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saintobio · 1 year ago

Text

blank canvas.

problems arise when your tattoo artist boyfriend starts getting too cozy with the girls that wanted him to do more to their bodies than just inking their skin. the thing is, they knew what he wanted and they knew what you couldn’t give.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags. nudity, insecure!reader, virgin!reader, dry humping, mentions of needles, mentions of cheating, slutshaming

notes. if you’ve been here for a while, yes this is a repost from an old hq fic :’D i rewrote and remodeled it for sukuna bc i feel like he fits this au!

part 2 | part 3 | epilogue

Sukuna had seen it all.

He wasn’t dumb and he most definitely wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he was attractive, bringing him a clientele of adoring women who would frequently visit his tattoo parlor. Who could blame them? He was handsome, had a good physique, and an overwhelming aura that pulled the attraction of many women, single or not, who were desperate to vie for his attention. His tattoos and his dyed hair even added to the overall bad boy persona that he had which, to be fair, was a girl’s guilty pleasure.

The women were very assertive, it seemed, to try and lure Sukuna into their little seduction game. Was he getting tempted into it? No. He was loyal and he’d like to stay loyal to his kind and beautiful girlfriend. After all, winning you over wasn’t as easy as it would with any other girl.

However, there were certain moments that almost tested his loyalty to you, especially when some of the women would ask to have their tattoos done on the most intimate places of their bodies.

Take yesterday as an example: one girl asked to have a tattoo on her buttocks and she was certainly more satisfied at the feeling of Sukuna’s palms on her bum rather than the actual tattoo she was getting. And to top it all, she bluntly asked if he offered more service rather than just giving tattoos. Crazy.

He had previously mentioned it to you that as part of his job, he was obligated to give his clients the tattoos they requested, regardless of where on their bodies they wanted them. It was strictly business. Ironically, despite dating a tattoo artist like himself, you had no single trace of inked art on your body. You were an untouched canvas that had never been painted on. Still, Sukuna respected your choice and he surely respected your boundaries even more.

He knew that you had always been a gentle girl when he first met you at the floral shop across the street. You were always prim and proper, always dressed modestly, always following the rules, and always doing the right thing. All you cared about doing was to express your love through the delicate petals you arranged in your flower-scented haven. You were happy to be in your own little bubble, content in the company of fragrant blossoms and soft-spoken solitude. Introverted. Reserved. Pure. Unassuming. He was the exception to your goody-two-shoes nature, because he ended up winning your heart despite being the complete opposite of you. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Deciding to get to know you was on a whim at first, since he was intrigued about your simple joys in life and how you weren’t the type of girls that would visit his tattoo parlor. Something about your demure nature pulled him in until he realized that there was nothing else he wanted in this world but to make you his. He began by greeting you every morning from across the street, then giving you the same bouquet of flowers he purchased from your shop, followed by sending you texts complimenting how beautiful you looked as he watched you from his store, and finally asking you out on spontaneous dates.

It may be a bit peculiar to see the two of you together, but Sukuna pursued you because liked you. He was undeniably in love with you. He liked your smile, liked how cute and adorable you were, and liked how a simple look at you made him want to be a better man. He loved the idea of being with a girl he could protect.

The main issue was, Sukuna dropped out of college and just decided to open a tattoo parlor business because he simply didn’t want to waste his years studying for something that he wasn’t passionate about. But that was the source of your parents’ distaste. They told you that you had no future with a guy like him. They said that they would disown you as a daughter if you decided to choose him. They called him dirty, rebellious, and uneducated.

At that point, he thought that you would leave him after learning his rather reckless choices in life, but you stayed.

You left your parents' home and stayed with him.

And he was grateful that you did.

So to ask the question again, would he ever do something to betray you after everything that happened between you two? Of course, not. Not in a million years, no

But then again, he was also just doing his job and it wasn’t like he was purposely flirting with the girls that often flocked him during work hours. He was simply accommodating a client. Nothing more, nothing less.

And on one of those typical days, he had to work overtime when one of his returning clients asked for her fifth tattoo to be done by him. He just finished picking up the tools he needed as she walked towards the recliner seat asking, “Should I sit here?”

He nodded once, turning around to face the girl who looked at him with her alluring eyes. “Yeah, just let me know when you’re ready.”

Oh yes, she was surely ready. She even had a smirk displayed on her face when she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, keeping her gaze at him while teasingly revealing her busty pair.

He didn’t really pay attention to the size of her tits but instead, just casually pointed to a certain part of her body, “Is this where you want it?” he asked, referring to the lower left part of her breast.

With a very flirtatious grin, she nodded, clearly knowing that her assets were her biggest weapon. “Yes. Would it be easier if I took off my bra, yeah?”

“You don’t have to. I can work it out,” he casually responded, reaching for his glove and busying himself with all the tool preparations.

The girl let out a silent giggle along with her best friend who sat on the side, waiting for her turn. Waiting to be the recipient of Sukuna’s full attention. Sigh.

“No, I can take it off for you,” the girl insisted, unclasping her bra and setting her huge breasts free for him to ogle at. They were perfectly round, probably a 40D, and a light pink shade for her nipples. With how firm they were sitting on her chests, she had probably gotten them done.

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he asked her to sit on the recliner chair. Sukuna had seen women half naked in his shop before, but this was the first time someone willingly got naked in front of him, most especially with other intentions rather than to simply get a tattoo.

Because of the awkwardness, he went ahead and blasted some heavy metal music to distract his mind. He had to think of something else and not stare at the girl’s luscious tits. He had to shift his mind to somewhere else like, for example, why the girl chose a calligraphy of the words ‘la douleur exquise’ on her skin this time.

“Is this French?” he nonchalantly asked, motioning for her to rest her back while he wiped the chosen area with a damp cotton pad. He specifically avoided brushing his hand on her breast, but it looked like the girl was actually angling herself to make him touch it more.

“It means exquisite pain,” she purred, batting her thick eyelashes at him.

His lips formed a smirk, impressed at how much of a skank she was willing to be for him. It wasn’t new, as established before. He’d also had a fair share of women who tried to get into his pants last week, but none of them were successful. He actually found it entertaining to watch them do all sorts of stunts to make him give in. To make him submit himself to his carnal desires. He was a man after all. He had needs, he had to get some form of release, otherwise it could pose a problem in his masculinity.

All while she was getting her tattoo done, the other girl got up from her seat to walk closer to her best friend. Sukuna decided to refer to them in his head as Slut 1 and Slut 2 because he had no intentions of knowing their names. He knew slut-shaming was terrible, but he never said he was a man of virtue and truthfully, how else could he describe them?

“Hey, Sukuna,” the other girl called, sitting at an empty stool with a smile. “You’re single, right?”

He kept his eyes focused on the skin he was inking on. “...No.”

Even from the corner of his eye, he knew that both girls looked surprised, “No way? You have a girlfriend?”

Was it really that much of a shock?

“Yeah, she owns the floral shop across the street,” he mumbled, wiping the trace of blood on the girl’s skin after he finished another letter.

There was a visible pout on Slut 1’s face as if learning that Sukuna had a girlfriend was more painful than the needle pricking at her skin. “So, what’s she like?”

Sukuna thought for a while because he didn’t know where to begin. It was too much of a long story for them to hear about. You were everything he wanted in a woman and that was all he knew. “She’s cute and kind.”

His words earned a giggle from Slut 2. “Is she like the good girl type?”

“She is.” He figured it would be okay to converse about you like this. Besides, he would rather be talking about you than to have these girls just try to flirt with him relentlessly.

“How much of a good girl, though?” Slut 1 egged on, “I bet she’s a virgin and a prude.”

That was obviously none of their business, but damn. They hit a nerve that they shouldn’t have. No one else had managed to bring up a topic like that to him, more so a topic that he himself knew not to cross. His sex life wasn’t as fruitful as anyone thought so, yet not once in his life did he complain. Not once did he talk about it to anyone. Not once did he tell anyone that he had been dating you for a year now and you two never really went further than making out.

“I respect her,” was his answer, much to the two girls’ dismay.

“That’s kinda boring, though,” the other girl claimed, draping her arm around his shoulder before leaning close to his ear. “You’re still a man and you have needs. If I were her, I’d sleep with you every day. In every position.”

The girl on the recliner chair grinned. “Totally! Like, you’re so hot and I feel like you’re good in bed.”

Fuck.

He almost messed up one of the letters because his mind just flew to somewhere unforgivable. It was a sin to even think about, but shit, he definitely missed the feeling of fucking someone. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did so.

“Sukuna?”

He snapped out of his trance and looked up upon hearing the familiar voice, only to find you by the door, your eyes filled with hurt.

“Hey—”

Your voice was caught in your throat as you avoided his gaze. “I just... I thought you were done.”

In a swift motion, you hurriedly walked out of the room before dashing out the door. You didn’t even bother to look back, dead set on leaving him alone with the girls. Your footsteps were far too quick to even catch and he was hoping that you would at least slow down.

“Babe!” he called, unable to chase after you as you shut the door. An exasperated sigh followed.

This was going to be a big problem

Just what was he thinking?

He had a half naked girl in front of him and another girl clinging to him like he didn’t have a girlfriend. It must have hurt you a lot. No, it definitely wrecked you.

“Uh-oh...” the girl mocked. “I can sense trouble”

He decided to leave it be for now and get his job done as soon as possible, even thinking of banning the two girls from going into his shop just to avoid further trouble. He had a lot of explaining to do and he couldn’t wait to go home to make sure that you would listen to him, not overthink the whole thing and place your assumptions because hurting you was the last thing he would do.

At least, he hoped you knew that.

You were washing the dishes when Sukuna came home and the first thing he did was to wrap his arms around you. He had your waist caged in his tight embrace, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings to you. To be real, you weren’t in the mood to see his face after what you saw this afternoon. You get it—he was exposed to all sorts of people with his line of work and most of them probably couldn’t just ignore his physical appearance. You were aware that some girls were only getting a tattoo to get close to him. Heck, you were aware that they all wanted to be with him.

But the only reason you were hurt wasn’t because he was desired by women, but because those very same women were all better than you in more ways than one. They fit his type more than you did and you were sure that they could give him exactly what he wanted.

Still, it awfully tugged at your heartstrings.

He was yours, not theirs. You had the right to be jealous when a girl was getting cozy with your man, but to see him letting them have their way? That was a different story.

“Baby, talk to me,” he mumbled, planting a soft, apologetic kiss on your neck.

You gave him the silent treatment as you walked away and dried your hands with a towel. What else would you say? He should already be aware of why you were acting that way. He should be the one to try and talk to you, not the other way around. And with your stubborn mind, you did your best to keep your insouciance, pulling his tattooed arms off of you and heading towards the couch.

You could hear his sigh as he followed you, but you were determined to keep your eyes glued on the TV screen. If he wanted to talk, he should do the talking, you reminded yourself over and over.

“You’re really pissed at me, huh,” he spoke as soon as he sat next to you, a hand carefully placed on your thigh. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re pretty hot, aren’t they?” The bitter question left your mouth before you thought of holding back.

He scooted closer and hooked an arm around your shoulder this time. “Definitely nowhere near as hot as my girlfriend.”

What a load of… You rolled your eyes, remembering how the girls looked and how comfortable he was with them. “Yeah, right.”

You couldn’t explain the tightness on your chest every time you recalled the scene earlier because you knew, you just knew, that there was more that could have happened if you didn’t check on him. You saw it in his eyes, even for a split second, that he almost gave in to temptation. How could he not? You were a prude just as they described—just because you didn’t have any sexual experience like they did. Perhaps when they called you boring, they were right and Sukuna wanted to agree.

He couldn’t be stuck with a girlfriend that he couldn’t even have sex with, could he?

“I shouldn’t have let them put their hands on me like that,” he admitted, showing his dire attempt to look apologetic. “Only you can.”

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “I don’t even know why you’re still with me, Sukuna. I put so many boundaries between us. Don’t you get tired of me?”

“Fuck no,” he quickly answered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Never. You’re the only one for me.”

Truth be told, you did feel bad that he couldn’t fully experience you as a girlfriend, but he had been very patient and respectful towards you. He never crossed the line and never forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He said he was doing that because you never gave up on him even when you had the choice to. He said that you were worth waiting for. He said that he was satisfied with what you two already had.

Maybe you could let this one incident go, after all, he was never really a bad boyfriend to you. Sure, he looked like a bad boy, but when it came to you, he was surprisingly soft.

“Okay,” you muttered, sighing in defeat and finally meeting his eyes. “Just don’t do it again. I don’t care if they get naked in front of you. Please set some boundaries and don’t entertain them too much or you’ll give off the wrong impression.”

Your leniency earned a smile from him, delighted to earn your trust again so he made an effort to peck your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” you professed, placing a hand on his cheek, “so much.”

Pleased with your words, he leaned in again to give you a much, much deeper kiss. He knew it was all he could do with you, but he wanted to make you feel that his kisses were satisfying enough for the both of you. Just with the way he moved his lips against yours and how your tongue rolled around his—it was almost impossible to breathe at one point, but he softened the kiss to allow yourself to catch some air.

Gosh, you were jealous again. You were becoming annoyed as your mind ran at full speed, thinking of how those girls thought they could put their hands on your man. You were livid at how they tried to steal him from you.

“You’re mine, right?” you asked for reassurance, pulling away to look at his dominating eyes.

The smirk on his lips was replaced by a cheeky grin. “All yours, darling.”

You didn’t know what gave you the sudden confidence to straddle his lap after he said that, but it just felt right. You wanted more of his physical affection and felt like you couldn’t get enough. Both of you were taken aback, obviously, because this wasn’t something you would normally do, and so the heat on your cheeks was mixing with the surprised look on his face. You were sitting directly on his crotch and he was having a hard time to control himself.

“Babe,” he breathed on your neck. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

He was right, but the thought of the other girls constantly seducing him behind your back just gave way to your deepest insecurities. You didn’t have the most perfect body in the world and you most definitely didn’t have the skills in bed that he expected—you were scared that you might lose him because of these facts. Or that he would find someone better, even at the cost of having them on the side.

“Hey,” he spoke again, making you look at his eyes as you relaxed into his touch. “It’s fine. If you want it, I can be gentle. We can go slow.”

“I-I don’t know... I just,” you hesitated, not knowing exactly how to put it into words.

You didn’t know why sex intimidated you. It should be as easy as 1-2-3, just him putting his member inside you, right? But you weren’t really scared of doing the act itself, you were scared that once you did it, he would leave you because he already got what he wanted. Losing it to the wrong person sounds like a nightmare and that was why you were having trouble coming into terms of losing your virginity before marriage.

You could feel the hardness on his crotch pressing against your core and you didn’t expect a moan escaping your lips when you moved at the slightest. The fabric of your shorts were thin enough for you to feel the outline of his hardened member, displaying a prominent bulge on his sweatpants. You haven’t seen how big he was, but you could tell just by looking at his bulge that he was huge. Could you even take that?

He held your waist and guided you to move again, this time urging you to move your hips back and forth, allowing you to feel the friction from his hard erection. Lust was clouding his eyes and it made you feel weak.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your ear.

You continued grinding on him with your lips parted, releasing your silent moans, “G-Good.”

He leaned forward to kiss your neck, eventually sucking the soft skin to leave his beautiful marks. “I wanna eat you down there, baby,” he growls under his breath, squeezing your right breast, “You’re gonna taste so good, I bet.”

“Suku—” you whined, gripping his hair while he started matching your movements with his own. It was a foreign feeling for you to feel his bulge rubbing against your untouched core.

“Fuck,” he cussed in a low voice, squeezing your ass with his huge hands in growing excitement. “Let me get a condom.”

This was it.

It was happening.

Or was it?

Your eyes widened in panic as you pushed him back onto the couch. It was as though all of your senses were awakened and your body was telling you that you shouldn’t be doing all this. “N-No, I... I’m not ready.”

You didn’t mean to always chicken out when you two were almost about to do it. You just didn’t feel confident enough to give yourself yet and even if you badly wanted to, you just couldn’t make yourself do it.

You could see the hint of disappointment on his face and he was trying to hide it.

“Right,” he exhaled deeply with his head thrown back on the headrest. “It’s alright. Maybe next time,” he convinced himself.

“I’m sorry,” you softly mumbled, hand gripping on his shirt.

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you out of his lap and getting up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.”

You stayed seated as you watched him walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I have to finish this off on my own,” he answered without looking back. You realized he was referring to the act of touching himself because you just couldn’t do the job for him. It was obvious how frustrated he was and for goodness sake, you did feel guilty, but then again, he didn’t act like this before. When you told him you didn’t want to do it further, he would simply laugh it off and say he would wait for you.

This wasn’t the same Sukuna that said that.

You became a little paranoid.

Considering that girls would still pay your boyfriend a visit at the tattoo parlor, you always ended up overthinking about what he was doing while you were supposed to be busy at the floral shop. In the middle of arranging a bouquet of beautiful peonies, your mind was on haywire. You just didn’t feel at ease. You felt like anyone could easily snatch him away from you because you weren’t particularly a striking girl to begin with. You were leaning on the simple, conservative side rather than the rebellious, liberated women that swarmed his shop in hopes of sleeping with him.

Because your thoughts were eating you alive, you decided to head to his tattoo parlor after closing the shop to make sure that he wasn’t doing any funny business.

And you were somehow right.

About three girls were in there this time, two of which you had already seen a couple of days ago, and they were already leaving the parlor just as you arrived.

“You’re really amazing, Sukuna,” one of the girls told him in gratitude, “I might get another one soon.”

You watched them walk past you with a smug expression on their faces as they left the shop. Sukuna had then seen you standing by the door with your arms crossed.

“Really?” you questioned, walking inside with a frown. “They’re here again?”

He sighed and walked back to his station while cleaning the mess from the tattoo session. He wasn’t even trying to win you over anymore. “I can’t just ask them not to come anymore. They’re still clients.”

“Let me guess,” you continued, “Did one of them get naked in front of you again? Did you let them put their hands all over you again? Did you perhaps forget that you had a girlfriend again?”

His brows, now furrowed in annoyance and his mouth, thinning in displeasure. “No. We talked about this.”

You held your breath, raising a brow in return. “I’m starting to think you’re doing more for them than just giving them tattoos.”

“Like, what? Sell my body?” His question was clearly a taunt. A spasm of irritation crossed his face, but he still managed to display a mocking smile. “Is that what you’re suggesting, angel?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then, what?”

“You know what I mean,” you replied, trying to get your point across while keeping your composure. “You’re an attractive man and they’re the type of women you would willingly sleep with.”

“Jesus. You’re so insecure, it’s crazy,” he retorted, rolling his eyes at you.

Insecure? You couldn’t believe, just couldn’t believe he called you insecure. The air crackled with tension as your jaw tightened, muscles twitching with every suppressed urge to lash out.

“I wonder why!” Your voice rose hysterically. “If you weren’t busy flirting with those girls, maybe I won’t be so insecure.”

“I said I’m not flirting with them!” he argued, slamming his gloves on the floor. His face contorted into a mask of rage and he looked at you with frustration that you had never seen before. It hurt. It certainly hurt. He had been acting distant since the night you didn’t give in to him and you knew that his exasperation towards you was rooting from that.

Your breathing became unsteady. “But you know you’d sleep with them if given the chance. Since I couldn’t do it with you.”

“Then, just fucking do it with me instead of bitching about it every day!” he snapped, voice thick with insinuation. “I don’t wanna be stuck acting like I give two shits about your interest in flowers and whatever nonsense you like to talk about. I wanna be with someone I can have sex with, not sit on the couch all day with a boring person like you!”

His hurtful words left you frozen like a statue, unable to move while being dominated by the shooting pain inside your chest.

You knew this day would come—that he would eventually get tired of waiting around for something that he could easily get from others. However, what hurt you most was the fact you believed he wasn’t that type of guy. That he wasn’t with you solely for what you could give, but rather, for what you just had. You thought he sincerely understood your boundaries and respected your choices the very same way you respected his, but it seemed that he had another thought in his head all along.

After seeing the look on your face, Sukuna had softened his gaze and walked closer to you in reproach to his words and actions, “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean that.”

A tear fell from your eye as you looked at him with both anger and pain building inside of you. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You wanna have sex? Is that what you want?” Your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence. “You wanna do it so bad, let’s fucking do it, then!”

Your fingers forced their way to spitefully unbutton your blouse despite his desperate efforts to stop you. You must be going crazy. But also, he drove you to this point.

“Baby, no,” he said in remorse, grabbing your wrists tightly. “No, I’m sorry. I’m content with you. I really am, I’m sorry. Please.”

Your chest heaved as you cried, unable to stop your emotions from exposing all of your vulnerabilities. “It’s obviously not enough for you.” Your voice quivered, each word a fragile whisper trembling with the weight of unspoken sadness as you sniffled and wiped your eyes. “You knew what kinda girl I am when you dated me.”

He pulled you for a hug and kissed your temple way too many times that you lost count. He felt absolutely sorry for ever hurting you with his words, but they just hit you so painfully to the point that your gaze grew distant and your face was clouded with resignation.

“I know what kinda girl you are and I’m in love with you for it,” he reaffirmed, as if trying to get it through your head but his words were beginning to feel empty. “Please, believe me. I really didn’t mean what I said. You’re enough for me, baby. You’re all I want.”

You didn’t feel comfort from his words, but you still returned his embrace because you loved him. Because you knew, even if he said more hurtful words, that you would still love him. Sure, you would be angry, but your love for him ruled higher than your pride.

You were just scared of losing him over something like this.

“I love you so much,” he whispered in your ear before placing a soft, apologetic kiss on your lips.

When he pulled away, your heart still felt heavy, but you managed to conceal your face with an agonizing smile.

“I love you, too.”

He ran his thumb across your cheek and held your waist on his other hand. You just couldn’t get his words out of your head even after he apologized, because you never knew he was seeing your relationship that way all along.

The girls were right. He was a man after all and he had needs.

The fact that he was staying with you despite not fulfilling his needs must be a work of charity for him, and eventually, he would get sick of waiting around. He would desire you less and less the more the days passed by and it wasn’t absolutely crazy to think that he could potentially meet another girl he liked that was willing to give it all.

The mere thought of it scared you.

“I’ll do it with you tonight,” you offered, your voice breaking, hoping that you could finally break the barrier and be enough for him.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna angst #jjk x reader

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nackrosor · 1 year ago

Text

~Your Wish~

(Part 3/3)

Part 1 - Part 2

Brahms Heelshire x nanny!Reader

warnings/tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con (with very dubious p in v), power dynamics, mommy issues, Brahms is a perv through and through

word count: 2,9k.

author's notes: this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, I swear. I tried to imbue this with all my naughtiness lmao I hope it was enough! Also, here's some art I made 'cause I'm that generoussss. I hope you enjoy the food! Bon appétit! 🤤🌹

"Did I scare you, Y/N? I didn't mean to..."

He grimaced at the way his child voice came out broken and less convincing than usual, but in his state, even simply speaking was a feat.

You had been sluggishly fighting against his persistent grip on you, yet once you heard him speak, a loud gasp of shock escaped you, and your body stiffened under his. The way you tensed up made your back arch and your ass stick out even more. His focus shifted to your half-clad bottom, which was hovering only inches from his face. The drenched fabric of your panties had somehow stuck to the side, teasing him - torturing him - with that mouthwavering sight of you.

Oh, what a struggle it was for him to refrain from seeking your heat again and then shoving himself inside you, once and for all. He was shivering with restraint while proceeding to keep you pinned to the mattress. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold himself back, though.

He wanted you to know who he was before he finally and thoroughly claimed you as his. His pride somehow exceeded his yearning.

"B-Brahms...?" You hesitantly whispered his name, hoping to catch a glimpse of him behind your shoulder. You could only make out a dark silhouette in your peripheral vision, for both the darkness of the room and his tight clasp prevented you from seeing anything else. "How-? W-what?"

Your voice was a little louder this time, and you sounded sharper. He also noticed with satisfaction that you were now remaining still under his hold. That was good. It would make things easier. He'd prefer not to fight you, not to force you... But if you were to refuse him... He would not hold back... He couldn't...

"You don't have to be alone anymore in this big, scary house."

He made sure to stress out the last words, the same ones you used when you had confided your wish to the doll. He wanted you to understand… That wicked side of him wanted you to realise that he had always been there, watching you, listening in on you... That you have never truly been alone.

"Aren't you happy?"

He couldn't hide the impatience in his voice. His palm pressed harder onto your spine, imperceptibly rubbing up and down, seeking your touch. He found himself edging closer to you, his mask nearly touching your asscheek, his other hand ready to commit another despicable sin, the worst one yet.

“Let me see you? Please?"

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned by your words.

You had asked so sweetly, your voice such a gentle caress to his ears, how could he have declined your request? After all, he had longed to have those gorgeous eyes of yours fall on him, finally seeing him, since the first day. And what would have been better than having you looking at him as he ravished you? Watching lust twist your features, the pleasure - he was igniting in you - flooding your lovely eyes. A shuddering breath escaped his lips as the vivid image arose in his mind, aggravating the torture.

Brahms loosened his grip, allowing you to turn around and lie on your back. As soon as your eyes met his, you let out another loud gasp. His gut flipped at the way your wide eyes flitted across his mask, chest, thighs, taking him all in.

You saw him. You were looking at him. Ah, what a dream... What a dream come true...

He wondered what was going through your pretty little head. How did it make you feel to know that the kid's voice you've occasionally heard reverberating through the mansion over the past few weeks hadn't come from a possessed doll or an imprisoned spirit... But from him. Your Brahms, in flesh and blood.

“B-Brahms…”

The way you tentatively called his name while looking up at him like a deer in the headlights was pure bliss.

He nodded enthusiastically in response and drew closer to you. His gaze flickered from your face to your hand, which he noticed slowly reaching up in his direction. He jerked back instantly out of reflex, frightened like a beaten dog meeting a loving hand for the first time, but as soon as he realized there was no threat in your intentions, he leaned back in and allowed you to touch his mask. Oh, how he yearned to feel your soft palm caressing his wounded cheek... to feel your gentle touch skin on skin… But that would have to be enough for the moment.

Now that he had your full attention. Now that you knew who he was and that no harm would come from him… with your eyes staring up at him with such awe and wonder…

He couldn't wait any longer.

His hand eagerly slipped between your thighs, fingers greedily seeking your heat. He caught with utmost satisfaction the way your eyes widened again, your lips parting to let out a shocked cry; you looked so adorable… so desirable… so vulnerable…

He kept his ever-attentive gaze fixed on you, desperate to catch your every reaction, as he stroked your wet folds and teased your entrance.

“W-what are you… Ah!~”

A tremor pierced him as he felt your body tremble so sharply when he easily entered you, triggering a loud whine from you as he drove his fingers deep into your walls.

His breathing was extremely shallow, and he could see your chest raise and fall as you began panting as well; the sight only served to add fuel to his burning desire, leaving him eager to make you cry and shiver just like that over and over again.

His movement against you was firm but frantic, fueled by his long-repressed need, which was causing him to shudder and whimper as he fingered you. He had no idea what he was doing, but your moans and squeals were guiding and urging him to keep hitting that spongy spot deep inside you which seemed to make you scream the loudest.

“N-no… W-w-wait…”

Your hands shakily reached down to seize his and halt his actions, but he quickly grasped your wrists and pinned them both on your belly, holding them down with one palm while continuining on driving his fingers back and forth, unrelentingly, into you. He could tell you liked it, the lewd sounds you were making told him as much. He knew his actions were pleasing you. Your cunt was so wet, and your walls welcomed his long fingers with such hunger, swallowing them fully with each push.

How would it feel to sink inside you? To have your tight, spongy walls suck and squeeze his cock dry? Would his cum leak back out? It always did when he used his doll, the one he had turned to look just like you… He constantly had to push his fluids back inside the hole…

“Brahms... S-stop… Ah!”

Your broken whimpers sounded so cute. You were so cute. What were you asking of him? Certainly not to stop. Not that he would or could. The feeling of making you squirm under his touch was intoxicating, a feeling he had just discovered and yet couldn't get enough of. He had already grown addicted. The sight of you laying there completely vulnerable, completely his, was filling him with such a rush of euphoria.

He released your wrists, disregarding the way you immediately but weakly started tugging at his hand again in protest. Instead, he reached down to his trousers, letting out a deep guttural grunt when he felt the dampness of the material, soaked with his seed. Leaked precum? Or did he burst into his pants without even realising? It didn't matter. His cock was hard and throbbing when he grabbed it, ready to slip out of the restraining cloth and finally sink inside you… He couldn’t wait, oh no, he couldn’t wait anymore-

“I said stop!”

His entire body shuddered violently, and his senses suddenly sharpened as if he had just awoken from a trance. Both his hands abruptly came to a halt.

He wasn't sure if he was shaking more from the thrill your imposing tone caused in him or the excruciating hunger that was gnawing at him, demanding to be satiated. Possibly both combined given the intensity of the tension that had taken hold of his body.

Brahms stared at you with bated breath and childish fear, like a misbhehaving boy caught in the act of some deplorable deeds by his strict mother. He didn't dare to make a sound nor move an inch as he waited to be scolded.

A strange glint passed your eyes, one that he could barely catch, let alone decipher. However, your entire demeanour seemed to alter abruptly in response to his reaction.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He gasped. A flood of dread shook his entire being and made his stomach churn upon hearing your stern tone. Did he upset you? Were you angry at him? He couldn't bear it. Oh no… He only wished to please you... Only ever wished to please you...

"What were you doing, mh?"

Brahms vehemently shook his head, his panicked gaze glued on your hard look.

“Brahms.”

Your commanding tone made him shudder again. He cowered, crouching down and dropping his head on your lap. He didn't dare admit what he was about to do, what he had been doing long before you woke up.

"Brahms!"

He felt your hands pull on his arms, but he only pressed his head further against you, burying his face in your womb, his whimpers muffled by your skin. His hands reached to your sides, holding you vehemently but not threateningly. He wanted to show you how good he was. How good he could be for you. He was sorry. Yes. He was terribly sorry. He would never upset you again.

"Please…" He pleaded in his childish voice, nuzzling his forehead into your belly.

"Please, what?"

He tightened his grip on your sides and cried again, "Pleaseee… I need you…"

His meekness only increased as you delayed to answer. His hands cradled your body, fingers clutching desperately at your nightgown and creasing the material. His head anxiously swayed back and forth as he rubbed his mask against you.

"Use your real voice."

Another tremor shook his body and he quickly obeyed your command.

"I need you."

His voice came out low and hoarse, such a stark contrast to his childish tone. It caused a vibration in your tummy. He could feel how your body shivered in reaction.

Raising his head to meet your gaze, he noticed that your eyes had widened significantly. Was it because of his voice? The way he begged? Did you like it? He could beg you again and again in his real voice, if it pleased you so. If that meant you’d let him have you.

"I need you, please…"

His fingers travelled slowly along your sides, gingerly getting closer to your panties again, quivering with impatience and constraint. He kept his imploring look on you as he stroked his fingertips on the damp fabric before slipping them inside to rub against your folds once more.

He saw your eyelids flutter and your chest rise harshly as you took a deep breath.

He whimpered as he felt your fingers weave into his curls and then capture them abruptly in a tight clasp.

"Lay down, Brahms."

He merely lingered for a moment to process what you had requested of him. Then he did it. He lay down on the mattress without question. Eager to please you. Desperate to be in your good graces. He would do anything for you.

His entire body was trembling with anticipation, a deep-seated urge to be touched threatening to overtake him as you climbed on top of him, claiming his former position. His body craved your touch so badly, yet he had to wait until you decided to put him out of his misery.

“You’re such a naughty boy. You know that?”

When he felt your weight on him and your groin sitting directly on his bulge, he felt his breath catch in his throat and his hips buck up instinctively. Only his unbuttoned pants separated his arousal from your heat.

He was losing his mind…

"Nobody ever taught you that's not how good boys are supposed to behave, mh?"

More whimpers flowed from his parted lips as you began to grind against him, painfully slowly but with force. He struggled to keep his eyes open and locked in yours; his quivering hands went up to hold your hips, seeking to control your movements, but you intercepted them and forced them down on the pillow on either side of his face. He let you keep them still.

"Please…"

"I will teach you… Yes, yes... I will teach you. Bad boys never get their way, no matter how much or how long they beg."

Brahms had always obtained whatever he wanted since he was a little boy. If he couldn't have it, he'd take it himself. But he wasn't going to admit it to you. He merely groaned and twitched in response, every inch of his body ignited by your leisurely and frustrating movement against him.

He craved being inside you... To spill his load deep within your core... but he was so worked up… he had been holding back for so long, too long… and the way you moved was so rousing, provoking him just enough to…

His body abruptly convulsed underneath you, a deep sigh of relief escaping from his lips as a dark and large wet stain appeared on the material of his trousers. All of the desire coursing through him reached a fever pitch that consumed every inch of his body.

He had never experienced such an intense and violent orgasm before. He had jerked off numerous times, but cumming never felt so good...

Brahms was still trembling and panting when his eyes opened again to meet yours. You had stopped moving when he started spasming. Even in the dark, he could see the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes were wide and glazed as they stared down at him, your own breath coming in short.

"F-Fuck-"

His eyes were fixed on you, watching you as you gulped and shivered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. Your gaze kept darting back and forth between his pants and mask. When he felt your hands release his wrists, he pulled yours back, drawing you forward and causing you to fall on top of him with a yelp.

Brahms buried his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent was stronger than before, his nostrils filled with your natural aroma. His fingers trailed over your skin, feeling how clammy it was and relishing the way you shivered at the touch. He moved on along the curve of your neck until he reached the edge of your nightgown and peeled it down without hesitation, this time dragging it low enough to prevent it from rolling back up. The sight of your breasts made his stomach flip, just like it had done the first time. His body started to become stiffer once more.

“Again…” he whispered breathlessly as he lifted your torso so you could sit on his lap just like before, straddling his groin. He could feel himself getting harder all over again. He could not possibly resist you.

"B-Brahms?"

His hands greedily mapped your body, groping every curve and dip they found. His touch soon became frantic and urgent.

"Again, again, again!"

He hastily freed his growing erection from his pants and without giving you time to register what was happening, he seized your waist and pulled you down onto him.

At last, you had become one.

The quiet room filled with both his and your moans of pleasure, which only grew louder as Brahms started guiding your hips up and down, each time with greater force, allowing him to fully sink into you. You were so warm, and the way your tight walls clenched around his cock was more intoxicating than he could have anticipated. It was maddening. The sound of your cunt slapping against his groin was the the best sound he had ever heard. He mentally added it to the list of pleasures he had so quickly become addicted to and sought to experience again and again and again...

He was a mess of sweat and whimpers and tremors, and so were you.

Ah, to finally have you! To finally take you as his! This was everything he had ever dreamed and yearned for. You would never be alone or feel lonely again, and neither would he!

Please you night and day, whenever and wherever! That's what he intended to do.

Oh, yes.

He will be such a good boy for you.

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boolger · 4 months ago

Text

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 3

AO3 link. <-former chapter - next chapter-> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc:7k

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: hi sinners <33 this chapter was a fight bc i was unsure of what way to go with certain things and bc of so much going on in my real life. you know the deal w reader by now, otherwse go read part 1 or 2. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I decided to cut it, since it was already at 7k words. while i do have a humiliation kink, being mean to me, and saying i need to hurry up won't make me hurry up btw.<33 at least pay me. also i have a ko-fi now, wink wink.<33

Also according to Google translate: “ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?”=“does she do this every morning?

The familiar scent of home sept into your nostrils as your face was pressed against the couch, the faint scent of the cigar smoke and of Nikolai added to the mixture. He had done nothing but push your skirt up, just like John had done earlier today, then pulled your panties down - contrary to John’s touch earlier, Nikolai’s hands were gentle, rough palms running over the skin of your ass, almost tenderly pushing your tail out of the way.

“Such a beautiful ass,” Nikolai all but purred, John chuckling from his chair, while you tried bending your back a little more, to show off your pussy as well, your tail touching your back a little, “so desperate, Lapochka”

“She is like that all the time,” John just casually commented, almost sounding proud and you hid your face a little more in the couch as Nikolai grabbed the fat of your ass and spread your cheeks, exposing your holes.

“Cute cunt,” Nikolai commented, almost if you were a piece of art that he was methodically going through, one of his hands moving to swipe a finger over said cunt, just along your lips, making your entire body shiver - until his finger continued up to your asshole, playing along the rim for a moment, “cute asshole too. You play with that?”

“Not often tha' she lets me,” John casually explained while you whimpered at the feeling; you weren’t really the biggest fan of anal sex, though you didn’t mind it. You would just rather have your pussy fucked, rather than your ass.

“Fuck me, pleasee,” You whined, hoping to distract him and Nikolai just laughed, fingers going down to run along your pussy again.

Maybe, if he was this easy to convince to fuck you, he wouldn’t be too bad to have around. As long as he didn’t try to ‘train’ you or anything like that.

Your mind turned off when he finally pushed two fingers into your cunt. The sudden intrusion burned for a moment, but it was essentially nothing and forgotten just a moment later. His fingers were thick, only slightly thicker than John’s, but the man hadn’t taken off the rings on said fingers. The metal was cold against your inside, not that you really minded.

Another finger was added and you felt your tail wag a little again — the stretch was nice, the fingers and the cold metal felt so perfect, especially as Nikolai curled them a little.

The delighted bark that left you from his touch was unexpected for the both of you, but Nikolai seemed to like it, given his repeated attack at just that spot. It made sounds leave you without your consent, your tail wag a little harder, the men laughed; honestly you didn’t give a fuck, too busy chasing your own pleasure.

When Nikolai pulled his fingers out, you didn’t even attempt to hold back your displeased sound - though it was quickly replaced by an impatient yap, as you heard him zip down his pants.

It had been a while since anyone but John had fucked you. You had grown accustomed to the feel of him inside you, on your tongue, in your hands. The weight, the shape, the length. The way his pubic hair that was nicely kept but still there, would tickle your own - the way his hairy chest and stomach would press against your back.

So when the head of Nikolai’s cock nudged its way into your cunt, your toes curled in excitement. He was a little thicker than Price, but nothing you couldn’t take, the Russian man behind you groaning out some words you couldn’t understand.

He wasn’t as long as your owner but it felt like his cock curled upwards a little, making a shiver go up your spine, a small mewl leaving you.

While John would have taken his time, making sure you were fully stretched and feeling good, doing just as he knew you liked, Nikolai once again was an opposite to him. As soon as he was fully inside you, curls tickling your cunt, he held onto you - then pulled back and thrusted hard into you, giving you no option to get used to his cock or to get ready.

Taking you, opposite to John’s familiar loving you. It wasn’t that John was never rough, he was, but without your deeper connection to Nikolai it felt dirtier. But John was right there, watching you.

Watching how his crush was fucking you hard. You were the center of attention, just like you deserved.

Nikolai’s hips and stomach hit your soft ass in a harsh rhythm, his fingers gripping onto what John lovingly called your ‘love handles’, using them to pull you back on his cock. Your mouth was open as you panted in between your loud moans, your sounds accompanied by Nikolai’s deep grunts, the slapping sounds of your bodies colliding - as well as the wet sound of his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy. You were pretty sure you could hear John jerk off as well.

Your fingers desperately tried to grip onto the fabric of the couch, but you were pushed further and further up, ending up pressing your hands against the armrest, so as to not slam into it.

Closer and closer to the edge, Nikolai’s cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl as the man moaned out words you didn’t understand. You mewled out words yourself, mind lost in the pleasure - until it was ripped from you.

An almost furious wail left you as your orgasm was so rudely ripped from you, Nikolai’s cock pulled out, you turned your head as you whined; watching him aggressively strip his cock, dark eyes on you, an almost manic grin on his face.

That asshole knew he had just stopped you from coming.

He slapped one of your asscheeks hard, making you wail again - then he came on your ass, moaning as he got it on your skirt and panties too.

“Nggh,” Your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mind right now, even as you watched Nikolai wink at you, before he tapped his dick on your asscheek a last time - and then dared to fucking pull up his boxers. Your eyes flickered over to look at John, who had just come as well. That well-known, blissed out smile on his face from when he had a really good orgasm.

“Noo,” you whined, managing to push yourself up on your elbows, body tingling as you looked back at Nikolai, “please - touch me, lemme com’, please plea–”

“Net, Lapochka,” the man all but crooned down at you, even daring to pull up your panties, dragging the fabric through the mess of cum he had just created, “You misbehave earlier.”

“I didn’t, no no,” you sat up even more, your body feeling it was on fire from the missing euphoria, “I didn’t, I was good.”

“Was not.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow as he argued back at you, tipping his head to the side, clearly not looking like he was going to budge.

So you looked over at who you knew you could always trust.

Except Price had closed up his pants as well, taking another drag of the cigar, before he shook his head.

“You weren’t exactly nice,” he pointed out, voice calm from the orgasm like that traitor he was, “threw a tantrum when you got into the house as well.”

“You can’t do this,” you whined, pressing your thighs together, before sitting up, on your knees “I wanna come, master!” Using your best cards, knowing John got weak when you called him that. And you saw it, you saw the way his fingers tightened around the cigar. But he still shook his head.

“Nikolai said no. I said no. Accept it.” He said it so casually, like it was something you were supposed to be used to. A growl left you at his words, Nikolai giving your collar a little tug.

“Don’t be like that, puppy,” he mused, sounding delighted with the entire situation, “You will survive.”

How dared they? Leaving you like this? You deserved much better!

You growled at Nikolai who just let out a pleased hum at it, giving one of your ears a little tug.

“You’re being mean - John,” you escaped the couch and Nikolai, instead going to your master, getting on your knees and crawling in between his spread legs, watching him with pleading eyes, “I’ll be good, I just need to come, then I’ll be good, I swear.”

His lips pursed for a moment, eyebrows dropping a little. He was considering it and you nuzzled against his pant leg, fluttering your eyelashes at him, hoping Nikolai hadn’t already poisoned his mind too much.

“Pleaseeee,” you begged in soft whine, “I’ll be good.”

“Net,” Nikolai rudely interrupted and you almost felt proud of the fact that you didn’t shoot him a mean look, instead keeping your gaze at John.

“Nik,” John started and you recognised the tone of his voice, the one he always had when giving into you; the one you knew to chase, to catch onto and clamp down onto. So you blinked innocently up at him again, letting out a pathetic little whimper, pursing your lips. Ready to cry, if that was what he needed to see. Your pussy was almost in pain with need and it wasn’t the same with your own hand.

“No,” Nikolai repeated, a little harder this time, “she is too spoiled. You said that yourself, my friend.”

The signs of when he would usually gave in disappeared and holy fuck, you wanted to gnaw off Nikolai’s dick that exact moment.

“But—“ you didn’t get any further before John just shook his head, once again turning you down.

“Nope. Nik is right. You heard him.”

“So you hate me now,” you whimpered out, perhaps a tad dramatically, but god you were so turned on it hurt.

“Please, puppy,” Nikolai answered before grabbing you by the collar and pulling you backwards, away from your owner, “you are not getting to come. It is punishment for not behaving.”

You cried, cried actual tears but it didn’t help. In fact, it somehow made it worse, which it usually didn’t. You couldn’t help the sad howling sound as you were left, no, abandoned, by the men, the fingerprint lock making escaping the dog crate close to impossible. Touching yourself then felt pointless.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They entered your house, your home, your territory. Sure you wanted to leave this farm any moment, willing to grab onto any chance to get John to move back to the city - but still. Three big, dirty and stinking hounds shouldn’t be allowed inside this farmhouse.

You had finally been let out of the crate after a little over an hour and now, barely two hours later, another punishment was forced upon you. You just stared at the three hybrids with an angry look as they passed you, where you sat in the living room in one of your many fluffy dog beds. Making no movement to greet them or offer help with anything.

The Scot’s tail wagged at the sight of you, grinning at you and yeah, you knew you were hot - but that dog needed to mind his own business. You just huffed at him and looked away. Laswell was helping in the kitchen, while Nik and Price helped show the pack where the different shower supplies were, as well as where they could find clean clothes.

“You have to get used to them, you know,” Laswell said, looking down at her phone, standing in the doorway, “do you know where the paprika is?”

“No I won’t,” you answered stubbornly, “and it’s in the kitchen cabinet next to the fridge.”

Laswell disappeared again.

“They’re probably going to use your brushes on their tails, you know,” she added from the kitchen, the words making you whine out loud and almost gag.

Disgusting. You didn’t like the idea of other hybrids using your brushes. You would have to ask John for some new ones, that shouldn’t be too hard… and maybe do it when Nikolai wasn’t listening. That man seemed to bring problems.

Even though John and Nikolai found your anger amusing as they returned, you still followed them into the kitchen. They were definitely torturing you.

“You could just sell them again,” you muttered, watching John take over from Laswell with the potatoes that were being roasted.

“You do not give up, no?” Nikolai teased, giving you a couple of pats on the head.

“No - and are we feeding a bloody army?” Yes, you were upset about several things and now the amount of dishes they were making was added to the list. They should be making those only for you, not from the men who were probably using your nice, expensive soaps and brushes.

“We’re three more than usual,” John pointed out, fishing out a piece of potato, taking a bite of it with a hum - before throwing the piece at you. You caught it with your mouth, easily, Nikolai making a small cheering sound that made your tail wag.

“File said food aggression,” Nikolai added as he put down some dishes on the table, “we need enough.”

“Besides, don’t you remember the food at the auction house?” John asked, eyes still on the pan.

You let out a small huff. You did. It hadn’t been anything to write home about and being reminded almost made you feel bad for them… almost. At least you were still the one living inside. So… technically John loved you the most. Right. Even if you wanted a tiny house now as well.

“You’re up to no good,” Laswell commented as she passed you with some vegetables, that made your tail wag from the mere smell, “go sit down and attempt to behave.

“I always behave,” you answered, barely looking at her, knowing she was just rolling her eyes - ignoring her “sure.” as well.

They did indeed have nice and brushed through tails when they appeared not too long after. They looked much cleaner, their new clothes helping them as well. They didn’t stink of sweat and auction anymore, which was a good thing you supposed.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dinner was tense. You sat at the opposite end, quite purposefully, while John and Nikolai tried to keep the men from fighting everyone over the food. Laswell was watching over the entire thing like a hawk and if you had to growl back at one of them, just because you wanted more sauce, you were going to throw a tantrum. Perhaps this would be another sign for Price to ship them back. Nikolai on the other end, was harder to ship back to the auction.

He in fact seemed to press his way in everywhere.

Despite having an endless amount of beds and nice places to sleep, you plopped down on John’s bed, on the right side. Your side.

Usually you would cuddle up next to him once he decided to go to bed after getting all the animals inside. It took a little longer tonight since he had three new hybrids following together with Nikolai, so you were asleep once John returned.

A displeased grumble left you as a hand patted your ass a couple of times before giving you a push.

“Move, sweetheart.” You grunted, knowing he could fit with the space left - so you made no move to make more space.

“I cannot sleep on top of you,” you opened your eyes at the voice, before slowly looking over your shoulder, squinting angrily at the owner of it. Nikolai was wearing nothing but boxers and a white undershirt, gold chain still on, like a walking stereotype.

You were not giving up your space in John’s bed. It might as well be yours and John's bed.

“Go sleep in the guest room,” you answered grumpily, not moving an inch as Nikolai laughed.

“Princess,” John sounded slightly tired, “be nice.”

“It’s two doors down,” you still looked at Nikolai, not even attempting to sound any nicer, “I’m sure you can find it.”

Bloody asshole laughed again. So, they were smooching. Fucking wonderful. Great. Just what you needed. Another man to annoy you.

Before you could do anything, a familiar hand took a hold of your ankle and pulled you down the bed, making you yelp.

“Sleep in the foot end or go to your room,” John demanded before getting into his own usual spot - that fucking traitor. While Nikolai moved to lay down in your spot.

“Meanie,” you grumbled, but still settled at the foot end, growling lightly as you stole one of the blankets hanging over the bed frame at the end. You weren’t going to sleep alone - you needed the sound of John’s snoring.

“It’s a sin to sleep together when not married,” you argued instead, pulling the blanket over you, turning your back to the men who just chuckled.

Nikolai gave you a little push with his foot in retaliation.

“As if you care about Christianity, slut,” he mused, making you grumble again. But you didn’t answer because you truly didn’t give a shit about it.

You definitely weren’t jealous at the sound of them kissing each other. Your traitorous tail definitely didn’t wag a little.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

When you woke up, you were curled in between their legs, body hair ticking your chin. You yawned softly, stretching your legs a little before wetting your lips. Both men were snoring. John’s leg was in between yours, his shin close to your crotch. You looked over at the clock.

5:43 AM. They wouldn’t have to get up before 6 AM; which meant you had time for fun. You tail was wagging, thumping a little against Nikolai’s leg, who grunted, giving it a seat - which you ignored, getting up on your hands and knees before crawling beneath John’s blanket.

You took in the scent of his musk, rubbing your face a little against his morning wood, your mouth already salivating like a good dog.

Because you were a good dog. The best. It just seemed like your owner had forgotten, so you needed to remind him. You could do that.

You pulled his boxers down slightly, only to free his cock. Licking his balls a little, taking in the taste of sweat and musk, his familiar pubic hair greeting you, before you licked a stripe up his length. John was stirring and Nikolai had stopped snoring. Your focus was on your owner for now however - Nikolai could get himself off, he had taken your sleeping spot after all.

You took the head of his cock in your mouth; it was hot beneath the covers but you didn’t mind, letting his cock slide further into your mouth, using one hand to pull back his foreskin. A groan left your owner and as you let the familiar weight of his cock, further down your throat. You felt him stir - then a hand slid beneath the cover, to rest on your head, nuzzling your ears a little.

“Well, good m’rning to you, princess,” his voice was rough, a little dry sounding and it went straight to your pussy, your tail trying to wag beneath the covers. Even from beneath the covers you could hear Nikolai’s muffled chuckle.

“Ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?” You pretended the slightly muted words that you didn’t understand didn’t turn you on as well; Nikolai apparently had a wonderful morning voice as well.

A moan left Price as you slurped noisily around his cock, spit dripping down his balls as you sucked him a little deeper, moving your tongue. By now you could take his cock without problem most days.

“Not always - ah,” John managed to answer whatever Nikolai asked about, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head, holding your head down as he began thrusting into your mouth. A wet gurgle left you beneath the covers, air warm in your nostrils as he used you, cock forcing its way into your throat repeatedly. With darkness and the smell of John, his hand on your head, everything was normal for a moment. Just like you liked it.

The cover that hid you from the world was gently peeled away, exposing your face to the low light of the night lamp in the otherwise dark room. A tired looking John with heated cheeks and a slightly open mouth was watching you. His hair was a little messy and he needed a shave, but to you he was perfect.

He used you, fucking into your throat lazily, his moans so low they sounded like humming. His pleasure was above yours and for once you didn’t mind; you liked how he was the one who decided the pace, how much you were allowed to breathe. He could hold you down, face almost pressed into his lower stomach and there would be nothing you could do about it - there was nothing you wanted to do about it. Even though the idiot, Nikolai, was in the bed, it was a nice moment… Especially with how your owner looked as he tipped his head back a little, forcing his cock even deeper so hard that you almost gagged; his eyelashes kissing his red cheeks, breathing hard as he came into your throat, Nikolai whispering words you didn’t understand.

When you were finally allowed to pull off, you gasped for air, drool and spit dripping from your mouth - resting against John’s hairy thigh, as you caught your breath. Tail still wagging.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Apparently the dinner last night had been enough of an experience for John and Nikolai, that they had decided that letting the hybrids eat on their own at first was the easiest, so that they could be sent out again.

The three brutes were once again let into your house - sure, it wasn’t your favorite place in the world, but the moment the three of them got inside, you suddenly loved it a bunch more - dragging along the scent of sweat and wet earth, all their eyes on you at first, then the food. Their body language was wary but not angry, their tails carefully wagging.

Freshly collected eggs, bacon, beans, whole grain bread, yogurt and fruits. Had it been served on a fancy plate in a cafe in the city, you would have loved it. But as you watched them, you despised it.

They ate like, well… dogs. It was nasty to look at and the sight made your nose scrunch as you stood, halfway hidden behind John as he was making more fried for the rest of you.

Ghost, Gaz and Soap had gotten each their own plate this time and it seemed to help on some of the aggression as well - you had listened to Nikolai and John discuss what to give them and how much and how to keep them from trying to take the whole dish, before the hybrid men came inside.

Their tails were wagging and there were pleased sounds coming from them that bordered on improper. Everything you had been taught was bad manners through years of training? They were doing that, seemingly not caring about any kind of etiquette. Much to your annoyance however, John didn’t seem to be bothered and Nikolai seemed more interested in making food for the rest of you.

Were you the only one who could see and hear how they chewed with their mouths open, ate too quickly and all messily, talking with food in their mouths?

You were far from a small person, but as John pushed you aside and exposed the rest of you, so that he could grab something and you felt the three hybrids’ gazes on you, you suddenly felt small.

Ghost was drinking water and though he wasn’t looking away from you, he mostly seemed annoyed with your presence - while Soap was chewing on a piece of bacon rather lazily, a little spit dripping from his lip, more focused on you than the food. As if it was you he wanted to eat. Whether it was in a threatening manner or an attempt at a sexual one, you didn’t know - no matter what, you didn’t like either option.

Gaz though, was looking at you through his lashes, licking the last of his little bowl with yogurt clean, with loud, slurp-like sounds; his red tongue caught the last of the white substance on the edge of the bowl. Giving it a couple more slow licks while keeping eye contact with you, a pleased rumble leaving him. Improper and loud, not even attempting to hide the sexual undertones.

They all looked at you, as if you were their dessert; hadn’t it been for you keeping the two men in between, they would probably have tried to eat you by now.

Brutes. Couple of knotted idiots. Horny bastards. Should be sent back to the military, sooner rather than later.

“Gon’ join us outside, lass?” Soap asked with a smirk on his stupid face, not even trying to be discrete in any way, the sound of several tails hitting chair legs not going unnoticed by you, even if you did your best to ignore it.

You growled at him, really all of them, before almost spitting out a “no”, nuzzling closer to John once more, pretending your tail wasn’t in between your legs. Your soft silk bathrobe at least hid some of your body.

“Don’t be snide, dove,” Ghost crooned, much more darkly, the scars around his mouth not helping him look one bit kinder even as he smiled a little, his ears tipped towards you, “haven’t even introduced yourself to us. Impolite, innit?”

“Fuck off,” you snapped back, still using John as a shield, even as the man muttered a “behave,” next to you; Nikolai only laughing with delight, giving your head a pat as he passed you to collect more plates.

“You can all play later,” John said too casually for your liking and he even just ignored your growling, continuing, “Out with your lot now, go get changed or something - Nik and I will be out soon, Laswell will probably join us.”

You dared to cast a last glance at Gaz; the Belgian Malinois and German Shepherd mix hybrid looked right back at you as he slowly licked a stray drop of yogurt from beneath his bottom lip. Once again you were unsure whether the sight turned you on or frightened you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“No,” you crossed your arms, defiantly looking at John with crossed arms, “ I will not.”

“Princess,” he looked at you with an almost tired expression, “he didn’t bring his phone.”

“Too bad for him,” you answered, not making any movement to even get ready to go outside, “If I go outside I’ll die. If not from your stupid hounds, then the horses will trample me to death and the geese will eat me.”

Price snorted, but he didn’t give up - because 30 seconds later you were pushed out of the door with a yelp, barely managing to keep on your feet; then shoes and a jacket followed, tumbling around you as you looked at your owner who just gave a nod towards one of the fields.

“Phone is in the pocket. They’re that way.” Then the door was slammed and as you heard the locks, you let out a little whimpery howl. A worker who passed near the barns laughed and you flipped them off, before putting on the shoes. It was a pair of John’s Wellington boots, which were too big on you - but you didn’t own any yourself, having straight up refused the idea of even going near tall, wet grass. At least he had given you one of his coats as well, which was warm. It couldn’t close because of your chest, but it was better than nothing.

The things you did for that man. You were better than this.

At least that was what you told yourself as you tramped across the gravel driveway, towards the direction John had shown.

While the boots were too big, they saved you from the dew of the grass that the sun hadn’t reached yet, even if they slowed you down.

The sun hadn’t quite gotten far up enough, so it was a little cold in your jeans and crop-top that John had dressed you in earlier. The top was white, with pink borders and said good girl across your chest, which he had caressed for a few moments and told you to live up too.

Easy for him to say.

“My my, what’cha doin’ out here, princess?” You didn’t like how you jumped at the voice and sudden appearance of the hybrid next to you, immediately growling at him. Gaz didn’t look one bit apologetic about it, his eyes almost shining with glee, tail wagging, grinning so widely that his fangs were exposed.

“Fuck off -” you snapped, stepping away from him before continuing to walk, “I’m looking for Nikolai.”

“Aaww, don’t be like that, puppy,” he continued, following you closely, even daring to get close to sniff at your neck! the nerve!

You growled and snapped at him, Gaz managing to pull his face back in time, but with a fucking laughter leaving him.

“Those teeth isn’t goin’ to hurt anyone, baby!” he pointed out smugly, following you as you walked again, increasing your pace, “You’re really just a little lapdog, huh? So weak.”

“I told you to fuck off.”

Gaz didn’t care, snickering and following along with you instead, like a hungry wolf, knowing the lamb would be vulnerable and tired soon; ready to sink its teeth into the lamb’s throat and rip it apart. You had no plans of letting any of the hounds get to you.

You snapped after him a couple of more times, hiding your excitement when you saw Nikolai, hoping that the man would get this mutt off your back.

“You could be nicer, you know,” Gaz cooed, hands in his pockets, walking backwards in front of you, his tall ears tipped towards you, tail wagging behind him, “just because you are a bitch, you don’t have to behave like one.”

You were going to strangle this motherfucking piece of shit and it was like Gaz could see it on you - tail wagging even faster.

“Why don’t you go fuck one of your stupid friends?” You asked, trying to ignore him even as anger simmered in your veins, curling around the fear of the bigger man, “it’s only a matter of time before Price sends ya ‘ back anyways!”

“Oh we both know that’s not happening, sweetheart,” he answered, voice going a little darker, licking his lips slowly. “Our owner said it himself, didn’t he? Too much to handle for him. Maybe you just need a good knot, hm?”

“Let me know when you find one,” you snapped back, relieved that Nikolai was right there, watching over Soap herding some sheep, “because none of your sad mutt dicks are coming near me.”

“Puppy - What brings you outside? Too lonely?” You could have slapped Nikolai or maybe bitten him, as he asked the questions with amusement in his loud voice; both Ghost and Soap instantly gave all their attention to you, staring you down. Had the situation been different, you would have bathed in that attention. Yet you felt fear go through your body at this point, even as you tried to hide it.

“No,” you grumbled at Nikolai, as a sweaty looking, tail-wagging Soap stepped towards your sudden little group, “you forgot this.”

“Ah, Spasibo,” Nikolai took the phone with an almost sheepish look, “I always forget. John finished paperwork, da?”

“Hello, bonnie lass,” Soap whispered as he passed you, a tad too close for your liking, hand running along your lower back, making you growl low, before focusing back on Nikolai. He stank of sweat and sheep. His tail wagging, blue eyes watching you intently.

“He isn’t, he’s waiting for a phone call. Something about problems with the tractor’s mechanic.”

“I am better than mechanic,” Nikolai argued, furrowing his brow, as if you were saying the opposite and not just the messenger, “I’ll go back. You boys can hang around with her.”

“Nononono-“ you argued, instantly following Nikolai as he began walking, sending the hybrids a mean glance, over your shoulders as a warning, “I’m not hangin’ out with these hounds.”

“awww, dove, don’t say that,” Ghost crooned, the bigger breed appearing behind you, following you closely, his footsteps heavier than yours, “we have to get to know each other, baby.”

“No we don’t.”

“Did you not socialize in the city, pretty?” Gaz asked, following on your right side, Nikolai still in front of you, not joining the conversation but no doubt listening along, “or were you too busy sucking cock?”

You snarled aggressively at him, ignoring Nikolai’s chuckle in front of you.

“Shut up,” you snarled at Gaz, who just winked back at you. They all wore outfits that seemed practical but comfortable, in stark contrast to your jeans and crop top, together with John’s jacket.

“Dinnae take it personal, cuilean,” Soap tried to weave his way in between you and Nikolai, but you merely stepped around him, giving him a shove with your shoulder - earning whistles from the other two. Ignoring the annoyed snarl from Soap.

Gaz’ hand slid out to hold onto your jacket, distracting you as he yanked you a little closer to him, “c’mon, we can show you a good time yeah? Don’t you wanna learn some new things?”

“Like what? Being mindless beasts? No thanks.”

You managed to yank it free, but the moment you did, Ghost took a hold of it from the back.

“We can be nice, you know.” He said, still a little playfulness in his voice, “when we want to.”

Once again you managed to yank the jacket free - only to almost stumble into Soap in front of you. The border collie hybrid was smirking and as you started walking to follow Nikolai, he started walking backwards, not taking his eyes off you.

“Ye’ve been angry every since we met, hen,” he continued, as if you hadn’t already turned each of them down so far, “we just wantae have fun - we’re not here to steal your master from you.”

“Your mere presence here proves that to be a lie,” you hissed back, stopping for a second, “I don’t want you here! I was perfectly happy in…”

It took you a second to realize but Nikolai was getting further away from you.

When you realized what was happening, it was too late; Soap had managed to create a space in between you and Nikolai, essentially herding you away from him. With Gaz on your right side and Ghost behind you, you had no other option than to bolt left, trying to catch up to Nikolai again or get into safety. Only, that was like throwing a bone to the wolves.

“c’mon bonnie,” Soap’s voice was louder, happier than before as he bolted after you. One glance at Nikolai proved to you that he wouldn’t be of any help. In fact, that fucking traitor just continued walking towards the house.

You weren’t supposed to be the prey here, you were supposed to be safe at the farm! All this bloody hell was because of this stupid farm!

Everything would be good if Price had just listened to you!!

The others were much faster, wearing proper working shoes instead of the ones you wore, that were too big, making it even harder to run. You weren’t really a runner anyways. Nor a fighter, but in the big city, it hadn’t been necessary. There, in the streets of London, you and John could wander without worry, the sounds of the city like an neverending soundtrack. There you could follow your owner in a nice tempo, without fearing being ripped apart by mutts like these, Soap snapping at you each time he got close. Purposefully guiding you once again, without you realizing before it was too late. It wasn’t until you spotted the shed, or rather the little house, that Price had given them - and not you, which was bordering on abuse, wasn’t it? - that you knew you were in trouble.

But despite your screaming, one boot falling off in the fighting and your desperate attempt to get away, it didn’t matter; strong arms got a hold of you, snapping teeth and fingers on your tail and nape. Soon you were on the ground, even for just a moment and it was three against one; you were doomed to lose.

The screams echoed throughout the fields, in between the wheat and the fruit trees, but the world didn’t stop spinning. In fact, it carried on, just like before. There was grass and dirt on your clothes, some of the dew wetting your exposed white shirt.

Nikolai out of sight, but you doubted the man would have helped you anyways. You couldn’t even hear his steps in the gravel as he walked to the front door of the farm house, closing it after himself; dooming you to your fate.

Ghost had hoisted you over the shoulder, letting out a grunt as you almost instantly began hitting his back, managing to tug at his tail a couple of times. Despite hanging with your head upside down, Soap and Gaz’s hands were still on you, tugging everywhere they could touch - until Ghost gave a sharp bark, from deep in his chest, that made you flinch.

It was almost like a wordless commando that the men instantly understood, dashing in front of Ghost to the shed, getting the door open while you tried twisting, almost hitting the doorframe, since it was barely big enough for the two of you, when you were on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost didn’t do anything but grunt and force you through even as you tried holding onto the frame, desperately screaming and howling. Wordless howls and the echoes of your owner’s name didn’t change anything as the shed swallowed up every sound, the door closing behind you.

“Stop throwin’ a fit,” Simon grumbled before unceremoniously - and heartlessly, you might add - dumping you into their nest of mattresses, pillows and blankets. They hadn’t even been here for long, yet it already stank of them.

You weren’t even given a second to catch your breath before Gaz was pulling off John’s shoes from your feet, then his jacket, muttering about you getting their bed wet and dirty, like a naughty pup. He managed to avoid your bites, snapping at your fingers with his own teeth whenever you managed to get a hold of his ears - then Soap was upon you, fully distracting you from Gaz.

“These tits,” the mutt declared happily, ignoring you as he pushed his face in between your breasts, pawing shamelessly at them, “pure perfection.”

“Let go of me,” you snapped, almost feeling horror go through your body as you pulled his head back by his mohawk; only for the man to moan like a whore. Your pants got pulled down to your knees by Gaz, a yelp leaving you, unsure of where to put your attention in order to escape.

Bloody bastards; strays, mutts, illegitimate—

Soap’s hand was big as he suddenly and easily grabbed your throat, a tight grip around your pretty collar. Pressing you down into the mattress, cutting off your air for a moment, stunning you - while your hands went to dig your nails into his forearm, his skin saved by his shirt, he forced himself in between your legs; strong hands grabbed your wrists and Gaz pulled your hands over your head, while Soap tugged on your jeans even more, your well kept tail stuck in the hole in the pants.

You were crying and writhing, Gaz’s hands a little dry as they held onto your wrists, Soap freeing your bottom part. All while this was going on, Ghost just stared. Like an actual ghoul, standing a little from you, keeping an overview of the situation, leaving against the main door. Watched as the men began to humiliate you.

“Poor princess,” Gaz cooed, keeping your hand in tight grip, bending your fingers a little, trying to coax the claws out that wasn’t there anymore, “did Price declaw you?”

“Nooo,” you whined, attempting to tug your hand free as he unsheathed his own claws, letting them dig into your skin a little, as if to prove that he still had them. They were a little sharp, but not much; probably sanded down a little during their stay at the auction house.

“No? Nah you’re right, sweet sir wouldn’t do that to his favorite slutty princess, would he?”

Soap hummed, forcing his fingers into your mouth, running them along your filed down canines, “guessing he dinnae do this either, eh?”

You gurgled around his thick, dirty fingers, while tears began to swell in your eyes, from the embarrassment… not to mention anger, from the pure assumption that Price would do that to you? “Nah, ye are a pretty rescue, aren’t ye?”

You bit down around his fingers; the bastard laughed, but still winced a little as he pulled them out again with a “bad puppy.”

“Get on with it, Soap,” Gaz urged, his tail thumping against the mattress, sending you a wink as you stared up at him, growling.

“Look’at this kitty,” the way Soap spoke made you blink away a few tears in confusion, while you wondered what the fuck he was talking about; then, as Gaz laughed like a dirty dog above you, you realized Soap was calling your pussy a kitty.

You growled, trying to raise a leg to kick him away, but his hands were on your thighs, forcing them apart; he was stronger than yourself and you were one against three. It would most likely end badly for you and as he unceremoniously mouthed at your panties, a loud whine left you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, scraping his canines along the petty lace, “yer kitty smells divine.”

“Don’t call it that,” your voice was a little weak and it almost came out in a sniffle.

“Aww, dinnae worry, I’m gonna make it purr, yeah?”

“You’re so fucking nasty — shit!”

His tongue slid beneath the fabric, running along your pussy, making your brain shut down.

480 notes · View notes

zevrra · 4 months ago

Text

never forget—

synopsis: where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them caaaause that moment in the game was not enough for me pfft!

tags: 18(+), lil angst, mostly fluff, sebastian(18) x reader, i didn’t know how to end this oops, one-shot, 2k words.

“Crucio!”

The pain that followed that one little word was excruciating.

Yet the spell casted upon you was of your own doing. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had become good friends since your first day at Hogwarts. Always together, always the 3 of you somehow in trouble. Well, mostly you and Sebastian. Somehow Ominis always managed to get out of the trouble the two of you dragged him into. You were Slytherin after all, it was most likely in your blood.

When you first met Sebastian, he had such an eager to learn that his demeanor was contagious. So much so you couldn’t help but also want to gain more knowledge with him over the years. It was all thanks to Ominis from keeping you two from ending up expelled. Your savior in a sense. But ever since the three of you had become good friends, Sebastian never let up about Salazar Slytherin. He was set on finding his Scriptorium, begging Ominis for so long to show him the way. Seeing as he believed finding it would help cure his sister’s, Anne, curse.

When Ominis had finally given into you both and led the way, the three of you worked wonderfully together. Traversing dark and wary caves. Fending off giant spiders, solving puzzles all that good stuff. Until finally you reach a room with a single note, bones buried in dirt, no way out, the word CRUCIO etched into the stone before your feet, and what looked to be a screaming apparition burned onto a mirror.

You sadly read the note aloud for all to hear. Detailing a grim last few words from Ominis’s aunt. Who unfortunately had gone looking for the Scriptorium, alone, and met an untimely fate. You reach out to gently touch Ominis’s shoulder and he stills beneath your touch.

“I’m so sorry about your aunt, Omni.” You mourn. He nods in acceptance. Nothing they did now could’ve changed what had happened to his aunt. He would at least find some peace in knowing what happened to her.

Sebastian is at your side then. Concerned look on his own freckled face. “Ominis…I know it’s hard. But the letter details using Crucio. You’re the best suited for this—“

“No! I won’t do it. To use Crucio you have to mean it. I will not cast that spell ever again…especially on you two.” Ominis steps away from your reach. Closing off from the activity entirely. You didn’t blame him.

You turn to face Sebastian then who looks..almost disappointed with Ominis's rejection. He gestures for you to follow him closer to the wailing mirror. Hauntingly beautiful, even in its twisted state.

“Well, two options. You cast Crucio on me, or I…cast it on you. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here. We can’t die here and now because of—of morals.” Sebastian whispers to you. The thought of dying in that suffocating tomb alone makes your skin crawl.

Ominis had always been vocal about how horrible any of the killing curses were, especially this spell. Seeing as he was forced to cast it when he was younger. The nightmares still haunt the blonde from what you could tell. His sleepless nights. The flinch at loud noises. It was obvious, whatever you decided, that this would forever weigh heavy on your soul. Yet the spell…could come in handy when facing Ranrok. He was your enemy after all.

You hoped it would never come down to using it though.

“Fine. Teach me the spell but you…you cast it on me. I won’t hurt you Seb.” You mumble. And at first, he’s hesitant. His wand slightly swayed before he reluctantly nods. His hands slightly shake as he teaches you the wave of the wand. He had never performed the dark arts before and this could go very wrong or just really wrong. Either way was going to hurt. But you trusted him.

That’s how you ended up in the here and now. Agonizing pain ripped through your flesh like lightning. Flames behind your eyeballs that force them to shut tight. Hoping to ease the pain away. Your teeth gnash against your lip to hold back screams of pain. It does nothing. Dark magic moves under your skin like writhing red and green tentacles. You gasp between almost suffocating screams.

Breathe in, scream, breathe out.

Your back is against the stone, arched, burning hot. Even as Ominis, or maybe it was Sebastian’s, or both of their hands are grabbing at your arms. Cool fingers press into your hot flesh as the boy’s try to lift you from the floor.

They try to comfort you during one of the worst moments of your life. It doesn’t help. They both fumble as they move you into the room that opened up behind the wailing mirror. The pain is nauseating. Every fumble, correction, and movement makes your stomach churn. Threatening to spill out your lunch. Your consciousness is slowly fading at this point. Stars blinking behind your eyelids as you grasp for whatever you can to stay awake.

Through the pulsing pain in your head and ears, you barely hear the two boys arguing. More or less Ominis yelling about how he was right. How this was a stupid idea as he struggles to help carry you. Ominis can’t see where he steps yet he’s trying so hard to save you now.

“You—you’re both idiots!” Ominis snarls. Struggling with words through his rage and panic. “How could you do something like this!”

“I understand, Ominis! Just—just, Merlin, help me! Help me get to the infirmary!” Sebastian spits back as they continue to fumble around, looking for an exit.

The last thing you hear is Sebastian calling for desperate help before the pain becomes too much and finally takes you under. Passing out from the curse spell later than you would’ve liked.

When concussions come back to you, it’s almost unbearable. Your eyes flutter open but fall closed once again. Maybe you could just stay like that for forever. Lying on a cloud, nice and warm, with your eyes closed. Eh, sounds a little too much like death for your liking.

Thankfully, your second attempt at waking up is far more fruitful. Candlelight flickers rapidly at the edge of your feet as your eyes slowly come into focus. You make out the white sheets laying across your body. Feel the firm mattress against your back. Connecting the dots, slowly but surely, that you were in the infirmary.

Your head moves slightly to continue looking around. Hoping a nurse was close by so you could ask for some water or medicine or anything to make the dull ache in your body stop. Instead your eyes find Sebastian.

His unruly brown hair is somehow even messier than usual. He slumps against the side of your bed and from what you can tell, he might be asleep. Seeing as it was sometime during the night. If you had to guess he probably snuck into the infirmary to be at your side.

Suddenly memories of what happened in the Scriptorium come back to you. Sending a harsh chill down your entire body. The cast of Crucio echoes in the back of your mind. You’ll never forget the feeling. Or the look on Seb’s face as he waved the spell and casted it upon you.

‘Crucio can only be cast if you mean it.’ You remember Ominis’s haunting words. Sebastian must’ve meant it. But you try your best to not blame him. He was just trying to get you all out of that stone grave.

“Seb…” You try to speak. Your throat burns as you attempt to rouse the sleeping man at your side. Voice hoarse, borderline gone, from what you can only assume is from the screaming you barely remember doing. “Sebastian.” You barely manage his full name.

His body shifts at the sound of his name but he doesn’t rise. So you make your way to sit up. Although the moment you prepare to sit up, weight shifting ever so slightly, Sebastian shoots up instantly. His pretty green eyes meet your gaze in a wild look. As if he can’t believe you’re awake. Dried drool sticks to the edge of his lips. You can’t help but laugh. Or what you assume is a laugh. To Seb it probably sounds like you’re coughing.

“I—we—are you okay?” Seb stumbles over his words. Knowing Sebastian, he most likely had something planned to say the moment you woke up. Yet now he was almost speechless. For the first time ever.

“I’m o-okay just…w-water.” You manage to mumble. Now he’s quick to react. A glass of water is held out with lightning speed to you and you take it graciously.

After a moment of what felt like an eternity of being parched, you chug the water given to you, before you hand the glass off and sit fully upright. Your fingers lay in your lap, picking at the cotton of the blanket.

Silence falling between the two of you was so uncommon. It almost felt worse than writhing in pain. Not really but the wall built up was hard to ignore. You needed that wall to come down.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask softly. Breaking the silence as your throat is finally feeling better after some water.

“Three days,” Sebastian replies. He doesn’t look at you. You don’t blame him, not really. The guilt must weigh heavy on his shoulders.

Three days. The fact that it had been days since you had passed out in the scriptorium made your gut twist. You can’t even imagine what rumors must have spread among the school. Or the amount of questions the headmaster will be asking you. Oh you were definitely in for some trouble.

“I’m so sorry.”

Apologies were not something Sebastian was known for. The fact that he was apologizing at all was almost shocking. You didn’t have to guess that he didn’t really mean it when he casted Crucio. It was all just a matter of choices, for you all to survive.

“It’s okay,” Your voice is soft as you speak. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. I agreed to it Sebastian,” You remind him. It only makes Seb angrier with himself.

“Of course I blame myself! I could’ve killed you!” Sebastian says in a strained voice. He wants to scream and yell. He wants you to scream and yell at him. For letting him do something so stupid. For not listening to Ominis in the first place. For being too eager.

“It was a matter of life or death Seb you know that—“ You began to say but he cuts you off as he quickly stands from his chair.

“But what if there was another way!? What if I didn’t have to…didn’t want to—I could’ve changed something!” He angrily hisses as he turns his head away from you.

Silences befalls between the two of you again. Stretched longer than previously as you can’t think of something to say. He had three days to beat himself up for dragging all three of you to that scriptorium. You couldn’t imagine how many scenarios he himself had imagined over and over again while in your slumber.

“What if I had lost you?”

The soft words are barely loud enough to hear. Just a whisper under his breath you almost can’t manage to make out. But you do. The somber confession comes at you like a heavy rainstorm. Unexpected, welcoming, lovely, and a little noisy from his previous minor outburst. Building from a small drop to a straight downpour and you’re caught in the middle of it with no umbrella.

Even in the candlelight you see the tips of ears, beat red as he refuses to look at you. Shoulders tense as he tries to will himself to calm down. It was late, you weren’t supposed to be awake, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. It was not the time for this conversation.

Yet it makes you smile anyway. Butterflies jump around under your skin, in your heart, stomach following suit in doing somersaults. You reach with a gentle hand and grab hold of his shirt sleeve, giving it a tug. For a moment he stands completely still. Debating whether or not it was the right moment to hash all of this out. It wasn’t. Yet a second tug on his sleeve has him turning to finally look at you.

This time when you meet his green eyes, his wild look is gone. He looks at you like you’re the cure to whatever alignment he’s currently experiencing. It’s a saddened, sleepless, relieved look. Feeling every emotion he’s ever felt in his life all in the span of a few short seconds.

You smile fondly at Sebastian, praying he could see it in the soft light of the infirmary. “But you didn’t,” You remind him. Almost gesturing to you, him, and your surroundings. “I’m still here, Seb.”

Sebastian simply nods. Not having the courage to speak for it may bring him to tears. Now that would truly be the end of the world if that happened.

You reach for his hand. Reassuring and gentle as your fingers intertwine with his. He’s stiff as a board at your touch. He has always yearned for it but never had the faith to act upon his feelings.

“Plus, it’ll take more than that to get rid of me.” You say hoping to ease the young man’s feelings. At least for tonight.

A squeeze to your hand is the only response you receive as he returns to his seat. He rests your connected hands on the bed before his head follows suit. Instead of returning to the side of your bed he makes himself comfy on your thigh. You smile at the puzzling picture before you.

The great Sebastian Sallow, a man who rarely asks for any help, unless it involves trekking in some dark cave somewhere, was vulnerably sprawled out on top of you.

You stifle a giggle, fearing if he heard you laugh he would assume the worst and pull away. Instead your free hand pushes through his hair. Pushing away dark curly hair from his freckled face.

“You should return to the dorms before the nurse finds you.” You hum as your eyes scan his own closed eyes. Gazing at the lengths of his eyelashes. Every freckle you could see, thinking how fun it could be to count them one day.

“‘Ts fine,” Sebastian shrugs it off. You hear the softness of his breathing, slowly becoming shallow as he falls asleep. Fast asleep in your thigh with his hand tightly wound to yours. You wish you could have a painting done of this moment. Hoping by every ounce of magic in your veins that you never forget this feeling or the sight. And by Merlin does the sight make your heart ache and pound in equal parts.

You just hoped to never go through something like this ever again. Hopefully Sebastian would see how powerful and dangerous the dark arts could be and look for another solution to healing Anne’s curse. Maybe the ancient magic you wield could help next time instead of turning to the unforgiving curses.

#hogwarts legacy #x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #fluff #fluffy zevrra #angst with a happy ending #one shot #i did not proofread this #i am so sorry #enjoy!!!

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ak319 · 24 days ago

Text

Lovesick Childhood friend x f!reader

Headcanon / Intro

Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are uncomfortable! Gonna have historical themes, little age gap (3 years) in terms of historical times, heavy angst, fluff, pining, and drama. The art is not mine, it's from Pinterest. Enjoy reading. ─ m.lists

"but you know what they say,

you can't help who you fall for

and you and I fell

like an early spring snow...."

─────────

1917

"Orsen, you’d better finish your food before you run off to play. Got it?"

"Yes, Papa!" Orsen nodded dutifully, but his gaze betrayed him, fixed on the window behind his father. His eight-year-old eyes sparkled with mischief as he struggled to suppress giggles. Out in the garden, you were pulling faces and breaking into an exaggerated, clumsy dance, clearly determined to make him laugh.

He had to finish his food quickly, before his father noticed anything. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of you getting a light smack on the back of your head from your mother, the estate gardener, who scolded you for goofing off. Orsen bit his lip to stifle a grin.

Without a second thought, he wolfed down the rest of his meal. His father’s disapproving gaze burned into him as he muttered something about unmanly behavior and lack of etiquette. But Orsen didn’t care, not one bit. Ignoring the reprimands, he dashed out of the room when his plate was empty, proving his father right in the process.

But none of that mattered. He’d kept you waiting long enough already.

"Finally! You eat too slow and... way too much for someone the size of a squirrel," you teased, crossing your arms with a smirk.

That earned you a swift smack on the chest from Orsen, who clearly had plenty of energy to spare. Ah, so that’s where it all goes, you thought with a grin.

"COME ON! LET'S START WITH A GAME OF CHASE, THEN HIDE-AND-SEEK!"

"You’re on!" you replied with mock seriousness, already taking off before Orsen could fully process the challenge.

And just like that, playtime began. You were eleven, three years older than him, and yeah, yeah, people might wonder why you spent your afternoons running around with the eight-year-old son of Lady Isolde. Because you were made to since he needed a playmate. You didn’t mind and if you were being honest, it was fun.

"You're too slow, Orsen!" you call out, weaving between the trees with practiced ease.

"I'm not slow! You're just taller!" Orsen huffs, his golden hair flying behind him like a ribbon as he tries to catch up. His laughter rings out, light and carefree, as he nearly trips over a tree root.

"Excuses, excuses," you tease, pausing just long enough for him to barrel into you, both of you tumbling to the ground in a heap.

"I got you!" Orsen declares, his soft hands gripping your arms triumphantly a stark comparison to yours , rough from helping your mother around the estate with tasks.

"You tackled me, not tagged me!" you laugh, sitting up and brushing dirt off your knees. "That’s against the rules."

"There are no rules in chase," he replies matter-of-factly, flicking his long blond hair over his shoulder like some princeling—and it makes you snort.

"Fine. No rules, huh? Then how about this?" Without warning, you spring to your feet and scoop him up by the waist, spinning him around while he squeals with laughter.

"Put me down, you IDIOT! I’ll get you back for this!"

"Sure you will," you grin, finally setting him down. His face is red from laughing so hard, but he immediately points to the swing hanging from the old oak tree nearby.

"Your turn to push me!"

"Your turn? When was it my turn?" you ask, feigning exasperation but already making your way to the swing.

Orsen is already climbing onto it. You steady the ropes for him, watching as he gets comfortable, his small hands gripping tightly. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

With a firm push, you send the swing into motion, the wood creaking softly under Orsen’s weight. He leans back, his laughter filling the air as the wind tousles his golden locks. "Higher!" he demands, his voice bright and full of life.

"Careful, you’ll go flying straight into the bushes," you joke, though you give him another push, watching as his laughter spills into the air like music.

"And you’d rescue me," he counters, turning his head to flash you a grin.

"Obviously," you reply, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. Or else your mother would make soup out of my bones if you even got a scratch.

"See? I’m safe as long as you’re here," he says, his voice lighter, softer, as the swing slows with the waning light. The golden glow of the setting sun paints him in warm hues, his hair a tousled mess, his cheeks pink from play.

You ruffle his hair as he climbs off the swing, earning an indignant squeak. "We should do this every day," he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, trusting eyes that seem to hold the whole world.

"Yeah," you say quietly, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Every day, Orsen."

And in that moment, you mean it.

1922

"Brother Orsen?" Rowan called, tugging at his older brother’s sleeve. "She’s calling for you."

Orsen, now 13, was sitting in front of his vanity, carefully sorting through his collection of accessories. He didn’t bother looking up, too absorbed in his task.

The 5-year-old huffed, folding his arms. "She’s calling you to play, not to do a fashion show."

"SHUSH! Rowan, come here for a second!" Orsen snapped, his tone light but firm. Rowan grumbled under his breath but walked over, clearly itching to be anywhere but here.

"Okay, so listen," Orsen began, lowering his voice even further as he picked up a necklace from his collection. "Which one should I wear?"

"Necklace?" Rowan blinked, his frustration barely contained. "You’re gonna wear a necklace to play?"

Orsen rolled his eyes dramatically. "Look, we are not playing instead (Y/N) is taking me out to see a play! To a theatre!"

Rowan’s expression softened at the mention of (Y/N)'s name. "A play? Really?"

"Yes, really!" Orsen grinned, his tone proud but slightly embarrassed. "It’s a big deal. I want to look my best."

Rowan exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief before quickly quieting down. "B-but mama and papa aren’t home! They told us to stay inside the manor, and what about the stupid nanny? I’m so over him-"

"This is exactly what I’m telling you!" Orsen pleaded, his voice low but desperate. "Just cover up for me, please! And even if Elias finds out, he won’t get mad or tell anyone, I swear, but the other servants, they can’t know, got it?"

Rowan frowned, clearly conflicted. "Are you going on... what mama and papa go to? What’s it called... um... a date?"

Orsen’s ears turned bright red, and a warmth spread through him, making his heart race in an unfamiliar way. His hand paused mid-air, the necklace he was holding slipping slightly as his mind began to swirl. A date. Was it a date? His chest tightened, a fluttering sensation moving through him. He tried to push it down, telling himself it was ridiculous. It was just (Y/N). But still... the thought of being alone with her, of seeing her smile...of being beside her...sitting so close to her...

"Ugh, I-" Orsen’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, hoping Rowan wouldn’t notice the redness creeping up his neck. "It’s not a date, okay? Just... something like that."

Rowan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. "Fine, fine, I’ll cover for you. But you owe me big time, Orsen."

Orsen smiled, his heart still racing. "Thanks, Rowan. You’re the best."

Rowan shot him a sly grin before walking out of the room. "Just don’t get caught, alright?"

Orsen watched him go, still feeling the heat of that unexpected moment, his thoughts full of the image of (Y/N) waiting for him. A date... He could only hope she saw it that way too.

The sunlight poured through the trees, casting long shadows on the garden path as you stood by the gate, tapping your foot impatiently. Orsen was late—again. You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the road ahead.

You had to admit, though, it was kind of cute how he always managed to show up just a little bit after you, acting like you weren’t already getting a head start on your impatience. He always had that timid, apologetic look on his face, but it was like he couldn't help it. It was endearing, even if it drove you crazy sometimes.

Finally, you spotted him.

When he saw you, his face broke into that shy smile, the one that always made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.

“Took you long enough,” you called out with a cocky grin, straightening up as he came closer. “Did your vanity mirror take longer than usual?”

Orsen flushed, immediately looking down at the ground, his fingers nervously brushing at the edge of his shirt. He bit his lip, clearly flustered. “I-I wasn’t... I mean, I was just making sure I looked decent,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "And...was just convincing Rowan to cover up."

“It’s fine,” you assured him, though you couldn’t stop the teasing note that slipped into your voice. “But I almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

He looked genuinely apologetic, his blue eyes wide and full of that quiet sincerity that always made your heart twist a little. “I wouldn’t leave you waiting, (Y/N),” he murmured, his hand tugging nervously at the sleeve of his shirt. “I promise.”

You felt the warmth in his words more than anything else, and it made your smile falter for just a second. Orsen was the kind of person who always tried to do the right thing, even when it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t like the other boys in the town, so confident and sure of themselves. No, Orsen was gentle, and careful, always thinking about others before himself. You could see that quiet, understanding gaze under his straw cartwheel hat , in the way he looked at you now.

“Well, if you’re sure,” you said, your voice softening, “we should probably get going before someone else notices, huh?”

“Yeah,” Orsen agreed, his expression turning a little more serious as he looked over his shoulder. He glanced up and down the street, making sure no one was watching, before taking a step closer to you. “Are you sure about this? I know it’s... a little risky.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach, but when you looked at Orsen’s face, you felt a little lighter. There was no teasing now, no jokes, just his quiet concern, and for once, it made you feel like maybe this was worth it. You nodded.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, then added with a hint of a smile, “It’ll be fun.”

“You really are...” He shook his head, his lips curving into a smile despite himself. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “Make everything seem like it’s no big deal? Maybe because it’s not. And you’re going to learn that today.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve to pull him toward the playhouse, he followed without protest.

Orsen’s heart skipped a beat as your hand enveloped his, and the warmth of your touch sent a flutter of butterflies through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but glance at you, his face turning a shade darker. He wasn’t sure why something as simple as you holding his hand made him feel so nervous, but it did. It wasn’t just the physical touch, it was the way you kept him close, guiding him gently, as if taking care of him.

You pulled him to the side of the sidewalk, positioning him on the inside to keep him safe from the traffic and the bustle of the crowd. He felt a sudden surge of warmth at how protective you were being, even if it was just a small gesture. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t explain, and his steps faltered slightly as you kept him close to you, shielding him from the rest of the world.

His heart raced, faster than it should have, as his mind wandered to those quiet moments when you became reserved, especially during functions. When he told you he was going to one or whenever they were held at the estate, your demeanor always seemed to shift. He noticed the way your gaze would turn sharp and distant, your movements brisk and careful, as though you were trying to shrink away. He hated it.

He hated seeing you as just part of the crowd, working tirelessly around the estate, your hands busy with tasks instead of resting in his. Most of all, he hated the functions themselves. Because while you were stuck there, unspoken and unnoticed, he was dolled up, standing with the sons and daughters of elites, smiling politely in a world that felt hollow. And maybe… maybe you hated that too.

Maybe you hated seeing him like that, all pretty, polished, and mingling with other people, particularly the daughters of noble families, ones his parents made sure he was somewhat acquainted with. Maybe you thought he belonged in that world, with them, rather than here with you.

The thought made his steps falter. A pang of desperation hit him. If only you knew. If only you knew that no crowd, no daughter of any elite, could ever hold his attention like you did.

To him, it didn’t matter how the world saw you or him, what mattered was this. You, walking beside him. You, pulling him to the safer side of the sidewalk. You, shielding him, even when you didn’t know that he was already yours.

At the theatre gate, you hesitated briefly before pulling out the money, the ache in your chest barely masked by the small smile you gave. Each coin was hard-earned, saved from days of labor at the Elaris estate and neighboring homes. As you handed it over, Orsen stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours for just an instant. The gesture was fleeting but warm, like a silent promise that you were not alone.

“(Y/N)... I know it’s not much, but-” He started to say, then hesitated, biting his lip. “I really appreciate you doing this. For both of us.”

You smiled at him, a little softer this time. “You don’t have to thank me, Orsen,” you said gently. “I want to do this.”

His eyes softened, and he looked away briefly, cheeks flushing just a bit. “You always know how to make me feel... better,” he muttered under his breath. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “Well, that's my job as your friend.” you replied, quietly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

He gave you a shy smile, more timid than usual. "I know..."

The moment passed quickly, but the quiet understanding between you both lingered as you walked into the theatre together, the world outside fading away. Orsen risked a glance at you, his gaze catching on the way the dim evening light outlined your sharp features. You looked so effortlessly composed, so handsome that it made his breath hitch for a moment. He felt a rush of warmth spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, his fingers brushing nervously against the ribbon under his chin as if it could steady him.

It didn’t matter that you were different. It didn’t matter that you came from different worlds. Right now, all that mattered was that you were both here, together, sharing this moment in time.

And for Orsen, that was enough.

── .✦

Orsen sat in his room, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wooden desk, his mind still occupied with the discomfort that had settled over him the past few days. He hadn’t expected his body to feel like this, unfamiliar, heavy, and strange. The flow had come, just as his father and tutor had warned, but it didn’t make the experience any less confusing or jarring. He had kept to himself mostly, trying to adjust, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts. He looked up quickly, his nerves suddenly tightening. His father, Lucan, stepped in, his posture rigid as always, his dark eyes scanning the room before landing on Orsen.

“Orsen,” Lucan began, his voice steady but tinged with an unfamiliar seriousness. "Wanted to talk about something, love."

Lucan stepped further into the room, his voice lowering, as if the matter was too delicate to say aloud in front of anyone else. “I and your mother think it’s time for you to stop... associating with (Y/N) for now.”

Orsen’s stomach twisted painfully. The words felt like a sharp blow to his chest, though he knew this was coming. His world, for the last few years, had been shared with (Y/N), the carefree days, the laughter, the moments when they were just two children playing in the garden or sneaking out to see a play. It was always natural, always easy, until now.

“Why?” Orsen’s voice cracked slightly, and he immediately regretted it, his cheeks burning as he stared down at the floor. “What did I do wrong? Wh-at did she do??”

Lucan sighed, a heavy sound that made Orsen feel smaller, as if he were a child again, needing to be controlled. "It’s not about you, Orsen. Your mother believes you should start focusing more on your responsibilities. You are no longer a child. Your a man and she...she's a woman. It’s time for you to stop playing games, stop seeking out... distractions."

Orsen felt his breath catch in his throat. Distractions. That’s how his parents saw (Y/N) now? His heart ached at the thought of never being able to run off and play with you again. It felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"You need to start preparing for your future," Lucan continued, not looking at Orsen directly, but at some point beyond him. “Your mother has plans for you, and she expects you to focus on your studies, your family name. No more distractions, Orsen. You’re growing into something much more than that."

The last words lingered in the air, and Orsen felt a sickening knot twist in his stomach. He wanted to argue, wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Why should everything change now? But the words didn’t come. Instead, he simply nodded, his eyes brimming with the weight of it all.

Lucan turned to leave, but before he did, he paused at the door. “It’s for the best, son,” he said, his tone almost sympathetic. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but your mother’s decision is final.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Orsen sat there, staring at the floor, his hands trembling. The world outside felt so far away now, like it was slipping through his fingers.

It was over. He couldn’t see (Y/N) anymore. He couldn’t run to her and find comfort in her presence. He couldn’t protect her or laugh with her. He was supposed to grow up. He was supposed to follow the path his family laid out for him, to grow into something else. To grow up for rather someone is more like it. To be a good man so that he can be a good husband...

But I’m not ready to let go, Orsen thought miserably. I can’t.

The evening had settled over the manor, but Orsen still hadn't left his room. He had feigned illness, citing exhaustion as the reason for his retreat, and, thankfully, his parents had bought it. His mother, as aloof as ever, didn’t press the matter too hard, but it was clear from the way she sent up his dinner that she wasn’t exactly pleased with him skipping meals. Nevertheless, they left him in solitude, and he barely touched the food. Just a few bites, enough to keep the appearance of complying with his parents' wishes.

You can't be with (Y/N) now...

The words circled in his mind like an endless loop, the cruel reminder of everything he’d just lost.

Society...

Family name...

And all that other bullshit...

Orsen couldn't suppress the bitter curses that slipped past his mental barriers, curses he'd only learned from you. Thanks to you, he had been exposed to the harsher truths of the world, the side that no one of his status was supposed to see, let alone understand. Without you, he would have remained ignorant, a sheltered boy in a world that seemed so far removed from the lives of people like you.

How could he just forget you? How could he ignore the way you made him feel so alive, so seen?

He wanted to lie to himself, to deny the truth, but it was becoming impossible. The feelings he had for you were not just those of a carefree childhood friendship. No, they had evolved into something far deeper, something he couldn’t bury beneath the expectations of his family and the rigid norms of society.

His mind swirled with the questions that had no answers. Had they told you? Did you know the news already? How would you have reacted?

Would you be heartbroken, too? Or would you simply move on, uncaring, as though he had never been a part of your life at all? After all, he was just the son of a lady of the manor, a wealthy, entitled boy. You, on the other hand, probably had your own circle, your own friends. Girls who shared your struggles, who truly understood your world in ways he never could.

The thought burned in his chest like a quiet, smoldering ache. Maybe there was even a boy among them, someone prettier, someone who fit into your life better than he ever could. Someone who could stand beside you without looking like a silly, awkward dreamer. The idea made his heart clench. He wanted to be everything you needed, but deep down, the fear whispered, what if you didn’t need him at all?

Orsen curled into himself, the loneliness settling over him like a suffocating weight. His heart ached with the thought of you, of how far apart he felt from you now. The girl who had been his closest friend, the one who had filled his life with laughter and mischief, now seemed like a distant memory, slipping through his fingers.

Would you even miss me? He couldn't stop the question from repeating itself.

But deep down, he knew the answer. You were strong, capable, too strong, too capable to be held back by someone like him. You had a life to live, a future that didn’t need him to make it complete. And he, a pampered boy who had always had everything handed to him, couldn’t keep up with that.

Still, his heart refused to listen to the logic of it all. It stubbornly clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in your life still.

But what if...

The thought was interrupted by a quiet sob he couldn’t suppress. His heart ached, and his tears fell unbidden, mixing with the confusion and sorrow that clouded his thoughts.

Just then, the soft patter of footsteps approached, and the door creaked open. Orsen barely registered the sound, too consumed by his own grief to notice at first. But when a small, tentative voice called out to him, it pierced through the fog of his sorrow.

“Orsen?” Rowan's voice was quiet, unsure.

Orsen didn't look up. He couldn't. Instead, he pulled his knees tighter to his chest, willing the tears to stop, though they kept coming. He didn’t want Rowan to see him like this. He was supposed to be the older brother, the one who protected him, the one who had all the answers. But now he felt like nothing more than a broken boy, helpless and alone.

Rowan, being much younger, didn't fully understand the weight of the situation, but he could sense the sadness in Orsen's hunched shoulders, in the way his older brother’s sobs shook his frame. Without hesitation, Rowan crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to him, his small hands resting gently on Orsen’s arm.

"You’re not alone....You’ve still got me."

Orsen felt the warmth of Rowan’s hand, and it was enough to make him break down completely. The tears fell faster now, as if Rowan’s simple words had unlocked everything he had been holding in. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it was useless. The pain was too much.

“I don’t know what to do, Rowan,” Orsen choked out between his sobs. “I... I don’t want to change. I don’t want to lose her. Why does everything have to be so... so different now?”

Rowan, though younger and not entirely understanding the complexities of the world they lived in, squeezed Orsen’s arm tighter. “Maybe it’s not forever,” he said quietly. “Maybe... maybe you can still be with (Y/N). You’re smart, Orsen. You’ll figure something out.”

Orsen let out a ragged breath, his body shaking as the tears slowly subsided. Rowan’s small voice, his unwavering support, gave him something to hold onto in that moment, something that felt like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Rowan,” Orsen whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "M-means a lot.."

Rowan smiled softly, his little hands patting Orsen’s arm as he snuggled closer. “You don’t have to. I’ll always be here, even when Mama and Papa tell you to stop playing with (Y/N). I'll always play with you!"

Orsen’s heart tightened. His little brother didn’t understand the full depth of what had just happened, but his words meant more than he could ever say. In this moment, Rowan was the one keeping him together, the one showing him that, even when everything seemed to fall apart, he wasn’t truly alone.

── .✦

He was perched at the balcony window, the cool breeze tousling his long, silky hair as he gazed out at the garden below. His fingers lightly gripped the edge of the windowsill as he watched you, working diligently on the grounds below.

You were cutting logs, a task far more physical than what Orsen was used to seeing you do. Your movements were strong, your muscles flexing with every swing of the axe, and it sent a strange flutter through his chest. His eyes followed the rhythm of your body, the way your arms tensed with the exertion. There was something undeniably powerful in the way you moved, a raw strength that both mesmerized and unsettled him.

Orsen swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat as you wiped the sweat from your brow, revealing the determined glint in your eyes. His breath hitched in his throat as he couldn’t help but admire the way your body worked, every movement fluid and precise. The sight of you, the girl who had always been by his side, now growing into someone completely different, had his thoughts running wild.

Stop it, he told himself, gripping the windowsill a little tighter. This is wrong. She’s... His mind stumbled over the words, his heart desperately trying to calm the fluttering sensation that wouldn’t go away.

You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on your task, but then, by some miracle, your eyes found his. For a moment, time seemed to stretch as your gaze locked onto his, and Orsen’s heart raced in his chest. There was something about the way you looked at him, a kind of unspoken acknowledgment as if you knew exactly what he was feeling without him saying a word.

He quickly forced himself to look away, his face flushing with heat, but not before giving a small, almost timid wave. His fingers, still gripping the windowsill, trembled slightly from the nervousness coursing through him.

You gave a quick wave back, then turned your attention back to the task at hand, but the simple exchange was enough to send a shiver of excitement through him. He leaned against the window frame, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

The quiet, pounding ache in his chest deepened. He was stuck, trapped behind this invisible barrier that kept him from stepping outside, from being close to you in the way he wanted. You, with your strength and duties, your hands working like they knew no other way of being. And him, trapped in this gilded cage, unable to touch you, talk to you.... to even get close.

His eyes followed your every movement, as if he could somehow close the gap between the two of you just by watching. The ache in his chest grew heavier, and the question hung in his mind like a dark cloud: Why am I feeling like this?

You didn’t even know, did you? Or maybe you did, but... what difference did it make? His hand tightened on the windowsill as he let out a quiet sigh. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. Just... watch.

── .✦

The days passed slowly for Orsen after that encounter. Each morning, he would wake up with an uneasy knot in his stomach, knowing he couldn’t be near you. He could only watch you from his window, his heart aching with every glimpse of you working in the garden, your hands strong and graceful, yet out of his reach.

But then, one day, a small note arrived. It was discreet, slipped under the door to his room by Rowan, who seemed to have caught onto the secret in his own innocent way. Orsen unrolled the crumpled piece of paper, his heart pounding.

I see you watching me these days, Orsen. Are you going to keep staring, or are you finally going to talk to me? Don't be afraid...

Orsen stared at the words, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. You, you, had noticed. He carefully folded the note and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt before his parents could catch him with it. His heart raced, but there was a comfort in knowing you felt something too.

Over the next few weeks, the notes began to come more frequently. They were always passed through Rowan, always discreet, and always full of the teasing, playful energy that Orsen both craved and feared.

One evening, Orsen received another note. This one was a little longer than the others, the ink scrawled with hurried words.

I’m starting to think you’re too shy to talk to me in person, Orsen. It’s just a letter. Why don’t you send me one back? Are you really just going to end our friendship like this...? I am worried for you too...Please answer..

Orsen’s hands trembled slightly as he read the note. He had never written to anyone like this before. He had never had a reason to hide his words. But you, you made him feel things he couldn’t understand, things that burned and twisted inside him every time he thought about you. And now, you were asking for him to write.

The next afternoon, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Taking a deep breath, he took up his pen and began to write:

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to talk to you, not like this. But I think about you. All the time. I can’t stop. But they said to...not to...I want to though. Every day...

It was simple, just a few words, but it felt like the world was contained in that tiny letter. He sealed it carefully, not wanting anyone to find it. Rowan, ever the accomplice, delivered it the next morning.

The day passed in anticipation, and soon, he received your reply.

So you're shy, huh? That’s alright, Orsen. But if you want to see me, if you want to talk to me... I’ll be in the garden tomorrow at noon. I’ll wait. They won't catch us. I promise.

Right... No one would know. It would just be you and him. Just like you promised.

That night, he barely slept, the thought of seeing you in the garden swirling in his mind. And as soon as the clock struck noon the next day, he snuck out of his room and slipped through the hallways of the manor, his heart thundering in his chest.

There, in the garden, you waited. The sun was high, and the breeze was soft. You were working again, your back turned to him as you cleared some weeds. His footsteps were quiet as he approached, but you heard them.

You turned around, your eyes meeting his. The playful glint in them was gone, replaced with something softer, something warmer.

“You came,” you said, smiling slightly. “I thought you might be too scared.”

Orsen’s face flushed, but he nodded, his heart racing in his chest. “I wasn’t sure… but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know how to say it.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Well,” you said with a sly smile, “you’ve said it now.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. But you didn’t give him time to think. You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, the touch sending a shock of warmth through him.

As he looked into your eyes, the teasing, playful energy that once defined their interactions was gone. Now, there was only a quiet understanding, a deep yearning that neither of them could ignore any longer.

Orsen’s breath caught in his throat. His body was still, heart racing, as you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing the faint line of his jaw. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure what to do, but every part of him screamed to hold you.

"You’ve been so quiet, Orsen," you whispered, your voice softer than he’d ever heard it before. "What’s on your mind?"

The question hung in the air, but before Orsen could form a response, his gaze flickered to your lips. His heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he leaned in...you did too. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, standing in the middle of the garden.

And then, as if drawn together by some invisible force, your lips met.

The kiss was hesitant at first, tender and shy like two people testing the waters of something new and forbidden. But it didn’t take long for the hesitance to melt away. Orsen's hands found their way to your collar, pulling you closer as if he could feel you slipping away with each passing second. Your hands gripped his slender waist holding him firmly in place as you lost yourself in the feeling of his soft plump lips.

The kiss deepened, and Orsen felt the weight of everything he had been holding back, the feelings, the longing, the fear of losing you, all come crashing down in that single moment. He wanted to say so much, but all he could do was hold onto you as if his life depended on it.

Finally, when they broke apart, Orsen was breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He opened his eyes to find you gazing down at him, your face flushed and your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"I… I don’t know what to say," he murmured, his voice unsteady.

You smiled softly, running a finger across his jawline, as if reassuring him. "You don’t have to say anything."

But then, your expression shifted, and Orsen could see the uncertainty in your eyes. It was like a sudden weight had descended on you, something you couldn’t hold back any longer.

You pulled away slightly, looking away from him for the first time in their brief encounter.

"I have to tell you something," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "I’ve been trying to avoid saying it, but you deserve to know."

Orsen’s heart clenched at the seriousness in your tone. "What is it? You’re scaring me."

You took a deep breath, your gaze returning to his. "I’m being...drafted into the army. I leave in two weeks for training."

Orsen's face drained of color. The words didn't fully sink in at first, but as they did, a chill ran through him. "What do you mean? You’re going away?"

"I have no choice," you said quietly, looking down at the ground. "I have to go. You know I always...wanted that and my mother wants it too. I passed the test. And will have to leave for...I don't know yet. Could be an...year."

The weight of her words hit him like a physical blow. He reached out instinctively, taking your hands in his, as if holding onto you could somehow change everything.

"But we just-" Orsen’s voice cracked. "We just… we just had a kiss. And now you’re leaving?"

You nodded, wiping the tear slipping down his cheek. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. But I have no choice. This is what’s expected of me."

Orsen’s heart ached, but as he looked into your eyes, he knew there was nothing he could do to change it. The world was too big, too complicated, and he was just a rich boy who wasn’t allowed to have what he wanted.

He stepped back, releasing your hands, and turned his back to you. He couldn’t let you see the way his eyes were welling with tears.

He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I didn’t even get to tell you, h-ow much I care about you. And now yo-u’re leaving."

You stepped closer again, gently touching his shoulder, your voice soft. "I care about you too, Orsen. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ll be back. I promise. It's not a big deal. Please...don't cry. I want to see you smile...before I leave...."

"But how long? What if we never-"

"We will," you whispered firmly. "When I come back, I’ll find you. We’ll figure this out, together."

Orsen turned to face you then, a smile weakly tugging at the corner of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. "I’ll be waiting for you."

"I am doing this...for us. I---I have felt this way about you for very long...and I now know you did too. So... when I return," you said, your voice firm with conviction, "I’ll ask for your hand."

Orsen’s heart stopped for a second. The words you spoke were like a breath of fresh air in a world that had felt suffocating. But then, a cold, sinking feeling crept into his chest. He swallowed hard, his thoughts racing.

"I…" He shook his head, his voice faltering. "My mother… she’ll never allow it. I can’t-"

"Don’t worry about her," you cut him off gently. "When I return, we’ll figure it out. I’ll fight for us. I am not a coward. I won’t let anything stand in the way of what we have."

But Orsen’s mind was already racing, and despite the warmth your words brought, doubt gnawed at him. His mother, Isolde Elaris, a businesswoman, would never allow him to be with someone like you. She would never approve. And no matter how much he might want to be with you, he couldn’t ignore the reality of his world.

Still, as you gazed at him with such earnestness, he found himself nodding, almost against his will.

"I’ll be waiting for you, just like I said, promise. Be safe...for me...please (Y/N)...." Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with all the hope he had left.

With that you pulled him into a warm embrace that seemed to melt all his worries, his hands gripping you like a lifeline.

1923

One year later...

You had returned.

A year of training had shaped you into someone different, not just physically, but in ways you couldn’t have imagined. At 17, you were a Junior Sergeant, a rank earned through sheer grit. You hadn’t just survived the grueling regimen; you had thrived in it. Yet, despite all that, none of it felt quite as important as the task ahead.

Convincing your mother had been no easy feat. It took more strength than any of your drills to get her to agree to accompany you today. But, in the end, she relented. She didn’t speak much as you both traveled, but the tension in the air was thick with her reservations.

You heard the standard protests from your parents.

"What if we get kicked out?!"

"There is no match between us and them."

"You’re saying she will marry her son only for him to live in the servant quarters of the manor?!"

"I just want to ask for his hand, not bring him here!" you snapped, your voice steady with the weight of your resolve. "Just an engagement, nothing more, until I’ve found my footing. My own house, where we can all live, where we’ll be happy."

Your words were filled with confidence that stemmed from the one thing that motivated you, the love you had for Orsen. It wasn’t about status, not about titles, or what others thought. It was about him. It was about making him happy, seeing him smile, and one day—maybe soon, building a family with him.

Your mother’s protests quieted as she looked at you, still skeptical but, perhaps, beginning to understand the depth of your determination.

"I will fight for him," you said softly, almost to yourself. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

Orsen’s breath hitched in his chest, his sweaty palm almost crushing his younger brother Rowan's. Both of them stood just outside the drawing room, where you and your mother were speaking with his parents. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of what you had just said, and Orsen’s anxiety surged with each passing second of silence. He could barely comprehend it, you had said it. You had confessed your love, asking for his hand.

The silence was broken by a furious, sharp voice that made Orsen's heart drop into his stomach.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Isolde shot up from her seat, her eyes blazing with fury as she pointed an accusatory finger in your direction.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND ASK FOR MY SON’S HAND, THE ONE WHOSE SINGLE SHOE COSTS MORE THAN YOUR ENTIRE QUARTERS?!” Her voice rang with disgust, the insult heavy in the air.

Orsen felt his knees threaten to give way. He had known his mother would react this way, hell, he had feared it. But hearing her say those words about you, about what you meant to him... It hurt more than he could have imagined.

"Love... love is not something that you weigh, Ms. Elaris." Your mother gripped your arm tightly as a warning, her fingers pressing into your skin as she tried to pull you away, her voice full of urgency. She muttered apologies under her breath, but you remained rooted to the spot, staring straight ahead. Isolde’s presence loomed closer, her fury palpable in the thick tension of the room.

"Oh really?" Isolde sneered, stepping forward with venom in her voice. "Well, your pathetic and nasty feelings towards my son WON'T KEEP HIM FED! IT WILL ONLY RUIN EVERYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH HIM, WHICH IS MY FUCKING NAME THAT I BUILT!"

Her words sliced through the air like a blade, but you stood your ground, not backing down, your voice steady despite the knot of anger rising in your throat. "You think I would have come here for something as trivial as commitment just to let him starve? We both love each other-"

"DON'T FUCKING SAY HIS NAME, YOU-" Isolde's face contorted with rage. Before you could even react, she struck you across the face, the sharp sting of her palm sending shockwaves through your head.

The sound of the smack echoed in the room, and it was all Orsen needed to hear. He couldn’t take it anymore.

"NO! MAMA! Don't hurt her!" His voice broke through the tension, desperate and raw. He dashed into the room, his eyes wide with panic and pain, his feet carrying him faster than his mind could catch up. The sight of you, standing there with a reddened cheek and your heart in turmoil, pushed him past his breaking point.

"Don’t you dare!" he cried out, trying to rush toward you, as his father stopped him.

Isolde turned to her husband, rage still boiling in her voice. "YOU LET THEM PLAY WHEN I TOLD YOU NOT TO!" she screamed. "See?! This is what it fucking results in!"

Orsen ignored her, his focus entirely on you, on the hurt she had caused, and the way it shattered him to see you suffer. He reached for you, but his father blocked his path, forcefully holding him back.

"NO! STOP!" Orsen sobbed, the sight of you being dragged away tearing him apart. His chest tightened, his heart breaking into a million pieces. All he could do was watch as his dreams of being with you, of having a future together, crumbled before him.

"At least think what your son wants! I promise to keep him happy even if it means working myself to death, just give me a chance Ms. Isolde! I'll be forever loyal to-"

Isolde’s voice rang out again, cruel and final. "I WON’T GIVE YOU MY SON IN A MILLION YEARS!" she spat. "Now go home. Pack your bags. GET FUCKING LOST FROM MY PROPERTY!"

The words struck like daggers, and Orsen could only stand there, his body wracked with sobs. The pain, the injustice, the helplessness, it all became too much. You were being dragged away, your love for him still so clear, and yet, everything was falling apart.

And as he watched you being forced from the manor, Orsen’s world seemed to collapse in on itself. He could feel every part of him breaking, every dream he had of a future with you slipping through his fingers like sand.....

Please be a nightmare...please be a nightmare.

Isolde stormed back into the manor, her fury still crackling in the air. "Lucan! Get him inside his room, and I don’t want to hear a single word about that pathetic woman! Neither the sobbing! You hear me?" She didn’t wait for an answer. Without another glance at her sons, she turned on her heel, the sound of her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she made her way toward her study, her anger still seething.

Lucan stood there for a moment, staring at the door his wife had slammed shut, the weight of his own helplessness pulling at his chest. He sighed heavily, then turned to Orsen, whose body trembled with the weight of everything that had just unfolded.

"Orsen..." Lucan’s voice was softer now, but laced with concern. He approached his son, his hand resting on his trembling shoulder. "My dear... calm yourself," he murmured, trying to comfort him as best he could. But it was clear that his own frustrations and regrets were too much for him to contain. "You really thought your mama would let this be? Why did you let yourself fall for her?" His tone was more accusatory than he realized, but it was clear that his anger wasn’t directed at his son, it was just a manifestation of his own disappointment.

Rowan, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped forward. His small hands reached out for his brother, and with the innocence only a child could have, he whispered through his tears, "Orsen, please don’t be sad. I... I don’t like seeing you cry."

Lucan finally helped his son to his feet, though Orsen could barely stand on his own. The weight of his heartbreak was too much to bear, and he leaned heavily on his father, the pain in his chest threatening to crush him with every breath. Rowan followed close behind, his small hands trembling as they touched Orsen’s arm, trying to support him.

"I don’t... I can’t live without her," Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, a tremble in every word. "Please... I’ll die... I’ll kill myself..." His words hung in the air, heavy with despair. And then, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, Orsen’s world faded to black, his body collapsing in his father’s arms as everything around him went silent.

── .✦

After you left, Orsen felt as though half of his soul had been ripped away, leaving him hollow and incomplete. Lucan had tried to convey this to his wife countless times, but Isolde was deaf to his pleas. She dismissed his concerns about their son with cold indifference, refusing to acknowledge the truth of what Orsen had become, a lovelorn boy consumed by grief. He withdrew from the world entirely, locking himself away in his room. Socializing, already a challenge for him, became impossible. And so, he painted. Over and over again, he painted you.

Each canvas bore your face, your smile, your essence. Every brushstroke was a desperate attempt to capture what he had lost. The paintings multiplied, filling his room with hauntingly beautiful reminders of a love he could no longer hold.

“This is getting out of hand!” Isolde’s shrill voice echoed through the manor as she stormed into the parlor. “I swear to God, if I see one more portrait of that bastard in my house-”

“STOP!” Lucan’s voice thundered, cutting through her tirade. “For God’s sake, Isolde, just stop! Can’t you see what you’ve done? My son, our son, has lost himself because of you! If only... if only you’d handled this with an ounce of discretion, with empathy! They were young and in love for God’s sake! She was young, and she did it, she came here, to us, and asked for his hand. What was her crime? Loving him? That’s not a sin!”

“Oh, it most certainly is!” Isolde snapped, her face flushed with fury. “She did commit a sin because how dare she even think she’s at par with us? How dare she believe she’s fit to be my daughter-in-law? She’s a nobody! And you-” she pointed an accusatory finger at Lucan, her voice trembling with rage, “you need to stop wallowing in pity with him and do your job as his father. Go up there and fix your son instead of standing here arguing with me, your wife! You failed to raise him properly! I want the best for him too! Do you think I’m his enemy?”

Lucan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides, but before he could respond, Isolde pressed on, her tone sharp and resolute. “If you won’t act, then I will. I’ll find him a suitor. A proper one. Because clearly, you’re too busy sulking to see what’s best for him. There are plenty of well-established women, daughters of my partners--women who will treat him like the prince he is! Not like some charity case meant to be dragged down by a girl who doesn’t even belong in the same world as us.”

Lucan’s eyes burned with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he whispered, “And what do you think that will do to him, Isolde? You think parading someone else in front of him will make him forget her? You’ll break what little is left of him.”

But Isolde had already turned her back, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand as she walked toward the grand staircase. “You’ll see, Lucan. One day, he’ll thank me for saving him from her.”

However, Isolde’s plans always seemed to crumble before they even began. Every suitor she brought forward found her son either too meek, too detached, or, worse yet, eerily silent. He was almost ghost-like, his quietness mistaken for muteness by many. But it wasn’t silence, it was absence. Every fiber of Orsen’s being was consumed by you. His thin frame seemed weighed down by the memories he refused to let go of.

Because every part of his being was consumed by thoughts of you, his eyes replaying the memories, his hands yearning to be held by yours, his ears straining to hear your voice, his nose craving the faint trace of your scent, and his mind entirely consumed by you. His mind, utterly devoted to you, left no space for the present. How could he be anything but a shell of himself?

The embarrassment came soon enough. The rumors spread like wildfire after one particular incident---a disaster in Isolde’s eyes. Forced to interact with a suitor in private, Orsen, in his dazed and lovesick state, spoke only of you. Your name slipped from his lips like a prayer, every word dripping with longing and devotion. The suitor, bewildered and offended, left without a word. And that was it, Isolde’s perfect plan shattered yet again.

But the world outside was less forgiving.

A boy in love?

The son of Isolde Elaris in love?

And with a mere servant, no less? Tsk, tsk. So unruly...

No wonder he looks so wretched. Betrayed by a woman beneath him, perhaps?

Heard she’s in the army now. But poor as dirt, that explains why Isolde refused.

The whispers, the snide remarks, and the pitying glances reached Isolde’s ears, stoking her fury. But Orsen? He couldn’t care less about the rumors. Let them talk. Let them mock. None of it mattered to him.

His world had shrunk to the confines of his room, where his paintbrush brought you back to life in hues of longing and heartbreak. Your laughter echoed in the silent strokes of his art. Your touch lingered in every corner of his mind. Your memory was his solace and his torment.

He needed nothing else, just the faint traces of you that lingered in his heart. For him, they were enough.

"You destroyed your life for HER?! She isn’t coming back here, and neither am I ever going to accept her, so imprint that in your mind and fix yourself! Otherwise, we will be forced to move to another province."

SLAM!

The door rattled violently as Isolde stormed off, leaving the air thick with tension. All she ever did was talk, command, dictate, and talk some more. Orsen leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a dry, rueful chuckle. Her words barely scratched at the armor of his despair anymore.

"Does your mother always think she’s the empress of everything? Or does she just save that energy for me?"

He could still picture you folding your arms, feigning indignation while your eyes sparkled with mischief. Back then, you’d leaned closer, dropping your voice conspiratorially. "No offense, but I’m half-expecting her to declare a new tax just for looking at her wrong."

That teasing jab had made him laugh so hard he’d forgotten, for a moment, the weight of his world. He could still remember how your fingers used to drift into his hair without a thought, toying with the soft strands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It always made his cheeks flush, though he never stopped you—he loved it, cherished every touch, every moment your attention lingered on him.

Now, his hands gripped the scissors, the metal glinting faintly under the dim light. His movements were sharp, almost desperate, as he cut through the alluring gold locks, yet there was an underlying tenderness to it, hesitant, like he was severing a connection to you. Gently, because you loved his hair. Aggressively, because he didn’t want anyone else to see it anymore. No suitors, no flattering remarks from his parents. No one deserved to notice him the way you had.

Even now, the memory of you was so vivid it felt like you were in the room with him. Almost. But not enough to fill the void you’d left behind. Nothing ever could.

Meanwhile, you, after being kicked out and shamed by Lady Elaris—were drowning in an unbearable mix of shame and guilt, especially in front of your parents, who were now homeless because of you and your foolish fantasy of being with her son. What were you thinking? Had you been so blind in your naive, reckless love that you lost sight of reality? Your parents should have been your first priority. Instead, you had risked their stability and comfort over a foolish dream.

Your heart broke the day your father had to sell his cherished marriage jewelry, pieces he had once treasured, because your single month’s salary, combined with your mother’s meager savings, wasn’t enough to afford even a modest one-room apartment. It was a moment that crushed you, made you see the depth of your mistakes, and yet, it also became the turning point.

At that moment, you made a promise. You vowed to repay them tenfold, no, a thousandfold, everything they had sacrificed because of you. That vow became your life’s focus, your unrelenting drive. There was no more room for silly infatuations, no place for childish fantasies. Only purpose.

1931

Over the years, countless letters were written by Orsen to you. Rowan, ever loyal, carried each one to the post office, just as he had done when they were boys. But you never wrote back. Not once. Each unanswered letter chipped away at Orsen's hope, leaving him to wrestle with the silence. In his heart, he could only fathom two reasons for your absence: either you had truly forgotten him, abandoned him, played with his heart, or you had simply given up on the dream.

Perhaps you kept the love a secret but he didn't. He kept it as an oath.

He thought it would be a love for the ages. But now, as the days turned into years, he realized he was the only one writing on…pages.

But why? No. No, you shouldn’t have. You promised to fight for him, didn’t you? You were the woman, you were supposed to fight for your love. He had fought for you, hadn’t he? So why didn’t you?

There were moments when resentment clawed at his heart, moments when he hated you for your silence. But his love always overcame it. A quiet voice within reminded him of the guilt and heartbreak he had seen in your eyes that last time, the moment you stood at the threshold of his home. No, he would tell himself, you didn’t betray me, did you?

And yet, the doubt lingered, cold and cruel. Was he really so...forgettable to you?

"BROTHER ORSEN! Orsen!" Rowan's voice trembled as he rushed inside his brother’s room, panic rising in his chest as he saw Orsen hunched over, lost in the sea of his own thoughts. He approached him gently, reaching out to steady him, but it was as if Orsen was made of glass, fragile and on the edge of shattering.

"I-... I did you hear the news...?" Rowan's voice quivered, unsure if he truly wanted to be the one to break this.

A slow, hesitant shake of Orsen's head was all Rowan received—what he had expected, but still, it hurt more than words could express.

"T-the... war is upon us... and..." Rowan’s voice faltered, breaking on the edge of that awful, cold truth. He didn’t need to say more. Orsen’s face went blank, his body slumping further, as if the weight of the world had just pressed him into the bed.

"War..." Orsen’s voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t the war that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t the world outside that was destroying him. It was the war within, against the memories, the love, the haunting silence.

"Y-yes, brother. War, soldiers are being deployed to the western border... but don’t you worry, she’ll return, she’ll be fine-"

"But she won’t return to me..." Orsen’s words were choked, and Rowan felt his heart fracture as his brother's emerald eyes filled with unshed tears.

"No matter how many wars go by, Rowan..." Orsen’s voice quivered, his body shaking with the intensity of his pain, the weight of years of silence and waiting pressing down on him. "She won’t fight the war... for us. The one war that I was ready to die for."

Rowan’s heart ached, and he reached for Orsen immediately, his hand coming to rest gently over his brother’s lips as if to shield him from speaking the words that were tearing him apart. "Why do you always speak ill of yourself? It hurts me, Orsen. As much as I... support you and love you you need to stop destroying yourself over her."

Orsen’s hands trembled, and his voice broke as he whispered, almost desperately, "Rowan, my heart doesn’t stop! There’s always this voice... this voice that tells me she still feels something for me, that I still live in her heart, the same way mine beats for her. But it’s all I have left. The hope. The hope that she’ll come back... and maybe... maybe it will be enough."

Rowan's throat tightened, but he couldn’t speak, not with the agony in his brother’s voice. His own heart broke for him, but he couldn’t let Orsen sink deeper into the suffocating grief.

"Even if she returns..." Rowan’s voice faltered as he feared what the consequences would be. "Mother will-"

But Orsen cut him off, his voice low, almost too quiet to hear, "It won’t matter, Rowan. I’ve already lost her...I've lost...everything."

One year later...

After years of bloodshed and sacrifice, the town whispers of your return. At 25, you walk back into the place you once called home, no longer the wide-eyed girl who had left at 17, but a woman hardened by the brutal realities of war. Your uniform, now adorned with a sergeant's insignia, tells the story of your rise through the ranks, your resolve steeled by every battle fought and every friend lost. The air feels different, heavier, almost suffocating as you step through the town’s familiar streets, but your heart remains unyielding, barricaded from the past. Orsen’s letters are still tucked away, unopened, each one a reminder of a love you’ve forced yourself to forget. You’ve accepted it. You were never meant to be, and no amount of hope could change that now. The weight of those letters no longer tugs at you, not when you’ve fought and survived so much more.

Dear Orsen,

I know you’ve been waiting. I know you’ve sent me countless letters, filled with hope that I would somehow return to you, to the life we once dreamed of. But Orsen, I can’t. I’ve read every word you wrote, and yet I find myself unable to respond in the way you so desperately long for.

I wish things had been different. I wish I could turn back the clock and be the girl who ran away with you in her heart, the girl who believed love could conquer everything. But that girl no longer exists.

You were my first love, Orsen, and you will always hold a piece of my heart. But that piece is buried deep now, and I cannot let it resurface. You deserve more than the shadows of someone who cannot return your love. You deserve someone who can give you all the things I cannot.

Please, move on. I’ve had to. And though it breaks me to say this, I need you to as well. There are things we can’t undo, and I’ve learned that some battles are meant to be lost.

I wish you nothing but happiness, Orsen. Please find it, for both of us.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Orsen read the letter over and over again, the words blurring as his tears fell onto the paper. He could feel the weight of her words, the finality in them, but it didn’t matter. She was back. She had sent a response. That was all that mattered. He could still feel the flicker of hope inside him, despite the pain.

"See, Rowan?" Orsen's voice trembled, filled with a raw, desperate conviction. "She does care... she did come back! And she sent a response! After all these years, after everything..." His hands shook as he held the letter, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if the letter were some miraculous token of proof that his love had not been in vain.

Rowan stood still, watching his brother, his heart aching with the quiet sorrow that had always lived within Orsen. He had been there for all of it, the hopeless days, the constant painting, the letters, the belief that (Y/N) would return. But now, even with the letter in hand, he knew nothing would ever truly change for Orsen. The boy who loved her so deeply, so painfully, would never let go.

"Orsen-"

"I told you, Rowan!" Orsen interrupted, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill down Rowan’s spine. He didn't even hear his brother’s voice, his focus solely on the canvas beneath him. He dashed to his desk, where he'd been working for hours, and pulled out the latest painting of her, his masterpiece.

He held the canvas in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. His hands, once trembling with uncertainty, now steadied as he placed a soft kiss onto the painting of her.

"I knew you would," he whispered into the stillness of the room, the words soft, almost a prayer. "I knew you would, (Y/N)... I knew you’d come back to me."

His lips brushed the painted figure as though it were real, as though he were holding her in his arms once more. He collapsed beside it, curling up against the canvas as though it were her embrace. The painting of (Y/N) became his only solace, his only love.

And though the letter told him to move on, to accept the impossible, Orsen couldn't. He wouldn't.

He would live in his world of painted memories, of moments stolen from time. If that was all he could have, then that was enough. His heart belonged to her, now and always.

Rowan sighed, a heavy, sorrowful breath, and sat beside his brother, not knowing how to save him from the pain that would never fade.

── .✦

The years had been kinder to you in some ways. You had finally earned the respect you'd dreamed of, built a stable life, and found a steady income. Your parents, once worried, once ashamed, were proud now. They had a bungalow, a car, and all the comforts that came with your hard work. Adrian was a good man, his steady smile and warm presence had become a source of quiet comfort. Your parents approved of him, and in public, he fit the role of what they had always envisioned for you.

You had met Adrian at one of the official functions after the war, an event meant to honor veterans and those who had served. He had approached you politely, a charming young man from a good family, well-educated, and well-spoken. It was easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. He was kind, and considerate, and seemed genuinely interested in your experiences, nothing too probing, nothing too personal, and a touch of flirty which you found attracted to. The connection had been easy, and effortless. Over time, he had become more of a presence in your life, someone to lean on, someone to rely on when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

But in the quiet moments, when you caught him smiling or when his gentle presence filled the room, you couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if Orsen were here instead of him.

Had he listened to you? Had he chosen a different path? You had told him to move on, to find happiness elsewhere. But as you thought of him, still alone, still stubbornly clinging to something that had long since slipped away, you felt an overwhelming ache. You wondered if he was doing well if he had found peace, or if he was still trapped in the same loop of memories, the same quiet obsession that you had once shared.

The whispers that reached your ears spoke of his isolation. They called him a "spinster" in the most cruel terms, among their circle blaming him for wasting his life over a dream, for not letting go, and for refusing to welcome suitors. The town had forgotten the love he had once held for you, reduced it to mockery and judgment. And it stung more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just the cruel words, they blamed him, not you. But you still felt the guilt gnaw at you. If only you could have done something differently. If only you hadn’t pushed him away if only you had stayed.

You wished things could have been different, so different. Sometimes, you would drive by the road that led to the Elaris estate, the place where it had all started, where it had all fallen apart. You grimaced each time, your mind filled with the memories of Isolde’s cold arrogance, her cruel insults hurled at your mother, the disdain that had torn everything apart. You would never forget the way she looked down on your family. Never forget the way her words had stung.

And yet, despite it all, the quiet moments still haunted you. Adrian was everything you had ever been told to want. He was good, stable, and kind. But whenever you saw that smile, whenever you felt his hand on yours, the image of Orsen would slip into your mind, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered, what if?

"Ready for the date, love?" you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you slid into the driver's seat of your sleek Packard coupe. Adrian hopped in beside you, his excitement palpable as he fastened his seatbelt. The polished chrome gleamed under the fading sunlight, reflecting your success.

"Ready as ever," Adrian grinned, leaning in for a quick peck before you revved the engine.

As you pulled out onto the road, Adrian’s eyes sparkled with energy. "Oh my God, baby! Look! An exhibition! We should totally go there!"

"But what about our reservation?"

"We can eat somewhere else," he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. "I'm in the mood to go there now! And it’s going to be fun!"

"As you say, doll," you laughed, making a sharp turn, and Adrian’s hand instinctively gripped your arm as the car glided smoothly along the streets.

The gallery was quiet when you both entered, the sound of hushed conversations echoing in the background. But as soon as you stepped through the door, you both stopped in your tracks.

Every single wall was covered in paintings. And what made your heart skip a beat, what made the air feel heavy, was that every single painting was of you. Each canvas captured a moment, an expression, an angle of you. The portraits were hauntingly familiar, your face, your eyes, your presence, all staring back at you in ways that felt too intimate, too familiar.

Adrian stood beside you, his mouth agape as his eyes darted between the paintings. "What the hell is this?" His voice trembled with confusion, but his gaze never left the artwork.

You didn’t respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The words caught in your throat as the reality of the situation sank in. How had this happened? Why had someone done this?

You felt the walls closing in, the weight of every portrait suffocating you. The paintings weren’t just of you, they were a testament to someone who had been watching, remembering, and never letting go. They were not just of your face, but in parts too but all those parts...made a story , the story you were all too familiar with.

The garden...

The swing...of you pushing a boy...you knew too well.

your eyes...

your lips nuzzling in golden hair...

you working in the garden but the painter drew it as they...were in some balcony...

Adrian looked at you, searching your face for an explanation. "Do you know who did this?"

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper.

"Is this… is this really me?" you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice.

Adrian stood beside you, studying the painting. He gave you a gentle nudge. “Of course, it’s you. Look at that, love. It’s beautiful. Who could capture you like that? It's like they’ve seen the real you.”

Your mind was however not registering his words as you turned your eyes to the next painting. Another portrait of you. And another.

The entire gallery was filled with paintings of you. Each one more personal than the last.

Your breath hitched. The familiar, almost painful pull of longing twisted in your chest. The artist, who could it be? Why was this happening? You didn't want to think it, but you knew deep down. You knew this was Orsen’s doing.

Adrian sensed your shift in mood, his brow furrowing in concern. “What’s going on? This... this doesn’t seem like you to be so quiet.”

You turned to him, the weight of the paintings and your tangled emotions making your heart ache. "It’s… it’s him. Orsen."

Adrian’s face softened in understanding, his eyes scanning the gallery around you. "I thought you'd told me you had moved on from him. That you had buried that part of your life."

“I did,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I thought I had. But I didn’t expect this… to see him like this. To see him still... holding onto me."

Adrian studied you, his expression a mixture of concern and something softer, more understanding. He took your hand, gently guiding you towards the painting of you in the center of the room. “(Y/N), listen to me. This… this is what he’s been doing all this time. This is his heart, laid out on canvas. But you, you, need to follow yours now.”

Your heart raced as you turned to look at him. “I don’t know if I can,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “His mother… she ruined everything. I ruined everything.”

Adrian’s hand squeezed yours gently, and he looked you in the eyes, the sincerity in his expression unwavering. “But you’re not her, (Y/N). Don’t let her shadow stand in the way of what’s real. You feel it, don’t you? You feel that pull. The ache in your heart. You’ve never really let him go. He’s still there, inside you. Maybe it’s time to go to him. Maybe it’s time to follow your heart, before it’s too late. Be the woman you should be. For him."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Adrian’s eyes softened as he added, "Go to him, (Y/N). You owe it to yourself."

For a moment, you stood there, torn between the past and the future. But deep down, you knew what you had to do. Adrian was right. You had buried the love you shared with Orsen for too long, hidden behind walls of fear and shame. You couldn’t pretend anymore. The paintings were his way of reaching out to you, of showing you that he never stopped loving you, even when you were too proud or too afraid to admit it to yourself.

With a shaky breath, you turned to Adrian and smiled softly. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He smiled back, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “No need for that, love. Just be happy.”

After a comforting and final farewell with Adrian and dropping him you drove towards the Elaris estate. Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat louder than the last. You knew what was waiting for you. You knew that, despite all the years of pain and regret, Orsen was still out there, still holding onto you, waiting for you.

You didn’t know how you would face him, but you knew one thing for sure, you had to try.

When you arrived at the grand estate, it felt like stepping into the past. The familiar sight of the towering gates, the ivy-covered walls, all of it reminded you of everything you had left behind. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel, but you didn’t hesitate. You got out of the car and walked up to the grand doors, your heart heavy with the fear of what you might find.

Orsen’s mother answered the door, her face cold and dismissive as ever. “You’ve come back for more, have you? He’s upstairs, but don’t think this will end well.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. She could fuck herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you arrived at his door. You hesitated for just a moment before knocking.

"Orsen?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. “Orsen, it’s me.”

For a long moment, there was silence. But then, the door creaked open, and there he stood, your Orsen. His eyes widened in shock as he saw you, standing there on his doorstep after all these years.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I came, Orsen....I did..."

The years between you didn’t matter anymore. The world outside could’ve been falling apart, but in that moment, all that mattered was him. And you. Together, at last.

Orsen’s voice trembled as he spoke those words, his hands shaking as he reached for you, his face painted with disbelief. "I never stopped loving you. I never gave up on us."

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, and then, without another thought, you stepped forward. The distance that had kept you apart for so long seemed to vanish as he collapsed into your arms.

Orsen's breath hitched as you wrapped your arms tightly around you, You could feel his tears against your neck, the way his body trembled as he let out a sob, quiet at first, but then growing louder, more desperate.

"I thought you were lost to me forever," he whispered between gasps, his voice cracking with emotion. "I tho-ught--I thought you would never come back."

You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing your cheek against the top of his head as he cried. His sobs were broken, painful, as if years of longing and heartache were finally being released. It hurt to see him like this, but it also made you realize just how much you had missed him, how deeply he had always felt for you.

"I’m here," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, but the words felt like a promise. "I’m here, Orsen. I never wanted to leave you. I was a coward--a fucking coward...a bastard. That's what I am."

Orsen pulled back just slightly to look at you, his tear-streaked face full of vulnerability. He reached up to touch your face, your jawline, his fingertips brushing gently over your cheeks as though he couldn't quite believe you were really there.

"You... you never stopped loving me?" His voice was raw, a mix of hope and doubt.

"I never did, never" you said, your own tears starting to slip free. "I just... I was afraid. Of everything."

He shook his head, a soft smile breaking through the tears, though it was a broken one. "Yo-u are not a coward....you are my everything...I-I feel as if I can breathe ag-ain (Y/N)...I love you..."

"Oh Orsen..." You pulled him to your arms again as you both now sat on the carpeted floor. " I love you too. Always. I am so sorry.."

You hugged him tighter, your body pressed against his as he continued to sob in your arms, his tears soaking into your clothes, but you didn’t care. You held him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, making you realize that all the pain, all the time spent apart, didn’t matter anymore. You were here now, together.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself cry, the tears falling freely as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally lifted. His arms were around you, and he was holding you so tightly, as though he would never let go again.

And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped turning. All that mattered was the two of you, your past, your fears, your love, all of it was there, unfolding in his arms. Orsen had always been your home, and now, finally, you were both back where you belonged.

It didn’t matter that the world outside remained uncertain, that Isolde still cast her shadow over Orsen’s name, or that the whispers of the past lingered like unwanted ghosts. When you finally stood together with Orsen, hand in hand, the rest of the world fell away. You had spent too long apart, too long in the agony of wondering “what if,” but now, there were no more questions. No more waiting.

As Orsen stood beside you, the man who had loved you for all these years, he seemed almost too perfect to be real. His emerald eyes, the same ones that had once searched for you in the distance, now held you in a steady, comforting gaze.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered to you as you exchanged vows, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was never going to feel your arms around me again, never hear you say my name.”

“You never lost me, Orsen,” you responded, your voice steady, but your heart thundering in your chest. "I was always here..."

And then, as if nothing else mattered, you sealed your promises to each other with a kiss that was as soft as the years you had spent apart, as fierce as the love you now shared.

The years of separation melted away in that one, perfect moment, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of your past was lighter. You had come back to each other, and that was all that truly mattered.

After the wedding, life settled into a quiet rhythm. You and Orsen moved into the bungalow. It wasn’t grand compared to where he came from, but it was nonetheless a heaven for him. Every room held a piece of you both, and slowly, you began to build a new life.

Orsen often found himself in the garden, his hands in the dirt, tending to the flowers that now bloomed as brightly as his heart. You would watch him from the kitchen window, leaning against the frame, a smile tugging at your lips as you admired the way he made everything seem so effortless. The way he painted in the garden. His laugh, when he caught sight of you watching, was soft and full of warmth.

At night, you would share simple dinners, just the two of you, with candles flickering in the dim light. Orsen would tell you stories of his of the times when he had been filled with hope and dreams, waiting for you to come back to him. You shared your own tales, of the war, of the triumphs and the losses, the people you met, and the battles you fought. And yes of course, talking about the memories of your childhood...the most cherished ones.

But the best moments, the ones you cherished the most, were the quiet ones. The evenings when Orsen would in your lap, his arm around your neck as he clung to you, as you both listened to the wind rustling through the trees, and the sound of crickets filling the air.

You never spoke of Isolde much. She remained a distant, bitter part of Orsen’s past. And while she still tried to cause trouble, trying to remind Orsen of what he “could have had,” you both knew that she no longer had a place in your life. She had lost him, and that was all that mattered. You had heard how she had suffered losses in her business and for Orsen and you, it seems like she was facing the consequences of her ego and stubbornness.

Sometimes, you would take walks through the town, just the two of you, your fingers intertwined, the sun setting in the distance. The people who had once whispered about your union now smiled, and you would catch the glint of admiration in their eyes. You had proven that love, even in the face of all odds, could survive.

One evening, as you both sat on the porch, the stars beginning to twinkle above, Orsen turned to you, his eyes soft and filled with a quiet happiness.

“Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

You smiled and shook your head. “No. I think about now. I think about you and me. This. That’s enough for me.”

And Orsen, ever the poet, kissed you gently, his lips lingering on yours in a quiet promise that this love, this life, was all that mattered now.

The past was gone. The future was still unwritten, but you were both finally, truly together, and that was more than you had ever dared to dream.

In the warmth of each other’s arms, you knew, finally, that no matter what the world might throw your way, you had everything you needed. You had each other.

You did it. You fought for him...no, you both did, in fact you felt ashamed sometimes that it was Orsen who really did. He remained true to his word, his love.

Now none of the bitter past mattered. What mattered was that you two were now bound.

And that was enough.

── .✦

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the bungalow, and the soft hum of evening filled the air. The days had stretched into years, and now, the soft patter of little feet echoed through the house.

The twins, Isla and Blair, were running around the garden, laughing as they chased each other between the rows of flowers that Orsen had lovingly tended. Isla’s bright curls bounced with each step, her fiery energy matching her mother’s, while Blair, a little more reserved, hid behind a bush before springing out with a playful shout. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them, so full of life, so full of joy.

Orsen stood beside you, a proud smile on his face as he adjusted the collar of your shirt, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the children for long.

"Think they'll ever slow down?" he asked, his voice warm, though laced with a hint of exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Not as long as they have that energy. They're just like you at their age, honey."

"I was never that much trouble," Orsen said, feigning innocence, though his smile betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You want me to remind you about the treehouse incident?”

He laughed leaning back on your chest, the sound rich and full. "Alright, alright, maybe I was a bit much. But they’ve got your fire in them, that’s for sure. I see it every day. It’s like they’re part of both of us."

"You can say that again. Isla's already giving Rowan a run for his money with her mischief."

You then nuzzled the side of his soft and milky neck, feeling the warmth and peppered light kisses as he giggled. "And definitely got your streak of being a brat."

"Oh, shut up you..." His voice softened, looking up at you with a dreamy gaze. He cupped your jaw gently, his thumb brushing the line of your cheek as his eyes traced the lines of your face. "You know...this was my dream, and I would sacrifice everything a million times for this... for you."

You shook your head, smiling tenderly as you brought his soft hand to your lips. "You sacrificed enough. It's my time to do that." You kissed his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin and the quiet ache of love that swelled in your chest. He swore he melted right then and there, his heart swelling with emotion.

"I WANNA KISSHY TOO!" Isla’s voice broke the moment as she wobbled over, her little face scrunched with exaggerated impatience. You chuckled, easily scooping up your three-year-old daughter, her giggles filling the air as she flung her arms around your neck.

"Do you now?" You teased, smiling at her. "Then kisshies you get. And you too, little mister." With one swift motion, you scooped up Blair in your other arm, planting kisses all over both their little faces. Their giggles filled the space around you, a sweet symphony of innocence and love.

Orsen laughed softly, his eyes twinkling as he watched the scene unfold before him. The sight of you, his family, so full of life and laughter, was a dream he had never dared to speak aloud, one he was living every single day. He sighed in contentment, his heart swelling at the sight. It was everything he had hoped for and more.

All his art had come to life, and it was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Every brushstroke, every moment of uncertainty, had led to this, a home filled with love, with laughter, with a family bound by unspoken understanding, and, most importantly, by the love that had always been there.

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cherishedhope · 5 months ago

Text

Dormleaders Reacting to Their Fanbase.

Genre: Crack?? I think it's crack. Not sure. Characters involved: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus. Synopsis: How I think they would react to having so many fans, fanfictions, etc. A/N: I made this a little short. Sorry. :( anyway enjoy!! <3 Disclaimer: This is solely for entertainment purposes only. No hate to any of the ships mentioned!! Characters could potentially be ooc. Mentions of NSFW content but there isn’t actually any in the post. NOT proofread. A/N 2: Malleus’s part was inspired by a convo I had w @moonswolfie . Go follow her. Her twst stories are just- *chefs kiss* Requests: Open!

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— He's a bit shocked that he has a whole ass fanbase. Like-?? What?? I mean, yeah, he's well-known around the school but not for good reasons. But to know that he has thousands of people who actually enjoy are obsessed with him is pretty flattering.

— Ace and Deuce are also just as surprised if not more so. Probably even questioning the tastes of the people in our world.

— Appalled when he sees a bunch of posts dissing his mom. (does find it comforting knowing all of them are on his side and seriously questions his upbringing.)

— Turns into a tomato at an impossible rate of two seconds when he sees that a LOT of people are shipping him with Trey. A bunch of screaming and incoherent stuttering. I don’t think he has ever thought of Trey as more than a friend before. (Ace is dying in the background.) — Cater has already warned him of the nsfw tags so Riddle steers FAR FAR FAR away from it. His brain is already having trouble processing that he has people that ADORE everything about him. He can’t handle reading himself being intimate with hundreds of people. He does read a fluffy fic or two.

— I feel like he would take notes of how he acts in the fanfictions so he can apply fanfic Riddle’s actions to himself.

— Art? People make art of him? — Feels a sense of pride when he looks at the drawings people make of him. He’s flattered!

— Flustered as hell, but also super happy about it. Whenever he feels down he’ll think about all the people that like him and he starts feeling a lot better. :)

— THIS COCKY MF

— HE IS SO SMUG ABOUT IT

— Considers building an entire empire of his own with you guys as his loyal, devoted subjects. Then ultimately decides not to because that’s too much work and not enough time for sleep. (Then again, we would probably understand. You guys wouldn’t dare question HIM, right??)

— Definitely rubs it in Malleus’s face the first chance he gets.

— He is watching every single edit of himself he can find. Y’all don’t understand how big of a stroke this is to his ego. His head?? It's bigger than a hot air balloon at this point. Who wouldn’t react that way if someone made edits of them? It is a huge ego boost!

— Finally, after so long, he isn’t referred to as “Falena’s brother.” No. He is Leona Kingscholar. People like HIM. Hell, he could start an entire army with all the fans he has!

— Nothing can ruin his day.

— …..

— Physically recoils when he sees the Malleus x Leona tag. Powers off his phone and then throws it against the wall. He has never been more disgusted and disappointed in all of his life.

— he still likes you guys!! dw. Just give him a couple minutes hours and maybe he’ll get over it.

— What?

— Sorry, yeah, no, he isn’t believing any of you. There is NO way people would willingly sign up for one of his contracts and enjoy it.

— Once he finally snaps out of Denial River, he is still in disbelief. That quickly gives way to him scheming and plotting on how to use this to his advantage.

— Is a customer acting rowdy after signing one of his deals? Trying to sue him over it? Well, now he has thousands of witnesses to back him up. No one can touch him now. He is the most powerful of all!

— Someone tries to attack him? Tweels, release the hounds.

— He is UNTOUCHABLE

— He's too shy to read the fanfics. And he doesn’t wanna look at the edits of himself either. It makes him cringe inside. Not because of them being made. No, the people creating them have great talent. But the reason is because it's him. — He gets curious after a while and does take a look at one edit. JUST ONE!

— And now he's hiding out in his octopot scrolling through as many as he can find. He cries seeing all the love he gets.

— He prints out some of the fanart and hangs it up in his room.

— Whenever he feels self conscious he looks at the edits and then he’s all smiles and as confident as ever.

— FANS?? HIM??

— EEEE!!!!

— :DDDD

— NO WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!

— SCREAMING! JUMPING ALL OVER THE ROOM! SO MANY FRIENDS! KICKING HIS FEET AND GIGGLING! He wants to meet all of you!

— Feels obligated to read every fanfiction, like every fanart, watch every edit. Not because he wants to make himself feel good about it, but because he wants to see how talented you guys are! And he is not disappointed.

— Gets really sad when he realizes that he can't talk to any of you guys.

— :(

— JamiKali? What’s JamiKali? What's a ship??

— Nsfw?? What does that mean?

— It doesn’t take long for Jamil to take his phone away. He probably even puts restrictions on it so Kalim doesn’t get exposed to the more inappropriate side of his fanbase.

— He does not care.

— Flattered, sure, but not as excited as the others are. Yeah, it's surprising that people still worship the ground he walks on even in another world, but not too shocking.

— He scrolls through a bunch of fan arts and criticizes them. If it doesn't resemble him perfectly then he doesn’t care for it.

— Unironically calls you guys his “adoring” fans.

— Doesn’t even look at the fanfics. He already knows that he'll see things that aren't accurate to his character. (little does he know, a lot of people write him pretty well 😭)

— REFUSES to look at the ships. He doesn’t want to see people shipping him with Neige. He already deals with it from the fans in his world so he doesn’t want to see it in another.

— Most of his reaction to this is basically “um yeah, obviously I have a fanbase. 🙄”

— Like Azul, he also does not believe it. Him?? Why would someone as insignificant as him have a fanbase? You guys must have gotten knocked on the head or something when you were younger.

— Dies and ascends to heaven once he sees that people make fanfics/art/edits of him. HE IS EXPLODING WITH HAPPINESS. Holes himself up in his room and binges e v e r y t h i n g. He makes a collage of all his favorite fanarts and uses it as his wallpaper.

— Dies again when he finds out there are figurines of him. And plushies. And rings. And and and and.

— I think his favorite out of all of this would be the fanart. Have you guys seen Ignihyde stans?? Their art is literally gorgeous omksn

— His hair instantly transforms into pink flames when he spots the ships. Him with Azul? Him with Lilia?? Him with Silver?

— Considers each and every ship he sees. I doubt he can look the other person in the eye for a while.

— His self-esteem grows a lot bit so consider that a job well done for being an Idia stan 👍

— What is a fanbase?

— The only thing this man is going to understand is the art part of everything. He’s probably used to having his portrait done in Briar Valley, so that is the only thing his mind can figure out.

— Other than that, what is a “fan fic”? What is the point of moving pictures of him with upbeat music? A ship? Why do people keep saying he's in a ship with some random person from NRC? He is clearly on the ground by himself.

— After Lilia spends the next three hours explaining everything to clueless dragon boy, Malleus finally slightly understands what the internet is. (He still doesn’t understand ships.)

— So many new additions to the gargoyle club!! On the outside he appears calm and neutral but internally he is ecstatic and doing what humans call “running around the room screaming and crying.” There are so many humans that are interested in him droning on about gargoyles! Some even want to participate in the conversation!

— Sebek is in the background complimenting all of you for having good taste and following the young master.

— He's touched by the fact that so many humans are like Yuu and don’t find him intimidating at all and even look up to him as a father figure :) (Lilia failed to tell Malleus about what the “daddy” comments truly entail. )

— He does not care that you guys are in another world. He is gonna find a way to get into contact w y’all. He is NOT letting this many friends go to waste. 😤😤

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 2 months ago

Note

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! 🥳🎈🎂🎁

“What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?" with Kid (fem!reader, NSFW) pretty please? <3

Hello, anon! Thank you for the birthday wishes (it feels weird still thanking birthday wishes when it's been more than a month!). Thank you so much for your request, it turned out to be one of my favourites! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writting it!

Art: Here; Artist: @wesaier (pleeeease follow, such amazing art!)

Reverence 🔞

Word Count: 6302

Tags: Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Kid has both arms; Posessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Reverent!Kid; Fluff and Romance; Love Confessions; Body Worship; Just Worship in general; NSFW; MDNI; Fingering; Vaginal Penetration; Oops, no protection (wrap it up, peeps);

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid are neighbours and very good friends. You flirt a lot, all in good fun, obviously, and he makes fun of every single one of your loser dates. When the last date goes south and you call Kid for help, will your relationship blosom into something else?

|Masterlist|

The clock’s nearly at the hour, but you're almost ready anyway, just some finishing touches on your hair and makeup, and you'll be done. “I look hot.” You say as a pep talk to your reflection and do a little twirl. Hot dress, nice makeup, perfect hair, you're ready for a nice date in town.

And you're more than ready for it to end up with a nice, hot lay. Third-date rule be damned to hell. You've been in the longest dry spell since forever, and your toys aren't quite cutting it at the moment, but the dating scene isn't really offering the best choice of male specimens around. Maybe this time you'll get lucky.

Just as the clock turns to the hour, the doorbell rings. You give yourself one last nod before heading out of the bathroom and opening the door with a bright smile. One that immediately falls at the sight that greets you.

“Kid?”

“Well, well, well. Look at ye, all dolled up for a night in town? Another one of yer charity cases ye insist on callin’ dates?”

A twitch of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you don't fully smile, instead you cock your head to the side and place a hand on your hip. “Hey, at least I get out of the house, you big hermit.”

You’ve known Kid for almost a year, since you moved into the building. He looks menacing and gruff with all his ear piercings, huge size, and spiky red hair, but you suspect he's a big softie on the inside. You and he flirt and banter like there's no tomorrow and, admittedly, he's been the star of a few of your fantasies, but neither of you has decided to take things further. Perhaps because living in the same building has every chance of making it awkward if things go wrong. Still, you're good friends.

He owns a mechanic’s garage and has saved your ass more times than you can count. Be it because of car troubles, leaking faucets, or visiting snakes - yes, that’s happened. He’s always there for you, and he’s the first person you go to when you’re in trouble. You have thought of him with more fondness than you would for a normal friend, but just like you two never pushed the limits of your friendship for sex, you wouldn’t even consider bending them for romantic involvement.

“What are ye yappin’ about? I just got in! Been working till now.”

He moves past you and makes himself comfortable on your couch, manspreading while you search around for the perfect pair of heels to complement your dress.

“All work and no play, Kid? No wonder you're no fun. Hey, do these work?” You strut around in the highest pair of heels you own, ones that make your legs go on for days. Kid's eyes follow you around as he focuses on your shoes, then his eyes follow your legs, bum - you give him a few poses so he can judge - chest, and finally settles on your face. His eyes seem darker, and there's no hint of his usual smirk on his lips.

Clearing his throat, he averts his gaze with just the barest flush on his cheeks. “They work alright. Maybe too good.” He mutters. “Who’s the asshole?” Kid checks his watch and grins. “He's already ten minutes late, are you sure he's worth it? Don't even put up the effort.”

“Maybe he got lost?” You try, with a heavy sigh. It’s a setup date. A work friend's cousin or something like that. He's hot, and today that's all that really matters.

“Aye, aye. Ye do know how to pick’em. Ye always choose the random losers to go out on dates.” He lets out a loud, barking laugh. “I told ye before, I’ll say it again: ye don’t need to leave the building if ye want company. I’m right here, lass.”

His cocky smirk is endearing, and that familiar warmth that comes from his flirting and all the attention he spares you always manages to make you smile like a silly little girl, but just before you manage to answer him, the doorbell rings again

“Oh, it's him. Kid, get out.” Kid sighs and gets up, standing behind you with an intimidating stance as you open the door. “Hi! I was afraid you weren't going to show up.” You try to lighten the mood with a small giggle, and Kid mutters something behind you. Your date smiles widely, barely notices Kid, and openly stares at you, taking you in head to toe.

“Well, the photo my cousin showed does not do you justice. Had I known, I would've come faster.” Oh, God. Is he really going to be just another asshole? You can already feel it.

Kid growls behind you and steps out of your apartment, making sure your date acknowledges his presence now, but you continue speaking, trying to defuse the situation. “This is my friend, Kid. He was just leaving.” You emphasise the last words and raise your brows at Kid, who merely grunts. “Shall we go?”

“Oi, lass, better take a coat, no?” Kid’s scowl deepens as he gives you another once-over, clearly catching all the ogling your date is giving you.

“Don't worry, friend, I'll make sure she stays warm.”

And before Kid says - or does - anything to your date before it even has the chance to start, you push him down the hallway so he can go to his house. “Bye, Kid. Don't wait up.”

-*-

The date sucks. Your date is obnoxious, self-centred, arrogant, and a downright prick. By dessert, you're dying to go home. His conversations are dull, and he barely lets you speak, instead filling every opportunity with something remarkable about himself.

Plus, he makes you split the bill.

When you make it outside the restaurant, he sets his hand on your lower back, and you warm a bit, thinking he's about to pull you close and trade places with you, obeying the sidewalk rule like a gentleman. Instead, the prick gropes your ass.

“Can you just take me home?” You grunt, clearly over this date, so he leads you to his car.

-*-

Kid keeps tossing and turning in his bed. He needs to sleep. He has to get up early in the morning. But you're still not home. He doesn't mean to pry, but he always hears the soft clicks of your heels in the hallway and the setting of your lock in place when you enter your home. Only when he hears those sounds can he rest at ease. If not, he keeps wondering if you're alright, if you're hurt, if your prick of a date tried something, or worse… if you actually liked him and he's going to have to get used to seeing you with some other man who’s not him.

A heavy sigh parts his lips, and he's wondering if he'll be able to get up in the morning if he indulges in a few glasses of scotch. He's considering taking his chances when his phone rings. It's you. Kid’s heart skips a beat, his head immediately considering all the possible wrong things that may have happened as he presses the green button to take your call.

“Lass?”

“Kid, thank God you're awake. My date's car broke down. Can you come and… fix it?”

What the fuck?

“No! It's almost midnight, I'm not going there to fix his car so ye two can get laid. Grab a cab!”

He's actually pissed you called just for that. Like he gives two shits about helping the asshole get laid. With you!

“Kid… please, can you come?” Except there's something else in your voice, a vulnerability he's never heard before, almost as if you're scared of something, on edge.

Has the bastard done something to you?

“Send me yer location. Now.” He gets dressed in the blink of an eye, packing his pocket knife before leaving the house.

-*-

You're so cold. No, that's putting it lightly, it literally feels like you're stranded in the North Pole. You should've just brought a jacket like Kid said. But then again, how could you have guessed you'd be standing in the gusting wind with nothing but your skimpy dress on? You were supposed to be inside a restaurant, then the car, and then, if everything went well, your house and your bed.

But now, your date is inside the car with a bloody - probably broken - nose, cursing you, and you're outside with your pepper spray ready in hand in case the asshole tries anything else.

After what feels like forever, you hear the loud rumbling of Kid's motorcycle and let out the biggest sigh of relief ever. Seconds later the headlights of his Harley Davidson shine on the curb and he stops the bike in front of you. As soon as he steps out and removes his helmet, his usual scowl turns into a full frown, teeth baring as he glances from you, to your hand, and to your prick of a date. Without a word, he removes his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, helping you pass your arms through the sleeves. While he's zipping it up, he growls. “What the fuck happened?”

Still shivering, you sigh into the warmth of the jacket, inhaling Kid's familiar scent: metal, gasoline, and something musky that feels like home. Then you shrug and pout. “He got handsy. I don't like liberties, so I punched him.”

You can see Kid fighting off an amused smirk. “Ye broke his nose?”

“Just a little.” You whine.

Kid looks at you, chin up and a full smirk on his lips now. Then he pats your head. “That's my girl.”

Just on cue, the asshole opens up his car door, and Kid grins at the sight. The prick’s eyes are already darkening with bruises, his nose looks crooked, and there are blood splatters all over him.

“You the mechanic? Figured.” He scoffs. “Fix my car, then! I want to get out of here and away from that crazy bitch.”

You flinch and shake your head. That was a wrong move. If he thinks you're crazy, he's about to get a dose of Eustass Kid he won't forget.

“Kid, there’s no need to hurt him anymore. I don’t want him to call the cops.”

Kid chuckles low, reaches into his pocket, and takes out his trusted pocket knife, twirling it in his hand like a toy. “Listen here, buddy.” Kid pins the man to his car with a mere look. The poor bloke nearly trips over his feet just to gain some distance. “When ye get home tonight, yer going to say a little prayer to whatever angel’s watchin’ over you, because if the lady - not a crazy bitch, ye asshole - didn't tell me not to hurt ye, ye’d leave here with a lot more than just a broken nose.” Kid laughs some more as he pulls back. “But I'll fix yer car, I'll fix it up real good.”

Popping the hood open, Kid starts cutting wires with his knife. You don't know shit about mechanics, but you’re pretty sure that cutting those wires isn’t going to make the car start.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing? You're not fixing it!”

“No?” Kid closes the hood, drags the pocket knife along the side of the car, and slashes two tires. “Oops. Maybe I'm just not a very good mechanic.” Kid rounds the car and slashes the other two tires, stopping in front of the prick again. “But I'm not that bad. I'm goin’ to give ya two options, ye arse. One, ye stay in yer car ‘till mornin’ and try to get a tow to collect this piece of junk. Two, ye start walkin’ and pray you reach town by mornin’.”

“What?” The man asks, eyes wide and scared.

“Oh, the important part. I'll be callin’ every shop around so they can refuse ye service, but they only open in the mornin’. So if ye want yer car fixed, better start walkin’ and pray ye reach a shop before I call ‘em.”

“But, but… we're in the middle of nowhere! It'll take all night to get to town!” He whines, a trickle of blood still dripping from his crooked nose. “And I'm hurt!”

Kid leans in, his scowling face almost on top of the asshole, and you revel at the way he cowers in fear. “Should've thought of that before ye groped a feel, aye, bastard?” Then Kid pulls his fist back, and the man screams, but Kid just laughs at his cowardice, turns his back to him, and pockets his knife. “I'd start walkin’ if I were ye.”

You smirk as you hear the car lock and watch your failed date’s retreating form.

“Thanks, Kid.” Your words are a mere mumble. You don't really want to admit that you should've just stayed home, like Kid told you to. But he merely grunts as he walks to his bike, plucking his helmet from the handlebars and placing it over your head with a soft pat.

“Aye, lass.” His thick fingers reach beneath the helmet, grazing your skin as he fastens the strap tightly to fit your smaller head. The fierceness of his bronze gaze as he stares through the open visor makes you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. With another grunt and a muffled curse, he hooks two fingers under the helmet and pulls you close, making you stumble and face him with wide-open eyes. “No more asshole dates. Got it?” His gaze burns into yours, and you nod just before he slams your visor down and lets go of the helmet. “Let's get out of here.”

As soon as he turns on the bike, revving the engine, you feel hot tears stream down your cheeks. You were acting tough and badass, but things could've gone terribly wrong tonight. You could've frozen instead of punching him; he could've manhandled you and forced you into whatever he wanted; instead of a bruised up ego, you could've ended up much worse. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can’t seem to keep the tears away.

No one will see you cry anyway.

So you wrap your arms tight around Kid, your knees pressing into his sides as you fix your feet on the pegs. You're safe now. Kid has always brought you a sense of safety, even though you never really needed it before. That's why you called him tonight, not because he's a mechanic, but because you needed him. Not even to take care of the guy - you certainly did that - but just knowing he would come if you asked… that's everything.

The ride is long until you get home, so you can cry it all out now. He won't notice.

Except he does notice, because his big hand wraps around your knee, squeezing tightly and caressing it after. The soft gesture only makes you sob harder, so you hold him even tighter.

You notice his heavy scowl when he tilts his head back. “Ye alright there, lass?” You try to speak, but if you open your mouth, you know that you'll only sob, so you just squeeze him tighter. Kid grunts and, after a moment, he slows down the bike and turns onto a smaller road, driving you to a secluded clearing surrounded by trees.

As soon as the bike stops, you scramble to get off, unzip the jacket, leaving it open and fumble with the helmet strap, your fingers shaking like leaves. “Oi, oi, calm down, lass.” His fingers move swiftly as he helps you unstrap the helmet and sets it on the handlebars. “What's wrong?”

You shake your head, swallowing tears and wiping your face clean. Kid reaches out, hand in the air as he tries to cup your cheek, but you take a step back and bite your lower lip, stifling another sob. “I’m fine.” You mutter without meeting his gaze. Your voice wavers on the words, and you sound weak. “It’s nothing. I don’t need coddling.”

Kid scoffs slightly, his eyebrow raising as he takes a step back, giving you the space you clearly need. “Yer shakin’ like a damned leaf. Don’t need to act tough. It’s just me here.” The softness beneath his rough tone makes you want to cry harder, so you just nod. “Yer tough as steel, lass, I know that. But even steel gets bent now and then. And it's okay.”

Another tear escapes your eyes, and you swipe the sleeve of Kid’s jacket against your face, angrily, your shoulders squaring as you raise your chin, a humourless laugh escaping your lips, even though your eyes don’t meet his. “I guess I should’ve listened to you, huh? You kept telling me not to bother with random losers who don’t deserve me… and yet… I didn't listen.”

Your words carry all the weight of the world in them. Unspoken possibilities of ignored ‘what ifs’. If you had listened to Kid, would you feel less vulnerable? If you hadn’t dressed so provocatively, would the asshole still have tried something?

“Don’t go there, lass. Ye don’t gotta blame yerself for the actions of an arse.” His fingers inch forward, flexing and grasping at the air, like he wants to hold you or comfort you. Like he means to put your broken pieces back together so he can fix you. “Ye didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

“But what if I did?” You ask, exasperated, arms stretching wide as a hiccup fights its way up your throat. “He said so himself: ‘why are you denying me when you’re dressed like a slut? It’s like you’re asking for it!’ So what if I was? Asking for it? What if I had dressed–..”

“No!” Kid walks forward, his hands cupping your face so you finally look at him. “Ye weren’t asking for anythin’. If he can’t keep it in his pants, that’s on him. Not ye.” Kid nearly growls, you can almost feel the anger seething through his pores. It’s almost as if he’s weighing getting back on the bike and finding your date to hurt him.

You step back, breaking contact again. “But what if I froze, Kid? What if I didn’t have it in me to punch him? To push him? It all happened so fast… I could’ve done something different, I–...”

“Ye did what ye had to do. Yer strong as fuck, and ye showed him that. I don’t think that nose is ever gonna heal straight.” Kid cocks his head and shoves your shoulder playfully, trying to distract you. “Ye got a mean hook.”

A semblance of a laugh leaves your lips, and you turn your hand into a fist, swinging it in the air. “Yeah, I know. I locked it all the way back like this, and then… Bam! Right on the nose!” You swing straight for Kid, trying to alleviate the tension.

He barks a laugh and grabs your wrist mid-air, stopping your swing. “So strong, lass. If I were a fly, I’d be dead right now.” You chuckle, and some of the dread from before leaves your chest. Kid’s eyes fall on your bruised knuckles, and they soften. “It was a shite situation ye were put in. It was not yer fault. There was nothin’ ye could’ve done different, got it?” He gently kisses your knuckles before caressing them with his thumb.

“I just… I… God, this is so stupid.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m lonely, Kid. It’s stupid, and I know it. I don’t need a man to be fulfilled, but I am. I’m lonely.” Shaking your head, you remove your hand from his grip and hide your face in your hands.

“Lonely?” Kid repeats your words, his voice rougher again. “What do ye mean? Ye got me, aye?”

Your laugh strikes suddenly, mirthful at first, then simmering down to a resigned smile. “That’s what you said. You told me I didn’t even need to leave the building if I wanted company.”

He smirks and takes a step closer to you. “Exactly. But I didn’t mean it like ye don’t deserve the world, lass. I meant it like… like I can be the one to give ye that world, if ye let me.” His cheeks flush a bit red, his voice is still rough, but his eyes are filled with gentleness.

Your gaze meets his again, and you blink several times. He’s looking at you like nothing else matters in the world. Almost as if you and he are the only important thing happening right now and you have the distinct feeling that if there were a war raging around you, you would still be the only thing that mattered to him.

“Tell me, lass. What if I kissed ye right now, hm?” His hands grab yours, his calloused thumb tracing circles on your knuckles. “Would ye stop me?”

What?

Your chest heaves with heavy breaths as your heart hammers away. You don’t want to stop him at all. You want him. You’ve wanted him for a while, and your tired brain tells you that maybe that’s why none of your dates worked. Because, unconsciously, they were not the ones your heart and body craved.

Your eyes soften as you take another step closer to Kid. “Why don’t you give it a try?” The whispered words are a promise of compliance, and Kid lets out a shaky growl before leaning down and taking your lips in his. His hand finds your neck, and he entwines his fingers through your locks, his mouth claiming yours as his other hand finds your waist and pulls you closer.

You sigh into the kiss, clenching his shirt with your hands, moulding yourself into his body like he’s your lifeline. This is all you’ve ever wanted, and you can’t even begin to fathom why you thought this was crossing a line.

Breathless, you both pull back while Kid’s hands cup your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. “Kid… I want more.” You plead, your nails digging into his muscular chest.

“Ye sure, lass?” The roughness in his voice tells you he’s as overwhelmed as you are. “Because if I start, I’m not gonna want to stop.”

The words make your stomach flip, and you grin, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer to you. “I don’t want you to stop.” Then his lips are on yours again. The kiss is more urgent, fiery, and hungry. His hands roam your sides, settling on your hips and pulling you impossibly closer. He pulls back a smidge, breaths still mingling as he kisses his way down your jawline, his hand settling on your neck and tilting it to the side for better access.

“All this time watchin’ ye leave the apartment to go on dates with losers.” Kid nibbles your neck and sucks, pulling a mewl from your lips. “Knowin’ they’d never treat ye right, like ye deserve. None of them knew what a gem ye are.” Another lick and bite on the curve of your neck makes you gasp and roll your eyes, your arms wandering up and holding Kid by his neck.

With a quick pull, Kid lifts you off the ground, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling your dress ride up with the action, not caring one bit. He backtracks you to the bike and sets you sideways on the seat. As you fix your stare on his fiery eyes, all you can see is hunger and devotion, and that sends a thrill through your spine.

“I only want you, Kid.” You pull him down again, allowing him to take your tongue in his with languid strokes of passion. His fingers trace your collarbone and slither beneath the jacket to your shoulders. With a tug, he pulls the jacket off, and you shimmy out of the fabric, leaving your arms bare for him to caress.

“Damn right. I know how to treat ye right. Ye’ll see. Fuckin’ losers. Night after night, agonisin’ when ye’d choose one to be yer boyfriend.” He growls near your ear, his fingers never stopping their silent worship on your body, lighting fires with each stroke and igniting a heat between your thighs that starts to demand attention. He pulls back for a moment, placing his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting it up so you can meet his eyes through the fog of desire that clouds them.

“Five.”

“What?” You ask, still dazed, your body tingling from all the kisses and touches he’s laying on you.

“I watched ye go out with five losers this month alone.” Five? You can barely remember three, that’s how unmemorable they were. Kid leans in, brushing your ear with his lips, his other hand travelling to your nipple and toying with it through the fabric, making you suck in a breath. “That’s how many times ye’ll come for me tonight, lass. To make sure ye forget those losers.”

Five times?

“Kid, I–...” You begin, but he cuts your rambling with another soul-shattering kiss, his hands plucking your breast from the confines of your skimpy dress and fully groping it. Instinctively, you buck your hips against him, trying to grind him or feel some friction, anything.

“Calm down, lass. We have plenty of time. I’m not gonna rush anythin’. I told ye, I’m gonna treat ye right.” He lowers his lips, tracing a line of kisses from your neck to your collarbone, and then he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and twirling it against his teeth, pulling a deep moan from your lips. “Fuck, ye sound better than I ever imagined.”

Kid lets go of you and climbs onto the seat of the bike. You’re about to turn to him, but he turns you around, making you face the handles of the bike, your back flush against his chest. Then he spreads your legs open, placing them over his thighs. You shiver when the cold wind hits your sensitive spot, your panties already soaked through. “Lean back, lass.”

Breathing faster and faster from anticipation, you melt against him, feeling his taut muscles ripple against your back. Your dress has ridden all the way to your hips, baring your legs to him and leaving you exposed. Kid uses one hand to tease your nipple while still kissing your neck and the curve of your shoulder. Then his other hand, traces the inside of your thigh, creeping closer to your core, making you gasp and hold your breath in want and need.

“Kid!” Your plea is evident, but you know he’s going to take his time with you. Everything about the situation has you on edge already. The powerful feel of his bike beneath you, his strong muscular frame enveloping you, his fingers hovering just near your entrance.

“So perfect, look at ye. See how well ye fit against me? Like ye were made just for me?” His fingers trace your slit over the panties, testing and teasing. “See? All wet and ready for what I have to give to ye. I can be all ye ever want, lass. Just let me.”

“Yes, Kid, please. I want you to.” His scent is intoxicating. It clings to you like a second skin, enveloping you in safety, warmth, and so much desire.

With a desperate grunt, Kid shifts your panties and plunges one digit inside your slit, turning your plea into a wanton moan as you arch your back, your hands finding purchase against his muscular thighs.

“So wet for me. Look at ye. I want to hear you scream my name, lass. Every time I make you come, yer gonna scream my name. Yer mine now. I’m never gonna let ye go.” He inserts another finger, his palm stroking and pressing your clit, and damn it if you’re not just there at the edge, ready to come undone for him. “It’s like I’ve known yer body all my life. I know how to make ye feel good, aye?”

“Yes, Kid, yes!” Your head lolls back as you mewl, his ministrations making your head spin, turning you into a puddle of mush. With a few more strokes, he pushes you over and you gasp out his name, blinding pleasure coursing through your veins, turning your vision white.

“That’s one.” He whispers against your ear, and then he doesn’t relent, his fingers keep pulling pleasure, pressing on your G-spot with his rough fingertips, turning the smaller waves of dissipating pleasure into something else, something more.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” You start chanting as a surge of bliss travels up your spine, tingling, igniting, burning.

“Wrong name, lass.”

“Kid! Kid!” You scream as your release topples over the previous one, briefer but more pleasurable.

“Two.” Kid removes his fingers from your core, leaving you panting for air as you lie, burning against him, all the previous cold of the night vanishing from your thoughts. He gets up from the bike, unbuckling his belt and taking out his massive cock. Instinctively, you bite your lower lip. It’s been a while since you’ve had anything real down there, and he’s bigger than your average toy.

“Satisfied?” He asks with a grin.

“I’m sure I will be.” You answer him back, earning a barking laugh.

“Turn on the seat, lass.” You do as he says, and Kid sits back down where he was, pulling your legs over his so you wrap them around his waist. “I hope ye don’t love yer panties too much.” You don’t even have time to question his sentence when he rips your panties off of you, making you gasp as another surge of heat courses through you. “Fuck, yer so perfect.”

You sigh and let your fingers trace the muscles of his abs over his shirt. Then your hand goes lower as you take his pulsating, veiny cock in your hands. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight. Kid grunts and lets you pump him a few times until a bit of pre-cum starts leaking through the top.

“Aye, aye, enough, lass. Tonight’s about yer pleasure.” Kid gently removes your hand from his cock as he takes your lips in another fiery kiss, bringing you closer to him until you can feel him pressed against your thigh. “I’ve wanted ye since I saw ye. Since the day I helped ye move yer things into yer flat, I knew ye were the one for me.”

You can see the truthfulness in his eyes, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen in him. His fingers trace every curve of your face and jaw, and his eyes follow, as if he’s memorising all of you, soaking you in. His lips go in after, kissing you, worshipping every inch of you like a revered acolyte.

“Yer all I’ve ever wanted. Yer too perfect.” His hands find purchase under your thighs as he pulls you into him, sinking slowly into you. The stretch of his cock inside of you stings and burns, so you wrap yourself tighter around him, your face buried in the crook of his neck as his hands snake up your spine, cradling your neck. “There ye go. Slowly, we got time, lass. I’ve been dreamin’ of this since we met.”

He keeps pushing slowly into you until he’s fully sheathed. You take small breaths to accommodate him, but the sting of the stretch is long gone. The burn that you’re met with demands something very different now. “Show me, Kid. Show me how much we belong together.” You whisper into his ear, and then leave a trail of kisses down to his lips, shifting your hips slightly, showing him you’re ready.

“Ye have no idea what ye do to me. Ye drive me wild.” He leans his forehead against yours and starts to thrust lazily into you. You can feel every vein, every ridge of his cock touching your walls, rubbing them, igniting flames of pleasure inside you.

“Kid…” You moan out his name, pleasure mounting already as every thrust hits a perfect spot.

“Took me long enough to say it, lass. Took me too long. I didn’t know if ye wanted me back. Thought I was friend-zoned. Fuck, yer tight.” You thread your fingers through his hair, every movement making you dizzier as he keeps kissing your body, touching every curve and dip as if he’s committing all of you to his touch, to his memory.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe this is happenin’. I’m afraid I’ll wake up alone again in my bed.” Kid grunts and thrusts a bit harder, making you topple over the edge you’ve been playing at with a loud cry of his name. Your walls squeeze him tighter as your bliss washes through you in waves. “Three. Fuck.”

The chill of the night has nothing on both of you. You can feel little droplets of sweat running down your spine, and Kid’s forehead is damp with effort.

“Yer mine now. Tell me ye’ll no longer go after fuckin’ losers. Say ye’ll want only me.” You nod, back arching into him, seeking more pleasure as his reverent touches and devoted words wrap a fog of lust and love around you. You feel overwhelmed with emotion. You had no idea that Kid felt like this over you. “I need to hear it, lass.” He seems desperate to know you want him, so you force a thought to materialise in the form of words.

“I’m yours, all yours. Forever, Kid.” That snaps something in him, and he wraps your waist, both feet planted firmly on the ground to keep steady. With a flick of his wrist, he turns on the bike and revs the engine, making it vibrate and purr under you, adding another layer of stimulation to your already stimulated self. With two harsh thrusts - a contrast to his steady, languid previous ones - you shatter again with another long cry of his name.

“Four. One more, lass. We’ll take this one together, aye?” You can barely think straight. Every nerve is tingling with pleasure, every bone is quivering with want, and every muscle is aching with release.

“Kid… Kid…” You can barely utter a single word. Kid kisses your forehead softly, his hand pressing gentle circles on your back before he revs the engine again. You moan and clutch his shirt, barely able to stand straight as his thrusts become faster, harder, and more relentless.

“I’ll be all ye’ve ever wanted, all ye’ve ever needed. I’ll make ye feel good every day, ye’ll never feel lonely with me, lass. Yer mine, all mine, aye?” You nod once more as he guides your body back, and you feel the cold metal of the bike against your spine. The new angle makes him repeatedly hit your G-spot, and you know you’ll unravel fast.

“Kid, I’m gonna come.” You manage to breathe out between pants and moans, and you have no idea how much strength you still have left. Though Kid seems to have stamina that goes on for days, you’re already feeling overstimulated.

His thrusts are more erratic, his breath coming in short puffs of air. “Aye, aye, lass. I’m right there with ye.” And as you arch your back against the motorcycle, already losing yourself to a wave of ecstasy, Kid leans forward, letting out a primal grunt against your ear, and unloading his seed inside you, filling you up as your eyes water with bliss.

The gentle purr of the bike beneath you and the harsh breaths leaving your lips are the only things disturbing the silence of the night. Threading your fingers through Kid’s hair, you can’t stop smiling, even though your muscles are already aching and complaining.

He’s still inside you when he raises his head, wicked grin in place and a slight flush to his cheeks. “See how much fun we could’ve been having, lass?” You let out a loud laugh, and he grumbles against your neck, pulling out with a groan. “Want to get me goin’ again? Don’t laugh like that while I’m balls deep. All that tightenin’ gets me wild.”

He keeps kissing your neck and collarbone softly as you laugh, his hands gently massaging your thighs.

“I didn’t know, Kid.” You whisper, your back still pressed against the motorcycle, feeling empowered by the machine beneath you and the man above you instead of feeling trapped. “I had no idea you felt like this, you never said anything.”

“I know. I should’ve said it.” His groan vibrates against your chest. “Maybe it would've saved me the trouble of seein’ ye with assholes.”

“Yes, Kid. It really would. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, even though I thought about it.”

Kid lifts himself up and you use his shoulders to return to a seated position as he adjusts the straps of your dress. “Ye have? Ye thought about us?” You nod. “Doin’ this?”

You chuckle as you’re assaulted by a lone shiver. Now that you both have stopped, you’re getting cold. “Not exactly this. I don’t think you ever pulled five orgasms out of me in my fantasies.”

Kid’s wicked grin brings you another kind of shiver, but this one has nothing to do with the cold. “Lass, ye’ve been selling yerself short in yer fantasies. Five is just the warm-up.”

As you laugh into his fiery kiss, his hands pull you closer to him, claiming you, worshipping you. And despite the shitty beginning of a shitty night, you couldn’t have asked for a better ending. Turns out, you really didn’t need to leave the apartment.

But as Kid revs the engine of his Harley again, you realise you’re glad you did.

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