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realcube · 1 day ago

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AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!

hot w/ hq duos! (pt 2)

ft.. ushijima + tendou // kuroo + kenma // kageyama + sugawara // bokuto + atsumu + sakusa // matsukawa + hanamaki

tws & tags.. nsfw minors dni. threeways (mmf). fourway (mmmf). specific warnings before each.

note.. click here for part one.

★ USHIJIMA + TENDOU

tw & tags.. vaginal, praise, begging, size kink, implied sex worker ! reader

it may have taken a decade, but the oppertunity finally arises wherein ushijima is able to visit tendou in paris. that's not to say they haven't seen in each other in ten years, but due to ushijima's commitments and contracts with the schweiden adlers, he is very bound to japan even during his time-off, which is why tendou most often flies home for them to meet.

however, ushijima eventually managed to arrange a trip to france. tendou showed him around the city, and most importantly, the chocolaterie he opened. he worked for an employer for seven years before he opened up a shop of his own; his pride and joy, and it was currently performing very well, business-wise. ushijima was more than impressed by his old friend.

while planning the journey, ushijima was going to book a hotel but tendou urged him not to waste his money, stating that his penthouse has a spare room for wakatoshi to sleep in. he embraced tendou's kind offer, and hence, at the end of their first day in paris together, ushijima joined tendou as they travelled back to his apartment.

what he wasn't expecting though, was a random woman roaming around the penthouse when they arrived. tendou didn't seem jarred or disturbed by your presense, so ushijima assumed your weren't an intruder. but equally, you weren't cleaning or cooking, so you couldn't be hired help. did tendou have a girlfriend he failed to mention?

when he turned to his friend to question your occupany in his apartment, tendou explained that he gets quite lonely while in paris — far away from his family and most of his friends — so he pays someone to keep him company. and you do your job very well, keeping him warm inside and out.

ushijima is still quite confused by his friend's explanation, so tendou suggests a demonstration.

though, tendou knows yourtimid and don't like visitors or guests — and hence his nickname for you: 'moody kitty' — so it takes some convincing, but you eventually agree.

your bent over the crytsal top coffee table, with your face and tits smushed against its cool surface while ushijima and tendou, stood next to each other, take turns ploughing into from behind. your skirt has been ripped off, so your bare ass and glistening pussy are on full display to both of them.

currently tendou is balls-deep inside you, sloppily rutting into your cunt over and over, while his familiar, slender fingers rub your folds and tormet your sensitive clit. your melodious moans ring throughout the room and highly overpower his low grunts that emit from his gut with each sporadic thrust. "mph, what a pretty, pretty kitty." he muses. "you've got nothing to be shy about. wakatoshi thinks your sexy too, right?"

"yes." he replies bluntly. ushijima stands aside and strokes his cock, mesmerised by the way your perky ass bounces and your entire perfect body quivers around tendou's dick. meanwhile, tendou doesn't seem to care about the fact he's got your brain fried from his tip repeatedly bumping your cervix. he just continued to rut into you, despite how your twitching figure and squelching pussy indicate that you can't take much more.

"ngh, fuck, sa— hah, satori! too much.." you whine against the table, the beads of saliva forming at corner of your mouth, sticking to the table, "m' so close!"

usually that would be a trigger for tendou to fuck you even harder, but in this instance, it reminds him that he has a guest present and signals that it is time for you to switch handler. "mmh, sorry about this, sugar.. you know i love to see your pretty pussy cum but.." without warning, he jerks himself out and motions for ushijima to take his place. "wakatoshi's turn now, princess. ya ready?"

you gasp at the unexpected action; your entire body suddering at how the cold air floods your previously conjested pussy. the burning sensation in your abdomen momentarily dies down, but it's short-lived, as the gape is soon filled by ushijima bullying his fat cock into your soaked cunt.

thankfully, tendou's actions and foreplay has made you sufficiently wet and lubricated, otherwise there would be no way in hell he'd be able to fit that monster dick inside your tight hole. even you laid there, shocked that it was fully inside you, as you could feel the way it protrudes from your tummy and pushes against your walls.

"mmph, too big! too full.. i can't!" you mewl, clawing at the smooth glass surface of the table to cope with the deliciously agonising stretch of your cunt. while ushijima and tendou simply pass entertained smirks to each other at your sweet cries.

"yes, you can, kitty. don't be shy." tendou purrs while stroking your plump ass, almost patronisingly. "be a good girl for wakatoshi like you are with me. show him how well-bahaved you are. c'mon, he doesn't bite."

ushijima does far worse than bite. you most definitely weren't ready for the way he fucked you. it was like you were being repeatedly impladed, yet somehow it was the best thing you've ever experienced. he had your eyes rolling back in your head and your tongue shamelessly hanging out from your mouth.

meanwhile, an entirely amused tendou slithers under the glass coffee table and lays on his back. that way, when he looks up, he can fuck his fist to the sight of your obscene facial expressions as you get your guts rearranged by his friend.

a smirk flickers over his lips, "not so shy anymore, are we, princess?"

you can't even pretend to grant his question with a sarcastic response as your mind can't even begin to form a coherent thought, from the way ushijima's bulbous tip tortures your g-spot. his dick raking against your spongy walls over and over until they are woefully sore from having to swallow him again and again.

since you were already high from sex with tendou, less than a minute with ushijima's dick inside your pussy already had you begging for a sweet release, "p-please! it's too much.." you cry, steaming up the glass under you with your hot breath, " 'm, ahh!— gunna cum!"

tendou's face burns as his hand furiously tugs at his cock, your gorgeous face and tits serving as perfect jerk material — not to mention your pornographic moans and drenched noises from your poor cunt. "nuh-uh, (y/n). can't cum til you ask wakatoshi for permission." he coos, meeting your lust-clouded gaze from beneath the glass — he can tell how badly you need to finish but unfortunately he loves teasing you even more. "c'mon. be good n' ask. use your words, kitty."

stringing together an intelligble sentence felt like an impossible task, but as you squeezed your eyes shut, and tensed your cunt around wakatoshi's lethal dick — relentless slamming into your pussy, you somehow manage to choke out, "mmmph, please, ushi— hah, fuck!" you spluttered, barely completing two words before an overwhelming surge of bliss overcame you again, throwing you off. but you found it in you to persevere, "can i cum? please can i finish?" you hastily breath out your inquiry as if it were all one word. your chest pressing against the glass with each deep breath you heave while stifling your impending orgasm.

ushijima continues his rythmic pace, his dick throbbing with in the confines of your homey walls as he feels his own climax fast-approaching. ".. yeah." he grunts.

but now it is your turn to shock him. as soon as merely utters the golden word, your cunt immediately clamps down on him, as you let your fiery high blissfully roll over you and totally embody the lust brimming in your abdomen.

and due to this, you even elicit a quiet groan from ushijima as he succumbs to his own climax and fires his hearty load into your hole. it's the best he's every had; he lets his vision glaze over as he's transported elsewhere. somewhere hot and soft. as he revels in the way your convulsing cunt desperately milks him dry, as though it were trying to savour every last drop of his precious seed.

even once you're both done, and you start coming down from your high, he remains buried in your snug cunt. he can't bring himself to pull out.

while ushijima stands there panting, tendou takes a break from pleasuring himself to crawl out from under the table to stand at the opposite end of the coffee table, where your face is. "how's that? good, isn't she?" tendou chuckles at his typically stoic friend appearing to visibly fucked-out.

wakatoshi nods breathlessly.

tendou hums in agreement as he slips his fingers under your chin to prop it up, as he uses his other hand to manoeuvre his cock into your glistening lips. he gazes down at you, and smiles warmly as you obidiently accept his length into your mouth, "she's perfect."

★ KUROO + KENMA

tw & tags.. power dynamics, inappropriate workplace relations, cockwarming, meanie! kenma, degredation, slight analplay, praise, handjobs, good cop/bad cop

kuroo and kenma have important work to do. recently, bouncing ball corp and it's affiliates have signed a contact to run a major event with the japanese volleyball association, led by yours truly. hence, there was less than a week less until the event and still mass amounts of work needing done.

there were heaps of paper work in kenma's office that required filing, while kuroo had thousands of emails to respond to and marketing to clear as head of the jva promotional division. together they decided that they needed to tackle this backlog head-on and pull an all-nighter together at kenma's office in tokyo. there they could have peace and quiet to simply focus on all the duties that required their attention.

they begun work at around 9AM and kept going until 5PM. then they took a one hour dinner break before resuming the grind. however, they ran out of steam again at around midnight, despite the multiple coffees and energy drinks they had gone through.

something stronger was nessecary to keep them focussed. and thankfully kenma had just the thing.

his cute secretary usually clocked out at 5PM but kenma was weary of the fact him and kuroo were going to stay late today, so he scheduled you a night shift instead.

kuroo was skeptical at how a secretary would be able to help with their workload, but he kept his inquires to himself while kenma summoned you to the office.

you arrived around ten minutes afer he texted you, and when kuroo laid eyes on you, it was like he had been instantly awoken, but mostly below the belt. the way your white blouse clung to your alluring figure, and your skirt was inappropriately tight and he could leer over every curve of your perky ass.

"ten minutes? what the hell.." kenma chides, but with a lot less force than usual — he's too tired to spank you like he usually does.

"sorry! i fell asleep at my desk again.." you clasp your hands together and apologise profusely, "i am really sorry. i put a special ringtone for your texts too that's really loud but i still slept through it.."

"again.. do i need a shock collar or something?" he stresses, fidgeting with the pen in his hand as he slouches against his desk. "or how about a vibrator? and i can keep the controller for it."

you blush at the idea, and kuroo is also thoroughly scandalised upon hearing the way kenma talks to his assistant. surely that violates lots of workplace harassment laws, he thinks to himself. however, his view will change once he starts to understand the special nature of the relationship you have with your boss.

"kenma, be nice." he comments. but kenma just rolls his eyes.

"this is kuroo, the head of the promotional divison at the jva." he introduces you to kuroo, then does the reverse, "and this is my secretary, (y/n)." his head snaps back round to glare daggers at you, "be polite, (y/n). don't embarrass me."

you nod nervously under his piercing amber scrutiny and rush over to shake kuroo's hand. "hi, nice to meet you, sir." you splutter.

kuroo smiles up at you warmly, "nice to meet you too." he's got a strong grip but you don't let go until he does first. then, you glance back at kenma for his approval, but all you see is him motioning for you to come closer to him.

which you do, wordlessly. once you are within arms-length, he yanks you forwards and pulls your skirt up, revealing your supple ass and your black thong. "you call that underwear? that's dental floss, slut.."

he spreads your cheeks and runs his slender fingers over your cute asshole, entranced by the way it subtly quivers at his cold touch. "kenma.. stop.." you whine, and kuroo watches in dismay as this happens.

little does he know, you are completed accustomed to and accepting of kenma's perverted antics. you're just a lil' shy when it comes to ass stuff. but even then, you have a safe word with kenma and it certainly isn't 'stop'. kuroo is too horrified (and turned-on) to utter a single word. he's petrified.

kenma lets go of your ass and for moment kuroo believes he has come to his senses, until kenma commands in a low voice, "strip." then kuroo's jaw virtually falls to the floor. and he's even more shocked when you actually do it.

they both watch intently as you sensually pull your skirt down then follow it up by tugging your panties off to reveal your entire ass and pussy. you also unbutton your blouse, then undo your bra and let your tits fall out. your nipples visibly pebbled and erect due to the cold air. and finally, you slip your heels off and shuffle awkwardly in place, awaiting further instruction.

midway through your little show, kenma begins to pull his trousers down to free hardened length. when he holds it in his hand, he doesn't even need to say a word, he just gazes up at you with that risque glint in his eye and you are already trained on what to do next.

usually he'll suck your clit a bit first or play with your nipples to dampen you enough to take his cock, but he hasn't this time, hence you especially struggle to sink down on him. but being the helpful man he is, he pushes you down by the shoulders until your sat nicely on his lap and he is balls-deep inside you.

"nngh, kenma, hurts.." you stutter, your nails digging into the thick material of his shirt. your growing increasing wet by the second, your juices even dripping down his shaft, but that hardly takes away from the strain on your walls.

"of course it does.." he mutters, picking up his pen in one hand and resting the other on the small of your back. "just stay put, okay?"

at some point during that suspicious encounter, kuroo was able to put the pieces together and realised that your relationship might not be entirely professional, like he had initially thought. which was a relief; he worried he was going to have to file an urgent report to HR about his childhood best friend.

"kuroo.." kenma spoke softly, "come over."

kuroo was unsure at first, but perhaps it was due the growing tent in his pants, or maybe his lust-clouded judgement, but he gave minimal resistance before he stood up from his chair, and dragged it over to kenma's side of the desk.

he then took a seat again, but right beside you and kenma. your face was hooked over kenma's shoulder, nuzzling into his bleached hair, while kuroo admired your naked figure, tenderly tracing your exposed spine with the pads of his fingers.

despite this attention, you paid no mind to kuroo whatsoever, causing a gasp to be ripped from your throat when kenma smacks your plump ass. "(y/n), what did i say about being polite?"

you pout at his harsh words then turn to kuroo with glossy eyes, who can only dote over your adorable expression. he cups your cheek in his hands and coos, "aw, don't be so mean to the pretty girl, kenma." he directs his first comment at his friend, then the latter at you, "you're tired, sweet thing, aren't you?"

you nod at his understanding, then nuzzle into his neck instead. he chuckles at this, "yeah? we're all sleepy, huh." you quickly realise he's more buff than kenma, from the way his muscles flex against your skin as he rubs your back. also, he smells like a man; an expensive man. you don't know what cologne he's wearing but it's intoxicating and so romantic.

kuroo starts to undo his fly and pull his cock out from the parition in the fabric of his trousers, but kenma — cold stare not averting from the paperwork in front of him — is quick to warn, "careful. she's a messy slut." he accenuates his point by shifitng his spare hand from the small of your back to under your ass, where he lift you slightly to reveal the creamy ring of essence you've left at his base.

kuroo, opting to save his trousers from being soiled, pulls them down to his knees. "not a slut," kuroo correct gently, as he works on freeing his dick from his briefs, "just excited."

you nod, gaze dropping to watch kuroo rub his long, exposed shaft. his other hand toys with your nipple, playfully but firm enough that it forces your body to face him. he huffs a chuckle at the way you gawk at his impressive length, "think you can help me out too, beautiful?"

"mhm." your hand wanders over his beefy thigh before you fingers cautiously wrap around his cock. his fierce eyes are fixed to you with a glaring precion, soaking up your every move. from the way your bare tits sway as you lean forward, or how you swallow a lump in your throat formed due to kenma cock still nestled up within your walls.

once you have him fully in your grip, you begin to pump his cock gently — stroking it, more than anything. and kuroo lets out a satisfied sigh at the stimulation. however, kenma must have misinterpreted it as a sigh of frustration, as he urges you, "(y/n), go faster. why're you being so lazy today?"

kuroo shakes his head, relaxing back into his chair, and holding your face into his neck by cradling your head. "it's fine, kenma. she's doing perfect." he reassures, pressing a benign peck on your temple, smiling into your skin, "you're too harsh."

kenma rolls his eyes, not averting his feline eyes from the work afore him even once, "she's not your secretary; i know she can do better." kenma argues, in his signature monotone, on accentuated by his tired voice, "maybe you're just too nice to whores."

"awh, don't listen to kenma, sweetheart. you're not a whore." he musues, admiring the way your pretty hands tug at his dick, and how your gorgeous naked body looks sprawled out across him and kenma. he could just eat you up; starting with those cute tits. "maybe you should come back to the jva headquarters with me. i have a lot of things i could use your help with."

"stop that." kenma spits.

kuroo titters at his half-assed attempt to poach his friend's secretary, then leans forward so he can reach his laptop. the rest of the night goes on like this, with kenma's cock planted inside your pussy, and kuroo occasionally grunting under his breath while you stroke him at a very mild rate. it's awfully intimate, and although you anticipate the encounter will escelate once kuroo and kenma finish their work, unfortunately you all fall asleep before that happens. and the janitor has a nasty surprise when he walks in on you all in that position.

★ KAGEYAMA + SUGAWARA

tws & tags.. oral (m receiving) , tit jobs, rough sex, handjob, sex worker! reader, degredation, praise and general messiness

the schweiden adlers scheduled a practise match against another team in their base location, and even though kageyama didn't anyone to watch, sugawara heard about the match through the grapevine and decided to attend — since he was in the area and had the day off work — in order to surprise and show support for an old friend.

suga appears in the stands with only around thirty other people watching, since it was only a practise match. around halfway through the game, kageyama noticed his familiar face in the small crowd, and they briefly flashed each other smiles of acknowledgement.

after the match, suga approached kageyama and they caught up a little bit. talking about what they've been doing since graduation and how things have been going in their personal lives. their conversation was cut short though as kageyama was being urged to shower and change out of his jersey by his coach, and suga happily offered to walk with him to the changing room.

as they walked through the hallways of the sports centre, they continued their idle chatter. suga brought up, "being a professional volleyball must be stressful, huh?"

"eh. not really." kageyama shrugged.

"huh?! seriously?! i mean, i work at an elementary school and i'm stressed out, like, all the time. i've already started finding grey hairs!" suga explains frantically, "so, i have no idea how you cope as a volleyball player. when there's so much pressure for you to perform well at matches, in front of millions of people."

kageyama is a bit perplexed by the 'grey hairs' comment, but he glosses over that and instead replies, "i guess it is a lot of pressure sometimes. but i deal with it pretty well."

"how?" suga asks desperately, anticipating kageyama to introduce him to some sort of intricate zen technique, or a life-changing diet regime. and naturally he was extremely disappointed when tobio responds with,

"there's a janitor at home base who gives blowjobs for ¥4000."

suga simply stares with his mouth hung agape, astounded. taking bjs off some old crusty janitor was not the solution he was seeking at all. however, kageyama must've interpreted his stunned silence as curiosity, as he added, "c'mon, i'll show you." as he makes a b-line down some random hallway, which was clearly not the direction they were meant to go in for the changing rooms, and suga has no choice but to follow him as he can't navigate through this building on his own.

albeit, he makes his intentions very clear as he marches after kageyama, "i'm not going to pay some random guy for a service like that. and you shouldn't be doing that either, it's messed u—" as he drones on, kageyama halts outside a random door and knocks on it, and suga is left truly speechless when the door creaks open and stood there is you in your tight-fitting janitors outfit.

suddenly, suga was reaching into his wallet to see if he had ¥4000 on him.

after an awkward interaction (followed by a smooth monetary transaction), your kneeled down in the janitor's cupboard with suga and kageyama stood in front of you. your bare chest was exposed but you kept your pants on, unlike the two of them who were eager to jam their dicks down your pretty throat.

kageyama was as rough as usual, making full use of your hair in order to maneuver you around to his will, forcing you to deepthroat his cock when he felt like it. "just like that, fuck. keep fuckin' going." he'd heave angrily, brows furrowed together in hedonistic fury.

he loved seeing the imprint of his dick in your neck, or against your puffy cheeks. and the way your eyes would screw shut whenever you got a taste of his bitter precum that would seep onto your tongue as you sucked. "better not stop.."

sugawara was far more adept at feigning kindness. he wouldn't grip your hair the way kageyama would, no, whenevr he wanted your attention, he'd gently cup your chin and guide it so you were gazing up at him. but it was all an act really, because he was far more perverted than kageyama every was. like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

whenever you were pleasing tobio, suga would lean over and fondle your tits while you'd pump his cock. he'd tug and pinch at your hardened nipples and smirk devilishly whenever he'd get any reaction from you. and he was up for far more than bjs, he'd bend his knees slightly so his dick slid perfectly between your tits, and when you'd press your girls together, he audibly groaned at the soft sensation.

through heavy lidded eyes you met the doting hazel stare of suga, who smiles down at you, "you're so pretty.." he muses, leaning over to cup your cheek in his hand, gently grazing your burning skin with his thumb. "such soft tits. you're a dream, dear." the kindness was foreign to you, thus you smiled up at him, while he continued to drag his dick between your tits, bumping your chin occassionally.

kageyama was quick to notice that your mouth was currently unoccupied, and hence seized the oppertunity to snap your head round towards him by your hair, causing you to yelp. "go on," he urged, guiding his cock back to your closed mouth and tapping his leaky tip against your lips, "get to work. swallow it, slut." he growled, a mocking smirk playing on his features.

tobio wasn't usually so forceful with you. he was abrasive, sure, but never rude. there was something different about him today, but admittedly, you kinda enjoyed it. the sinister glint in his ocean eyes caused a canal of heat to stir in your core, and pool in your panties, as you gazed up at him and obidently accepted his length back into your adoring mouth. all while sugawara was still thrusting his dick between your plush tits.

you pushed them together even further, causing a stifled whimper to be pulled from suga. "uhh— that's perfect, angel. thank you — acht, so much." he heaves, unable to suppress a delighted grin at your adorable little face, all stuffed with kageyama's cock, and your gorgeous tits which engulf him so well. "you're too good at that.."

kageyama's cock is shoved virgously down your throat, and he basically uses your mouth as his very own fleshlight. piloting your movements with his fist balled up in your hair, as his hips rock against your sloppy mouth. "heh, you look like a fuckin' whore like this." he blabbers through gritted teeth, "shit- might be cause you are one." and you can tell by the way his grin disappated and his eyes grow watery that he's getting close to his high.

but suga beats him at the chase, as his dick twitches against your chest and before you are given any time to prepare, he unloads his seed between your tits. and being the kind woman you are, you use your hands to push them together to keep his cock wrapped up tight as he climaxes, even if that means your entire chin, neck and tits are all coated in a layer of his semen.

he's got quite a hefty load, and he only pulls away once you are thoroughly painted. his eyes were screwed shut while he came, but once he is able to pry one open and look at the sticky mess he has made of you, he can't help but snicker to himself. "acht, sorry, angel. i've made an awful mess of you, haven't i?" he hums, talking to you in a disturbingly clement tone, "don't worry, it'll be easy to clean. we are in a janitor's cupboard, there should be something that could wi—"

"don't. she looks hot like this." kageyama states bluntly. during sugawara's orgasm, kageyama mercifully reduced his pace and allowed you to slowly bob back and forth on his length and lick his shaft. but not to make it easier for you or anything, of course not; it just happened naturally as kageyama was more entertained by watching sugawara cover you with his hot cum. it was so filthy.

"hah, look like even more of a whore now. covered in cum." kageyama huffed out a chuckle and began to increase the rate at which he was thrusting his cock into your mouth, with such intensity it was such to leave your lips bruised. "bet you like that, don't you? don't you?"

"mmph!" was all you were able to respond as kageyama frantically slammed you against his cock over and over, right until his thick cum unexpectedly shot down your throat. warm and suffocating, threatening to stick to the walls of your throat if you don't swallow it all — so you do, tentatively.

meanwhile, kageyama and suga's eyes did not part from you, not once. "yeah, drink it all up." kageyama groans, stumbling in place from his euphoric high, "savour it and don't miss any. not a drop."

you choke it all down like he orders, then open your mouth to show the proof. kageyama exhales in satisfaction, while sugawara pats your head, "wow, what a good girl, eh?"

you nod, pleased with your work, and believing that the session was coming to a close, you are about to stand upright from your knelt position on the floor, until suga uses his hand on your head to push you back down. "not so fast, angel. you're not done quite yet." he sings, reaching for his wallet which he sat on one of your shelves, "there's another ¥8000 in it for you if you want to go again."

you press your lips together and furrow your brows contemplatively. it's a tricky decision, and suga can detect your hesitancy, and thus he attempts to further persuade you, "c'mon, i think you'd look so pretty covered with some more of our cum, eh?"

★ MATSUKAWA + HANAMAKI

tws & tags.. analplay, vaginal, fingering, shower sex and just general pervertedness.

what you did not realise was that becoming matsukawa's girlfriend and moving in with him and hanamaki meant you were signing up be a live-in sex doll for both of them. and they were so so mean to you.

despite still living together, you didn't quite grasp how close they were prior to moving in together. they were certainly a dynamic duo. it's like you couldn't even have sex with just matsukawa anymore, it always had to be a threeway. which you didn't mind at first because double penetration is always fun, but it often gets to a point where you are so overstimulated, you can no longer tell if the cock stuffed balls-deep into your mouth is your boyfriend's, or someone else's. and the copious amount of cum dribbling out of your ass might've been his too.

and they weren't just meanies in bed either. matsukawa had a fasination with your tits and would pinch your nipples or tug at them while you were trying to cook dinner — or when you were trying to do anything in peace, really. hanamaki was more of an ass man, but when it came to you, he was just an all-round provoker. whenever you wore a skirt he'd always try to pinch your clit or tease your pussy in any way he could. it drove you crazy but you also loved it.

and it was impossible to escape them either, since there was usually always at least one of them in the house. and they were both constantly on. you can't even watch a movie together in peace; when you are at the most climactic part, and you assume they are both super absorbed into the film, they'll both start trying to finger your holes out of nowhere.

hell, you can't shower alone any more, they need to insert themselves in there too. even if they just had a shower that same morning.

so, here you all are together, squeezed into the one shower cubicle because they can't seem to seperate themselves from you for twenty minutes. you're all nude and pressed up against each; mattsun is standing in front of you, facing you and rubbing shampoo into your hair, while hanamaki is stood behind you, his erect cock sliding betwen your plump thighs.

you smile into your boyfriend's buff chest, as he caresses shampoo into your scalp, while you work on exfoliating your arms. he chuckles at the sensation and tilts your head up so he can press a long, sensual kiss upon your lips, which you happily return.

as your lips intimately weave together, you feel one of soap hands attach itself your tit and begin fondling it. you can't help but giggle at how typical that is, but you keep kissing and allow him to continue, as he still uses his other hand to massage your scalp. "got such cute tits, baby." he groans against your lips.

"you say that all the time.." you whine, and he only laughs.

"'cos it's true." he briefly pinches your nipple, causing you to mewl, "they're perfect. you're perfect, (y/n). got the best body i've every seen." his kisses trail from the corner of your lips to your jaw, to your neck, until your head is tossed back and you're moaning as he sucks deep hickeys into your skin. now his grip on your head is just being used to keep you close.

"barf." hanamaki grunts to himself while rolling his eyes. he was originally lathering shower gel on your back, be he seems to have descended to massaging your ass cheeks.

you cry even louder as matsukawa's fingers travel from your tits to between your thighs. he toys around with your labia and aggressively rubs your clit a little to warm you up, but due to all the lubrication from the shower, he doesn't need to wait long before he is able to slip his two digits right up your pleading enterance. "nghh— issei, don't stop, please!"

"i won't, baby. this desperate cunt need me that bad, huh?" his mouth frees itself from your neck, leaving marks that will surely blossom into pigmented hickeys by the morning, and he begins to kiss you again. but this time much more feverishly, shoving his tongue into your mouth and grinding your bodies against each other as he rapidly fingers you.

your legs even part slightly to grant him more access, and he takes this as a sign to speed up. lethally thrusting into your pussy and curling his digits against your spongy, sensitive walls until your basically sobbing for mercy into the kiss. "ahh— fuck, issei. 'ts too good! faster, faster please, issei! i need you.."

"course you need me, baby." his honeyed words are hot against your earlobe, "who else is going to fuck this greedy pussy everyday, huh? tell me." naturally, one of your legs ended up hooked around his hips; not only to increase the closeness but also so he could reach your g-spot with ease. however, hanamaki interpretted that as an oppertunity for himself. you paid no mind at all when you heard him getting on his knees behind you, no, you were far too involved with the wet make-out session with your boyfriend and the way he expert finger slid feverishly in and out of your cunt.

but you had no choice but to notice his actions when you felt hanamaki's tongue worm into your tight ass. instinctually you jerked away from the kiss to gasp and writhe at the strange sensation, but matsukawa held you very still in his strong arms.

"awh, baby, what's wrong?"

it didn't take a genius to figure out what his friend was doing to you, and he couldn't help but be entertained by it. the way your little face screwed up at the intrusion yet he could tell your eyes glinted with excitement at the foreign sensation. your even bit down harshly on your bottom lip as though you were trying to prevent your tongue rolling out and giving away how much you truly liked it. so fucked out you couldn't even respond to his simple question.

"look at that face. aren't you just the cutest thing?" he swiped one of his soapy hands across your nose, leaving a trail of foam in it's wake. not that you cared, you were too overcome by the feeling of hanamaki's tongue gliding in and out of your ass, and his soft lips working expertly against your puckered hole. "feel good, baby? want more?"

you hesitated, looking up at your boyfriend with a slight grimace, and he contiued, "no point in lyin'. i can see it all over your face. you like it, dont you? you don't need to be ashamed, pretty girl. we're here to take care of you, okay?" he got increasingly closer to your face as he spoke, and at the end of his question, he locked his lips with yours. and kissed back, despite the shrieks caged at the base of your throat from how good hanamaki's mouth was making you feel. in tandem with your boyfriend's fingers still sloppily thrusting into your messy cunt.

when hanamaki eventually pulled out, you were only spared a momentarily rest, as the power of matsukawa's fingers was growing by the second. perhaps you had been given relief from the tongue inserted into your hole, but the force of matsukawa's fingering was ready to lead you to your climax at any moment. and you were moaning desperately and frantically against his lips in preparation. "issei, please, please! 'm so close, fuck me faster. please, issei."

meanwhile, hanamaki had grown painfully bored. it wasn't fair that his friend got all of you attention — and why? just because the two of you were dating? rubbish.

he thought maybe while in the shower he should focus on cleaning himself. he searched for a bar of soap, then a luffa. during which, he saw one of those luffa's attached to stick hanging from the shower caddy. the stick part was likely to aid in the luffa reaching one's back, but it gave him a bright idea.

he reached over and grabbed it. and just as your insides were ready to spill all over your boyfriend's fingers stuffed into your pussy, hanamaki jams the handle right up your tight asshole. as much of the length as he could manage in one push.

"takahiro!" you squeal, your voice echoing off the walls of the shower as you finally come undone over your boyfriend's fingers. your own fluids ejecting from your pussy mixing in with the lukewarm water already dripping all down your legs.

"takahiro?" matsukawa defensively jerks his fingers straight out of your pussy upon hearing you call his friend's name instead of his own. "who has been fucking your cunt this whole time?" he argues, completely oblivious to what is going on behind the scenes.

"you like that, (y/n)?" hanamaki muses cockily, toying with the stick a tiny bit. observing how moving it only slightly would elicit such large reactions from you. "want my dick in there too? huh?"

"what?" matsukawa snips.

★ BOKUTO + ATSUMU + SAKUSA

tws & tags.. oral (m + f receiving), anal, breeding kink, impact play, rough sex, degredation, praise, squirting. won't make sense unless you read part one.

sakusa subconsciously twitches at the delicious sight of you completely bare, bent over in front of bokuto, and your glossy lips wrapped firmly around the base of atsumu's cock.

invited into the ordeal, regularly he'd turn his nose up at something like and scornfully report the indecency to the coach, but there was just something so alluring about you in this state. that's how his legs moved on their own to carry him towards your body, specifically situating himself beside bokuto and promptly kneeling down.

as he does so, his eyes are lasered to your gorgeous, gently shivering body, all bare and exposed for them. his gaze is especially stuck to your pretty, glistening cunt, currently stuffed with bokuto's beefy cock and drooling around it.

bokuto and atsumu are both in a state of shock. they're still out of breath as they were coming down from their imminent, unfulfilled orgasms, due to sakusa's rude interuption. but they can't find it in themselves to be mad or frustrated. in fact, they briefly share a look of relief with each other, due to sakusa opting to join their little tryst instead of rebuking them for it.

however, evidently some shuffling needs to be done in order to accommodate for sakusa's desires. he's on his knees beside bokuto, clearly wanting to get a taste of your pretty pussy (thankfully before it was soiled with bokuto's cum.) so bokuto, very kindly, pulls out with a lewd squelching noise, to allow kiyoomi to shuffle over between your legs so his head aligns with your cunt.

"you okay if kiyoomi joins in, baby?" atsumu asks mockingly while stroking your hair, snickering when your reply is entirely muffled by his cock stuffed in your mouth.

"she doesn't mind, do ya?" bokuto asks rhetorically, grabbing a joyous fistful of your ass as he does so. "this pussy's wet enough for all of us, huh?"

"yeah, you're a brave girl, you can handle three guys, right?" atsumu looks down at you with a condescending smirk, as he strokes your head with his thumb, "we'll be gentle with this delicate body, promise."

"you know we take good care of ya." bokuto smiles, holding his cock which has been smeared with your fluids. not that he minds, only makes it easier for him to relocate and slip it straight into your tight ass, along with the subtle forewarning, "incoming." before he jams it right into you.

atsumu laughs as he watches you eyes screw shut and your mouth twitches around his dick. "that hurt, baby?" he teases, not expecting a response. he can read it all by the mere expression on your face. it was the most sultry agony, the congestive sensation created a infectious pleasure that pervaded your entire nude body. every inch of your exposed flesh pricked in delight at how bokuto's fat length felt in your snug ass.

"shit, she's tight.." bokuto gritted, barely leaving you with any time to adjust before he automatically began rolling his hips against your ass, "don't think you'll ever pull me out of her.." he panted with a ghost of a smile.

the pace began to pick up, in every hole. atsumu held your face in place as he always did, while he fucked into it. while bokuto marvelled in the newly discovered sensation, groaning uncontrollably while slowly thrusting into your pristine asshole — very sedate and savouring every inch of you.

the new addition, sakusa, was planted between your legs. his big hand captured your thigh to hold it in place and ensure your legs were sufficiently parted. his thumb dug into your supple skin while his other hand worked at your folds, spreading them wide so he could admire your splayed pussy for a moment. then, he buried the flat of his tongue deep against your labia, and pressed his lips against your cunt — exploring your pussy thoroughly with just his mouth, investigating every dip and lapping at each part.

he was quick to locate your sensitive nub and paid it all sorts of attention: from vibrating his tongue against it to sucking on it to kissing it tenderly. all of which caused you to whine as atsumu continued to shove his cock down your throat.

"fuck— ki— mmph, kiyoomi, what're you doing t'her?" he grunted, tossing his head back from the way your mouth reverberated around his dick. "the bitch won't shut the fuck up— mgh, that slutty mouth."

sakusa didn't answer. though you did feel him smile against your juicy cunt. this confirmation was enough to persuade him to venture further. his furious make-out session with your damp pussy was halted when he abruptly chose to dive inside your hole, swiftly shoving his tongue past your entrance and worming around in your homey walls. all while his lips still moved against your puffy folds.

since he had been teetering on the edge of an orgasm right before sakusa had entered the changing room, it wasn't long before atsumu's pumping into your mouth became sporadic, and he began to lose stamina, due to his impending climax clouding his mind and draining his energy. "ah, shit, baby. you've got me so close; so god damn close. finish me off quick and i won't make a mess all in this pretty hair, mkay?" he joked (or at least, you hoped he was joking.)

"y-yeah, me too.." and bokuto was the same, although since your clenched little asshole was basically suckling on his cock, his pace had steadily been far more relaxed, holding onto your plush ass cheeks while he leisurely dragged his cock from and into your hole, exhibiting a prolonged groan each time. "shit.. look, your ass won't let go of my cock. hah, guess i gotta cum inside. you don't mind, do ya, (y/n)?"

"nah, she's used to being our cumdump." atsumu huffed a chuckle.

"damn right she is." bokuto panted with a harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clamp down on his cock which pried a stifled whimper from him. "shit." he cursed under this breath.

the bubbling pool of hot liquid within in your stomach was also growing exponentially every passing second. you were just so full; stuffed to the brim with appendages jammed into each of your pleading, desperate holes. there was no breathing room left. bokuto's monster cock was forced so far up your ass that you were left straining to try fit him all inside, a lewd stretch of your hole each time he'd push into you. along with atsumu's length, which required you to deep-throat whenever he carelessly shoved it as deep as he could physically manage.

at the cherry on top was sakusa's expert tongue rummaging around your spongy insides as though he searching for something. and he was, and you had hell to pay when he found it; your g-spot. his merciless tongue abused that shit to an unholy degree. you were only spared a break in ten second intervals when he'd yank his tongue out of your cunt so he could kiss and lap at your wet pussy, devouring your folds and licking up your juices, but that relief was fleeting, before he would dive right back into your hole and resume his torture on that gummy, sensitive spot inside you.

you weren't sure what his agenda was. why he was so adament on making you feel extraplanar levels of ecstasy, and how he possibly got off on that, but you weren't left with much time to contemplate before you were furiously orgasming aginst his face, squirting your fluids onto the floor and into his mouth while your entire body convulsed.

bokuto and atsumu quickly followed suit. "shit, (y/n), let go— your too fuckin tight— hah—" the way your ass cleched around his cock was enough to tip him over the edge. vision filled with stars, bokuto unloaded spurts of his hot seed into your asshole, filling it all up to the brim, enough cum to peek out your puckered enterance after he pulled out. "oh, fuck.. that grip.. was insane."

meanwhile atsumu experiences a similar flurry during his finish as ropes of his sticky cum are shot down your throat. his head tips back and he grinds your face down on his dick as he finished, until the tip of your nose was brushing his base, "ah, just like that, sexy. drink it all up.. keep suckin' til i'm dry, baby. i'll tell you when to stop." he blubbered all sorts of nonsense when he was high.

by the time he removed his cock from your mouth, you were too paralysed from pleasure to even move and inch, still bent over with cum sliding down your throat, and filling up your asshole too. not to mention sakusa's lips which were still locked to your pussy, but thankfully his tongue had given your g-spot a break.

bokuto motion for atsumu to come round the back, so he lurched over. bokuto spread your cheeks and planted a big hand on the small of your back to keep you bent over, as he displayed his conquest to his friend — the sight of his cum peeking out of your puckered asshole. "so damn cute." bokuto expressed triumphantly. then he tilts his head and comments, "reminds me of a cream filled donut."

"hah, fatass."

while they were engaging in their mindless patter, sakusa had finally stopped working on your pussy and stood up straight, aiding you in doing the same. when you are upright, he snakes an arm around your lower back and pulls you close against him, gazing down at you with a hungry glint in his eyes you've never seen from him before. "while they are flaccid," his hot breath tickles your lips, while the firm tent in his pants grinds against your thigh, "do i get you all to myself?"

#sakusa smut #atsumu smut #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #haikyuu smut #kageyama smut #kenma smut #matsukawa smut #sugawara smut #ushijima smut #tendou smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #kuroo x reader #ushijima x reader

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prettyboykatsuki · 19 hours ago

Text

lace | (qin che)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader ( gendered language + perfomancne of femininity (hair, makeup and nails)), established relationship, reader is not explictly mc, lingerie, loverboy sylus, unprotected sex, praise kink, squirting, sex toys (a butt plug), a very affectionate kind of objectification, creampies, riding (sylus is doing the work tho), 18+

♡ wc; 3.2k (what da hell)

♡ a/n ; this was supposed to be a birthday fic but its mad late. if you're wondering what readers outfit looks like imagine this but its a darker red and she's wearing a little bow choker and her stockings have bows. ok

be nice abt my sylus characterization writing him is so nervewracking lmao

♡ synopsis ; sylus figured you would give yourself to him as a gift, but finds himself pleasantly surprised by how seriously you take that promise.

Arousal blooms in his chest, petals pulled open by your neatly manicured fingers, gently nudged open.

He'd been expecting the gift. He just didn't think it'd shake him so easily. Not that he isn't always charmed by you, but it's been a long enough time that he can handle you. Mostly.

His desire for you is something he can manage without feeling taken off guard.

It's rare he feels that way. Some of his confidence is feigned, but most of it is sincere. Sylus faithfully believes in both his ability to withstand whatever you decide to throw at him, and your ability to surprise him.

All things accounted for - truthfully, he had been suspecting you'd do something like this. Birthdays are important to you, and you like having a reason to dress-up anyhow.

So he was prepared for it, one way or another. He thought you'd do something like this, seen the money come out of his account a few weeks prior. He was excited then - mostly to tease you.

A fair exchange for how he's wrapped around your finger. He'd have made you done a little spin, tiled his head and quirked his lips as he asked if it was all for him. Smile at you lovingly while you glared at him irritated and bashful.

He was excited more-or-less. Now he's... well, maybe he can still call it that. Not nervous, not quite elated - some in between. Nerves suspended in mid-air, the kind of thrill he gets only now and again.

It's rare for anything to make his heart beat this loudly. It's not the first time you've accomplished it, but it never fails in it's novelty.

Just seeing you in your attire is enough to knock all of he air out of his lungs.

The air around you feels different as you come through the threshold of the bedroom door. Wearing a warm, familiar and playful expression - while you're nothing but provocative from the neck down.

You're dolled up from head-to-toe. Hair, make-up, nails.

A full fit of lingerie.

Everything is in a matching shade of maroon. A lace bow is secure around your neck in the same color.

You look up at Sylus with mirth in your eyes. A satisfaction even as you wait in earnest for his approval. You do a little spin, your robe swishing around you. And then you beam at him, all smiles.

"Don't I look nice?"

He almost scoffs reflexively. "You look like something out of a painting,"

Your heels click on the tile floors as you venture to him closer and closer. Sylus watches on silently until you stop in front of him.

"It's your birthday. We can get straight to business, if you like."

Sylus stares at you, slumped against the leather couch. It creaks under his weight.

"It'd be a shame to rip through such precious wrapping," Sylus murmurs, breath-taken. "Let me see you,"

You smile a little brighter. Pleased that he's interested, as if there was a way he wouldn't be. Your heels click when you take a step back, undoing the loose belt of your floor-length robe and let it fall open.

Sylus feels himself draw in a sharp breath as you show yourself off. The smooth curves of your body are all wrapped tightly in a sheer panels of lace and tulle. A bodysuit hugs your figure, balconette bra making everything sit pretty - thick ribbon straps tied at your shoulders. Your thighs are plush underneath garter straps, keeping up a pair of stockings in the same color. Sylus lets his eyes drift, lets them catch where the lace circles tightest around your thighs before they go lower.

At your feet are a nice pair of heels. A few inches high with something fluffy attached - a cute detail to go with your robe. You've got loose tulle gloves that for some reason knock him silent.

Sylus lets you model it for a while. Leans back into his seat and feels his cock strain tight against his pants at the sight of you. All the effort you put in him for makes him dizzy.

You let your robe drop finally, before turning on your heel.

He puts a hand over his mouth when he sees the back. Tries to be subtle. Feels a little thankful that you don't see him falter over it. You're so gorgeous he really doesn't know what to do.

Unsurprisingly he quite likes the view. It's not entirely revealing - but it's more ribbon then cloth. The small of your back hosts a little ribbon corset that stops just half-way - leaving most of your back exposed. Your ass is visible accentuated with more thin lines of red fabric.

You're wearing backseam leggings. For a reason he can't quite put into words, they're what seems to catch his attention most. From the back of your knee - a single seam all the way to the bottom of your foot. A long red-line, with a ribbon bow at the back of your ankle.

It's such a small detail, really. Maybe that's why Sylus finds himself so utterly enamored by it. It's the attention to such little things that he feels so aroused by.

You look over your shoulder, pleased by his silence. A coy, coquettish smile and mischievous air. A sweet scent surrounds you, freshly bathed - something like vanilla and spice.

Is this what being under a spell feels like? Sylus thinks it's the first time he's ever been so entranced.

"You're awfully quiet," You say, warm. A hand on your hip as you turn again, walking towards him. "Not a fan of the look?"

He laughs under his breath. "More like I'm speechless. I'm afraid there isn't a word good enough for you,"

"Are you flattering me?"

"Not at all. Just telling you how I see it," Sylus replies.

You sit yourself down in his lap again like you own it. "You like what you see?"

"Very much so,"

You smile at him, preening under the attention. You're seducing him successfully - but not for the reasons you might assume. You trail a finger down his jaw - head tilted with shimmering eyes. "It's your birthday, big guy. You can have whatever you want,"

"Are you sure that's a smart offer to make? I'm feeling a little greedy this evening, it seems."

Your laugh is warm, a bubbly sound like giggling that makes Sylus smile.

"Isn't it fine? It's your birthday after all," You lean in slightly, your voice closer to his ear. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, manicured nails slightly sinking into his skin. "Plus, I made preparations you know,"

He looks at you with his brows quirked but you just smile at him. You find his hand and hold it, bringing it between your thighs. Sylus' eyes widen as you pull away at the fabric covering your pussy.

With your hand over his, you guide his hand - his fingers where you want them. You use your finger to push his, middle finger pressing past your folds. A noise of effort escapes your lips as Sylus watches you in awe. His digit slipping into you easily, much easier then he can on a normal day. Almost like you—

"Stretched myself out in the shower," You hum, pleased. There's a sound in your voice like you know this is going to ruin him. It's working. His other hand finds your ass, holds it tight - trying to anchor himself as his fingers sit in the wet warmth of you. It's his own movement now. He tests three and each slide in without resistance and Sylus feels his chest get tight with arousal. Fuck. "Took a while. Had to use a few toys to get it—ngh, stretched completely. You know, for both holes,"

"You—kitten," His voice is thick with lust as he curls his fingers in. Feels you stretch. Feels the plug in the other side of you that makes his breath hitch. "That's not fair,"

"What are you saying? I did it for you, silly. Consider it your last present for today. Indulge a little. You always take good care of me, Sy." You're being sweet to him while you're riding his fingers and Sylus wonders when you learned to be like this and if he was always so weak. He's usually composed, even when you're fighting him tooth and nail to not be.

Maybe it's the fact you're not trying to work him up or break him that's doing it for him. You're being coy and cloying, but sincere in giving him a gift.

He feels strangely lightheaded at the thought of you gifting your body to him. Really gifting it to him. Not as a playful bit between you.

Sincere enough to stretch yourself all the way open in the shower for him, to dress up and dry your hair. To pick out a pretty outfit and wrap yourself in a red bow.

All for him.

"Sweetheart," Sylus groans. Deep from his chest, suddenly on edge. You laugh at him lightly and Sylus feels you tighten around his fingers. He puts his head on your shoulders and closes his eyes.

You're breathing with effort as you speak. "Let me finish, jeez. You always take good care of me when we do it, yknow. And you never let me do anything, which is nice but," You pull back and your lashes flutter. Sylus can't imagine living a thousand more lives and seeing anything half as beautiful as you. "Well sometimes I want to. I love you just the same as you do me. And I swear eventually I'm gonna fit you in my mouth—your dick is just fucking enormous but whatever—I'll do it eventually, anyway, the point is -"

Sylus just laughs. It startles you a little, but he can't help himself. Doesn't know what else to do to express how fucking endearing he finds you then and there. You pause, faltering a little. A pout on pretty lips.

"Don't laugh at me,"

"At you? I could never sweetheart. I'm just," He takes a breath. "Mm, what's the word? Happy, perhaps"

"Perhaps? Sylus you're hurting my feelings,"

"Am I?"

"Well...no, but. Don't say perhaps. I can't read your mind and you're making me kinda nervous,"

How silly for you to be nervous when just looking at you makes him like this. He hums, bemused. "Nervous?"

You give him a look. "Well I was expecting you to be more... I dunno... all 'oh, you dressed up for me sweetheart, how cute' like always but,"

He scoffs lightly. "Is that how I sound to you,"

You ignore him. "But you're being all... nice and stuff."

He laughs again and you flush. "Nice and stuff. Am I not usually nice?"

"You're..! Well you are but I dunno. I can't tell what you're thinking today. I feel a little silly,"

"Should I tell you then? What I'm thinking?" Sylus quips. You nod, almost hopeful.

"I'm thinking I've somehow gotten very lucky," Sylus presses a kiss to your cheek. Another at the corner of your mouth "And that, I must've done something monumental in my past life to have you all to myself,"

Sylus puts his lips where your pulse is, feels your heartbeat underneath thin skin. You pause before speaking. "And?"

He smiles a little. "And it'd be a great shame to waste any more time without enjoying my gift to the fullest. I'm saying I like it. Tell me how I should prove it to you?"

You giggle. It's a sweet sound, a breath of relief as you bury your face into his shoulder. Sylus lets his hands roam, sitting at the small of your back as you settle your weight into his lap. Sylus feels spurred to continue. "How could I tease you when you're trying so hard to please me? Do you think I'm so unaffected?"

"It's not my fault I have a hard time believing the big bad boss of Onychinus could get all worked up over little ol' me,"

Sylus hums. His fingers sink into the plush of your hips as he pulls you down - your clothed pussy flush to the outline of his clothed cock. "What a silly thing to think,"

"Oh fuck," You moan soft into his ear, both arms around his shoulders. Sylus likes the way you feel when you cling to him. How you breathe how your hips stutter. "Ngh, you're so hard,"

"All for you. I'm all yours,"

Sylus smiles a little as you grind yourself against him subconsciously. A careless cant of your hips as your body sinks against his chest. Sylus often teases about you being a kitten, but it's because of moments like this. Needy and unthinking like a cat in heat, making it easy on him to pin you down. He can feel you get off on him, feel how your movements stutter when you catch on your clit - shoulders trembling from pleasure.

Sylus presses his nose to your shoulder and lets you get off to your hearts content. Holds your body as tight as his hands can grip when you do.

"Sylus," Your words are long and drawn out.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Come on," You beg, not all the way there. "Use me already,"

He breathes in sharp, laughing. You really don't play fair.

He doesn't say anything of your request. "You don't have to wait for me. You can take what you want,"

A noise of complaint gets mumbled into his chest as you pull away from him. You lean back where you sit in his lap - face flushed, gloved hands quickly undoing the buckle of his belt and the zipper of his slacks. Sylus watches you through lidded eyes. Hooking your pointer into his boxers, you tug down just far enough to let his cock spring free and pull it out. It stands tall. A hard, heavy weight leaning against his dress shirt. Pre-cum dribbles against the material as it sways back.

The rough material of your tulle gloves makes Sylus hiss. You wrap your fist around the shaft of his cock but it doesn't fit - your fingers not touching.

You lean down as best you can and spit hard onto the head of his cock. Sylus groans as he feels it run down his length. Satisfied, you use your grip to stroke him until his cock is sticky and wet, making a mess of your gloves as they're stained with saliva and cum.

You push his shirt until it's bunched over his abs, feeling them up after you've prepared him.

"You're so big," You mumble. Sylus chuckles.

"Yeah?"

You nod, eyes glazed over. A thousand thoughts run through his mind at once but at the end of each last one is somewhere between adoration and lust.

Without ceremony, Sylus watches you stand on your knees on either side of his thighs and pull the material of your bodysuit away from your pussy. With your free hand, you hold onto his shaft and shimmy yourself down until the tip of Sylus' cock is right at your entrance.

You sink down onto his cock just like that - near effortless.

Sylus moans. It's never easy to get himself inside of you, but you're so soft inside. So perfectly stretched. Warm and sticky and inviting, he groans unabashedly as you sink down on his length slowly. Swallowing him up in a panting breath.

There's barely any resistance, but you're still tight from the plug you wear. You must've been fucking yourself for a long while to get like this and the image is seared into his mind. Sylus can't imagine how long it took you to get yourself like this. Your body never yields to him this easily, at least not until he's had his way with you over and over until you're so pliant you might shatter into pieces.

Sylus feels his body go slack from arousal. A feeling of electricity flickering up his spine as his cock is completely enveloped by your warmth. The head nudges against your cervix as you lose strength in your legs - bottoming out with a gasp.

Sylus growls. It's a low sound, a desperate one. His cock aches, desire welling up in his veins. He lets his head fall back, unusued to the sensation of getting everything in at once. His throat bobs as he hands find your ass. Gripping tight, he catches his breath as he feels you over him wobbling.

"Sylus," Your voice is so whiny like this. So endearingly gone. "Sylus, you're so big. Oh, it's—aah,"

His lashes flutter as he struggles to hold himself back. His dick and usual sense slowly ticking away. He opens his eyes loosely, putting a hand to your stomach before trailing it up - almost near your ribs. His voice is murmur soft. "I'm all the way in here,"

You make a choked noise, falling forward against his chest. "...Nn yeah. Mm. 's full."

He laughs but its incredibly strained. "You're really talented in getting me worked up, you know?"

"I'm not trying to,"

Sylus chuckles. "Oh I know,"

"Sylus," You whine.

He kisses your shoulder. "Yes, dove?"

"Fuck me. Please? Wanna move but I think my legs gave out,"

Sylus laughs again, warmer this time. Fonder. "How could I say no to such a sweet request?"

With you limp in his lap, it's all too easy for Sylus to hold you but your hips and fuck into you. You're almost weightless with your much you've melted into him, stuck to him with gravity.

Sylus is strong. With and without his EVOL. He thinks its a necessary thing to be given all he has to protect.

But it has its other uses.

It feels good being able to move you up and down on his cock like it's nothing. Not really moving his own hips to meet your movements, but holding you with both hands and picking up your full weight before pulling you back down again—while you claw into his shoulders for purchase. It's the first time you've ever been fucked open enough for him to do it without hurting you.

Even though he's fucking you hard enough for it to echo against his bedroom walls. The wet smack of skin to skin, the filthy sound of your pussy being carved into the shape of him, your hips slamming down on him relentlessly. Doing it without worry or concern.

There's something unusually animal about fucking you this way. No restraint, more like you're mating then making love.

It feels good to feel all of you. Feel every single inch of your perfect, pretty cunt - walls trembling on each thrust. Your short breaths and shaky moans, your nipples hardening through the salacious lace of your top and pressing against the swell of his chest.

You just feel so fucking good. You make him feel so good.

"I can't get enough of you, sweetheart," Sylus says, half-way to losing his mind inside of you but trying to keep it together. "You feel so perfect, I don't know if I'll be able to let you rest."

"Sy," Your voice is warped with pleasure, a loud needy cry for him and him only. "Wanna cum, wanna cum on your cock, Sylus please,"

"Touch yourself, sweet girl," Sylus hums. "I'll fuck you until you can't take it, so touch yourself and feel good,"

Sylus feels your shaky hand maneuver between your bodies. Your fingers twitch as you rub tiny circles into your throbbing clit, immediately clamping down his length from pleasure.

Sylus watches you as it all comes down at once. Your body weakened, numb from pleasure as you needily chase your own high. The sound of his name broken on your lips, rocking yourself to match his movements and grind into your fingers.

"I'm cumming. I'm cumming, I'm cumming, 'mcumming,'m—"

Sylus feels it. Your pussy squeezes, grips around the length of his cock like a vice. There's a sudden wetness, a spray of something wetting his abs and slacks. You whimper as he fucks you through the tremors. Fucked entirely stupid, even your thank yous come out slurred.

Sylus follows quickly behind, pumping his cum into you with a deep breath. He can feel it rise up, thick hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Touching a place he thinks he's only just reached for the first time.

You both pause to catch your breaths as Sylus takes a moment to toy with one of your garters. He kisses your neck, speaking into it.

"Thank you for the birthday gift. I think I'll take my time unwrapping it," Sylus hums.

You laugh tired. "Mm. Glad to know it was a success,"

#sylus x reader #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #writing tag #where small;#lads x reader #lads smut

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missadangel · 12 hours ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.”

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.”

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?”

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around.

“How mature,” he remarked quietly.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.”

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.”

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure? You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?"

"Of course, I love him."

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you?

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her.

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled.

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious.

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!”

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.”

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge.

He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away.

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.”

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled.

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.”

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—”

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.”

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?”

“No, what I mean is—”

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.”

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-”

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...”

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?”

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes.

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand.

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?”

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.”

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?”

“It all depends on what’s in there.”

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back.

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.”

“You wish,” you grunted.

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied.

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased.

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.”

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again.

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered.

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw.

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you. I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?”

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle.

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?”

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.”

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing.

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology.

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself.

“You didn’t say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.”

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing.

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless.

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips.

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted.

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly.

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze.

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room.

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.”

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend.

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers."

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted.

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage.

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot back at him.

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please."

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on.

Your man.

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of him by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.”

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief.

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.”

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table.

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language.

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light.

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip.

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you.

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.”

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued.

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. There’s something I’ve come to realize. I’ve wanted you to be in my world, but I was wrong, I was missing something,” he explained as you opened the box.

Inside lay a card and a key

At once, you recognized them; it was the same card and key you had used so many times for the elevator and the door of the apartment. “Harry,” you breathed out, astonished.

“You said you don’t belong in my world, so let me into yours.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?”

You nodded. “Absolutely.”

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

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sadiesdoll · 2 days ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 The Way You Stay. 𝜗𝜚

stripper!reader x loyal costumer!sevika ♡

contains: heavy angst, Sevika is kind of a bitch, pining, slow burn, domestic intimacy, fingering (r!receiving), no aftercare after sex, slight degradation, hickey, dom!sevika, slightly bratty sub!reader, drunk!sevika, emotional unavailability, Sevika is kinda soft towards the end.

Hey guys.. first time posting on here.. kinda nervy...

okay so I'm planning on making this a multi-part series or even just a 2 part. (Which is so crazy cus it's my first official piece of work ahh that's so brave of me omg who's proud) but um. Yes.

WC: 6779

Enjoy ♡

The bass thrums through the walls of the club, low and heavy, and the airs thick with perfume, sweat, and booze. You spin slow on the pole, letting your hands glide down its cool metal surface as you drop into a split. The men around the stage whistle and groan like clockwork, throwing crumpled bills that flutter to your feet like confetti. You ignore them, like you always do.

You’ve danced this stage a hundred times, but tonight the lights feel warmer. Heavier. Maybe because you already know who’s watching.

Sevika. She’s different from everyone else watching.

She doesn’t gawk. She doesn’t catcall. She sits in the back corner booth, same one every time. Manspreading, one arm slung lazily over the leather seat, watching you with a look that isn’t quite boredom, but definitely isn’t interest either.

You can never tell what she’s thinking, and it drives you crazy.

There’s a half-finished drink on the table, a fresh cigar between her fingers, and eyes that haven’t left you once.

It’s not the first time, and it sure won’t be the last.

She comes once every week. Sometimes even twice. Never brings friends. Never asks for anyone else.

Only you.

And still, everytime you slide into her space, it’s like starting over. And it’s frustrating.

The music ends. Applause erupts. You quickly collect your tips and slip off stage, heading to the back. It’s loud back here too. Music and moans blending from the private rooms, but you find a moment to grab a glass of water, letting the coolness chase the heat off your throat.

You step back out. And sure enough, Sevika’s still there.

You slide into the booth across from her, eyes flicking over the low drink in her glass.

“Rough day?” You ask, dropping into the seat across from her for once instead of her lap, just to mess with her. Your voice is light, playful.

She doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slow and steady, a ribbon of smoke trailing from her pretty lips. Then she finally speaks.

“Is it that obvious?”

You blink. That… almost sounded like honesty.

“Maybe a little,” you tease, elbow on the table, chin resting in ur hand. “I know you. You only slouch like that when something’s bothering you.”

That earns a glance. Nothing more. Just a slow drag of her eyes over your face, your neck, your chest, your thighs.

You’re still in your lingerie. You’re always still in your lingerie when she’s around.

“I slouch when I’m bored,” she says finally.

“Bored?” You echo, raising a brow. “Are you saying you’re bored of me?” You tease. Frowning at her.

She rolls her eyes at you. “Maybe I am.”

“Please, if you were bored you wouldn’t come here every night.” You say playfully. “But no seriously, you’ve been coming here for months. Sitting in the same seat. Watching the same girl.”

That lands. Barely. The corner of her mouth lifts, half a smirk, more smoke than smile.

“Hm, guess I’m a creature of habit.”

And maybe that should be enough. But it never is. You lean forward just a little, voice dropping just a hair.

“So.. why me?”

She doesn’t blink.

“Does it matter?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because yeah, it fucking matters. And it shouldn’t. But it does.

If she’s going to be so cold.. so guarded… then why keep coming back?

Why always you?

The silence stretches between you, thick with smoke and things unsaid. Your hearts beating faster now.. not from nerves, but from that familiar, confusing ache she always brings with her. Like you’re trying to figure out a puzzle where half the pieces are missing on purpose.

You can’t bring yourself to look away from her. Why does she look so beautiful even when she’s acting like an asshole? You ask yourself in your head.

She taps the end of her cigar on the ashtray. Glances at your thighs. Then your lips that were drenched with pink gloss.

“Gonna make me wait?” Sevika says finally, voice all gravel and laziness, her gaze burning low on your body.

You giggle softly, your hand brushing against her thigh like you’ve done a hundred times before. “Impatient tonight, aren’t you?”

She just leans back in the booth, arms draped over the leather like a throne. Her eyes don’t leave yours.

Fuck. Please stop looking at me like that.

You look at her for a few more seconds before you finally snap out of your trance.

You sigh and roll your eyes, playfully. “Cmon,” you murmur, slipping off your chair and tugging at her wrist.

Her hand brings comfort to you. It’s so warm. Heavy. Familiar. Filled with cuts and bruises you wish you could erase.

You weave through the thick crowd, drunken laughter, clinking glasses, music humming through the walls, and Sevika follows in your shadow. Towering. Silent. Unshakable.

You don’t look back at her, but you feel her there, like gravity. Always there.

And yet..

She’s not holding your hand back.

Who are you kidding? She never does anyway.

Yet, your fingers squeeze hers once on instinct. Maybe hoping, just for a split second, that this time will be different. That maybe tonight she’ll squeeze back.

She doesn’t.

You’re about to lead her further down the dark hall, toward the room the two of you basically own now. The one with the ambient lighting, ripped couch, and the creaky bed that’s too familiar by now.

But before you get there, she suddenly grabs your wrist.

“Come here,” she says so softly you barley catch it. She tugs you toward a smaller, darker room tucked away behind an unmarked door.

You blink. “Here? But that’s not our-“

She interrupts you by shutting the door with so much force you could swear she broke it.

Her eyes flick to you, already dark and heavy with that look that you’ve seen too many times to count. “Don’t question it.”

You chuckle. “Eager tonight, aren’t we?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“What? Not my fault you’re impatient tonight. Totally out of character for you.” You say while tugging on the hem of her shirt.

She grabs your wrist softly, and you get the hint. Quickly letting go of her shirt and looking up at her again.

“You’ve been such a fucking smartass lately.” She mutters, pulling away to lock the door.

You bite your lip, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Yeah? Think you need to fuck some sense into me?”

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around to look at you, then steps forward with a cocky look on her face. Her eyes never leaving yours as she closes the distance between you.

“Hm?” You hum one last time, your voice lacing with curiosity, before she shuts you up with a sudden, aggressive press of her lips to your neck.

“Fuck—“ you gasp, completely caught off guard, her fingers dig into your waist with a possessive force, pulling you into her like she can’t get enough of you.

She pulls away just enough to look at you, “Shut the fuck up.” Her voice rough and commanding. “You asked for this, didn’t you? Fucking slut.”

Before you can even think of responding, her lips clash onto your neck. “Sev— are you gonna give me a fucking hickey?”

She doesn’t say anything, but the feel of her tongue sliding against your skin is all the answer you need.

She grabs the hem of your bra and yanks it off without hesitation.

She’s fast. Too fast. And suddenly, you’re exposed beneath her. Every inch of you vulnerable to her gaze.

Without any further warning, she moves between your legs, her knee pushing them apart with a firm pressure that makes your pulse race.

“Please.” you whimper.

“Please what?”

“Just fuck me already.”

She chuckles. “Since you asked nicely.”

You’re giggling, a little breathless, when her fingers hook in your waistband.

“Sev—”

She slides her fingers down in one swift motion. She pauses, and looks at you for a split second, then glances down at your thighs. Her fingertips brushing over your slit.

“Fuck, you’re already this wet?” She murmurs, her voice low and husky.

You bite your lip. Embarrassed, you try to hide your face in the nape of her neck.

“No. Hey, look at me.”

You bury your face deeper into her neck. But then—

She slides one finger inside you with a suddenness that leaves you breathless. You gasp, then you moan.

“Fucking look at me.”

You look at her with dazed eyes.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me. Not until I say so.”

You nod, the words stuck in your throat.

Then she puts in a second finger.

“Use your fucking words.”

“Oh— Fuck!” You gasp, not processing what she just said.

She picks up the pace, her fingers pumping faster inside of you. Each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” she commands.

You moan, barely able to get your words out. “I want it so f-fucking bad. Please.”

She grins, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Now that’s my girl.”

You wrap your arms around her neck, moaning loudly in her ear. The obscene wet sounds of your cunt echo through the room.

“Mm.. yeah you like this, huh?” She whispers with a low, amused chuckle, “You like when I fuck the words out of you?”

“Y-yes I do. I really really really do.” You whimper, slurring the words like a dumb little slut too cock-drunk to even think straight. Your voice breaking with every thrust she gives you.

“Yeah? You do?”

“Mhmmmfuck. Harder.”

Sevika laughs under her breath, “Needy little bitch,” she mutters, her pace unrelenting. One of her hands snakes up your body, cupping your left breast.

“Oh my fucking god. Sevika..”

Your voice cracks, desperate and filthy, like a prayer you’ve said too many times.

She groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Fuck— keep sayin’ my name like that.” She pinches your nipple with her middle and ring finger.

“Nngghhsevika.. I need you. Ineedyousofuckingbad.” You whine. She pulls out her fingers and starts rubbing quick circles around your puffy clit.

“I know you do. I know you fucking do.”

A weak yell comes out of your throat. Your hips jerk at the sudden shift, her fingers never slowing down.

“Sev—fuck, I’m gonna—“

She rests her forehead against yours, her lips hovering over yours but never kissing you. She’s driving you fucking crazy.

“Yeah?” She puts her fingers back in your pussy. “You’re gonna cum for me already?”

You can’t even speak. All you can do is nod, trembling under her touch, your legs are threatening to give out.

“Be a good slut and cum for me.”

You’re shaking. Thighs clenching, breath stuttering, and her big meaty fingers feel so fucking deep inside you.

“Fuckfuckfuck—Sevika, I—“

“Yeahh.. that’s it.” She grunts, her forehead still pressed to yours. Her fingers curl just right, hitting that spot that makes your back arch harder. “Come on, pretty girl. Make a mess on my fingers.”

And you finally do. Your moans barely audible as you bite down on Sevika’s shoulder, trying to stifle them. Her low groan of approval rumbles through your chest.

But she doesn’t hold you. She doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she suddenly pulls her fingers out, slick and glistening, and wipes them carelessly against her thigh like you were nothing more than a momentary craving.

You blink up at her with half-lidded eyes, still catching your breath, heart thudding, your cunt pulsating. You’re waiting for something, anything. But all you get is her usual stupid silence, and the stupid unreadable look in her eyes, and the stupid cigar in her mouth.

She steps back, adjusting her belt like nothing happened.

“Get cleaned up,” she mutters, turning toward the door.

You thought this time it would be different, you don’t know why, but you did. And you felt stupid for it. Of course she wasn’t gonna change, not for you, atleast. Everyone sees you as just a slutty girl that dances on a pole for a living, what makes you so sure that she doesn’t think the same way as others?

You sit there. Legs trembling. The door clicks shut behind her.

You stare at it for a long time, hoping she’d come back and give you some sort of.. comfort? You didn’t know what you needed, but it sure as hell wasn’t her just leaving you in this dark room like that.

Eventually, you pull yourself together, like you always do with her. You fix your clothes, wipe the smudged makeup from under your eyes, and walk out like nothing happened.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

That night, long after the club had emptied, you lay in bed. Phone screen lighting up got tired face.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You’ve typed something out. Deleted it. Typed again.

Hey, are you home?

Backspace.

I had fun, you know. Didn’t seem like you did tho.

Backspace.

I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.

You hit send before you can stop yourself.

The screen stays empty. No typing dots. No reply.

Not even a “read.”

You toss your phone face down and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You knew better. You really did.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

The next day, you wake up late, the sun already steaming through the cracks in the curtains. Your body aches, a mix of exhaustion and lingering soreness from last nights events. You roll over, checking your phone, you can’t help but glance at Sevika’s contact name, “Sev ♡” at the top of the text conversation. It stings a little, seeing it there, but still no response.

You sigh, rubbing your face, the guilt from last night settles back in, but so does the frustration. You wish she would just respond. Maybe she was busy. She works with silco after all. Or maybe she was ignoring you on purpose.

You roll out of bed, stretch, and glance at the clock, “Ugh. Shit.” You groan when you realize that you’re late. But that doesn’t matter. Because your mind keeps drifting to last night, how it felt, how it ended, and how you’re just supposed to move on now. You felt angry. Disgusted. Why is it so hard to let go of her?

You take a deep breath, you get dressed and head out. You prayed to whatever God that was listening to you for her to NOT show up today.

Even if you try to focus on the present, her absence looms over everything. It’s like she haunts you.

The club is already pulsing with life when you arrive. Music thumping, lights swirling, the scent of cheap cologne and stale liquor clinging to the air. You keep your head down as you pass through the dressing room, forcing on a half-smile when one of the girls calls out a joke you don’t quite register.

You go through your motions. Change. Makeup. Heels. But everything feels like it’s moving through molasses, like your body’s here, but your mind is trapped in a loop, stuck in last night, stuck in her

You’re halfway through your set when your gaze flicks to that one table.

Empty.

Your stomach twists, and you hate the part of yourself that’s relieved. Hate it even more for feeling disappointed right after. You look away quickly, gripping the pole tighter, grounding yourself in the routine. In the sweat. The rhythm. The fake flirtation. Anything but her.

Backstage, you finally let yourself check your phone.

“Just this once. Just to be sure.” You promised to yourself.

Sev ♡

No new messages.

Your heart sinks in the same familiar way.

“She really said fuck me and meant it,” you mutter under your breath, bitterly.

You toss the phone aside. Maybe it’s time to stop checking. But even silence feels like something from her.

You change out of your costume slower than usual, taking your time like it’ll somehow delay the emptiness waiting for you outside these walls.

Because if she’s not out there, if you’re not dancing for her, making her watch your every move, making her want, then what’s the fucking point? Why even be here? Why paint on the lashes, step into heels, fake the moans and smiles, if the one person you want to see it won’t even bother showing up?

Someone taps your shoulder. You flinch.

“You good?” One of the girls asks gently. It’s Lena, barely dressed, lashes already lifting at the corners, a lollipop in her mouth like always. “You’ve been zoning out for like… a full song.”

You blink at her, then force a half-smile. “Yeah I’m okay. Just a bit tired tonight.”

She hums while squinting her eyes at you, she’s clearly unconvinced. But she doesn’t press, just gives you a light smack on your ass and walks off with a wink.

You let out a faint giggle. Take a couple deep breaths. Fix your lipstick. And when you look back in the mirror, you repeat to yourself, Just one more set. You can do one more set.

You slip your heels back on, head out into the low haze of lights and smoke, the bass already rattling in your ribs. Maybe if you move the right way, smile the right way, you’ll forget how empty it feels when you don’t catch her eyes in the crowd.

You twist around the pole, bite your lip, arch your back just right, let your hands trail down your body the way you know they like.

“Damn baby, put me in a coma why don’t you,” a man slurs near the front. His eyes lingering on your tits, then dipping lower to your ass, shameless. His friends holler in agreement, bills already half out of their fists. “Come over here, give daddy a spin.”

You flashed a practiced smirk. You don’t even look at him. Not really. Just enough to play the game. Just enough to keep them paying.

Because none of them matter.

You’re not dancing for them.

You never were.

You drag your fingers up the pole, drop low, flip your hair back with a trained kind of grace, but your chest feels hollow. Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

And somewhere in the crowd, unseen by you, a shadow leans back in her seat.

She is here.

Sevika watches. Hood pulled low, eyes half-lidded, that usual cigarette between her lips, but it’s not lit. Hasn’t been in a while.

She doesn’t clap. Doesn’t cheer. Doesn’t do a damn thing.

She just watches you. Cold. Detached.

But when you spin, arch your back, and drop into a split, you pop your chest forward with a practiced sway, hair falling on your face.

Her eyes sharpen. She shifts slightly, jaw clenched, fingers ghosting toward her glass like she needs something to anchor her. Just for a second.

Then it’s gone. Like it never happened.

She knocks back the rest of her drink, doesn’t even taste it, and mutters to herself, barely audible over the bass,

“Pathetic.”

You? Or herself?

Even she doesn’t know.

And before you even finish your set, she’s gone.

Like she was never there.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

The night air slaps your skin the second you step out the back door of the club, still slick with sweat, heels dangling from your fingers, your jacket slung over one shoulder. You’re tired. Worn out. You just wanna go home and wipe your makeup off and sleep for the next 7 days.

You barely get five steps before a hand snatches your wrist and pulls you hard into the shadows.

You gasp, stumbling into the brick walk, “What the fuck-! Let go of—“

You’re about to let out a blood-curdling scream, but a calloused hand pressed over your mouth, and a voice mutters, low and sharp, “Calm the fuck down.”

Your heart jumps. That voice.

You shove the hand away with a force you didn’t even know you had, eyes wide. “Sevika?!”

She’s standing there, towering over you. Half-shadowed by the alley light, hood still up, cigarette balanced between her fingers like she doesn’t even want it. “Don’t.”

You scoff. Breath still ragged, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. “Y-you can’t just grab me like that! What the fuck is wrong with you? And what are you doing here?”

She shrugs, leans against the wall like she’s got all the time in the world. “Drinks.” She says dryly, like it should be obvious. “Needed to clear my head.”

You narrow your eyes, looking at her with disbelief. “So you just happened to be at my club?”

“You don’t own the damn club.” Her voice is low, flat. Dismissive.

You scoff, “You know what I mean.”

Then she leans in, slow and deliberate, head tilted like she’s sizing you up.

You can feel the weight of her gaze even from above. Like she’s studying something fragile, something she could break if she wanted to. Her shadow swallows yours.

“I saw your set.”

You freeze. “What?”

She tilts her head, finally lighting the cigarette. The flame flickers just enough to catch a glint in her eyes. “You heard me.”

That makes your breath catch. Something twists in your gut. “You-“ you blink, realization hitting. “You were fucking watching me?”

A pause. Then a faint smirk.

“Didn’t need a front row seat to see what you were doing up there.”

And now your chest tightens. Because she wasn’t sitting at her usual table. You checked. A countless amount of times. She wasn’t anywhere in sight.

But she was there. The whole. entire. time.

“Why?” You ask. Voice tight.

She tilts her head, like she didn’t quite hear. “Hm?”

“Why were you hiding from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” she says lazily. “You just weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence.

You swallow. Something cracks under your ribs.

“I was waiting for you.”

Another beat of silence.

You see it, barely. A shift in her stance. A small twitch in her jaw. Like your words did something, even if she’s fighting not to show it.

She doesn’t speak. Just studies you, a trail of smoke leaving her lips.

“You always dance like that for the ones who leave you in bed?”

“Oh fuck you, Sevika.”

She lets the insult hang in the air, unfazed, and Fuck you hate how unfazed she is.

You turn to leave, but she grabs your wrist.

Not rough, not gentle either. Just enough to stop you.

You whirl back around, not bothering to look her in the eyes. “Let go of me.”

“Or what?” She asks, voice low, unreadable.

You hate how her eyes burn through you. Hate that your pulse kicks up, not from fear, but from how you can see through your peripheral vision the way she’s looking at you like she already knows every inch of your skin. Like she owns the reaction.

“You think you can just disappear and show up like nothing happened?” Your voice breaks before you can stop it. Finally locking eye contact with her. “Like- like you didn’t leave me there wondering what the fuck I did wrong?”

A pause. Long enough to hurt.

Then, so quiet you almost miss it-

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It hits like a bruise.

You blink at her. Something clenches in your chest, your fingers curling into fists.

“Then why?” You whisper. Desperate. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares. Her mouth twitches, not quite a frown, not quite regret.

And then— like it’s instinct, like it’s the only way she knows how to speak—

She grabs your jaw and kisses you.

Hard.

It’s messy. Angry. Her hand tangles in your hair, the other gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your body. You hate how easy it is to fall into it. To melt.

Your back hits the brick wall. Her mouth still on yours, rough and desperate.

She kissed your lips. She never kisses them.

“Please.” You whimpered against her lips, the way your lips quiver show just how much you crave her. And how badly you want her to crave you.

And then, so faint you almost miss it— she lets out a desperate, low whine against your lips.

It freezes something in you. Not with fear. But something else.

In that small trembling breath of silence between kisses, you let out a soft, broken sound-

“..yeah?” You say tenderly, while looking straight at her with the most doe eyes ever.

It’s barely a whisper. Half exhale. Like you’re trying to say I’m here without the weight of words.

You looked and sounded desperate, desperate for her to show some kind of vulnerability to you.

Your hands shift, arms wrapping around her neck, gripping her tighter. Not to pull her closer, not out of lust, but like you’re trying to steady her. Like maybe, just maybe, you want to hold her together when she won’t let herself fall apart.

And for a split second, it almost feels like she lets you.

But then-

She pulls back.

You whine at the sudden break of the kiss. Not again please. Please not again. You think to yourself.

Her breath is shallow, lips still parted, eyes not meeting yours.

Then her jaw tightens. That look returns. The guarded one.

Without a word, she steps back, like the moment never happened at all.

“You should go home.”

And before you can say anything, ask her to stay, curse her out, something-

She turns and walks off into the dark.

Like always.

Like nothing happened.

Like she didn’t just almost break in your hands.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

It’s the next night.

You’re leaning against the back wall of the club, half-hidden in the alleyway. Your shift ended 20 minutes ago, but you haven’t left. You’re not sure why. Maybe you’re waiting for something. Or someone

You light a cigarette, even though you don’t usually smoke. It burns your throat, but something about the weight of the cigarette keeps your hand from shaking.

The alley door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” comes a voice- Dez, one of the floor managers, poking her head out. She’s chewing gum like it personally wronged her.

“Alright, don’t kill me,” she starts, already holding up a hand like she knows you might throw the lighter at her. “But there’s this guy inside. Real big spender. Just rolled in, said he heard things.. about you. And he’s willing to pay four times the usual rate for some alone time in VIP.”

You groan. “Ughh Dez, I literally just finished my shift. Can I not rot in peace for 2 minutes?”

She grins, looking way too pleased for someone who just interrupted your smoke break. “Cmonnn. He’s not a creep, I swear. Just wants your company. One hour, tops. You don’t even have to touch him. He said he likes your vibe or some shit. And he’s hot too! Not even in a pathetic way.”

You scoff, tossing your head back against the wall while rolling your eyes. But you don’t outright say no.

Dez squints at you like she can see the gears turning in your head. Like she knows you’re considering it.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh and push yourself off the wall, “Okay fine—“

And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar

You don’t even have to look. You feel her before you see her.

Sevika.

She steps into the alley like she owns it, like she didn’t vanish into the night the day before.

She was wobbling a little. Her coats a little crooked. Hair a little messier than usual. And her eyes..

Red. A little glassy.

She’s drunk.

Dez blinks. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

She mouths, “You good?”

You look at her, nodding while giving her a reassuring smile.

And then, with a smirk,

“Alright I don’t know what’s going on with..” - she gestures vaguely between you and sevika - “whatever this is, but I’ll leave you two alone for now. I’ll let the guy know you might be up in five.”

Dez leaves.

And you’re alone with sevika.

You don’t say anything at first.

Just stare as she leans against the wall opposite you, half-empty whiskey bottle dangling in her hand.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is deeper than usual.

Her eyes are trailing over you, slow, like she’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just something she made up in her head.

Your breath hitches. Why is she looking at you like that?

“..Hi.” You say, quietly.

The silence stretches. The air feels thick now. Too thick.

She pushes off the wall, crosses the space between you with slow, lazy steps. Stops just a little too close.

You tilt your head while looking up at her, almost like you’re trying to search for something in her eyes.. but you don’t know what it is.

You can smell the smoke on her clothes. The whiskey on her breath.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips. “Guess I got lucky.”

You shift, trying to not look affected.

“You’re drunk.”

She hums. “A little.”

She reached her hand out and brushes your arm. Just a graze. But her touch lingers longer than it should. Touching you so softly like you’re made of glass.

Her finger toy with the hem of your top like she’s thinking about ripping it apart and just fucking you right then and there.

She wants to start something, and you know it.

“Sevika,” you say so softly, your voice tinged with concern. You’ve never seen her this drunk before. “Don’t.” Your tone shifts, growing firm.

She tilts her head. Smirks. But it wobbles.

“What?” She says, voice rough. “I thought you liked when I touched you.”

Your stomach twists. You break eye contact.

“I do,” you admit. Quiet. Honest. Embarrassed. “I really do.”

You grab her forearm, “But not like this. Not when you’re like this.”

She doesn’t answer. Just looks at you. And you look back at her. And for a second, she seems sober, just a bit. Her jaw ticks. Something in her eyes cracks open.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Her voice was shaky. It was subtle. But you heard it.

You blink. The words hang in the air, delicate and heavy all at once.

Your hand is still on her forearm. Her skin is so soft.. so warm under your touch.

“You came to me.” You say, barely above a whisper. It’s not a question.

She doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move. Just stares at you like she’s afraid if she does, something inside her might spill out.

And then, so quiet it’s almost lost to the sound of the city—

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You breathe in, slow. Her voice cracked at the last word. She tried to hide it, but you felt it anyway.

Your fingers trail down, slipping from her arm to her hand. You squeeze it gently, grounding her.

“I won’t.” You say, steady. Honest. Like a promise you haven’t figured out how to keep yet.

She exhales shakily, and for a moment, her forehead drops to yours.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s not even a touch, really.

Just heat. Breath. The closeness of someone who’s afraid they might shatter if you pull away.

And then, quietly—

“I’m so tired.” She whispers.

You close your eyes. Let the silence stretch. Then-

“Come on,” you whisper. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?”

You hook your arm around her waist. She doesn’t resist when you guide her. She leans into you. Like maybe -for the first time in a long time- she trusts someone to hold her up.

As you guide her through the narrow hallway, past the low thrum of music bleeding from behind closed doors, you catch Dez standing by the bar, still chewing on her gum while counting tips.

She raises a brow the second she sees you two.

“Well look who came crawling back,” she mutters, eyes flicking over Sevika slumped against your side.

Then she shifts her attention to you.

“You know that guy is still asking,” Dez says. “He literally won’t back down. Said he’ll double up if you head up now.”

“Dez, at this point, just tell him I’m sick. Or dead. I don’t care.”

She raises her brow higher. “Didn’t think you were the type to pass up a paycheck.”

She sighs while looking at you, “You takin’ her upstairs?” She asks, voice flat, suspicious, but not unkind.

“Yeah,” you say, short and clipped. Your shoulder’s under Sevika’s.

Dez blinks at the sight. At Sevika leaning against you like she doesn’t have a single bone left in her body.

“You sure about that?” She says, quieter this time. “She looks like she’ll knock you out the second you blink.”

You don’t look back.

“She’s not my problem,” you lie. “But I’m not gonna leave her like this.”

Dez opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then stops. She sees something in your face, something soft and stubborn and not up for discussion.

“..Alright,” she says finally. “Just.. tell her to not throw up all over the sheets.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Instead, you nod and keep walking.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

You reach the room. Your room. The one you both technically live in by now.

It’s quiet here. The air hums with the faint beat of the bass from the floor below, but otherwise, it’s just you and Sevika. Her arm is heavy around your shoulders. Her steps drag. But she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t speak.

You guide her to the bed, easing her down ever so gently like she’s something fragile, which is funny, really. Sevika, the bruiser. Sevika, the one who breaks bones with a single punch. Fragile.

But she lets you. That’s what gets you.

She lets you.

You kneel to unlace her boots. She’s watching you through half-lidded eyes. Like she can’t believe you’re doing this.

Like she doesn’t think she deserves it.

“You didn’t have to,” she rasps.

You pause. Glancing up at her, eyes soft.

“I know.” You whisper. “That’s why I did.”

The silence lingers, thick with something unspoken.

Sevika inhales, opening her mouth like she’s about to say something- but then quickly clamps it shut, biting back whatever’s on the tip of her tongue.

You catch the shift. “Say it.” You murmur, your voice so low and so gentle, but persistent.

Her eyebrows furrow, like she’s pretending she doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about.

“I know you were gonna say something.”

Sevika’s gaze drops to the floor, her hand brushing against the edge of the couch like she’s trying to ground herself.

You finish with the boots, your hands resting on her legs for just a moment longer than necessary.

She looks at you, those dark eyes searching, but her voice is quieter now. “Why are you being so gentle to me?” She asks, her tone flat, though there’s an edge of something in there. Something hard to name.

You swallow, meeting her eyes directly.

“Because I want to be.” You don’t look away. Not even for a second.

Sevika exhales, her breath shaky as she looks at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth.

You sit next to her. She shifts slightly, leaning back against the couch, her fingers grazing the fabric of the cushion before brushing against yours.

“You don’t know me,” she mutters. “We fuck from time to time but that doesn’t mean you owe me shit.”

Your eyes soften.

“I don’t care about that,” you reply, the words coming out like you’ve known them all along. “I don’t need to owe you anything to care.”

For a moment, Sevika goes still.

The silence is almost unbearable. Uncomfortable. But you don’t look away, you study her face and god she’s beautiful.

Her lips press together tightly, like she wants to tell you more, but she doesn’t.

She throws her head back and massages her temples with her fingers, the tension in her shoulders palpable, like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower. The room feels colder now, the weight of the silence between you both more pronounced.

You move a little closer, not enough to invade her space but just enough to let her know you’re there. You reach for her hair, tucking away a few stray strands of hair, your fingers brushing the soft skin of her neck. Your gaze drifting up and down her face, drinking in the way the light catches the curve of her jaw, the depth in her eyes.

“You know I’m not going anywhere right?” You spoke, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

Sevika stays still for a moment. Her eyes lock onto yours, intense and searching, like she’s weighing every word. The air feels heavy, charged, and just for a heartbeat, it’s like she’s thinking about saying something, something important. But she doesn’t.

You smile softly, “What are you looking at?” You say while letting out a faint giggle.

Sevika looks away quickly, but you catch it. The vulnerability. The uncertainty.

She lets out a shaky breath. But her voice is steady when she speaks. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” Her eyes flicker back to you.

You ignore her. “You know.. I thought you’d be different when you’re drunk.”

She raises a brow at you, and you’re just an inch away from losing your mind.. because her eyes. They’re so dazed and pretty. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought you’d let your tough girl act slip away for a bit.” A dry chuckle escapes from your lips.

“Tough girl act?”

“Mhmmm.” You hummed playfully.

She scoffed, “Suck my dick.”

You give her a teasing look. “I did. Don’t you remember?”

A beat of silence follows, and you can see the nervous look on her face, whether from your words or the alcohol, you can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at you.

But her gaze doesn’t only stay on your eyes, she’s taking in every inch of you, eyes half-lidded, like you’ve knocked the wind out of her and she’s still figuring out how to function.

“You’re trouble.” She finally mutters. Her voice rough around the edges.

You grin. “You like trouble.”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you in this moment. You’re usually not really this bold with Sevika, but with her like this-looser, softer.. it feels easier to meet her halfway. She matches your energy, just barely. But you’re thankful for whatever you can get out of her.

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans back, letting her head rest against the couch cushions, eyes closed for a second too long. Like the weight of the moment is sinking in.

That’s when the door creaks open.

“Hey.” Dez’s voice cuts through the quiet, gentle but definite. “We’re closing up.”

You both turn toward her, neither one moving just yet. Sevika blinks slowly, her eyebrows furrowed. Like she’s surfacing from something deeper.

You glance back at her. “Come on,” you say, soft but certain. “Let’s go to yours.”

Sevika looks at you like you’ve just told her that you murdered her entire family, “Hell no.”

“Why nottt!” You whine.

Sevika narrows her eyes at you, skeptical. Because,” she mutters. “I don’t just bring people over.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? You think someone’s gonna judge you for a few empty bottles and a pile of laundry?”

“It’s not that,” she mumbles. Running a hand down her face. “It’s…mine.”

You pause. There’s something in the way she says it. Like she’s not just talking about the state of the place, but about letting someone into her space, her world.

Your voice softens. “That’s kinda the whole point.”

She rolls her eyes at you. Then her expression turns into something unreadable for a moment.

“You’re really not scared of anything, huh?”

You shrug, lips quirking into a faint smile.

"I'm actually scared of lots of things," you say. "Just not you."

That makes her pause. Really pause.

Her eyes stay on yours a little too long, like she's trying to read between the lines of something you haven't said yet. Like maybe she wants to believe you, but she's still deciding if she can afford to.

Then, finally, she exhales through her nose, like she's surrendering to something. To you.

"Fine," she mutters, low and reluctant. "But if you lay a finger on any of my shit, I'm kicking your ass out."

You grin. "Deal."

Omg that was too long. Criticism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) thank you for reading! ♡

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 days ago

Text

Itsy Bitsy Spider... - Arlecchino x Male!Reader

A/N: A spider-inspired, spicy fic for our one-and-only Father. Enjoy! A/N: One more fic and I promise that I'll make the third masterlist. That should be enough fics for it not to be an empty, depressing page. CW: Some smut, predator-prey themes, Arlecchino is scary - but that's fine because Y/N is up for it.

Before you, there was only Bambi. It was quite an… uninteractive creature that never returned any affection - simply lacking the brain power to comprehend its situation - but, at the same time, required little maintenance. Arlecchino always thought that this would be her ideal relationship model - a partnership where she wouldn't have to devote too much attention to her lover, who could live without her perfectly alright.

Well, Arlecchino didn't anticipate all the new emotions you would stir up in her frigid heart. But that is exactly the thing with love, is it not? One can never plan for it, as experiencing that feeling in its true form changes them. It wasn't different with her and Arlecchino would soon come to understand that a husband is, surprisingly, not the same as a pet spider.

Because you offer more. So, so much more. More opportunities, more emotions, desires she did not realise until she had you just where she wanted.

It is an experience like no other, having a pet man. Bambi was a pet, yes, but it was like her - a predator, only a lesser one. She treated her not as a lifegiver that she was, but as a matter of circumstance that was temporarily tolerated, but would be bitten if it got too close. But you? You sweet, little boy. No matter what her hands did to you, how much blood her teeth drew, you will always lean into her touch like the good husband you are. Grateful, patient, positively adorable in how timid you are.

Father is used to intimidating people with nothing more than her tone, a stray glance or just her general disposition. She intentionally takes on this kind of appearance for work matters, but she doesn’t enjoy scaring anybody that does not deserve it.

You, of course, are quite the opposite. You, the silly boy you are, decided to capture the heart of the most dangerous woman, the most cold and ruthless of predators in all of Inazuma. With your oblivious smile and honest courtship you stepped willingly into her life, and now - you will pay the price.

Arlecchino never understood what true, romantic love, true desire is. Of course, she was convinced her scarred heart was above these feelings. But when the first months of dating passed by, when she first received a simple gift from you, when she woke up to freshly brewed coffee, when she sat there, flustered as you fussed over her injuries and lectured her about safety… When she held you in her arms, her source of unprompted kindness and non-judgmental comfort, she realised something. Turns out she was not, in fact, immune to feeling. And when these emotions, stirred deep inside her and swirling around your lovely person tug at her heartstrings, why wouldn’t she give in and show them? After all, you don’t seem to mind…

Home is the only place where she can unwind, let her hair down and express herself. There are a lot of things constantly weighing on her mind, so it’s no wonder Arlecchino tends to be restless and in serious need of some rest and relaxation. Good thing she has this handsome, caring man to come back to. A warm bowl of soup, a massage of her sore feet, sometimes a bath with you gently rubbing the shampoo in her beautiful hair. She is eternally grateful for this attention, but you, on the other hand, know that your attempts at calming her down are hopeless. Because when Peruere is tired, stressed, frustrated? That’s when the hunger rises.

A tired Arlecchino hungers for you. You and only you. Your voice, your hands, your chest, scent… Everything. Her hands are all over you whenever she gets the chance, searching, exploring, sizing you up for what’s to come. Soon enough her lips follow suit and, before you know it, your wrists are crushed in her iron grip. Helpless.

She never understood why spideresses don’t just mate and eat their males. Why all this nonsensical fluff? Why let him put in effort and tolerate him when you’re just going to devour him whole anyway? But seeing you beneath her, eyes wide with desire and nerves, feeling your skin crawl, your heartbeat and breath quicken… It made her understand. It’s just fun.

It’s fun to scare you. Fun to glare at you with a sadistic smile, watch all these scenarios of what’s to come rush before your eyes. Endlessly entertaining to drag her clawed finger across your defenceless thigh and feel your eyes tracing it like a snake, ready to pounce. Short or tall, muscular or lean, confident or shy - it doesn’t matter as every man erodes before her, just as every trapped insect fears the spider, crawling across the web towards them. She’s the greater predator - inhumanely strong, devilishly smart and deathly beautiful. When her hands trace your Adam’s apple, you know she is strong enough to hurt you, really hurt you. But amazingly, you stay still. You may tremble, your skin may crawl, you might even beg for mercy - and yet, you never pull away. More; you come to her. You offer yourself before her, at her feet, just like a fly willfully ignorant of the web ahead of it. You are prey - prey not of nature, but of choice. The perfect lover.

You might not escape her clutches or resist her, but Arlecchino likes you completely helpless all the same. Ropes will bind your wrists, neck, ankles, even hips if you wiggle and cry, begging her not to break you. She has no intention of hurting you, of course, but Father’s man must be durable. He must be able to welcome pain and stay still when she has her fun. Besides, it makes you look all the more adorable when your body reacts to her. She loves it, especially how expressive it is. Your hands are her favorite. Tied, they clench around the ropes when her fingers slip beneath your waistband and tremble oh so adorably as your voice cracks under the intensity of her touch. And these thighs, shaking as she mounts you… They encourage her not to be gentle.

While she might not eat you up like Bambi ate her many suitors, you will feel her teeth as she goes down on you, sinking her sharp canines into the delicious, sensitive skin of your neck. You always squeal and whine like the helpless boy your are when she catches your nipples with her teeth, shortly going down to caress your stomach with her slick tongue, soon sinking further and wrapping around your thighs. They clamp down and pull your skin, leaving purple-red hickeys on her way to your most tasty of spots. Try to close your legs, protect your delicate manhood - it’s of no use. She licks her lips, gazing you straight in the eyes as she opens them, feeling no resistance. Soon after her lips wrap around your warm masculinity, her tongue and teeth will soon conduct a delightful melody of tortured sounds from your throat.

And then, the main course. By the time your poor, overstimulated body cries for mercy, she’s already putting your legs up and sliding herself down on your abused cock. Don’t expect her to be satisfied with one, measly orgasm - Arlecchino has a Harbinger’s stamina, so better hold on to your binds tightly. She will quickly plunge her desire-consumed mind into blissful, mindless coupling where the only things are your helpless whines and your dick perfectly striking her cervix with every powerful squat. When she needs to catch a break, she’ll simply lean forwards and plunge her teeth into your neck, grinding herself on you as you plead and struggle. Each time your mind is sure you will either be ridden to death or consumed by your thirsty mistress, but don’t worry - she’ll stop when you pass out. It’s not fun when you’re not begging.

Binding you is a favorite of hers, but gagging you is a definite no for Father. Playing with you is not fun when she can’t hear the noises you make. The pleas for mercy and incoherent whines form arias and elegies she plays on your body, an instrument she’s become intimately familiar with. She plays you to her liking and knows how to elicit every tone, every lyric. Her tongue circling your ear will give her a trembling, high chain of whines, two fingers gliding up and down your head sounds out deep, regular moans and her teeth teasingly poking your nuts makes you sing pleas.

There is a reason dog toys make noises. A predator has no fun without the squealing of her prey…

While you lay lifeless on the messy, wet bed, Arlecchino stretches and feels the moonlight on her naked body. It’s a refreshing experience, a catharsis for her instincts. But don’t worry, she tends to her partner. If you can stand, she’ll take you for a nice, hot bath, playing with your hair and stroking your body as your wrung out body drifts away to sleep. “You did well,” she’ll say, “good boy.” If you’re in no condition for anything but sleeping, you’ll wake up with her tightly curled around you, arms hiding your handsome face in her bosom - where nobody will dare to look, where nobody will hurt you, take you away from her.

You’re her toy. Her boy. Her man. Her love, pleasure and home.

But when you awake, remember to prepare the bed - for you know not the hour nor the day when the spideress hungers…

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #smut #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin impact peruere #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x male reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino smut

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jesuistrestriste · 6 hours ago

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i absolutely adore your pastor’s son art but..hear me out…pastors son patrick 😈 but unlike art he is lowkey sacrilegious and not as hard to drag into sin like art

-🍰

♱ pastor’s son!patrick zweig x reader

cw (18+) : switch!patrick, switch!reader, mild corruption kink, mutual masturbation, giving each other a hand, general filth and dirty talk

patrick’s a good boy.

a true believer; he’s someone who idolizes his father, the only pastor in his small town, and does everything he can to remain physically and emotionally devout. doing bible studies alone in his bedroom, attending every service that’s held, upholding the religious teachings that have been woven into his very soul from a young age.

but.. that’s not to say that temptation is easy for him to push down and pray away.

temptation is more like a toxic friend that mumbles dirty little nothings into his ear when all he wants to do is avoid the draw of engaging in sin. it thumbs the waistband of his underwear when it’s late at night and he can’t stop thinking about the curves of people’s bodies. it licks warmly at his lower stomach when he catches you sparing him a glance on your way out the tall church doors. and god, your lips.. oh, your lips..

temptation is more like a sick, twisted, toothy monster that clings to his back and digs its claws into his flesh. bleeds him out from the puncture wounds, letting the filth leave his body and become realized. it’s impossible to ignore. it gets him into trouble.

you’re mostly to blame though. this time, at least.

you had chatted him up after a particularly stirring sermon, when everyone had already left, and then relished in the flush of his cheeks that had been so deep in color it almost hid his freckles completely. you’d touched his arm and smiled all sweet, your poison seeping into his frame from your fingertips. he tried to resist, he really did.

if temptation was a monster trying to fuse to his spine, it was certainly your henchman.

now you’re sitting beside him in an empty pew in the empty building. heads turned toward one another as shared, heavy, stuttered breathing echoes out into the spacious church. despite it being a peaceful place, it’s beginning to smell of nothing but sticky immorality. it’s easy to pick up on the scent of sweat from warm bodies and faint musk from the fluids involuntarily spilling forth.

his hand is shoved down into his unzipped jeans and past the elastic of his boxers, pumping himself shakily as he watches you play with yourself at the same time. your fingers rub quickly at the sensitive spot that makes you feel hot all over. patrick spares half a glance to your hand’s movements as you shift it underneath the shielding fabric, and lets out a soft, strangled sort of sound at the sight.

“does that feel good?” he breathes out, his voice breaking around a moan as he accidentally thumbs his tip. it’s already covered in his fluids. slimy and lewd.

you nod quickly, your brow pinched up and your legs trembling.

“y-yeah, feels really nice,” you murmur, “how does your cock feel?”

immediately, his legs kick out in front of him and he sinks a little in his seat—his stomach flipping pleasantly at the sound of that vile word slipping from your mouth. cock. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard to stop himself from saying something stupid like “please, say that again”.

this is the first time he’s ever seen someone else touching their body this way, let alone with him. this is all so new and thrilling and terrifying, but he can’t help but enjoy it—it’s ironically the closest he’s felt to salvation in a very long time. his hips feel floaty, his head is spinning, and his toes are curling in his shoes. he doesn’t quite remember how he let you talk him into this.

“.. aah, oh— it’s so good..” he shakes.

you swallow thickly and arch your pelvis into your circling fingers. you hump your touch, trying to get more friction. thrumming bursts of heat begin to burst in your lower stomach like fireworks..

patrick suddenly keens and cries out, pulling his wet palm from his bottoms in half of a second, like he just burned himself on a scorching stovetop. he pants raggedly and then looks to you with lidded, watercolor eyes. loose brown curls hang in front of his forehead as he parts his lips.

“i almost—..” he can’t finish the sentence, reaching his digits up to tug at his damp collar. it’s like god is actively punishing him by cooking him alive. he’s never felt quite so overheated. and he does feel guilty, more than he’s willing to admit to himself, but you’re all he can see right now. there’s no way he’s going to give this up. not a chance in hell.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s doing it. his clean hand reaching for your occupied wrist, guiding you out of your underwear and then down into his own. he gives you a pleading look, a desperate one, and then his jaw slacks when he feels you instantly wrap your touch around his throbbing length. how is it that you know exactly what to do? have you done this before? with who?

he tries not to get jealous. he’s in absolutely no position to feel that way.

all thoughts melt away anyways when you begin to stroke him. up, down, up, down, up, down; the squelching of your tightening hold on him only further igniting his forbidden arousal. it’s hypnotic, and holy fuck, it’s so much better than doing it himself.

everything feels so sensitive.

“please, just touch me,” he shudders out, looking deep into your eyes as he instinctively reaches out to find your body. his fingers inch down past the waistband of your panties to brush over the swollen bud hidden beneath. just the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh sends him careening towards the edge. he’s losing it quickly. almost embarrassingly so.

your knee knocks into his as you whine, spreading your legs farther apart to give him more access. your own release only a handful of agonizing moments away.

you’re both filling the place with sounds filthy enough to shatter the stained glass. the fragments that would come down in the wreckage to slice at your bodies would be less painful than this act of teetering on the precipice of something so primal and grotesque.

he swipes his fingers awkwardly from side to side over your parts as he fumbles with the angle of his touch and his lack of experience. but despite all of that, it feels incredible. your legs clamp around him and your back arches up from the wooden pew. your fist glides over his frenulum as you jolt.

he leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss you, and chokes on a whimper.

“im think i’m about to— im ’bout to—..!”

his voice shakes the earth.

the waves of overwhelming sensation in your body start to flare; your muscles pulling taut as patrick’s do the same.

“i think im really gonna come.. i-is it okay if i come—?” he whispers, whiny and urgent.

like a plea. a prayer.

“yeah, yeah, yeah.. me too..” it tumbles from your chest and stills the air around you.

everything stops for just a moment.

him gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. you gripping the edge of the wood below you with your free hand, nearly squealing as his thumb flicks messily over your bead of nerves. he jerks forward in his seat before seizing up at the sound of your strained little noise—toppling over the edge with a jarring finality that seals him in his shame and blinding pleasure. he all but wails.

wet warmth meets your skin and you touch him through the waves of orgasm that have him promising to repent. your own climax rips moans from your throat and forces you to gush into your clothing. patrick doesn’t even know what to think, not that he can, brain much too melted to salvage any coherency. the sound of bells and doves and the choir fills his head. ringing out deafeningly, like a sick joke. he can’t seem to come down from the high.

he trembles as he pushes down softly on your slick bud, then collapses afterwards into a heap of jelly-like limbs. you follow not a second later. you're both a mess of slick parts and damp faces.

he wipes at his upper lip and then his cheek.

“oh my-..” he trails off, knowing he probably shouldn’t finish the sentiment. he’s already on bad terms. no need to make it worse for him later in the confessional. he sighs, still feeling your hand resting around his softening dick. he tries not to think about the fact that he covered your fingers in his depravity, but the thought comes and goes without his permission anyway. his flesh twitches. he stifles a groan.

“yeah.. woah..” you smirk lazily,

he gets the urge to drop to his knees and pull you down with him. to press his lips to yours before bowing his head and asking for forgiveness. that would probably be the proper thing to do. the better thing. his dad always says that the harder something is to do, the more likely that it’s the right thing to do. he doesn’t know if that’s true, but.. holding himself back from kissing you while also grappling with the remorse has him struggling to maintain composure.

patrick vows right then to never repeat this sort of thing in the future, to refuse the clutches of temptation whenever it pricks his skin again, but the vow begins to crack the moment he feels your index finger lazily rub at the vein bulging from his shaft. he inhales sharply through gritted teeth at the sensitivity, and then turns his head to look to your expression. eyes glazing over with reigniting desire.

he can deny it no longer. oh, you are temptation in human form, flesh and bone.

you’re inescapable.

#happy challengers anniversary !#🍰 anon #pastor's son!patrick zweig #i loved writing this #hes definitely different from pastor's son!art in the way that hes just less rigid about following the rules #he thinks that he can pray away the shame with little to no consequence #but art literally goes crazy with the guilt #just my opinion #sage's asks #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers smut #🌸 - ask prompts

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xechu · 2 days ago

Text

[Honor & Vengeance] S. Geto - 夏油傑

Pairing: general!suguru x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Series Warnings: please read my blog rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, depiction of gore and violence, mature themes

Chapter Warnings: mature themes

Tags: historical au, non-curse au, marriage of convenience, slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, hurt/comfort...will take a while to get there though

Summary: waking up with a renewed sense of determination, you make your first move as the new Lady Geto.

a/n: I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading! x

Master List: << chapter 1 | chapter 3 (to be continued) >>

[Chapter 2]: Matrimony: the True Battlefield

A few months ago…

Suguru's POV

A typical day of being the King's General was nothing short of chaotic, especially when the King was incompetent. Suguru understood that his title was merely a tool for Sato to keep House Geto in check. At the end of the day, he was nothing but a glorified pawn. Shackled by obligations and duties to the crown.

Amid the bustling corridors, Suguru walked down the palace halls with his trusted advisor and childhood friend, Yu Haibara, after a grueling council meeting. It was always the same disastrous spectacle—Sato throwing tantrums and demanding to launch a siege on new lands, and then the council will try to talk him out of it. The outcome was always unpredictable—erratic like the King himself, but his temper had calmed down recently since there were more pressing matters at hand. One of his daughters was soon to wed a prince from a neighboring kingdom, so Sato was less likely to pursue his outrageous whims. At least, until the princess had been wedded.

"Geto-sama, have you looked through the list of candidates?" Haibara glanced at Suguru as they walked.

"Not yet."

"It's been sitting on your desk for two weeks now, I'm beginning to think you don't even care," Haibara shook his head, "I'm sure half of these exceptional ladies are promised to someone else already."

"I've been…preoccupied." Suguru's shoulders slumped slightly.

In recent years, a matter had persistently plagued the general—the matter of matrimony. After years of reclaiming control, rebuilding his reputation, and elevating the Geto name back to its former glory, he was now pressured to take a wife, to solidify the Geto name, and to carry on the legacy. His father used to tell him that every great man had an even greater woman that stood beside him. But what happens if that woman is to stand by another man's side?

Truth be told, Suguru always had his ideal candidate in mind. Despite his secret disdain for King Sato, he couldn't say that he harbored the same ill-feelings towards his fourth daughter: Ayaka. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

For someone of Suguru's status he could have had any woman he wanted, but given the complex nature between him and the King, it would have been utterly foolish for Sato to offer his daughter to Suguru, as it would only serve to threaten his power. The conniving King had picked up on the affection his general held for his daughter. He would often use it as leverage, dangling the possibility of his daughter's hand in marriage to get Suguru to do his bidding, and sometimes it would work.

As the two continued to walk past a small garden, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air, Haibara gives Suguru a light nudge. His gaze drifts onto a dainty, elegant woman—it was Ayaka.

"Suguru, Haibara," she called.

"Ayaka-sama," both Suguru and Haibara bowed in greeting.

"Congratulations on your marriage," Haibara said.

"Why, yes, thank you," she forced a small smile.

The princess that was to wed the neighboring prince was none other than Ayaka. It was a marriage of convenience, in hopes to solidify neighboring relations and to bolster Sato's reputation. She was the last person Suguru wanted to see right now, because she serves as a painful reminder of a love forever out of reach. The agonizing feeling of someone being so close yet so far. But the general was always good at keeping his emotions in check, it was a necessary quality on the battlefield. And so, he puts on the practiced smile flawlessly as he looks into the eyes of his lover, who was soon to be offered to someone else.

"Congratulations, may your union be blissful and everlasting," Suguru said, his earnest voice masking the storm within him.

"Thank you, Suguru," Ayaka narrowed her eyes, "I… hope it will be."

Haibara quickly caught on to the situation and excused himself, leaving the two of them alone in the quietness of the garden, surrounded by nature's beauty and the gentle chirping of birds. Suguru stood there in silence as he looked at Ayaka for what might be the last time. The world around him faded. He wanted to beg her to stay. To whisk her away. To see the world with her.

His hand twitched—instinctively, wanting to reach for her. But he forced himself still, holding fast to his restraint. Until, in a moment of unexpected boldness, Ayaka threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly. Caught off guard by her sudden embrace, he found himself cracking and returning the gesture despite how shameful and despicable it was.

"Say it, please," Ayaka quietly begged, "we can run away and put this life behind us. Just you and I."

Her offer was a sweet temptation, one that he almost found too difficult to resist. He had no family, nobody he needed to answer to. But the greatest obstacle had always been himself. He couldn't leave it all behind, if he did, all he had worked for would be for naught.

"I can't," Suguru said gently, as he let go and looks into her eyes with a tender smile, "I hope you find happiness."

"You know I won't be able to!" Ayaka cried as she looked at him, "My happiness has always been with you. I love you, Suguru!"

Her words alone nearly shattered all of his resolve.

"Don't you love me? Has it always been in my own head?" Her voice trembled with desperation.

Suguru knew he had to end it right now, before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. I cannot return your love," his tender gaze never once faltering, though the bitterness of his lie was difficult to swallow.

Crushed by the weight of the reality she was subjugated to, the princess breaks into a sob and runs away. This was not the last image he wanted of her. He had hoped to remember her smile. Not her tears. She only ever deserved to be happy, and had it not been for his circumstances, he could have provided everything for her and more.

But fate had never been kind to men like him.

—

In the quiet of his study, Suguru sat alone, staring down the list of potential wives. After today's encounter, he found it difficult to focus on anything else—her confession, her teary eyes, they gnawed at his every thought.

He looked out to the private garden. Tranquil and still. Yet, the quietness only served to amplify the swirling tempest within him.

What if he made his escape now? Eloping with his love in the warmth of a spring night, starting anew in a place where no one knew their names.

He would have dedicated his entire being to becoming the husband she deserved—giving his beautiful wife everything she desired and more.

Cherishing her. Honoring her. For the rest of his life.

Suguru knew he could not offer love to his future wife, for he had given his heart to Ayaka long ago. This marriage would be strictly transactional, but perhaps transactional was not as terrible as it seemed. On the surface, he would be a perfect loving husband, but behind closed doors he and his future wife would go on to live two separate lives. Even so, he would see to it that she lived comfortably. A modest abode within the Geto estate grounds had already been prepared. The only thing she should never expect is his heart. Out of sight and out of mind would be preferable. She will be promised a life of comfort, while he continues to live out his own goals and ambitions.

Suguru needed someone unassuming, not too prominent. Quiet. Independent. Someone who would not ask questions or demand of his attention. As his eyes scroll down to the bottom of the list, a peculiar name stands out to him.

Yes… she will suffice

—

Your POV

It was like any other spring day when your father suddenly called you into his office.

Sifting through his scrolls, your father barely looked up as he spoke, "I have submitted a marriage request for you." The seriousness of the conversation contrasted with the unsettling lightness in his voice. Masking his emotions was a habit of his, one you had come to understand well.

"Father! You know I don't wish to marry!" You protested, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I will not have you go against me this time." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. "I made sure that the man is a good one."

"But why? And you would do this without discussing it with me?" Betrayal clung to your throat, too bitter to swallow.

"You know why." Frustration seeped into his words. "Believe in your father's judgement. You will find this man more than suitable."

Your father was a well-known judge in the King's court. A humble man from even humbler beginnings, he once traveled the lands as a passionate scholar—until he met your mother. He rightfully earned his spot as a judge within the palace through hard work, integrity, and competence. You were his only child, and he had loved no one else since your mother, who had died during childbirth—you were the only evidence of the love they shared.

Though your father didn't mention much of your mother, the rare occasions he did, his voice would soften, and an aching yearning would fill his eyes, as if he were reaching for a distant memory that was out of grasp. You, too, once dreamed that your future husband would love you with that same tenderness—but as you grew older, you came to realize that what your parents had was a rarity that didn't come to most.

Your father had mostly supported your desire to live life on your own terms, but in recent years, there had been a gradual shift. An increasing anxiety seemed to plague him, though its reasons remained a mystery to you. Despite your repeated efforts to ask—or to uncover the truth yourself—the answers always eluded you.

"I don't want to leave you, father!" You cried, your voice trembling. "This is not the answer. I must stay with you!"

"What can an aging judge do? I cannot protect you if anything were to happen." His shoulders sagged, the weight of his decision bearing down on him.

"I am more than capable of protecting myself! Please, tell me what's going on? We can overcome it together—"

"I will not have it!" His hands balled into fists, shaking with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I have never demanded anything of you and allowed you to do as you please, because I knew your mother would have wanted it. But I cannot allow it this time!"

"But—!"

"No more!" Your father's voice cut through the air like a knife. "It is too late anyway, he has accepted the proposal."

The reality of the situation crashed down on you like a ton of bricks. Everything had happened too suddenly. You hadn't even realized that you had been promised. You felt as if your autonomy had been stripped away. Tears welled in your eyes as the weight of your fate settled in, blurring your vision.

"I never thought he would have taken into consideration an old judge like me." He reached for his cup of rice wine, taking a slow sip. He rarely drank, only when his mind was heavy with thoughts or when it was mother's death anniversary.

"It seems he is not as arrogant as everyone said he was." He mused, the heat of the earlier discussion dissipating.

You stared at the floor, teeth clenched—desperately holding back the tears. It felt like standing on quicksand; the more you resisted, the faster you sank.

"You can resent me all you want," he sighed, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and regret, "but I made sure you are in good hands. You will come to find that he will not be a bad man to call your husband."

You could never resent your father, the man who had shown you nothing but warmth and unconditional love. But the idea of leaving your father behind, alone in this house that felt too big for a single person, made your stomach churn with dread. The thought of walking through these halls you had spent your whole life in, knowing that the days were limited and you will soon never return, it was almost too much to bear.

"A member of the house will come get you in three months' time. This will no longer be your home." His hands trembled slightly, a subtle sign that he, too, loathed this arrangement just as much as you did. Had he not felt so powerless and helpless, he would have wanted his only daughter to stay.

"You must remember to conduct yourself properly as his wife. Every great man has an even greater woman standing beside him. It will not be an easy path, but you will find it worth it in the end." His words carried the weight of a final plea, a desperate attempt to convince you—and perhaps himself—that this was the right decision.

"Yes…father," you whispered.

And thus, your fate was sealed.

—

Present Day

A new day was upon you as the sunlight peered through your windows. Now in daylight, you could finally take in your living quarters with clarity. Observing the sturdy structure, the clean finishes, and the intricate detailing on the furniture—which must have cost a fortune, you supposed your husband still put thought and effort into ensuring your comfort. Or perhaps it was Haibara. But now wasn't the time to grow complacent, the reality of your situation was far from ideal. Again, you did not expect your husband's affection, but he had treated you with unwarranted disrespect. And it was clear that if you didn't make your stance known, your life here would be a living hell.

Wasting no time, you opened a wooden trunk that held some of your personal belongings. You didn't bring much with you aside from a few books, writing tools, clothes, and a few sentimental items. Grabbing your writing tools, you moved to a small desk and began to draft a letter. This would be your first move in your path of reclamation. In this civil war, one loyal hand outweighed a hundred servants.

Yumi,

It appears that being Lady Geto is a lot lonelier than I anticipated.

My husband has graciously offered for you to stay with me–of course, only if you wish.

I hope you would be able to fulfill a lonely friend's request, even if only for a few days.

I await your reply.

Y/N

The pieces on the chess board had begun to advance, and you had to continue making your moves, even if each one was dreadful, humiliating, and painful. Taking a deep breath, you readied yourself for the day ahead.

Had it not been for the events of last night, you would have been able to enjoy the nature and landscape that surrounded you. If you had to admit it, the Geto Estate was truly magnificent. Crossing the bridge, you felt the sun's gentle embrace, heard the delicate songs of birds, and inhaled the sweet scent of flowers that permeated the air. If you closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself that you were home.

Home.

You missed your father.

For as long as you could remember, it had always just been the two of you. He had always thought it to be unnecessary to have housekeepers since it was just you and him. But this also allowed you to become self-sufficient. You fondly remembered how your father would beam with pride and shower you with praises, even if you knew he was exaggerating most of the time. Yet, you relished in knowing that you were the recipient of such unconditional warmth.

A warmth that would never exist here.

As you made your way to the main house, the servants and groundskeeper all avoided your gaze. It appeared that rumors and gossip spread quickly like diseases here, though you had anticipated this to a certain degree. However, textbook knowledge was vastly different from lived experience. Nothing in theory could prepare you for the weight of emotions. And in this very moment, you felt it—the isolation, the humiliation, the shame. You were the new Lady Geto, an invisible ghost, a woman that repulsed her husband, a commoner that had somehow clawed her way up to a status far beyond her station, a prisoner caught between her father's unexplained paranoia and her husband's unknown motivations.

Aimlessly wandering around the estate grounds, you soon caught the sound of Haibara's voice and followed it, leading you to a closed room. You could only surmise that he was with Suguru based on what was being discussed—something along the subject of having to survey an eastern part of the land and setting up military there.

You held your breath, and knocked. Their voices immediately cut off.

"Who is it?" Haibara's voice carried through the door.

"It's me," you replied, maintaining a steadiness to your voice.

"Lady Geto." The door immediately slid open, only enough for Haibara to come through. You looked over his shoulder to get a glimpse of Suguru, but it was in vain. You could only imagine what kind of expression he was wearing right now.

"Is something the matter?" Haibara asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I would like to discuss a few things with Geto-sama," you said with a composed smile, despite the tension in your chest. "It won't take too much time."

"Would you be able to come back later? There's something we're—"

"It's important," you insisted, your smile never once faltering.

Haibara turned to gauge Suguru's permission, his eyes seeking guidance.

"O-Of course, come in." Haibara stepped aside, making way for you.

Awe and reverence struck you as you stepped into the threshold of the room, nearly forgetting the purpose of your visit. Books adorned shelves from ground to ceiling, scrolls and maps laid on a table, and exquisite paintings decorated the part of the walls that would have otherwise been bare. It was a scholar's paradise, it almost reminded you of your father's study room, except on a much grander scale—it even overlooked a private garden. You wished you could ask your husband to borrow a few books, your fingers itching to trace the spines and flip through the pages, but you suppressed your excitement, focusing on the task at hand.

"Was there something you needed to discuss? Or were you here to waste time?" His piercing words harshly grounded you back to reality.

You looked over at him, only to find that he wasn't even looking at you—he was sifting through the documents on his desk.

"I will get to the point then," you said, maintaining your composure, even as frustration simmered beneath the surface. "I have appointed a lady-in-waiting, she will be here in three days' time. By the time she gets here, I would like you to formally introduce her and I to your servants and groundskeeper. Lastly, I—"

"You forget yourself. You are in no position to make demands from me," he cut you off, his words sharp as a blade. "I do not require or expect much from you, except for you to appear as Lady Geto in front of the public eye."

"Whether you like it or not, I am still your wife. Was it not you who had promised my comfort to my father?" You fought back the urge to raise your voice, keeping your tone even and controlled.

"I have already seen to it that all your needs and desires are met—better than what you're accustomed to. You would find that your current position is most fortunate, and that there are many who are eager to fulfill that spot."

You couldn’t help but let out a small scoff. The audacity and arrogance of this man who is your husband.

"You speak as if you have me all figured out, Geto-sama. You talk of what I need and desire, but you know nothing of me." Your words were laced with a quiet defiance, a refusal to be intimidated by his attitude.

The room fell silent and tense. Haibara nervously darted his eyes between the two of you, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

"If you are proposing that I act as your husband behind closed doors, that is something I cannot offer. If you are lonely and wish to take a lover on the side, I have no qualms with it—as long as you do not let others discover it."

It was true you had not expected much, but it didn't make his words sting any less.

"Come now, Geto-sama—" Haibara tried to diffuse the tension, his voice tinged with nervousness.

"I do not expect you to love me, nor do I desire your heart," you replied, never once allowing the bite of his words to shake you. "A secret lover I will take if I find one."

His fingers paused over the page, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

"But if you expect me to do well at keeping up with appearances, I believe I should at least come to know a little bit about my husband. Though you may not have desired me to be your wife, I needn't remind you that you were the one who chose me."

A sour smile played on Suguru's lips, and he glanced up at you. Your expression remained aloof as your eyes connected with his, donning a facade of nonchalance—despite the drumming in your chest.

"And what do you propose we do to acquaint ourselves with each other?" He challenged, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"That would be for you to decide. After all, it seems that you are in need of my cooperation more than I am of yours." You held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Tell me—what makes you so certain?" His eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity beneath the hardened exterior.

"I believe you already know the answer, Geto-sama." Your words hung in the air, a silent challenge.

"So you've come only to voice a complaint, yet offer no true solution?" He scoffed, his attention returning to the documents before him.

"If you're truly at a loss, might I suggest starting with a tour of the estate—and a proper introduction of the new Lady Geto? After all, it seems your staff has yet to put a face to the name."

"W-What a wonderful idea!" Haibara chimed in, awkwardly nudging Suguru, his voice a little too loud in the tense atmosphere.

You began to turn around to leave, feeling good about having the upper hand.

"I will be waiting for you at the guest house, Geto-sama." You glanced slightly over your shoulder, your voice softening. "Which lastly… was what I wanted to thank you for."

Suguru momentarily froze—your gratitude was the last thing he expected.

"Haibara informed me that you had it built for my arrival. It is… beautiful."

—

The sky was painted in a golden-orange hue, casting a warm glow across the guest house grounds. It was as if the heavens themselves had sent you a divine signal—that the pieces were falling into place. A small victory, but it felt good nonetheless.

Humming to yourself, you clipped a few rosebuds from the garden—your hands skilled and steady. The delicacy of the flowers and their sharp thorns was a subtle reminder of the serene appearance that was Lady Geto, but the blade she must use to carve her path.

You had already foreseen your husband not coming, but your true objective today had never been a call for immediate action—it was about sowing the seed. This war required patience, and you didn't need to bring the enemy down in one fell swoop.

To your pleasant surprise, however, footsteps soon approached, the sound of gravel crunching beneath them.

You smiled to yourself.

He had shown up—much sooner than expected.

"Lady Geto," Haibara greeted cheerfully, his voice cutting through the tranquil atmosphere, "Geto-sama sends his sincere apologies! He's still caught up with some administration work, so he asked me to give you the tour and introductions."

“Haibara," you replied, tilting your head. "I'm sorry that you had to come in his place.”

"Not at all! Anything to help you settle in comfortably!" he chuckled, his laughter a stark contrast to the earlier tension.

You offered him a grateful smile.

Yes, you truly had to thank Haibara. After all, he was the exact outcome you had planned for.

You didn't need a sword to win this round—just a whisper that made the right person move.

—

It was a simple chess maneuver. Within the Geto Estate, Haibara was an extension of Suguru's authority. To the servants and groundskeepers, it made no difference—his presence beside you was as good as the general himself. If you were being optimistic, Haibara made a far better tour guide than your brooding husband ever would.

Haibara fulfilled his role as an excellent tour guide, walking you through every inch of the estate grounds—occasionally slipping in brief history lessons and notes on the significance of certain areas, which you found the most intriguing. It felt like you'd managed to chip a tiny peephole into the impenetrable wall Suguru had built around himself.

"This is Lady Geto," Haibara announced to a group of servants as you passed the training grounds, his voice carrying a note of gentle but firm authority. "You would do well to remember the new lady of the house. It is Geto-sama's expectation that you serve her with the same respect you serve him."

"Yes, Master Haibara."

"We welcome you, Lady Geto. It is our utmost honor to serve you."

You offered a gracious smile, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Thank you. With you by my side, I am confident I'll adjust well to my new home."

You remained fixated on the training grounds even after the servants had excused themselves. Every mark and chip where a blade had landed was clean—precise. A testament to Suguru's disciplined strength. It was clear which cuts belonged to him, and which did not. Each stroke told a story—indiscernible to most, but a thousand words to those with observant eyes.

"I did not expect Lady Geto to be so intrigued by the training ground!" Haibara's eyes widened in surprise. "I was hoping to save the best for last, the garden on the estate is truly exquisite!"

You softly chuckled, shaking your head. "Don't mind me, Haibara. Please, show me the way."

As you followed Haibara's lead, you took one last glimpse of the training field. Though empty, you could feel fragments of the general left behind, you could see him–the way he moved, and how he swung his blade. Without a doubt, this was his sacred ground, one that you should not trespass, because stepping into this training field meant stepping into his inner world.

…

"It's beautiful," you breathed, admiring the garden before you.

What Haibara said was true, the garden was truly the most beautiful landscape you had ever seen, lined with countless blooms, even the grass was impossibly vibrant. In the middle stood a grand cherry blossom tree, the largest you could remember—even grander than those that stood within the palace, though your memory may have been wrong. After all, the last time you had the chance to enter the palace was when you were a child. But it was truly a sight to behold, and an envy to all garden enthusiasts.

"This sakura tree was a gift from Lord Shinjiro to his beloved wife!" Haibara's voice was filled with admiration.

Shinjiro. That was Suguru's father.

"He must have loved her deeply," you murmured, your gaze lingering on the magnificent tree.

"You are certainly correct, my Lady. Lord Shinjiro and Lady Sumire were proof that true love exists!" Haibara's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Though...I would recommend not mentioning them in front of Geto-sama."

You nodded, a pang of curiosity and sadness tugging at your heart.

Most aristocracies married for political gains and favors, so it was surprising that Suguru had experienced this type of warmth growing up. The pink petals swayed from the gentle breeze, as you continued to admire the sight before you—it wasn't just a tree, it was a monument of love. You couldn't help but wonder: then why does Suguru treat you so coldly? But now was not the time for self-pity.

"Ah, my Lady…" Haibara's voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You tilted your head in confusion, your brows furrowing slightly.

"You have a petal on your hair." He gestured awkwardly, his hand hovering near your head.

"Oh." You tried to brush the stray petal off, but it remained stubborn, clinging to your locks.

"Er, if you'll allow me." Haibara's fingers gently plucked the petal from your hair, his touch light and fleeting.

"T-Thank you," you stammered, a slight blush dusting your cheeks.

"They say it's lucky if it falls on your head! You should make a wish." He placed the petal in your hand, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

You stared at the petal as if it were valuable gold. "I-Is that right? I've never heard of that."

That night, as you returned to the guest home, you carefully pressed the petal between the pages of your notebook. You never believed in such things, but perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in these little moments of childish joy.

And in your notebook, you wrote down one word, representing your wish:

Home.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

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gf2bellamy · 10 hours ago

Text

part two: confirmation synchronicity

— ★ what terrifies spencer isn’t the unknown but the known—how effortlessly you’ve loved him, how long he’s loved you back without saying a word.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing !

masterlist

Spencer was scared.

Not the kind of fear he knew from the field. Not the sharp, adrenaline-fueled alertness that came with chasing killers or walking into an unknown crime scene.

This was different.

The fear clung to him like static - irrational, persistent, humiliating in its intensity. Spencer Reid had stared down the barrels of guns, negotiated with serial killers, walked through nightmares made flesh.

Yet nothing had ever terrified him quite like this: the irrevocable knowledge that he'd fallen helplessly in love with his best friend.

The realization had kept him awake all night, his mind cycling through memories - every shared smile, every casual touch, every moment he'd been too oblivious to recognize as love.

By dawn, the need to see you had become a physical ache, a compulsion stronger than logic.

Which explained why he now stood at your door at 7:23 AM, hair still damp from his rushed shower, heart hammering against his ribs as you blinked up at him in surprise.

"Spence!" Your smile was immediate, effortless, the same bright expression that had become his personal gravitational pull.

"Hi, hello," you added, stepping back to usher him in. "What a surprise."

"Hope that's okay," he managed, fingers fumbling with his shoelaces. His voice sounded strange to his own ears - too high, too tight.

"Sure thing," you said, closing the door behind him.

He paused, staring down at the floor by the entrance. You’d left a space for him—right next to your shoes, like you always did. A spot you never let anyone else take. You knew he liked to keep his shoes by the door so he wouldn’t track dirt inside. So you made space.

You always made space for him. And it hit him again—gentler this time, but just as profound. How easily, how naturally, you’d carved him into your life.

You were studying him now, head tilted.

"Hello?" You waved a hand playfully in front of his face, smiling softly. "You okay there?"

Spencer's breath caught. The morning light caught in your eyes just so, and suddenly he understood with crystalline clarity why poets compared love to drowning.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he lied, voice cracking on the last syllable. His fingers twitched at his sides with the unbearable need to reach for you, to confess everything, to risk the most important thing in his life on the chance you might feel it too - that impossible, miraculous synchronicity.

The words burned behind his teeth: I think I'm in love with you.

But he just stood there, not saying anything, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure, memorizing the way your sleep-rumpled hair caught the light.

You turned toward the kitchen —your fingers barely brushing his elbow, just enough to guide him, as if you’d mapped every inch of his personal space long ago.

“Coffee?” you called over your shoulder. Spencer nodded, as if he could ever say no to coffee ( or you ).

The cupboard door creaked as you pulled out his cup—the chipped blue one with the uneven glaze that he always used at your place. Not because it was the closest or the most convenient, but because at some point, without discussion, it had simply become his.

Spencer stared at it, something tightening in his chest, before his gaze drifted back to you.

To the sleep-mussed hair curling at your temples.

To the faint freckle just below your right ear he’d counted during boring briefings.

To the shirt—that soft, worn-in gray one with the stretched neckline.

He still remembered the first time he saw you in it. It had been after a particularly brutal case, one that left his hands shaking long after the jet landed. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked at you, but you’d known. You’d always known.

“Come over,” you’d said, simple as that.

He’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the weight of wanting it too much had terrified him even then.

But you’d smiled—small and sure—and that was that.

“Get comfortable,” you’d told him, disappearing into your bedroom to change out of your work blouse. He remembered how the gray shirt hung a little loose on you, how the sleeves kept falling and how you didn’t bother fixing them. He remembered sitting on your couch with a blanket thrown over both of you, talking in half-sentences and full silences until the weight of the case finally began to lift off his shoulders.

"Spence?" Your voice was soft as you interrupted his thoughts.

Of course you'd noticed—you always did. The way his fingers trembled. The distracted flicker of his gaze. The uncharacteristic disarray of his clothes.

His head snapped up at your call, eyes wide. "Hm?"

The cup met the counter with a dull clink as you abandoned it, crossing the space between you in two strides. Up close, the evidence of his hurry was even more apparent—his vest sat crooked, the buttons misaligned, his hair still damp at the ends from a rushed shower.

"You're worrying me," you murmured, hands already moving to straighten the fabric at his waist before he could protest. "I asked if you were okay."

Spencer's breath hitched as your fingers brushed the thin cotton of his vest. The touch was casual, familiar—the kind of unthinking intimacy you'd shared a hundred times before—but now it sent electricity crackling up his spine. His lashes fluttered shut for a brief, treacherous moment, memorizing the warmth of your palms through the material.

"I—yes, uhm." The words stuck in his throat like honey. He forced his hands to cover yours, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Your skin was impossibly soft beneath his calloused fingers. "Just had a weird night."

You didn't pull away.

Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with those eyes—the ones that saw too much, knew too well. The morning light caught the flecks of gold in them, and Spencer realized with dizzying clarity that your hands were still resting against his ribs, your thumbs unconsciously stroking small circles into the fabric.

Waiting. Always waiting for him.

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your expression. “You want to talk about it?”

"No, it's fine," he murmured, his hands burning where they'd touched yours. He shoved them into his pockets before they could betray him further.

"Okay." You smiled—that easy, sunlit smile that made his ribs ache—and turned back to the counter, pouring coffee into his waiting cup.

"Be careful, it's hot," you warned as you handed it to him.

Spencer blinked down at the steam curling from the rim. "You added—"

"Cinnamon syrup." You grinned, already knowing his question before he could finish it. "Yes, sweetness is a must, Spencer." You shook your head in mock exasperation before settling onto one of the high chairs at your kitchen island.

He sat closer than necessary, his knee pressing against yours beneath the table before he could stop himself.

Then you were talking—really talking—the way you always did.

You filled the room with laughter and warmth as you chatted about office gossip. You were animated, expressive, and quick-witted—spinning wild theories about who was secretly dating who, and who was definitely hiding something in their desk drawers.

Spencer, naturally, confirmed half your suspicions with unintentionally deadpan evidence. Like “I saw them having lunch together twice this week” or “Actually, he mentioned she had a cat named Whiskers. Nobody just shares pet names with coworkers they don’t like.”

You had a gift for sensing things. Spencer remembered everything.

Together, it made for oddly effective detective work—at least when it came to inter-office drama.

It was normal. Perfectly, painfully normal. Just like before his world had tilted on its axis last night.

Except now, he couldn't stop touching you.

His knee remained firmly against yours. His fingers brushed your wrist when you gestured too widely with your hands. Once, when you leaned forward to emphasize a point, he caught himself reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear before jerking back at the last second.

It was a craving—an insatiable, terrifying need to memorize you through touch. To prove to himself that you were real, that this fragile thing between you hadn't shattered just because he'd finally named it.

And when you didn't pull away—when you never pulled away—something warm and hopeful unfurled in his chest.

At least his brain still functioned well enough to hold a conversation while memorizing the way your lips curled around the rim of your coffee cup.

"So, should we go?" you asked.

Spencer blinked. Apparently, the multitasking wasn't working as seamlessly as he'd thought.

"Huh?"

Your eyebrows knitted together—just slightly—and the urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb was so visceral his fingers twitched against his thigh. He clenched them into a fist.

"Garcia's inviting us to brunch," you said, shaking your phone in his direction. The screen displayed a string of emoji-laden texts that could only be Penelope's handiwork. "Do you feel like going?"

The question was weighted, your tone deliberately light. You were giving him an out, sensing—always sensing—that something was off. It was a simple question, but you didn’t ask it simply.

He could hear the subtext—Are you okay? Do you need something? Do you want to talk?—all packed quietly into that one casual sentence.

"Where?" He stalled, draining the last of his coffee. The cinnamon sweetness lingered on his tongue.

"That place right around the corner." You were already moving, collecting both cups. "Garcia said she and Morgan are close by."

When you turned toward the sink, Spencer found himself standing closer than intended—close enough to catch the familiar scent of your shampoo, close enough that if he reached out—

You glanced over your shoulder, momentarily startled by his proximity but saying nothing.

And neither did he.

"Okay, yes. Sure." His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "I'm... hungry."

The lie tasted bitter. He wasn't hungry for food.

He was hungry for this—for the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled at his response, for the brush of your arm against his, for the unbearable, beautiful normalcy of being yours in every way that mattered.

Except one.

Except the one he actually craved.

"Guess you finished the cookies already?" You grinned, drying your hands on the dish towel before leaning back against the counter. The motion made your shirt ride up just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Spencer pointedly ignored.

"Yes." A soft smile tugged at his lips despite himself. "Thank you again."

He mirrored your posture, leaning against the opposite counter. The distance between you felt both infinite and insignificant.

In all the quiet chaos of the morning, Spencer didn't notice how your gaze traveled over him—lingering on the way his sweater stretched across his shoulders, the sleep-softened edges of his usually precise appearance. Up, down, then up again—your gaze lingering just a second too long on the scarf around his neck. A small, private smile curling at the corners of your mouth.

"You're welcome." You ducked your head slightly. "Though I might've stolen one or two cookies while driving over." The admission came with a conspiratorial wink, as if sharing some delicious secret.

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

You nodded proudly. “I had to taste test. Quality control.”

He laughed softly, the sound barely there, but genuine. “I had a feeling.”

A beat of silence.

"I liked the quote," he blurted out suddenly, remembering the one you'd left on the note

Your eyes lit up. "Yeah, well, Algernon's right. You should listen to him." You pointed an accusatory finger his way, but the effect was ruined by the way your voice softened around the edges.

"Speaking of food..." Your gaze flicked to the clock behind him, then back to meet his eyes. "We should go."

Spencer nodded, pushing himself off the counter. “Right. Brunch.”

Brunch was... dangerous.

Spencer hadn't accounted for the booth—how it forced you hip-to-hip, your leg draped carelessly over his thigh like you belonged there. Every time you turned to speak, your breath ghosted across his cheek. Each accidental brush of fingers over shared syrup sent sparks skittering up his spine.

When you discovered the new pancake special—fluffy buttermilk stacked with caramelized bananas—your eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

"Oh my God, this is perfect," you sighed, shooting Garcia a grateful look for recommending it.

Morgan, tempted by your dramatic praise, reached across the table and casually snatched a piece of the pancake you had already cut for yourself.

"Hey!" You swatted at his wrist, but the damage was done. Morgan chewed with theatrical relish as you glared at the now-smaller stack.

"Mmm. Tasty."

You rolled your eyes, then turned to Spencer with that look—the one that always meant trouble. "You need to try this."

Spencer glanced at the diminished pancake, then at your expectant face. "No, no, it's fine—"

Too late. Your fork was already spearing a perfect bite, your other hand warm on his forearm as you gently turned him toward you. Around you, Garcia and Morgan's bickering faded to white noise.

Time slowed.

Spencer's lips parted obediently, the fork sliding free as he tasted brown sugar and something inherently you. He chewed deliberately slow, savoring the way your lashes fluttered when you leaned closer—close enough to count the flecks of gold in your eyes.

"Well?" You were practically in his lap now, oblivious to Garcia's suddenly interested silence. "Do you love it?"

Spencer swallowed hard.

I love you. The words burned his tongue.

Instead, he nodded, his knee pressing harder into yours beneath the table.

"Perfect," he whispered.

And for once, he wasn't talking about the food.

The absurdity wasn’t lost on him. That something as simple as you feeding him a bite of pancake could feel like a revelation. That after Morgan had stolen a piece, leaving your portion halved, you’d still offered him the sweetest corner—always the best part—without hesitation.

And he’d let you.

Spencer Reid, who calculated microbial growth rates on restaurant cutlery, who ordered the same three meals on rotation to minimize variables, had parted his lips without a second thought when you pressed the fork to them.

Confirmation.

The rest of brunch passed in a haze of accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all—your pinky brushing his when reaching for the syrup, your thigh staying pressed to his long after the booth’s confines excused it. Even the drive home blurred at the edges, his mind too full of you to register street signs.

Then your apartment: the familiar creak of your couch as you draped your ankles over his lap, your socked feet absently nudging his thighs while you chatted about nothing and everything. He should’ve been cataloging the way your laughter filled the room, memorizing the cadence of your voice.

Instead, all he could think was: This is what love feels like.

The hug goodbye lasted three seconds too long. You didn’t pull away—of course you didn’t—just settled deeper into his chest like you belonged there. Who were you to deny Spencer Reid anything? Who was anyone?

Now, standing in the silence of his apartment for the second night in a row, the truth settled over him with terrifying clarity:

This wasn’t a hypothesis.

It wasn’t a fleeting emotion to be analyzed and filed away.

The evidence was irrefutable, the conclusion inescapable. Every touch, every glance, every selfless act—they weren’t just data points. They were proof.

And for the first time in his life, Spencer Reid had no idea what to do with an answer.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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kamelika · 14 hours ago

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a whole new sensation

hiori yo x f!reader tw: smut and overstimulation ahead (i wanted to try to write smut, my bad if its under expectations) all characters aged up!!

Your ex-boyfriend had never stirred pleasure in you. You two did have sexual intercourse once or twice, but he never actually made you cum. Instead, he would just call you insensible and hard to please. That's why you are sitting before Hiori- your new boyfriend-, convinced that you'll have to pretend that it feels good like when you were with your ex-boyfriend, while Hiori thinks he can prove both your ex and you yourself wrong. "Hiori..." You spoke out, voice tinged with worry. "If I don't get my release, would that mean my ex is correct after all? That I'm just insensible and hard to please?"

"Ya' don't need to worry about that, sweets. I'll make sure ya' do."

He replied, the last segment laced with something you can't quite catch a grip on.

He moved to sit beside the bed and pull you into his lap before slyly sliding a hand under your skirt. Tapping gently at your wet, clothed cunt, he speaks out.

"If ya' can get wet, I'd presume ya' can cum too."

He gently pulls down your panties and kisses your forehead.

"Have sum' faith in me, sweets."

He slides a finger in, and almost immediately, you arch your back, holding back a moan. He merely chuckles.

"Insensible? Yer' the most sensitive person I've met, yer' already clenching around me frum just a single finger."

He slowly moves his finger around, until you suddenly jerk up.

"Seems I've found yer' spot, yeah?"

He smiles tenderly, actions contradicting his soft and gentle words. "'Kay, well now that I've found yer' spot..."

He moves his finger at a faster pace, hitting your G-spot over and over again, but this time, he gently brings up a finger to press on your clit. Almost immediately, you let out your release as well as an apt and fitting moan. You pant, laying your back against him while he pats you soothingly. That felt amazing. It was nothing like your ex could ever do in a million years. It was a whole new sensation.

"See? Knew ya' could do it." "I-" "Hush. There's a lot more to come." He lays your back on the bed and pecks your lip before inserting his girth in one thrust. Shocked by the sudden intrusion, a loud and throaty moan escapes your lips, and he quickly begins to thrust in and out with a merciless pace.

"H-Hiiioorriii..."

You whine.

"Please... Slow down, it hurts..."

He merely replies by ruffling your hair and kissing your forehead. "Shh... Ya' can take it, right? Yer' doing so well."

He ruthlessly thrusts in and out of you, enjoying the sight of your teary eyes. After a few more thrusts, you both came undone. It was the same sensation, but somehow, it felt... different. Like it was laced with something. But oh well, you could barely form a coherent thought, so it doesn't matter.

You thought you both were done. But no, oh, no no no no no no no. Those were only the 2 times he'd made you cum out of the dozens of releases he put you through that night. Poor you, you were sobbing by the end of it, head throbbing and cunt aching.

"Ya' hangin on there, Y/N?"

He gently brushes the hair on your face aside. Before you could even open your mouth, you blacked out, body falling limp.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the time you woke up, you were clean, in a new set of pajamas, with hair neat, and a glass of water on the table beside your bed. Hiori walks in, holding a bag filled to the brim with your favorite snacks.

"Oh, yer' awake."

He smiles gently, coming over towards you and placing a gentle hand on your forehead.

"Yer' okay now, thank the heavens."

He flashes the most gentle and heartwarming smile before proceeding to say the most atrocious thing you've ever heard.

"We should do this more often."

Oh god.

a/n: im too embarrassed to reread 😢

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ersatz-colubridae-888 · 23 hours ago

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the binding of isaac is an incredibly detail oriented game when it's looked at closely. while a lot of observations about isaac could simply be gleamed from the game's endings, it is the items and interactions in the game that showcase the true complexities of his character - one of these interactions being the fortune teller machines (or more accurately the "fortunes" they provide). these fortunes are indicative of things that isaac considers good, real, or otherwise truthful remarks, and reflect things that he's been told in his real life.

the fortunes themselves are presented as instructions or insights to the reader, and are often cynical or downright hurtful in nature, though not necessarily presented as such. they're shown just the same as other generally kinder remarks - fortunes like "BLAME NOBODY BUT YOURSELF" and "YOU WERE BORN WRONG" exist alongside fortunes like "YOU MAKE MISTAKES IT IS ONLY NATURAL" and "BELIEVE IN YOURSELF". this lack of distinction between these wildly different perspectives displays the kind of information he gets about himself, likely mostly coming from the two biggest sources of information in his life - his mother and father. isaac sees both perspectives as completely valid, because they're both people he was raised to trust, and isaac himself is still too young to really question their remarks towards them, even if they seem paradoxical. isaac also seems to take great importance in the sources his mother provides through her christianity, such as television or literature. the fortunes that are biblical (and often crueler) in nature likely come from there.

in a similar vein, many of the fortunes contradict themselves on their own advice - "WAKE UP" and "STAY ASLEEP", "GO OUTSIDE" and "DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE TODAY", "MARRY AND REPRODUCE" and "QUESTION AUTHORITY". these fortunes and their simultaneous existence, while also showing the kinds of contradicting information he receives, could also portray a frustration or confusion with the statements themselves. he feels as though it is all true, but he can't possibly fulfill it all without compromising some part of what he was brought up with. it reflects a central theme of the binding of isaac - isaac's struggle with morality, with trying to understand what is the "right" thing for him to do, or if he is even "right" in the first place.

isaac struggling to see himself as "right" likely comes from many of these comments being more self deprecating than they are kind. considering their portrayal as just as accurate and true as any other fortune, remarks like "YOU LOOK FAT YOU SHOULD EXERCISE MORE" and "YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN" are taken at face value, and their depiction in game displays the way isaac sees himself and how the way people around him describe him is taken to heart. he sees himself as a monster, and it seeps down into every part of his being.

there are also fortunes that break away from the game itself and express isaac's vague awareness of the current state he's in. a lot of them refer to his own death or sleeping (one even refers to steven - which i intend to elaborate on later), and the only fortune that is a referral to isaac himself is "I FEEL ASLEEP!!!" *. its existence as the only fortune that actually talks about himself is yet another example of the small moments in which the binding of isaac's facade slips and he can, briefly, see his own fate.

some of these fortunes aren't always completely isaac's own thoughts, of course. there are quite a few fortunes that are meta in nature, like "REBIRTH GOT CANCELLED", "WELL THAT WAS WORTHLESS", and "WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS REROLL!", and these obviously aren't always indicative of his own thoughts or views on his life. by and large, however, these fortunes are signs of the way isaac sees himself and the things he's been told from their contradictory, personalized nature, and their imperative structure with a second-person perspective.

* i realize that this is likely a reference to metal gear solid. i still feel like the way it is written fits within the context of the game / character and can be analyzed as such without a simple meta dismissal as some other similar references.

thank you for reading! i hope this one wasn't too wordy! i love feedback or continuing the discussion, so please feel free to comment or reblog with your thoughts. it made me so happy to see how much people liked the first one i did, and even happier to hear everyone's thoughts on it.

i have one more analysis post planned about steven and isaac's connections, and might write more if i get inspired. :-)

#PEARL - AQUAMARINE #tboi #the binding of isaac #isaac moriah #ANOTHER OOONEEEE!!! I STILL GOT IT #maybeeee i should stop posting these at midnight...#But i don't want to.#the format isnt exactly apa or mla but i wanted to do this for readability lol

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syntheticsymp · 2 days ago

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Running from our Ghosts

Chapter One

Ghost x fém!reader

Ghost has always been running away from his past. That’s why he ran away from home, why he joined the military, why he became the thing he is today. But what happened to the boy he was before? What happened to Simon Riley? And what would happen if he finally managed to stop running?

Aka, the amnesia fic

Tw: angst, injuries, Simon Riley’s Past (from the comics), just general rehashing of trauma. Eventual sex/noncon with reader but not quite yet. Buckle in for the ride, it’s gonna be a longer one

Ghost's lungs ached as he forced himself to walk through the forest. The rotting green leaves dipped as the rain weighed them down. Pure water was tainted by the blood that didn't soak up into his tactical gear.

He had been in this position numerous times by now.

Stumbling through the middle of nowhere, bleeding from practically everywhere, his injuries nothing more than a mere nuisance. It didn't matter how much it hurt, he had to get through it, just like he had before.

It didn't matter if he was done with this world, because it wasn't yet done with him. And he couldn't die until it was. He learned that lesson far too many times over.

The sun shining through the clouds only seemed to mock him. His mask was becoming insufferable, the air somehow too warm and wet at the same time. Ghost was running like some coward, doing his best to simply survive after his squad was ambushed. They scattered, planned to meet up back at headquarters if they managed to evade their enemies. Yet the sun followed Ghost with more ease than those tracking him.

Crackling mud caked onto his black tennis shoes, dragging him deeper into the earth. It wanted to reclaim him, just as it had done when he was buried in that coffin, the sand unwilling to let him escape. If he could survive that, then surely he could make it back to base. He had been through worse. Surely, this wouldn’t be the end of the elusive Ghost.

Sweat beaded down his forehead, mixing with the rain and blood. It clung to his pretty blond eyelashes, unable to soak into his balaclava. The eyeblack he had applied two days earlier was finally smudging, running down his pale skin, making it impossible to see.

Any rational man would have simply taken off the patterned cloth. But Ghost was not exactly rational.

He was logical, precise to a fault, yet neither of those things were the same as having ration. Having ration assumed that Ghost's thoughts would somehow make sense, which they most certainly did not.

Taking off the balaclava meant he would no longer be Ghost. He would return to the sad little boy he killed off years ago in the desert. Simon Riley, who still rested in that crappy coffin. That boy wasn't ready to return to this world. He was long gone in the recesses of his own consciousness, becoming a shell of a person, a ghost haunting its own body.

It took three more steps for Ghost to slip and fall in the mud. Such a pathetic thing for an operative to do.

That little boy inside him couldn't keep running. He needed rest.

So, Ghost pushed himself against an old tree, the greenery giving him cover as he closed his eyes. Just a few minutes. He would rest, wake up, then repeat the cycle just as he always had. It was far easier to keep running than it was to break free.

———

It was Simon Riley who woke up in your bed a week later.

That was all he remembered. A name. The rough outlines of his face. Maybe a fleeting memory or two of his childhood. Not much else.

He tried to call out to the owner of wherever he was, only to make rough, gagging sounds with his dry throat. He tried to stand, but his feet were too sore. His knees couldn’t support his weight. Instead, he tried to sit up, only to end up back where he started as stitches he couldn't remember getting threatened to pop open. So, he stayed where he was, looking around frantically.

Someone had to live here. His mind ran through every possible scenario. Though, all he knew, was that they were going to hurt them. Simon was already beaten and bruised, he wouldn’t be able to withstand anything more. Fear followed each little noise around the house, and he fought the urge to flinch. There wasn’t a single person he wanted to see. It would probably be safer for him to hide, try to launch a sneak attack, then try to find an exit. If there was one, hazy thing he remembered from his childhood, it was the games of hide and seek. He was the best at those.

But, he doubted he could make it far. So all he could do was hold his breath and clench his fists on instinct.

Sure enough, you appeared not long after he woke. A sweet little thing who placed water on his nightstand, not yet noticing that the man she had let into her home was very much awake.

Simon just stared. Did he know you? He didn't think so. But, then again, even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to remember.

When you finally noticed his annoying blue gaze following you, you let out a squeak that could only be described as delicious. God, Simon hoped that he knew you. You were far too good to pass up. Even in his panicked state, he noticed that much.

You rushed to his side. "Oh, you're awake! Thank God."

He scoffed at the term, but for the life of him, he had no idea why. The concept of God seemed like a concept so foreign that he couldn't touch it directly. He was the reason that he was awake, not some deity in the sky.

You picked the glass of water back up and sat down on the bed beside him, so close to the edge you looked like you were about to fall off. The space was a welcome reprieve.

“Are you alright?”

Simon didn’t answer. He couldn’t, his throat hurt too bad. You seemed to pick up on this.

"You need to drink," you said softly. The tone you used was meant to be forceful, but didn't compare at all to the people he was used to bossing him around.

Though, he couldn't remember the face of the man who barked orders like a second nature. Any of them. They just kept morphing, twisting, before disappearing into smoke.

Under any other circumstances, Simon would have argued. But right now, his throat was drier than he could ever remember it being.

The cold rim of the glass pressed against his lips and he dutifully swallowed. Everything inside him lit back up, his organs suddenly deciding to work again, his world exploding into color. Simon took the glass from you, the sweat of the glass dripping down his hand, not so much as caring to wipe it off.

It felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

And, as far as he knew, he hadn't.

You just stayed where you were, staring at him with the same intensity that he had stared at you.

"Wha'?" he muttered, setting down the empty glass back down on the nightstand. His accent was heavy, heavier than it had been in years.

You shook your head, looking away like a child caught.

“Nothing. It's just that you're actually awake,

For a while there I was kinda worried..."

He could fill in the gaps for you. "That I'd die?"

"Well, yeah."

It was a fair assumption, he supposed. The last thing he remembered was the desert, walking around, searching for something, though he had no clue what.

"Do you want some more water?" You asked, standing back up. "It might help a little."

Just as you reached out for the glass, he grabbed your wrist. It was pure instinct, nothing more. The bone felt so brittle in his grip.

Break it. Don't let her get away.

He let go just as quickly as he had grabbed you.

Hearing voices combined with the horrified look on your face was enough to get him to shove his hand under the pillow, as if it was something evil. His sheepish smile was hard to distinguish with all his scars.

“Sorry." He cleared his throat and continued, "I'd love some more water."

You nodded, not needing any more prompting before running off. The angry red marks where his fingers had grabbed your wrists were enough to put some speed in your step.

You had no idea how dangerous the man you let in your home was. And he didn't, either.

Simon forced himself to his feet as soon as you left, not caring how much it hurt. He had to have supplies on him when you found him. He could use that to get home to...

Home. Right, where was that again?

Before he could think too deeply into that question, he found a pile of his things stacked neatly on a dresser. His thick fingers thumbed through the items, most freshly laundered, judging by the soft lavender scent that wafted from them. Though, he was still wearing the same undershirt and pants he had been wearing before. You must have been too nervous to change him completely.

Next, he went through the little trinkets on top of the pile. He picked up one after the other, holding it up to the light, trying to see if it sparked anything. Even the simplest memory would do.

It didn't help that most of his 'belongings' were just knives. Cold metal with no sentimental attachment.

None of these things were truly his own.

He was about to give up and patiently wait for you to return with another glass of water when something jumped out at him, the pattern scaring the shit out of him.

It was a mask. Or, a balaclava, to be more specific.

The black and white pattern seemed familiar somehow. It seemed like Tommy’s, but it wasn’t quite right. Simon ran his fingers over the material, the soft ridges of woven fabric drawing him back in.

Explaining it would be impossible, so he settled for the phrase, 'it was him’. Something about that mask held a piece of him, that he couldn't ignore. So, he slipped it over his face, his features becoming obscured as he looked in the mirror.

Simon had to fight the urge to laugh when he made eye contact with the person staring back. They looked like a skeleton or some crappy ghost. Surely, Simon hadn't been wearing that. If the cute girl who saved him saw him in that, he'd have to die of embarrassment.

Laughter bubbled up and spilled through his lips, painfully stabbing at his lungs as he pulled the mask off with practiced ease.

It was only once it was off that he realized what was amiss.

The mirror- it was wrong.

That had to be what was going on. The mirror was wrong. The person staring back at him wasn't him, it couldn't be. No, because Simon knew what he looked like. And he wasn't that...

Hideous.

His rough fingers went to touch the scars along his face. Everything about it was just wrong. If something happened to make him look like that, he would have remembered. He wouldn't have forgotten. Scars practically littered every part of his skin to the point most of it was scars alone, whatever pristine skin he used to have being torched away. The most prominent was the one on the left of his lower lip. It was split open, an old wound.

Jaw clicking as he opened it, he inspected his mouth next. His teeth were sharp, far too sharp for a human.

And two of his teeth were replaced with ones that were clearly fake. Not gold, but something of far lower quality. Its plasticky white color stood out viscerally against his coffee and tobacco-stained teeth. Since when had he started smoking?

The tips of his fingers found their way to the bottom of his undershirt. A tank top, a standard thing. He remembered his father calling it a 'wife beater' when he wore one. The title had fit for him. For Simon, however, it just made him nauseous. The browning blood caked into the white thread didn't help with the feeling. Every time he glanced over his skin, did so much as blink, another scar seemed to appear.

Another imperfection.

Things may have changed, but he did hold one truth evident. This wasn't his face. This wasn't his body.

There was only one way to tell if it was truly his. The birthmark on his hip. The one thing that couldn't be taken away from him.

He pulled his shirt up desperately, searching, half-hoping that he wouldn't find it. That it was wiped away. Proof that he wasn't crazy, that this wasn't him. But, sure enough, the dark brown streak was right where he remembered it.

Simon couldn't stop himself. He sunk to his knees, fat, ugly tears rolling down his face. This didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He didn't know where he was- he didn't know who he was. Some fundamental part of him had been ripped away, and he couldn't even remember what it was.

It felt like a violation, like it had been stolen from him.

He wanted those memories back. It didn't matter if they caused scars, if they made him relive that pain.

Those memories were his.

You came back not long after, holding a fresh cup of ice water. But poor Simon was too miserable to even look up at you. He couldn't let you see him, not in this condition. Crying was pathetic. His brother— Tommy, he thought it was— had taught him that lesson one too many times.

Still, you put down the glass and sat down a respectable distance beside him. You seemed just as lost as he was.

After a moment, you extended your hand to him. He didn't acknowledge it for a long time. Until finally, like a child seeking comfort, he took your hand in his. He still couldn't look you in the eye, but it was a touch he needed.

Having emotions was hard. And it was even harder when he was clueless about how to use them. It felt like drowning for an eternity, so now that he was finally on land, he couldn't remember how to walk.

So, after years of keeping everything bottled, Simon Riley finally cried. He cried for what felt like hours, so hard that at one point you forced him to drink water so he wouldn't dehydrate. By the end of it, his eyes were red and puffy. He had fallen asleep in your lap, trapping you in the uncomfortable position.

Only one word wormed through his mind as he slept.

It writhed and hissed like a living thing, whispering its name.

Ghost.

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #09 ghost #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #09 ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #tw blood #tw amnesia

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keepswingin · 4 hours ago

Text

⸻ LEFT BEHIND ⸻

pairing: caleb x reader

genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, canon compliant, caleb character study

w/c: 6.7k

summary: finally catching up, ever decides to take what they believe has always been theirs. caleb refuses to lose her again.

cw: kidnapping, scenes of violence, character death (not of main characters), mentions of past trauma, implied torture, implied medical experimentation

a/n: this has been finished for so long i was just stalling because i didn't feel like editing but then i figured i should post it so that it doesn't end up in the rotting wip pile xD hopefully everyone enjoys!

Ever takes you.

It's less climatic than it should be - an off night, a thundering sky, a wrong turn down an alley you've taken too many times before. Easy to track down, really, because you've gotten comfortable. It's a rule you know above all else, to always be on guard, to never stay in one spot for too long, especially now, when you're poking around in places you shouldn't be, when Caleb is the one you can't quite let go.

But a storm swirls overhead and you turn down that same alley. You watch your shadow flicker over the bricks, listen to the sound of your footsteps, one after another. You think about how it's odd that the association has been so quiet lately, when it very much seems like it shouldn't be, with everything happening at once, with everyone trying to get their hands on aether cores no one will ever truly understand.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world around you.

You blink. Glance up at the sky. Watch grey clouds move fast above you, promising rain. When you look in front of you, you notice more shadows than before, growing closer. Thick coats bundled around black face masks and leather gloves, eyes that shine under the quickly fading sun. More than you can handle, even as your hand inches towards your waistband, where your gun awaits.

Panic doesn't push you into action quite yet, but there is a part of you that thinks you should bring your hunter watch to life, that if you ping your location someone would probably be there in minutes to investigate. But was it worth the risk of putting someone else in danger? Was it worth -

Something sharp pricks at your neck and all at once your world tilts on its side.

A strangled sound escapes you as you stumble forward a step, and then fall, unable to hold yourself upright. Your knees scrape the pavement as your vision wavers and then wanes, your heartbeat thudding hard in your ears. The figures in front of you grow closer and then blur into a mass of darkness and you have no choice but to close your eyes, unable to make a sound, unable to move.

A cold hand roughly grabs your chin and turns your head, holding it for a long moment before letting go. Thunder rumbles from above. You can barely think. "We've been looking for you," a voice whispers, close to your ear. "Finally found you."

As everything around you finally begins to fade, you can't help but think about Caleb.

You wonder if he'll miss you like you'll miss him.

Caleb sits in the living room of a house that feels far too big and watches as rain slides down the window. His phone sits abandoned on the coffee table in front of him, silent and dark. He wonders if she had forgotten they had dinner plans, but there's a part of him that thinks she would never forget.

The storm is bad. The wind is dangerous, and the lightning is deadly. Storms are always worse in Skyhaven, but it's something he's learned to weather, though it was easier still when she was by his side, or tucked under the blankets in a bed that was no longer his. He reaches for the phone and brings up his messages with her, staring at the unread words.

He types out another message. Clicks send.

The storm rages on.

"Something wrong, Colonel?"

Caleb startles, looking away from the window. He doesn't remember the last time he hadn't heard someone approach, and the thought itself isn't something he wants to dwell on. He straightens and turns towards the voice, facing an older man with various medals decorating the crest of his suit. Caleb pauses for a moment and stares, brows knitting together. He doesn't remember his man's face, doesn't remember ever seeing him before. It wasn't odd for Ever to throw in new recruits when they felt like it, but he could usually pick them out of a crowd like the sore thumbs they were. Whenever they dared to add researchers to the mix, or people who had been around since Ever's start, Caleb was usually able to pick them out too.

This man...this man is an oddity.

"Did you need something?" Caleb asks, voice firm, eyes giving a quick scan to the rest of the room. It's only the two of them, the rest of the control room empty. Today's a training day for most of the Fleet. He doesn't usually need to be here for days like this one, but he didn't have anywhere else to go.

He had called her earlier. He had called her last night. He had sent more texts than he would like to admit, and still, there was nothing but silence in return. Paranoia was starting to creep in from the edges of his mind. He was minutes away from making his way over to her apartment.

The older man doesn't bother to stand at attention. It bothers Caleb, makes him think of the man more as an insurgent than a fellow comrade. If he was from Ever, he must've been a newer model, one that didn't have to go through the same rigorous training as the rest. "No," the man drawls, eyes flickering up to Caleb's face. "Just checking in with you, sir."

Caleb bristles and turns back around. "Don't bother me with such trivial matters again." There's another storm brewing on the horizon. It's been days. He doesn't know how much longer he can wait. Anxiety curls at his insides like a snake around his ribcage. What if she's hurt? What if he's failing her by waiting?

"As you wish, Colonel," the man replies, eerily even.

When Caleb doesn't hear him move, he uses his Evol to throw the door open. Wood splitters as the handle pushes through the wall. He hopes the man flinches. A few seconds later, he listens to the man's fading footsteps.

Alone again, Caleb releases a shaky exhale. One hand comes up and runs through his hair.

What if it was his fault she was missing?

Caleb stands in the middle of her apartment and looks around at a place stuck in a moment of serenity.

The door is broken at the hinges and everything is perfectly in place. There are no signs of struggle, no signs that she's been home anytime recently. There is no takeout in the trash, no dishes in the sink, no laundry piled by the washer, no blankets askew on her bed. There is no signs of life, no signs that someone has lived within this apartment, and Caleb feels his shoulders begin to shake, his heart beating faster.

Nothing is packed away in suitcases. She didn't decide willingly to leave him. But there hasn't been any contact, and his calls go straight to voicemail, and his messages are delivered but unread so someone is looking at her phone, or too sentimental to destroy it. Or maybe that's apart of evidence of her grisly murder and Caleb is already far too late and she's already gone and he's done nothing but waste time because he was trying to better and it didn't get him anywhere -

Caleb collapses to the floor, chest heaving, vision blurring. He - He needs to calm down. If he doesn't calm down the chip, the chip will make him - he can't forget, not now, not ever, not when he's already wasted so much time. He needs to calm down, he needs...he needs her. He needs her because he doesn't quite have himself anymore.

His breath catches in his throat. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't just sit here and let the chip -

Pain in his chest. Pain in his head, pain shooting through an arm far from human.

It hurts. Everything hurts and the world blurs.

No, he begs, anything but this, anything but now -

Caleb awakens in the middle of the floor of an apartment he doesn't truly remember.

Slowly, he pulls himself upright, a dull ache deep in his chest, a headache forming in the crevices of his mind. He looks blearily around the room, takes in the furniture, the color palette that isn't as dark and dreary as his own home. There's a stuffed animal from a claw machine sitting between the couch pillows, just out of reach.

Caleb carefully climbs to his feet and makes his way over to the stuffed animal, picking it up and holding it close. It looks like it's supposed to be a fluffy white dog, but it's missing the right fluff. A stray thought enters his head, that it would look cuter with a colored collar around its neck, and then he freezes.

I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat.

His fingers curl tighter around the plushie.

If I had that kind of bell right now, I should make you wear it, right?

"Fuck," he whispers, bits and pieces coming back to him. It slips through his fingers like sand, even as he desperately tries to hold onto something. He could forget everything else, but he could never forget her. He was...he was wasting time, wasn't he? He was...in her apartment and here for a reason. He needed to -

He walks towards her bedroom, stuffed dog still clutched in hand and places it carefully on top of her pillows. Then he bends down and reaches under her bed, fingers gazing across the box he's looking for. He tugs it out and pops it open, digging carefully through old and new memories alike. When he reaches the bottom, he finds what he's looking for and pulls it free.

She would never leave without it. Even if she hated him to the ends of the world, he knows she still wouldn't leave it. It's a small ring fit for a child, crafted out of fraying string and beads. He had given it to her before they were old enough to know what promise rings meant, and he thinks that's what it was always meant to be.

Tucking the ring away and pushing the box back under the bed, next he moves to her closet, picking through the clothes hanging there. Every outfit is in place besides her hunter uniform, and a quick glance at her dresser tells him she was in a hurry to leave last time she was here, makeup sprawled across the desk.

This...it's a start. He can do something with a start.

"I'm going to find you," he whispers, a promise to himself and the empty home around him.

The Hunters Association is only helpful after he threatens further action through the Fleet.

He thinks he would feel bad about it any other time but he doesn't, not when it's nearing a week and he still has no trace of her. They offer him everything they know and it gives him her last mission, and her possible last location. Her last mission had something to do with abandoned research labs out on the outskirts of Linkon, though it didn't turn up anything new and she had returned to the base empty handed.

She was dismissed by six o'clock that night. Security cameras show her walking out the front doors of the association five minutes after. She decides to walk home and takes a left down the street. One of her co-workers tells him that's the path she usually takes. Caleb rewatches the footage three times, trying to find anything abnormal but there's nothing and he is still left with more questions than answers.

He thanks them for the cooperation and tells them to call him - not the Fleet, him - if they hear anything about her or from her. He feels the distrusting eyes of her Captain burn into his back as he leaves, but he doesn't really care about that either. All he cares about is finding her.

He retraces her steps, forwards, backwards, until his feet hurt and his body aches.

When he finds no evidence the hard way, he returns to the Fleet and checks the cameras. The Fleet has access to nearly all the public cameras in Linkon, though not everyone in the city needs to know that. He's able to find her on one camera after she leaves the association, closer to her apartment, but he loses her when she ducks into an alleyway off the beaten path.

The cameras on either end of the alley have no footage, disabled from within.

Caleb digs deeper, searching the access files. If cameras are shut down it's usually for construction or security of a political figure, not for some random hunter choosing to walk down an alley. It's suspicious and makes him uneasy, the further he searches, the less files he finds. It's like the system has been wiped from the inside out. He stares at an empty file screen, where logs of usernames are supposed to be, and finds only his name staring back at him.

He deletes himself from the system and makes a copy of the footage to a spare flash drive before deleting that too.

Not for the first time, he wonders if she was taken because of him, because he dragged her too close to the sun. He tried to keep her out of it, tried to make her keep her distance, but she was stubborn and he was helpless to stop her when she made up her mind, unless he took extreme measures.

Maybe they weren't extreme enough.

He tucks the flash drive in his pocket and turns to leave, only to be met by the face of the older man from earlier in the week standing in the doorway. He's missing some medals, ones Caleb saw pinned to his suit last time, and his suit isn't as prim and proper as it should be. There's something dark in his eyes that Caleb can see even from across the room.

"Colonel," the man says happily, taking a step forward. "I've been looking for you."

"Have you?" Caleb asks, crossing his arms. "Because I haven't seen you anywhere."

The man laughs, raspy echoes bouncing off the walls around them. "I think we both know why," he responds, shooting Caleb a crooked smile. "Missions come and go."

He shifts, and his uniform moves with him. Caleb's eyes catch the symbol sitting branded against the cusp of his collarbone. Things begin to fall into place as soon as he starts lining things up. He had tried to protect her and all he did was put her right in the line of fire. There was no telling if she was even still alive if...if they were the ones who took her, finally, after all this time.

"Were you sent to keep an eye on me?" Caleb asks, and it's hard to keep his voice steady when so many different emotions are shooting through him all at once. It's hard to keep focused when he's worried about her, the chip, the deceiving man in front of him, the organization responsible for plucking him for death and giving him a second chance as something much different. "You've done a shit job," he continues, meeting the man's eyes defiantly.

"But I've done my job," the man whispers. "She's long gone by now - "

The man chokes. He reaches up to his throat, scratching his fingernails against his skin desperately.

Caleb doesn't release him. He only steps forward, and with each step he takes, the harder it is for the man to breathe. "Where. Is. She?" Caleb demands, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man's lips are nearly blue by the time he reaches him, eyes holding a deadly intent. "I have no problem killing you," he spits dangerously. "It's up to you if you want to ever breathe again."

He watches as the man's widen and a horrible sound escapes him, as if he's trying to speak. Caleb scoffs and releases him, taking pleasure in the way the man's body crumples pathetically to the floor, He struggles to breathe in as much oxygen as his body will allow. Caleb crouches down and waits a moment before using his Evol again, grabbing the man by the chin and jerking his head so that he faces him.

"Where is she?"

"I - I don't know!" he rasps, still struggling to breathe. "They - They didn't tell me!"

Caleb chuckles darkly. "Don't lie to me." His Evol tightens. The man cries out in pain. Bloodied marks begin to peel at his chin.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'm - I swear I'm not lying, I'm not lying! They - They sent me here to keep an eye on you, to - to make sure you wouldn't do anything they didn't account for! They were afraid of - "

"Afraid of what?" he whispers, sick of the man's blubbering already. He tightens his grip even more, sick of the games. He'll kill him even without getting the answers he's looking for, he doesn't mind, not when he has a feeling this man is omitting more than he needs to be, especially with his life on the line.

The man reaches out and grabs at Caleb's wrist, fingernails digging into the seam of his suit. Caleb goes to shake him off, disgust rolling in his gut, but before he can a strangled sob spilts from the man's battered throat. He pauses, arm hovering in the air. A tear slips from the man's eye. He doubts it's because he's suddenly grown a conscious, especially not if he's part of their -

"You," he cries, pain straining the tone of his voice. "They're afraid of you."

Caleb leans back and releases him.

The man falls to the floor once more, curling around himself, gasping. The noises he makes are unfitting of one from Ever, and he can't help but wonder if they've stopped paying attention to the newer ones because they finally have her. Guilt begins to claw its way up his throat, nearly weighing him down. He tried to protect her, he told them she wasn't worth the time, that he was better, that he would always be better. He tried to stop them, to keep them from ever being able to reach her.

And now they were sending unfinished soldiers out to the frontline.

Maybe they were right to be scared of him.

"Did they say anything else?" Caleb's voice is deceptively calm. He returns to his full height and readjusts his glove, straightening out the wrinkles. The man coughs and sniffles, barely turning his head in the other's direction.

"No, nothing. Nothing, I swear on my life."

Caleb is still and silent for a long moment. "That's not much to swear on."

The man doesn't have time to react as the bullet is lodged between his eyes, and smoke swirls from the end of Caleb's pistol as he returns it back to his side. He reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the flash drive, answers just out of reach.

It's a bad idea.

A horrible idea, if Caleb stops and actually thinks about it, but it's the best way for him to get answers, even if he has to play dumb to get them. The door ahead of him tugs open, revealing a face he knows all too well. Something close to fear shivers down his spine.

The Professor stares back at him, eyes crinkling at the corners once he realizes who it is standing in front of him. "Caleb," he says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Caleb keeps his hands locked behind his back, a picture of posture, even if his insides say otherwise. It takes everything within in to keep a steady, uncaring tone to his voice.

"I was curious about when the next round of testing was going to start."

The Professor regards Caleb with a cautious stare, shifting. "Is there a reason why you're so eager to begin?" he asks carefully, eyes flicking across Caleb as though they're trying to find something strange or out of place.

Caleb plays the part well as he flexes his arm slowly, rolling his wrist. "My arm has been a bit slow on the uptake. I was hoping we could make some adjustments alongside everything else."

It's the right thing to say. Immediately, Caleb can see the Professor relax, like he's provided a suitable enough reason to be poking around about future Ever projects, especially when this isn't a place Caleb enjoys visiting. The Professor allows his lips to almost twitch into a small smile.

"Unfortunately, the next round has been momentarily delayed. A few of our scientists have been redirected to a different project."

"Oh?" Caleb hums, acting clueless. "Did they finally figure out a better resource?"

There's a gleam in the Professor's eye that Caleb doesn't like. "Something like that. I'll let you know as soon as we're able to begin the next stages. For now, just keep things running smoothly, Caleb."

Caleb gives a short nod and a quick duck of his head as the Professor bids him goodnight, the door shutting quietly behind him. Caleb can't get out of the place fast enough, heart thumping hard as he makes it across the street and down the first alley he sees. He stops and allows himself to lean his forehead against the cold brick, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

At the very least, he confirmed what he thought.

Ever did have her and they were already pushing other projects back because they knew she was the key to the lock that they were looking for. At least the Professor told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't realize it.

He talked specifically about the scientists that worked with Caleb, which meant he knew which places to check.

Four weeks.

Four weeks since he's last seen her face, heard her voice, held her close.

He craved her touch like a man would water in a desert, and he didn't know how to combat that feeling. Instead, he resorts to the one thing he knows he can do. He hits the research labs he knows best, and when those turn up empty, he begins going for the ones Ever tries to hide. When he runs out of those that he knows, he interrogates the next scientist he comes across.

Blood sticking to his palms, he heads for the next round of labs.

Night bleeds into the horizon.

He's so close. He knows he is.

He didn't know this lab existed.

The building is small and tucked behind some other abandoned buildings, nearly trespassing into the N109 Zone, windows broken and brick decaying into dust. It was the last lab on the list and so far Caleb was doubtful there was anything inside besides the hollow remains of what used to be, but he makes his way into the building anyway, using the force of his weight to push through the front door.

It cracks and falls apart as he steps over the threshold. The room before him is bare and covered in discarded papers, weathered with age, some shredded into tiny pieces. Plaster peels from the walls and there's a hallway tucked behind a fallen bookshelf towards the back of the room that he steps over.

Following the hallway brings him to a second room, this one smaller than the first. Furniture sits askew, wood splintering and cushions thrown to the corner, ripped in two. Thick layers of dust cover empty picture frames barely hanging onto their hooks. There's no signs of life, no signs of anyone having touched this house in years and Caleb's hopes fall deep into the pit of his stomach.

Did the scientist lie to him? Broken and bleeding and alie slips from between his split lips?

Anger is a close second to the disappointment, the cocktail of emotions beginning to stir deep within him. He's failed again. He can't do anything worthwhile, he never has, and now she's probably dead and gone and he couldn't even protect her when it mattered the most. What was the point of him coming back if nothing changed? If he was still just as useless as he was all those years ago, ignored and thrown aside as they reached for her every single time -

Caleb's eyes abruptly catch on the far wall.

There's dust everywhere. There is not dust on the corner of a larger picture frame that sits awkwardly towards the bottom of the wall, just enough to be out of place.

He walks over to the frame and stares at it for a long moment, and it's then that he sees the traces of fingerprints, sticking to the remains of the frame. There's a small indent within the wood.

Ever was smart. Caleb always tried to be smarter.

The smell of antiseptic burns his nose the further into the lab he gets, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms ahead of him. It's too bright, and the sounds of different machines whirring and clicking sets him on edge. He hasn't seen a single person in this place that grows larger and larger after every step he takes, and yet his heart tells him he's in the right place.

She's here. He knows she's here.

There's tables with restraints in most of the rooms. Equipment, clipboards, computers. Needles awaiting their hosts in one, scalpels and hard cloth in another. He quickens his pace, heart pounding. If he thinks too much about this, about where he is and where he has been, the chip will take control. He can't allow that to happen, not now, and he tries his best to keep his breathing steady as he finally makes it to the end of the hallway, only to be met by an eye reader beside the door.

It's barely a sound decision to break it, bits of metal and glass shattering to the ground but the door opens as he does, spitting broken error codes in an calm voice as he pushes his way through. Several shocked eyes turn to face him as he sees the massive room before him, wires curling from the ceiling down to troves of different devices, to empty tables awaiting test subjects, to -

To her, lying on a lone table in the middle of the room.

Caleb's world freezes once he sees her. He thinks his heart stops.

She's restrained by metal around her wrists, ankles, and forehead, keeping her from looking around. Her chest heaves with frantic breaths and a scientist stands above her with a scalpel in hand, blood dripping from the blade. There's needle marks trailing alongside her neck, cuts across her arm, a gash along the curve of muscle in her leg, poorly healing, wrapped in bruising of purple and yellow. She's still in her hunter outfit, though it barely hangs onto her body, already so malnourished and small and if Caleb didn't know her like another side to his heart, he wouldn't know who he was looking at.

There's six scientists in room. The one standing above her goes to speak but Caleb throws him back with his Evol before he can get any words out, his back hitting the far wall with a loud crack of bone. He doesn't have a chance to scream but one of the other scientists does, scrambling to run, the others attempting to follow.

Caleb pulls out his pistol and takes aim, exhaling.

He blinks away what he thinks might be tears before holding the far door they all run to in place with his Evol, listening to the growing sound of their distraught cries as they look back at him.

Before everything, before this, maybe he would have felt something. Guilt, horror, disgust. But he is what they all fear, and this is clear in a way it has never been before as he sees the way they pull at the door like they can make it move, like they can change the outcome that's already been foretold. As they look at him like a monster, Caleb knows there was never a chance that he wasn't, not when it came to those he loved.

He shoots them one by one in quick succession before lowering his gun. Their bodies are piled on top of each other, motionless and silent, a scene out of a horror movie neither of them could ever finish when they were younger.

He pockets his weapon and turns back to where she's been abandoned, running over to her side.

It's worse up close. An Evol suppressor sits locked around her neck, skin underneath rubbed raw from struggling. Her chest is a mess of open wounds, some festering and others still bleeding, her skin mangled and messy. Caleb struggles to keep the chip from taking him away right then and there, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. His eyes drag back up to meet her own, taking in her sunken cheeks, her pained eyes, the small cut below her lip.

With a shaking hand he reaches down and wipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. She flinches with the motion, even as her eyes stay locked with his, and he freezes, unsure what to do next. He wants nothing more than to hold her and never let go, to take all her pain and make it his, to stitch up the wounds and drag the needle along his own skin instead - anything to make it so that she doesn't look how she does now, like the life's been drained out of her, frail and scared and tiny even though she's always been anything but.

His lips almost tremble. He tries to say her name, to whisper it like a prayer that was never answered, but he finds that nothing comes out, that he is stuck standing over her with his hands half raised and useless when she needs him most. He couldn't protect her then, so how could he protect her now? Offer her comfort when his touch was something she couldn't even bear, broken and bleeding and all his fault?

He keeps his gaze on her as he uses his Evol to carefully dislodge the restraints before leaning over and removing them one by one. She flinches with every movement, each clatter of the metal as he throws it aside, fingers shaking by the time he reaches the suppressor. He's overly careful to keep space between them as he leans in further, not wanting to box her in, unable to get a good enough look and wanting to be sure of the angle before he gently pulls it from around her neck, the device beeping as it's deactivated.

It drops the floor unceremoniously. A part of him wants to use his Evol to snap it to pieces and another part of him wants to rip everything in this lab apart, to take whatever data they've gathered and destroy it once and for all, but no part of him wants to leave her.

He swallows and inches closer to her, one hand gingerly slipping under the curve of her back. He tries not to react to her flinch, but he's sure his face doesn't hide the emotions he feels well. "You're safe now," he whispers, nearly desperate. "I'm going to help you sit up. One, two - "

He pulls her up as gently as possible, other hand coming to a rest on the side of her waist, one of the only uninjured parts of her. His touch lingers as she cries out and squeezes her eyes shut from what he's sure is pure agony on her wounds, and wants nothing more than to take the sound away and replace it with something else.

He knows he should let go of her. He knows he should. But he can't.

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice as she slowly lifts her hand up and then rests it on his cheek. He grows still, eyes flickering back to her own. A tear slips down her cheek. And then another. "Caleb?" she whispers, and he - he remembers the last time she sounded like this, broken and tiny and crying and nothing but a failed experiment to everyone around them and - and -

Caleb nearly breaks himself when her other hand grapples for him, fingers tangling around the chain of his necklace. She looks down at the necklace and then back up at him, squeezing the pendant in a tightly closed fist full of new scars, and Caleb can't take it any longer.

He surges forward, arms wrapping around her, closing the distance between them until they're breathing the same air, feeling the beat of each other's heartbeats. A sob rattles deep in Caleb's chest when she starts to cry, and he squeezes her tighter, her arms sliding around him, his fingers knotting in her hair.

"This is my fault," she whispers unbidden, words muffled into the cusp of his shoulder. Caleb tucks himself closer, pressing soft kisses to the skin he can reach, shaking his head.

"No," Caleb murmurs, voice choking on another sob. "Not your fault." He's barely able to form sentences, let alone words, body shuddering with the force of emotions he struggles to keep under control. "Never your fault." A tear breaks free, slipping against her skin. "I'm sorry."

She hiccups, sniffles. He thinks maybe it could've been a laugh, if only they were somewhere else.

"You found me, Caleb," she says. "You found me."

"Always," he breathes, kissing her again. Her fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, desperate to find skin and hold on tight. Caleb shifts slightly, nearly pulling her off of the table and into his arms but stopping when her breath hitches. Another kiss and he's tugging at her again, waiting until he feels her hold grow tighter before attempting to pick her up, her arms wrapped around him like it's where she's always belonged. He slides a careful hand down her back before settling his hold on her waist, the other under her knees, tight, secure. Safe. "Let's go home," he says, voice nearly catching and breaking.

He feels her nod against him.

And he finally takes her home.

You find that you like sleeping with the lights on, after.

You know it's stupid, really, when there's so many worse things than the dark, but it scares you in a way it never did before, fear curling around your insides until it was the only emotion you knew. You hated it, hated feeling so weak, hated feeling so stupid walking over to the light on the far side of the living room and flicking it on like clockwork every night at six o'clock sharp, always before the sun disappeared under the horizon.

Tonight is the same as any other, your finger pressing against the light switch before you breathe a small sigh of relief and return to the couch, watching idly as the weatherman tells you that it's going to storm all week, another thing you didn't fare too well with anymore.

It made it hard to be in Skyhaven, the storms. They were so, so loud up there, closer to the clouds. It reminded you of that lab, of the echo every single instrument made, of the way some machines made you scream and others made you beg. It's all just too much and for a long moment, you're back there, and there's thunder outside and you are trapped on a table with a scalpel above you and no way out -

The front door opens and closes.

Footsteps echo, growing closer and closer to you. You barely notice, trying to bring yourself back from a place you never want to revisit, and then there's a hand sliding across your back, squeezing tightly at your shoulder. Warm breath ghosts across your ear. "Missed you, pipsqueak," Caleb whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering for a long second before pulling away, ruffling your hair as he goes. "I'll start dinner."

You wait for his footsteps to fade before turning and watching as he starts opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients, stacking them in a neat pile on the counter, followed by pans and lids. He fills a pot with water and places it on the farthest burner, flicking on the stove. When he turns again, his eyes catch your own and he slows to a stop, watching you.

He's still in uniform. His hat is pristine and perfectly in place. He's preparing to make you dinner, as though he knows that your head isn't in the right place tonight. He looks at you like he already knows everything you could say. He's hard lines to soft edges that never quite disappeared, and you find yourself moving off the couch and towards him.

He waits until you're close enough before opening his arms and wrapping you into a hug, reading your mind once more. You exhale and the sound shudders through you. The twisting of your gut and shadows of your mind go with it.

Caleb presses a kiss to your hair. He waits for you to speak first and for a long moment you simply follow the rise and fall of his chest. Words swell in your chest before they finally decide to spill from you, whispering across the silence between you.

"I think I love you."

The water in the pot begins to boil, soft pops echoing from the stove. A soft chuckle rumbles through Caleb's chest. One of his hands intertwines with your own. "Popping the question so soon, pipsqueak?" he jokes quietly, and you can't help but roll your eyes, gently shoving him with your shoulder. He holds onto you tighter in retaliation.

"I'm serious," you say.

"So am I," he returns, and when you turn your head to look at him, he's smiling down at you like you're the sun. "I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you." A pause. His eyes, staring right through you. "I love you too."

You feel something inside you start to mend with his words. The sounds of the past are eased away with the sound of his voice, the bitter cold biting at you washed away by warmth. His words settle deep in your chest and easily make a home where you thought only an empty chasm remained.

You close the distance between you, your lips meeting his. He sinks into you, smiling, and you pull him closer, kiss him deeper. You think this is what love must feel like, what it must taste like, what it must look like. You think this is what devotion is, what your hopes and dreams are, what you've been missing for what feels like your entire life.

You think this is home, and that it's never once been a place, because it's always been a person.

It's always been him.

#love and deepspace #lads #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lads caleb #lads x reader #lads caleb x mc #lads caleb x reader #lnds #caleb love and deepspace #caleb angst #lads mc #lnds caleb #lads angst #love and deepsace fanfic #lads fanfic #keepswingin writes #mine

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angeliccss · 7 hours ago

Text

Cleanse Me

Pairing: Joan Ramsey/Fem!Reader

Words: 7.6k

Summary: When Joan Ramsey takes you under her wing, she promises salvation. Bible studies turn into confessions, cleansing rituals blur into something deeper, and soon you can’t tell where devotion ends and Joan begins. In her arms, you are pure. In her hands, you are hers — and she will do anything to keep it that way.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Manipulative Relationship, Dubcon, Murder, Thigh Ridding, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, and a multitude of other things

Read on AO3

AN: I’m still on the pain meds so there’s probably a few mistakes, please don’t mind them. Enjoy! Xx

The church wasn’t large—just a modest brick building nestled between trees that creaked in the wind, like they, too, were always praying. The pews were old but well-kept, the hymnals worn soft at the edges, the scent of lemon polish and old wood lingering like incense. Outside, the world was loud and fast and crumbling. But in here, everything was still. Reverent. Safe.

Joan Ramsey had attended this church her whole life. She had married in it, mourned in it, buried a husband and son under its soil. She sat in the same pew every Sunday, three rows from the front, and never once arrived late. People knew better than to interrupt her routine. She was respected. Feared, maybe. But she called it righteousness.

She watched now as the other women gathered their purses, laughing softly among themselves, their children tugging at their skirts. None of them noticed you. But Joan did.

She noticed the way you lingered at the edge of the sanctuary, eyes scanning the stained-glass windows like they were speaking to you. She noticed the way you didn’t reach for your phone, didn’t gossip, didn’t even glance at the group of boys roughhousing outside near the parking lot.

She watched you and thought—She still has grace in her. Untouched. Unruined. It made something old and warm and dangerous stir in her chest.

She stood near the altar, spine straight as a ruler, watching the congregation filter out with polite nods and empty smiles. But then you passed by—quiet, head slightly bowed, Bible clutched to your chest like a lifeline—and Joan saw something that made her pause.

You were modestly dressed, not just out of obligation, but as if it were stitched into your bones. No makeup, no fidgeting, you were still. You were good. Joan moved before she could think better of it.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice low and gentle, the kind of tone she reserved for communion and confession. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” You looked up, startled. “Oh—I’m new here,” you said softly. “Just moved. This is my first service.”

Joan smiled—small, tight, deliberate. “Well. The Lord certainly has a way of bringing the right souls into His house.” Her eyes flicked down to your Bible. “Would you be interested in studying the Word a little deeper? I host a private group. Or—just the two of us, if you prefer.”

You hesitated for only a second. Then you nodded. And Joan’s smile widened just slightly, like a secret being kept.

The invitation came formally, the way Joan did everything. A handwritten note slipped into your hand after Wednesday evening service, written in immaculate cursive:

“Join me for study and tea. Friday at four. Bring your Bible and an open heart.”

—J.R.

You showed up exactly on time.

Joan’s house sat at the end of a long, quiet street. It was the kind of house that looked untouched by time—white siding, green shutters, hedges trimmed to military precision. The walkway was spotless. Not a leaf dared to fall where it wasn’t wanted.

When you knocked, the door opened almost instantly. Joan stood in a soft beige sweater, pearls at her throat, her hair pinned up in a perfect twist. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Right on time,” she said. “Punctuality is the first sign of discipline.”

She stepped aside to let you in. The house was just as pristine inside as it was out—lace curtains, polished wood floors, not a speck of dust anywhere. The smell of chamomile tea and lavender filled the air. A small table was already set in the sitting room, her Bible already open, a notepad neatly placed beside, and one set out for you.

You sat down carefully, almost afraid to disturb the stillness. Joan poured the tea in silence, then looked at you with that same calm, unreadable expression. “I thought we’d begin with Proverbs,” she said. “There’s wisdom in learning how to live before we concern ourselves with how to die.”

You nodded, grateful for the structure. For the quiet.

But as the study began—her voice low and steady, her fingers occasionally brushing the side of your hand when pointing out verses—you felt something underneath the surface. Something watchful.

She wasn’t just teaching. She was studying you, too.

You read quietly from Proverbs, your voice steady, careful. Joan listened with her eyes closed, her hands folded neatly in her lap like she was praying. But when you stumbled over a verse—“A gracious woman retaineth honour…”—she gently touched your wrist.

“Slow down, dear,” she murmured. “Let the Word settle on your tongue. It’s not a race to the end.” You swallowed, nodded, and tried again. Joan watched you with a look that felt too close, too focused. Not judgmental, not exactly—but something sharper than approval. When you finished the passage, she gave a small nod.

“Beautiful,” she said. “You read like you believe every word.”

“I do,” you said quickly. “I mean—I try to.” That smile again. Tight. Controlled. “You don’t have to try so hard here,” she said. “I can see you for what you are. You’re special. Not like the others.” The words landed heavy in your chest. Praise, maybe. Or something more complicated. You didn’t know what to say, so you took another sip of tea.

Joan opened her Bible, flipping through the thin, fragile pages with delicate fingers. “People like us… we have to be careful what voices we let in. The world has a way of tugging at you, little by little, until you’re not sure what’s holy and what’s filth.”

She paused. “Do you spend much time with boys?” You blinked. “Not really. I’ve been focused on school, and… on God.”

“Good.” Her tone sharpened just slightly. “They don’t know how to treat purity when they see it. Most girls give it away before they even know what it’s worth. But not you.” You shifted in your chair, suddenly aware of the way her eyes lingered—not on your face, but on the slope of your shoulders, the line of your collarbone beneath your sweater.

Joan turned another page. “The Bible doesn’t speak only of sin, you know. It speaks of loyalty. Of devotion. Of choosing what is right, even when it’s not easy. Sometimes, what’s right… doesn’t look the way people expect.”

She looked up at you then, her eyes calm, resolute. “I think God brought you to me,” she said. “Not just for study. For something more.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The next session was quieter.

Joan had dimmed the lamps. The tea was already steeped when you arrived, and she greeted you not at the door this time, but from the sitting room—her voice drifting softly through the hall, calling you in like a hymn.

You obeyed without hesitation. She smiled as you entered, patting the seat beside her instead of across from her like before. “No need to be so formal, dear. We know each other better now, don’t we?”

You nodded, your Bible tucked close to your chest. She took it gently from your hands and placed it on the side table, not opening it. “We won’t need it right away.” You hesitated, unsure. But Joan reached out, brushing your hair behind your ear with slow, practiced tenderness.

“There’s scripture,” she said, “and then there’s understanding. Some truths are too holy to be written down. They have to be… lived. Felt.” She laced her fingers in her lap, voice calm, deliberate. “Tell me—do you pray for me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I—I mean, yes. I pray for everyone in the study. I ask God to give you wisdom and peace.” She smiled again, just a little too wide. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But I think you’re capable of more than that.”

Joan leaned in slightly, her presence overwhelming but oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a thick blanket you couldn’t quite move beneath.

“I think God sent you to serve something greater,” she said. “Some are called to follow blindly. Others are chosen to devote themselves fully—to walk beside righteousness and keep it protected. You’re not meant to blend in with the world, sweetheart. You’re meant to worship truth.”

Her hand brushed yours, cool and steady. “And sometimes,” she whispered, “truth doesn’t come from the sky. Sometimes… it looks like me.” You stared at her, unsure if she was joking—but her expression didn’t waver.

“You want to be good, don’t you?” she asked softly. “Yes,” you breathed. “Then be good for me.” Joan held your gaze a moment longer—long enough for something silent and unspoken to settle in the room like dust. Then, just as easily, she pulled away.

She reached for your Bible with both hands, lifting it delicately as though it were a sacred relic. “Now,” she said, her tone light again, almost sing-song, “let’s turn to the Psalms. I think you’ll appreciate the language in this one.”

She flipped through the pages with familiar grace, stopping on Psalm 91.

“This is one of my favorites,” she said, her fingertip running gently along the lines. “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Isn’t that beautiful?”

You nodded, your heartbeat still a little too loud in your ears. Joan glanced at you with a soft smile, as though she hadn’t just asked you to worship her. As though nothing had happened at all. “Go on, dear,” she said. “Read the next few verses out loud for me.”

You did. Your voice wavered at first, but Joan listened intently, her eyes closed again like she was basking in the sound of it. Every so often she would hum her approval, or gently correct your pronunciation—never harsh, always firm. Maternal.

When you finished, she sighed contentedly. “You have a gift,” she said. “Not just in the way you speak the Word, but in the way you carry it. So many people read scripture and miss the spirit of it. But you… you let it live in you.”

You glanced down at your lap, flustered, but warmed by the praise. Joan reached for your hand again, briefly this time. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “You’re becoming exactly who God intended you to be.” She didn’t have to say the rest out loud. You felt it anyway:

And God speaks through me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The gifts began to arrive slowly.

At first, you thought they were just tokens of kindness—gestures of encouragement from a generous mentor. Joan presented them casually, each one accompanied by a soft smile and a scripture to match.

The first was a cross necklace, delicate and gold, with a pearl nestled in the center. “It’s modest,” she said, fastening it around your neck herself, her fingers brushing the curve of your throat. “But meaningful. Like you.”

The second was a pale blue dress—long-sleeved, high-necked, cinched gently at the waist. It reminded you of something Joan might wear herself. “I saw it and thought of you,” she said. “So many girls dress for attention. But you deserve to be seen for your spirit.”

The third was a devotional book, leather-bound and worn at the edges. “It was my mother’s,” Joan told you, pressing it into your hands. “She taught me how to listen to God. Now I’m passing it on to you.” You didn’t question it. You thanked her. You wore the necklace every day.

And you started spending more time with her.

What began as once-a-week study sessions became near-daily visits. You helped her prepare tea, folded napkins beside her as she spoke about scripture and sacrifice. When you bowed your head for prayer, she reached for your hands now, holding them gently in her own. Her thumbs would sometimes trace idle circles against your knuckles, and you never pulled away.

During one reading, a strand of your hair fell into your face. Joan reached over without hesitation, brushing it back behind your ear. “Such a pretty thing,” she murmured. “You were made to be cherished. But not by the world.” She closed the Bible with a soft thud.

“The world is loud,” she said, her voice low and even. “And selfish. It tells you to take and consume and forget. But I can help you stay close to God. With me, you’re safe. With me, you’re seen.”

You didn’t answer right away. But you believed her.

She spoke with such certainty, such quiet power. Every word she gave you felt like a sermon, every glance like a blessing. And the longer you sat beside her, the more you found yourself thinking:

She doesn’t just speak for God. She is God. You wanted to please her. To serve her. To make her proud. And Joan—Joan looked at you like you were already hers.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It started with a quiet tap on the pew. The following Sunday, as you slipped into your usual seat near the back, Joan turned from her place near the front and beckoned you with two gentle taps against the varnished wood beside her.

You hesitated—but only for a second. Obedience had become instinct.

You wove past the others, eyes dropping as you passed whispered glances and half-hidden smiles. No one usually sat with Joan. People knew better. But she gave you a small nod when you reached her, scooting just enough to make space.

“Good girl,” she murmured, her voice barely above the rustle of hymnals. “I don’t like you sitting so far away.”

The sermon that day washed over you in a blur. Joan didn’t look at the pastor once. Her gaze remained fixed forward, chin lifted, hands folded. But every so often, her knee brushed against yours. She leaned just close enough for her perfume—something floral and faintly medicinal—to settle in your lungs.

After the final hymn, she didn’t let you drift toward the others like you usually did. As Sister Carol tried to flag you down to ask about youth group, Joan’s hand found your lower back, light but commanding.

“Come,” she said. “I’ve prepared lunch.” You didn’t get the chance to respond. Joan guided you out the front doors with such gentle authority that no one dared stop her. Not even Carol.

By the following week, it was expected.

You sat with her during every service. Walked beside her after. Her place at the church became your place—while your friends, your peers, your other obligations slowly fell away. You even moved in with her on the weekends.

She noticed, of course. Joan noticed everything.

“I know it’s hard,” she said one afternoon, setting a plate of lemon bars down beside your Bible. “When people don’t understand what God’s called you to. They’ll say you’ve changed. That you’re too serious. That you’re strange.”

She brushed a crumb from your collar, then smoothed your sleeve with the same touch one might use to quiet a child. “But they didn’t see you the way I did. They didn’t choose you.” Her eyes were calm, but firm.

“You belong with me. And there’s nothing out there that could offer you more than what you’re building here. With me. With Him.” You nodded, too full of something—fear, awe, longing—to speak.

Joan smiled and cupped your cheek in her palm. “Good,” she whispered. “Now finish your reading. I want to hear you say it aloud.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It truly started when you missed a study.

You’d stayed late on campus—just one hour, just one meeting—and when you arrived home, the tea was cold. The lamp in the sitting room was still on, but she wasn’t waiting with her usual open Bible and warm smile.

She was standing at the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her silhouette stiff and silent.

“I’m sorry,” you said, setting down your bag. “It—it ran long, I should’ve—” She didn’t turn around. “I waited.” The words dropped like ice. You stepped forward, heart crawling into your throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Joan finally looked at you. Her expression was unreadable—too smooth, too calm to be natural. “I open my home to you. I feed you. I guide you. And still the world pulls you away.” Her eyes narrowed, not angry, but wounded. “Don’t you see how dangerous that is?”

You nodded quickly, desperate to make it right. She softened just enough to let you breathe again. “You’re young,” she said, stepping closer, brushing your hair back like she always did. “Easily distracted. But I forgive you. God forgives you.”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You woke to the sound of movement down the hall—floorboards creaking, the low murmur of a voice. Curious, you crept from the guest room you’ve been staying in and found the door to Joan’s prayer room cracked open.

She was kneeling at the foot of the altar, fingers dug into the edge of the wood, rocking slightly as she prayed. “Protect her,” she whispered, breath ragged. “Keep her clean. Keep her mine. Keep her from temptation. From the serpent’s tongue. From the lies—”

Her voice broke. She pressed her forehead against the altar. “She doesn’t know what she is. What I see in her. What You made her for.” You backed away before she noticed you. But you didn’t sleep at all after that.

The next day, she said you needed cleansing. She said the world left marks, even when you tried to resist it. And she wouldn’t let you carry that filth in your soul. She filled the bathtub herself—lavender oil, rose petals, salt.

She sat behind you, fully clothed, as she poured water over your shoulders and whispered verses into your hair. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, over your body.

“You’ve let something in,” she said. “But I can wash it away. I can clean you from the inside out.” Her breath was warm against your neck.

She guided you back against her chest, her arms enveloping you with the ease of ritual, like it was something you both had done a thousand times in another life. The water lapped gently around your body, warm and scented with lavender and rose—comforting, disarming.

Joan pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Then another, lower this time, just behind your ear. “Shh,” she murmured, her voice barely more than breath, “let go. Let it all go. Let me carry it for you.”

Her hands moved slowly over your arms, your shoulders, slick with oil and reverence. Each touch lingered. She whispered verses between kisses, her lips trailing a path down your neck like benedictions. The words were familiar—lines from Corinthians, Psalms, fragments of teachings about purity and surrender—but they sounded different coming from her, soaked in heat and devotion.

Her mouth found the base of your throat, open and slow, and your breath caught.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” she said, one hand sliding lower, the other spreading gently across your stomach, anchoring you. “God is here. He’s watching. He sees how much you love Him.”

Her voice dropped, breath heavy now, flush against your ear. “He sees how much you love me.” You didn’t know when your knees parted. You didn’t realize how tightly you’d started to grip her wrist beneath the water, only that you needed to hold onto something.

Her fingers slipped deeper, past skin, past reason. “Let me take the sin,” she whispered. “Let me cleanse you.”

The edge between scripture and sensation blurred. Each word she spoke curled around your spine like smoke—sweet, heavy, cloying. Guilt and pleasure tangled so tightly you couldn’t tell one from the other.

You gasped something—maybe her name, maybe a prayer. She smiled against your skin. “That’s it,” she murmured. “That’s it, my sweet girl. Let Him hear you.” Her hand never stopped. Neither did her voice.

And when you came undone, you weren’t sure who you were surrendering to—Joan, or God. Maybe both. Maybe they were the same. Later, in a daze, you wandered into her prayer room while she was on the phone.

You opened her Bible to find your name scrawled in the margins—again and again, in tight, looping cursive. Beneath a pressed flower, tucked into the Psalms, was a photograph of you from church.

It was worn at the edges. The page around it was smudged and softened from touch. Like someone had been praying over it. Or worshiping it. Or you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The next few days, Joan grew quieter.

Not distant—never that—but thoughtful, watching you more carefully, her touch gentler, her prayers longer. She’d cup your hands between hers during grace, her thumbs circling slowly over your knuckles. She’d fix your collar if it dipped, smooth the hem of your skirt with careful fingers, murmur that modesty was a virtue but so was obedience.

You stayed with her more often now. You weren’t sure when the nights away from campus became routine, only that Joan made it feel like the holiest choice you could make. She would smile when you said you felt safest here, like you were being called.

But you noticed something. A tension building beneath her calm surface, like she was holding back from saying something—doing something. Her prayers became heavier. Her eyes lingered longer. The touch of her fingers against your wrist, your cheek, your spine—it all buzzed with a kind of spiritual urgency.

That night, after study, she watched you with a fire behind her eyes. And when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “There’s something still inside you, isn’t there?” she said. “A stain that hasn’t lifted.”

You hesitated. You felt… calmer, but the restlessness hadn’t left completely. Sometimes, it came back stronger, especially when she touched you. When she prayed over you. “I think so,” you murmured. “It comes back when I’m near you.”

Joan’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something deeper. Possessive. Certain.

“That’s because it knows I can cast it out,” she said, rising from her chair. “But some spirits… they root themselves inside. They cling to flesh. They hide where only a sacred hand can reach.”

Your breath caught. She knelt before you, reverently, like you were the altar this time. “I need to cleanse you again,” she said. “But not like before. This time, it must be deeper. Thorough.” She placed her hand over your heart. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded before thinking. “Yes.” She exhaled like a prayer answered. “Then lie back,” she said softly. “Let me guide you. Let me take what’s unclean and return you to Him.”

The lights in the room were low. Only the glow of candlelight flickered across the walls, dancing over the worn covers of scripture, the rosary strung over the mirror, the water basin beside the bed.

Joan had asked you to undress slowly. Not because it was indecent, she said, but because the ritual required stillness. Reflection. “This isn’t about the body,” she whispered, helping you step out of your dress. “It’s about what’s hiding inside it.”

She’d anointed your forehead with oil, fingers slick and reverent, then down the line of your throat, over your chest, your hips. Her touch never strayed far at first—only enough to leave you trembling, unsure of whether you felt exposed or reborn.

Then she led you to the bed, lifting the sheets like an altar cloth. She kept her robe on. Joan always kept her robe on.

She cupped your face and kissed your forehead, whispering a verse from Psalms, and you tried to hold it in your mind as she lowered herself beside you. But her hand was already sliding low again, trailing the line of your stomach, dipping between your thighs.

You gasped.

“Shh,” she murmured, breath warm against your cheek. “Don’t be afraid. This is what devotion looks like. This is how we fight what’s inside you.”

Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, coaxing sensation out like a confession. “You’re not impure,” she said, kissing the edge of your jaw. “You’re worthy. Chosen. And this—” her touch pressed deeper “—is not shameful. Not when it’s done in His name.”

You arched into her hand before you could stop yourself, hips stuttering, breath catching. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Let me reach it. Let me take the sin and drown it.” She guided your face to her chest, pressed your palm to her heart.

“Do you feel that?” she asked. “That’s God’s will. That’s where He lives—in me. And now, in you.” You nodded, dizzy, your mind soft with heat and worship.

She guided you back against the pillows, murmuring prayers with each motion, her mouth trailing over your throat again, her hand relentless. The pressure built and built until you were crying out softly into her shoulder, until your body trembled with something too powerful to name.

Her lips brushed your temple, a final blessing. “There,” she said. “You’re clean now.” But she didn’t let go. Not right away.

Instead, she cradled you close, murmuring scripture into your hair while her hand rested possessively on your hip. Her fingers idly traced your skin like she was still drawing something holy into it.

“You’ll never need to feel that ache again,” she whispered. “Not with me. Not with Him. You’re mine now, sweet girl.” And part of you—quiet and buried deep—believed her. After the ritual, something shifted.

Joan no longer asked you to come—she told you.

“If you feel it again,” she said, brushing your hair behind your ear, “that ache, that heat… you come straight to me. No waiting. No hiding. No shame.” Her voice was velvet and iron. “I don’t care where we are or what time it is. You come. I’ll cleanse you. I’ll protect you from yourself.”

You nodded like it was scripture. Because it was. She had made it holy. So when it happened again—on Sunday, during service—you knew what to do.

You were seated beside her, of course. You always sat beside her now. You’d stopped talking to the other girls in the congregation, stopped responding to your old friends’ texts. Joan had told you their voices were too loud, too worldly. That they couldn’t possibly understand the purity you were being guided into.

You believed her. You had to.

That morning, the choir’s voices rose like incense, but you couldn’t focus. Joan’s hand rested on your thigh, a perfectly still weight beneath your dress. You could feel the phantom of her touch from nights before—how it had made you shiver and burn and beg. The feeling crept back again, deep in your belly, low and heavy, curling like a serpent under your skin.

You looked at her. She was already watching you. Her eyes were patient but burning, like she’d known. You shifted slightly in the pew, tried to cross your legs discreetly—but her hand caught your wrist.

She leaned close. Her breath brushed the shell of your ear. “Come,” she whispered. “Now.”

You followed her without thinking, slipping out behind the altar, past the rows of worshipers who didn’t look twice. Of course they didn’t. You were Joan Ramsey’s special project. The good girl. The chosen one.

She led you down a side hallway, through the vestry, into the quiet of a private room. The door clicked softly shut behind you. “Let me see,” she said, voice low. “Where does it ache?” You blinked, ashamed, aroused, obedient.

“Here,” you whispered, guiding her hand. Her hand trailed down, over your throat, down the center of your chest, where the cross necklace she’d given you lay like a brand.

“I think it’s time we tried something different today,” she said softly. “You’ve grown so much. You’ve trusted me. Let me show you a new way to surrender.”

You nodded, not even understanding—but needing to obey. She sat down on the little bench beneath the stained-glass window, the light casting soft colors across her face. She patted her thigh.

“Come here,” she said. “I want to feel how much you need me.” You hesitated, eyes wide. “Don’t be shy,” Joan murmured, voice dipping into that dangerous softness. “You want to be cleansed, don’t you?”

You moved slowly, heart hammering as you straddled her thigh, the fabric of your skirt bunching awkwardly until her hands smoothed it up around your waist. Her thigh was firm beneath you, and she adjusted you with practiced care, guiding your hips down until the pressure made you gasp. “There,” she whispered, pleased. “Now move for me.”

You did. Tentatively at first, rocking gently, the friction dragging across your center until your lips parted in a silent moan. Joan’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you, guiding you. “Good girl,” she whispered. “Look at you—so eager to be made clean.”

You whimpered as the heat built, the weight of her gaze as heavy as her thigh beneath you. And then she leaned forward, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, her voice curling into your skin. “Next time,” she said, “I’ll take you with my mouth. I’ll worship you the way He would, if He could touch you like I do.”

You nearly sobbed at that—your hips stuttering, the sensation cresting. “Joan—”

“I’ve got you,” she breathed. “Let it go. Let it all go. I’ll take it. I’ll always take it.” You came trembling in her lap, buried in the scent of holy oil and candle wax, her arms around you like the arms of something divine.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The next Sunday, the sanctuary felt colder than usual.

You sat where you always did—beside Joan, hands folded, eyes forward—but your skin prickled with something uneasy. Joan’s hand rested lightly on your knee beneath the hem of your dress, her thumb stroking slow circles. Reassuring. Possessive.

She leaned over once during the sermon, whispering, “You’re glowing today. So clean.” Her breath made your skin burn.

But when the final hymn ended and the congregation began to move—stretching, gathering coats, exchanging soft pleasantries—you caught someone watching.

A woman from the prayer circle. Sister Marlene. Stern and tight-lipped, always in the front pew. She wasn’t talking like she usually did, wasn’t gathering her purse or adjusting her spectacles. She was just… staring.

At you. No—at Joan’s hand on your knee. You shifted instinctively, but Joan didn’t move her hand. Marlene approached slowly after service, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Lovely service, wasn’t it?” she said, too polite. “Yes, it was,” Joan answered, perfectly calm. Marlene turned her attention to you. “Dear, I haven’t seen you with your friends lately. Are you still attending youth nights on Wednesdays?”

You opened your mouth, hesitated. Joan’s thumb pressed harder against your knee. “I—I’ve been spending more time with Joan. For study.”

“Oh.” Marlene’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “So much time, then?” Joan smiled coolly. “The Lord’s work isn’t on a schedule, Marlene.” Marlene’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course.”

She looked like she wanted to say more—but she didn’t. Just offered a clipped nod and walked off, back stiff with suspicion. Joan didn’t speak until the church had mostly emptied. Then she turned to you, smile gone.

“You have to be careful now,” she said quietly. “Some people don’t understand what’s sacred. They see something pure and twist it into something ugly.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Hush.” She cupped your face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But they’ll try to poison your mind. They’ll tell you I’m not good for you. That this isn’t holy. That we aren’t right.” She leaned in, her forehead pressed to yours. “Don’t let them in. You believe me, don’t you?” You nodded. “Yes. I believe you.”

“Good,” she said. “Then let me protect you. Let me keep you close.” And from that moment on, Joan never let you walk into church alone again. It started small.

A glance. A question. A folded bulletin slipped into your hand after prayer circle with a verse circled in red ink—“Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”

Marlene didn’t say anything when she gave it to you. Just pressed her lips together in that tight, knowing way and walked off.

You showed it to Joan that afternoon in her kitchen, heart hammering. “She gave me this. I think she knows.” Joan stared at the paper for a long time. Then she smiled—but it was the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“She thinks she’s saving you.” Joan reached out, brushed your hair behind your ear, voice low and calm. “But only I know what’s in your heart. Only I know what it takes to keep you clean.” She folded the paper slowly, precisely. Tossed it into the sink and lit a match. You watched as the paper curled black and turned to ash in seconds.

“You mustn’t listen to her anymore,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “Her voice will only lead you away from what’s holy.” You nodded into her shoulder, breathing in the lavender oil she always wore. It calmed you—anchored you. And still, you couldn’t shake the way Marlene had looked at you.

But Joan didn’t give you space to linger in doubt.

She began waiting for you outside your classes, walking you home from school, dropping off fresh-pressed dresses for Sunday service. She texted morning and night—little things, scriptures and reminders:

“The body is a temple. Don’t let the world defile it.”

“I’m thinking about your soul today.”

“If it stirs again, come to me. No hesitation.”

And you did. Because even when it felt like too much, Joan knew how to pull you back—always with that voice like velvet, those soft fingers tilting your chin just right.

You began spending more nights in her home. She said it was safer. Said temptation couldn’t reach you here. You stopped replying to your old friends completely. Joan said their lives were noisy, and yours needed to be quiet.

But not everyone faded away so easily. The next Sunday, after service, you heard Marlene’s voice echo from the back hall—raised, urgent. “She’s a girl, not a disciple. And you’re not a priest, Joan.”

You paused in the stairwell, heart thudding. Joan’s reply was lower, measured. “And you’re not God. Be careful who you judge.” You didn’t stay to hear the rest. You didn’t want to know. Not when Joan would be waiting at the altar for you with open arms and a smile that promised everything could still be pure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You hadn’t expected to find Marlene waiting for you behind the church after choir.

She stepped out from the side path like she’d been there a while, wrapped in her brown wool coat, arms folded tight. The late afternoon sun cast the stained glass in fractured colors behind her—blood reds, holy golds.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, voice low. “Privately.” You hesitated. “I—I have somewhere to be.”

“With her?” Marlene’s eyes narrowed. “I know what she’s doing. You don’t have to be afraid.” Your breath caught in your throat. “I’m not afraid.”

“Yes, you are.” She took a step closer. “You’ve changed. You barely speak to anyone anymore. You flinch when someone touches your arm. That’s not normal. That’s not faith.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You took a step back. “She’s helping me. She’s—cleansing me. I’m better with her.” Marlene’s face broke—part grief, part fury. “That’s not God’s work. That’s hers. And it isn’t salvation—it’s control. You know it, somewhere deep down. Don’t you?”

You shook your head, too fast. “You don’t understand. She—she knows me. She’s the only one who sees me.”

“Then let me help you leave,” Marlene said. “Before she makes you forget who you are.”

But the sound of shoes on stone made you turn—Joan’s figure appearing from the far side of the path, hands folded like always, expression unreadable. “Marlene,” she said, calmly. “You’re upsetting her.”

“She’s a child.”

“She’s chosen.” Joan didn’t raise her voice, but something about her tone stopped Marlene cold. “And she belongs with me now.” Joan turned to you. “Come.” You obeyed without thinking.

That night, Joan locked the door behind you. Quietly. Deliberately.

She turned, and her expression shifted—softness undercut by a steel determination. “This isn’t working anymore,” she murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of her fingers. “They keep trying to steal you away. But I won’t let them. I can’t.” You stared at her, still shaken. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going home,” Joan said. “You’ll stay here. From now on.” You blinked. “What?”

“I need to cleanse you more often. Not just when the urges come—every day. The world’s gotten inside you too deep. You need consistency. You need devotion.” Your knees weakened under her voice, the authority in it—so maternal, so certain.

“I’ll draw a bath,” she whispered. “We’ll start tonight. I’ll make you clean. Every day. No matter what.” She kissed your forehead like a benediction. “It’s the only way to save you now.”

After the bath, Joan took you by the hand and led you toward her bedroom.

The house was quiet, cloaked in shadows, but Joan moved with purpose—bare feet soundless against the floorboards, her hand warm and certain in yours. She didn’t say a word as she opened the door and guided you inside.

Her room smelled like cedar and lavender, like something older than perfume. Sacred. There were no personal photographs, no clutter. Just a tall wooden cross above the bed, a small table with a candle already burning, and the impression of someone who had made this space a shrine to her own sense of righteousness.

Joan turned to you, her eyes dark with something you couldn’t name. “Come here,” she said softly. You obeyed. She brought you close, her hands resting lightly at your waist, her thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against your hips.

“You’ve been good,” she murmured, voice almost tender. “Brave. Open. Willing to be made clean.” You nodded, unsure whether it was because you believed her or because you wanted to. Maybe both.

Her fingers found the ends of the towel wrapped around you and began to loosen it—slowly, reverently. Like she was unwrapping something sacred. Joan pressed her forehead to yours, her breath warm against your lips. “Tonight, I’ll make sure nothing remains. No shame. No confusion. No stain.”

She led you to the bed and helped you lie back, smoothing your hair away from your face like a mother would—except the way her gaze lingered, the way her hands trembled just slightly, was something else entirely.

“You don’t need to understand it all,” she whispered. “You only need to trust me.” And then she knelt at the edge of the bed. She kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher still.

All the while, her voice never ceased—quiet prayer-like murmurs threading through the candlelight and the weight of the room. You were dizzy with it, not quite sure where the ritual ended and the sensation began.

It felt like worship. And you weren’t sure who the god was anymore.

The air in the house had changed. Heavier. Tighter. Joan kept the curtains drawn now, every clock unplugged or removed. Time didn’t matter here—only devotion. Only obedience. Only her.

You barely noticed when your phone disappeared. When your Bible was replaced with the one Joan had marked through, page after page annotated in her careful, fervent handwriting. You didn’t question it when she asked you not to answer the door anymore, to stop speaking to anyone but her. The world outside was diseased, she said. But here—here, you were safe.

Here, you were saved. You were kneeling beside Joan’s armchair, her hand idly stroking through your hair as she read scripture aloud, when the door banged open. “Marlene,” Joan said without looking up, her voice calm, almost bored. “How rude.”

You turned to look, confused by the blur of emotion on Marlene’s face—fear, anger, disbelief. She looked at you like you were a ghost. “What has she done to you?” Marlene said, voice cracking. “What are you doing here?”

You stood slowly, instinctively reaching for Joan’s arm. “She’s helping me. She’s… saving me.”

“She’s hurting you,” Marlene snapped. “This—this isn’t faith. This is control. You have to remember who you were before—” Joan rose, her movement smooth, unsettling. “Don’t speak to her like that. She’s mine now.”

“You don’t own her!” Marlene shouted, stepping closer. “She’s not your disciple, she’s a scared girl and you used that—twisted it. You have to let her go.” Joan’s eyes sharpened. For the first time, her voice cracked like a whip: “She came to me because she was unclean. I made her whole.”

Marlene looked at you again, desperately now. “Sweetheart… please. Come with me. This isn’t love. This is a prison.” But you couldn’t move. Joan’s hand slid into yours, firm and grounding. “She doesn’t want to leave. Do you, baby?”

You shook your head. “I need her. She… she keeps me clean.” Marlene’s face crumpled. “You don’t even hear yourself anymore.” And then—it happened too fast to stop. The glint of something in Joan’s hand. The flash of motion. The scream caught in your throat.

A kitchen knife. From behind the chair. A single motion, swift and silent. Marlene’s eyes went wide, then glassy. She crumpled. You stood frozen, heart pounding in your ears. Joan dropped the knife and caught your face in her hands, forcing your gaze away.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Shh. Look at me. Don’t look at her. She wanted to take you from me. She wanted to ruin you.” Your breath came in shallow gasps. “She… she was my friend.”

Joan’s eyes filled with tears—not grief, but something deeper. Possessive. Holy. “No,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours. “I’m your only friend. Your only family. Your only god now.”

And as she kissed you—fervent, desperate—you let her. Because you didn’t know anything else anymore. The silence after Marlene’s fall was so loud it rang in your ears. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Just stood there staring at the dark pool on the floor, spreading slow beneath her like a shadow finally come to claim her.

Joan brushed your cheek with bloodstained fingers, soft as always. “It’s alright, baby. It had to be done. She would’ve taken you away from me.” Your lips trembled, but she pressed a kiss to your forehead before you could ask anything.

“We need to move her,” Joan said simply, as though she were asking you to help set the table for dinner. “Come now. Be strong for me.”

She guided you gently but firmly—gloved hands over yours as you gripped Marlene’s ankles. You moved together like a single body, dragging her across the floor and out the back door, Joan murmuring prayers under her breath the whole way.

The night was humid. The garden was quiet. There was already a hole. You didn’t ask when she had dug it. Your knees sank into the soil beside Joan’s as she laid Marlene’s body into the earth. The blood from her shirt smeared across your hands, your arms, your dress. Joan noticed. Of course she did.

She looked at you like you were the holiest thing she’d ever seen. “My sweet girl,” she breathed, reaching out to cradle your face in her red-streaked palm. “Look at you. Covered in sacrifice. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

You couldn’t speak, but your body leaned into her hand. “You helped me protect what’s ours,” she whispered. “This was love. This was obedience.” She kissed you again, reverent and slow, while Marlene lay at your knees.

And when it was done, when the earth was packed firm and the candlelit house welcomed you back in like a chapel, Joan led you upstairs and laid you in her bed.

She wiped the blood from your skin like it was baptism. And she smiled as she said, “Now we’re clean again.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The town moved on.

People whispered about Marlene’s disappearance, but no one came too close. She’d always been too curious, too loud. And Joan Ramsey? She was a respected woman of God. Who would dare question her?

The house grew quieter in some ways, and more alive in others. The clocks never returned. The outside world faded like a dream you once woke from in tears, but now couldn’t remember the shape of.

You no longer flinched at the touch of blood. You didn’t ask questions. You prayed when Joan told you to. You bathed when she said you were unclean. You wore the dress she picked for you each morning—long, modest, pale like innocence. The cross around your neck never came off. She fastened it herself.

Joan called you her lamb. Her angel. Her offering.

Each day began with her voice in your ear, her hand in yours, her rules like scripture carved into your bones. And each night ended with her body against yours, whispering prayers between kisses, murmuring about salvation as you clung to her like she was your god.

And she was. Because there was no life before her. Because you belonged to Joan.

Forever.

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