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deebris · 7 months ago

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The Misteryous Visitor 5

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The argument between Talia and Bruce is catastrophic from beginning to end, and while the whole truth is revealed, neither of them wants to let go of you. Strange was always a greater danger than he let on and was closer than he ever thought.

Warnings: Family discussion; meaningless kiss; aggression; blood; kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4.5k

Note: Talia has a slightly different relationship with Bruce in my story compared to the canon, being more tense than the impression I got when I watched scenes between the two of them.

I forget to mention that English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Is it true?" Bruce asked quickly, barely giving Talia time to dare say anything before him. The woman rolled her eyes, still with her back to him, and prepared to maintain her confident pose.

She turned to face him and took a few moments to admire the vision, blatantly diverting her eyes to his lips and seeing how the messy shirt had given him a more fierce and attractive aura. Their relationship was complicated, that's a fact, but she could never stop finding the man in front of her charmingly handsome.

"You'll need to be more specific than that," Talia's voice dripped with a sweet and wicked tone as she walked toward him. Bruce violently stood up from the chair when he saw her hand reach towards him and imposed his height over hers to intimidate.

"Don't play the cynic." There was a suppressed fury in his tone, and she was sure he was using the last bit of self-control that still possessed.

"For heaven's sake, Bruce." Talia mocked, picking up the coat she had intended to grab from the beginning from the chair, having recognized it as yours. She grimaced as felt the damp fabric and dropped it in a corner of the room on the floor. The look she was receiving could burn her skin, and when she turned her face back to his, she realized how disturbed he was. "You look horrible. Strange really got into your head, didn't he?"

Talia saw him narrow his eyes with impatient indignation as he snorted. She found seeing him like this very peculiar and thought it would be fun to try and provoke.

The woman brought her face close to his, making her warm breath touch his chin provocatively while boldly wrapping her arms around the broad neck. She tested the waters, seeing how he remained still, and brushed her red lips along his jawline, then moved up until their mouths shared the same breath.

She was going to try to persuade, convince him that he was overthinking, and smiled inwardly when she saw Bruce become disconcerted for a second, completely unresponsive when she sealed their lips together. She managed to seduce him in that second to the point where, unconsciously, he moved his tongue with hers, but tasting her saliva brought him back to rationality.

He left her in complete shock when abruptly pushed her away and grabbed her face in an aggressive manner, squeezing the cheeks and making her squirm until eyes glazed over into his. “You repulse me.” Bruce spat and was glad to see her bold expression disappear. “Tell me once: she is mine?"

Talia tried to take his hand away with hers, but he seemed implacable, and didn't even move a finger out of place. He might be stronger, but she wasn't weak, and that was what made her let out an astonished sob.

"She is my daughter?!" He shouted, shaking her, no longer able to take the lack of response.

"Yes it is true." The confession made him let go of her finally, and she almost stumbled back with how sudden it was.

She massaged her face, seeking relief, and it didn't take long for her eyebrows to furrow in shock. Bruce felt no pity or regret, she deserved much more than he would ever have the courage to do.

"How?" By the way he looked, she knew there was no more room for lies or evasion. She had never seen him like this; Bruce had always been the most balanced man she had ever known in her entire life.

"She and Damian are twins," Talia responded immediately.

"Twins?" Bruce's voice sounded incredulous. He felt that even all the time in the universe wouldn't be enough to process that. It seemed simply unreal. "Why did you hide this? Why did you tell me about Damian and not about her?"

"Because you would have taken her from me!" She shouted, running her fingers over her face to check if her makeup had smeared. "I handed Damian over to you willingly, but if you had found out about him before, you would have brought him here just the same. And with her, it would be no different. You should be grateful to have had the boy."

"How dare you say such a thing?" Bruce threw the chair to the floor in a fit of rage, making a loud noise that echoed even outside the hallway. "And 'handed Damian over willingly'? You only did that because you felt pressured after your father died." He threw it in her face and suddenly remembered something: "You made that boy lie for you." He accused her.

Talia was silent for a brief moment, but her face showed nothing but contempt. "I did, yes." She admitted.

"What's the point of that? Was it just out of whim?" Bruce seemed fragile before her for the first time in so many years. For a moment, she glimpsed an old argument, from when they were still dating and didn't hide feelings from each other as they do today. "Do you hold that much resentment? You know very well why I dismissed the League of Assassins."

"Of course, Bruce. Your morals are too valuable, aren't they?" Talia replied with her chin up, not letting him affect her. "You think you're a good guy, a pure superhero like Superman. But I know you and I know how rotten you are inside. You are not as different from us as you think." She spewed the words in his face like venom.

"You wanted her to come here, didn't you? You and he planned all this?" Comprehension seemed to have hit Bruce, but that only left the woman confused.

"If it were up to me, you would never have discovered her existence. Why would I send her here?" The confession left him silent, not because he wasn't angry anymore, but because he was tired of hearing her voice; he simply couldn't believe anything Talia said. "She is my daughter. And I don't care what you're going to do now, but don't think you're going to drag her with you like you did with all those boys.”

"You think you can offer something better? You, the same person who left her in the hands of that sicko, consider yourself a better option?" Bruce insinuated this with a firmness that made it clear he had no doubt Talia was cooperating with Strange, making her eyes turn red. She could hear many insults from him, but insinuating that she had put you at risk was something entirely different. "You can be sure you won't lay another finger on her."

She knew Bruce was serious, and that he could actually prevent any future contact betwedn you and her. She wanted to kill him right now out of sheer hatred, but she was smart and knew that acting impulsively wouldn't solve anything. So, reluctantly, she tried to change the tone of the discussion to a neutral one. There was no way she could leave without giving him explanations, and if she tried, he would stop her.

"Maybe Strange had been threatening me for some time, possibly before deciding to appear publicly again and attack you." There was a slight irony of indignation in her words. Her gaze was firm and her green eyes shining with the intensity of someone defending their own honor. "Let it be clear: I didn't help anyone; I was as much a victim of this as you were."

"Victim?" Bruce retorted with disdain.

"This threat wasn't for you, Bruce, it was for me. Today you didn't lose anything, quite the opposite." She ignored the acidic tone and continued. "Maybe this contributed to some kind of psychological game Strange is playing against you, but it must be just a bonus."

"Why is he threatening you?" The question contained no compassion or empathy, but it didn't matter to her to receive that kind of consideration from him.

"What did he do to you?" Talia ignored the question, and as a form of childish revenge, he did the same. She sighed and tried a different approach: "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." She needed to know to try to understand the depth of Strange's current intentions or at least get some clue about the plan he was plotting because although she wouldn't say it to Bruce, she was also trying to catch him.

"A photo of my parents," he confessed, trying to sound indifferent before continuing, "Photos of the boys, of Alfred..." Bruce left the sentence hanging in the air and didn't proceed. He would never say more than he deemed necessary to her.

"Damian too?" She asked, worried about her son, and saw Bruce nod affirmatively. Bruce calmly unwrinkled a card while handing it to her.

"He asked her to deliver this to me today." His tone was serious, revealing a determination to deal with the situation pragmatically and directly.

Talia repeated those printed words several times, and every hair on her body stood on end all at once. "Did she…?"

"She didn't read it." He said curtly. "But what I don't understand is how all this seems so convenient and you claim to have nothing to do with it. He had this card perfectly prepared."

"Knowing him well, he must have been waiting for an opportunity for many days, or he induced this to happen somehow." She reflected, scratching the fine texture with her nails right where the text was printed to the point of making it illegible. "The letter that Damian said she picked up took longer to arrive than the others; it must have ended up with him at some point."

"How could he be so close, and you didn't notice?" His voice became aggressive again, the same beastly rage returning.

"I did notice! I just didn't imagine Strange interested in her; I thought it was about Damian. So, I didn't worry because he wasn't with me; he was with you." She raised her voice, trying to match his volume. "Strange has been sending me coded messages. Threats that had nothing to do with my daughter. I thought he didn't know she was yours and therefore wouldn't care about her." She finished, and Bruce clenched his jaw, observing how she increasingly emphasized the expression "my daughter," excluding him.

"Threats related to Damian?" He asked. His muscles were tense and sore, but he endured the discomfort if it meant clarifying everything once and for all. "And, of course, you never considered telling me."

"This started long before I left him with you, Bruce. They were still children." Talia said, growing increasingly frustrated with the conversation.

"What could Damian have done to him as a child?"

"Damian ended up leaving Strange with one less eye. He was already pursuing him because of you, but after losing an eye, all he wanted was revenge." She walked to the bed, leaning on the arms while crossing her legs. A very characteristic gesture of her behavior, which was highlighted when she wore her extravagant dresses, but the cold pants she wore made the movements relaxed. "He was a child; he didn't do it on purpose. He was just protecting his sister."

"How could Strange have known about Damian for so long and not about her? What you're saying doesn't make any sense, Talia." Bruce was frantic, and after a brief moment of melancholy, she sighed:

"I blame my father for this." Her voice almost wavered in front of him, but being the proud person she was, she quickly composed herself.

“What did Ra’s do?” He threw the question into the air, laden with apprehension.

The room plunged into a disturbing silence. Talia remained motionless, while the sound of Bruce's heavy breathing was the only thing breaking the void in the atmosphere. For a brief moment, her eyes met his and captured the storm of emotions brewing there: betrayal, despair, expectation.

She did not fear him, but rather how he might react to this. You were there, nearby, in the hallway, and the last thing she wanted was for the primal figure Bruce was becoming to explode and expel her, taking you to him. Moreover, she needed to remind herself that she was at a disadvantage there. It wasn't just Bruce she would face if things turned worse or physical, but everyone else in the house.

“What did he do, Talia?” Bruce growled, repeating the question with intensity.

She stared at the floor, fully aware that her next words would turn against her later, but at this point, he needed to know. Strange was out there, and he was still as much of a psychopath obsessed with Batman as before, meaning he wouldn’t rest until he managed to take Bruce’s place as a vigilante. So, with a low but icy voice, she moved her mouth to tell him the truth:

“Years ago, Strange sought out the League of Assassins. That lunatic was always smart and somehow discovered the rift between you and my father.” The mention of such an old event took Bruce by surprise. He slightly recoiled and his eyebrows raised, but he restrained himself from interrupting her. “He wanted the League to help him defeat you and vice versa. My father was suspicious, but he was so resentful that he agreed. Your betrayal was still fresh to us.”

“And of course it went wrong, didn’t it?” He asked with implicit sarcasm.

“Strange was so cunning that he managed to manipulate him to his advantage. He provided us with precise and important information about you, but after a while, he wanted to advise my father on how to act. That’s when I started to hate him, realizing how he was controlling.” She shook her head in denial, recalling the memory with bitterness, and continued:

“My father trusted him so much that he allowed Strange to infiltrate us more and more, until one day, by chance, he found damian in Nanda Parbat. Strange was nosy and curious; he tried to extract the information from me, but discovered on his own that you were his father.” Talia blew a strand of hair that fell on her face and decided to add the next part with acidity: “Strange was so fascinated by this that he made an absurd request. We denied it, and then he rebelled against us. Of course, that incompetent couldn’t accomplish anything, and then disappeared, as he always does when things go wrong.”

“Ra’s and Strange working together?” Bruce asked himself. He could never have imagined that two such distinct people could have had a relationship like that in the past. “And what did he ask for?”

“He was obsessed with surpassing you, but it wasn’t just that, he wanted to be you and have everything that was yours. He asked to raise Damian as if he were his own son, can you believe it? Luckily, Y/n never set foot in Nanda Parbat, so he didn’t discover her in that time.” She paused for a moment, reliving the events. “He wanted to prove that he could raise him and make a better Robin. Strange has known your identities much longer than you think; he knew the real Robin was your adopted son.”

Bruce’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth opened as if about to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He blinked a few times, needing to assimilate what he had heard. “If he never saw her before, how did all this happen?”

“A few years later, when my father hadn’t been dead for long, I returned to live in Gotham City with Y/n, and Strange found out Damian was here too and broke into the apartment where we were. He intended to kidnap Damian, but he used to share a room with his sister, and by mistake, Strange went to her bed.” She spoke with a heavy voice, the last sentence sending chills down her spine, but she persisted:

“I woke up to her frightened scream and a loud noise. I ran and when I saw it was him, I had no mercy. He is intelligent, but sometimes he is blinded by his own obsession and do stupid things. He was already bleeding, with a pencil piercing one of his eyes, thanks to Damian, then fled through the living room. I didn’t initially chase after him because I wanted to make sure Damian was okay; the problem was I hadn’t realized that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Damian had distracted Strange to let his sister escape, and because of my delay, he took her.”

Talia seemed to be in a trance. Each word weighed on her chest like lead, yet she threw them out as if they were disposable. Her usually confident and determined eyes didn’t know where to look. Sitting rigidly on the bed, her imposing posture didn’t waver, as her pride didn’t allow her to show weakness.

“What did he do?” Bruce throat tightened, as if the air was rarefied, as he waited for the answer. Talia might think otherwise, but he could see through her facade. And despite it being selfish to say this, he couldn’t feel a shred of concern for her, especially when someone more important to him was now involved.

After standing for so long, Bruce sat on the bed next to her. He reflected on the sad incident, deeply disturbed. He blamed her. He blamed her for her character, for lying so much, and for hiding from him that his children were in danger. He was grateful that she had fallen silent for a few seconds, as he was mentally preparing himself for a grim scenario, one he wasn’t yet ready to face.

“What happened to her?” He asked, seeing that she wasn’t showing signs of speaking, trying to prompt her to continue.

"Strange carried her through the city, desperately fleeing from me until he ended up in an alley. He encountered a group of drunks who surrounded and wanted to rob him. He's not a good fighter, you already know that, and like a damn coward, he threw her into their midst as a distraction while he escaped again.”

“Unbelievable…” Bruce massaged his eyebrows with his eyes closed, visibly upset. He pressed his temples hard, as if trying to dispel the accumulated frustration. After a deep breath, he suddenly exploded in a shout of frustration and anger, just like at the beginning. “You should have contacted me!"

“Are you trying to blame me?!” She asked indignantly.

"She didn't seem to recognize him when she spoke to me just now. It sounded like she was talking about a random stranger." Bruce was confused.

"I don't know if she would recognize him again, she never wanted to talk to me about that day. And I never mentioned Hugo Strange either, everything she knows about him she sees on the news."

“You and your father are the worst kind of people I could have gotten involved with,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously low this time. “If it weren't for Ra's, Strange would never have gotten close to them. If it weren't for your stupid lie, nothing you just said would have happened. And I don't even want to imagine what the hell happened after that!”

"You would have made sure nothing like that happened, wouldn't you, Bruce? You talk about it with such certainty, but weren't you the one who let the Joker do something similar to that kid… Is Jason his name?" Her mention of something like that made Bruce's ears go deaf. He could clearly hear the sound of his heart beating inside his chest, until her disgusting voice sounded again: "You would have put her in the same disgrace!"

Bruce lost the control he tried so hard to maintain from the beginning. He threw the lamp next to him into the headboard on the wall. The movement was so violent that the wire connecting the object to the socket broke in a strange way and the entire glass part broke into several pieces. The noise was thunderous, and even when he stood up with a piercing look at her, Talia continued with her laughing face, enjoying watching him go crazy.

“Don't try to compare the two things. You didn’t tell me about Strange before because you were embarrassed. It's too hard for you to admit that you can fail. Besides, you always liked having someone to control, to manipulate at your pleasure. You did this to her, didn't you? And even then, you’re not satisfied. You continued to torment Damian, using him.” Bruce took a deep breath.“I thought you cared about him.”

Talia got up too and lifted her chin, her eyes shining with defiance. “You understand nothing, Bruce,” she responded with a firm and cutting voice. “Everything I did was to protect them both. I explained my reasons to you. Do you think hiding them was just my decision? My father would never have allowed it, and I won't deny that I wasn’t against him, but it didn’t depend solely on me. You, with your inflexible morality and your rules, would never understand.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bruce growled, his gaze fixed and penetrating. “You branded the girl with your initials like she was cattle. It was never about protection; it’s possessiveness.”

Like him, Talia stood up. “I may be a woman of whims, as you like to say, but I didn’t hide anything because I was embarrassed”

Talia paused, her voice softening but not positively. “And as for tormenting him… I trained him, prepared him for the cruel world we live in. Do you think you could keep him safe with your mild methods? He needs to be strong, needs to be able to survive, and in those years I taught him to protect her because no one else would. My father didn’t care about a granddaughter; he finally had the male heir he wanted. I had to meet his demands to make Damian perfect, and that allowed me the freedom to raise her away from all that. What I could do, I did. And what I wanted to do, I also did. And I’d do it all again.”

“You always think you did everything right, but everything you’ve said only proves how misguided you are. I remember I gave you a choice, Talia. I told you that you could abandon the League of Assassins and come with me. I told you that your father didn't need to control your life forever,” Bruce said, his voice laden with disdain. “You will never come near her again. You’ll have to go over my dead body first.”

Talia narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Her voice was low and controlled, but each word carried significant weight. “You always saw the world in black and white. Do you really think it was so simple to abandon my entire life and devotion for you, a mere fleeting romance? If you think it’s that easy to give up everything, I challenge you to abandon Batman right now. After all, it’s because of this secret identity of yours that all this started, isn’t it? Isn’t it as easy as that, Bruce?”

She took a step forward, facing him without wavering. “I can repeat it as many times as you want: I am a criminal, I am selfish, and whatever else you want me to say, but the only hypocrite in this room is you.” Her eyes shone with determination, while his wavered before her.

Bruce hardened his expression, sadness hitting him. He wanted to accuse her of being a low person, but deep in his conscience, he feared it was true. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived; she was still the wrong one here. She was the one who completely distorted the situation, making herself the victim and trying to justify everything she did, turning him into the villain of the story.

“Talia, I never wanted you to be any of these things,” he began, his voice laden with anguish. He felt bitterness looking at her face now, as it painfully reminded him of the time when he had been deeply in love with this same woman. “I wanted to believe you could change, that you would be different from your father. But every choice you made, every lie you told… Our relationship was unsustainable, and now the only thing I feel for you is remorse.”

He closed the last distance between them, imposing himself with a somber aura. “Your actions, your alliances… they put her at risk. My duty as a father is to protect her, and I can’t ignore the danger you represent. I never wanted it to come to this, Talia. But if keeping her safe means keeping her away from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Talia clenched her fists, her expression hardening even more. “Do you think I didn’t want to protect her too?” Her voice became silky. There was a dark delight in how the words dragged, a subtle poison hidden in each intonation. “You talk about protecting her, but she needs more than simple physical protection. She needs a mother, someone who understands the complexity of her feelings.”

“Look at yourself for a moment, Bruce,” said Talia, her voice icy and full of disdain. “You’re losing your composure. Do you really think she’ll like finding out that her father is this weak and ridiculous man you’ve become?”

The woman took a step forward, fixing her eyes on his with a challenging gleam. “The only thing she’ll feel for you is shame.”

"Do you really think you can tell me who I've become?" He paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't want it to come to this, Talia, but if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll be forced to tell that girl everything you've done. And then we'll let her decide."

He intensified the confrontation, provoking her: "Are you sure she would still choose you after so many lies? After everything you've hidden from her?" His eyes darkened, pupils dilated by the dim light in the room. "Value the good image she still has of you."

Talia was momentarily silent, her eyes meeting Bruce's with a genuine expression of concern. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a bit more dangerous than before. "Would you really do that? Tell her everything?"

Bruce replied firmly, maintaining his serious gaze on hers. "It's what I must do, regardless of everything. Continuing to hide things isn't right. But if the only way for you to leave more easily is under this condition, then go now."

Talia took a few steps back, her serious expression showing shock and worry. Her thoughts repeated Bruce's ultimatum continuously, knowing you would not react well to it.

You were a smart girl, but emotionally very fragile. Your bonds of trust were limited to her and your brother, and you two had been apart for so long that having your relationship with your mother destroyed in this way would leave a huge scar on your heart. This would be the best choice, both for her and for you if Talia didn't want everything to fall apart.

She turned towards the bedroom hallway, as if seeking a moment to ponder the consequences. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Bruce, her shoulders slightly lower. "You are not going to involve her in your vigilante life." It wasn't a request, it was a warning, and Bruce didn't contest it to avoid further conflict. Understanding that she had decided to leave was enough to reassure him.

"I didn't mean to." He walked past her, picking up your coat she had thrown on the floor earlier, checking carefully that it hadn't been damaged by the broken lampshade, and lifting the chair to let the piece dry once more.

"You know where the exit is; don't take too long." Without bothering to be polite, he quickly opened the door, leaving her standing there. He knew she would really leave after seeing how she reacted. She wouldn't risk irritating him by taking longer than necessary.

Tag list:

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harunayuuka2060 · 14 days ago

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*Riddle and Azul trailed behind Kalim as he dashed forward, shouting MC's name.*

Kalim: MC! MC!

Riddle: Kalim! Stop running this instant!

Azul: *panting* Why is he so fast...

Kalim: *finally came to a halt, his eyes widening at the sight before him*

Kalim: What is this...?

Azul and Riddle: *stood equally stunned, their eyes fixed on the astonishing scene before them*

*Before them lay hundreds of corpses scattered across the ground, all clad in the familiar uniforms of Night Raven College. Standing in the midst of the devastation was MC (?), their face etched with a solemn expression.*

MC (?): *seemingly reluctant, bowed their head and spoke softly* Welcome. I apologize for the mess. Please, pay it no mind and continue on your way. The dorm leaders are waiting.

Kalim: MC...

Azul: You haven’t even properly introduced yourself. Why should we trust you or meet these 'dorm leaders' you’re talking about?

MC (?): ...

MC (?): I resemble the one you knew, so you may call me by the same name. As for the dorm leaders of this realm... Now that you’re here, it’s only right to follow the rules.

Riddle: Rules?

MC (?): You are safe as long as you’re not alone. Do not respond to anyone you cannot see with your own eyes. And finally…

MC (?): If killing becomes necessary, you must do it.

Azul: What if we break any of the rules?

MC (?): ...

MC (?): *chose to ignore Azul's question, turned around, and walked away.*

Azul: Are you serious?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: It seems they were only permitted to state the rules. *noticed Leona's doppelganger out of the corner of his eye, who then smirked in satisfaction*

*The dorm leaders have regrouped in what appears to be the Headmaster's office.*

Malleus (?): Please make yourself comfortable. *smiles*

Leona: *clicks his tongue*

Vil (?): Take a look at this, Malleus. It seems he harbors a profound hatred for you. *chuckles*

Vil: *frowning*

Malleus: *remains calm* Schoenheit—wait, no. Should I even be calling you that?

Vil (?): You can call me whatever you like. Ah—except for the nicknames my vice dorm leader and Prefect use for me. Those are off-limits.

Malleus: Well then, I’ve noticed that this place bears a striking resemblance to Night Raven College. The dorm leaders seem quite similar as well. However, I’ve also observed that no one here resembles Dire Crowley in the slightest.

Idia (?): Crowley? Ah, he was executed yesterday. Though his body should still be around somewhere.

The dorm leaders: !!!

Kalim (?): Hmm, wouldn’t he be nothing but bones by now? Leona has already devoured his flesh.

Leona (?): You’re confusing me with Ruggie again, you idiot.

Kalim (?): *giggles* Sorry~.

Azul: *mutters* I'm hating this...

Azul (?): *is staring at him with a cold, piercing gaze*

MC (?): *enters the room*

MC (?): *bows his head* You have called for me?

*A spear suddenly struck them, causing blood to gush from their body.*

The dorm leaders: *stared at them in horror*

Vil (?): Dear, you understand why I had to do that to you, right?

MC (?): *appeared unfazed and calmly pulled the spear from their body, suppressing any painful groans*

MC (?): Yes... my Queen.

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst dorm leaders #twst school of psychopaths

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deanbrainrotwritings · 8 months ago

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— i believe in a thing called love

SUMMARY : dean thinks you’re playing a game but he slowly realises you’re not.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), unprotected piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, edging, praise kink?, horniness

WORD COUNT : 4.2k

A/N : title from a song by the darkness. this fills the square amnesia for my @jacklesversebingo card. I’m sorry yall, I like cliffhangers 😔 (but there’s a part two coming, yay!)

You don’t remember ever waking up to a more warm and pleasant morning.

Usually, you woke up after sleeping however many hours you could have, and always felt like it wasn’t enough. Your eyes burned with sleepiness, your body felt heavy with fatigue, and your mind was clouded with the darkness of unconsciousness.

Not this morning.

You felt light and warm, like the vapour of your too-hot shower. Your bed was soft and your sheets smelled of sweet and flowery fabric softener.

You opened your eyes to a room blanketed in complete darkness. There was not a window in sight for sunlight to slither into and your stomach sank slightly when you realised that you didn’t know where you were. Or how you got to where you were now.

Your nakedness beneath soft, thin sheets made you feel vulnerable. You pulled the sheets up your body and started to get out of bed, only for the sheets to catch on something. No, on someone. A man who groaned gravelly and slightly tugged the sheets away from you.

Your eyes widened, your blood went cold with fear, and your body became hot with adrenaline. You froze as you thought of what to do and looked around to see if you could make any shapes while the darkness smothered you.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he pleaded lazily, his voice thick with sleep making your skin prickle. He gave the blanket a lazy tug to encourage you, but you ignored him. You didn’t know him, the audacity. You simply released the blanket and blindly made your way around the room for clothes that you must have left somewhere.

You heard him sigh tiredly, the blankets rustled when he shifted, and the room lit up with the quiet click of a lamp’s switch and you yelped when you saw him, equally naked, in the bed. He sat up in alarm and looked around, before just staring at you in confusion.

His hair was a mess and he looked tired… but hot. His arms were thick and strong. His shoulders were broad and a familiar tattoo rested above his heart, beneath his collarbone. He wasn’t ripped like someone who was obsessed with going to the gym and dieting. He was so damn fine. The thin blankets came lower down his hips when he sat up inquisitively. His stomach became taut and you could see the faint lines of his abs. At least you slept with someone hot and not some creep. Well… he could still be a creep.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He moved the blankets from his hips, subsequently flashing you his dick, when he began to get up and make his way to you.

“No, stop!” You shouted, covering your eyes before deciding to cover yourself instead. He instantly obeyed and froze on the spot, bewildered. “Cover your eyes,” you demanded exasperatedly.

“What? Why?” He asked, but he still covered his eyes with his hand. But who could blame you for quickly stealing a glance at his very pretty cock? “Did you start your period? You’re not due for another two weeks.” You blinked at him, astonished and disoriented.

“Uhhh, what? How do you even know that, dude?” You flushed with embarrassment.

“Dude?” He lowered his hand to give you an irritated look. The only reason you didn’t shout at him to look away was that he wasn’t staring at you like you were a piece of cake. “It’s way too early for jokes.” He shook his head at you and turned around to sift through the tall dresser behind him. Your eyes hesitantly dropped to his perky ass and you forced yourself to look away before he turned to you.

Forgive me. I am just human.

“Where’s my damned clothes?” You asked, leaning forward over the bed to drag the blanket towards yourself to cover up. He turned with a deadpan expression while he slipped his boxers up to his hips. But when you lifted your brows expectantly, he rolled his eyes at you and smiled sarcastically, flourishing his arms in front of the dresser.

He was kind enough to pull out a black shirt that looked like it was his, then pink women's underwear, and finally some colourfully striped socks. He handed them to you, but you backed away.

“No, I’m not wearing that,” you refused, looking disgustedly at the cotton underwear and the small socks.

“It’s yours,” he told you flatly.

“What do you mean it’s mine?”

He blinked at you boredly and dropped the clothes on the bed to cross his arms across his very sexy broad chest. “Alright. How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“I… uh, what?”

He smiled slowly and climbed up on the bed to get closer to you. Once he did, he reached for your waist and tugged you forward. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest and you clutched the blanket closer to your breasts. Even standing on his knees in the bed, he was taller than you.

“What game are you playin’ at, hmm?” He asked seductively, gently squeezing your side. Your lips parted slightly and your heart raced.

You studied his face, captivated by his beauty. The crinkles at the corner of his verdant eyes called to you when he smiled down at you. You could see he was doing the same. His eyes followed a path along your face until they landed on your lips. You couldn’t help following the same path on his own with your eyes. After letting your eyes drift across the curve of his freckled nose, the line of his jaw, and the attractive stubble, your eyes fell to his pillowy lips.

His hand moved to your jaw. He looked playful and your heart sped up the longer he admired you. His calloused hand gently slid up your jawline to tangle his fingers in your hair until finally, he dipped down and kissed you. His lips felt soft against your slightly-chapped lips, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His mouth moved lazily, yet expertly over yours. Your stomach fluttered and your breath hitched. As simple as it was, it felt amazing. His lips on yours sent waves of need and excitement through your body, electrifying your skin.

He clouded your mind with his kiss and your mouth slowly fell open. He cupped the back of your head in his hand and tilted his head, slowly becoming more firm and needy. Your hand released the sheet from your body and your hands found their way into his soft brown hair. He hummed lowly in appreciation and splayed his free hand across the bare skin of your back.

He carefully removed his hand from your hair, then you felt his hands move to the back of your thighs. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath against your swollen lips made you dizzy as he hoisted you up. You clung to him, dazed and aroused, and he carefully dropped you into the bed again.

His knees parted your legs. You could feel your arousal dripping down as you were exposed to the room’s cool air. He almost instantly pressed his hips to your wet core. You could feel the warmth of his hard cock against your pulsing clit. You moaned softly and he gave you a charming smile that heated your cheeks in response.

He leaned down to kiss you again. This time, his tongue pushed past your lips. The warmth and wetness of his saliva moved against your tongue. He did it as if he’d done a thousand times to you—shamelessly, with craving.

His lips moved passionately, firmly against yours. His tongue brushed over yours needily, lovingly. He tasted you with hunger and pulled away with heavy breaths, ignoring the string of spit connecting your lips to his.

He leaned forward again, except this time—when you closed your eyes—you felt his lips brush against your cheeks. His warm breath tickled your neck and ear, so shivers trickled through your body.

You squirmed beneath him and wiggled your hips longingly.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard on my tongue, baby,” he whispered. You cursed softly. Your cunt clenched with excitement at the thought of him doing to your pussy, what he’d done to your mouth. You almost didn’t feel him press wet kisses down your neck until he sucked gently at your pulse.

He moved down your body slowly. Used his teeth, tongue, and lips on your flesh to hold you in his spell. He did it so precisely, fanning the embers to create a fire of desire that overwhelmed your body with lust.

His lips brushed against your nipple and your heart lurched. Heat pooled between your legs, followed by a warm wetness that you somehow knew would boost his ego.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he whispered against your breast before gently sinking his teeth around your nipple. His fingers pinched the other. How he expected you to respond was unclear as he teased your sensitive skin with his expert tongue and strummed at your flesh like a professional guitarist.

“How did I end up here?” You replied quietly, carding your fingers through his short hair. He chuckled softly at your response, moved on from one breast to the other. His saliva on your abandoned nipple enhanced the coldness of the room, causing your skin to tingle.

His laugh was a whole other thing. Hot and deep. Everything about him seemed to be that way. Hot and deep.

His hand sneaked down to your ribs, your stomach, and stayed there. Warm, heavy, huge, and calloused. One hell of a man. You bet he could choke you with one hand.

You moaned softly at the thought and squeezed his sides with your thighs in attempts to alleviate your desire. It was futile, but you had a feeling that’s how he wanted you. He smirked against your breast, you could feel the stretch of a smile on his sinful lips, and he finally moved on.

“You’re so desperate today, aren’t ya?” Amusement seeped into his voice, but there was nothing amusing about the way his hand finally moved between your legs. He slid his middle finger through your folds, slowly teasing your clit with ghostly touches. “Always so wet, baby, fuck,” he moaned against your hipbone.

“Please,” you whined, clutching his hair tighter. He sucked a lavender mark on your hips and slid his lips down to your pelvis.

“Yeah?” He teased with a smirk. You loosened your grip on his hair, just slightly. His green eyes sparkled up at you, but all you could really focus on was his finger turning to two fingers that quickly dipped into your entrance to gather your excessive slick. “Fuck.” Oh, God. No one should sound so hot saying that word, but your stomach seemed to flip excitedly when it sounded so pleased. “Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaked, it’s gonna be so easy for me to fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your toes curled with excitement.

He parted your folds with his fingers and lowered himself to level his mouth with your dripping cunt. His warm breath on your wet heat made you squirm and your legs shamelessly opened wider for him. The Pied Piper of sex.

His eyes fluttered shut when he kissed your clit. You don’t think anyone’s ever done that to you before. To be fair, you can’t remember much and you don’t know if it’s because of his intoxicating sensuality or because of something much more serious. Quite frankly, you didn’t care as he continued to kiss you down to your clenching entrance with hums of appreciation vibrating through your desperate core.

“Please,” you laughed breathily, weakly attempting to pull his face closer between your legs. He perked up even more at that, and flicked his tongue against your clit, perfectly striking a nerve like a chord that resonated through your entire body and made you quiver.

He flattened his tongue from your aching pussy to your clit, slowly and loudly savouring the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He did it over and over before settling for lapping at your entrance where your arousal puddled. His moans were husky and praising.

You gently weaved your fingers through his hair and panted heavily. His nose nudged at your pulsing clit and his tongue pushed into your fluttering pussy.

“Fuck, please,” you whimpered, tightening your grip on the hair at the top of his head. He hummed against your core and roughly licked his way up to your clit. Quick flicks of his tongue on your clit made you writhe with pleasure. Curses slipped from your lips and all you could think about was the sensation of how wet your pussy was with his spit and how close to coming you were again.

You felt one of his fingers slowly push inside your cunt. He worked you open carefully with one thick finger plunged deep inside you and simultaneously began to suck on your clit. Your body became tense; you were right on the edge of your orgasm, but he moved away from your aching cunt to quickly kiss his way up your flushed body, to reach your lips.

“I wanna come,” you pleaded quietly, staring profoundly into his greedy eyes.

He chuckled playfully at you and slowly pushed a second finger inside you. His breath fanned over your lips and you traced the slick of your pussy on his smug mouth with your eyes. He stroked your walls slowly, skilfully pressing the pads of his fingers into the sensitive depths of your cunt. You clamped down in desperation for him to press over and over into your g-spot, but he wasn’t merciful. He wanted you to feel the length of his fingers moving deeply inside you.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your lips. You squeezed his hips with your knees as you squirmed restlessly. Again, he made you delirious with pleasure after a request so you could do anything but properly think. He angled his fingers into that delicious spot inside you, but the buildup of your climax was as torturously slow as the stroke of his fingers.

“Your name?” You gasped mindlessly, closing your eyes to focus on feeling him being in all the right places. His lips brushed against yours, ignited your body like a spark to hot-wire a car. His thumb pressed gently into your clit and he slowly drew circles.

“Dean,” he whispered bewitchingly against your lips. You felt his arm press into the pillow beside your head and he tenderly brushed your hair away from your neck.

“Dean,” you moaned—begged, heart hammering in your chest at his tenderness. His response was instant, with his lips pressed against yours, numbing your mind once more, but a third finger slid into your pussy so you nearly toppled off the edge again. After a few thrusts that left you moaning wantonly against Dean’s mouth, his fingers disappeared from inside you. “God,” you cursed in irritation.

Soon, the entirety of his warmth was gone from your body. His bruising kiss left you breathless and thoughtless, but you managed to open your eyes to watch him lower his boxers with his thumb hooked at the stretchy waistband—leaving himself completely bare again.

Dean bit his lip as he stroked his cock with his fingers coated in your slick. He seemed more than happy to have you watch. And you were more than happy with staring at the girth and length of him in his hand. His cock was pretty, beautiful even—if you could even imagine. Throbbing. Leaking precum at the tip so your mouth watered for a lewd long moment. You bit your lip and wondered what he tasted like—hopefully as good as he looked, how he’d fuck your mouth if you asked him to.

The sight of him like this made your arousal skyrocket.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, slowly making his way closer between your legs.

The thought of his cock stretching you out instantly drove you crazy.

Once he was close enough, he leaned over you again with his arm beside your head again. He slid his hot cock through your folds and your breath caught in your throat. He moaned softly. You tore your eyes from where he coated you in his precum repeatedly.

“I want you… inside me,” you replied bashfully, heat flared up to your ears and you squirmed involuntarily—desperate to be fucked as you ruined the sheets beneath you with your slick. But over and over he teased your clit with slippery circles of his tip that began to build your resolve. He wasn’t going to let you finish and you knew it.

“Which part of me?” Of course he’d do that.

You became frustrated quickly and remained quiet to think of your next move. Dean had taken you to a point where your confidence was merely pent up sexual frustration.

You sat up and climbed into his lap without a single thought. As shamelessly as he’d touched you, you gripped the base of his cock. His lips parted and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise when you took his chin between your fingers and kissed him hard. He gave you full control and released his dick so his hands could find your hips instead and pull you closer.

He felt heavy in your hand, the throb and heat of him made your grip tighten in anticipation. He moaned against your mouth when you slowly stroked up his silky skin, slick with his precum. You thumbed at the slit, smeared his excitement around the head of his cock, and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Dean groaned softly and squeezed your hip. He slowly let himself lay on his back and pulled you down with your lips still locked in a breathy and covetous kiss. You twisted your hand upwards, faster, and emphasised the movement of your fingers beneath the head of his cock. He pulled away slightly with a gasp and found his place between your legs to run a teasing finger through your drenched folds.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard… wanna bury myself inside of you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped instantly against his parted mouth, “yes.”

Dean kissed you hard and replaced your hand on his cock with his own again. He pulled away to catch his breath with you. Using his other hand, he brushed your hair out of the way and continued to pant for breath. He watched between your bodies, his throbbing cock in his hand, but you only watched him—curiously and longingly. He stroked himself slowly and he cursed under his breath when the tip finally breached the wet opening of your vagina.

Your breath hitched, but his name managed to slip out quietly. He hummed in satisfaction when you slowly lowered yourself on him. The delightful stretch of having him inside you weakened your knees and your pussy tightened around him. He thrusted upwards slowly, sliding his cock further into your wet heat, perfectly stroking your g-spot.

You pulled away a small distance and watched him become utterly enraptured. His freckled cheeks were tainted a deep red that spread up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck like a wildfire. He looked so fucking beautiful. His brows furrowed in concentration and his plush lips parted to release soft groans of pleasure that made your pussy throb around him greedily.

His eyes fluttered open and he leaned up slightly to reach your lips. He managed to land a small peck before you started lifting yourself up and down on his cock. A broken moan from him made you smile devilishly. He fell back into the mattress and squeezed your hips roughly.

“Dammit, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised breathily. You hummed softly and wrapped your hands around his wrists to guide his hands up to your breasts before bouncing on his lap faster, building a more steadfast rhythm.

“I love the way you feel, too,” you moaned softly, aroused at the sound of Dean’s cock entering your wet pussy and your skin hitting his when he was buried so deeply inside you the breath was nearly punched out of your lungs in surprise.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” he continued to worship quietly, pinching almost painfully at your nipples, then teasingly brushed the pads of his thumbs over them—maybe soothingly. You moaned and leaned back with your hands on his thighs the closer you got to your orgasm.

One of Dean’s hands moved away from your breast to slowly slide down the front of your body. You watched him stare up at you, adoring you with his touch and lauding you in between groans and gasps of ecstasy. He squeezed your thigh encouragingly and cursed at the way you clenched your cunt around his sensitive cock.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and let the pleasure of riding him saturate your mind and body. His hands moved along your body, praising without words when all he could do was groan and pant lewdly at your enthusiastic fucking.

He kneaded your breasts, squeezed your flesh, scratched gently at your skin. You were teeming with bliss and you were embarrassingly wet, but everything about him made you pathetically horny and he appeared to absolutely love every second of it.

Dean’s hand finally moved between your legs to find your clit and rub it continuously. His hips bucked upwards when you whined his name and clamped down on his cock as you orgasmed. Your body shook above him and he hummed low in his throat, partially amused, but mostly satisfied.

His thumb rubbed furiously at your clit—dilating the duration of your orgasm, intensifying it—and only stopped when you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your whimper and the way you weakly draped your body over his with your forehead pressed into his warm shoulder, stopped him.

You couldn’t process much after that, but soon your face was pressed into his pillow and your pussy was getting filled again with his cock. His fingers bruised your hips and you gasped out moans as your second orgasm began to build.

"Shit, you love it like this, don't you, sweetheart?" You were flustered by the soppy sound of your cunt every time he pounded into you from behind, but you were partially grateful that he was close to finishing. A perplexing, carnal part of you wanted him to keep ploughing into your pussy until you ached.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Dean praised gruffly. You only whimpered brokenly in response as he fucked you through the squelch and wetness of your second orgasm. Your toes curled with the unbelievable sensation that seized your body when you felt his cum fill you with warmth. His release slipped between your thighs in a mixture with yours and you cried his name as your walls pulsed around his throbbing cock.

Dean released you and your body sank completely into the soft mattress. He panted against your shoulder and murmured praises with his comforting hands sailing along your body.

Your mind slowly returned to the real world and the beat of your heart slowed to its normal rhythm. You were exhausted and you wanted to clean yourself up, but Dean had other plans for you: staying in bed and cuddling.

You willed yourself into getting up out of his bed. You sat up—his arm loosely around your waist—and became aware of the lack of windows and the wooden stake that rested at the far end of the little platform—a shelf really—he had above his bed next to a little fan.

“Um…” you trailed off, wiggling out of his arm to slide out of the messy bed.

“You’re seriously not gonna stay in bed?” He questioned you as you looked around, attempting to ignore the rest of your mixed release dripping from between your legs. You felt his fingers move between yours, then a sharp tug pulled you back in bed. Your legs were shaky so you ended up right back where he wanted you to be—in his embrace.

“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. You squirmed and wiggled until he finally released you, “I don’t know you and I need to… get back… somewhere, home.” He sat up on his side and stared at you blankly for a few seconds. No, he’s too beautiful.

You looked away and decided to pull “your” clothes from where he’d thrown it to get something to cover your body now that your post-orgasmic brain was becoming logical and self-conscious.

“Babe, drop it, we’ll play that game later,” he dismissed you with a cute snort. You groaned at him when he snagged his shirt from your hands. He slowly peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder and you were unable to fight him.

“Dean, I’m serious,” you tried weakly and gripped his hair to pull him away as gently as you could. You turned to look at him again and he backed off. “Look at me and tell me if I’m lying to you.” He rolled his eyes but held your gaze for a few moments as he contemplated you.

You saw the amusement on his handsome face but you continued to frown. The amusement faded into perplexity and concern.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.

—> stone flower

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader

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niilue · 3 months ago

Text

—“a silly situation where vi <33 accidentally falls on your chest, she almost doesn't survive”

cw: fem reader, silly vi <3, sfw, this came to my mind just now and i wanted to write it down

in the heart of the underground gym in zaun, flickering lights illuminated the dust suspended in the air as vi prepared for the hand-to-hand combat session, a competitive grin lighting up her face. it had been her idea to train, and you had eagerly accepted the challenge. vi always loved testing her strength and skills, and today, you were the perfect target.

“ready?” vi asked, raising a fist wrapped in bandages, a spark of excitement glinting in her blue eyes. you nodded, muscles tensing as you took a defensive stance.

the two of you began to circle each other, studying each other’s movements. vi lunged forward with a punch aimed at your right side, which you blocked with your forearms, feeling the force of her attack vibrate through your bones. you couldn’t help but notice how agile she was, how her body moved with precision despite her powerful build.

but just as vi attempted a quick leg sweep, something unexpected happened. a small mistake, a brief moment of distraction, caused her feet to tangle awkwardly. the balance that usually defined her abandoned her, and a surprised shout escaped her lips.

“shit, shit—!”

vi fell forward, and time seemed to slow down. she tried to steady herself, but it was too late. her face crashed directly into your chest, her nose and mouth pressing into the softness while her arms flailed, desperately searching for something to grab onto. you stumbled but managed to stay upright as she froze, her face blazing red with embarrassment.

an awkward silence settled over the gym, and you could feel the heat of her breath as she struggled to process what had just happened. vi jerked back, stumbling away, her face a deep crimson. she fell again, this time onto the floor, her gloves slipping against the mats as she tried to recover.

“i— i didn’t mean—! it was an accident!” vi stammered, unable to look you in the eye. her blue eyes, usually brimming with confidence, now darted around, avoiding yours and searching desperately for something, anything, to focus on. “i— i swear! ugh, seriously, this can’t be happening!”

she rubbed her forehead with one hand, the blush spreading from her neck to her ears, and let out an exasperated groan. it looked like the embarrassment was eating her alive.

“i didn’t… hurt you, did i?” she asked, still not daring to meet your gaze. her fingers fidgeted nervously with the bandages around her wrist, anxiously awaiting your response.

for a moment, there was only tense silence, and then you couldn’t help it: a laugh burst from your lips, clear and ringing, filling the gym with a cheerful echo. vi’s mouth fell open, her expression a mix of astonishment and mortification, but even she couldn’t stop a shy smile from creeping onto her face as she heard your laughter.

😝🥹😂🤣🤣 — this is something that would surely happen to her.

#arcane #vi x reader #arcane vi #arcane x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #sfw #violet arcane #arcane x you #vi arcane #<33 #drabble

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months ago

Note

How about one where Danny saves Tim after Damian cuts Tim’s line?

Danny is throwing out his trash when a hero falls into his arms. He had just finished settling the lid of the bin, stretched his two arms outwards, lacing his fingers together to pop them, and the very second he unlaced them, he heard the shout of alarm.

Glancing up, Danny watches in open astonishment as a body descends from heaven, and he barely has the time to bend his elbows into a catch as the body slams into his arms.

Thankfully, Danny was quick enough to cushion the landing with a big ectoplasm, letting it burst from his forearms and spreading into a makeshift glove that deflates as soon as he catches the body.

Owlishly, he blinks at the white lens of a mask that belongs to the man he caught. A vigilante, one of those bats, he thinks. Danny doesn't pay much attention to the news regarding them, so he has no idea who he's holding.

The other seems frozen in shock, so Danny looks at the sky, wondering where he came from. Standing at the edge is Robin, looking genuinely unsettled.

A rope swings in the wind, obviously been cut. The impaled knife shaped like an R is on the wall next to it. The same R that the kid is wearing on his uniform. His parents are genuine, but it doesn't take Danny long to figure out what happened.

The kid cut this guy's line, which could have easily killed him if not severely harmed him. In all his mature wisdom, Danny does the most natural thing to him.

He flips the bird, jolting the human in his arms into a more comfortable carry and retreating back into the manhole he had crawled out of. The kid seems startled, flipping down from the building, but it will be too late by the time he gets down.

Danny had actually placed a portal to his house in the Infinite Realms right at the diameter of the manhole. The second Danny recovers them with the metal plate, he swings back into the yard of his lovely garden and snaps his fingers to seal off the portal.

By the time the child gets the manhole cover, all he will see is the entranceway to Gotham's sewers. He may even be tempted to search for them, but Danny and his guest will be on an entirely different dimension.

The man in his arms slumps in his hold, looking utterly exhausted. "Where are we?"

"My house. Would you like to come in for some coffee?"

There is a moment where the stranger thinks it over before shrugging, "Why not."

Later, Danny realizes that the easy way Tim allowed himself to be brought inside was a facade. The little shit had just been gathering information on him before he flipped the table and attempted to beat Danny up with impressive martial arts techniques.

Then he stole his specter speeder, flying off into the Realms while Danny wheezed on the ground. Rude. He even took Danny's inbox of who knows what artifacts.

Danny was tasked with discovering their purpose and fixing them as his part-time job as a Ghostly Artifact repairman. Now, his client's stuff was stolen by a spandex-wearing weirdo from what he called the "Trash Dimension."

All because some other spandex-wearing ninja chose to cut his line.

"Crude, one of Clockwork's time amulets was in there," He mutters, wobbling to his feet and shifting into Phantom. He better catch the human before the idiot messed with a timeline. Last time, he took his trash out on a Wednesday and the usual Thursday. This is what happens when he breaks his routines.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The Artifact repair man #Damian is lowkey panicking that Drake vanished #Mostly because Dick is destress #Tim is flying through the death realms like a headless chicken #Slow burn #Enemies to lovers #Dead Tired #Part 1

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3igbootyl0ver · 28 days ago

Text

doctor's in

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: After surviving another Ghostface attack, Tara meets a calm and compassionate doctor, Y/N, who helps her throughout her stay in the hospital, leaving a lasting impression.

word count: 3405

“If you ever need me, just call,” Kirby declared, her voice rasping slightly from dehydration. A wave of relief washed over her as the nightmare finally came to an end.

“We’re all part of the same messed-up family now. Legacy doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, okay?” she said softly.

The air settled into a comfortable silence, with both Tara and Sam finally beginning to relax after the relentless attacks. But the peace shattered when Tara started to weep, the memory of her injured friend resurfacing—a haunting reminder that Chad might not have made it.

Sam and Kirby exchanged concerned looks, their eyes silently urging Tara to speak.

“Just... Chad,” Tara whispered, her voice breaking.

“Hey, we’ve got another one over here!” a voice shouted, snapping everyone’s attention and pulling Tara out of her spiral of negative thoughts.

Her eyes darted towards the commotion, and her breath caught when she saw her best friend being wheeled toward an ambulance on a gurney. His face was pale, his body still, but the steady rise and fall of his chest brought a glimmer of hope. Tara’s tears turned into a sob of relief as she and Sam, hands trembling, dashed toward him.

“How are you even alive?” Sam blurted out, astonished that he had somehow survived at least ten stab wounds.

Chad managed a weak grin and raised four fingers, his silent response making both Sam and Tara scoff in disbelief.

“Core fucking four,” Tara confirmed with a small smile, pulling her friend into a heartfelt hug.

The moment was cut short when Mindy approached, grinning as she began to ramble about Ghostface, as if they hadn’t already pieced it together. Before they could respond, a paramedic stepped in, gently guiding Chad and Mindy toward the ambulance to tend to their wounds.

Both Tara and Sam shared a breath of relief, grateful to have survived another nightmare. For a moment, a fragile hope lingered between them—the possibility that this franchise of terror had finally come to an end.

Tara hissed as a sharp sting radiated from her abdomen. Glancing down, she noticed a small patch of blood seeping through her shirt—her stitches must have torn from hugging Chad too tightly earlier.

Sam’s eyes narrowed in concern as she noticed Tara clutching her side. Without hesitation, she guided her little sister toward a nearby paramedic, determined to ease her pain and ensure she was cared for.

“Hey, can you help my sister?” Sam queried, your back facing her as you were packing up your first aid supplies into a bag.

You turned around the face the sisters, your sharp eyes quickly detecting the issue as Tara clutched on her abdomen. You immediately took charge and instructed Tara to sit on the platform of the ambulance.

As the paramedic knelt in front of her, their fingers brushing hers to gently move her hand away from her injury, Tara felt her pulse quicken. It wasn’t just the pain from the wound—there was something about the steady calm in their eyes, the soft yet firm pressure of their touch, that made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The world outside, the chaos of the night, seemed to blur as she focused on their quiet presence.

She hadn’t expected it, but the more you moved with such confident care, the more she found herself wanting to know you. Just to thank them properly. Maybe more than that. You knelt beside Tara, trying to ignore the faint blush creeping up your neck after noticing how she was staring at you. Her voice trembled as she explained how she got her injury, and you couldn’t help but notice the vulnerability in her tone. It tugged at something deep within you—a mix of pity and something harder to name.

“Looks like your stitches tore,” You said, voice steady but concerned. “We need to make sure there’s no internal bleeding, okay?”

Before Tara could respond, you took out a stethoscope from around your neck and placed the earpieces in your ear. You moved your fingers to Tara’s lower abdomen, feeling carefully for signs of any internal damage, and then listened intently through the stethoscope.

Tara lay still, trying to steady her breath, feeling the subtle pressure of your hand on her abdomen. She couldn’t tell if the rapid thumping in her chest was a result of the pain from her injury or the way you moved your expert hands gently across her skin, sending unexpected tremors through her.

“I’m not hearing anything concerning yet, but we’ll get you checked at the hospital just to be sure,” You explained, removing the stethoscope. “You’re still stable.”

Sam’s hand tightened around Tara’s, relief flooding her. "Thank you," she whispered, though the fear still lingered in her eyes.

You stole a glance at Tara as she sat silently, her hands trembling in her lap. There was something about the way she tried to hide her fear that made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if it was pity or the strange, protective urge bubbling within you.

Both of them followed your lead into the ambulance, settling carefully in the back to ensure they were comfortable. You glanced back at them briefly before heading toward the driver’s seat. Tara’s face was still flushed, her thoughts lingering on the way your hand had rested lightly on her waist when she struggled to climb into the vehicle. The touch, so gentle yet somehow grounding, had stirred something unexpected within her.

Sam’s eyes softened as she noticed the way Tara’s cheeks flushed. “Tara, seriously. You almost died today.”

Tara swallowed, her voice quiet but defiant. “I know. But… they were kind. And, yeah, cute. So what?”

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her. She was too relieved to see Tara okay. For now, she let her little sister hold onto that bit of normalcy, even if it was a little misplaced.

———

“It’s not a serious wound, so I’ll stitch you up soon, and you can sign those papers to leave right away,” the doctor explained while preparing the supplies needed for the suture.

Tara nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. As the doctor continued to explain the mini-procedure, Tara’s mind lingered on you—the paramedic who had been in the ambulance with her. Except, as it turned out, you weren’t really a paramedic at all. You’d been calm, kind, and surprisingly attentive, and she couldn’t help but wonder who you really were.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tara blurted out, breaking the doctor’s explanation mid-sentence, “but I was wondering… the person who came with me in the ambulance, where are they?”

The doctor stopped and glanced up from her tray of instruments, arching a brow. “The paramedic?”

“Yeah,” Tara said quickly, though the word felt wrong now. “I think they said their name was Y/L/N?”

A flicker of recognition passed over the doctor’s face, and she gave a small, distracted nod as she went back to arranging her tools. “Oh, Doctor Y/L/N? They’re not a paramedic. They’re a physician here—just happened to volunteer to ride along because we were short-staffed tonight. They’re probably somewhere checking on patients. It’s been a hectic shift.”

Tara blinked, caught off guard. “They’re a doctor?”

“Mm-hm,” the doctor confirmed, her tone clipped. She seemed more interested in finishing up quickly than continuing the conversation.

Tara leaned back slightly, letting the information sink in. That explained a lot—your confidence, the way you handled her injuries so effortlessly. And yet, it raised more questions. You hadn’t mentioned being a doctor. Did you always downplay yourself like that? Or had you been too focused on helping her to say more?

She suddenly realized how disappointed she felt that you weren’t here now. She had hoped to see you again, maybe even expecting you to stitch her up instead of someone else.

“I didn’t know,” Tara murmured, almost to herself.

The doctor glanced at her briefly but said nothing, clearly eager to finish the suturing.

Tara hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Do you know where they might be?”

The doctor sighed softly, not unkindly, but with the weariness of someone who had been asked too many questions in one night. “Probably somewhere in the ER. If you’re that curious, you can always ask at the nurses’ station when you’re done here. They’d know.”

Tara nodded slowly, a faint flicker of determination lighting in her chest. “Thanks.”

As the doctor began stitching her up, Tara resolved to find you before she left. There was something about you she couldn’t shake—a quiet confidence, a warmth she wasn’t used to. She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but she knew she couldn’t leave without at least trying to see you again.

After the doctor was done with stitching Tara up, she gave a curt nod to both Tara and Sam—instructing them to sign the discharge papers at the reception area.

Tara slid off the exam table, feeling a little unsteady but determined. Sam was already holding the clipboard, scrawling her name with a tired sigh.

“Finally,” Sam muttered. “Let’s get these signed and get out of here. I need sleep after the night we’ve had.”

Throughout the chaos radiating from the ER, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the sterile white walls, Tara couldn’t help but feel a familiar weight pressing down on her chest. The organized commotion—the beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and faint voices of medical staff—was a sensory overload, but it wasn’t unfamiliar.

She was back in a hospital, back in a place that should’ve meant safety but instead brought memories of pain, fear, and helplessness.

As Tara sat in the sterile room, the familiar hum of machines brought a tightening in her chest. It was the same feeling she had a year ago in Woodsboro—vulnerable, alone, barely holding on. Her memories of that night still haunted her, but now, there was something different. There was someone there, not Ghostface, but someone who’d held her hand through her panic. Someone who had treated her with quiet care.

Her breathing quickened as flashes of that night replayed in her mind: the sharp sting of the knife, the searing pain of betrayal as someone she’d trusted turned out to be her attacker. She remembered the sterile room, the aching loneliness, and the constant terror that Ghostface might come back for her.

Back then, her body had been broken, her wounds fresh, and her spirit barely hanging on by a thread. She’d woken up to the chilling realization that she was alone in her fight for survival. No one had been there to hold her hand, to tell her it would be okay. The only certainty she’d had was that Ghostface was out there, waiting for another chance to finish what he’d started.

Her breath began to quicken.

At first, Tara thought it was just the anxiety tightening her chest, but soon her breaths became shorter, raspier. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as her lungs tightened painfully, and her hands instinctively went to her chest. Her vision blurred at the edges as panic set in.

Amid her inner turmoil, Sam’s voice cut through the chaos. She noticed Tara’s breathing immediately—the rapid, shallow gasps, the slight trembling of her hands. It was all too familiar.

“Tara?” Sam’s voice was sharp with worry as she turned toward her sister. When Tara didn’t respond, her panic rose. “Can someone get my sister help? Please!” Sam called out, her voice wavering with desperation

——

You were in the middle of tending to an elderly patient, Mr. Day, who had been complaining about lingering back pain. You listened attentively, nodding as he spoke.

“It’s like a knot that won’t go away,” the man grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.

“I understand,” you said calmly. “Let’s take a look—”

Before you could finish, the commotion outside the room drew your attention. A pleading voice rang out, urgent and strained.

You glanced at Mr. Day apologetically. “Just a moment, Mr. Day. I’ll be right with you.”

“Get me some pain meds while you’re at it, would ya?” he grumbled, waving you off.

You nodded absently, already moving toward the hallway. As you stepped out, you saw the same girl in the ambulance—Tara, sitting in a chair, hunched over, her hand clutching her chest as she gasped for air. Her sister, Sam was beside her, frantically looking around for help.

Your pulse quickened, but your movements remained calm and deliberate. You approached quickly, crouching down beside Tara.

“She’s having an asthma attack,” Sam said, her voice trembling. “She doesn’t have her inhaler.”

You nodded, assessing Tara’s condition with practiced ease. “I’ve got this,” you said to Sam, your voice steady and reassuring.

“Tara,” you said gently, drawing her focus to you. “I’m here to help, okay? I need you to trust me.”

Her wide, panicked eyes met yours, and she nodded weakly.

“Sam, can you grab a nurse and ask for an albuterol inhaler with a spacer, now?” you instructed firmly. Sam didn’t hesitate, running toward the nurses’ station.

You turned back to Tara. “I need you to try and slow your breathing. I know it’s hard, but I want you to follow me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

She tried, her breaths ragged and uneven, but her chest remained tight. You kept your voice calm, unwavering. “That’s it. Slow and steady. You’re doing great.”

Her trembling hand suddenly reached out, finding yours. Her grip was weak but desperate, her fingers curling tightly around your own. The gesture startled you for only a moment before you gently squeezed back, letting her know you were there. Your touch was warm, a contrast against the cold sterility of the hospital. The firm pressure of your fingers felt grounding, pulling her back from the brink.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone in this.”

Moments later, Sam returned with a nurse who handed you the inhaler and spacer. You quickly attached the spacer and held it out to Tara.

“Okay, Tara, put your lips around this, nice and tight,” you instructed, your tone firm but kind. “When I press the inhaler, take a slow, deep breath in and hold it for as long as you can.”

Tara nodded weakly, following your guidance as you administered the first puff. She inhaled deeply, her grip on your hand tightening momentarily before easing while her other hand covered yours that was holding the inhaler. You repeated the process, encouraging her to take another measured breath.

As you continue to console her, Tara’s chest heaved, each breath catching in her throat like jagged glass. The room spun less violently now, though the fluorescent lights still pressed on her like a weight. Your hand was steady against hers, a tether in the storm. Breathe, Tara. Just breathe. She closed her eyes, focusing on their words. The chaos around her dulled—a faint buzz instead of an overwhelming roar. Slowly, her breaths deepened, her fingers unclenching from where they gripped the edge of the stretcher while the other was focusing on your thumb that was soothing her hand.

After a few moments, her breathing began to even out, the tightness in her chest loosening bit by bit. Her shoulders sagged as the panic ebbed, replaced by relief.

“Better?” you asked softly, watching her carefully.

Tara nodded, her breaths still shaky but deeper now. “Yeah,” she managed, her voice hoarse.

You didn’t let go of her hand just yet, giving it one final reassuring squeeze. “You’re okay now,” you murmured. “Just keep taking it slow. You did great.”

Tears welled in her eyes, though she quickly blinked them away. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Sam’s hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Seeing Tara like this—struggling to breathe, barely holding it together—hit her like a punch to the gut. She wanted to scream, to yell at the doctors to move faster, but all she could do was stand there, useless. ‘I promised I’d protect her,’ she thought, her jaw tightening. ‘How the hell am I supposed to do that when she’s falling apart like this?’

Sam crouched beside her. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I can’t—I can’t lose you, Tara.”

“I’m fine now,” Tara murmured, her voice steadier.

As you stood, handing the inhaler to Sam, you offered a parting reassurance. “Keep this with her, just in case. She’ll need to rest for a bit, but she’s stable.”

Sam looked up at you, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you. Really.”

You nodded, smiling softly before turning back to Tara. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

——

You followed the Carpenter sisters to sign their discharge papers, the quiet hum of the hospital filling the comfortable silence between you. Tara, walking just a step ahead of her sister, glanced over her shoulder at you.

“I didn’t know you were a doctor. I thought you were a paramedic,” she said, her voice soft but curious.

You chuckled lightly, the sound warm and unguarded. Tara’s heart fluttered at the sound, and it scared her a little—how someone she barely knew could affect her so much.

“Sorry about that,” you replied with a teasing smile. “Didn’t think my job title mattered much when you were, you know, trying to breathe.”

Tara let out a small laugh, the tension from earlier easing. “Fair point.”

The brief exchange brought a faint blush to her cheeks, but she pressed on. “Honestly? I don’t really care about the title anyway,” she admitted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Whether it’s a doctor or a paramedic, you’re still helping people when they need it most. That’s what matters, right?”

Tara’s gaze lingered, and for a moment, you felt exposed, as though she could see right through you. Heat crept up your neck, and you looked away, pretending to check your watch. Why was she looking at you like that?

Her words made you pause for a moment, glancing at her with a faint smile. “Exactly,” you said. “That’s how I see it, too. It’s not about the title—it’s about making a difference. As long as I’m helping someone, I’m doing my job.”

The sincerity in your voice struck a chord in Tara. She found herself studying you—the way your eyes softened as you spoke, the calm confidence in your stance. Passionate, compassionate, smart, and…cute, she thought, her heart skipping a beat.

Sam, who had been quietly observing the interaction, cleared her throat. “Well, thanks, Doc, for everything. We’ll let you get back to saving lives now.”

You gave a small nod, flashing them a kind smile. “Take care, Tara. And you too, Sam.”

"Thanks," Tara said quietly, her lips curling into a faint smile.

You nodded, feeling your words catch in your throat. Why did you suddenly forget how to speak? You managed a quick, "Anytime," before busying yourself with the clipboard in your hand.

As you walked away, Tara found herself staring after you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Great, she thought, her cheeks heating. Now I’m going to be thinking about them for the rest of the day.

Tara’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of lingering vulnerability and something softer—an unspoken connection that hadn’t been there before. Her chest felt lighter now, the immediate panic subsiding, but she couldn’t shake the way your calm, steady presence had steadied her in the chaos.

By the time Sam and Tara finally hopped into a cab to head home, Tara felt a mix of exhaustion and disbelief settling over her. She slumped into her seat, exhaustion weighing her down. The night had been chaotic, leaving her reeling from everything that had happened. But then it hit her—she hadn’t done the one thing she’d been meaning to since she was first under your care.

She hadn’t gotten your number.

“Fuck.”

She wanted to thank you properly, to say (and do) something more than the rushed gratitude she’d managed back there. But now, the opportunity had slipped through her fingers. Her lips pressed into a thin line. No, she thought, determined. This isn’t over. Her mind was made up. She didn’t know how, but she was going to find you again. And next time, she wouldn’t leave without your number.

----------

a/n: Hi hehehehe will post pt 2 in a few weeks

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream

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gilbertscurls · 3 months ago

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one of your girls ➵ matt sturniolo

summary: during a movie night, nick and chris notice a particular mark on your neck.

The night was alive with the glow of the TV, casting flickering shadows across the living room. You were nestled comfortably between Nick and Chris on the oversized couch, a bowl of popcorn perched precariously in your lap. Matt sat at the end, eyes darting to you every so often with that subtle look he’d perfected—the one that said everything and nothing at once.

“Alright, who’s picking the movie tonight?” Nick asked, shifting to grab the remote.

“Me,” Chris chimed in before anyone could answer, waving his hand like he’d just won a game show. A groan rose from Nick as Chris clicked through the streaming options.

You laughed, eyes meeting Matt’s for just a fraction of a second—an unspoken acknowledgment of the weekend that had been nothing but secret meetings and whispered promises. The hidden smile threatened to tug at the corners of your lips.

“What’s so funny?” Nick’s voice snapped you out of it. He raised an eyebrow, smirking like he was on the brink of a discovery. Your eyes widened slightly, a reflex you hoped no one caught.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Chris shifted his gaze to you, eyes narrowing as if he could see right through you. The couch creaked as he leaned closer, suddenly serious. “Wait a second,” he said, peering at the side of your neck, his eyes widening in recognition. “Is that—”

Panic flashed across your face, but before you could react, Nick’s voice joined in, louder and more playful. “Oh my god, it is!” His finger pointed to the faint purple mark half-hidden beneath the collar of your sweatshirt.

Heat flooded your cheeks as Chris’s mouth dropped open in mock astonishment. “You have a hickey!” he accused, grinning like a kid who’d just found candy hidden in a drawer.

“I do not,” you said, but your voice betrayed you, barely steady. The room erupted into laughter, Nick and Chris exchanging conspiratorial looks that only brothers could share.

“Who’s the guy?” Nick asked, waggling his eyebrows as if he’d stumbled upon the scandal of the year. Matt, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, coughed, eyes glued to the floor as he fought to keep a straight face.

“Oh, you know,” you tried to brush it off, your eyes darting nervously to Matt. But Chris was relentless.

“Don’t tell me it’s some random dude we don’t know.” Chris’s grin widened as he glanced at Matt, who now looked up, his eyes meeting yours for a heartbeat too long.

Nick caught the look, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly, realization dawning on him. “Is it… Matt?”

The room fell silent for a second that stretched like an eternity. Matt cleared his throat, finally letting a mischievous smirk break across his face. “You guys are impossible,” he muttered, the casual act not fooling anyone.

“Oh my god, it is!” Chris shouted, pointing between the two of you with a laugh. “I knew it! That explains so much.”

Nick collapsed back into the couch, groaning but unable to hide his smile. “Well, this movie night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Your face burned as Matt’s hand found yours on the back of the couch, out of sight but warm and reassuring. The secret was out, but as the laughter and teasing continued, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike

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httpsserene · 21 days ago

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MOTHER SERENE 🙏 I'M IMAGINING CHARLES AND HIS GF GIFTING OLLIE A SPYDER AND GOING: u deserve this more than your uncle arthur does 🥹 like that is so wholesome and then Ollie goes 🥹 sorry dad i got u parking lessons.... FROM MOM

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ LOL imagine the continuation from 1-800-HELP-ME-PARK:

it's f1 secret santa 2025 and ollie gets handed a incredibly small box decorated with christmas-themed lightning mcqueen wrapping paper, and he's trying not to display his disappointment because there's that phrase: good things come in small packages.

just from the wrapping alone, he rattles off a few guesses on who may be behind his gift, "it could be liam, because i know he's the token cars fan. or, kimi! or, charles too! since he's like, the lightning mcqueen lookalike."

he neatly tears the paper off too uncover a glossy white box with a silver ferrari logo embossed in the center. "ah, so it's charles or lewis, i guess!"

lifting the top off the box reveals a handwritten note on a piece of card stock covering the gift that's underneath.

decided to get you a spider of your own after the spectacular results you achieved in your rookie season. i hope you inherited your parallel parking skills from your mother and not me!

ollie's mouth drops open in astonishment, stuttering wordlessly as he pulls the card stock away to reveal a rosso corsa key fob. he shouts in surprise, startling the already stunned camera team, "i can't accept this, can i??1!"

the cameraman look at him like he's lost his mind, "kid, he bought you a ferrari!!! of course, you can accept it!"

ollie brightens with joy momentarily before his expression pales in despair and regret, "fuck. he's so going to take the keys back when he sees that i gifted him parking lessons with his girlfriend for secret santa."

#reader's rambles.#f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #ollie bearman x reader #serene’s chapters.#⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1

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sturnmeovr · 2 months ago

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♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader - Licensed Driver

(not me posting this a week before Chris told us he got his license😭)

“I fucking did it!’ your boyfriend shouts throughout the house as soon as he opens the front door. The boys had been gone the last few hours, failing to tell you what their plans were since you in a dead sleep on the couch when they decided to leave.

Your morning sickness was starting to ease up, only enough to make you feel like you're somewhat functioning. The last few months consisted of nothing but vomiting, off-and-on fevers, and sweats and shakes, making it nearly impossible to get anything done. You were happy your constant state of nausea was finally wearing off. Chris, being the big help he was, always made sure everything was squared away for you.

“Put your keys away, baby,” he jokes as he bounces around the corner, holding up a laminated square card next to his face with an ear-to-ear grin. You let a gasp roll off your tongue, standing up from the couch. Before you can say anything, Chris is already putting his feet in motion, “ya babydaddy is a licensed driver,” he beams, not letting his smile drop one bit. His comment makes an oh-so familiar redness creep to your cheeks, and you press your lips together, fighting back a smile. It was obvious he still had the same effect on you as he did the day you met. Clearing your throat to make no words get caught, you take the license from him to admire his picture, “you look so cute,” you coo at him.

Chris hurriedly snatches it back, “my picture is bogus. I had hat hair,” he admits before you snatch it from his hand, “hey!” astonishment laced around his words. “Chris, I’ve literally seen you with bedhead, I don’t care about your hat hair,” you snort before taking another look at his license, “why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve came with you!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he tells you, sitting down on the couch and picking up a bag of Doritos you had abandoned an hour earlier. You sit down next to him, watching as he shoves a few in his mouth, “I don’t want you driving to all the appointments with how baby bean’s been making you feel lately," his voice muffled by the crunching of chips. You knit your brows together, indicating you could barely understand him. Once Chris finishes chewing, his words become more clear, "I don't want you go out late at night on snack run either. People kidnap pregnant ladies, y'know," he tells you before sitting up to take a sip of his Pepsi, oblivious to the fact he had just unlocked a new fear for you. You weren't leaving the house anytime soon by yourself.

“Yea, now he can stop asking me to get all the disgusting food combinations that kid wants,” Matt chimes in as he strides over the opposite side of the sectional, plopping down with a playful smirk plastered on his face. His comment earns a bellowed laugh from Nick who was sitting at the kitchen island, “It's Chris’s kid, what do you expect?” his voice laced with sarcasm. Chris lets out a heavy sigh as he tosses the bag of chips in your lap, “wow, no congratulations?" matching the same playful energy as his brothers, "I got a kid on the way, and I just got my license. Shows how much you guys care,” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt turns to you with the same shit-eating grin Chris had smeared across his face a few moments prior, “looks like you’re gonna have two babies on your hands in the next couple months, huh?”

“As long as you babysit,” you shoot back, and he follows it with, “you fucking wish," quickly after.

I love how I came up with this fic a few days before Chris got his license 😂😂

Wc - 628?? Not proofread yet

An - Since you guys loved the last blurb 🥹 I just love this au sooo much Don’t forget to send me asks about babydaddy!Chris & sweetheart!Reader. Check out my babydaddy!Chris masterlist or my main masterlist in the meantime! I have a few post scheduled so be on the lookout if you aren’t on my tag list 🫶🏻

Taglist for all my works (comment to be added)

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 @delusional-4-fake-people @shadowthesim

Dividers & photo edits are mine. Feel free to use.

#♡‧₊˚cheyennes works #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris #♡‧₊˚ sweetheart!reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo blurb

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myjjongie · 13 days ago

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✶ THE TASTE OF MINT ── l. heeseung

IN WHICH: you have a big collection of lip balms, but never expected heeseung to make a mission out of it. the mission in question? finding which lip balm he likes the most on you.

PAIRING: bf!heeseung x gf!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lower case intended !!, established relationship, kissing, they make out lowkey, fluff, skinship WORD COUNT: 1.3k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: we are gonna ignore the fact that two of my recent oneshots are both kissing related. they are MAJOR coincidences LMAO. also where are all my mint lip balm enjoyers at ????

heeseung always thought it was absurd that you had an abundant amount of lip balms stashed away in your bathroom drawer. not to mention heeseung found the growing collection to be pointless.

the idea of collecting something that you only needed one of didn’t make sense to him. he always thought that but never said anything since truthfully he found the growing collection adorable. despite his opinion on it, he enjoyed your smile more than he disliked your minor hobby.

that small dislike faded when he kissed your lips one day. what heeseung found astonished him. there was the unexpected burst of flavor from your lips. he remembered the taste of the flavor being pineapple. almost as if he was drinking a pina colada. since that day heeseung made a secret mission out of every kiss he took. hoping one specific kiss would lead him to his favorite lip balm on you.

unbeknownst to heeseung, today would be that day.

per usual you were getting ready for an outing with heeseung. you stood in front of the bathroom sink finishing off your hair. all that was left was applying lip balm. you opened the infamous drawer, as heeseung would call it at times. rummaging around you frowned at some of the ones you picked out. you picked out vanilla, it was a classic flavor but you weren’t in the mood for it. rummaging around again you found a cotton candy flavor, then honey, then a strange assortment of fruit flavors. with a sigh you ran your fingers through your hair. frustration soon building at the overwhelming options.

“are you ready yet babe?” your head turned at heeseung’s voice. an even deeper sigh left your lips at your boyfriend waiting patiently for you in the other room.

“yeah almost give me 5 more minutes!” you shouted out to him.

“this is ridiculous… all these lip balms yet i can’t pick out a single one i want to wear…” you cursed out under your breath at the new time crunch.

soon you went back to digging in the drawer. hoping to find one you’d actually wear. once hitting the bottom you did a little more moving around and grabbed a random lip balm not even bothering to look. hopefully the random pick would surprise you enough to wear it. pulling your hand out from the stash of tubes you open your hand to read the label. it was a mint flavored lip balm.

before your collection grew out of control, mint was always your go to. the feeling of the soothing chill on your lips felt good everytime you applied it. that memory alone made you excited to put it on.

“no way i forgot about this.” your voice was mixed with a bit of surprise and shock. you couldn’t believe you forgot about your original favorite flavor.

without anything else to think about, you applied the lip balm. there it was, that nice chill feeling that danced along your lips. finally feeling satisfied with your choice you closed the lip balm. settling the tube down on the counter, you got ready to walk away from the mirror. turning around you were startled by a figure. a scream escaped your lips as you realized the figure was heeseung. his silent approach startled you more than you anticipated.

“heeseung you scared me!”

“sorry. i just came over to check on you. you took longer than 5 minutes sweetie.” heeseung’s voice sounded worried as he focused on your startled form.

placing your hand on your chest you eased yourself from the sudden scare.

“it’s okay hee. im ready though so we can leave now.” you let off a smile to your boyfriend to help ease him. you could see a growing worried look stitched into his brows.

before stepping outside of the bathroom heeseung stopped you. his hand gently grazing your cheek. instinctively melting into his touch you couldn’t help but look up at him. your eyes studied his face, the worried look now dissipated. you realized as well his gaze wasn’t meeting yours. it was fixed a bit lower. you already had an idea of where his eyes were staring so longingly, it was at your lips.

as much as heeseung tried hiding it. you figured out what he was doing. noticing every time you applied lip balm he was magically there ready to give you a kiss. it didn’t take long to piece heeseung’s actions together. all those short kisses was him trying to find a lip balm he enjoyed on you. you never disclosed the new found information to heeseung. since watching him make a mission out of it was too cute. you then remembered it had been a while since you wore a mint flavor. so this one could interest him or maybe it wouldn’t at all.

heeseung couldn’t help taking his thumb to gently rub it across your bottom lip. he smirked slightly at the all familiar feeling of the slight waxy consistency, which now stuck to his thumb.

“you know your lips look extra nice right now. out of all the brands you use i don’t think i’ve seen you use this one yet?” heeseung was still focused on your lips barely paying attention to you answer him.

“oh i found a lip balm i haven’t used in a while. what do you think?”

“it looks really good.” heeseung responded absentmindedly leaning down to give you a quick kiss. his thumb now resting beneath your chin gently tilting your face up.

right away heeseung felt that cooling sensation that coated your lips the moment you put the lip balm on. he found enjoyment in the feeling, the way the flavor left off a refreshing taste to his lips. after a few seconds he parted away from the kiss. his thumb still tucked beneath your chin. you noticed the way he stood there. you asked yourself if he was wondering what the flavor was. it was a hard one to place since mint was a random flavor on its own.

“mint.” heeseung murmured underneath his breath. then once again his lips were met with yours. his lips grazed against yours gently but more earnestly. this time the kiss felt more heated, more intimate as if he wanted to take you whole.

a soft whimper escaped from you as heeseung’s teeth grazed your bottom lip. the feeling sent shivers down your spine. the sudden urgency from him caught you off guard. your hands placed onto his chest softly tapping at him to break away wanting to catch your breath. unfortunately to your dismay heeseung’s hand now snaked to the back of your neck keeping you steady. the new hold helped him kiss you deeper and more desperately. despite the itching feeling to catch your breath. you couldn't help but melt into the kiss. his lips moving about with need making your knees weaken. the soft sounds of your kissing echoed within the bathroom. your fingers felt like they were on fire from how tight you held onto his shoulders for support.

the kiss to heeseung was the same as any other kiss you both had. he didn’t understand why he felt so needy for your lips this time around. maybe it was the chilling effect of the mint that made the taste of your lips feel intoxicating to him. heeseung wasn’t able to put a finger on it, but he knew he wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon.

after what felt like forever, heeseung finally pulled back from your lips. though his hand still lingered on your neck, the smirk on his face deepened as he took in your dazed expression. looking into the reflection behind you, he couldn’t help but notice how your flushed face was mirroring his own.

heeseung smirked softly, his hand finding its way back to your chin. “yeah mint is definitely my favorite.”

without further hesitation he leaned in for another kiss.

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callsign-songbird · 1 year ago

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This was supposed to be a short rambling and ended up turning into a mini fic lol. I know the tense shifts, I know it's sloppy lol

Anyway, Simon has a sweetheart who gets kidnapped and gets to meet "Ghost" for the first time.

The first time you meet Ghost, it's supposed to be carefully planned and controlled. After all, Simon was so worried about opening that part of himself up to you. To you, he was Simon. Soft, introverted, sweet, desperately trying to break a cycle of generational trauma. You had never met Ghost.

But, of course, nothing in Simon's life can go according to plan, and when you have people that mean something to you, they become weaknesses. So, when you get kidnapped by a Russian military company with the intel that you were important to Task Force-141? Ghost has already burnt down the world once, you're sure as hell that he would do it again for his love. So, when you meet Ghost, it isn't carefully rehersed and planned like Simon wanted. No.

Instead, you're terrified, bound, and gagged on a cold concrete floor wearing little more than your skivvies as tears stream down your face. Then, out of the blue, gunfire and shouting rings through the halls. Stealth be damned, as soon as their cover is blown, you know that Ghost will fight like a rabbit animal. He barges into your cell, tackling a man against the wall with a knife to his throat and a gun at his head.

Those eyes that had looked at you so softly and tenderly were completely unrecognizable when they were this wide and intense, wild with bloodlust. "Where is the girl?" He spits out in fluent Russian before his eyes catch sight of you.

'BANG'

A single bullet through the soldiers' skull, splattering Ghost with even more viscera and gray matter. Ghost doesn't even seem phased as he holsters his pistol and pulls away, letting the body drop with a sickening thud. He walks brazenly up to you, but pauses as he notices the way you frantically back yourself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from this monster who had surely come to drag you from one hell to the next.

Then, he crouches down and outstretches a gentle hand to you, letting you come to him. He called your name so sweetly, and that was a voice you recognized. You tried to muffle out his name through the rag shoved into your mouth and tied around your head. That earned a low chuckle, a dangerous one that you hadn't heard before. "Not quite, love. Ghost. Now, let's get you home, eh?"

Ghost. The name echoed in your mind, bouncing around as you tried to remember where you had heard it before. Your eyes flicked over to the corpse splayed in the doorway of your cell, making you nearly vomit in your mouth before looking away. Ghost shifted closer, using the knife still in his hand to cut through the rough ropes binding you. "Bloody hell... idiots didn't even use chains, could have escaped right easy, you could of." Ghost muttered, mostly to himself. The words were terrifying to hear.

He reached to untie your gag next, a chuckle rumbling lowly in his chest as you flinch away. He gives you half a second to compose yourself before he unceremoniously rips the gag off of you and tosses it to the side. Red marks are etched into your cheeks where the gag had dug in, and the sight makes Ghost seeth. "Oh, love..." His words are soft, but his tone is enraged, as if those marks alone could start his new crusade.

"LT!" Blue eyes and a neatly groomed Warhawk pop into the door, stepping casually over the corpse as the new face made his way over to you. "This her, LT?" A thick Scottish accent was present, along with a bit of thinly veiled appreciation. "Off limits Johnny, this is her. This is my girl."

Whenever Simon called you his, it was soft and reverent, as if astonished that he could call someone so precious his. But when Ghost said it? It was commanding, possessive, and left no room for argument. You were his. And that thought was almost scary.

Ghost wasted no more time, scooping you up into his arms and making their way quickly through the facility you had only caught glances of while Ghost and Johnny talked in some military jargon you didn't understand.

That's when you noticed it.

Even though Ghost was holding you so tight and close, even though his touches seemed so rough and careless, even though he was splattered with all sorts of blood and viscera, you had none of it on you. Ghost had been so careful with his touches, with how he held you, determined not to stain and taint your delicate skin with the fuel to his fire, the essence of his soul. And that was quite possibly when you realized that 'Simon' and 'Ghost' were merely two sides of the same coin. And they were both yours as much as you were theirs. his.

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 4 months ago

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The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with the last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

#annatar x reader #sauron x reader #the rings of power

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chososcamgirl · 5 months ago

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(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

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perlelune · 1 year ago

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Cruel Summer | Felix Catton

Your mother's money issues make it hard for you to enjoy your summer at Saltburn. Thankfully your cousin is there to comfort you. But what happens when you realize his interest in you isn't just familial concern?

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Start! Reader, Incest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Corruption, Innocent Reader, Drugs, Smoking, Filming

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your eyes round as they absorb the massive castle and the vast, lush gardens surrounding it. As you drag your suitcase behind you, you can’t quell the urge to admire everything. Even the towering, perfectly symmetrical trees lining the path to the iron gates. It’s been years since you visited Saltburn, but you don’t remember it being so big or intimidating.

Still, you bask in the chirping of birds and the brightness of the sky above you. You’re compelled to admit it. The English countryside is lovely, a haven away from the pollution and noise of the city. A sharp contrast to the familiar chaos you’re used to back home. The uproar of traffic, from the honking to the shouting. The endless stream of people strutting down the streets. The gigantic ads and the skyscrapers that graze the stars.

A city that never rests or stops for anyone.

While this is home, it all can be so overwhelming. There never is time to just…breathe and be. Here, as you look at your surroundings, you figure it’s all there is to do. Breathe and be.

You push the small iron door on the side, astonished to find it ajar. Did they leave it open for you? You doubt it however. From what Mom told you, consideration for others isn’t one of your aunt and uncle’s strong suits. They’re too wrapped up in their “posh little world”. One your mom isn’t a part of anymore. And neither are you, as you’ve been raised overseas.

As for your brother…well he’s another matter. Shipped from school to school thanks to Uncle James’ “bottomless well of generosity”, he is a free spirit. Seas apart from you in every possible way.

Ever since you were young, the pressure to succeed has gripped you tight and never released you. When others partied and experimented, you were nose deep in your books, stressing over finishing every assignment on time and acing every test. It paid off. You were accepted into your school of choice this summer, with a scholarship no less.

Slacking off isn’t an option for you.

While your brother has a sort of safety net, you’re not so close with that side of your family. You’re their estranged American niece, one they haven’t seen in over a decade.

In fact, you’ve no idea how you’ll be received.

The long walk to the castle is harrowing but gives you time to comb through your memories. You were so little the last time you visited. Still, foggy remembrance floods your thoughts. You played with your cousins by the pond. Made up stories and ran around the fields. You even faintly recall skinning your knees when one of them dared you to try and climb all the way to the top of the stone stairs beneath the stained glass window. You slipped for a long time and wept on the floor, you think. Auntie Elspeth scolded her children and you for playing dangerous games.

Their cherubic faces flicker in your mind.

There were two of them.

A little boy with dark hair and a gummy smile. A blonde girl who giggled all the time. And of course, your brother.

When you’ve reached the castle’s front door, you suck in a wide breath. Before you can even knock on the tall, black doors, they swing open in front of you.

A surprised exhale spills from your throat.

Swallowing, you fall back.

Hands behind his back, a stern man in a suit runs his gaze over you. He is so still, for a minute, you wonder if he’s real.

But then he speaks. “Are you lost, miss?” he asks.

You shift, a surge of inadequacy filling you. Still, you clear your throat and give a tremulous answer.

“Hi. I…I’m here to visit my family.”

The man doesn’t budge, still pinning you with his unflinching stare. Sweat breaks out on your back. Are you at the right place?

“The Cattons,” you offer, an awkward smile stretching your lips. “My brother should already be here.” You start rummaging through your backpack to pull out a map. “This is Saltburn, right? Auntie Elspeth sent me the itinerary but perhaps I-”

He cuts you off, seeming almost annoyed with you.

“Right, you’re…earlier than we expected, Ms. Start.”

“I could come back later-”

“The gates aren’t open. We’d have sent someone to pick you up.”

You glance back, dumbfounded. The gates were definitely open, weren’t they? Or perhaps that little door wasn’t supposed to be crossed. Your cheeks flame. The elaborate rules your wealthy relatives abide by are already eluding you.

Your shoulders heave and fall.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that long a walk.”

The man stiffly allows you in. You note the two black men standing by the door. They haven’t uttered a single word, blending into the background. Always seen but never heard. You believe your brother mentioned something like that in his sporadic texts and letters. Your gaze tears from them. The inside of Saltburn is even more majestic, a thing you didn’t think possible. Standing in a museum wouldn’t be much different, you suppose, between the antiques sitting on shelves, paintings hanging on the walls and crystal chandeliers hovering above you.

So, this is what generational wealth looks like.

When you were little, you didn’t notice this. You were too busy playing. Now, it’s all you can see.

“Just leave your bag there. Someone will get it for you,” the man says.

“Someone, as in…”

“Someone,” he repeats, staunchly refusing to elaborate.

The grip on the handle of your suitcase tightens.

“I really don’t need it. I can carry it myself.”

The man considers you, his face twitching as if you just spat in it. Your insides stir in confusion. All you’ve said is that you don’t mind carrying your own luggage.

The loud utterance of your name has your head snapping sideways.

Your mouth falls open when a towering, young man in a yellow shirt around your age strides in your direction.

He halts in front of the stern man, chiding him with a playful lilt in his tone.

“Really Duncan? You’re scaring the poor girl. Duncan, stop being so terrifying. She’s family.”

“Well, I shall try.”

You note the subtle warmth in the man’s tone as he addresses the newcomer.

He turns to you, beaming. Your stomach flutters. “Cousin, try not to be too terrified of Duncan.”

You’re taken aback when he grabs the hand gripping the suitcase. His large hand completely engulfs yours.

“I’ll show her to her room. Don’t worry,” he chimes. He pulls you away and you’re forced to keep up with his long, enthusiastic strides. He tosses you a glance, laughing when you sort of hop behind him. “Sorry about that. Duncan’s a bit odd, but he’s alright, you’ll see.”

“And you are…?”

Disappointment creeps on his face at your question. He spreads a hand over his chest.

“Felix, your cousin. Golly, you don’t remember me? Really? That kind of hurts.”

Your eyes grow. The picture in your mind was that of a chubby-cheeked, clumsy little boy. Your cousin definitely isn’t that anymore.

“Oh my god, yes! Felix. You don’t have a lisp anymore and…You’re like a giant now.”

A smug expression lights his features.

“Puberty.”

You laugh in response. “Yeah, I guess we all grew up.”

A strange glint fleets across his gaze as he gives you a quick once over.

“Clearly,” he says, his smile expanding.

He shows you around the estate. You can’t suppress your awe when he mentions Henry VIII, surprised Saltburn’s history stretches that far back. The library also radiates ancient and priceless, countless rare leather-bound books sitting on the shelves. A smile creeps on your face when Felix greets the ghost of your grandmother.

He takes you through a vertiginous amount of hallways until taking you to what will be your room. It’s apparently right next to Venetia’s. You glance around, expecting another long lost cousin to pop up perhaps. But it’s just you and Felix in the vast bedroom.

He leans against the doorjamb while you soak in the room and the massive bed, large enough to welcome three or four people. It’s nothing like your tiny bed at home or the one in your college dorm. This is something you never had, and that is just Felix and Venetia’s normal. It makes you speechless.

You drop your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The mattress bounces as you plop down on it. You let your fingers skim over the blissfully soft sheets.

Your contemplation is abbreviated by the ringing of your phone. You flip it open. The screen lights up, signaling a new message received. You type on the glowing arrows to find out it’s from Mom.

Remember to ask your aunt and uncle for what we talked about.

I really need you, sweetie.

You unleash a heavy breath. Your mom is the one who pressured you to go on this trip. Ever since her brother’s regular payments have dried up, your mother’s been relentless. She keeps claiming she wants her share of the trust and your uncle argues that she used all of it. First, she recruited Farleigh to speak on her behalf. Your brother’s attempts have met little success however. So your mother enlisted you.

You don’t know what more you can do that your brother couldn’t, but you can never say no to anything your mother asks.

“Is something wrong?” Felix inquires, making his way to your bed to sit near you. The scent of his pricey cologne tingles your nose.

“It's nothing,” you lie. “Just Mom asking if my arrival’s been smooth.”

Your cousin seems like the living embodiment of sunshine, just like you remember. If possible, you want to keep him out of the money issues between your mom and Uncle James.

Felix tilts his head as he studies you.

“It’s kinda funny.”

“What?”

“The way you say ‘mum’”

A laugh peals from your lips.

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to my accent being made fun of.”

Felix shrugs. “My mum will think it’s exotic.”

You cringe inside. You never liked that word, how it makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.

Switching topics, you ask, “Is my brother around? I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Ah, Farleigh’s probably skulking about somewhere.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

Felix collects the book poking through the zipper of your backpack. He flips through the stained pages of your copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood prince. You accidentally spilled coffee on it during a late night study session.

“You could talk to him about this,” he offers, waving the book. “We’ve kind of been passing around Venetia’s copy. Although I tend to skip to the most interesting parts, but don’t tell everyone else.”

You smile.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply solemnly.

He watches you for a long time, long enough for your gaze to find the floor as your face heats.

“It’s really good having you here with us, cousin. I mean it.”

You fidget in your spot. “Thanks.”

Felix flashes you a mischievous grin.

“But I’ll need to make sure you remember me this time.”

The rest of the day is spent reconnecting with your other relatives. Everyone gathers in the library and you get to meet Venetia, realizing she too has changed a lot since you were kids.

Oliver, Felix’s friend from Oxford is also there. From your cousin’s broad explanations, it appears he’s grieving the loss of one of his parents, so he invited him to make sure he isn’t alone. It’s unbelievably kind. Besides, you’re guessing from Oliver’s lost puppy dog stares and awkward manners, that he’s as out of place as you are here. Instant sympathy blooms inside you when you’re introduced to him.

A woman named Pamela is also in attendance. She is Aunt Elpseth’s close friend, though it’d be hard to tell, the way she orders her around like a servant and exposes the long list of tragedies her love life has been to the entire room.

A saying about friends and enemies flutters through your mind as you witness their interactions. It’s such a bizarre spectacle, watching this red-haired woman, dead behind the eyes, bend over backwards for your aunt. You don’t remember Aunt Elspeth being this cold-blooded.

And naturally, there is your brother. Farleigh. Aloof in the back, apart from the Cattons, your eyes collide from across the room. He smiles at you. You smile back. Warmth flows through you.

It’ll be a while before you’re comfortable around each other again. It pains you to say, but you don’t know your own brother all that well anymore.

Dinner’s a strangely formal affair. Everyone’s dressed to the nines, giving the family gathering more of a cocktail party vibe than that of a family dinner. Venetia lends you a dress so you aren’t the odd one out. You thank her profusely. All you packed when you left America are jeans and a few pairs of shorts. It never occurred to you that you’d need any kind of formal wear since you figured you would be around family.

But you failed to take into account said family is also a part of British high society.

Awkwardness fills you as you hesitate over the utensils, the different kinds of knives and forks making you dizzy. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself on the first day. Seeming to grasp your predicament, Venetia nudges your elbow when you grip the right fork and knife.

You mutter a quiet ‘thanks’ and she winks at you.

Several courses are brought on silver platters, one after the other. The entire time, you focus on your plate, swallowing every bland, flavorless bite.

Stiff conversation is exchanged at the table, most of it centering on Aunt Elspeth’s dour-looking friend. Once more, compassion flutters through you.

It’s blatant to everyone at the table that Pamela isn’t wanted at Saltburn anymore.

It’s a relief when dinner concludes and you can return to your bedroom.

You sit by the large window in your room to admire the night sky. Between the skyscrapers and artificial lights, it’s hard finding a spot to look at the stars in New York. Here however, you can make out constellations and various other glittering shapes.

Venetia joins you on the windowsill. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows smoke on the window. She shoots you a cheeky smile.

“So, do you regret coming already?” she teases.

You fiddle with your hands.

“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. It’s…kind of unreal being here.”

“Just remember this is your home too.”

You mull it over. It is becoming clear to you how much you don’t fit in with the Cattons, despite sharing blood with them. You wonder if it’s how your brother has felt all these years. Like an outsider amidst his own kin. Although, you have to admit he looked quite comfortable at dinner. Far more than you, definitely.

“I’ll…try to remember that.” You hesitate, gnawing on your lip before speaking again. “Is Pamela gonna be okay, you think?”

Venetia shrugs.

“I think she’ll be alright.”

Your lips purse. Who knows how that haunted woman will fare once she’s on her own in the world again? You’re not too hopeful. But it seems like Aunt Elspeth is done with her, so it cannot be helped you suppose.

“If you say so.” You tilt your head at your cousin, dropping casually. “Do you think Uncle James is still up?”

“At this hour, Daddy will be in his study.”

You nod and get to your feet. Wandering the halls of Saltburn at night is a peculiar experience. The shadows clinging to the walls seem to follow your every step. Dusty slices of moonlight spill from the windows, bringing the stern portraits of your distant relatives to life, the aged hues of the paintings shifting in the dim light. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you're being watched. The back of your neck tingles as the sound of your fearful steps echoes in the vast halls. A breeze of cool air seeps through your clothes. You tug on the cardigan Venetia let you borrow from her closet, hurrying your pace.

For a long time, you spin in circles, growing desperate to find your uncle’s study. Your spirits sour. You followed Venetia’s instructions to the letter yet you got lost. A left, a right, straight along the green room, then…another right?

You frown. Now you can’t remember. Why does every hallway look the same here?

Astray in your own mind, you carelessly bump into a hard object.

You lift your gaze. Your jaw drops.

“Felix,” you exclaim, placing a hand over your heaving chest. “You scared me.”

Mirth glints in his brown orbs.

“Lost, cousin?”

Avoiding his eyes, you scratch your am.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” you mumble.

Felix chuckles and seizes your arm.

“It’s not. It’s easy to get lost here.” You gasp as he pulls you alongside him. “Just tell me where you need to go and I’ll show you the way.”

Too dumbstruck by his abrupt appearance, you let Felix drag you through the somber hallways. The sharp twists and turns he takes make your head spin. There is no way you’d have found the study on your own.

He halts in front of two mahogany doors. Your feet bounce as your hand lingers on the brass handles.

Felix knocks on the door and your heart leaps.

“I’ll wait for you here, so you don’t get lost again,” he says.

“You don’t have to,” you squeak.

He leans over you and smiles.

“I insist, cousin. I have to prove to you not all of us are completely horrible…despite what you may have seen.”

Your face warms.

“T-Thank you.”

James’ voice rises from inside the room, giving you permission to enter. You nod at Felix and take shaky steps inside the study. The crackle of logs burning away reaches you. The swaying flames mingle with the shadows, casting a faint orange glow on the room.

“Uncle James, may I speak to you?” you bashfully inquire.

He lowers his round glasses and puts down the notebook in his hands.

“Of course. Anytime, love. Have a seat.”

“Is something troubling you, child?”

You gulp the lump stuck in your throat, staring at your lap for a while before you meet your uncle’s gaze again. You shift in your seat.

You don’t know how to ask or, more precisely, the appropriate way to ask. A wide lungful enters your lungs. Why delay the inevitable?

You elect to dive right into your reason to be here.

“My mother. Well, she was wondering…” Your nerves buzz as your uncle’s sharp eyes cut into you. You clear your throat before continuing. “We were wondering if there were issues on your side because she hasn’t…” Sweat blooms inside your palms as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Well, you haven’t sent anything like you usually do and it’s been two months now.”

A heavy coat of silence falls over the study. After a while, your uncle unleashes a deep sigh.

“And she sent you to vouch for her.”

“I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. “Mom, she…She isn’t really good with money.” This is a massive understatement, and from the way Uncle James’ eyes bear into yours, it’s clear that he’s also aware of that fact. As much as you love your mom, she’s never been the most responsible with money, often squandering it on flashy things and pretty clothes. More than once growing up, she fell short on a bill and you couldn’t even shower before going to school. “If you could help this one time, then I’ll figure something out for her. I promise.”

“And how do you plan on doing that, young lady?” your uncle challenges.

“I…I’ll find a way. We always find a way.”

“You’re a very good daughter, which I can appreciate…” Your pulse races as you wait with bated breath. “But I’ve given your mother more than enough for her to get on her feet. Still, she always asks for more.”

Your heart plummets. The finality laced in his tone didn’t elude you. Why did you even think you could sway your uncle’s opinion in any way when your own brother, who has been around the Cattons for years, couldn’t accomplish that feat?

“She has issues…but I promise, uncle, she’ll get herself together this time,” you offer.

“I will give it some thought.”

He flashes you a sympathetic smile. You recognize its meaning right away. It’s strikingly similar to the one Aunt Elspeth gave her “friend” at the dinner table.

Understanding you are being dismissed, you get up from the chair and bid your uncle good night.

“Thank you for listening,” you say glumly before leaving.

As Felix escorts you back to your bedroom, you can’t help but notice that Uncle James never once referred to your mother as his sister.

You frankly doubt he will give what you said any semblance of thought. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that entire conversation vanished from his head the second you stepped out of his study.

The rest of the week goes smoothly. Lazy summer days with your cousins and brother fly by in a hazy blur. Hanging by the pond beneath the sizzling sun. Displaying your terrible tennis playing skills to the entire group. Scary movie nights with the whole family during which Venetia and Felix laugh at you because you watch most of the film through your fingers and hide your face in a pillow whenever the monster appears.

It’s nice. You start thinking that reuniting with your extended family for the summer wasn’t such a rotten idea.

You nearly forget your mother. Nearly.

Though with the daily messages you receive detailing the squalor she’s living in, it’s impossible to forget. Guilt grows within you each day.

“She’s been texting you too?” Farleigh asks as he sits at the edge of the tennis court next to you. He’s still in his tux while you’re still wearing one of Venetia’s sparkly dresses, as all of you decided to sneak out of Aunt Elspeth’s uptight dinner party to catch the sunset and play a game of tennis. One thing you’ve come to learn about your cousins. They do whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want. Part of you envies that. The carefree knowledge that whatever mess you make, someone will clean up behind you…discreetly and in silence at that.

You flip your phone shut and sigh.

“Nonstop.” You sag in the chair. “I’ve done all I can.”

“Yeah…Me too.”

“I feel awful.”

You’re taken aback when your brother says, “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.”

You tentatively reach over his armchair to squeeze his hand.

“It’s not yours either,” you assure softly. Your brother shocks you when his fingers wrap around yours. You don’t think you held hands like this since you were toddlers. You were always the clingy one, following after your big brother like a lost puppy.

You and your brother remain like this for a while, eyes trailing the downward race of the sun over the horizon.

When night falls, you’re surprised to find a tall, familiar form slipping through the wall of your bedroom.

“Felix!” He puts a finger over his lips as a sign to lower your voice. It instantly dips to a whisper. “How did you get here?”

Amusement paints Felix’s features at your flabbergasted expression. He clicks the door shut.

You blink. Once closed, the secret entrance blends seamlessly into the wall. There is no way you could have known this was here.

“Secret passageway. Old castles like Saltburn have plenty of them,” he explains, crawling over your bed.

“Oh.”

As your eyes drag over his frame and you note that Felix’s just in his shorts, fire creeps inside your cheeks. Of course, you’ve seen your cousin in trunks but usually, it’s around the entire group. For some reason, a sliver of discomfort pools within you. You look away and clear your throat.

“Is it…okay for you to be here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that…nothing.”

A deep chuckle peals from his chest. The mattress bounces as Felix lets himself fall onto your sheets. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow near you, putting his hands behind his head as a lazy smile spreads on his lips.

“Don’t be silly. We’re family. It’s like when we were little and we’d all sleep in the same bed.”

You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right; you’re overreacting.

“Right. That was so fun.”

He lies on his side, elbow bent as he buries one hand in his tousled brown curls.

“You used to have nightmares so you’d always sneak into my bed or Farleigh’s.”

“Now that you’re saying it, I think I remember that.”

“You’re still as cute as I remember.” Felix’s brown eyes twinkle as he drinks you in. “No…Even cuter.”

“Thanks.”

He approaches you and starts playing with the hem of your cotton shorts, twiddling the fabric between his forefinger and thumb.

Brown eyes dive right into yours.

“I saw you with Farleigh today. You looked sad.”

You shake your head.

“It’s nothing…just got some stuff on my mind.”

Felix’s smile dies.

“You also looked sad when you left Dad’s office the other day.”

You bristle. “It’s nothing important, really.”

“Your mom?” he inquires. When you don’t reply, Felix’s knuckles sweep over your outer thigh, his deep timbre softening, “You can trust me, cousin.”

You unleash a sharp, audible breath, budding tears tickling your eyelids.

“It’s just a lot. She’s asking things from me that I don’t know if I can do much about.”

Felix collects one of your stray tears with his thumb. He then snatches your hands from your lap and clutches them in his. They completely swallow yours.

“She shouldn’t ask anything of you. It’s not fair. You’re her daughter. She should protect you. Not the other way around.”

You sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my mom for so long. Especially after Farleigh decided to stay in England most of the time. So I feel like…I need to take care of her, you know? Because she always took care of me.”

He cups your cheek, wiping more of your tears.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good, cousin.”

Felix then sits up and conjures a lighter and a blunt from the back pocket of his shorts.

You gawk at him as he lights it in front of you, taking a deep drag before blowing smoke in your face.

Your stomach tingles when he offers it to you.

“I don’t know if I should…”

Felix’s timbre lowers seductively as he grabs your hand and slips the roll between your fingers. Even holding it doesn’t feel right.

“Come on, you’ll feel better. It’ll free your mind. No thoughts. No troubles. Just…light and happy.”

“That sounds amazing,” you mumble.

“Then try a puff.”

You bring the blunt to your mouth and immediately cough.

“You gotta go slow,” he chuckles. Once you’ve retrieved your breath, he nudges it against your mouth again. “Here, another.”

The room begins to swirl around you. You lie back, a heady, cotton-like sensation spreading from your head to your toes.

“Damn…” you whisper as your limbs slacken, the tension in your body slowly melting away.

Felix lies back next to you, his grin growing.

“See? That’s why you should always listen to me, cousin.”

It becomes a habit, Felix sneaking into your room and the two of you smoking in your bed every night. Him slipping through the secret door doesn’t even faze you anymore, and your reservations about getting high evaporate a little more with every puff you inhale. The serene sensation and warm tingles you get afterwards are entirely too pleasant.

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Letting go. For a few precious minutes, the burdens on your shoulders can vanish.

You don’t tell Venetia, or even Farleigh. You still remember him going full big brother mode that one day when you tried to join the rest of them when they hung out naked in the field. The Cattons siblings laughed as you were escorted away, burning from head to toe at the humiliation.

You don’t want a repeat of that. Always being the good girl is exhausting. Not that your brother would understand. He gets to live life on his own terms. Get kicked out from as many schools as he likes. Charm his way through the world. You don’t. For once, you want to revel in doing something…a little forbidden. Something the nerdy, party-avert, studious girl you forced yourself to be all these years would never do.

So the nightly meetups become you and Felix’s secret.

It’s all casual, harmless fun. Until, one night, everything changes. As your head lolls back on the pillows, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, your cousin’s fingers dance over your half-exposed belly.

“Feeling better?” he mutters, his voice low and secretive.

“Yeah.”

“I know a way you can feel even better.”

You don’t think much of it. Not even when he slithers across the sheets, finding his way between your legs. He tugs your shorts down, slowly, until you’re down to your panties in front of him. The rush of cool air on your skin makes you tremble.

“Felix, what are you doing?” you chuckle, high enough not to fully register what’s going on.

A playful smile ghosts over your cousin’s lips. He blows on your clothed center and the sensation draws a giggle from you, even as a faint layer of panic is trying to pierce through the haze.

“You seemed so stressed today. It’ll help you relax…” he promises, trailing sluggish kisses up your inner thigh. As his lips travel upward, your stomach clenches. He hooks two fingers inside your panties to push them aside.

Your cousin’s gaze darkens, his smile broadening, as he basks in the sight of your bare, shuddering folds. He licks his lips before kissing the center of you.

Your limbs tense as Felix starts unraveling you with his tongue. He licks a stripe over your folds, his tongue tarrying over your tender bud. The breath catches in your throat. He traces slow circles over your button, tearing a soft gasp from you everytime he suckles the sensitive spot between his lips.

Felix hums while his head bobs between your thighs.

A tingly, warm feeling starts blooming in your core, scattering to your entire body. Hot and irresistible. A wave of heat that slowly takes over your entire frame.

You clutch the sheets.

Your eyes rise to the heavens as heat pulses through your core.

“No, Felix, this is… this is wrong,” you wheeze out between aching breaths.

His devious laughter ripples through your core.

“I’m just trying to make you feel good. How can that be wrong, cousin?” he says innocently, before flicking his tongue over your folds. He spreads you even more, dipping in and out of you as quiet shouts rip from your throat. Your back curves over the sheets. Your lids flutter as you peer at the ceiling unseeingly.

His sinful baritone nudges you to your undoing.

“Just let go. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You quake, the tense heat growing too much to bear. Your insides coil. Sparks erupt from your center, traveling outward. Your body goes limp as you collapse over the sheets, dazed and breathless. Tears of arousal trickle from your core and your cousin greedily savors every wayward drop. Shame scalds your insides as you feel him lap up your nectar, your wide gaze glued to the ceiling.

The next morning, panic rushes through you as your eyes snap open.

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to freak out,” Felix says lightly, pulling you against him from behind. His hand settles over your rapidly moving chest.

“Last night…” you say, choking on a sob as you recall bits and pieces. You were so damn high. Still, you’re pretty sure what you think happened…happened. Even in your own head, you can’t put it into words. You rub your thighs. Stickiness lingers there from Felix’s ravenous tongue. Shame burns in your gut.

As you try to climb off the bed, Felix yanks you back. He slams you down on your back. Your heart jumps as he looms over you, his broad body easily caging yours.

He frames your chin, drawing your attention to him.

“We just had some fun, you and I,” he says, thumb tracing your quivering lip. “That’s all. No one ever has to know.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep pulling on your tiny camisole, pathetically attempting to cover your nakedness. Felix chuckles.

“Gosh, you really need to stop being so uptight, pretty cousin.”

He drops a quick peck on your cheek before dragging his lips over your earshell.

“It’s okay. We’ll work on loosening you up.”

For a few days, Felix doesn’t visit your room again. You’re thankful for that. You can barely meet your cousin’s gaze now, the fear of someone finding out what happened eating you alive. You can’t imagine coming back after so many years only to cause havoc and drama.

Your mom would be so disappointed. Your brother would be livid.

So you do as Felix says. You keep your lips firmly sealed. It’s not like it’ll go further than that anyway. The two of you were high, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

None of this would have happened otherwise.

Unfortunately, your meticulously crafted wall of denial explodes when your cousin shows up again one night.

You tremble as your eyes rest on him. Felix smiles at you, pushing the secret door closed. You note the camera dangling from his neck. The entire day was spent snapping pictures to remember the summer. You took so many silly ones with Venetia and your brother. For a while, you let yourself forget. Felix took most of the pictures today, appearing in very few himself. You just didn’t expect him to still be wearing it this late.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply shyly.

“How are you feeling today?”

Your lips clamp shut. Today was awful. Apparently your mom might be getting evicted soon. She hasn’t stopped texting you about it the entire day, and even some of the night because of the time difference. You feel so dauntingly powerless…and awful. You’re staying in a literal castle while your mom might be homeless soon.

“I’m good.”

He takes lithe steps towards you, his handsome face twisting in sympathy as he plops down on your bed. He removes the camera from around his neck and tosses it over your pillows.

“No you’re not. You’re still worried about your mom. You were checking your phone all day today.”

You bring your knees close to your chest.

“It’s fine, Felix.”

Felix sighs, concern swimming in his brown gaze.

“No, it’s not fine.” His fingers roam over your ankle as he lies on his side. “You know…” Felix pauses, eyes holding yours. “I could talk to my dad if you want. He never refuses me anything.” He flashes a sunny grin. “After all, I’m his precious boy. His firstborn son.”

You gape at him.

“You really would do that for my mom?”

Felix sits up and closes the distance between the two of you. He bends over you, placing his large hands over your feet. You follow the stars tattoos etched atop his hand; his sister has the same ones if you recall.

His knees graze your ankles as he says, “Not for your mom. For you, cousin. So that frown on your face can finally…” He flicks your brow with his thumb and laughs. “...disappear. Like magic.”

You consider Felix, relief and awe storming through you.

Without giving it much thought, you toss your arms around his neck.

“Thank you so much,” you exclaim.

“Of course…” His fingers travel along your spine. “I’d just have a little favor to ask in return.”

“Sure, anything,” you answer easily.

He pulls back, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s not much.”

The heady scent of his cologne washes over you as he leans forward.

“I’ve been aching somewhere lately and I need you to make it better, cousin.”

“Oh, aching…where?”

“I think it’s best if I just show you.”

A foreboding inkling flares in your gut. Still, you don’t move as Felix “shows you”. He tugs on his shorts. He slowly pulls on the fabric, shimmying out of it as you hold your breath. When his length springs free, you unleash a small squeak. Your reaction drags a laugh out of Felix.

Though you don’t really want to, you can’t help but stare. It’s thick and long with veins running alongside the shaft. The tip points upward, glistening and red.

“I don’t know if I can help with…something like that,” you mumble, your voice wavering at the end.

“Sure you can.”

He lifts your chin, diving his eyes into yours.

“I just need somewhere warm, and soft, to slip the tip of my cock so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Shock parts your lips.

“Felix…”

He hooks his thumb inside your open mouth, a lopsided grin stretching on his face.

“Come on, it’ll just be the tip, I promise. Then we never have to talk about it anymore. You won’t even feel it, I swear.”

“Just the…tip?” you say, your throat knotting as your gaze drifts down. You take in Felix’s size, swallowing thickly. It matches the rest of him, you suppose. You don’t even think it could fit, not fully. So just the tip is probably for the best. “Nothing more?”

“Just the tip. And I’ll talk to my dad first thing in the morning.” He strokes your cheek, uttering softly, “I bet your mom will be so happy for what you did for her.”

You heave out a deep, resigned breath. Right, your mom. While you’re not too comfortable with what Felix is asking for, if it means he’ll talk to Uncle James, you don’t have it in you to refuse. A favor for a favor. Then you’ll spend the rest of the summer forgetting it ever happened. You can do that.

You peer up at Felix.

“Okay then but don’t…stay too long.”

He beams at you.

“You’re amazing.”

Felix leans back. He removes his shorts fully, revealing himself in all his naked glory.

“Just lay back for me, cousin,” he instructs. He slants his head, satisfaction filling his gaze when you do as he says. “Open those perfect legs of yours.” His pupils swell with lust as you part your quivering thighs.

“Good girl,” he praises.

Felix crawls over you. You freeze. He grips the waistband of your pajama bottoms to slide them off your legs. He takes his time, agonizingly slow as he soaks in every tiny shift on your face. Horror curls your insides. You wish he’d just get it over with. But it’s clear Felix wishes to enjoy every mortifying second of this.

Your panties are next. Once again, he drags it out. Warmth blooms in your face as cool air hits your bare folds. It’s worse than last time, because there’s nothing to dull your senses, or pretend it isn’t happening.

“Don’t close your legs. I want to see everything,” he says when you try to hide from him. His throat bobs, hunger lurking in his eyes as he licks his lips. “You have a really pretty pussy, you know that, cousin?”

“Please, don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“B-Because it’s embarrassing.”

He smirks.

“You’re so fucking cute.”

Your cousin plucks the discarded camera and points it at your face. The blinding light sears your eyelids as he quickly snaps a series of pictures of you in the compromising position.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse soaring.

“W-Why did you just take a picture?”

“Because I want to remember you like this.”

He chortles as you try to snatch the camera from his hands, keeping it out of your reach with ease with his long arm.

“Delete it, Felix,” you plead.

He tilts his head, his expression dripping with mischief.

“Sure, if you do everything I say, I’ll delete it.”

Tears brim beneath your lashes. You want to trust Felix. You really do. But he always asks for more. You wonder where it’ll end, if it ever will.

“You promise?”

“Of course. I’d never lie to you, cousin.”

He places the camera on the floor near the bed. If you thought you could get past him, destroy the camera, you would. However you’re beginning to realize something about Felix. He always gets his way.

He crawls his way to you. You don’t resist as Felix nudges you down, trapping you beneath him. The fitful drumming of your heart fills your ears.

He bends down, stealing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips sweep over yours, hungry, feverish. He cups the side of your face, moaning as he explores your mouth. His hands start wandering over your body. They feel everywhere at once, kneading and teasing your flesh. Felix pulls your top over your head so you’re in nothing but your bra.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing your air and sanity. You melt beneath him.

The air is robbed from your lungs when he starts prodding at your entrance. Your fingers clench around the sheets. His thick tip stretches you so much already. You can barely take it.

His voice comes out hoarse and strained.

“You feel so bloody good.”

He pushes a bit more. You tense, your walls aching at his size. Your tearful gaze rises to the ceiling. Felix seizes your chin, pulling it so your eyes lock with his.

“Look at me,” he instructs.

He piledrives into you, sheathing himself inside you completely. Your vision flickers as he finds the hilt of you. Your lips part in a silent scream. Your chest heaves and falls quickly.

“Felix, you said…”

He shushes you, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he begins moving inside you. A wicked glow burns in Felix’s brown gaze. “I know what I said…but it feels too good inside you, cousin.”

“But you promised...” you sob.

He kisses away your tears, his voice mellowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says after thrusting inside you deeply. “I’m so sorry…” Your toes flex, stars creeping in your sight with each of your cousin’s vigorous thrusts. His pace doesn’t relent, even as you weep and plead him with your eyes. He almost seems to pluck joy from your quiet helplessness. His chest brushes over yours as his lips ghost over your earshell. “But I don’t think I can stop.”

Your breathing quickens. As Felix’s cock grazes along your sensitive spots, little whimpers spill from your throat. He drapes one hand over your mouth, still pounding inside you.

“Shh, be quiet for me, cousin. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”

“I think our uncle likes you better than me.”

You look at your brother through your sunglasses. You’re thankful for them. They’ve done a nice job concealing the puffiness of your eyes. You’ve been crying a lot lately. Too often. It started the night Felix snuck into your room and the flood hasn’t really stopped since. All of it turns your stomach. The lying, the sneaking around…the sick, twisted lies. His sick, twisted lies. It was supposed to just be one time.

Felix deceived you.

Every night since that one, your cousin found his way into your room, coaxing you to do things that make you hate yourself afterwards. It’s even slowly escalated to daily trysts. Felix would conjure excuses to steal you away while your other relatives are blissfully unaware. Having his way with you in a dark corner. Fingering you in the library. Cornering you in the maze to taste the nectar between your legs. Your cousin seems determined to make sure no inch of Saltburn isn’t tainted by his wicked desires.

This is a nightmare.

Your mom was so overjoyed on the phone after receiving Uncle James’ payment. And you’re glad you could help. But the cost…Did your mother’s happiness have to occur at your expense? You’re so exhausted, ashamed. You don’t know how long you can stand to be the vessel for your cousin’s lurid fantasies.

Even proper rest is denied to you now, the fear of someone figuring it out keeping you wide awake for hours every night.

“I doubt that,” you say, your lips curving in a stilted smile.

Farleigh leans back in his lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses over his nose.

“Still, good job, little sis.” A wide grin blooms on his face. “Guess being a goody two-shoes has its perks.”

Your chest clenches at your brother’s remark.

As Felix’s eyes find yours from across the pond, your blood freezes. He smiles at you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You shift, your attention returning to your brother.

“I-I don’t know about that.”

You thought the awfulness reached its peak. You were wrong. A new brand of twisted is introduced by Felix during breakfast with the entire family.

He sits next to you, smiling at you. You don’t think much of it. Why would you? He’s done this before. Taunt you. Tease you. Torment you. Even in front of the rest of them.

But what he does today, while Aunt Elspeth sits across from you and your brother is on your other side…it’s just ghastly. Impious.

Felix’s digits roam atop your thigh. You shoot him a glare. He pointedly ignores you, carrying a casual conversation with his mom while playing with the hem of your dress.

You focus on your plate. He caresses the inside of your thigh as you bring the fork to your lips.

He presses two fingers against your clothed center. Pushing, pressing and swirling around your tender bud. Your knees rub, heat gathering at the apex of your thighs.

The metal of the fork damn near shatters your teeth as you choke on a mouthful of eggs.

You apologize swiftly, shakily grabbing the glass of water near your plate. You take a long swig from it and clear your throat. Felix’s digits dip further inside you. Your breath hitches. He stops just shy of letting you come apart, bringing you to the cusp only to retreat at the very last second. A meticulously thought out torture.

It lasts for almost the entirety of breakfast, only reaching an end when Venetia rises from the table. You follow right after her, excusing yourself with a tense smile.

Hollow steps take you through an endless series of hallways. You can hardly even think, the enormity of what your cousin just did in front of his parents, in front of everyone, shocking you into numbness. Where will his depravity end? You long for summer to end so perhaps you can finally be free from your cousin.

You wind up in an empty room brimming with dusty books and antiques. You sit in a corner, knees against your chest, as you revel in a rare moment of respite. You don’t get these as often anymore. Not if your cousin has anything to say about it.

As usual, it doesn’t take long for Felix to find you a little later. Your heart skips a beat when his towering frame darkens the doorway, blocking any chance of an escape.

“Playing hide and seek, cousin?” he teases, amusement laced in his voice.

Tears swim in your eyes as you shoot him an accusing look.

“At breakfast, really? Someone could have seen, Felix. M-My brother, he could have seen.”

Rolling his eyes, he hops towards you to take a seat next to you. His rebuttal is disturbingly nonchalant.

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“I think we should stop,” you sputter, your mouth wobbling.

His brows squeeze together, a mix of annoyance and confusion twisting his features.

“Why?”

You fiddle with the bottom of your dress, struggling to meet his irate stare.

“I’m grateful for everything you did, really, but this doesn’t feel right.”

His cheek pulses, a strange grin dragging his lips upward. Your stomach sinks.

“We’re just having fun, you and I, cousin.”

Your words warp into a watery croak.

“This isn’t fun, Felix.”

A weary sigh drops from his chest.

“It’s because you’re overthinking it,” he says, reaching out to cup your cheek. You turn your head. Frustration flickers in your cousin’s eyes. As you try to stand, he grabs you and shoves you on the floor.

“Felix, no…”

Ignoring your sniveling pleas, Felix hastily unzips his jeans and yanks your underwear down to your ankles.

A strangled sob flows from your lips as he nestles himself inside your wet heat in a single deep, cruel thrust.

You’re a whimpering mess on the floor as your cousin pounds into you from behind.

“Just stop fighting it,” he grunts. He twists his fist in your hair, your scalp singing in pain when he tugs at your roots. Tears stream down your face while your cousin snaps his pelvis into your ass.

“See? This is good.” His warm, heavy exhales tickle your nape. “Doesn’t my cock inside you feel good, cousin?”

“Yes…” you begrudgingly admit, loathing how every time he sinks into you, your toes curl and your eyes roll back on their own, warm tingles dancing through your core.

“Look outside.” You wince as he angles your chin towards the window, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You’re greeted with a beautiful sight of the lush gardens sprawling before the castle. His hot whisper grazes your temple. “Do you see all this? How beautiful Saltburn is…especially in the summer.” His smile carves into your skin.

“One day, all of this will be mine, cousin.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. Shivers course through your spine. “And it could be yours too… if you behave.”

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