—he was different. With you, he didn’t have to wear that mask of invulnerability.

That day in Brazil, the race had pushed him to his limits. The physical exhaustion, the mental strain, the constant, unrelenting pressure to win—it all weighed heavily on him.

You had seen him on those mornings when he woke up groaning in pain, his back stiff from the wear and tear of years of racing, and you knew it wasn’t just the way he slept. You knew the strain his body was under, but he would never admit it. Never to the world, and never to himself.

Yet, despite it all, there was something deeper driving him forward. Something that kept him pushing when every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop.

Just before the race, you two had fought. It had been a long, tense argument, your voices raised in frustration. You had begged him, pleaded with him, “Fernando, you need to slow down. The risks you’re taking, they’re too much. I don’t want to lose you.”

But he had been defensive, angry even. His pride, his need to prove he still had it, had made him dismiss your concerns. “I know what I’m doing,” he had snapped, his voice cutting through the tension. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He had stormed off, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his words. But you knew, deep down, he wasn’t angry at you—he was angry at himself. Because even though he wouldn’t admit it, there was a fear in him now, a fear of not being able to keep up with the younger drivers. A fear of losing that edge he had worked his whole life to perfect.

But despite all of that, there was something else on his mind, something driving him forward when his body screamed for him to give in.

He'd heard it on the radio, his voice a low rasp as he pushed back against the exhaustion. "I would’ve given up by now, but I can't. I need to do this... for them. For a few people..." For you.

When the race finally ended, Fernando was barely able to stand. His body had been pushed to its absolute limit. The pain was overwhelming, and as he dragged himself out of the car, the world around him spun. His hands were trembling, his legs unsteady, and yet it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that alarmed you. It was the look in his eyes—defeat, vulnerability, a quiet acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, you had been right.

You were there before he could take another step, rushing to his side. You didn’t need to say anything—your arms around him, the steady pressure of your embrace, spoke volumes. You could feel the weight of his body as he leaned into you, his breaths shallow, strained. His voice was barely audible when he spoke.

"I don’t know how much longer I can do this," he whispered, his words thick with exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

You didn’t hesitate. "You can," you replied softly, but firmly. "You always can. But only if you let yourself breathe sometimes, Nando."

He didn’t answer at first. His fingers clenched around your shirt, his face buried in your hair as though trying to find solace in your presence. For a moment, the roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, everything else faded away. All that mattered was you and him, the two of you in that moment, holding each other together.

You stepped back slightly to look into his eyes, the exhaustion etched deep into his features. You cupped his face gently in your hands. "You don’t have to carry it all. Not alone. Let me help you. Let me in."

He finally met your gaze, his eyes shadowed with the weight of the race, of the argument, of everything he had been bottling up. For a brief moment, you saw a flicker of regret. His voice was small, apologetic, and raw. “I was wrong, about everything. You were right. I pushed too hard today. I… I can’t keep going like this.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You could see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he had never let anyone see before. The fight in him wasn’t gone—it had simply shifted. Now it wasn’t about winning races or proving himself to the world, it was about finding balance, finding peace.

"You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Fernando," you whispered, your hand gently brushing his cheek. "Not to me. Not to anyone. Just… come back to me in one piece, okay?"

He nodded, a tear slipping from his eye, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the man who had been running on empty—tired, afraid, and so desperately in need of someone to hold him.

and you would always be there to do that.

[va1kyr14]

Right, I have time to sit down and really digest what happened yesterday so here goes. This is mainly going to be about Caitvi but will contain others.

Be warned if you haven't watched it!

So firstly what a fucking ride.

The animation, the story and what they have done is absolutely incredible and have set the bench mark for future studios because my tiny brain is blown.

But diving into the things that I thought could have been better, like a lot of people have said, the pacing seemed off when they nailed it in S1. And yes I did wait until everything was released to share my thoughts. We probably got even more Caitvi content than S1, but with everything going on everywhere and it being a faster paced in regards to action, It did seem like the relationship from S1 to the end was just a bit off. Not saying it wasn't incredible, it was, but I think there were things that didn't add to the story much which could have been replaced with other character progression.

Having said that, I watched all of S1 all in one go when it came out, and I think that if we did the same with S2 and one straight after the other, I don't think we would be necessarily seeing it as much. Just my thoughts.

We didn't get an Caitlyn apology only an acknowledgement apart from when she was speaking to Jinx and an angry Vi separately. We could argue that the way she spoke to Vi before the spice was her was of apologising but I don't know I really would have liked a better explanation.

I did love the two sides of one coin but not the fact that you can't have a universe where both sisters live. That broke my heart but understand it. I also do think Jinx survived, and got out the vents and went off in the blimp at the end. I think Cait knew too, being her smart self but knew that Vi would go after her if she knew. That was a sweet scene at the end - even though not a fan of pirate Cait as I said in a previous post. I hope if they do something in the future she has like a fake eye or something I would prefer that over a patch.

Now moving onto the SEX SCENE....

Holy fucking shit. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that. The animation, the fucking intimacy the likes I have never seen, it was perfect. I do think the setting was a bit weird but when you have all the pent up frustrations and lets be honest they are dramatic lesbians, Its going to happen. I would have liked to have seen it maybe in Cait's bed if anywhere but the urgency mixed with gentleness and all the little micro actions.

The PULL IN AFTER THE UNDOING OF THE BUCKLE.

I can't. Like I am speechless.

It was everything I hoped from a first time, from the giggles to everything else and just every tiny action jesus these animators are something else. I am not ashamed for Netflix to watch the algorithm and see I have watched that same 2 minutes for about 9 hours straight.

It has broken boundaries, not just for queer representation, the fact that neither of them died and got a happy ending in something like Arcane is remarkable, but in regards to animation of a sex scene a lesbian one at that, I think the benchmark has now been set and it will be known as this generations' Korrasami. This is will go down in history and I am not even being dramatic.

Anyway that was more of a ramble than an in depth post, and I have no idea what to do with myself now. We have AO3 and fanart and I guess we will have a bit more content until the end of the month with promotion but I guess when you have a hyperfixation you aren't ready to say goodbye. So I raised a glass to all the content creators who are now going to carry on the mantle. I will be reading and liking everything I can, I salute you.

To summarise, the series could have been better IMO but thats what happens when expectations are so high, there was none of that in series 1 and it was perfect in my eyes. You can't please everyone, but I think Arcane as an overall package is wonderful and Caitvi will live on in my heart and others which have created a benchmark for queer content and I am so proud of everyone involved.

And to all the fellow queers out there...

We did it, we won.

[i2rizz]

505

Fandom: Blue lock

Characters: Chigiri x reader

------------‐---------------------------------------

The evening was heavy, the kind of night that carried a quiet tension in the air. The clock ticked on the wall of your dimly lit apartment, an unwelcome reminder of how long it had been since you last saw Chigiri. He wasn’t supposed to leave like he did—no warning, no explanation, just the slam of a door that echoed louder than any words could have.

But you knew better. You knew him better. Chigiri always ran when things got too complicated. And yet, here you were, waiting for the sound of his knock, just as you always did.

He was already speeding down the empty highway. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white as he pushed the car faster, the roar of the engine drowning out his own thoughts. It didn’t matter how far he had to go, or how long it took—he needed to see you.

"If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive…”

The lyrics played softly on the car radio, eerily matching his resolve. He smirked bitterly at the coincidence, his crimson hair falling over his eyes as he shifted gears.

His mind flickered back to the last time he saw you, lying on your side in bed, your body tucked into his as if you were made to fit there. He could almost feel the warmth of your hand resting against his thigh, a casual gesture that still sent shivers through him whenever he thought about it.

You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The memories of him were suffocating tonight. The way he looked at you, the way his voice softened when he called you by your name, the way his touch lingered just a second too long—it was all too much.

"Stop and wait a sec…"

Your mind drifted to the way he always looked at you before he spoke, as if weighing his words carefully. It was a look that could cut through every wall you’d built around yourself. And the way he smiled, crooked and teasing—it always left you feeling like the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

But it wasn’t just his looks, or the way he made you feel. It was the way he left. Always leaving. Always running before things could get messy, before they could get real.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in your hands. "Why do I even wait for him?” you whispered to no one.

"The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start…"

Chigiri’s thoughts were spiraling. He didn’t mean to hurt you, not again. But he’d panicked, the idea of being vulnerable enough to love you fully both thrilling and terrifying.

He thought of the way you looked at him when you were mad, your eyes blazing with a fire that matched his own. It was a look that made him want to stay and fight, but also run as fast as he could.

And yet, here he was, racing back to you.

The knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. Your heart leaped, knowing exactly who it was. You hesitated for a moment before walking over, your hand trembling as you unlocked it.

Chigiri stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his face a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. He looked like he’d run through hell to get here, and maybe he had.

“Hyoma…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I screwed up again. I ran when I should’ve stayed. I know.”

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it as you crossed your arms. “Then why are you here now?”

He looked at you, his crimson eyes softening. “Because I can’t stay away. No matter how much I try, I always end up back here.”

His words hit you like a wave, all the anger and frustration melting into something warmer, something heavier. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him as he stepped closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face.

“You’re my 505,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “No matter how far I go, I always end up coming back to you.”

You sat together on the couch, the silence between you more comforting than words. His hand rested on your thigh, his touch grounding you as the storm outside raged on.

“But I crumble completely when you cry…”

The words played softly from your speakers, and you couldn’t help but glance at him. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed as he listened. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers.

“Hyoma,” you began, but he opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. I don’t deserve you, not after all the times I’ve left. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned into him, letting the weight of his presence soothe the ache in your chest.

As the hours ticked by, the rain outside slowed to a gentle patter. The world seemed to settle, the chaos of the night giving way to a quiet stillness.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he whispered into your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You smiled softly, your eyes drifting shut as the sound of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep. For the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

------------‐---------------------------------------

IM GOING BACK TO 505 IF ITS A SEVEN HOUR FLIGHT OR A FOURTY FIVE MINUTE DRIVE

[kukuandkookie]

HSNGMSJDK I have mixed feelings on this… 🤔

To start off, I admittedly didn’t vibe with Beloved Enemy that much either. If I were to briefly get a bit more into my own personal tastes here, it might be surprising to people who know me that I didn’t like Yuan Yang as much, because he’s dog-coded (wolf-dog) and usually that’s a character type I gravitate towards.

But there were a couple reasons for this:

The first is that Yuan Yang’s crematorium didn’t personally satisfy me because I prefer the ones with full-on regret and sobbing and all that good stuff (I have learned of myself that I enjoy regret as a theme when done well MSKSFKHS). But Yuan Yang actually went for…an asshole route??? Which didn’t exactly work well in my opinion.

I feel like that’s maybe why I prefer Yu Fengcheng despite him not being all that dog-coded. He takes the badass top and even military man “bad boy”—or at least, hooligan/sexual deviant—and does it better in terms of loyalty and eventual regret. Plus, I like his occasionally nurturing role but also how his stoicness makes his moments where he acts cute all the more memorable (kind of like how it also is with Li Yu). He’s not that popular in the overall 188男团 fandom but I actually have a lot of things I like about Yu Fengcheng—even though I know the whole “conflict” over Huo Qiao is a bit weird and weak HSMKFSHS.

(And yeah, when speaking realistically, a lot of what Yuan Yang does is very despicable. Although it didn’t quite affect me the way it may have for OP.)

But the main thing is that Beloved Enemy itself is…quite cliché, in my opinion?

Office workers and then the top being gruff and aggressive and possessive and a “bad boy” aren’t anything new, and when I read the kidnapping plot, even though I know that and the ICU are kind of staples of the 188男团, I still went, “Ah, this feels a bit forced…” (I also felt the same way about a slightly similar scene in My Little Poplar, but a bit less so because it contributed to some of the themes you can glean from the novel in a way I didn’t feel like Beloved Enemy’s kidnapping plot does).

So funnily enough, Beloved Enemy is a story I actually think is better consumed via the manhua???

I love manhua as a medium but I fully admit, a lot of the manhua that directly adapt a novel can lose some stuff in translation, mostly in terms of expressing thoughts—especially when they’re rushing to adapt every important novel scene. But the Beloved Enemy manhua, aka Tit-for-Tat, softens Yuan Yang a lot by really upping his puppy dog side, with chibis and facial expressions and stuff. And the artist translates characters’ thoughts into the visual medium quite well!

I can actually see how Yuan Yang and Gu Qingpei are falling for each other and into each other more than I felt it in the novel itself.

It’s thus not a surprise to me the manhua artist is a huge YuanGu lover—you can see the passion in their adaptation DKGNSKSJ. I am still kind of dreading the actual crematorium part, which we’re nearing, but I have hopes the manhua artist will continue to soften him via the more expressive nature of art.

And well, speaking of a visual adaptation…

The other reason I have my reservations about this is just kind of mixed feelings about some of the out-of-country adaptations in general??

This is a personal thing because I have a frustration at BL drama fans calling Chinese BL cdramas “bromance” due to the censorship when the intent is so clearly BL, so even when I like getting an uncensored adaptation, I do find some people’s disregard for Chinese media being Chinese in origin a bit frustrating. Like how when you’re a fan of the adaptation (whether it’s Thai, Taiwanese, or maybe even a game/donghua getting a dub), people don’t think about the original.

Another for live-action adaptations is just that I prefer animated/drawn, and I’d honestly be way more into getting an audio drama than a live-action drama (still rolling, screaming, dreaming for an official My Little Poplar audio drama…). 😆

Again, these are completely personal gripes though LGNSKDJS.

I do find it interesting to hear again and again about how My Stand-In disappointed actual Professional Body Double fans because of the sanitization, but also that gap between the drama fans and the novel fans where novel fans notice drama fans condemning parts of the show as toxic even though it was toned down.

If I were to go into a tangent here, I don’t believe characters and plots doing bad/dark things is automatically “problematic” or a sign the author condones it and I wish people wouldn’t just judge characters via “did I like them/did they annoy me/did they do a bad thing,” but that’s a completely separate topic. Still, it does show how people just can’t handle “darker” stuff without finding it condemnable.

So…yeah idk how that’ll go with Beloved Enemy ALFJSKFHS.

I can kind of get why they chose this for adaptation though. It may have its clichés, but hey, clichés are popular for a reason, and YuanGu are really popular. I could see most BL fans enjoying it because even if the toxicity will get criticism, some people seem really drawn to office workers and a young bad boy topping an older cunning man?

I do find it interesting though one YuanGu fan on Twitter had reservations because they felt like Beloved Enemy is really culturally Chinese and that could get lost in translation… Which I feel like could apply to a number of danmei, but also I guess it shows how mixed feelings about this drama seem to apply overall in both fans and non-fans of Beloved Enemy?? 😆

Anyway, sorry for hijacking your post, OP, especially when our thoughts may diverge on some aspects. This just got me thinking, and when I do thinking in such a way, I tend to ramble to try and express those thoughts. 🙈

I will say that seeing Zhao Jinxin get adapted could be so fun! He can indeed be quite cute~

Thoughts on Beloved Enemy Getting a Thai Adaptation

Originally this was a response to another post but I think it deserves its own. To be honest I'm not confident about this project at all. This is (imo) not one of SQC's strongest works and is really really really not fitting for today's BL audience. To demonstrate what I mean, here's an alignment chart of 8 of the (current) eleven gongs/tops in the 188 series (courtesy of a moot of mine on X, link to the original thread in the description).

Ming is the guy highlighted in purple. Look at how high he is situated relative to the other guys (and this is his novel counterpart btw). Now I love (most of) my 188 blorbos so it is with true affection that I say Ming really is pretty mild for 188 standards but I remember everyone losing their collective shit over Ming and he was already sanitised in the show. Basically 99% of you can't handle Yuan Yang (or whatever his name will be in Thai). It's not even just the non-con. I'm not sure how familiar people are with the original plot of the Beloved Enemy novel but without spoiling too much, the main conflict is so vile that even I, a resident toxic yaoi enjoyer, was traumatised by it. The moot who made the chart even explained that they added the 人渣 scale specifically because of Yuan Yang. Is he uniquely bad, no, not really actually. He's just really bad in a boring basic way that I lost interest and couldn't even stand to read the extras.

Seriously, why THIS particular IP (I know why, it's for money) when Winner Takes All is right there. Look at him, Zhao Jinxin is the cutest red flag, he's not even a red flag, he's a pink flag. He will gaslight you, he gaslit me, he's the gaslighting king (actually no, that's probably Luo Yi or Shao Qun but Jinxin actually won me over so really who wins).

[sprolden]

whats the worst kind of relationship to have with anyone and why is it ex-best friend who you had a massive conflict with that got resolved but still makes you hate them a little at all times but only in the same way that you'll always love them a little for once being your best friend. and you have to pretend you dont feel either of those things because youre just casual friends now

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[tonycries]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, “Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

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My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

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[readwritealldayallnight]

“-other than that, wasn’t so bad.” Simon says, readjusting the material of the balaclava across the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His other hand is busy, keeping yours warm as you lead him down sidewalk after sidewalk.

The two of you have just finished having Sunday morning brunch at a local cafe, something you insisted was becoming ‘tradition’ after the second time it happened. And according to you, after finishing eating, (Simon never wanting to hear a word about you paying for a thing) the next part of this lazy morning routine calls for strolling about at a pace that he would normally find pointless, if not downright frustrating. But for you, he slows down.

“Butcher’s an interesting first job.” You reply, nodding along in thought. You picture a younger Simon, fresh out of school, probably fresh faced as well. He was likely as tall, though not yet as muscular as the military would make him. A meat clever in hand, bloody apron around his waist, he was likely still inadvertently intimidating people back then the way he does now. “I was mostly just taking babysitting jobs until I graduated. Liked it well enough.”

“I actually had to babysit a neighbour one time, when I was younger. Actual baby at tha’ too.” He tells you with a chuckle, slightly shaking his head at the memory.

“What?” You laugh as well, the image in your mind now swapping out the meat clever in a teenaged Simon’s grip for a drooling infant. “How did that work out?”

“Neighbour comes bangin’ on our door, she’s carryin’ the thing, it’s screamin’ its bloody little head off,” You roll your eyes at the way Simon refers to the child, swatting his arm playfully but listening on. “She tells me her husband thinks he’s havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. None o’ the other neighbours are home or answerin’ the door. ‘Fore I know it, she’s passin’ me the kid, askin’ if mum can watch her while she drives him to the hospital. Next thing I know she’s gone and I’m left with the thing.”

“Oh my gosh! Well where was your mum?” You ask, in disbelief that you’ve never heard this story from him before, half wondering if he’s pulling your leg.

“She wasn’t home, I can tell you that! Only me and the new lil’ orphan were.” He utters, strengthening his grip on your hand as you start to hunch over with laughter.

“Okay so wait, you were home alone? Oh no! How long did you have to ‘babysit’ for?” You giggle.

“Well technically Tommy was there but he would’ve only been a hindrance, told him to stay in his room.” Simon adds, pulling his hand out of yours, only to wrap it around your shoulder, now that you’ve come to a standstill at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Fuckin’ nearly 4 hours went by before mum came home and took over. Longest hours o’ my life. I think that might’ve been the day I enlisted actually.”

You elbow his side as you continue to laugh, seeing that he’s teasing you at the end now. You open your mouth to tease him right back, but your eye catches sight of the shop you’ve been standing in front of, jaw dropping wider.

“Simon!” You’re pulling him with a strength he would otherwise be impressed by if he wasn’t so suddenly caught off guard, senses kicking into high alert now as his head swivels in search of the cause of your distress. “How have we never seen this before??”

Oh.

He should’ve known better.

He actually had been avoiding taking you down this street for a little while now, but had been too caught up in his story telling to notice the direction you’d taken in him. His subtle effort of wrapping his arm around you to tilt you away from the storefront obviously hadn’t worked out. He opens his mouth to answer, but can only sigh when you’re already making your way towards the entrance of the pet store.

“We’re only lookin’, right?” He asks loud enough for you to hear as he follows you in.

Wrong.