#but thank you to those who saw these first and were so lovely about it

[batboysanonymous]

Soft Hands, Sharp Edges

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel doesn’t know what to do with kindness. It unsettles him more than any blade, any shadow-drenched secret he’s ever carried. But when Y/N comes into his life, he begins to realize that maybe love isn’t spoken in grand confessions but in the quiet acts of care he’s spent a lifetime denying himself.

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Azriel had spent his entire life repaying debts.

Debts to the shadows that had carried his whispered prayers in the dark when no one else had listened. Debts to the Night Court, to Rhysand, to the only family he had ever known. Debts to the people who needed him—the ones who relied on his skill, his efficiency, his quiet, lethal devotion.

Kindness, though—kindness was a language he had never been taught.

It was why, when Y/N pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hands one evening at the House of Wind, he hesitated.

He hadn’t seen her approach, though he should have. His shadows should have warned him, should have curled against his skin in anticipation. But somehow, she had slipped past all his defenses, her presence as natural as breathing.

Azriel stared at the cup. Then at her. Then back at the cup.

“What’s this?” His voice was flat, cautious. Suspicious. As if she had handed him a live grenade and was waiting for him to pull the pin.

Y/N only smiled. “Tea.”

He blinked. “…Why?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were holding back laughter. “Because you looked tired.”

Tired.

Azriel didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to process the idea that someone had looked at him—at the way his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the latest mission, at the tension he carried like a second skin—and thought to do something about it.

So he stood there, fingers hovering just above the ceramic, waiting for the catch.

Y/N’s expression softened, and she nudged the cup closer. “It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Azriel huffed, his lips twitching despite himself. He finally took it, his scarred fingers brushing hers in the transfer. He expected her to flinch, the way so many others had when they first saw the remnants of his past etched into his skin.

She didn’t.

And that unsettled him even more than the tea.

He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the mug. “I guess I could use it.”

Y/N only hummed, a quiet, knowing sound. And then she walked away, not lingering for a thank you, not waiting for him to react, as if this—this offering, this care—was simply natural.

As if he deserved it.

Azriel didn’t take his first sip until she was gone. He drank it slowly, fingers curling around the warmth, letting the quiet gesture settle into the cracks of him like rain against dry earth.

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It didn’t stop there.

The gifts kept coming.

Not grand things, not grand gestures, but small, thoughtful things.

An extra set of gloves left outside his door when the frost began creeping into the Illyrian mountains. A plate of his favorite dinner waiting at the long dining table before he could even reach for it. A first-aid kit tucked discreetly into the pocket of his leathers, no note, no explanation—but he knew.

Azriel knew.

And every time, without fail, he grumbled. He rolled his eyes. He told her, in the gruffest, most reluctant tone, that she didn’t need to fuss over him.

But he never refused.

And he never let go of those things easily.

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One night, after a particularly brutal mission, he found her waiting for him.

The townhouse was quiet, the others long asleep. Y/N sat curled in the armchair by the fire, a book resting open in her lap.

Azriel hesitated in the doorway, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones. He had seen her waiting for him before, but this time, something about it hit him differently.

She looked up, and the moment her eyes met his, something in his chest tightened. She didn’t ask if he was okay. Didn’t prod for answers or explanations. She just studied him for a moment, then slipped out of her chair, disappearing into the kitchen.

When she returned, she pressed something warm into his hands.

Not tea this time.

Hot chocolate.

Azriel stared at it, blinking. “I—”

“You looked like you needed something sweeter,” she murmured.

His throat went tight.

For a long moment, he just stood there, gripping the mug like it was an anchor. Then, before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Thank you.”

Y/N smiled. That soft, quiet smile that made something in him ache.

“Always,” she whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, Azriel believed it.

But kindness had always been a double-edged blade.

Azriel had been cut by it before, had been given glimpses of warmth only for it to be ripped away.

So when Y/N’s kindness became something steady, something he could almost count on, something that settled into his life like it belonged there—he panicked.

He started pulling away.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Just small things. Taking his meals in the shadows instead of at the dining table. Leaving for training before she woke up. Letting the gifts pile up in his room instead of keeping them in sight.

But Y/N noticed. Of course she noticed.

And one night, when she caught him slipping out onto the balcony, she finally confronted him.

“Az.”

Her voice was soft, but it stopped him in his tracks. He turned, shadows curling at his feet, his chest tightening at the concern written across her face.

She stepped closer, stopping just short of touching him. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question nearly broke him.

He shook his head. “No. You—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then why are you avoiding me?”

He looked away. “I’m not.”

“Azriel.”

Her voice was firm now, and he hated how much he liked hearing his name in her mouth, how much he wanted to close the space between them, to let himself have this, just for a moment.

Instead, he said quietly, “I don’t know how to accept it.”

She blinked. “Accept what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely, frustration lacing his voice. “The tea. The gloves. The way you—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “The way you see me.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, “Az, you don’t have to earn kindness.”

He flinched.

She reached for his hand, slow and deliberate, as if giving him the chance to pull away. When he didn’t, she laced her fingers through his.

His breath caught.

“I don’t do those things because I expect something from you,” she murmured. “I do them because I want to. Because I—” She hesitated, then lifted his scarred hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to his knuckles. “Because I care about you.”

His chest caved in on itself.

She had said it so simply. So easily.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azriel had no words. No armor against this. Against her.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He let himself have this.

Just for a moment.

He tugged her closer, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She melted into him without hesitation, her warmth, her scent, her presence grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

For once, he didn’t question it.

For once, he let himself hold on.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[heliosunny]

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before her time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Should I make part two?🤔

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking�� here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[spiderb00]

In the spirit of Valentines which might be over by the time you read this but what type of dates do you think the kats prefer. Like who’s more to want a chill staying in type of date, who’s more of a fancy dinner or who’s more of a like fun activity like go karting or stuff like that. As always love your stuff and as a college student I totally understand your stress. Hope you’re taking care of yourself and wishing you the best for this semester🫶🏽

- 🇩🇴

Thank you anon, I feel less alone knowing that more people understand my tiredness. <3 (I'm a little late, sorry)

Sophia would love an intimate date, you'd be cooking together, romantic songs playing over the speaker and the two of you in the kitchen almost burning the meal you made when you were distracted making out.

You'd have dinner by candlelight and exchange gifts you'd made a point of buying. After dinner, you would watch a movie. Actually, it wouldn't be watched all the way through, because you and Sophia simply couldn't keep your hands off each other, especially after the wine you'd had.

Manon would love to go out anywhere with you, and that's really what you do. First you're going for dinner, leaving the restaurant you'd walk around the city, looking for something interesting to do, you'd buy anything she saw in the store windows, and you'd end up at a random concert by an even more random band.

The important thing would be that you would be having A LOT of fun, you both like to feel as free as possible, and exploring the world together was just wonderful. The next morning, you'd be waking up hungover trying to remember where you went, but you'd certainly remember that love was there.

Daniela was more than happy when you took her on a picnic on the beach. You planned everything, a small candlelit dinner in a tent away from people, all to see your girl happy.

You spent a wonderful evening talking, laughing and listening to the sound of the waves. The sparkle in Daniela's eyes made you remember exactly how you fell in love with her, and you were sure to do it again and again.

Lara would be treated like the queen she was born to be, you would take her shopping, buying anything she had her eye on. But soon after, things would start to get more romantic and well-planned.

You'd take her to a music gallery, and she'd be very excited. In the gallery you could play instruments, make your own cool-sounding productions and listen to different versions of songs by your favorite artists. At the end of the day, Lara would be even more excited than at the beginning, talking about all kinds of musical styles and cool things she'd seen.

Megan and you would be jumping for joy in an arcade, but not those simple arcades, but a really cool one that you found while exploring the city in depth. The girl would be like a happy child, and so would you.

Competing in games until you found a game you could play as a pair, then she'd be jumping on you and kissing your lips every time you won. In the end, you'd have lots of tickets, which you'd convert into a big teddy bear that you'd give to Megan.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Punish me.

Pairing: Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 5853

Summary: What happens when your boss punishes you but you like it too much? You look for more. And more. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of Y/N, legal unspecified age gap, power imbalance, dom!Joel / sub!reader, degradation, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), initially dub-con but reader is very into it, risk of being caught, a little chocking if you squint, cream pie, squirting, reader has no description other than the clothes she is wearing, manipulation, slurs, pet names, reader calls Joel "Sir". This Joel is low-key inspired by Don Draper from Mad Men and the whole thing was also low-key inspired by Secretary (2002). Let me know if I forgot something important, I will add it right away. A/N: Written for Never Have I Ever challenge hosted by the lovely @yxtkiwiyxt , this was my prompt and I had so much fun working on it! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to join! 🥰 Thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being the most precious beta and @joelmillerisapunk for being the best support I could ask for and for letting me yap about it for a month and half lol I love you so much 🥹❤️ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any. Thanks to anyone who will read! masterlist | Joel Miller masterlist

“Mr Miller wants to see you in his office at 3” When Pam called you to say that a shiver ran down your spine.

Your last client was the owner of a large brewing company, a self-centered rich asshole that you couldn’t stomach in any way.

He had been pressing you for weeks for you to come up with the most sexist and stupidest ad campaign ever, all while you were trying to present him with new ideas that didn't necessarily include 10 women in bikinis at the feet of one man or other such things that had been done 200 times already .

You hated the guy with every fiber of your being and you told him exactly what you were thinking about him when he called you a prude and argued that he could show you what a real man was.

Seeing his sleezy smile as he winked at you and told you that you needed to fuck more was your last straw.

You were glad to be rid of him but you knew well that your boss would not have the same opinion. 

Right out of college what you wanted was to learn the profession as soon as possible, and you wanted to learn it from the best in the business. 

Joel Miller owned the most famous advertising agency in town, so you did everything to get an internship there.

You understood why he was so successful from day one.

__________________________________

Pam was sitting at her desk as usual when you walked in. 

Her desk was a few feet from the door of Mr. Miller's office. 

A large, black, solid wooden door with a fine frame, one of those that seemed to lead to the rooms forbidden to poor commoners. 

She just looked up from the computer screen to tell you to come in, Mr. Miller was waiting for you, and then she was back to work.

Pam was a woman in her 60s, blond hair perpetually pulled back in an elegant bun, a pearl necklace around her neck, cachemire sweaters in all pastel colors, silk blouses and matching skirts.

She looked very neat, austere, you could swear you never saw her smile but heck, she was really good at her job and had been managing Mr. Miller's impossible schedule for many years.

You knocked on the door feeling your heart in your throat, thinking you were one step away from being fired.

Joel's voice bounced through the door, heavy and raspy, "come in.”

You entered trying to maintain a composure.

“Good morning, Mr Miller, you wanted to see me?” 

He put down the papers he was perusing on the desk and looked up at you.

“Oh, it's you,” he said in a very calm voice. “The one who made me lose a lot of money.”

“I...I'm sorry but the guy was too much of an asshole for me to take it,” you spat out.

You knew Joel appreciated people who were standing their ground.

“Excuse me, should I care? You just made a thousand dollar check disappear.” 

The silence that enveloped the room was unreal.

You stood in front of his stately mahogany desk, trying to keep your back straight and your shoulders high.

Of course, he didn’t care, he was an asshole too.

________________________________

He had conducted the interviews personally, without delegating it to his subordinates.

He hired you himself, without missing the opportunity to intimidate you in the meantime.

The first day you had come in you were shy, awkward, afraid of your own shadow. 

How did you think you could deliver a presentation in front of a client if you looked like a frightened little bird that had just fallen out of the nest?

Joel said he took a risk hiring you, the least you could do was to show him how much you really wanted the job.

Eventually you learned to fight. 

It hadn't been pleasant or even easy, Joel wouldn't let you get away with anything, criticized your every idea, sometimes blatantly mocked you. 

He had pushed you to work harder than you would have imagined and you were eager to let him know that you were worth something, that you were not just an honors graduate but could translate your knowledge into the practical field.

You also owed it to yourself. 

Your parents supported you but had always told you that you were not the type to work in advertising.

Too kind, too quiet, too sweet. 

“Honey, are you sure? Wouldn't you rather do some other job?” your mother always asked you. 

No, you didn't want to do anything else. And you were going to prove it to everybody.

You became a sucker for Joel’s attention in no time.

Whatever type he wanted to give to you. 

As you progressed and learned, he became gentler, too much so at times. 

Grazing your knee under the table at meetings, touching your waist way too much as you walked down the hallways talking about some projects, playfully slapping your ass once, after successfully signing your first contract with a client.

It was becoming a relationship that other colleagues didn't have to notice.

He was your mentor, your inspiration, the person who had taken you under his wing and taught you to fly.

Along with the desire to do well, however, something else grew in you over time.

Arousal, desire, need. 

It lingered in the air while you were trying to flap your wings and stay aloft.

_______________________________

“Furthermore…” his voice dropped and deepened, “we don’t tolerate this kind of language here.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the clear change in his voice. 

You knew what he was doing. 

And you liked it.

“Well, I’m sorry but there’s no other appropriate word to describe that person” you chirped.

You didn’t drop the asshole just to have this, you really hated the man with all you had, this was just a pleasant collateral damage. 

Joel being angry at you. 

Joel who wanted to punish you.

He ran a hand over his mustache, looking at you as if he wanted to devour you.

You felt your clit throb in anticipation.

He stood up from his chair, he was imposing, broad shoulders and awe-inspiring piercing eyes.

“Let me explain it to you properly. I don't care if he didn't meet your moral dictates, I don't give a damn if he was so obnoxious that he made you sick to your stomach, okay?” his voice was a thin, cold, steady blade.

“Yes, Mr. Miller” you swallowed, without breaking eye contact. “You acted like a whiny child,” he stated. “ And you made me lose a ton of money” 

His heavy step creaked faintly on the fine parquet floor. He was towering over you.

“Yeah, you said that already,” you rolled your eyes.

You would have sworn you were hearing Joel’s blood simmering in his veins and that was exactly what you wanted. 

“Do you think criminal lawyers like to defend murderers? Do you think they like their clients?” 

“No,” you muttered 

“Yeah, they don’t like them but they do it anyway because it's their job.” 

That was a little extreme example but he did make a point.

You were torn. 

Disappointing your mentor was the last thing you wanted but seeing him like that, ready to give  you a lesson was making you horny like nothing else. 

You craved it. 

“Do you know what they used to do to wayward children like you?” 

You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he had gotten.

“Yeah.” 

His eyes looked like onyx stones.

“Say it.” “They spanked them,” you finally let out.

“Yeah. You’re goddamn right, darling. They spanked them.” His words were a sheet of ice on which you couldn't wait to slide.

“Bend over the desk.” 

“No,” you tried to argue.

“I. Said. Bend.” He ordered, punctuating every word.

You raised an eyebrow, glaring at him, but finally gave in. 

You approached the desk, rested your elbows on it and jostled your ass out, poised on your heels. 

He positioned himself behind you, you turned to look at him, and he immediately hissed, 

"Eyes to the wall, missy." 

You huffed, returning your gaze to the large painting hanging behind the desk. 

His hands slid down your legs. 

It was the first time he touched you, the first time you felt his strong grip on your body, the first time his warmth penetrated your flesh.

“You really disappointed me today.” His voice was calm, low, but full of disgruntlement.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. 

“It's not enough,”

His hands had reached the hem of your skirt, raising it dangerously, pulling it up, exposing the edge of your thigh-high stockings and your panties. 

“Do you still think you deserve a place in this agency?” 

Panic welled up inside you, you felt your cheeks on fire and your hands trembling on the wood of the desk. 

You didn't want to lose everything you had worked for. 

Joel wouldn't sign any reference letters for you, you wouldn't get a job at any other agency, and your career would be over before it even started.

You remained stubbornly silent, trying not to be seen as weak, until he blurted out, 

“answer me.”

“Yes. I made a mistake.”

“You’re goddamn right, honey,” he replied wryly.”How will you fix this?”

That honey sounded like a mockery. Like you were still too soft to do the job and be successful at it. 

You hated it and it made your pussy throb at the same time.

“I will find a way, Mr. Miller.”

“We’ll see” he retorted “But you still deserve punishment, don't you think?”

“Yes,” you breathed reluctantly.

You didn’t like to admit that but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You wanted it too much. 

You wanted him too much.

You didn’t hear him fumbling with his pants, no zippers coming undone, no buttons slipping through the buttonhole.

You just felt his breath fanning over your back and his hand gripping at your hips.

You felt his gaze seeping into your flesh. 

You would have liked to turn around, tell him to get it over with and fuck you, but you didn’t. 

You stood still in your turn, feeling the tension bubbling in your chest while he seemed so calm and collected.

He was taking his time with you.

You sighed, just before you felt the air shift behind you and his hand landed deafly on your ass.

You gasped. 

Another slap had hit you. 

Harder than before.

Pain spread all over your butt, tingling, until it turned into a destabilizing pleasure. 

You had never done anything like that before and as disconcerting as it was to admit it, you liked it. 

You liked it like crazy.

You felt a slick of arousal wetting your panties while you moaned.

“Do you want some more?” 

You nodded eagerly. 

“Oh. You gotta use your word, I feel like I taught you that, right?” He tutted. 

“Yes.” You whispered ���please” 

Instead of continuing, he walked over to the bar cabinet, poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, sat back down on his leather chair and looked you in the eyes.  

“Get out of here.”

You stood there watching him, hunched over his desk, wood still pressing on your clothed tits, feeling like you were in a fever dream. 

Had it really happened? 

The heat still throbbing on your ass cheek told you it had.

You stood up, straightened your skirt, your darting gaze metaphorically stabbing him. 

He had humiliated you. 

How had you let this happen? And most of all, why did you want more?

You left without looking back.

Pam wasn't at the desk when you left, you slipped out as quickly as possible, with one fixed thought in mind. 

______________

The next few days he ignored you. He started following another girl who had just arrived and he was behaving the way he had with you. 

Jealousy had never been a vice of yours. Never. But seeing him chuckle at her jokes, praise her for her efforts, smile at her, start calling her by her name like he had done with you made you furious.

It squeezed your chest in a cruel fist.

You had worked on the presentation for a market-leading make-up client, and fortunately for you, the CEO had been enthusiastic about your ideas.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he was hurting you but despite the persistence with which you tried, you grew so hungry for him that all you were thinking about was finding a way to make him furious again. 

To get punished again. You hated having fallen for his game, but by now you were a fish seeking oxygen in the mesh of the fishing net.

You were trying to get his attention in every way without success.

At the peak of your desperation, you had passed an embarrassing number of times in front of his office in the hope that he would come out.

You kept meeting only Pam bringing coffee, folders or Joel's personal correspondence.

After a week she no longer seemed surprised to find you there, there was a kind of understanding in her gaze, a muted feminine solidarity, an ill-concealed displeasure.

“Honey, why do you do this to yourself?” she seemed to say.

You didn’t care. Your pussy didn’t care either.

______________

One day, when you saw Pam pass in the hallways during the lunch break, you decided to do something.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You had gotten up deliberately exclaiming, “Oh, I really need a coffee!” And you had pretended to head for the common room. At last you had turned the opposite corner and snuck into the hallway that led to Joel's office. You had to hurry.

You slipped inside in an instant and found yourself in front of the imposing door that led to the office of the object of your desires.

He was talking to someone on the phone, you could clearly hear his voice but none in response.

When he finished, you opened the door and entered, full of doubts and fears but the same moved by a disruptive urge you couldn't say no to.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel's rough voice greeted you. “I came to see my mentor,” you whispered. ”And to tell him that tomorrow we will sign the contract with the make-up company.”

You smiled, waiting for his reaction.

He demolished you immediately in response, 

“So? What do you want, a golden star? A kiss on the forehead?”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly staring at you.

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” you countered in a voice far too resentful for your taste.

You were turning on your heels to leave when you heard his voice say, 

“What is the real reason you are here?”

You turned again and looked at him. 

Elbows rested on the desk, the sleeves of the white shirt he wore rolled up to leave his muscular forearms exposed, rolling the platinum ring he wore on his middle finger around, his straight shoulders wrapped in the fabric that seemed to contain his broadness with difficulty, the first few buttons left open giving you a glimpse of a few freckles on his bronze chest. 

The posture of the boss judging you, sitting comfortably in his leather chair, a smirk plastered on his face, a defiant expression in his eyes. 

He was both sultry and irritating. 

You wanted to slap him but also take off your panties and sit on his cock. 

To be honest, you wanted to do both at the same time.

“You walked in here without asking Pam,” he noted amusedly, looking at you as if he could read your mind “What were you trying to do?” “Nothing,” you lied, fidgeting with a button on your shirt. “Just my job”

“I think you were trying to get on my nerves,” he suggested

You scoffed “You think you’re the center of my universe?”

“You’re the one in my office right now. Say what you want. Or leave. But I think you want to stay, am I right? Your pussy wants it.” 

You were speechless, totally caught off guard. 

“What do you need, darling?” He urged you, walking towards you. 

He raised a hand reaching for your cheek, brushing it with his thumb. 

His voice softened slightly, the knot in your stomach tightened. 

It felt manipulative. 

But also arousing when he gently pulled your lower lip open and grazed it with the pads of his fingers. 

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to face him. 

His gaze was authoritative, demanding but also sweet, like he was trying to get you convinced that he was a good guy, just eager to give you something you wanted so much that you showed up uninvited to his office. 

“Punish me,” you breathed as he was sliding his fingers down your neck. 

“See? It wasn’t so difficult. This was all I needed to know,” he chuckled softly, right after grabbing you by the waist, gentleness instantly out of the menu, pulling up your skirt to expose your ass. 

“You want me to spank you again, am I right?” 

Your voice came out husky and broken, you only managed to mumble a “yes”, the most desperate yes you’ve ever said in your life. 

“That's what I was thinking,” he groaned

His hands were roaming your thighs “Hold-ups. Of course. You’re the target for that Agent Provocateur campaign we launched last month, aren't you?”

You would have laughed if you could but you felt his fingers graze the wet, sticky stain spreading across your panties and you gasped instead. 

And then his hand crushed on your ass cheek, his ring marked your skin, pain spreading across your skin, immediately replaced by an unbearable heat. 

It made you feel alive. 

You had his attention again.

One, two, three spanks burned your flesh, you could clearly feel a trickle of pleasure flowing out of you.

“How dare you come into my office just to provoke me? Don’t you know who I am? Huh, little slut?” 

“Yes,” you muttered. “yes Mr Miller but…” 

You had started this, you would have liked to say. 

You were the one flirting first. 

You were the one leading me to want you, this, always. 

Another slap hit you and you said nothing instead. You just moaned. 

A knock on the door stopped Joel in his tracks.

He froze with his hand high up in the air. 

“Who is it?” He asked nervously. 

He still held you tightly by the waist, you tried to wriggle free from his grip without success.

“It’s Pam,” her voice came muffled from outside the door. 

“Fuck” you whispered, you instantly looked around in panic for a place to hide. 

Not the bookcase, or the bar cabinet or the nice leather couch and armchair that were placed in front of it.

There was only one option.

“Get off of me,” you hissed “now!” 

Joel let go of you and you quickly cowered under the desk.

He sat down and spread his legs just enough to give you room as he moved his chair as close to the edge as he could.

“Come in” he ordered, trying to regain his composure. 

Pam cracked the door open and entered the office. 

You couldn’t see her but you could hear her light footsteps approaching the desk and her voice saying “I brought Mrs. Jones’ presentation that you wanted to review, Mr. Miller” 

“Oh. Thanks Pam” 

You could clearly hear the underlying nervousness in Joel’s voice and it was starting to make you laugh. 

You decided that since he was playing dirty you would do the same.

Your hand slowly moved up his pants, grazing his ankle, then his shin, up his thigh, until it reached his crotch.

Joel was desperately trying to hide his squirming as he examined the work of his new protégé. The one he was trying to replace you with.

It was delicious to feel him like that, helpless, harmless for once, totally at your mercy as you moved your hand up and down over his clothed cock that was desperately straining against the zipper. 

Pam didn't move, waiting for him to finish evaluating the project, only her regular breathing told you of her presence.

You liked the risk, the thrill of being discovered that ran under your skin. 

You could do more. 

Slowly, your fingers closed on the metal tag of Joel’s zipper. 

You pulled it down, while Joel tried to hide the noise with a cough. 

You pushed aside the flaps of his pants, pulling down his boxers to free his cock. He was hard in front of you. 

Thick, pink and darker at the tip, pulsing veins ran along the shaft that was slightly curved to the right.

Little drops of pre cum dripped onto his skin, making your mouth water. 

It was perfect and you had to have it. Right there and then.

You kitten-licked the underside where a white pearly bead was sliding, catching it with your tongue. 

Joel squirmed visibly on his chair, you couldn’t see it but you imagined his eyebrows shutting up and his lips twisting. 

You smiled in the heavy and heated air under the desk.

You hoped Pam would go away, but at the same time you were intrigued by putting Joel through the wringer without him being able to make any fumbling movements to stop you.

You held his cock in your hand, it throbbed in your palm, and a musky smell filled your nostrils. The smell of sex. 

You didn’t resist and licked again, more greedily, its flavor spread over your tongue. 

It was driving you crazy.

You felt his whole body stiffen as he sent his secretary away 

“That's all for now Pam, thank you. Tell the team to refine the graphics and report to Ms. Jones that the idea may work but the slogan is a bit weak, I want more ideas for next week ”

He had tried to maintain a professional tone, but his voice cracked mid-sentence, and you could only be mischievously proud of that.

As soon as Pam came out he yanked up his pants and wrapped a hand around your wrist dragging you out of your hiding place. 

“You dirty slut, what were you trying to do?" he rattled off. 

He had you standing up and trapped you against his chest, his half-dressed erection pressing hard against your ass.

His hand closed on your wrist hurt but you didn't care, you liked being manhandled like that.

You weren’t even intimidated anymore, just feral. 

Unhinged, eager, completely drunk on him.

“I thought you liked some action under the desk, Mr Miller” you replied, sneering without shame. 

“Oh you’re so thoughtful, aren’t you?” He barked, shoving you on the desk again.

“Yes I am.” You have never been so cheeky before, you were quite surprised and proud of yourself.

“No, you aren’t, darling”

With that, he pushed you onto the desk, your breasts pressed against the perfectly polished wood and his hands running to your skirt to hastily tug it down. 

It was like Deja vu.

The best type of.

He moved to lock the door.

“Hands on the desk, darling. And you better not take them out of there” 

He took off his tie, placed it on the desk and walked over.

His authoritative voice sent a rush of arousal straight to your pussy. 

He pulled down your panties, making you walk out of them and throwing them on the floor.

His hand grazed your folds, lightly at first and then he covered your whole sex and squeezed, sending a rush of adrenaline into your system 

“First time doing it? Getting fucked by your boss? Mh?”

“Yes” you breathed “I’ve never done anything like this before”

”You think you earned it?” 

“Yes”

He had withdrawn his hand from your pussy and placed both of them on your thighs.

“Bold of you. And I've already told you, you have to learn to speak properly. Yes, what?” His hands were gripping on your flesh so hard you were sure you'd end up with bruises.

“Yes, please” you whispered. “You think you deserve me giving attention to your pussy, huh?” 

His voice was low and raspy, almost like a subdued roar.

“Yes, please. Sir.” You added, emphasizing this last word.

“That's the way I like it, you're starting to learn. Turn around” You got up from the desk and he pushed you to sit on the edge, your bare pussy leaking on the surface. 

He slipped his hands down your thighs, over your bottom, up your back, stopping at the sides of your breasts. His thumbs rubbed your nipples through your shirt and lacy bra while he held you trapped between his body and the desk, standing between your open legs.

Your naked pussy throbbed against his pants, you could feel it dripping over the fabric, making a mess. He slipped his hand between the two of you, touching your folds with the pads of his fingers, up and down gathering more and more of your arousal and spreading it all over on your lips and clit. You tried hard to stifle your moans but a low husky one escaped your lips as you were rocking your hips against his hand.

“Look what I’m doing to your pussy.” He ordered while he started flicking your bundle of nerves. You looked down at his hand moving obscenely over your pussy, two of his thick fingers sliding inside you, his ring right out that was getting wet with you. You gasped loudly at the sensation when he curled them up just right, reaching for your special spot. “Be quiet” he had warned you off “either that or I’ll stop immediately” “No!” You wailed. “No, what?” He barked grasping your neck with his free hand 

You looked at yourself in his pitch black eyes, losing yourself in that deep darkness.

A taunting smile curved his lips. “No, please” you were quick to correct yourself “That’s right” his hand lightly squeezed your pulse point. “Undo my shirt, now” Your fingers were moving awkwardly over the buttons, trying to unfasten them while he continued to move his fingers inside you.

His skin, unveiled before your eyes, was almost too much to bear: golden and dotted with freckles that you wanted to lick one by one.

He smelled like whiskey and mint and a distinctive something that was only his, filling your nostrils, awakening every molecule of that secret part of you that was a slave for him.

Once you reached the last one you were so worked up you were almost on your brink, Joel noticed that right away and stopped, taking away his hand from your pussy. You whined in disappointment and he retorted 

“You don’t get to complain, darling” accompanying his words with a slap on your right tit “we clear?” “Yes, sir. I’m sorry” you breathed, feeling the pain spread all over your chest.

A rush of adrenaline made you quiver against his hot body.

He put his wet fingers in your mouth. “Clean them up, darling” And you did, you thoroughly swirled your tongue all over them, licking till the last drop, going feral for the taste of you and the way he pushed them through your lips, up to his knuckles.

“Good job”

He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He shifted, moving you in front of him.

“Kneel. Show me how sorry you are for complaining” You kneeled right away, moving your hand over his pants, stroking the underline of his cock. “What do you want?” “Your cock” you purred “Ask nicely” he told you, totally unfazed by your attempt to bribe him

“Can I please pull your cock out, sir?” You would have looked up to anyone, but the power it exerted over you at that point was unmanageable and devoured you.

His onyx eyes were fixed on you, pinning you down to the ground, like he was holding your entire being in his fist. 

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Go ahead”

You hastily pulled down his pants and boxers, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

You took his shaft back into your hand, licking the tip first, coating it in your saliva, until it was glistening and pulsing right before your eyes again.

You slid it in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, savoring his musky flavor, licking him like a lollipop, like the most delicious ice cream you’ve ever had.

“That’s what a good girl does,” he praised you “she fills her pretty mouth with a nice cock, just like that” You relaxed your jaw to take all that you could of him in your mouth.

His fingers reached for the back of your head, holding you possessively 

“Go on, miss, I know you want it, don’t you? You would like my cum on your tongue, huh?” You hummed against his shaft, even more eager for him.

You tried to brush your fingers on your clit, searching for some relief from the throbbing heated mess you felt between your thighs but he scolded you 

“Nuh huh, girl, don’t you dare. You don’t get to come until I say it” You whined, reluctantly moving your hand away.

You kept sucking on his cock, devouring every inch of him with purpose, messy and sloppy, thin trades of your saliva running onto his length to his balls. 

You swirled on the tip before sliding down to them and taking one in your mouth, greedily sucking on it. 

He was granite that crumbled slightly at your every touch, trying to hold back the grunts that vibrated in his throat, trying not to close his eyes so as not to get lost in every lap of your tongue. He tried not to give you any satisfaction but at the same time his body betrayed him, letting slip how much he wanted all of that. And you. 

At his brink, he stopped you, manhandling you back on the desk, tearing away your shirt making every single button pop out and yanking at your bra to expose your nipples. 

His lips closed on one of your hard rock buds and sucked it avidly. You were a whimpering mess, whining under your breath “please sir, fuck me” 

He grazed your nipple with his teeth, running a finger through your folds. 

“Look at you, darling, so hungry for my cock your pussy is weeping,  your body is shaking…” 

With one hand he yanked the papers off the desk, a shower of paper clips followed the sheets to the floor along with a stapler and the golden tag with his name engraved on it.

“Lie down” he hissed 

You lay on the desk, obscenely open and throbbing for him, a raw uncontrollable heat flowing through your body. 

“Please” you cried. 

He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders, holding you tightly by your ankles.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this” he said tapping his cock on your folds and sliding it through them, before starting to enter you agonizingly slow. 

“Mmm feel how good she’s stretching, darling, your tight little pussy’s all full of me” 

“Yes, sir” 

“Say: thank you, sir” 

“Thank you, sir” 

It was all inside you and your pussy was swallowing it hungrily.

He started thrusting into a steady rhythm, slowly at first, like tidal waves hitting you, ripples on a blank shore caressing your special spot, and then stronger, faster, like thunderstorm on the ocean, high dangerous waves making you see stars. 

His huge cock shifting and brushing against your drenched walls, sinking into you again and again. 

Your moans bounced around the room like an echo, mixing with squelching sounds of his dick slamming into you, making you his. 

“Yes, baby, you’re doing so good for me” he whispered “come here”. 

He grabbed you and held you close to his chest, making your legs parting some more, reaching for another angle that made you feel him even deeper. 

His moustache brushed along your jawline, lowering on your neck, his lips sucking on your pulse point.

“Look at you, dripping on my desk,” he muttered softly, his voice reverberating on your skin. 

The impossible pace became too much to bear when his hand moved from your hips to your clit, his thumb brushing on it. 

He looked you in the eyes, feral and assertively “you want to come, huh? Make a mess all over my cock?” 

“Yes.” You cried, seeing the wreck that you were reflecting in his deep brown eyes “yes, please sir I need it” 

“Then come, baby” he said, increasing the pressure on your clit and pushing into you like it was a matter of life or death. 

That was all you needed to hear. 

You broke the dams that still kept you anchored to reality and flooded his cock, squirting all over his desk, a complete and utter disaster disheveled and exhausted. 

The fine wood of his desk was probably ruined forever but he didn't seem to care in the slightest, he pumped into you, grabbing your neck and hair until he spurted all of him into your cunt. 

You felt it warm and sticky, painting your walls, making you full like you’ve never been before. 

He slipped out a moment later, caressing your cheeks and praising you.

You got up from his desk and clung to his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss, tilting your head as you felt his tongue play with yours.

“Thank you” you murmured against his lips, smiling softly “And by the way, I’m on the pill”

“I know. I saw you take it the other day in the conference room before the meeting started” he said, while adjusting his trousers and taking a clean shirt from a desk drawer.

“Get out of here, naughty girl” 

“Well, you destroyed my blouse…” you said, picking up the garment from the floor.

“Here, take mine” 

You put on his shirt, too big for you, trying to tuck it under your skirt so it was less noticeable how long it was. He helped you by rolling up your sleeves, barely touching your skin, but enough to make you feel a shiver down your spine. 

“mmm sexy,” he said when he stopped to look at you.

“Let’s try not to make this a habit” he smirked, giving you another playful slap on your ass cheek “We can't do this 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Why not?” You winked right before going out the door. 

You could smell him on you and it drove you crazy. You already knew that you would use his shirt to sleep that very night and for many nights to come.

Once outside the door, Pam looked at you over her glasses, raised an eyebrow, and for the first time you saw a little smile curve her lips.

tag list for this one: @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @gothcsz @harriedandharassed

archive tag: @pedrostories Let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away.

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.

[ifbrd]

Cipher Zodiac - Holding Hands with Enemies

If I’ve got my dates right, today is the 9 year anniversary of Gravity Falls ending. Consider this analysis and discussion my celebration post! (Not that I care to celebrate that my favorite show ended nearly a decade ago but anyway…)

I recently ran into this really cute little mini Gravity Falls fan comic by @the-meme-monarch. I actually first saw it Reddit (credit properly given) a few weeks ago (and hunted it down today to reblog lol) and people on Reddit were talking about how having Mabel hold Gideon’s hand in the finale was a weird choice.

I want to talk about that, but first I want to clarify a few things:

- This is not supposed to be any kind of like callout or attack or anything like that on you @the-meme-monarch. I love this art you did, it's sweet and adorable and it would have been nice to see in canon. I'm really worried you'll take this post the wrong way and think it's meant to be personal so I just want to assure you that that is not the case.

- I am making this a separate post, not a reblog to your post, because I don't want to hijack it haha. I want your post to just be about your lovely art, not the long winded analysis I'm about to give. So everyone please go check out that post!

- I definetly think this is a fair critism about the finale. Mabel, by no means, should have been forced to hold Gideon's hand when he couldn't just learn from his wrongdoings. With what I'm about to say, I'm not trying to say this was necessarily a good choice.

With those things said, I do want to play devil's advocate a bit for this decision.

Having Mabel and Gideon be next to each and hold hands, does serve a narrative purpose here, albiet said narrative purpose could have been executed a lot better, in my opinion (or, alternatively, wasn’t even entirely necessary)

Let me explain. Let's revisit this scene: Ford takes Robbie's paint can and goes around painting the Cipher Zodiac on the ground. People start figuring out where they are on the Zodiac and getting in position. Gideon makes a big deal about being next to Mabel, despite her asking him not to. Ford instructions everyone to hold hands. Pacifica remarks that she will not hold hands with McGucket's dirty hand, and her father tells her she should do the one thing no one in their family has ever done "touch the hill-billy" (a sentence that sounds terrible out of context). They start glowing and after the extras evacuate, Ford tells Stan to join. Stan refuses, taking this opportunity to have a conversation with Ford that absolutely does not need to be addressed in this moment. Ford passive aggressively thanks him, and then corrects his grammar which is also something that absolutely does not need to addressed in this moment. They start fighting and it all falls apart.

The narrative purpose that's being served by Mabel holding Gideon's hand, is to contrast Stan and Ford, and further emphasize how riduculous they are being in this moment. Mabel is choosing to temporarily let go of her ill feelings towards Gideon, for the sake of saving the world, and she's not the only one to do this. Pacifica didn't want to hold McGucket's hand, but did so anyway to save the world. While Stan is refusing to hold hands, Robbie announces that he has "never held hands this long before" and is "very uncomfortable" but he is also continuing to cooperate in spite of this clear discomfort. These are examples of members of the Cipher Zodiac, members who are children or teenagers with underdeveloped brains and are therefore more likely to act selfishly or immaturely, setting aside their discomforts for the sake of the greater good. Then there's Stan and Ford, two grown ass men, who both know what's at stake, know their family, their neice and nephew, could die if they don't defeat Bill, yet can't manage to put aside their hurt feelings long enough to do whatever the Cipher Zodiac was going to do. The kids can pull themselves together, why can’t the full grown adults?

In what way could this have been executed better? In my opinion, the best way to execute this would be to have has many members of the zodiac as possible be holding hands with people they have or had conflicts with. This would, in theory, make Stan and Ford the only ones who couldn't set aside their grudges, which would have made it more impactful.

Most of us know that the Cipher Zodiac wasn't originally supposed to mean anything, it was just supposed to look cool and mysterious at the end of the title sequence. It was thrown in to the finale because fans had spent so much time theorizing about it. If this hadn't been the case, if the Cipher Zodiac was actually something intentional that was planned from the beginning, they really could have preplanned this and made it impactful. They could have designed the Zodiac to have the symbols have to be in a specific order, and could have written the series with that in mind, to make it so everyone was holding hands with someone they had issues with.

Of course, that wasn't the case, but I still think this could have been done more effectively with the position the writers were actually in. Looking back on the series, I decided to photoshop the finale's Cipher Zodiac to be odered in, what I think, would have made this contrast in actions more impactful. I tried to order it in a way that as many people as possible had a problem with someone they were holding hands with.

The original:

My Photoshopped version:

My explanations, starting with Ford and going counter clockwise:

Ford and McGucket - they had a falling out, although they did make up mere minutes prior to this.

McGucket and Pacifica - what canon did, and the reasoning has already been brought up and was openly expressed in canon. Though McGucket doesn't seem to have any ill feelings towards Pacifica or her family.

Pacifica and Mabel - what canon did, these two did have a rivary for a good portion of the series, although they had more or less resolved that

Mabel and Gideon - what canon did, and I don't need to explain this, it's what sparked this entire post

Gideon and Dipper - these two hated each other. Dipper didn't like how Gideon harassed Mabel, Gideon was convinced that Dipper was coming between him and Mabel

Dipper and Robbie - these two fought over Wendy for half of season 1. And I don't think they every actually made any kind of amends with each other specifically.

Robbie and Wendy - they dated and had a messy breakup, although they did appear to make amends

Wendy and Soos - also what canon did. Look, Soos is the world's most perfect man, he has beef with literally no one, but he's on the Cipher Zodiac nonetheless, so he has to hold hands with someone, this is the only spot left.

Stan and Soos - Again, what canon did, and we can refer to the same logic as above, but I also think this can work to our advantage here. One the one hand, keeping in mind their father-son dynamic, Soos adores Stan and wants his affection, so I could see it being awkward for him to hold hands with Stan, whether nervous because "don't mess this up, Soos" or an overly excited issue. While Stan seems to care about Soos the same, he would never in a million years admit it, which would make holding Soos's hand potentially awkward for him, especially if Soos is being a crazy fanboy over it. On the flip side, like making the complete opposite argument, Stan not being cooperative when he has no problems with one of the people he's holding hands with, while nearly everyone else has an issue with both people they're holding hands with and aren't making a scene, could further emphasize the ridiculousness and immaturity in his actions.

So yeah! That's what I think should have been done for this to be most effective! Or just not putting Mabel by Gideon at all would have also been great!

I'm curious though: Does anyone else have a different way they'd set up the Cipher Zodiac than what I did?

[remuswriting]

THE ESSENCE OF LIFE; BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.” You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.” He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

WORD COUNT: 2,211 words

TAGS: Canon Divergent; Psychiatric Hospitals; Angst with Hopeful Ending; Discussion of Vomit; Platonic; Second Person POV; Not Beta Reader; M! Reader

NOTES: This is very much a self-indulgent thing as I deal with some stuff. Some of this is inspired based off of my experiences, but not all of it. Although nothing is explicitly said, please be careful if you think this could be triggering for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is a strong hero. He and everyone else in the world knew that, even if they feared he could potentially become a villain in the future. It was unlikely, but people liked to fear things. People know of his nature, how he’s abrasive, but care lies underneath. He may not be the kind who gently reassures civilians with his words, but he makes sure he sees them get to safety either in the ambulance or in their loved ones’ arms.

Something people don’t know is how much he cares about Midoriya Izuku. Back in high school, you saw a strange rivalry between them that you couldn’t depict if it was friendship or lingering hatred. You never thought too hard about it, though. It was none of your concern since you were in two different classes. Despite that, you thought Bakugou tolerated Midoriya at best back then. The current sight in front of you disputed that.

Bakugou’s hair is unwashed and messy. His clothes are disheveled and stained as if he put on whatever he first saw in his hamper. The dark circles beneath his eyes are dark and sunken in—he hasn’t slept properly in days, most likely. You don’t blame him, because if you were in his shoes, you’d be the same.

“Midoriya-san can’t have visitors currently,” you say, and Bakugou stares at you. His crossed arms squeeze against his chest slightly, as if holding himself back. “I can answer some questions, but he’s not ready to see anyone yet.”

 Bakugou nods slightly, and you think he’s going to leave. “I asked for you,” he says instead. Because of the nature of the ward you work in, none of the staff’s information is online. So, you don’t know how he knows you work here.

“I know,” you say. “Why?”

Bakugou furrows his brows, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Or at least you’ve always believed so. Ever since high school, it’s been easy to read him. However, you’re a nurse at a psychiatric hospital now. Maybe that’s why it’s always been so easy.

“What do you fucking mean?” he asks, and his aggressiveness means he’s being honest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I didn’t know you even knew who I was up until five minutes ago,” you say, and he slowly nods as if it’s connecting in his head. “So, excuse me for being a little confused.”

“I saw you when we were in high school,” he says, and your brows furrow slightly. Never had you two spoken in high school. Both of you stayed in your designated areas. “In the beginning of our second year, there was a villain attack. You were the only non-hero course student that didn’t fucking run away. You actually ran to us and tried to help.”

You nod a little. “I remember,” you say, because you do remember. You remember never hearing thanks and learning that heroes never thank those who haven’t made saving people their profession. It was what led you to no longer be impressed by heroes anymore. “I’ve never been one to run away, especially when the ones trying to save us needed saving, too.”

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.”

You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.”

He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

You’re silent for a moment as you look behind him at the koi pond. The eating disorder unit is currently out for activities and surrounds the koi pond. They’re the ones who steal cereal the most to feed the fish, because it brings them so much joy. It’s always hard to tell them no, and most nurses don’t.

“Sometimes, fear makes you do stupid shit.” You pause as you look at him. “Every patient here was scared before they got here—before they got better.”

Bakugou is smart, and you hope he understands. You hope he understands that Midoriya fear made him end up here. The fear of what is something for them to talk about, not for you. The crease between Bakugou’s eyebrows softens slightly. He understands just a little.

“You should’ve fucking replaced one of those extras,” Bakugou says, and his arms aren’t squeezing his chest as much. “You weren’t scared.”

“None of you were ever extras,” you scold as you cross your arms. “I never thought that. I always thought that we were all children. You guys were forced to fight a war that heroes weren’t even willing to fight.” You look at his shoes. The laces aren’t even tied correctly. When you make eye contact, it’s overly intense. “It showed that heroes are just people no matter how much we idolize them.”

“Don’t tell Izuku that,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. Although he doesn’t sound serious, you both know he is. That’s something Midoriya refuses to hear—to acknowledge, even if it’s what he needs to survive. He deeply sighs. “We all wanted to fight.”

You nod. “I know, Bakugou-sama.”

“You can call me Bakugou-san.”

You pause as you watch him. He’s finally relaxed, and his honesty is loud. “Okay, Bakugou-san. How can I help you today?”

“Can you tell me how he is?” he asks, and there’s a slight hint of desperation in his voice. He won’t let it come out completely, but you still heard it.

“He… There’s no correct time frame for grief,” you say, and he slowly nods. “I can’t tell you the things you want to know—what he’s saying—but I can tell you that Midoriya-san isn’t the first person to be like this over grief. Nor will he be the last. He just needs time.”

“Are you putting him on more meds?” Bakugou asks. “Cause they had him on a shit load on meds in the hospital, and it was fucking him up. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“That medication was pain medication, and you told them he needs heavier dosing so his quirk doesn’t burn through it,” you say, and there’s a line you’re walking on. Midoriya hasn’t been conscious enough to sign anything saying Bakugou can know everything. “They may have gone too heavy with the dosing. I don’t know, but he’s been dealing with that the last couple of days as well.”

“How long until he’s not sick?” Bakugou asks, and you open your mouth. “Everyone keeps asking me when he’s gonna fucking be okay, and I don’t know.” He pauses, and his voice is softer when he speaks next. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Once the medication is out of his system, he’ll be able to have visitors,” you say, and his posture slouches slightly in relief. “Tell everyone that he’s safe. I’ll call you when he can have visitors, and it’ll be an appointment only because of who we have in our unit.”

Bakugou nods as he lets out a deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san.”

It’s still strange that he knows your name, and it’s even stranger to actually hear him say it. “How do you know my name?”

“I looked you up after the villain attack and tried to get into 2-A.” Bakugou chuckles. “Thought I imagined you for a while, but Dunce Face remembered you. So I went to Aizawa, and he said he’d look into you, but nothing ever happened.”

You froze before letting out a light laugh. “You.” Your smile grew. “You’re the reason I got to work with Recovery Girl.”

Bakugou’s grin resembled the one he had when he was named Number One Pro-Hero last year. It was strange for him to look this happy without that award in front of him. “That sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you,” you say as emotion swells in your chest. You know what it’s like to never get thanks, and it’s so relieving to give it. “Without you, I would’ve never gotten here. Thank you.”

Bakugou’s smile turns into a smirk. “Wasn’t all me. You’re the one with a badass quirk.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t even know my quirk.”

“Don’t need to know it to know you have hero potential.” He pauses as he looks around you two. There are trees and the koi pond, along with the entrance to the lobby. There’s not much to look at. Then he looks at you. “Before Izuku got his quirk, he ran into danger for me once. What you did back then reminds me of him.”

Your smile is small and soft. “From what I’ve learned about Midoriya-san, that’s a genuine compliment.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Bakugou says, as if to make sure you understand. You do understand, though. There are more people similar to him than he realizes, and they’re not as difficult to handle as most people make them out to be. Misunderstood isn’t the right word for them, because it’s easy to understand them if you try. Maybe looked over emotionally is a better way to put it. “Can you… Can you tell him I stopped by?”

“If he’s up to hearing that, then I will,” you say, and he nods. “The beginning of being here is always the hardest, and I want to make sure he’s comfortable before we talk about anything that may be… triggering.”

“I understand,” Bakugou says, and his entire posture is relaxed. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so relaxed. He’s either always standing up as straight as possible or has his arms tightly crossed against his chest. This is a good look on him, though. “I just don’t want him to think I gave up on him—you know, because of what happened.”

“Can I be completely honest with you, Bakugou-san?” you ask, and he reluctantly nods. “I may not fully know what your relationship with Midoriya-san is, but I do know he has full faith in you. After all the years you’ve spent fixing whatever problems you once had, he knows you’re still here. I have full faith in that.”

He slowly nods, trying to wrap his head around it. “Okay,” he says before taking another deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san. You still have my phone number in case anything changes?”

The wind brushes both of your hair as it pushes by. “Yes, and you’ll be the first person we call.” You pause. “I’ll make sure to call you myself.”

Bakugou’s leaving is simple. There’s someone waiting at the lobby door for him to unlock it. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you as he walks away, but you watch him the entire time. There’s a pull in your chest as you think about someone caring so much about you that they seek you out, even when they’re told no to seeing you yet. You know what love is—you see it every visitation and between the patients who grow close to each other—but what Bakugou and Midoriya have is something far greater than you understand.

Once he’s completely out of sight, you turn around and head toward the unit. You know several of them are going to ask where you went, and you’ll need a story that doesn’t reveal anything. They can’t know that Bakugou came here, especially when so many of them know him personally.

The door opens, and Hamasaki, one of the youngest patients, is waiting there for you. “L/N!” he says, and his eyes are bright. “You were gone forever.”

You look up at the clock. “15 minutes is not forever.”

“It is to me,” he says, and you give him a look. “I need my medication, and you’re my nurse.”

You chuckle. “Alright, give me a second.” Midoriya is sitting at the table across from the nurses’ station. “Midoriya-san, are you needing something too?”

He looks at you, and he’s looking better than he has, but exhaustion weighs him down. He’s not been sleeping well here, but from what you understand, he’s not been sleeping well for a long time. “Can I get a boost?” he asks, and you nod before looking over at Aiko, one of the techs.

“Can you grab him a boost while I get Hamasaki’s medication?”

Aiko nods as you two pass by each other at the nurses’ station entrance. She looks at Midoriya with a soft smile, one he slightly returns. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”

He pauses, looking ready to throw up again, but there’s nothing in his system to throw up. He’s not been eating because he’s been sick, and they’d give him one of each if he wanted to try them both. You know how difficult it can be for patients in the beginning, because this place is not their home and it resembles a form of control being taken away. However, it gets easier the more comfortable you let yourself be.

“Vanilla, please,” Midoriya says, and you smile as you log into the computer.

“Of course,” Aiko says as she goes into the kitchen.

You look at Hamasaki, who stares at Midoriya with a proud expression. He’d been similar in the beginning, so he knows how it is. “Alright, Hamasaki,” you say, and he looks at you. “What are we needing to get?”

[milaghoul]

In light of hopefully doing more art soon, here's a couple inktober doodles I did (I only did 4 in total lol). I took inspiration straight from my fav Pierce the Veil songs.

[acourtofquestions]

“She had no magic to wield, save for the keen eyes of the goddess at her shoulder and an uncanny ability to remain unnoticed, to play into expectations.”

[rosicheeks]

🌸🦖🌿?

-🌸

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

I feel like it had to be something about my personality. Personality compliments are always top tier for me and then singing compliments are probably next 🩷

🦖 Favorite extinct animal?

Dinosaurs???? I’m sorry I’m awful lol

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.

Right now I don’t think I have a *favorite* outfit. My go to outfit when I want to look cute is usually a skirt and a top that is either a crop top or I crop myself 😂

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Simon hated the tapping out ceremony. Ever since he first had to partake in one, he despised it. With no family and very few friends, he was usually the last on the field, waiting until one of his superiors would tap him out. But he couldn’t skip them either.

So there he was. The sun was beating down on the hundreds of soldiers lined up in neat little rows, standing at attention while they waited for their loved ones. And they came quickly. One soldier after the other was tapped out by their parents, siblings, spouse, and sometimes even children. But he stayed still, watching the happy reunions out of the corner of his eyes. Watching the tears and hugs and kisses. He envied the others; he was jealous of what they had, and he didn’t. But Simon had always been good at following orders, so he didn’t move, barely even blinked as he was surrounded by happiness, while he drowned in his own sorrow.

After an hour, there was only one other soldier left. Simon had barely interacted with him, but he knew his face. And just when Simon thought he wouldn’t be the only one without someone to tap him out this time, a crowd of eight people moved toward the soldier. At the front was an older-looking woman, her brown hair streaked with grey and lines on her face, indicating her age. Around her were people of all ages and genders.

“My son!” The woman let out a sob as she finally threw her arms around the soldier’s neck, causing the man to chuckle, as he hugged her back. “I missed you too, mama.”

One by one, he talked to the people surrounding him, hugged them, and kissed them. Simon couldn’t help but watch, bile rising in his throat as jealousy threatened to overtake him. And as he watched, he couldn’t help but imagine himself in the soldier’s stead. Surrounded by a happy, loud, and loving family. People who were happy to see him. Nowadays, the only people he could call family were the guys from the 141, and they were away on a mission. Still, in his mind, the scene played out. His mother, smiling, rushing toward him. Followed by his brother and his wife, carrying his nephew.

The daydream was interrupted by someone walking toward him. He expected it to be his superior, there to finally release him from the nightmare. But it wasn’t.

A young woman took timid steps in his direction. Her eyes, bright but filled with sadness. Not her own sadness, though, it was sadness she felt for him. He didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t blink. She came to a stop in front of him, gazing up with a frown.

“Is someone coming?” Simon hesitated before giving an almost invisible shake of his head. She gasped, it was quiet and he barely heard it, but he felt it. In every bone, he felt her sadness and the sorrow she carried for him. Slowly, as if not to startle him, she lifted her hand, until it was inches away from his chest. “Is…is this okay?” When he gave a slight nod, she gently pressed her hand against his chest, finally tapping him out.

A breath he didn’t realize he had been holding escaped him as he finally turned to properly look at the woman. She was still gazing up at him, a soft smile now replacing the frown on her face.

“Thank you.” She nodded in response before glancing back at her family. When she looked back at Simon, she looked determined. “We’re going out to eat dinner if you’d like to join us?” Simon was about to decline when someone called out to him.

“Oi! Ghost!” He looked up and saw the soldier, now facing him, an arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go; my mom says dinner’s on us!” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and started walking toward the car park, his entire family in tow. Simon kept looking after him until a soft, small hand slipped into his own. He glanced down and found the woman smiling up at him.

“Come, my mom doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” And with those words, the woman gently led him to follow her family.

Part 2

A/N: This will be a two-parter. I hope you liked it!

[gravegoer]

What if we get like an internal monologue of just how much Sevika is into you? Like if it’s her first day as counselor and she sees you walking around the halls helping out as an assistant. She can’t help but think reader is so damn cute! Maybe even reader flirts a little from afar <3

Pretty Piltie ⋆˚✿

thank you anon, and yes i love this, this is very cute ! i went a little different for some plot but i hope you like it :) i also have a few more pirate sevika fics coming out so look out for those ! coming sometime this week :) masterlist

After her first day on the council, she saw you in the hallway, walking around with your clipboard in your face. (Definitely in a hurry)

She raised an eyebrow at the pep in your step and the carelessness of you flipping through pages while walking. Before she could even move to the side, you bumped into her.

"I'm so sorry," You looked up at her with an embarrassed look on your face, "I thought the halls would be empty."

She couldn't even get a word out before your eyes widened, "Shit. The meeting is over, isn't it?"

You scurried to the doors she just came from, and she almost laughed at your actions. Even after the exasperating meeting she had a smile graced her lips.

Well, I could get used to that.

When she got home, her mind flashed back to the girl she encountered in the hallway, furrowing her brows. She tried to rid of the image. Maybe she was just thinking about it because it's the only exciting thing that occurred today. Yeah, that's it.

The next week, she had to come back for a second meeting, this time staying back longer to discuss things in finer details. A couple of councilors have already up and left as it was getting late.

After a few minutes, she saw you walk in with one of the council members. You had a nervous smile on your face while the older woman spoke to you.

Sevika let out a snort at your expression, finding it to be oddly cute but containing herself moments later. Although she couldn't stop eyeing you when you stood behind the councilors chair just across from her.

You were scrawling out things on your clipboard while the grey-haired woman in front of you spoke. Sevika was only half listening as her eyes bored into your face, taking in all your features.

I mean, who knew Piltover had princesses like this.

Suddenly, you looked up to make eye contact with Sevika, her brows 5 she averted eye contact to look at the woman in front of you.

She saw your smile from the corner of her vision when she looked away. Fuck.

It seemed like every time you looked away she stared back at you, she didn't come here to eye-fuck her co-workers assistant but damn.

She watched the way you tilted your head when hearing something strange, or raised your eyebrows at something controversial, bending over to whisper something in the ear of your boss.

All in all she was definitely lost in thought when someone called her name, "Sevika!"

She looked over at the woman beside her who spoke, "Shall I repeat myself? I say, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Sevika blanked. She racked her brain for an answer but the only one it was coming up with was the curve of your smile and the hue of your eyes.

She saw your surprised face and you mouthed something to her, "Say you agree."

She coughed into her fist before speaking, "I suppose that's fine."

The others looked at her suspiciously but carried on nonetheless. Throughout the rest of the meeting she made sure to pay close attention, so that she wouldn't slip up Infront of her co-workers again.

When the meeting was dismissed she was the last to leave, running her hand down her face in a way to ease her mind. She took a deep breath before stepping into the hall.

She was greeted with the sight of you talking to a few advisors, taking notes, and handing out papers. She found it endearing the way you bounced from person to person, engaging in conversation.

It seemed like you were taking peoples opinions for your survey. This was her chance to redeem herself. (She's embarrassed you had to help her earlier.

After speaking with an unfamiliar lanky man, you turned around and locked eyes with Sevika once again.

You waved at her, flashing her a cute grin. But before you could take a step towards her, your boss was calling her away.

Immediately, you deadpanned and pulled your lips into an exaggerated frown. Sevika smirked at your expressions and flicked her hand teasingly in a shoo, motion.

She would most definetly be seeing you again.

i know this is a bit shorter than my usual, spare me

im also having major writers block and i have 20+ asks so 🙏 let me cook here, i also have many projects i want to get to

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet Self-Aware!Caleb

Caleb always talked about how he would he would show you around SkyHaven when you got there. It was never an 'if' with him it was always a 'when'. Perhaps that should've been your first red flag, but when you have feelings for someone those red flags look a little pink A/N: I was chillin' in the N109Zone while I wrote this. Sylus rubbed my feet and brought me food. pt. 1 here

“Just give me some time….”

What did he mean by that? The memory of the way his voice shook and how it seemed like he was talking more to himself rather than you — haunted you endlessly. You spent your days on edge, looking over your shoulder, tossing and turning in your sleep and waking up out of breath. You were never able to use your phone again after that it just wouldn’t turn back on. You spun the new device in your hand flipping it over to see the new phone case you purchased for it.

Apples.

“Well thanks for the new phone Caleb” You mumbled to yourself, setting it aside on your desk before sitting down to get to work. Part of you missed playing Love and Deepspace, but you couldn’t bring yourself to download the app again after what happened with Caleb. For months you had managed to fall for that pixelated man only for it to end the way that it did. You still had no clue what he meant by ‘Give me some time’ but it gave you chills nonetheless.

“Hey!” You jumped at the sound of Camerons voice aka your work bestie. “What?” The word rushed out of you. She stared down at you with a concerned look “I’ve been trying to get your attention I called your name at least ten times” You blinked rapidly as you looked around trying to gather your scattered thoughts. You hadn't realized you were spacing out “I’m sorry I was just trying to get this finished by end of day” You smoothed out your shirt and turned to face your friend “What's up?” Just when you thought it would be bad news you watched as a saccharine grin spread across her face. “Somebody had these delivered” She pulled a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind her back and gently placed them in your lap. “Just for you”

Your whole face lit up as you looked down at the gorgeous flowers. No one has ever gifted you flowers before. The gesture almost made you combust just from staring at them. Carefully picking them up, you took a long sniff relishing in the floral notes that filled your senses. After getting a good sniff you quickly searched the flowers for a card to see who your secret admirer could be.

‘𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑷𝒊𝒑-𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒂𝒌 ♡ ͏𝑰 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 -𝑪 ’

Your heart dropped to your ass in an instant; it can’t be Caleb he’s not real. You sprang to your feet letting the flowers fall to the floor — petals broke away from the stems as you kicked it away. The room grew blurry as your lungs constricted and your heart pounded like a drum in your ears. The last thing you saw was your friend reaching for you before you were suddenly counting the ceiling lights. Cameron shook you by your shoulders trying to get you to breathe properly. “What was in those flowers!? What did you do? Should I call 911?” She wasn’t speaking to you she was looking over her shoulder — who's she talking to? Please don’t let it be your boss that lady is strict enough as it is. She’ll have you head on a stick if she finds out you passed out on the clock.

“No I'll take it from here” A tall looming shadow stood over you; his face came into view as he leaned down and cupped your cheek in his hand. “Let’s go home pipsqueak you don’t look so well” Caleb? But how? You wanted to flinch away from his touch or get up and scramble away from him but your body was so heavy. “Ca…Caleb” It was so hard to speak your words coming out slurred as you continued to become even dizzier. “How?…..” His smile was blurry but his voice was clear "I take it you missed me considering this phone case"

The world seemed to be going by in flashes. First you were on the floor and next you were in someones arms and now you’re watching flashes of light pass by as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “Get some rest” A gentle hand rubbed small circles on your back willing you to sleep. The heavy weight of sleep outweighed your will to stay awake.

You were groggy as you rolled over and instinctively snuggled into your pillow. You wanted to go back to sleep, but the smell of breakfast had your stomach growling. Breakfast? You sat up in a panic looking around the foreign room. This was not your room and this was not your city. Fumbling out of bed you somehow managed to wrap your feet up in the sheets falling to the floor with a hard thud “Fuck that hurt” just then you heard heavy footsteps heading your way. Terror set in as you tried to untangle yourself from the blankets as the footsteps grew closer. “Come on come on come on” you begged the sheets that seemed to continuously grip onto your legs. “You can’t be serious” You whisper-yelled to yourself.

The room door opens softly and there stands Caleb with a look of worry. “What happened?” He rushes to your side and tries to help untangle you. “Caleb!?” Your eyes are practically bulging out of your head staring at the man in front of you. You wriggle and flail only making things worse “Hold still!” Caleb pins you in place with his evol as he unwraps your lower half from the sheets and blanket. “There. All done” He meets your stare and gives you those same puppy dog eyes that you remember all too well.

“W-where am I?” It took everything in you to keep from cowering into the corner. You knew there was no point in trying to run since he could quite literally pin you in place. He beamed as he gestured towards the floor to ceiling window “Welcome to SkyHaven I hope you enjoy your stay” He said with a wink. Your lips curled into an angry frown while your eyes ping ponged between the view and him. “What? Are you not happy to see me?”

“I don’t understand how I'm seeing you” You rolled your shoulder to try and quell the pain radiating from it. There will definitely be some bruising or at least some soreness later. “That’s classified information Pip-squeak” Before you could ask anymore questions Caleb pulled you to your feet like you weigh nothing. You looked up at him almost entranced by how handsome he is. You shook your head and snatched your hands from his. “Don’t give me that bullshit excuse! Take me home!”

He tilted his head and reached a hand out to caress your cheek “You are home” Although he had the warmest smile and lovestruck eyes; you couldn't help, but feel like a bucket of ice water was thrown on you. You stared dumbfounded; words escaping you.

Say something. Say something!

“I have to leave soon but I wanted to share a meal with you before then” That's when you noticed he was dressed in his colonel uniform — damn he looked so good too, but you refused to tell him that.

Suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you out the door. You tripped over your own feet trying to keep up with his long strides. “I can walk on my own Caleb let go” You yanked at his grip and surprisingly he let go — only for him to swiftly sweep you off your feet and carry you bridal style into the dining room. He gently placed you in a chair and sauntered off to the kitchen returning with your favorite juice, a glass of water, and scallion pancakes. You stared at your plate not sure if you’re happy or pissed.

“I didn’t poison it so stop poutin’ and eat before it gets cold” You glanced at Caleb who occupied the seat next to you. He sat in a relaxed position with his head resting in his palm; studying you intently. You were still hesitant to eat anything this man put in front of you considering he kidnapped you to another world and won’t tell you how to get home. Caleb reaches a hand across you grabbing your knife and fork and slices a piece of your scallion pancake — popping it into his mouth with a subtle groan. He cuts another piece and turns the fork to you “See it’s safe”

You hesitantly part your lips as Caleb pushes the food into your mouth. The flavors bursting on your tongue had you audibly moaning as well. Caleb was a fantastic cook — you snatched the fork from his hand and dug right in taking a few sips of your drink to wash it down. The weight of his stare has you slowing down and immediately wiping your mouth “What are you staring at?” Calebs eyes soften as he slowly scans your face “You’re even more beautiful in person”

Even though you weren’t happy with him those words still gave you butterflies — you’ve been trying so hard to suppress them. You dropped your gaze and moved the last bits of your food around your plate “Don’t flirt with me you’re gonna make me nervous” He let out a soft chuckle and flicked your nose before leaning back in his chair — flashing that gorgeous smile of his. Caleb really was breathtaking; those violet eyes almost had you in a trance. You couldn’t help, but take in all his features — your eyes going from his eyes to his lips, taking notes of how full and soft they looked.

Continuing your perusal, you let your eyes move down, taking in his long muscular, but lean frame. His legs seemed to go for miles and you watched him spread them just a little wider when your eyes reached his lap. “You like what you see pip-squeak?” You finally snapped out of your self-inflicted trance and shook your head “You’re easy on the eyes even though you make my nervous system stand on end” You pushed your empty plate away, crossing your arms over your chest as you sat back in your chair.

Caleb didn’t respond immediately — opting to just give your cheek a caress as he grabbed your plate. His silence was unnerving to say the least. Is he upset? Are you the reason he’s upset? Staying quiet seemed to be the best option. “So I’ll be leavin’ for three days I want you to stay here and when I get back I promise to give you the grand tour of SkyHaven” His voice was accompanied by the sound of dishes clattering and running water.

“Three days?!” You choked on your drink causing you to cough loudly. Caleb stopped what he was doing and rushed to your side — rubbing your back as you caught your breath. “I’m not staying here for three days! I have a life back home!” You pushed his shoulder so you could stand and get some space. You knew by the way his brows furrowed and the chilling demeanor that washed over him in an instance that you’d made him mad. “And how exactly do you plan on getting ‘home’ pip-squeak?” He took a step toward you making you step back. You didn’t get far as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush against him. His eyes were becoming wild — this was the same look in his eyes before he ruined your phone for good. His heart was also beating rapidly in rhythm with yours.

You: Tell me how! Caleb: Didn’t you say you hated your job? You: Yes but- Caleb: Weren’t you the one who said you wanted someone to take care of you for once? You: Caleb I didn’t mean- Caleb: So why not stay here and be happy …. with me?

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you stood there letting part of yourself give in to him while the other half was ready to run out the door. Where would you go though? Who would help you? There’s no way Caleb is actually cruel enough to keep you here knowing damn well you don’t belong in this game. “I-I can’t” You croaked out not knowing if you wanted to kiss him or kick him. You watched Calebs’ expression fall, but he quickly covered it with a small grin. He stepped away from you and you almost chased after him due to the loss of warmth. He gripped you by your chin and you stood there frozen not sure what his next move would be. He narrowed his eyes as he searched your face for what? You didn’t know. To your surprise he placed the softest kiss on your lips. The gasp that followed was swallowed up by him as he deepened the kiss. Your mind screamed at you to give him a swift kick to the crotch, but your heart was melting in the palm of his hand.

You kissed him back with the same fervor.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him impossibly close. Caleb kissed you like he would never have this chance again while simultaneously savoring your lips like he had all the time in the world. He tapped the side of your thigh and you swiftly lifted it without question. Caleb picked you up, holding you close as he moved across the room and laid you down on the couch. He pulled away breathless and dropped his forehead on your chest “If we keep going I’ll be late for work”

“I should probably get home anyway Caleb we can talk about this another day, but let me go home first” You ran your hands through his hair — it was soft. He lifted his head and for the first time, since bringing up home, his eyes showed no sign of anger. “You’re right” He stood to his full height and helped you to your feet. “Lets get you some pain medication for your shoulder” He brushed his fingertips over the darkening area “Then I'll tell you how to get home” his words were almost a whisper.

“Thank you” You could feel the tension melting off of you in waves.

“Follow me” He helped you to your feet and headed down the hallway towards what you assume is his room. You followed closely behind him; stumbling a few times to keep up. Once you were in his room your stumbling became much harder to control. Your breathing was becoming heavy and your head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. You braced yourself against the wall willing the dizziness to stop.

“What’s wrong? Come lay down” Caleb said feigning concern. Your body was too heavy to even try to fight him so you allowed him to guide you into his bed and you felt a soft kiss on your forehead right before drifting off to sleep. “I’ll be back soon”

The room was dark only lit by the moon through the window when you woke up. You sat up glancing around the room trying to figure out where you were. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust, but once they did you saw the outline of a small lamp on the nightstand next to the bed.

No he didn’t.

You bolted out of bed at the sudden realization that you were still in Calebs home. “Caleb!” You yelled as you ran down the hall out into the living room. The place was dark and quiet not a single sign of another person. You ran to the front door, frantically trying to open it, but somehow Caleb managed to bolt this door shut making it impossible for you to leave. “He locked me in?” Think.

The windows!

You opened one of the few windows that wasn't floor to ceiling and found that it luckily wasn't sealed shut. Freedom was in reach. You went to put one leg out the window when you were met with an electrifying pain. “Ow! Damn it!” There was some kind of electromagnetic wall just outside the window. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Your breathing was ragged and tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. “Fuck you Caleb you were never going to let me leave”

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[covetyou]

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k  summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are. 

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat. 

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."  

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-" 

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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