#he out here getting his heart broken by women and men in numbers

[mexipoopy]

[flowersandbigteeth]

Now I’m thinking about how cute of a story it’d be if a human woman reader had a preference towards monster men, but she kept getting used by a lot of monster fetishists to fill their own fantasies. Getting her heart broken constantly as they didn’t see her as a being with real feelings. And eventually she gives up…But of course x monster comes into her life and tries his best to court her cause he actually does love her and see her as a person. Reader of course is very jaded and thinks he’ll use and abuse her too, just like all the others.

If you’re still interested in writing somber stories with a happily ever after in the end, something like this could be fun to explore. The ugly exploitive relationship dynamics taken onto human women by monster men.

Like just imagine reader is sitting in a park, having a picnic, a monster comes up to her, is pleasant, and reader thinks that this is going to be “the one” finally, and gets her heart broken again when he asks her for a one night stand. Or even worse…hands her a card to work at a human x monster exclusive private fetish club…

Um...so I ended up with something close to this, but kind of with a different spin. I've been wanting to do a mothman for soooooo long and this just came together in the right way. So here he is ^_^

Mothman (Roth) x f reader

Word Count: 9.5K

General Plot: Your gargoyle crush asks you out on a date and things don't go as planned.

TW: nsfw mothman smut, moth genetalia, a lot of teeth, kidnapping, sexy pheromones, a bit of violence, reader being tied up and gagged, revenge, mating and soft yandere vibes, bad boyfriends

“Five, ten, fifteen…fifteen,” you sighed counting your tips as you sat on the curb outside the kitchen of the Italian restaurant you worked at. 

Tears bubbled in your eyes as you realized you hadn’t made nearly enough to cover the rent you were already late on. 

“How you doing mite,” a deep voice rumbled behind you. 

You heard a squeak and then a thunk as Tyre, the chef, dumped some trash. Wiping your eyes, you peered up at him, trying to hide the redness on your cheeks. Tyre was a handsome gargoyle with slate gray skin and piercing blue eyes. He smirked as your eyes met. Sniffling, you tried to clean up your face. 

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine.” 

He glanced down at the odd dollars and some change in your hand. 

“Bad night?” 

You sighed. 

“It’s always a bad night.” 

He scratched his chin, eyes traveling from the top of your head to the slip-proof shoes you had to wear. 

“There’s someplace I ought to take you,” he said, eyes taking on a predatory gleam. “You like monsters, right?” 

You blushed, unsure what to say now that your secret wish seemed like it might be coming true. You’d always had a crush on Tyre. He was big and strong with a rakish smile that made all the waitresses swoon. 

“Um…yeah, I guess.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “You’re off tomorrow night. I saw it on the schedule.” 

You were going to beg for another shift from one of the other waitresses, but if you were only going to make a few bucks, you figured you couldn’t pass up the chance for a date with your crush. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, your breath a gasp. 

He pulled a phone from an apron pocket and handed it to you. 

“Put your address in here. I’ll pick you up. Wear something pretty.” 

Overcome, you could hardly speak, typing your address and phone number into the phone. 

“See you tomorrow night, mite,” he winked before walking back inside. 

The door slam made you jump, but your heart was already pattering. Tyre had finally noticed you! Ever since you’d started that job, you’d been in love with him. It was true. You did like monsters, but not in a weird way. You were curious, but you were too shy ever to ask Tyre any questions about himself. You didn’t want him to think you were a weirdo fetishist trying to get in his pants for a thrill. But finally, he’d noticed you and asked you on a date! 

Despite the lack of money in your pocket, you hopped up from the curb with a pep in your step. Maybe something was finally going right for you for once. 

When you arrived home, you frowned at the yellow notice taped to your door. 

EVICTION NOTICE: VACATE THE PREMISES WITHIN 15 DAYS OR YOU WILL BE REMOVED

Your breath caught in your throat, and you wondered if you should call Tyre and cancel your date. Walking inside, you frowned. Your apartment was small, if you could even call it an apartment. It was only one room with no kitchen or bathroom. You had to use the common toilet down the hall, and you either ate food you brought home from the restaurant or cooked noodles on your hotplate. Still, you couldn’t even afford this little closet. 

Where were you supposed to go? Pulling out the crumpled fifteen dollars, you stuffed it in the large mug with all your tips. You already knew how much was inside. You counted it over and over again every night, hoping it would magically bloom to a higher sum. 

One hundred and fifteen dollars. That’s how much you had to figure out a new home with. While tears bit at your eyes, your feet were exhausted from running around all day, so you flopped on your dipping air mattress and fell asleep. 

You woke to the next morning to your phone buzzing and grinned at the message on the screen. 

“Pick you up at 9.” 

Scooping up the phone, you beamed. As you dropped it on your chest, you indulged yourself in a quick fantasy. You’d go on a date, Tyre would fall madly in love with you, and then you’d move into his flat, have his little gargoyle babies, and everything would turn out just fine. This had to have happened for a reason, right? All afternoon, you skipped around your apartment, trying on your meager array of outfits for just the right one. 

When 9 came around, you sat on the edge of your bed, checking and rechecking the message. 9, he did say 9, right? Right. He’ll be here. 

Thirty minutes later, there was a heavy knock on the door. You tripped over yourself to answer it, eyes lighting up the moment you met the cool blue on the other side. He looked you over, a meaty hand braced against the doorframe, showing off his massive biceps. 

“Look at you, mite,” he said, brushing a curl of hair from your face. “You clean up nice.” 

“Ah, thanks, Tyre. It’s nothing really,” you half whispered, words having a difficult time making themselves past your lips. 

“Come on,” he said, taking you by the arm. “You’re gonna have fun where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, from the inside of Tyre’s Denali, as he cruised down a dark alley. 

You had only just realized it was a little late to be going to a restaurant, so where was he taking you? He only smirked at you, eyes glittering in the dim vehicle. 

“You’ll see,” was all he would say. 

You should have been concerned, but the truth was you were down bad. You were about to be evicted, had hardly any friends, and no boyfriend. Your last situationship with a werewolf had been a humiliating disaster. You needed this. He pulled into a parking lot, flashing a black card, and a gate lifted, allowing you inside. 

“Here we are,” he said when he parked, circling the car to help you out. 

When he’d set you on the ground, he frowned for a moment, scrubbing his chin. 

“Let’s’ fix this,” he said, grabbing the tight skirt you were wearing and hiking it up your hips so it was more of a mini skirt. Then he yanked on the neck of your sweater, pushing it down over your shoulders.  

“What? Where are we going?” you asked, getting a little more concerned. 

He only looked at you lazily, reaching a hand down to smudge the makeup at the corner of your eyes more. 

“A private club. Freaky girls like you love this shit,” he assured you, though he was becoming less and less assuring. 

What did he mean by “freaky girls”? You were just a normal girl. You liked reading books and cooking when you had the chance. There was nothing “freaky” about you at all. 

Grabbing your shoulders with his big hands, he shoved you forward through the dark lot. Around you, large, monster-sized, luxury vehicles were parked in neat rows. When you reached an odd metal door, he knocked with his knuckles. A hatch slid open, and bright green eyes peered out. 

“What do you want?” 

They narrowed on Tyre. 

“You’re not welcome here.” 

You gulped, cheeks reddening, looking between the pair of eyes and Tyre. 

“Tell Roth I brought him a new girl,” he said, “Told him I’d pay my debt.” 

The eyes flicked down to you for a moment, and the door squeaked open. 

“Tyre, what is going-?” 

You didn’t get a chance to speak as the large, man with pale skin and green eyes snatched your wrist up and dragged you away from him. 

“Tyre! Tyre!” you half shouted, confused as he jerked you down a dark hall, but looking back, the gargoyle only smiled and waved at you. 

“Stop screaming. You’re disturbing the ambiance,” the man holding you in his firm fist, hissed. 

When he opened his mouth, you could see sharp fangs framing straight white teeth. The rest of your words caught in your throat as he dragged you through the club. 

On a large platform in the center, human women dressed in skimpy outfits danced on stage to oddly alluring music. Where the bright stage lights didn’t shine, you could see monsters of all kinds with human women clinging to them engaged in a frightening variety of sexual activity. 

Three gargoyles were sharing one woman, splayed on a table. A centaur had a woman strapped to him with some sort of harness, and your eyes popped when you saw the way he used her. Your heart started to race as you put two and two together. 

You’d heard about these clubs. Places where well-paying monsters could play around with human women to fulfill their fetish fantasies. Yes, you liked monsters, but you would have never stepped into a place like this, not for all the money in the world! You experienced enough creepy fetishists as a waitress. It seemed the only time anyone offered you any real money was to take you home for a night of their own entertainment. 

Betrayal cut you to the core, remembering Tyre’s words. He’d brought you here to repay a debt! He never had any plan of dating you at all! You were nothing more than a trinket to be traded! 

Panic startled you to your senses, and you started to fight the vampire holding you. 

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” you screamed, jerking so hard on your wrist that you thought you might break it. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Jesus, that bastard. He tricked you to come here, didn’t he?” he hissed, frowning. 

He paused, thinking for a second, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. 

“Still, I’d better take you to Roth and see what he wants to do with you. Can’t have you running off to the cops and blowing up our whole operation.” 

Clubs like these weren’t exactly legal. Along with the girls, they usually sold drugs and were the sort of place where you could hire a shady person to do below-board jobs.

To silence your screams, and to the amusement of a few of the monsters standing nearby with drinks, he slipped the tie from around his neck and tied it tightly around your head, before he stripped off his belt and used it to secure your hands. Then he flopped you over his broad shoulder, carrying you out of the larger room up a set of stairs. You bit on the gag, desperately trying to saw away at it with your teeth, but it was no use. 

You couldn’t see, bouncing on his shoulder, but you heard a door open, and then you saw it shut. 

“Tyre brought you a girl, boss,” he said. 

Suddenly, he flopped you on the floor, forgetting you were a fragile human. You squealed as you hit the carpet hard, pain radiating up your side. Looking up, you froze in fear. The room was dim, the edges hardly visible, the only light a small lamp on a large wooden desk. Peering past the light, you met the gaze of two glowing, red orbs on the face of a dark body you could hardly make out. All you could tell was that it looked large. 

“Why’s she tied up?” 

The voice was almost a hiss, like silk sheets rubbing together. 

“Tyre tricked her into coming here.” 

The orbs disappeared for a moment, then appeared again along with a long sigh. 

“That idiot.” 

“What do you want me to do with her? Dump her? Put her on the floor? She’s pretty enough. She’ll make us some money.” 

Your heart pounded, as your future was being discussed without you. Dump her? 

“Leave,” the voice barked, sounding irritated. 

You whimpered as you heard the heavy footsteps of the vampire leaving and the door slamming behind him. There was a rustling, and the big body behind the desk grew much larger. It wasn’t a shape you recognized, two large protrusions arching over either side of its head and then two more feathery-looking ones on top. Heavy steps echoed in the quiet room as it rounded the furniture and loomed over you. 

A clawed hand emerged from the darkness, clutching your chin, slowly turning it from side to side as his red eyes examined you. 

“Hmm. A little flame,” he purred. 

You tried to scream again, but all that came out was a muffled whimper. 

The protrusions jumped as the creature chuckled. The monster kneeled down next to you, and only then, you could make out his features, just barely. His neck was thick and fuzzy, as was his body, the angular slabs of muscles softened by a coating of black down. Up close, you could see the two side protrusions were actually silver wings, and the ones on top, were elegant antennae. They twitched as he looked you over. His facial features were invisible behind more black fuzz.

“I’ve been wanting a pet,” he said more to himself than you. 

The red orbs narrowed to slits. 

“Do you know what we do at this club?” he asked. 

You’d gotten a pretty good idea when the vampire gave you the impromptu walk-through. So you nodded. 

His lips cracked, and jagged white teeth glinted at you. 

“Good.” 

Clawed fingers slipped through your hair, scraping your scalp. 

“You’ll be well fed and kept, but you are my pet. Mine.” 

You let out another muffled squeal, shaking your head as tears tumbled down your cheeks. A thumb slid through the wetness before traveling to his red tongue. 

“Mmm,” he said, smirking. “Even your tears are sweet.” 

By that point, you were hyperventilating into your gag, the world getting spinny as you panicked. You’d started your night daydreaming about gargoyle babies, and now you were being adopted as some kind of fuck pet for a monster boss. Your breaths grew increasingly shallow until the darkness writhing at the edges of your vision merged into a large black spot, and the world went silent. 

—

You jerked awake by the sound of screaming. The stone floor beneath your cheek was cold, so you sat up abruptly, only to awkwardly flop over onto your side. You were still gagged, but now you were bound by your ankles, as well as your wrists. The room you were in was dark except for a small lamp hanging from the ceiling. It put out just enough light to see the large figure of the mothman who’d taken you as his pet and an orc you didn’t recognize. You shrank back against the wall behind you, immediately afraid of what would come next, but their attention wasn’t on you. 

Another scream pierced the air, making you wince. It sounded almost like…Tyre. 

“Please! Please! She came willingly, I swear!” he said, his tone frantic, all the aloof coolness you’d crushed on erased. 

“Did you tell her what we do here before you brought her?” the orc barked.

“She was dying to get her cunt pumped with monster cock. All those girls love that shit,” he spat. “She’s just a whore like the rest of them.” 

“Tyre?” you murmured, but it only came out as a quiet grunt behind the gag. 

Roth nodded at the Orc and you heard chain rattle, then a crunch as he whipped the heavy metal into Tyre’s face. For a moment, you almost felt redeemed. Like Roth might care about your honor, but his next words evaporated that thought. 

“You know I don't like liars, Tyre,” he hissed, his voice still terrifyingly quiet and emotionless. “You brought me a problem. Now I've got to tie up a bunch of loose ends.” 

You were shocked Tyre could still speak, though his words garbled. 

“She's a slut! She wants it! Just ask her! She was ready to open her legs for me for nothing!” 

Tears poured down your cheeks, hearing the gargoyle you'd been shyly admiring for a year now finally revealing what he really thought of you. He was just like your last monster “boyfriend” who’d dumped you when he realized you were more than just a doll to play with. 

One night after hooking up, his phone started going nuts while he was sleeping. Unable to help yourself, you'd glanced at his texts, humiliated to find he'd been detailing his conquest to his packmates. You were just a joke. 

A “monster-cock hungry slut,” in his words. You stupidly let him sleep peacefully through the night, only asking him about it in the morning. You remembered his sharp green eyes full of humor and his disgusting sneer when you'd confronted him. 

“What'd you think this was? You really think a weak little human like you is good for anything but a quick fuck? Don’t fool yourself. You wanted my knot like a dirty little bitch in heat and I gave it to you. End of story.” 

You broke into big, ugly, wet sobs as your whole world collapsed around you. Your body shuddered against the gritty cold floor, tears forming dark spots on the surface. 

Across the room Roth’s antenna twitched. He gave the orc a look before crossing the room to crouch down next to you. He dug a thick hand into your hair, lifting your head. Your tears blurred his glowing eyes to wobbly blobs. 

“You're crying for him? Is he telling the truth? Are we wrong to punish him?” 

You sniffed, whimpering and shook your head. He dropped your hair abruptly, the gesture suddenly becoming something close to comfort. He patted your head a little stiffly as if he wasn't sure what to do with you. 

You watched him blink, looking away for a moment before he scooped you up, curling his wings around the two of you. He carried you back across the room, turning your face into his soft chest before he spoke. 

“I want his teeth when you're done with him,” he hissed at the Orc. 

Tyre begged behind you, his voice brassy.

“She's lying! That bitch is lying!” 

Roth didn't even flinch, striding confidently out of the room. As he carried you down a dark hall you heard screams following you until they finally faded. 

Roth walked slowly up a long staircase until he reached an elevator. It occurred to you, every room you’d been in was dim, this elevator included, just light enough for someone with average eyesight not to trip over themselves. 

Your stomach dropped as the elevator ascended, finally letting out an echoing DING when it reached the desired floor. 

He stepped forward and you peeked out from behind his wing. 

You were in a beautiful, but dark penthouse. Through the wall to wall windows you could see the stars of the night sky twinkling through. The furnishings were expensive, all black and chrome. 

“Welcome home,” the mothman said, his voice ever soft. 

He set you down on a black couch and you flinched as he crouched in front of you. His long nails picked at the knots binding your wrists and ankles until they were free. 

The moment your limbs were your own again, you slid to the opposite side of the couch, frantically untangling the gag. 

“Let me go!” were the first words that bubbled out of your lips. 

Roth’s blood eyes narrowed at you. It was unnerving you couldn't really read his expression, his facial features obscured by dark fur. 

“Go where?” he asked, calmly, his head tipped to the side. “I had my associates look into you. (Y/N), broke waitress, evicted…where will you go?” 

Your cheeks burned that he knew so much about you. 

“I don't know. Not here. Not a pet.” 

“You'll live better here as a pet than on the street as a stray.” 

You blinked and he was a few feet closer to you, stretching his long fingers out to drag a knuckle down your cheek. 

“No matter. I'm not letting you go.” 

You snorted. 

“Until you get bored with me and toss me out again.” 

His eyes became narrow slits. 

“Did someone throw you out, (Y/N)?” 

Your eyes burned into his, heavy with rage. This was just the cherry on your monster loving cake wasn't it? At least, he was honest and called you what you were to him. A toy. A pet. An object to break and throw away. 

“It doesn't matter. You're all the same.” 

You heard a hiss and then his claws pricked your cheeks, pinching your face. Bright eyes filled your vision. 

“Are we?” He asked. 

Your confidence faltered and you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

“You own a human fetish club. Explain to me how I'm wrong. You see us as weak objects to be passed around.”  

He bared his sharp teeth at you. 

“You will not be passed around. You. Are. Mine.” 

You drew your legs underneath your chin, glaring at him, but winced as a sharp pain shot through you. 

“Ouch!” 

His eyes widened and his fingers left your cheeks, clawing at the tight skirt you still wore. You tried to wiggle away, but his wing boxed you in so he could glide a thumb over your bare skin. It seemed impossible he could see anything in such a dark room, but he growled at the painful spot on your hip where you'd landed when the vampire dropped you. 

“Don't!” you hissed, jerking your skirt down. 

You watched his eyes open and shut, before he stood. 

“Damian!” he said so softly, you weren't sure who he was talking to.  

You jumped as an elegant Naga appeared, wiping his hands with a towel. 

“You called, sir?” He asked his yellow eyes drifting to you only for a moment before they returned to Roth. 

“Bring Vince. Make her some food.”  

The Naga nodded sharply and disappeared. 

He sat next to you on the couch, stretching his wings slowly and resting his forearms on the tops of his legs. Seeing him closely, now, you could see he was tall with broad shoulders, not including his massive wingspan. 

“The girls I employ want to be here,” he said, turning his face to you. “They get paid well and they enjoy their work.” 

“Is that your pitch?” you sneered. 

He flashed his teeth, chuckling. 

“No, you won't be working the floor, but you should know the facts,” he said. “Tyre broke a pact bringing you here. I don't kidnap humans.” 

“Except me.” 

“You're a unique situation.” 

“I won't tell anyone if you let me go,” you promised. 

He was hard to read, but you got the impression he was examining you. 

“I'm not letting you go. I want you.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” You blurted, your heart starting to race again. 

Roth didn't have to answer as the elevator dinged and the vampire from before stepped out. 

“You hurt her. Apologize.” 

Vince’s eyes found you and his eyebrows rose. Giving the mothman a contrite glance, he crossed the room, bending down to one knee in front of you and dipping his head. 

“Apologies, miss, I was too rough with you. It won't happen again.”  

“Good. Get back to work,” Roth said, tone blunt. 

“Have a pleasant evening, miss.” 

Vince stood and winked at you with a little smirk, before he boarded the elevator again and disappeared. 

“Come here, you need to eat,” Roth said, gesturing for you to follow him. 

You wanted to say no, but you hadn't eaten, expecting a quiet dinner with Tyre so you slowly got to your feet and crept after him. 

In the dining room Damian had set the table with a little flickering candle and red roses. Roth politely pulled out your seat for you, encouraging you to sit down. Though you were hungry, you glared at the food in front of you as he took his own seat. 

“Something wrong?” he asked placing a napkin in his lap. 

“How do I know you haven’t drugged this?” 

“Why would I?” 

You blinked at him, opening and closing your mouth as you thought of what accusations to spew. 

“I don’t know! So you can have your way with me or whatever!” 

Though you couldn’t see his lips, a triangle of teeth appeared as if he were smirking. 

“I don’t need to drug your food to do that. Personally, I would rather my lover be conscious when I have her.” 

You crossed your arms. 

“How many lovers have you had?” 

He snorted, picking up his knife and carefully cutting his meat into little cubes. 

“That’s a rather personal question little flame,” he said, before sticking a bit of meat in his mouth and chewing. “What would you say if I asked you the same thing?” 

Your cheeks burned, realizing it was a very rude question. His low, scratchy voice drove you insane. Every word he spoke was soft, deliberate, and calm. None of your fussing seemed to move him, much. Unsure what else to say, you turned your attention to your food. The first bite was apprehensive, but after you’d swallowed that, your hunger took over and you quickly consumed the rest. 

“Damian is a good cook,” you commented. 

“I can tell he’s happy to have someone new to cook for,” he said, scooting a vegetable out of the way with his fork. “I usually have the same thing every night but this is new.” 

Your cheeks burned that he’d made such an effort, but with nothing left on your plate, you weren’t sure what to do next. 

“Come with me,” he said rising. 

You narrowed your eyes on the vegetables he’d left behind, only eating the meat, but followed him out of the room. 

The penthouse was large and airy, the atmosphere perfumed with rows of night blooming flowers arranged in planters outside of the open glass doors. 

“You keep the doors open?” you asked. 

“Though I enjoy my luxuries, my people rested in trees for thousands of years. I like to feel the breeze,” he explained. “Don’t be concerned. You are very safe here. I have security posted everywhere.” 

Your eyes jumped to your forehead hearing that. 

“Are you often under attack?” 

“My business is a dangerous one, but I’ve been at it for many years. You are safe. This is our room.” 

He opened a heavy door and led you into a sumptuous bedroom. A four poster bed sat at the center with silver chiffon curtains fluttering in the breeze flowing in through the open balcony doors. Moonflowers and datura swayed on an arbor framing the entrance, the moon hanging in the center. It’s blue light cast a silver glow over the plush white chairs and vanity. 

“Our room?” you gulped. “I have to sleep with you?” 

He chuckled. 

“I don’t sleep on a bed, usually,” he said. “My kind sleep upright on a perch. The bed is for your comfort.” 

You shuddered, a dark thought passing through your head. 

“H-how…how did you know you would need that?” 

In the darkness, you followed his red eyes. 

“Damian brought it up while you were resting.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Collapsed from panic on a hard stone floor while he tortured Tyre was hardly resting. He suddenly turned to you, grabbing you by your waist and placing you gently on the bed. 

“W-what are you doing?” you mewled as his claws curled around the edge of your skirt, scooting it further up your thigh. 

He pinned you with a glance, before turning his attention to the bedside table and extracting a little pot. Opening it, he scooped some gel from inside and carefully smoothed it over the darkened bit of skin where a bruise was forming. It tingled, easing the slight ache. 

His eyes lingered on the patch of skin, before his claws split the fabric. 

“Stop! Stop it!” you screeched, trying to push him away with your smaller hands. 

It was only then you really understood how strong he really was. He didn’t budge, but captured your wrists in a hand while the other shredded your sweater. 

“I’ll buy you better clothes,” he assured you when you were sitting underneath him in only your underwear. 

You regretted wearing your skimpiest pair, as you’d planned on seducing Tyre with them. Now you felt naked and vulnerable, the red light of Roth’s eyes outlining your curves. 

He swallowed, heavily, making a small grunt in the back of his throat before he released you and stood. 

“Sleep.” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The sun is rising.” 

Peering past him, you could see the sky getting ever so slightly lighter. He pressed a button and heavy blackout blinds lowered automatically. The sliding door slid shut, making the room pitch black except for Roth’s eyes still shining in the dark. 

You let out a yip as his wings fluttered, stirring the air in the room and he delicately perched on the rail at the end of the bed. 

“Are you going to watch me sleep all day?” you barked, crossing your arms.

“Yes.” 

You sputtered your displeasure, but weren’t sure what to say. Hurriedly scooting under the coverlet, without meaning to you let out a satisfied hiss as you sank into the bed. Having slept on a droopy air mattress for many years, this bed felt like you were nestled in clouds. As much as you would have liked to stay awake, glaring at Roth until he went away, your eyes slid shut and you drifted off. 

–

“Miss, miss,” you heard a voice in your ear. 

You pried your eyes open, taking a moment to remember where you were. Sitting up suddenly, you were met with Damian’s yellow gaze. 

“Time to wake up,” he said, “I have breakfast for you in the dining room.” 

You blinked, realizing you could see him fairly well, and glanced at the windows to see the blackout blinds had been lifted and the sun was well on it’s way below the horizon. 

“But it’s evening,” you muttered. 

He smirked, slithering around you to open a door and then another. 

“We operate on the boss’s clock here. Mothmen like the dark, they don’t see to well in the sunlight. Here, this is the bathroom and the closet is here. I spent the afternoon purchasing you some new clothes, but if you’d like something else, just tell me.” 

“Oh, um…okay.” 

Damian gave you a slight bow and slid out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Taking a breath, you climbed out of the coverlet, first examining the balcony. Standing just in the doorway, since you were still dressed in lingerie, you could see the whole city spread out before you, streetlights flicking on one by one as the sun set. 

On the deck, along with the flowers, was a swinging chair and a small fish pond. You watched the white finned fish swimming in lazy circles  below a few lotus flowers before you went back inside. 

Poking your head in the bathroom, you found it was quite luxurious and to your surprise when you flicked the switch a real light turned on, not the dimmed bulbs everywhere else. Damian, you guessed, had stocked it with a fresh electric toothbrush and all the essentials. Oddly, there were either the exact products you had in your bathroom or the not value brand versions. Instead of the face cream you used, there was a high end cream you’d always dreamed of buying. The same with the makeup, hair supplies, and soaps. Satisfied you had what you needed, you crept into the closet. 

It was one of those fancy closets, you’d seen in magazines with clothes arranged by color and an island in the center full of shelves holding jewelry, scarves, shoes, and-

A sharp scream burst from your lips. 

Damian appeared in the doorway, out of breath as if he’d been slithering at top speed. 

“What’s wrong?” he gasped. 

You pointed a shaking finger at what was a multi compartment jewelrybox, but instead of jewels inside there were carefully arranged, polished, teeth. Hundreds of teeth. 

“What the fuck is that?” you squealed, jumping behind Damian’s body as if he could shield you from them. 

He let out a sharp breath, looking relieved. 

“Heavens, I thought something was wrong,” he sighed. 

Your eyes darted between him and the box of teeth. 

“There IS something wrong! What the fuck?” 

“That’s the boss’s collection,” he said. 

“D-do those teeth come from people?” you whispered. “Are they real?” 

Damian nodded as if that was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. 

“He likes to collect the teeth of his enemies. It’s some mothman cultural thing. It’s kind of neat if you take a good look at them. There are specimens from several species.” 

“He keeps them in his closet?” 

“Where else would he keep them?”

You felt light headed and slumped against the vanity sitting just by the closet door. Were Tyre’s teeth already part of the collection?

“It’s part of his culture, (Y/N),” he said. “Children in your culture put their teeth under their pillow for their parent’s to collect. Think of it that way.”

You shook your head, rubbing your eyes. 

“Please, please stop. I don’t want to hear any more.” 

“Is anything else the matter? Do you like your clothes?” he asked pleasantly. 

“I-I didn’t get a chance to look.” 

Damian nodded and slipped into the closet, returning with a handful of items. 

“Why not wear this outfit,” he said. “I saw it on a Pinterest board and I think it will suit your figure.” 

“Er…thanks,” you said, taking the pile as he slipped out of the room so you could dress. 

You took a long shower, trying to clear your mind of the teeth cache you’d stumbled across. When it was finally time to put on clothes, you had to admit, the outfit Damian had chosen was quite stylish, though you looked a bit like a mafia wife with a diamond tennis necklace around your neck and matching bracelets on your wrist. 

You crept down the hall to the dining room to find Roth waiting on you, surrounded by paperwork. You yelped when to his side you saw another monster you recognized handcuffed and gagged on his knees next to him. His nose was bloody and one eye was swollen. 

“What the- Elijah…what?”

Roth’s eyes rose to you, lingering for a moment before he gestured towards your breakfast. 

“Eat, your food is getting cold,” he murmured, turning his attention back to whatever he was working on as if the monster by his calf wasn’t eyeing you for help. 

You hardly noticed if the fluffy pancakes Damian had provided were good or not, because you were trying to sort out what the monster “boyfriend” who’d jilted you a year ago was doing handcuffed in the dining room. It was hard to know where to look and words escaped you as your mind spun with messy thoughts. 

Halfway through your meal, Roth gathered his stack of papers and tapped them on the desk to straighten them before he spoke. 

“Now that that’s all done,” he said. “Time to other business.” 

He stood, dragging Elijah by his collar along the table to you, leaning on it casually as if everything about this wasn’t very, very illegal. 

“What would you like me to do with this one?” he asked, a clawed hand slipping through your freshly washed hair. 

You stared up at him for a moment, a bite of pancake still half chewed in your mouth before you swallowed it hard. Your mind’s eye immediately went to the tooth collection in the closet. 

“Um…I don’t know? What do you mean ‘do with him?’” 

Elijah whimpered loudly, begging for mercy. 

Roth’s eyes narrowed and he kicked him sharply to get him to sit still. 

“Well, I can give him to my boys and have his teeth extracted or you can keep him around the club polishing the girl’s shoes if it makes you feel any better. They make a game of bullying miscreants. I’ll only take his fangs and claws if you’d like to show him mercy. But he’s not getting away without a punishment.” 

He grabbed the werewolf, by the neck, his red eyes reflecting in Elijah’s green. 

“Monsters like you make me sick. I ought to take your balls.”

He pried his lips apart, his thumb running over a fang. Though Roth’s voice was low, it was thick with a terrifying cruelty. 

“All that power, all the gifts you’ve been given and you use them to trick the ones smaller than you. You could have had a willing human woman on her knees in front of you playing whatever games you like, but you get off on torturing the sweet ones.” 

Elijah’s eyes were wide, full of terror. They flicked to you, begging for forgiveness. 

“I don’t want you to kill him,” you said, your voice thin. 

Roth looked up at you and tipped his head to the side. 

“Pity.” 

His eyes flicked down to his captive. 

“I suppose you have a new job, hm?” 

He narrowed his eyes again, head dipping down so he was close to Elijah’s snout. 

“(Y/N) is very kind. I am not. If you get into trouble, I’ll take what’s left of your teeth and dump the rest of you in a ditch. Understand?” 

Vince appeared from the shadows making you jump and dragged Elijah out. 

“Have fun with the girls!” he called after him. 

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, glaring at Roth. “Yes, he broke my heart, but his fangs? His claws? Threatening to kill him?” 

Roth slipped a knuckle under your chin, his eyes arcing in what must have been a smile. 

“My job is not easy and my world is not kind. Strength and cruelty are sometimes required to take care of the ones who can’t help themselves. That’s the way things are.” 

You huffed. 

“You’re horrible.” 

Fangs flashed in the dimming purple light streaming in through the window behind you. 

“I’ll happily be horrible so you can always stay sweet. My methods may be unappetizing, but it’s worth is to see the truth reflected in your eyes. You deserve to feel justice.” 

He leaned towards you, searching your gaze. 

“And even if you won’t admit it, I can see that you do.”

Your eyebrows jumped and your ears burned. 

“H-how did you even know about him?” 

“I went through your text messages.” 

“You have my phone? Give it to me!” 

He shook his head. 

“You haven’t properly settled in yet. I’ll give you a new one when you’ve come to accept your place here.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’ll soon get used to it. Come on.” 

He beckoned you to get up, leading you towards the elevator. 

“I have a use for you,” he said. 

You flinched, narrowing your eyes at him as your heart tightened in your chest. 

“What use?” 

“The girls always have things they need. Some new brand of makeup comes out or melting spray, whatever that means. I have no idea, but I’m sure you do. Can you handle a budget?” 

You nodded, more curious now that your “use” wasn’t anything alarming. 

“All you have to do is receive their requests and figure out what we can afford to buy every month, what’s most important and all that. Then hand over your report and I’ll have one of the guys deal with the order. Simple enough?” 

“Sure,” you agreed. 

He patted you on the head and you peered up at him, trying to read his expression as the two of you landed on the first floor. The club was empty this early in the evening, except you could hear the titter of women through one of the doors that led to the back. A cyclops was restocking the bar, slicing limes and he nodded to you politely when you met his gaze. 

Without writhing bodies, you could see that it was a very pretty place. Tufted benches in Navy blue velvet formed curved shapes housing glossy hardwood tables. The walls appeared to be some kind of fabric with an elaborate swag curtain arrangement softening the corners. The bar was a slick snake-like shape running along one wall, the liquor bottles lined up to the ceiling lit up by gold light. 

A woman with bright pink hair came rushing through a side hallway, looking in her purse for something, almost slamming right into you. 

“Oh sorry!” she squeaked, looking up. 

Her eyes widened at you, then looked to Roth. 

“New girlfriend, boss?” she asked, a sly smile growing on her face. 

Glancing up at him, you couldn’t tell behind his black fuzz, but you almost thought he might be blushing. 

“I’m Candy,” she beamed, shaking your hand. 

Roth waved at you. 

“(Y/N) will be taking your supply requests from now on,” he explained and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You’re putting your girlfriend to work?” she pouted, slipping an arm around yours and pulling you close. “Shame on you! You ought to spoil this rare blessing! You’ve been waiting long enough, haven’t you? You’re going to chase her away if you work her to the bone!” 

“Candy!” he growled, obviously a little annoyed, but she just waved him away. 

“Mr. Roth acts tough, but he’s got a gooey center,” she said, her bright eyes filled with mischief. “You’d better take him for all he’s worth! He’s been wanting a girlfriend for as long as anyone can remember, but never could find the right one.”

She winked at you. 

“The girls and I like variety but Mr. Roth is so sentimental he can’t stand the idea of sharing. He’s always wanted one little flower to spoil. It’s so cute. You’re his first girlfriend, you know. He’s never brought another woman here. We would know if he did.” 

“Oh!” you said, glancing back up to him. 

You were sure he was blushing now, though you couldn’t see it. 

“Jesus,” Roth grumbled, hiding his face with a clawed hand. “Aren’t you running late, Candy?” 

She grinned. 

“I can’t wait to tell the girls about this!” she chirped before she smooched you on the cheek and ran off. 

Roth sighed, looking at you for a moment, before a thumb rose to your cheek and he rubbed away Candy’s lipstick. 

“Don’t listen to her,” he grunted, turning quickly and leading you to his office. “The girls pretty much run this place and they get silly ideas in their heads. Meddlers, all of them.” 

“I am I really your first girlfriend?” you asked his back as he walked into his office. “I’m not really your girlfriend, though. You said I was your pet.” 

He plopped down at his desk, waving you over. 

“It doesn’t matter what I call you,” he griped, grabbing you by your hips and setting you on his desk. “You’re mine.” 

Your head tipped to the side. 

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend before? You’re rich and powerful. Don’t women fall all over you?” 

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a tight breath. 

“My kind mate once, for life,” he explained. “It’s very…serious. Most women don’t like that sort of…intensity hanging over their heads from the start.” 

Your eyes widened, watching the stiff personality he’d been so carefully trying to cultivate melt in front of you. 

“So you haven’t had any other lovers?” you asked. 

He fiddled with the hem of your skirt, refusing to answer. 

“Is that why you’re so hard on sleazy monsters?” 

At that his eyes lifted to meet yours, and his thumb absently slipped over your thigh.

“Being so crass and careless is a sacrilege among my people. Breaking a soul who might be someone’s sacred mate is considered a crime punishable by death.” 

You looked down at your fingers, suddenly feeling an ache in your chest. It should have been a relief, not a pain. He would get bored and let you go someday. Now you knew that for certain. 

“Am I just a placeholder until your real mate comes along?” you whispered, the words slipping past your lips, though you tried so hard to keep them in.  

He chuckled, lowering his head to fill your vision with his bright eyes. 

“I just told you. We mate to one person only. I wouldn’t have brought you to my bedroom if I intended to have someone else.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that? Why be so distant? You scared me. If you’d wanted to mate me, holding me against my will is not exactly how to start a relationship.” 

At that his eyes avoided yours. 

“Like I said…women tend to run when they find out we mate for life. Humans aren’t like us. Your kind have lots of different partners and you break partnerships when they no longer suit you. If I don't force you to stay with me, you might leave."  

You had no idea what possessed you, but you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled his face towards you, forcing him to meet your gaze. Your fingertips sank into the soft fuzz and you liked the way it tickled your skin. 

“Not all of us,” you whispered. “Some of us just want one person we can be with forever.” 

“Is that what you want?” he asked. 

The words left your lips on a silvery note. 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

He pulled you into his lap, curling his wings around the two of you. 

“I can give you that, if you let me.” 

A light giggle filled the little space for just the two of you. 

“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” you tittered. “You don’t plan on letting me leave.”

“No,” he murmured. “But if you stayed because you wanted to it would mean a lot to me. It’s okay if you don’t feel it now. I’ll spend our lifetimes trying to convince you.” 

Your head tipped against his soft chest, feeling a strange giddiness a lady shouldn’t feel towards her kidnapper, especially one who had a large collection of the teeth of the people he’d murdered in his closet. 

You were fairly certain monsters had driven you to madness. None of your dramatically swaying feelings made any sense… but your “enemies” had been defeated, you’d had the best sleep you’d had in a long time in a big comfy bed, and you were wearing half a million dollars in diamonds. Objectively, your quality of life had wildly improved from the day before when you were sitting on a dirty curb clutching fifteen dollars. 

For the first time, you felt his soft lips against your forehead and your head tipped up, following them. When you pressed yours against his, you felt a shudder roll through his chest, making your skin tingle. His clawed hands slipped into your hair, holding your head in place while he explored. 

You felt his breath fanning your face, panting into your kiss and underneath your fingertips his heart raced, causing yours to skip as well. An arm reached behind you and you heard sundry items clatter on the floor as he laid you out on his desk. 

His tongue explored your mouth, tasting like cinnamon, as his fingers clutched your cheek. Fear and anticipation muddled your thoughts. Part of you was still unsure, but the other part knew it was too late for doubts. Your body was ready to surrender, panties damp and thighs sticky. 

You gasped underneath him, his wings forming a silvery cave tinted with the glow from his red eyes. You ran your fingers through the soft feathers and felt him shudder with appreciation. Notching his body between your legs, he pulled only an inch away, looking at you. 

“I will keep you no matter what, but this I will not take without permission,” he murmured. “Just know, if you accept me. I won’t tolerate competition. I’ll murder anyone who dares to touch you and take their teeth.” 

Your cheeks burned, blinking at him through a heady veil of pleasure, his scent carrying notes of the moonflowers decorating his home. This was the key moment. You could refuse him and go back to being his reluctant captive…or you could become his. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart answering the question before your still unsure mind. “I…ah…I accept you.” 

His lips covered yours again as he let out a needy grunt, this kiss more desperate and claiming. You felt the prick of his sharp teeth as yours slid against his, the thrill of danger sending lightening bolts up your spine. You could feel the strength in his fingers as they moved over you and the weight of his body as he pressed you into the desk. 

His claws curled around the neck of your blouse and he jerked ito down, exposing the tender breasts perched in your bra. You dragged in a heavy breath tasting oddly like cinnamon, the small space under his wings suddenly feeling thick with the scent. 

Your body grew hot and sensitive, each brush off his soft fuzz making your skin tingle wildly. You suddenly felt light headed and needy, your mouth watering at the taste of his tongue. 

“W-what’s happening?” you gasped when he pulled back to press kisses into your neck. “I feel hot…” 

His hands cupped your breast as you felt his lips agonizingly brush your sensitive skin as he spoke. 

“My pheromones are binding you to me,” he hummed and your heart skipped a beat. 

“What?” you hummed, pushing your breasts into his big hands for more pressure. 

“My pheromones are designed to make mating more pleasurable…to make me irresistible to you.” 

You gasped, but your mind was getting ever hazier as the scent wound around you. Your hips bucked into his stomach, begging for what you wanted. 

“Not yet,” he purred, pulling a tender nipple into his mouth. Colors exploded behind your eyelids, feeling more pleasure flood your system than you’d ever experienced before. 

You’d had enough lovers and a few good orgasms, but this blew that all out of the water like a nuclear bomb and you hadn’t even cum yet. Your back arched and you screamed as his long, agile tongue curled around your nipple. 

The slight prick of his claws bit your skin as his fingers played with the other one, alternating between teasing plucks and firm rolls. The small panties you wore were soaked through and your thighs ground against his hips for more friction. Every inch of skin felt as sensitive as your clit, the fuzz all over his body feeling maddeningly good against it. Your fingertips dug into the thick collar of fur around his neck, wanting to just rub him all over you. 

He let our pleased hums as grunts as your fingers couldn’t decide where they wanted to be, one moment clutching his neck, then his head, then scratching at this chest. The room filled with your desperate mewls, begging him in slurred words for his cock. 

“That’s right,” he murmured on a smug chuckle. “You’re all mine, little flame. Only I can give you what you need.” 

His kisses trailed down your stomach, his soft, delicate antennae caressing your skin as he moved lower. Claws shoved your skirt off your hips, exposing your panties to him and his long tongue slid up and down your slit. You heard the sound of tearing fabric and then his breath on your sensitive lips. His tongue dipped inside of you and you suddenly understood the actual length of it, easily filling your weeping pussy.  

“Roth!” you gasped, fingers looking for something to clutch and finding a few odd feathers to wrap in your grip. 

You heard him hum as he licked you up, making your eyes cross as the vibration drew a blooming orgasm from your core. Whimpering, with tears streaming down your cheeks you felt the agile appendage lapping up your juices, while his thumb found your clit. 

He circled it slowly, making your thighs tense so tightly you thought you might pop. Pleasure zapped you like a lightening bolt, the electricity lighting up every nerve until your whole body felt like it was cumming all at once. Your head dropped to the side, drool leaking over your cheek as your eyes rolled back in your head. 

You weren’t sure you could take much more. Making love had never been like this. Your mind couldn’t process what his pheromones were doing to you. 

Finally, Roth couldn’t hold back anymore, standing so he loomed over you, only his red eyes visible in the darkness. His fingers slipped past your open lips, holding you you in place as you felt his thick shaft investigate your pussy. It felt a little strange, your skin so sensitive it could make out every detail. Though velvety skin still covered it’s girth, the head was more elongated than a humans, ending at a slightly sharper angle with a pronounced ridge bisecting it. Smooth bumps formed a line running vertically along the shaft and something…or some things grasped your thighs like little fingers, holding them open. Your confusion as what was holding your legs apart melted away when he snapped his hips and his cock entered you.

A ragged roar filled your ears as he bottomed out inside of your channel. You could tell by the way the fingers in your mouth flexed, he was doing his best to hold back, not to hurt you. He was still for a moment, as he gathered his resolve, but you had other ideas, sucking on his fingers lewdly, your wet tongue tracing his claws. 

He bent down on top of you, fingers fleeing your hot mouth and wrapping around your neck. 

“Naughty girl,” he gasped as you bucked your hips, the little nubs lining his shaft making you whimper. 

You could hardly see him, but you knew he could see you and you were getting annoyed with him trying to be gentle. Pulling your tits out of your bra, you kneaded them shamelessly, pressing the flesh against the arm holding your throat and arching your back so he couldn’t avoid the dirty show. 

You couldn’t hold back your victorious smirk as he let out a hungry growl and his hips started to batter your soft flesh. His eyes disappeared into the darkness as instinct overtook him, rutting you wildly. Strong fingers tightened on your throat, only ratcheting up the spice swirling through every limb like a savage tornado. 

Drowning in pure bliss, hot tears poured down your cheeks, your body jerking underneath his as he pounded into you. Nonsense poured from your lips, rational thought swept away in the storm. When the sensation reached it’s peak you felt like your body might shatter into a million pieces and you welcomed the oblivion that overtook you. Body shuddering violently as you fell over the edge. 

Your wet, needy cunt, clamping down on Roth’s cock so suddenly made his body respond in the way it was designed. His shaft suddenly inflated to twice it’s original girth, stretching you decadently before he cursed and you felt ropes of searing cum splash against your sucking walls. 

You could hear heavy panting and it took you a moment to realize it was your own breath. Roth let out a long, groaning sigh, his body slumping on top of yours, only stopped by a strong arm bracing the desk. 

His bright red eyes returned, looking somehow more entrancing than before. Everything about him seemed…more. His cinnamon, flower laced scent stuck to you and his soft fur felt luxurious. Even the sound of his ragged breaths tickled your ears in a sumptuous way. 

“You’re…different,” you muttered, brain having trouble putting words together. 

He let go of your throat, a thumb brushing your bottom lip as his hand clutched your cheek. 

“My pheramones have soaked into your body,” he purred. “You’re mine now. I’ve marked you.” 

“Oh,” you hummed, eyes slipping shut, as you felt the aftershocks of your love making roll over you. 

Whatever little claspers were holding your legs retreated and as his cock slipped out of you, cum and slick splashed on the wood floor. 

He scooped you into his arms, pulling you into his lap as he peppered soft kisses on your forehead. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, fingers, absently stroking your hair. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “Will it always be like that…now that you’ve marked me?” 

“Yes,” he said, twirling a bit of hair around his finger. “Now that we’re bonded…I can’t control my pheremones. They…have a bit of a mind of their own and their purpose now is to reinforce the bond.” 

A knock at the door sobered you a bit as you tugged your shirt back up to cover your boobs. 

“Who is it?” he called, still so quiet you weren’t sure how anyone heard him. 

“Vince,” said the vampire on the other side of the door.

“Is it an emergency?” 

“No.” 

“Go away.” 

“Got it, boss.” 

He tucked the bit of hair he was twirling behind your ear and smiled. 

“Do you want a snack?” 

Your eyes met his with all of the earnestness in the world. 

“Yes. I would love that!” 

He pulled out his phone and texted someone before setting you back on his desk and leaning back in his chair, looking deeply satisfied and proud of himself. You flopped over on your stomach, kicking your heels in the air and resting your chin on your arm. 

“Do we have to work now?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. 

He looked at you for a moment before answering. 

“No…What do you want to do?” 

“I kind of want to get to know you a little better…Since I’m bonded to you or whatever.” 

“Okay,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head. “What do you want to know first?” 

You blinked at him. 

“Why do you have hundreds of teeth in your closet?” 

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Putting in a request for a Hannigram x fem reader??? I was thinking along the lines of already established relationships, and while out together, some man/women hits on the reader, and then we get jealous Hannigram 🥰🫠

I mean jealous Hannibal is a given. He dosent like people touching what's his, but he keeps his composure. But Will... oh, Will I think would ne not subtle at allll. Defo some angst but also some hints of smut and fluff

Suddenly meats on the menu that night 💀

~ 🔮

------------

A hot and cold sensation jolted through you as you were startled by your heel suddenly breaking. You stumbled, but an arm caught and steadied you.

"Woah there, that was close," the man who had caught you said. "Are you okay?"

You looked up at him, his kind, nondescript face greeting you with a smile. You smiled back sheepishly, feeling your face heat. It was mortifying enough that your heel had given out, leaving you limping for the rest of the night, but it would've been worse to fall flat on your face in public.

"Thank you so much," you said, relieved even as your heart still raced with adrenaline. "I'm sorry for almost slamming into you."

"Nonsense, I'm glad I caught you," he said, his eyes wandering a little to further take you in. "Can I help you to your seat?"

"Um, if it's not too much trouble, I wouldn't want to impose..."

He chuckled, offering you his arm. "It would be my pleasure to help a beautiful woman such as yourself."

You waved this off and smiled demurely, both accepting the compliment and remaining politely reserved. You didn't want to encourage him, but it was a kindness that you were grateful for.

Your free hand took hold of the railing as you went up the steps toward the balcony seats of the opera house. You led him down the hall, murmuring the seat numbers as you searched for yours.

"Did you come here by yourself?" He asked.

"Oh no, I'm with company. I just needed to use the restroom and insisted they go ahead." you made sure your ring was visible then, so there would be no confusion. "It's in here."

The two of you pivoted, walking into the balcony. Will glanced over his shoulder as he heard you, and he immediately stood up. The sudden movement made Hannibal look back as well, but he remained composed.

"My shoe's broken," you explained, bashfully showing the heel you were holding. You turned to the man who had helped you, inclining your head gratefully. "Thank you so much again. You spared me the humiliation."

He smiled once again, though it was more strained as he was all too aware of the two men nearby. "My pleasure. Impossible to ignore a lovely lady in distress, am I right?"

The question had been directed at Will, who was staring him down, every muscle in his body tense. You noticed his fingers twitching.

"Yes, that's right," he said through gritted teeth. "We've got it from here, though. Thanks."

The man bid you all good night and quickly left, wanting to escape the tense atmosphere. Will reached out a hand for you to help you to your seat.

"See? I told you, I should have stayed and waited for you," he said as you sat down. "I don't like strangers touching you."

"It's not like we knew that would happen. He was just being nice," you said with a shrug, trying to get him with you.

Will grunted and stayed put, still not happy. "By the look on his face when he saw us, I'm not convinced his intentions were totally pure."

You raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Hannibal. "A little help?"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with him on this one," he said, adjusting in his seat so his body faced you.

You glanced at both of them in turn. A part of you was thrilled at their jealousy -- your body knew well what the consequences of this could be -- but at the same time, you just wanted to have a nice night out with them.

"But I'm here now, in one piece, and I'm all yours," you reassured, taking Hannibal's hand and extending your free one towards Will once again. "The show's gonna start soon, come on Will, please sit."

He bowed down to kiss your knuckles, looking at you through his lashes. There was a dark promise in his eyes that made heat pool in your belly. "I will in time, my love, but first, covetous hands must be dealt with."

----------

[mrs-hatake]

JJK Men Texting You After a Break-up

warning: mentions of violence and stalking. relationships: male x afab!reader a/n: i added yuuta to the list :D also, all images below belong to me‼️

Toji:

The monotonous voice filling the room does not succeed in stealing Y/N’s attention from her phone as it lights up with yet another incoming call.

Toji

Stares back at her, his infamous smirk can almost be seen on the screen as the notification shows his fifth missed call in less than two minutes.

Being stuck in an important meeting on a product the company right after a break-up is the absolute worst. 

Y/N and Toji spent the previous night arguing about something that she cannot remember at the current time. But Toji’s thundering voice rattling her heart in her ribcage rings clear in her ears.

A jab to her side and Y/N is met with a side glare from her colleague who points at her phone with her eyes. Flushing in embarrassment, Y/N hurries to switch off her phone when a text message from her now ex-boyfriend catches her. Scoffing, she sends a quick reply before switching it off.

Satoru:

Binge watching all the feel good chick flicks is the best remedy for Y/N’s broken heart. 

She has shed some tears as the women on the screen cried over a relationship gone sour, has laughed when the female characters enjoyed themselves and has felt empowered when the women got over their heartache and moved on with their lives, becoming the better versions of themselves. 

Which is why when Satoru’s name pops up on her phone, she doesn’t feel the butterflies fluttering about in her tummy like they usually do. Instead, there are tiny spiders crawling in her veins, eating those vermin. 

Pausing the movie, Y/N picks up her phone with disinterest. 

A breathless chuckle, one lacking mirth, rushes past her lips. 

What a ridiculous message her ex has sent her.

Kento:

Going to a bookstore, browsing the shelves for hours and filling the basket to the brim with new books and reading one of them at the coffee shop across the street was Y/N and Kento’s go to date idea.

They will sit at the coffee shop from early afternoon until the sun is just about to set. Having read quite a handful of chapters, they’d review the books they’ve read. Though they don’t read the same genres, they have the maturity to respect the other’s interest and provide honest inputs when asked for. 

But after their break-up just a few days ago, Y/N can’t stand the sight of hers and Kento’s bookshelves in their living room. The only way to shield her from such a sight, the one that taunts her of a lost love, is by retreating to her and Kento’s room. The only solace is that Kento is staying over at a friend’s house until he finds a new apartment to rent. 

Even though she misses Kento, even though she wants him back, Y/N refuses to be the bigger person and takes the first step. 

Which is why when Kento texts her, she doesn’t respond in her usual chipper attitude.

Suguru:

“…So I says to the guy, that’s my ma!”

Y/N shoulders shake as laughter erupts from her. Though the joke itself wasn’t funny, the way her date delivered it with so much enthusiasm is hilarious enough. 

Y/S has been nervous for the past week over the prospect of dating again. She just got out of a break up a little less than a month ago and she isn’t completely ready to be back on the dating scene but her friends have convinced her that the only way to get over a guy is by meeting someone new.

So, she downloads a dating app her friends recommended, matched with someone interesting enough and, here she is, on her first date after being in a relationship with Geto Suguru for two years.

Warmth floods her veins at the look her date is directing her way, gentle and curious, it’s a sight Y/N hasn’t been on the receiving end in a very long time.

She’s glad she is on this date. It’s time she thinks of herself for once.

But her resolve shatters when her phone lights up, showing Suguru’s name.

She picks up her phone to block his number but his message has her rolling her eyes. Typing a quick response, Y/N blocks her ex.

Sukuna:

Finally, after years of emotional abuse, of nights crying herself to sleep, Y/N has finally broken-up with her boyfriend of five years. 

Ryomen Sukuna’s luck runs out when he finally pushes Y/N over her limit. Their last fight has Y/N throwing whatever object she can find at the tattooed man. When he successfully dodges them, she chases him out of her apartment with a kitchen knife.

That was a month ago.

Now, Y/N is in the living room of her new apartment, playing some violent game where whenever she rips off the arms, legs and head of a male character, she pictures them as Sukuna.

Horrifying, true, but this is what happens when you date someone as deranged as Sukuna.

Which is why when Y/N gets a text from an unknown number, her blood boils. 

How the fuck did Sukuna manage to get her new number?

Yuuta:

Dating Okkotsu Yuuta is like dating prince Charming. 

He spoils you with gifts, sings songs of praise, touches you with care and wakes and sleeps to your name on his tongue. 

Which is why, when Yuuta calls Y/N the wrong name in bed — the name of a deceased lover, no less — it is as if she has been doused in cold water, waking her up from her dreams.

What surprises Y/N even more is how incessant Yuuta is; calling her phone nonstop, loitering around her work place, following her room, banging on the door and begging for forgiveness. 

When Y/N grows fearful for her life, she quits her job, packs up her shit and leaves. 

Little by little, pretty colors paint Y/N’s world and she finds herself alive again. 

But the vibrant colors are painted over by dark and dull shades when a spam of messages from an unknown number reminds her of the past she’s been trying to escape.

Y/N isn’t going to give up. She will fight for the life she deserves. And if breaking his heart is the price for it, then so be it.

[hughesd4le]

All The Girl You Loved Before | J. Drysdale

Jamie Drysdale x Fem Reader

A/n just wanna thank @babydollmarauders again for helping me. i really appreciate it and i love you so much <3

————————————————————————-

All Of The Girls You Loved Before | J. Drysdale

Jamie Drysdale x Fem Reader

a heart is drawn around your name. in someone’s handwriting no mine.

Jamie had relationships before in the past. he had known love from women like you had men. he had done the heartbreaking, and been the heart broken. he was terrified to love again. until trevor introduced him to you.

you have loved him with a love he’s never felt before. two words Jamie would use to describe you is loving and understanding. you understand him and his job, knowing that he will be away often, and you never make him feel bad about it. he loved how you always try to go to every game of his, to support him no matter what.

crying in the bathroom for some dude whose name i can’t remember now

you had met jamie at the bar one night during the off season, when he was home visiting his family and friends. you had been crying in the bathroom over some guy, that looking back now you couldn’t even remember the name of. you had ran into jamie on the way out of the bathroom. he had caught you before you could fall. seeing you upset, the boy decided he wanted to buy you a drink and keep you company, so he could try and cheer you up.

the boy invited you to hang out with he and his friends. all of you hit off instantly and you had one of the best nights of your life. at the end of the night you and jamie had exchanged numbers before he dropped you off at ur apartment. the two of you calling, texting, and facetiming whenever possible.

phone conversations turned into weekly dates. weekly dates turned into flying to anaheim to see him play. flying to anaheim turned into moving in with him and trevor. a little after a year, jamie knew he wanted to be with you.

your past and mine are parallel lines. stars all aligned and they intertwined.

during the off season jamie had his injury. the boy decided to take you disney and spend a whole day there with you. going on all the rides he could, shopping, eating all the amazing food the park had. after dinner, the two of you had sat beside each other to watch the fireworks and it was the best night you’ve ever had. However, after a wonderful date, full of all the amazing stuff at disney, jamie eventually stops and faces you towards him.

“Y/n, I know it took me a year to finally ask you, but you are one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. everything and everyone in our pasts had led us here. my best friend, don’t tell trevor, my soulmate. would you wanna be my girlfriend?”

it was an immediate yes from you. you knew without a doubt, that the two of you were meant to be with eachother.

the two of you were getting the chance to teach each other how real love felt and always being there for one another.

[storiesfromafan]

Choices - Benny Cross

A/N: I want to say I am sorry. This might upset you all 😅

Here's another short, under 1000 word fic.

Warning/: angst, no happy ending 😅

Tag list: @strayrockette

They say over the course of your life you will have to endure many different moments. Some good, some bad, some funny and some sad. Tonight was one of those night for you. And it was a sad one, as well as a bad one. A moment so sad and bad, that it would change you. A moment were you learned what it was like to watch the one person that you love choose someone else.

His name is Benny, Benny Cross. A Vandal. A wild and free spirit that never asked for anything, nor did he take anything from anyone. He would come and go as he pleased, riding whenever or wherever he liked. Settling for no one. Until her: Kathy.

You were there that night she came into the bar, a deer in headlights by the Vandal men and their attention on her. You were like a fixture to the wall by the pool tables, watching Benny and another Vandal play pool, their money on the table to remind them of the stakes. Benny looked exceptionally delicious tonight, his arms on display and smoulder of a face. You could understand why Kathy was taken with him.

You’d seen her stand from her table, looking to run from the bar. But one look at Benny, and you knew that was it for her. Just like you had been. She moved back to her friend, words exchanged as she kept looking to the pool table. Your heart racing, knowing your Benny had a new admirer.

And when you looked to Benny, you saw him looking in her direction. A look upon his face you’ve hardly seen before: interest. For he rarely ever noticed a women, maybe when he wanted to warm his bed or entertain himself. Those that he did let stick around, they never stayed for long. Seeing what Benny was really like, sometimes it frightened them away. Or they couldn’t change him, so they cut their loses.

You were the exception. You chose to be in his life as a friend. A wallflower in his life. For you would rather that then having your heart broken by Benny Cross. It was safer. You’d watched them come and go, not wanting to be one of them. So, you sat back in silence, heart constantly aching. A smile plastered on your face, when all you wanted was to cry. Supporting him in everything, while you die a little each time. Waiting for the day when it’s the last time, and you finally break for good.

Seeing his opportunity, Benny moved over to Kathy’s table. Taking a hold of a chair, turning it around before sitting next to her. You watched how Benny gave her his best, charming smile as he introduced herself. And then her reply. That was it. That solidified it for them. They were taken with each other, even if Kathy had played hard to get. And that was it for you.

“Oi, (Y/N)” the man who had just been playing Benny called. “Ya want a game?”

You turned from the budding romance, chest hurting and hallow from what you had watched. A distraction being nice right now, you agreed. Getting up from your spot, you helped set up for the break, watching as the guy strikes the cluster of balls with the white one. Feeling how another crack crossed your heart when they collided. He sunk a large numbered ball, so he took another shot.

And with another hit, part of you knew this might be it. This might be the time you loose Benny for good. All because you were scared to put yourself out there. But why would he want you? You weren’t nothing special, you were practically one of the guys. You dressed like a boy, acted like a boy. But had womanly tendencies at times. And for your tomboy ways, you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

When it came your time to play, you had a front row seat to Kathy leaving. And then Benny right after her not long after she left. With every movement across the bar, with every step he took that crack got bigger. For Benny never went after a woman before. Which told you all you needed to know: she was it. Kathy was the one for him. Not you. You sunk a small number ball just as he stepped outside.

Finally the crack was big enough. Your heart finally broke. You felt numb. Your breathing even. No tears. Nothing. Reality was your unrequited love, was just that. Plain and simple. One sided, not returned. Now you had to learn to live with it. And your choices.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part thirteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: rape/non-con ; violence ; blood ; violence against women ; name-calling, bullying, and fat-shaming ; self esteem issues ; awkward, embarrassing situations

He doesn’t come back. From the time she wakes up at 5PM, she waits for him. Impatient, distracted, not knowing what to do to pass the time. Midnight peaks around the corner ominously, and she’s pacing back and forth in the living room when Michael walks through the door.

He smiles big, sets his bag down on the counter, and greets her. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to see him tonight,” she says, trying not to start crying like an idiot again.

“Oh, hun,” Michael sighs. He pulls her into a cold hug after hanging his jacket up. “Did he tell you you would see him tonight?”

She shrugs. “He said maybe.”

Michael motions for her to sit on the couch. His hair is still glittering with icy rain drops. “Well, at least he’s not lying.” 

“I’m just confused. I don’t even know if he actually likes me.”

“If he’s kissing you and introducing you to his friends, then he likes you. Men are stupid. They think that things can be simple and clear cut, but they don’t factor emotions into their master plans.”

“So you think I’m just a fling?” She asks.

Michael cringes. “Honestly, I don’t know. On one hand, he sounds like he wants you in his life, but, on the other, he seems distant and secretive.”

She nods. “But I haven’t told him how I feel, either.”

“That’s the other thing; most men, like I said, emotionally inept. They need it spelled out. Maybe try telling him or asking him?”

She almost bursts out laughing at that, but just ends up snorting and rolling her eyes. 

Michael laughs for her. “Why do you think I’m so bad at commitment? You tell a guy you really like him and suddenly you’re dog shit.”

“You tell anyone you really like them and suddenly you’re dog shit,” she clarifies.

“Men have broken my heart so much and disappointed me that I should be a nun,” Michael nods. “But, here I am, a slut.”

“You’re not a slut, Michael.” She glares at him. 

“Well, if I’m not then I should be. Seriously, how many guys have smashed your heart into pieces? I’m betting the number is one or more.”

“Honestly,” she replies, turning toward him, “my worst heartbreaks haven’t been through relationships. Family and friends have fucked me up worse.”

He pats her shoulder. “See, I envy you. You don’t need anybody. You’re strong.”

Now that, makes her burst out in laughter so hard she shakes with it. 

“I’m serious.” It’s Michael’s turn to glare. “You’re self made. No one helped you get here. You clawed and fought your way to the top despite being hindered every step of the way. For Christ sake’s, you put yourself through nursing school. You’re a tough bitch and you need to start acting like it.” He pauses, collects himself. “Sorry.”

Her mouth folds in, eyes looking down at her hands. “You’re fine,” she tells him.

“I’m just. Sometimes you talk so bad about yourself that it’s just kind of pissing me off.” Michael grabs her hand and squeezes. “I get that you think bad about yourself, and it sucks. But if you don’t value yourself, then neither will leather jacket man.”

Michael’s words sting. He makes her realize that she’s fallen into a pattern of feeling sorry for herself, and it’s sabotaging her life. The depressing epiphany would be helpful if she knew how to fix it.

“Let me help you get more confidence,” Michael asks. “Come out with me more often. Go shopping with me. Get your hair done just for the thrill of it. You just said the other day about how you wanted to get a haircut.”

All of that sounds truly wonderful in theory, but what about reality? What about the fact that she has no idea how to style her hair or act confident?

“When you were young, what did you do for fun?” Michael asks. 

“Went for car rides, read books, watched movies, walked.” 

“Did you ever play a sport, go to prom, have a shopping spree, go to parties?” Michael asks, eyebrows pulled down in concentration which probably means that he’s trying to fathom how anyone can not do those things when they’re  younger.

“No.” She looks away, embarrassed. 

“Get your nails painted, make out with cute boys under bridges?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus,” Michael sighs. “Then we have a lot to catch up on, don’t we? Oh-“ he puts his hand out to stop himself from talking. “My mistake. We can cross the making out off our list.” He grins. “Unless he isn’t cute.”

She drops his hand, laughing sheepishly. “He’s…” she struggles to find the right word, but gets upset just thinking of his absence. “Very cute.” She finds herself sinking into the memory of high cheekbones and woodsy eyes and thermal skin and hungry, rough lips. 

Michael waves his hand in front of the glassy look on her face. “Oh, god,” he murmurs. “You’re totally fucked.”

——————————-

Michael thrusts a lace babydoll into her chest so hard that it makes her stumble backward. “Here, is this your size?”

She looks around the room to make sure no one’s watching. Just other women minding their business and digging through racks of lingerie. 

She glares at Michael, because he promised that if she at least went in to Victoria’s Secret, he wouldn’t give her any suggestions on purchases. And here he is, handing her a piece of fabric that won’t cover her thigh let alone whole body. 

She sticks it back on the rack it came from. “I don’t think it will fit me.”

He sighs, rummaging through the underwear bin. “How do you know until you try?” 

She picks up a tiny, silk thong from the top pile and shows it to him. “How can you wear this stuff? Isn’t it in you the entire time rather than covering you?”

Michael takes the panties from her and examines them, chuckling. “No, see, you’re looking at them wrong. This one my ass would swallow.” He tosses it back, and holds up another in its place with seemingly better coverage all around. “This one would be cute yet practical.”

“Hmmm.” She tilts her head, trying to understand what he’s talking about. “I’m pretty sure my ass would swallow all of them.”

Michael sticks his tongue out at her. “No need to brag.” 

While Michael decides on underwear, she goes to smell the perfumes. Now this, she thinks, Victoria excels at. In fact, she just might buy a cotton candy scented bottle that’s half off and the lotion to match. She makes sure this is the one she wants, though, before taking it up to the counter and checking out. 

Michael is proud, grinning, patting her on the back as they walk the mall. “See, Vickie isn’t that bad.”

“Eh, she smells nice, I’ll give her that.”

They both share a giggle. 

She asks Michael if they can go into the book store, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Babe, no offense, but you go in without me and I’m gonna check out Sephora.” 

“Ah, that reminds me.” She taps her face. “When are you teaching me how to do winged liner?”

“As soon as you buy eyeliner,” Michael replies. “Which is why you should come to Sephora. I mean, not to sound like a vapid bitch, but.. the book store? Really?” He’s smiling, teasing her. 

“That’s why it’s here, right?”

They part ways. 

She didn’t want to tell him the real reason she came in, which is to get a present for John. If she ever sees him again. 

She goes right to the romance section and begins to peruse around for something he might like. 

The Jackal and the Cat, One Foot in Santa Monica, The Clandestine Candle . 

She tries to picture him reading any single one of these, but her mind comes up blank. Maybe he meant that he likes older romance books? She walks to the classical section. 

Two men in suits standing by Agatha Christie’s showcase catch her eye and remind her too much of a certain well-dressed gentleman she admires. Both are tall, well built, fancy and stoic, looking very out of place here in Books A Million. 

They unabashedly and suspiciously watch her, and it freaks her out enough that she ducks behind a case of Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare. Weird merging timelines, but a great safe haven. 

A small elder woman with white, wispy hair, dark skin, and sharp grey eyes smiles brightly up at her. She wears a black pant suit and smells like flowers. Tasteful jewelry adorns her neck and wrists. She has a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo in her hands, flipping it over to examine the shiny hardback spine. 

“Oh, excuse me dear, but could you do me a favor? I left my reading glasses at home and I’d really like to hear the summary on this. Can you read it to me?”

She smiles back and takes the book to do as requested. 

After she’s done stumbling over her words, the older woman looks entranced and astonished like she’s one of the best storytellers from this century. “Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she says, folding the book into her weathered palms for safe keeping. “Thank you so much. Have you read it?”

“Um, yes, I think in highschool?” Her cheeks get a little warm with embarrassment from being visibly uncultured in front of this sophisticated looking individual. 

“Ah,” the stranger muses, “and A Picture of Dorian Grey?”

“I, um, wrote my big book report on that one,” she chuckles, rubbing her arm. 

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” The woman asks, ready to return a favor. 

“Romance? Something cultured? Older?”

The woman puts a finger to her lips in thought, then her grey eyes light with an idea. “Come with me.”

She’s surprisingly light and quick on her feet for a woman of her age. She actually has trouble keeping up as the tiny woman floats through the store until settling at the back wall. A large sign above the shelves reads: ROMANCE. 

The older woman, knowing exactly what she wants, narrows in to the right handed corner. She fingers through some hardbacks, pulls out a plain blue novel, and hands it to the waiting person behind her. 

In Safe Hands by Jane Sanford. The inner synopsis promises a thriller romance with a great twist. Plus, it’s a beautiful book. Simple and hardbound, shiny Robin blue. Something that John would appreciate, hopefully. 

“Have you ever read this one?” Soft white hair floats into view as she examines the book. 

She looks up and smiles. “It’s not for me.”

The elder smiles and the devilish look makes her seem years younger. A certain knowing reflects in her face. “Ah.” Her tone is teasing. “A love interest, perhaps?” 

The accent wasn’t noticeable before, but now it’s apparent. Some kind of rich, articulated drawl that she thinks she’s heard before. 

Her skin heats. “Yes.”

“My, you live in this moment and love it no matter what hardship it brings.” Her crinkled eyes run up and down over the expansive shelves of paper before she looks back up at her and smiles. “Love is rare, you know. At least the good kind.”

She chews her lip. “The good kind?”

The woman chuckles. “I can tell you have the good kind. You’re buying them a romance novel. It can’t be anything else but the kind of love that makes everything else seem dull.” 

She wants to believe this desperately. The words resonate in her chest and pound true through the pulse of her arteries. Once again, she misses John violently. Misses the feelings he gives her. She rubs her fingers over the spine of his present and thinks of his wish to be a librarian. 

The old woman pats her shoulder. “You have a great day, dear.” 

Her attention is drawn back to the movement of her acquaintance. She never noticed the the two men from earlier standing behind, still staring daggers at her head. They tuck the tiny, waving lady between them, and disappear behind shelves. 

She meets Michael at a pizza place near the exit and tells him about the weird encounter while they eat. 

“You’re living in a romance mystery novel and you refuse to buy lingerie?” Michael rolls his eyes. “That checks out.” 

She shrugs. “It’s more pathetic than that.”

“I got you eyeliner,” Michael tells her, taking a bite of baked ziti. 

“Michael!” She admonishes. She grabs a bag from their feet and opens it to show him the eyeliner, lip gloss, and small eyeshadow palette that she purchased after leaving the bookstore. “Do you really have that little faith in me?”

Michael cringes. “Yes, but I’m surprised and proud.” 

She grins. “Thank you, I guess.” 

They take Michael’s car to a little coffee shop on Wall Street Court that Michael promises she’ll love despite the hustle and bustle at the heart of the city. He gets a big iced vanilla latte and she orders a smoothie. They sit next to floor-to-ceiling glass windows that give an amazing view of the lavish cityscape. 

Important men in business suits and beautiful girls in bodycon dresses flit in and out of crystal business doors. Expensive limos line the streets. It’s strange, to have this scene at her back door when she’s always felt so separate from it. She watches like it’s a movie. 

“Do you want to go to the theatre?” Michael asks, tapping at his phone. “Emily and Syreeta are going and want us to join.”

“They want you to join,” she corrects.

Michael glares at her. “Were we not just talking about this self pity thing? They don’t hate you.”

It stings because he’s right, but climbing out of a pit of despair is harder than it looks. Every time she tries to get a hand on the ladder rung above her, the hating darkness bats her away and keeps her stagnant.

“They just didn’t talk to me in the club,” she explains.

“Funny, they said the same thing about you. Just be yourself, like you were with me. When you actually talk, you’re the easiest person to get along with I’ve ever met.”

She sips her drink and thinks about it. “Thank you, Michael, but you’re pretty easy to get along with, too.”

He sighs, puts his phone down, folds his hands, and leans over. “You coming or not? It’s the Nutcracker. Uh, hello, earth to -“

Her attention is totally and suddenly taken by something on the other side of the glass window. Her eyes have that unfocused, enraptured look again, and Michael waves his hand in front of her face. “Babe?” 

John Wick stands on a street corner, waiting to cross, hands in his pockets. He’s dressed in a black suit and red tie, hair fluffed back, looking as good as ever. Michael glances over at her center of attention. 

“Oh my god, it’s him, isn’t it?” Michael is suddenly whispering as if this is top secret information. “Which one?” 

“Shhh,” she says, embarrassed, looking away, playing into the top secret thing despite no one in here caring about them or what they’re talking about. 

“Listen,” Michael tells her, pushing his coffee out of the way so he can lean over the table. “If you want to go after him and ask him what the hell is up, I don’t blame you. In fact, I support this cause and am here to help.”

“He might be working, Michael,” she says, looking away from John reluctantly. 

“Only one way to find out,” Michael grins. “Go after him. Show him that you’re serious.”

Michael’s suggestion is all too tempting. Mostly because she misses him dearly even though it’s only been around 24 hours since they last interacted. It’s obsessive behavior, borderline creepy of her. He’ll probably hate her if she walks up and talks to him, now, but on the other hand, he’s the one barging into her apartment without an invite and cornering her at clubs and waiting outside for her to get home. Isn’t it fair if she returns the favor, shows him she wants this just as much? She glances once more at his broad back while he walks down the opposite street and she makes a split second, dumb decision that she normally would never even think about making. 

She gets up, grabs her jacket, tells Michael she’ll be back, and slides her chair in. 

Michael yells after her as she walks out the door. “Don’t get kidnapped!! If you’re not home by midnight I’m calling the cops! You better text me! I’m drinking the rest of this smoothie!”

She’s too clumsy to be any sort of sneaky, but she doesn’t really care if he sees her walking behind him - trying to keep up - because he’s going to get a full view of her anyway when they’re face to face. 

The sidewalk and streets are blessedly clear of ice and slush and snow, and if she didn’t know better she’d say that divine intervention was on her side, because if she had to walk this fast on slippery ground, she’d already be K.O.’d by the earth. 

John turns a corner and she is practically running to catch up with his long legged stride. She murmurs sorry as she whizzes by nicely dressed street patrons a little too closely and receives glares and annoyed murmurs for her trouble. By the time he stops, she’s struggling to catch her breath. He stands on the steps of a large building constructed to take up two corners of the street. It’s center piece among the business district, white and huge.

A bellman dressed in silver and red stands at the door and waits patiently for the only visitor, John Wick.

Shes grateful that he’s stalled on the steps, staring at a phone that she didn’t know he had, too distracted to see her as she clears the busy street. Drivers lay on their horns, someone screams at her out of a passenger window, and, finally, when her feet hit the curb and she almost wipes out trying to get away from moving traffic, John turns. 

“Are you following me?” He wears the exact opposite expression that she wants to see; hatred and anger slash his angular features into something to be afraid of. 

She feels like a fox in a henhouse with the farmers gun pointed at her muzzle, head between her legs and automatically backing away from him. She misinterprets his own fear with disgust at her behavior and now she just wants to turn tail and leave, but the doorman sees her, and he undoubtedly notices her connection to John, and it’s far too fucking late for that. 

There is a point that needs to be made to protect the precious pumping blood inside her body and he can’t decide what to do to get that point across when adrenaline is binding fury and fear inside of him tighter and tighter. He feels the tick of his watch against his wrist and relates it to her dwindling innocence and safety. He stalks toward her, one step from him matching four of her own.

John grabs her up by the bicep and drags her along like a stuffed doll to his car that’s parked around the right side of the building. 

His grip is hard enough to sink bone deep and make her ache, but she shuts up and lets him take her where he wants, too ashamed to argue with him now.

She’s not even sure what’s happening when he hustles her into his backseat and makes her lay flat down on it with her legs curled up on the freezing bench.

He doesn’t bother telling her to duck into the safety of the vehicle, just handles her into a fetal position himself. “Stay,” he says, and the door shuts behind him, leaving her alone and shivering in the cold leather. 

She hears the click of a lock and buries her numb face into her jacket. 

Charon is waiting at the front desk to greet him with a placid smile. John flips him a gold coin in greeting. “Charon.” He tips his head as the man catches his bribe. 

Charon’s smile turns ardent. “Hello sir, nice to see you, what can I help you with today?” 

“I have a guest in my car. Could you take them somewhere comfortable, safe, secluded while I do business?” John’s voice is poised but his eyes are pleading. 

Charon slips the coin into his pocket. “Of course, sir.” 

His tensed body relaxes while one of the few people that he trusts to protect an innocent woman takes his keys and leaves the building. She still won’t be safe enough for him to feel entirely calm, and he only has a second to regret not putting her under his arm - the only place she will be completely protected - before he’s walking into the dining hall to meet Viggo and Winston. 

“John,” Viggo cries, standing and pulling him into his side for a brief embrace. “Three minutes late?”

Cool sweat forms under his collar at the comment while he tries to remain composed in the face.

Viggo looks suspicious. But John can’t decide if it’s because of a tell on his features or the fact that he’s never been late twice in his entire life. 

Viggo motions for him to sit, still cheery. Winston stays tight lipped, formal, poised. John envies him for the mastered skills. 

He’s so wound tight that he almost jumps when he feels the oncoming, light pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He’s never been like this in line of Viggo’s sight, and he knows that the man can tell he’s not himself, but he can’t seem to get the vision of her bloody, pulseless body out of his mind. And what he will do to everyone in this hotel as a consequence of it.

“Hello John, can I get you something to drink?” 

He turns to the waitress and tries a smile. “Hello Rachel, nice to see you. I’ll have a Blanton’s. Ice, please.”

“On the rocks,” Rachel winks at him. “Got it.” As she walks away, Viggo talks business. 

————————————————————

Charon is very nice. He introduces himself, assures her that she will be an “honored guest”, and lets her sit up front while he drives the car into the attached, Continental branded parking garage. 

The section they settle John’s car into is filled with other expensive-looking vehicles. She recognizes BMWs and Jaguars from TV commercials. Charon insists upon opening her door, much like someone else she knows, and then guides her to a big silver elevator with neon, red and green buttons blinking in sequence on an expansive wall panel tucked to the side. She thinks he’s going to press one, but instead, he pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the plain metal door beside the elevator that she assumes, at first, is unimportant. 

The staircase is lined with soft blue paisley carpet and the walls are decorated with pictures of strange art pieces. She stares at distorted naked bodies and eyeless characters and blurred grey crowds and angels battling bloody demons on top of cotton candy skies as Charon leads her into the dim underbelly of the hotel. 

“They are all painted by former and current members,” he tells her. 

“They’re really amazing,” she says, not wanting to push questions in fear of offending the overly kind man guiding her to safety that she didn’t even realize she needed until she was being manhandled into John’s back seat.

If she lives through this, she’ll have to get permission to take pictures and show Michael. It’s strange, to not know if she’s going to be alive tomorrow or not. Fatality that seemed so fanatical and far away two weeks ago now stands at her doorstep waiting like an expectant courier and she’s starting to get used to its harrowing presence. 

Charon lands light on his dress shoes off the last step, and waits for her to catch up. She stumbles a bit on the rough rugs, and he reaches out a hand to steady her shoulder while she smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Do not be sorry,” Charon tells her, patting dust off her jacket. “These floors need a remodel. This is our old entrance: The only people that use it are the ones who can navigate it blindfolded.” 

He motions her into a doorway that leads to a drastic change of scenery. In here, everything is modern and brightly illuminated. There are grey leather couches seated around a large table in the center of the room. A bed with black, shiny sheets sits perfectly in the open floor plan, with bamboo plants flourishing on each side of the wide mattress. There is a room that she assumes to be the bath, because it’s the only part of this place with a door attached. Two glass coolers glow with rainbow assortment bottles of alcohol and seltzer waters. 

She blinks up at the high ceiling, too distracted by the view to hear Charon ask her if she would like something to eat. 

“Miss?” 

She stops and looks at him. “What? Sorry?” 

He repeats the question. Her stomach growls, but she tames it and tells him that she’s fine, not wanting to be a bother. 

“Help yourself to the beverages,” Charon motions, referring to the large coolers. “And feel free to use the room as you please until Mr. Wick retrieves you. This is a private, isolated suite we reserve only for select guests. No one will bother you, but if you should need something, please just pick up the phone and I will be waiting on the other line to assist you.” 

She nods at him, using the gesture of gratitude that John favors - already adopting his mannerisms - and gives warm thanks. 

“It is my pleasure,” Charon says, “any friend of Mr. Wick is a friend of mine.”

With that, he leaves her alone in the huge room.

She has a million questions, but none of them seem more important than keeping hold of John Wick, so she quells them and waits like an obedient dog for his return.

————————————————————

Viggo is leaned back, drinking sweet vodka, negotiating the terms of John’s re-employment.

“You were never fired, we held the position.” Viggo rubs the just-greying scruff on his chin, eyeing John. “Winston, can we still smoke in here?”

“‘Fraid not,” Winston replies, taking his own sip of sour scotch and pursing his lips as if in distaste. “Only downstairs.”

Viggo grumbles. “Gav-no. Why didn’t we go down there?”

“I figured it would be easier for you to run and get to your men if John decides to kill you,” Winston shrugs.

His dry sarcasm and witty grin has Viggo laughing. 

John says nothing and takes a drink, trying futilely to calm himself with liquor. 

“I think it was stupid that they put you in prison and didn’t expect this to happen, John.” Viggo bites into his ravioli, chews, swallows. “And if they want a war, I will give them one.”

“We did it to prevent a war,” Winston interjects.

“Bah!” Viggo spits. “The war is already happening - it has been for a long time - what’s a little more blood shed going to do?”

“A lot more,” Winston corrects. “Blood shed.”

Viggo comes forward, eyes determined, tosses the silk bib from around his neck onto the table. “So be it. I want you with me, John. And I will make sure no one makes one hair out of place on your head.” He leans back, done eating. “And your head too, Winston.” He nods at the older man. 

Winston raises his eyebrows and looks at John expectantly. “Your ball.” 

————————————————————

The bathroom is more of a sauna. Different height benches, numerous sprayers on the ceiling, vents that leak hot steam into the room at the push of a button. A toilet with a bidet behind another secret door. The sink is concave marble, adorned with freshly wrapped toiletries and beautiful smelling lavender soap that she honestly thinks about sticking into her pocket and taking home.

Just as she’s about to exit, she hears the loud slam of a door and laughing male voices clanking against one another. 

She freezes, turns the lock back, steps away, looks around for an escape which there is none of. 

Then, a female voice, pitiful and pleading. She presses her ear to the smooth wood, listening as the woman - language different from her own - becomes more distressed. 

Her heart rises from her stomach to her ribs and burns in anger and disgust as she tunes in to the exchange. 

“Look at her, all tied up and nowhere to go.”

“Fucking slut.” A hard slapping sound and then a scream of agony from the high pitched female voice. Then crying and more despicable taunting from the numerous male visitors.

She’s not thinking of anything but that gut-wrenching, memory triggering voice when she pushes through the door and steps out into the room. 

Five young men have a small Asian woman, completely naked and bound in rope, prone on the cold floor. Their hands bruise her skin as she sobs. 

As all their eyes turn to her, reality smacks her in the face like a burst of fire burning her eyebrows off. The woman’s eyes are red and sore, tears streaking down her face. One boot has her cheek pressed down while a hand grabs her hair and pulls taut. 

“Hey,” she says, voice filled with venom, adrenaline in her body fire that smokes her vision. “What the fuck are you doing to her.”

The only problem here is that she’s a lone woman in a hotel room with no weapons and these guys look automatically angry for the interruption. The one with the boot on the girl’s head gets to her as fast as John can, and grabs her by the collar. “Shloondra,” he spits, “tebya nikto nikogda ne uchil ne lezt' v svoi dela?”

Her heart plummets again and her angry glasses cloud with fear. She’s up on her tiptoes, choking at his grasp.

He pushes his face down to her own and she smells the potent liquor on his breath. “Davayte prepodam svin'ye urok.” 

One of his companions answers in English. “Tie her up and make her help.”

They all laugh.

She’s so tired of this shit. Men. Thinking they can do whatever they want with no consequences. Hatred tastes bitter in her mouth, so potent it hurts her teeth. 

And this guy is nothing like Benny. Benny who she couldn’t even fathom fighting because he was so massive. 

This guy is small, thin, barely taller than her. She knows she can hurt him, so she does, slams upward with her knee and makes squelching contact with his dying erection. 

He drops her and she falls back onto her ass.

As his companions laugh, he grabs his dick and moans through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

She smiles, but not for long, because now all these men are coming at her with wicked, delighted intent. 

The redhead gets in front of her and crushes her back against the legs of the more muscled member. She’s stuck sitting between them, but she still has her hands and feet, kicks and hits furiously at any soft body part she can find. Redhead yelps in pain as she makes blunt force contact with his balls and screams for someone else to get on her. 

Two grab both her arms and twist them at angles that make her screech in pain. It gets the point across, and she stills. Redhead and Russian guy have stepped away to lick their wounds, but two of the others still hold both her arms in a neatly breaking fashion and the other one has her neck in his hands. 

He pats her cheek and squeezes her trachea to play with how much air she’s allowed to have. 

“Ah, a wild bull.” His thick accent is hard to understand. “Maybe we should have some fun with you?”

“Disgusting,” the muscled one hisses. 

“No, she can clearly eat well,” redhead growls. “Make her eat pussy.”

“Would you like that?” It’s clear now from the combined smell that they’re all very drunk. “You hungry, little pig? Want to get all sloppy at the trough?” 

Her wild eyes catch the ones of her bound counterpart, and this woman almost looks bored in sharp contrast to herself. The agony is gone from her face and she’s watching this scene and practically yawning she’s so uninterested. 

She doesn’t have time to be confused before one man twists her arm back again, and she’s sure it’s going to break, so she screams. 

The Russian claps a hand over her mouth and tells her what she thinks is the equivalent of shut up. 

Charon opens the door, John catches her scared eyes, takes in the picture, and the last shred of his building anxiety snaps in half. 

First, he charges the one holding her throat, and a defensive hand doesn’t have time to raise before John returns the favor, grabs him by the neck, and tosses him into a wall.

He’s ready for the other ones before they have time to realize he’s an enemy.

She watches the unfair fight play out, not because she wants to, but because watching John move is like watching a captivating, bloody ballet, and it’s hard to look away. A big, dumb part of her feels bad for these stupid punks while he wrecks their shit.

He’s just so much bigger than them that it’s insane they think they can counter him. He looks like a giant being pounced on by miniature people. Maybe it’s just the way he doesn’t even try to hit them that makes him seem so massive in comparison. Flipping someone over his shoulder looks like playground antics.

Two by two they fall, until the last one pulls a gun from his holster and aims it at John’s chest. John moves an inch, the bullet hits him in the shoulder, and he simply grunts, inconvenienced, like a bear being shot with a paintball, knocks the gun out of his opponent’s hand, and moves forward, backing him up and glaring down at the man who is visibly shaking in fear, head down to submit, hands in the air to keep the massive predator at arms length.

He grabs him by the neck and this guy is thick but John’s whole hand covers his throat and turns him blue in the face. He lifts him completely off his feet with his right hand, and punches him in the face so fast and graceful that it doesn’t even look like it would hurt until she sees the blood fly out of his skull and his nose cave inward. 

He’s done with them, so he goes right to her, pulls her up and holds her at arms length to make sure she’s not hurt.

She pushes against him. “John.” Her urgent tone directs him to the woman bound Shibari style on the floor.

John releases her and they both go to help.

She starts working at the knot around her wrists and stomach while John cuts her ankles free

He moves her fumbling hands aside to slice through the rest of the half-assed binding job.

“Nǐ huì shuō Zhōngwén ma?” The free woman addresses her rescuers.

John stops. “shì.”

John and the woman have a full conversation that she can’t understand.  Catching any word is truly pointless.

The woman sits up and pats her on the shoulder. Then, she rubs her bare breasts and yawns. She tilts her head at John, questioning. 

The woman talks again, this time pushing perky tits out and pouting at him. 

John motions to her and replies. 

An unexpected spike of jealousy jabs at her nerves. Now that, she thinks she can ascertain the meaning behind.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” She asks him. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” John says. “They paid her to have sex with them.” 

“She was screaming.”

John shrugs. “That’s what they wanted from her.”

She feels so stupid it hurts. “I’m an idiot,” she whispers. 

“She doesn’t think you are,” John says. “She admires you.”

She resists the urge to ask him what she really cares about, which is what he thinks. 

They are all sitting on the floor criss cross applesauce like in 5th grade reading class when Winston and Charon enter scene.

“Jesus,” Winston says, looking over the mess. “Is anyone dead?”

“No,” John assures. 

Charon starts profusely apologizing to John, but John shakes his head at the repentance and looks, instead, at the naked woman, asking her to tell the newcomers what happened. 

Naked woman sighs, annoyed but agreeing.

Winston lays adoring eyes, flooded with realization, on the clothed woman sitting at John’s side, and smiles warmly. He comes and holds out his hand for a shake. 

She gives him her own hand and he flips it over and kisses the back. He looks at John while she warms with embarrassment. 

“You sure know how to pick ‘em..” Winston muses.

The muscled man tries to stand, but Charon pushes him back down with a Valentino heel. “Sir,” he alerts, motioning at the pile of men. “What should we do with them?”

“Probably something involving a doctor,” Winston says.

“Right away, sir,” Charon nods, pulling a phone from his pocket.

“Are you hurt?” Winston asks her, examining her closely. 

She shakes her head no, but points at John. “He got shot.”

Winston looks over and John pulls his suit open to reveal a clean white dress shirt free of bullet holes. 

She has to look twice and second guess her own eyes.

Winston sighs. “He wears Kevlar. Most bullets don’t pierce it. He’ll be alright. He’s taken worse than this, I assure you, my love.” He must see the worry on her face because his voice soothes and tames. 

She looks at John with a million questions in her eyes, but asks none of them, which he’s thankful for. 

Winston addresses the person in the room with the least clothing and they talk for a moment. 

John puts his hand on her shoulder and slides over to talk low in her ear. “Did they hurt you?” He asks.

“Not as much as you hurt them.” She tries to comfort him.

“I’ll kill them if you want me to.”

“No you will not.” Winston switches from Chinese to English, turning on his heel to point a warning look and finger at John. “I’m already going to have enough trouble trying to make it seem like this wasn’t business, Johnathan. Plus, I don’t think Viggo will keep you employed if you kill his son.” 

John sucks on his teeth and glares at the annoyance that is Winston’s rude interruption before focusing back on her. “My offer stands.”

“No,” she tells him, looking from him to Winston. “I don’t want you to kill anyone.” She grabs his hand and squeezes, pulling it into her lap. 

She sounds like she means that, so he stays put, but he hasn’t decided for himself whether they’re going to live or die yet. Especially when they leave Continental ground and hunting season opens.

A loud knock brings the conversation to a small Asian man in a white suit and slacks entering the room. He wears a stethoscope and carries a brief case. 

“John.” His set frown turns into a natural smile. “Long time no see.”

“Hey Doc,” John nods.

He sets to work like this is all completely normal. The smell of ammonia and iodine and salt is an affront to the senses as he opens his briefcase and begins waking the Russian up.

John tugs on her as if to escort her away, but Winston stops them. “Let me get you out of here so that no one sees her.” 

John settles, but he’s not taking chances, so he drags her into his lap with her head tucked under his chin and his tight arms wrapped around her protectively. Want her, go through me - the point is apparent 

“John,” she grumbles, squirming to adjust, embarrassed by his parenting behavior but clinging to him anyway. She’s just happy he doesn’t seem to be mad at her now.

Naked woman comes over and snuggles into John’s side, gripping his bicep to bulging, starring smugly at the groaning group of bleeding, bruised men. 

John side eyes her, but allows it, reasoning that she must be weary of them trying to get their money back, and not one to deny someone - who is seemingly vulnerable - protection. 

Jealousy rears its ugly head again and she resists the urge to glare at this beautiful girl pressing her bare breasts into John’s side.

Viggo’s son sits up, spits out blood, and looks their way. He opens his mouth to say something, but the look on John’s face makes his snarl falter. “John,” he nods in greeting. 

“Iosef,” John nods back. 

The braver Russian man starts with venom, but Winston interrupts him. “If you think I can actually keep him from killing you or worse, you’re very wrong.”

He closes his jaw.

She feels like they’re in kindergarten and they have all just gotten into a fight so the teacher is making them sit on the floor and have quiet time. 

Violent stares, instead of words, are shot back and forth until the doctor breaks a nose back into place. 

Then, the only voice that has occurred in a while is the scream of this man.

John wants to make them apologize, because he knows she’s hurt by the things they said about her, but he doesn’t know if it would actually help her self esteem or harm it, so he stays quiet and promises death with his eyes. 

“Now,” Winston addresses the room. “Unless you wish to forfeit the protection this hotel provides, you will forget this happened.”

“He beat us up,” the man with the thick accent argues. 

“And you broke into a private room and assaulted a woman,” Winston tells him. “Sounds like you started it. If he’s in trouble, you’re in it bigger. So, nothing happened, correct?” 

“We payed her,” Viggo’s son growls, starring at the naked woman who clutches John tighter.

“That’s not the woman I’m referring to,” Winston says. 

She looks up at John and it seems like he’s daringthe other man to say something. She pulls at his shirt to get his attention, and he looks down at her, misreading the worry on her face.

“We’ll leave soon,” he says.

She sighs and leans her head on his chest, giving up. 

Winston begins to say something, but interruption comes in the form of her phone’s vibrating ring. 

All eyes focus on her as she digs it from her pocket, puts it on silent, and texts the frantic Michael that she’s fine and she’ll explain later. 

John makes a mental note to beat the roommate into submission so that he’s a little less possessive. 

“Uh, sorry,” she tells Winston. 

“Quite alright,” Winston assures, smiling big at her like she can do wrong. 

John refuses to let her go until they’re in the back seat of an unlicensed black suv and being driven away from the building. 

Even now, he keeps her tucked under his arm. 

She looks up at him. “Sorry,” she says. 

He keeps his eyes on the window scenery to avoid making her feel awful with his uncontrolled, cold expression. 

He sucks on his teeth. “We will talk, not here.”

He pulls her further against him and she stays quiet. 

[simonalkenmayer]

This is just so absurd I can’t not talk about it, so please read this short political analysis, even if you don’t usually read these, because this is…hilarious.

This election, almost 70% of the vote below the age of 21 went to democrats. Single women by a margin of 30 points voted Democratic. Minorities (particularly black women) broke for Dems overwhelmingly, black women mobilizing over 95% of their members in some constituencies.

The GOP is taking time to analyze this, running numbers, wondering how they can appeal to young people and women instead of only angry racist old white men…and these are their solutions so far as stated by multiple pundits on FOX, and why they are stupid:

Single women vote for Dems? Answer? Men, marry these women. Literally someone said “put a ring on it”. They said “it’s easy to see why single women vote Democratic—their policies keep women single”.

Why is this stupid? Well beyond the obvious misogyny of “we should just woo and marry women and then control them so they align with us politically”? There’s the fact that because women no longer need a man, to survive, men are now forced to bring character to the table, something many men (I’m thinking the alpha males of tiktok) never had to grow because of their privilege. You cannot just send men out into the world to literally conquer a woman’s heart. They’re not stupid. They can see when they’re not dating a decent guy. That’s why they stopped marrying them.

They’ve been, I kid you not,debating RAISING THE VOTING AGE TO 21.

Here is why that’s fucking idiotic, broken into many easy parts. 1. If they can’t vote, then they cannot be taxed, nor recruited for the military, nor jailed as adults. How’s that going to affect prisons, the military, taxes?

Well there’s over 600k active duty military below the age of 25 out of 1.35 million…you tell me.

16% of our tax revenue comes from the under 25 bracket

Oh right and what are they supposed to do? They can’t go to college, since….how are they going to be able to sign contracts for student loans if they aren’t being fairly represented or given adult status? Are they going to raise the legal age of adulthood since adults age 18-21 can no longer do anything of their own accord, extend high school again to stockpile them while they’re not being busy or just recruit them straight into the terrible service jobs in which the GOP hopes they remain?

I’m telling you…there is nothing to offer but no climate, rich billionaires, more debt, less freedom, less rights, and bigotry in that party. They want to destroy education to keep people stupid. They want to use religion to control. That party is not a party. It’s an evil conspiracy. Meaning the kids and the ladies will shy away. They have nothing to offer. Nothing. So they have to cheat.

Make no mistake the the abortion ban idea was specifically to encumber these two groups with crippling debt and dependency. That party has nothing to offer. Especially with trump running it. And this they well know. Most of his candidates lost. Most. And the red wave that was expected was nonexistent. One of two things will now happen:

My predictions:

Expect lots and lots of redistributing debates to cheat, I.e. gerrymandering but that’s a given.

1. Trump is a malignant narcissist. He doesn’t care about party or the country. During this election he said “if they win I should get the credit and if they lose I shouldn’t be blamed” a “head I win, tails you lose” if ever there was one. He will run again in 2024 despite the overwhelming repudiation by voters. He will (not?) win the primary, but he will take so much of the GOP base vote with him that it splits the vote and hands Dems a second Biden presidency.

Or

2. If the house is taken by the GOP, they will bargain with him to shut down federal oversight of him (including J6 hearings) to convince him not to run. He will still likely screw them in meaningful ways.

Unless he ends up in prison because of other investigations they can’t control…so the first seems most likely.

TLDR:

The kids and women are alright. Death to the Boomers. Enjoy your avocado if you can afford it. Don’t get married. Keep voting for change and keep using these platforms to educate your peers.

[tarabyte3]

Reprieve

Fandom: Andor

Characters/pairings: Kino Loy, past Kino Loy x OFCs, past Kino Loy x OMCs

One shot (846 words)

AO3 link

Summary: Kino Loy finds reprieve in his memories every night while lying in his prison cell.

Warnings: Explicit rating, masturbation, hand job, sex, PiV, anal sex, oral sex, infidelity, prison

A/N: This is the very first Kino fic I ever wrote. Originally posted to AO3 November 18, 2022. It's a short, introspective piece where he thinks back on his past relationships as masturbation material. Also I made him bi because why not? So there are descriptions of sexual encounters with men and women. Enjoy!

A part of Kino thought it was sad and pathetic that he looked forward to this every night, but he worked hard. Had been locked up there for years with no comfort or touch of another person except born from necessity or violence. And though he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, as faint as it still was, he had no one waiting for him when he got out.

So every night he laid on his hard mattress pad and tried not to think of parts or numbers or keeping forty nine men in line. Instead he thought of feminine hips and masculine hands, of tongues and moans, and he silently thrust into his own hand until he came in hot streaks across his belly.

He thought of his first girlfriend and the way she had tentatively stroked him, not quite getting the rhythm or pressure right, but it was his first handjob so he still finished in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Before prison, he hadn't thought about it in decades, but here every memory of touch and release was precious so he tried to recall how her hand had felt. Tried to recall how she looked up at him, shy and flushed, unsure of herself, but emboldened by his groans and the feeling of him twitching in her fist.

He thought of his first boyfriend. A co-worker from his first job. The two of them had fumbled around with much more expertise with their hands and enthusiasm with their mouths until they had found that rhythm as well. That had eventually led to fucking each other like they had just discovered sex. Truthfully, they had, in a way. He'd never buried himself inside another person or been filled and used before him. There had been a moment where he believed he could do that for the rest of his life and be happy—until the novelty wore off. Then they realized they didn't have much in common outside of bending each other over beds and chairs and desks, and then showing up to work at the same place.

After that he had fallen in love for the first time and sex became more than release. It had been prayer and worship. The thrill of seeing another person undone beneath you while your heart soared and your fingers itched to clutch them to you and never let go. But he hadn't loved Kino in the same way Kino had loved him, so then he had also felt true heartbreak for the first time.

To soothe his pain he'd sought out company in the arms of someone else. Found her in a cantina, and she had fallen to her knees in the bathroom and taken him so deeply into her mouth and throat that she had swallowed around him and driven him nearly cross eyed. He'd come, fully buried and hips pressed firmly against her lips, with a quiet curse. Then the high had worn off and left him feeling worse than before. As he dressed, he said an awkward thank you before scurrying out and never seeing her again.

He had a few more partners, a few more awkward fumbles, a few more loves lost and hearts broken, before he found something solid. The woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with, even when the fire of their sex life simmered to embers after nearly a decade. He had known her body so well that sex was like coming home. Like saying I love you, even as the Empire closed around them. When life seemed bleak, he found hope and release in her arms. But then there had been an accident at work, and he came home early that day to find her in bed and not alone. Truthfully, he would have stayed. Tried to find a way to keep their love going and get past the hurt, but for her that was the end.

By then he was too tired to try again. Too angry. So he put all of that righteous fury into something he could fix. His factory had been taken over by Imperial forces, and, as a result, the work conditions and pay had gotten worse while the hours got longer. Injury got you fired and replaced, and there was no empathy for illness or weakness. No community. He put all of his passion into fighting for something better for the people around him, workers he oversaw. For it he'd been arrested for treason and crimes against the Empire.

That was how he found himself in his cell: a patchwork of heartache, loss, and laughter. Of every hand that had touched him and tongue that brought him pleasure. A patchwork of memories that he clung to as his hand reached into the pants of his uniform to find himself already hard with the anticipation of release. So he palmed himself, spread the moisture already gathering at the slit of his erection down his length, and let his memories give him a reprieve.

[bllsbailey]

Here's the Most Brutally Honest Response to RFK Jr's Siblings After They Betrayed Him for Kamala

While Robert F. Kennedy Jr's family has been attacking him over his political beliefs for at least the last year, their behavior since he announced his support of the Trump/Vance presidential ticket has been shameful, to say the least.

RFK Jr's wife, actress Cheryl Hines, is standing by her husband even though she doesn't agree with him politically and even though she undoubtedly will pay a heavy professional price for her loyalty and love. It's no secret that her "Curb Your Enthusiasm" co-star Larry David has one of the more severe cases of Trump Derangement Syndrome in Hollywood, and her other colleagues are right there with him.

It's too bad RFK Jr's siblings are so blinded by their own political dogma to have that kind of grace. As Sister Toldjah shared, his sister Kerry shared a statement from a number of the siblings calling his endorsement of Trump a "betrayal of the values" their father held dear, and called this action "a sad ending to a sad story."

READ MORE: Kennedy Family Gets Deservedly Mocked After Statement on RFK Jr. Suspending Campaign and Endorsing Trump

Conservative commentator and radio host Tammy Bruce

penned an open letter to Kerry Kennedy and the rest of the family that's the most brutally honest and comprehensive response I've seen to their betrayal. Bruce posted it on X/Twitter and it's long, so I'll provide the full text below. 

It reads:

An open letter to Kerry Kennedy: You people are awful. Despite your family's checkered past and horrible behavior of so many of the men, Americans have stood with you out of loyalty, sentimentality, and too often, grief - despite the questionable establishment of your family's wealth, the treatment of Marilyn Monroe, the general womanizing, the abandonment of Mary Jo Kopechne to her death, allegations of rape, one could go on and on. But the point is, your family has stayed loyal and protective of family members who have done the most appalling of things. But the moment one of your own acts on his conscience for this country you attempt to throw him to the wolves and publicly condemn him. Never a word for the trail of abused or abandoned women left behind by a Kennedy, but because one of your men supports Trump in an effort to make the lives of Americans better, that alone is beyond the pale. In your ugly treatment of your brother you reveal the rot that has broken the hearts of the American people so many times over the years. Beyond that, the economic destruction of American families is something your family would never truly understand. You are not touched by the worry about having enough gas to get to work, or whether or not you can afford eggs this week, if you'll be safe walking your own neighborhood, or if your child will be safe in their urban public school or even if they will know how to read and write while collecting their diploma. You keep doing civil rights work and public service virtue signaling. But in the meantime, make a pledge to not keep doing damage as Americans are simply looking for a way to reclaim their own futures, the safety of their families, and knowing that maybe, just maybe, they can leave their children a little better off with a future they can rely on. The condition of this country should shock everyone, even if their name is Kennedy. We know it at least shocks one of you who, like us, has had enough of the fear and hopelessness assigned to us for generations. Americans are happy to see Bobby on our side as we refuse to comply and will not go gentle into the catastrophes to which we are expected to succumb. Instead, with Trump and all who join us, we will fight, fight, fight!

Mic drop.

[noblehcart]

drabble: siberian adventures continued.... @lordofthestrix

xx/xx/xxxx

the school is flourishing. i think vassa would be relieved to see how things have settled in here and that the village has finally warmed up to me more. i think about 80% of the children come to my rudimentary lessons and they're doing wonderfully. some are coming along more stubbornly, but that's to be expected. i've even seen some adults lingering around the area as if to listen in. at first i thought it was to make sure i wasn't teaching them something inappropriate, but something tells me it isn't that.

maybe i can reach a different population with my classes. we'll have to see.

michal's family has continued to take me in and his wife has warmed up more considerably. to which i'm so relieved. its so much more lonely now without vassa. i miss her voice even if it was scolding me for fumbling through chores she used to do steadily.

sergei has been coming around a bit more too. like he's taken the personal responsibility to make sure i have all that i need. i'm worried about what that means. hopefully i'm being silly.

xx/xx/xxxx

its starting to get cool. winter will soon be on us and i'm afraid. everyday i pile more and more wood in preparation. the village women tease that i'm going to host a bonfire for the entire community. the older women cluck that i should marry one of the men available to take care of me and the house. i could just imagine how vassa would've scowled at their remarks....then later bring up sergei again. he brought me more flowers. and kindling.

sometimes those old women almost make me believe their right. there's a song in the musical jekyll & hyde that comes to mind. 'A girl alone, all on her own, must try to have a heart of stone' .

a heart of stone indeed. it is still lonely. and sergei has such a sweet smile. somehow i have to remain resolute. i don't have a future here so i need to remember not to start one. i have to remind myself that tristan could find me any day and i'll have to run again....but i can't live here always fearing he'll show up like an ugly spider in a corner of the house. if i have to live in this time then i want to live as best i can without changing anything.

xx/xx/xxxx

i've gotten my first few adult students now. i'm so excited. one of the married village girls, polina , she's expecting soon and can't do much but sit now. a perfect student. there's an older man, vasili, who used to ask me to read whatever news was printed in the papers we get once a month. now he's learning to read for himself.

my woodpile grows. sergei brought more wood for it and flowers. and he smiles at me again.

the first snowfall began as he walked away. winter has begun its descent and its bringing change. i know it will and i can feel it as the air chills my skin.

xx/xx/xxxx

he almost kissed me. sergei. he offered to fix a broken shelf in the house after it fell and nearly hit the children during their lesson. everyday the number of attending students dwindles with the snow. i know soon enough we'll all be trapped in our homes to survive off what was saved earlier. and i'll be alone.

or maybe not so alone.

sergei was hanging my dried herbs up for me after having fallen down when he fixed the shelf. he turned to me and leaned down to speak- to kiss me when the last caravan drove into the village for the month with its loud bells and whistles. last chance for precious valuables. paper. chalk. ink. boots. books.

i don't know who pulled away, but there was no kiss and we went on with our work.

xx/xx/xxxx

its snowed blindly for two weeks now. i almost screamed when i saw a figure by the window near the woodpile. a thief. or so i thought. sergei lifted his head and i made him come inside to warm up for a moment. he told me he brought more firewood. it wasn't safe for me to go out on my own since i was still so clearly from the city. he somehow made me laugh at that. and he brought me flowers, dried flowers, but still.

-then somehow i asked him to come to dinner tomorrow. he said yes. for once i feel hopeful. safe here in my little home in the snow. my personal snow globe- safe and sound.

[recoveringrhys]

mental health book idea 

I have just one request before you read my book manuscript. Keep an open mind. I have poured my heart and soul into this piece. I have experienced so much trauma that it has made me numb to the world. I still feel love however, and joy and peace. I haven’t been entirely broken. So, please I ask just this of you; finish it! I can guarantee that you haven’t heard a story like mine before. There’s so much loss, heartbreak and tragedy that it wouldn’t seem out of place if Shakespeare wrote it. Please I beg of you just give me a chance that’s all I need. I know with the power of my words I could help bring down an entire broken system and have it rebuilt, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes. I know in my heart that if my story got out there it would help change so many lives. Make people who feel invisible heard. Make the world a kinder and gentler place. so, sir/madam please sit back and enjoy my life’s story re-told live just for you. I sincerely hope you read this through to the end. I don’t make promises lightly, but can guarantee this, is a story you don’t want to miss out on. 

 Book Research introduction

IN TODAYS SOCIETY WE ARE FACING A CRISIS THE LIKES WE HAVE NEVER ENCOUNTERED BEFORE. A FULL BREAKDOWN OF THE MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM. FOR YEARS NOW, THE NHS’s system for mental health is on the brink of collapse. Its run so poorly that hundreds if not thousands of patients are being let down. 5,224 deaths by suicide were reported in 2021 in England and Wales. Men contribute three quarters of all suicide deaths around 4100 in 2021. This is directly due to lack of support services available. Even when men are brave enough to get help 9/10 times they will get ignored. I know because I’ve been in those men’s shoes. I’ve walked miles in their trainers or work boots and even some high heels. I know what they are going through, and I feel as though I am the only one who can help. I want to do this by helping the only way I know how, through writing. Words when repeated linger until a fire light up inside them and igniting for the entire universe to see.  Men suffer the most out there. Were seen to be made out as the strong ones who can’t show emotions without being ridiculed. I’m here to set the record straight and say let your emotions out. It could one day save your life. 

Book synopsis

My book would focus on the lives of young men and women who suffer with severe psychiatric disorders. The protagonist would be a teenage boy around 18 years old. It would begin as early as eight years old in his childhood. He starts to act strange. Didn’t fully fit in with the other kids due to his intelligence being so misunderstood. The book would follow the boy through years of trauma inflicted on him by CAMHS (Child Adolescent Mental Health Service). However, even though we see him become the villain of his own story we see how he got there. We really delve deep into his psyche and emphasise with him. Trauma after trauma was his childhood. He started smoking at 12 and experimenting with drugs at 13. All because he had clinical depression, and the first treatment isn’t getting to the root cause. It’s not therapy but drugging up children on mind altering chemicals. I would write in detail about every failure the Nhs had caused that boy. Now an adult he lives with arms covered in scars from cutting and tattoos from trying to forget. He was alone for many years. Out there drifting through this endless, torturous universe alone. That was until he found his people. Others like him who would never judge and accepted him into a family he never thought he would have. My book will be sad yet heart-warming as you really get to delve into his psyche. Into why he acts and behaves the way he does. The number one chemical running through his veins is love. Its unconditional and finite with him. Many people who suffer from EUPD like him can relate. “I love you even when I hate you” is a favourite quote of his. It truly represents that no matter how much surface anger boils out on top deep down you’ll always have the warmth of his love. As though it’s the warmth a child feels when its held for the first time. Loved bones and all. My story will mainly focus on his times on inpatient psychiatric institutes. The hundreds of anecdotes and short stories of the abuse you receive in that place is unreal. He has been injured by staff and abused by staff. However, he had no rights and they controlled every aspect of his life. When he ate, how much he ate, when he showered, when he slept even when he just wanted some fresh air on his face. It was a mental prison; the worst kind of prison.

Author biography

My name is Rhys Lennon Hill. I’m 20 years old and live in Preston where I go to university as an English literature and creative writing student.  My dream has always been to study English. My main aspiration though is to be a writer. My mother always bragged about how I could write my own name at two .  growing up in Ireland they thought I was going to be a genius. I was years ahead in English and slightly in maths. However due to a broken education system I fell through the cracks and when my behaviour increased my grades dropped. I was published at 9 years old in a mini sagas children’s short story book. My lifelong passion is writing. I basically missed out on the first three years of high school. I re-joined a small, private one in year 10 and had two years to teach myself 5 years’ worth of curriculum. My biggest achievement is getting 5 gcses at grade 5. Nobody believed in me. Nobody thought I’d get one gcses let alone 5. To me writing comes as naturally as breathing. I have lived an extraordinary life. Filled with the most insane stories you will ever here. The book will be based off my experiences. However, it will also take into consideration others around me and their experiences too. It’s a collective effort. I know so many lost souls with a story to tell, but unfortunately no one to tell it for them. That’s where I want to see change. I want the truly underprivileged, forgotten members of our society to find their voice.  I am an open book, and I will be 100% honest with you. I am not writing this book for self-pity. I’m not writing it out of boredom or anger. And I’m certainly not writing it for the money. I am writing to give thousands of lost souls their voices back. I want my stories to relate to the masses and touch their hearts. If I could even help one person with this type of book then my life’s purpose would have been fulfilled. 

From the synopsis you’ve painted a picture of me in your minds. A completely natural thing to do. However, please don’t just judge me off of a manuscript. Get to know me give me a call or send an email. I have so many stories in my head that sometimes it does drive me insane. I have nowhere to focus my energy. If given half the chance I would write this book into one of the biggest literature pieces of modern times. I want to be transparent however, yes I do suffer from mental health disorders. Here are some listed below.

Emotionally unstable personality disorder – 2020 aged 18

Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder ( ADHD) -2014 aged 11

Social and generalised anxiety disorder- 2015 .aged 12

Treatment resistant depression – 2016 aged 13

Self harm started 2014 ( aged 11)ended 2020 I am 500 days clean today

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder ( PTSD) 2014 aged 11

Bulimia-  2010-present aged 8

THESE ILLNESSES DO NOT DEFINE ME! 

I DEFINE AND CONQOUR MYSELF…

I have been heavily medicated since I was 13. I was diagnosed with depression at 13 and put on Prozac. All my teenage and adult life so far has been focused on me staying well. I have all these problems going on inside and when mixed with emotions well that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Regardless of all the trauma and the hatred mixed with rage, I am coming out on top. I was failed hundreds of times by doctors and other professionals who were supposed to help me. So bad that now when I struggle the farthest person id go to is a professional. Now I have friends, no family. They speak my language and understand me in ways nobody else ever could. We bond over our shared trauma experiences and it’s a beautiful thing. 

Final selling point:

If you have made it this far, I applaud and thank you so much for making time to hear my story. All I want is for someone to take a chance on me. I know I could make a bestselling book if given half the chance. Not only a bestseller but a book that makes real impact, changes real lives. I don’t come from much financially and I’m still just a student. However, I just need someone to help me catch the big break I need. So, if you’re interested in helping me get my work published, please get in contact by any means. Help me make a difference and enact real change on a failing and flawed system. I can finally say that thanks to help from friends and having hobbies like writing I am now officially in recovery. Something I never thought possible. But it is possible, and I can help others too. Thank you very much for reading. 

[duskamethyst]

broken reverie.

a/n: he’s not wearing glasses in this one.

word count: 3.9k

genre: smut, nsfw, college AU

warnings: taboo rs, slapping, spanking, choking, face fucking, brat taming (kind of), slight degradation, creampie, age gap (nanami reaching 40)

pairing: professor!nanami x f!reader

summary: professor nanami calls you to his office to ‘talk’ about your terrible performance in his class.

maybe you went too far.

or else you wouldn’t have ended up in his office. 

but is this the outcome you coveted? yes.

the door creaks behind you before it closes again as you sit and wait in front of the big wooden desk. you were kind of excited when he told you to come and see him at his office earlier but now you’re having a whirlwind of emotions making your stomach churn and you don’t dare to look around to face him– even though he’s going to be sitting in front of you in a moment.

his shoes clack against the floor as he strides and sits on his chair. the air in the room feels dense when the male doesn’t say anything; as if you’re not in his presence to begin with.

he looks exasperated. a long, deep breath is emitted through his nostrils as he loosens up his tie from the collar. you only gawk at him in awe as he does so, but quickly snap out when he finally shifts his gaze at you. 

“so, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he finally breaks the silence. the deep, husky tone of his voice fills your ear and you hope he doesn’t notice your thighs press against each other almost immediately.

“tell you.. what?” you mentally slap yourself. you’re clearly aware of what he’s insinuating but you’re suddenly lost for words. there’s a huge difference between seeing him in class and being alone together with him. it’s even more nerve wrecking than you imagined and oh god, is his ac broken? because it suddenly feels hot.

nanami raises a brow, evidently unamused. “i had the courtesy to make time for you when i should be having brunch now so i don’t appreciate you playing coy.” 

you gulp audibly, “i’m sorry, sir.”

“if it’s not clear to you yet, i’m talking about your grades.” he opens the drawer under his desk and pulls out a pile of paper before slamming it in front of you. you blink in surprise and flip through the pages, though you know you don’t need to see it when you already know what lies on them. there are a lot of red circles on the papers, namely yours, with huge unpleasant numbers on the corner ranging from 12% to 25%. 

then he takes out another file which you realize as your student record throughout your semester and the subjects you currently take. 

“i find it odd that you scored well for your other courses.” he skims through the pages. “you certainly didn’t cheat, i can tell.”

“no, of course not.”

“then, what’s the problem here?” his tired eyes bore into you as he waits for you to answer or come up with whatever excuse.

“well, i–” 

“you’re doing it on purpose.” he snaps.

it’s as if time comes to a stop. your cheeks heat up with humiliation and you can’t bring yourself to continue to look at him in the eyes. although you’re aware that your silence means compliance, you’re still jumbling up words in your head to deny his assumption. 

“are you going to tell me i’m wrong?” 

“yes– i-i mean–” you stammer.

“then enlighten me.” he glances at the branded watch donned on his left wrist. “we have time.”

you shake your head, “i have another class soon.”

“skip it.” he quickly retorts. “i’m sure you have no problems with that. your grades are doing well for that one, but certainly not mine.”

sweat starts to form on your palms as you look down on your thighs, purposely avoiding his eyes that hold nothing but so much intensity. you’re weighing between two options; to keep on bluffing or come clean. you don’t think that nanami would let you get off the hook if you keep on lying and you’d definitely be bombarded with more questions, yet the outcome of the latter would be so embarrassing and you don’t know if you can live it down for the rest of the semester.

you’ve fantasized about being alone with him but.. not particularly this way. 

gathering courage and taking a deep breath, you decide it’s best to just tell him the truth.

“you’re right,” you feel your ears burning, hands clammy. “i purposely failed your class.”

lifting up your head, you see the male grinning lopsidedly in his seat. maybe he’s pleased that you’re not wasting his time anymore, you’re not sure, he’s not easy to read.

“wasn’t that easy?” he folds his arms in front of his chest. “i have my own speculation but i wanna hear why you did it.”

“um,” you look down to your hands again, also half wondering what kind of bold assumption he has in mind. “i was dared by my friend.”

“wrong,” he scoffs. “and look at me while you’re talking.”

you sigh defeatedly and nervously fix your gaze. if you’ve learned one thing now, it’s that your professor doesn’t have tolerance for bullshit and he knows one when he hears one.

“i-i did it for.. attention.” 

“my attention?” he emphasizes, maintaining his stoic persona to mask his amusement of finding out that his speculation turns out to be indeed true.

you purse your lips in a thin line, nodding your head quietly. nanami remains to stare at you as he ponders in silence. you can hear your heart beating rapidly in your ears and you want to break eye contact so badly but you’re certain it wouldn’t be wise. 

“all that, just for a crumb of my attention?” he spits with a hint of venom in his voice. “are you happy with what you did?”

well, you’ve imagined him punishing you on his desk, fuck you raw or spank you with his belt until your ass turns red– not some serious interrogation.

“no, sir.” 

nanami props his elbows on the table, hands clasped under his chin to keep his head up. the air around him becomes even more threatening but it somehow manages you to feel even more aroused, making your toes curl in your shoes. you definitely need to get out soon.

“you know, if i have even one student failing my class, i could get into trouble and be questioned for my performance.” he starts. “to have you doing that for your own selfish incentive is unacceptable, don’t you think?”

“i’m sorry.” you mumble with meek.

“besides that, you might have to retake this course again for your next semester and it’ll waste your time– or..?”

you stay silent to let him continue.

“or you were intending to be in my class again so you can see me?” 

“y-yes.” you bashfully admit after one silent moment, knowing that lying will take you nowhere. “i’m sorry, sir.”

nanami chuckles, finding your naivety to be rather entertaining. never has he ever met a student like you, outwardly expressing their interest in him by failing their paper. he’s not too sure what you’re trying to get out of him but maybe he can put one and one together. it’s pretty common that younger women have an attraction to older men like him and your classmates are.. well, not exactly the best looking either. 

“are you?” he smirks cynically. “do you have any idea how many students i have to monitor? how tiring my job can be?”

“yes. it was inconsiderate of me. i’m sor–”

“show me.” nanami cuts you off and leans back on his chair. maybe he can push you a little bit, he thinks. you owe him this anyway.

you blink, perplexed. “what?”

“you kept saying sorry.” he undoes two of the buttons on his blue dress shirt and spreads his legs apart. “talk is cheap. show me.” 

you do a double take as he taps his thigh and waits for you to come over. you have the faintest idea of what he’s implying but your body freezes and your brain short-circuits as if paralyzed.

“you chose to lie again? you’re not really sorry, are you?” 

“no, no! that’s not it. i just..” 

an ongoing battle takes place in your mind– sure that this is a part of your deepest, darkest fantasy yet you’re just baffled over how quick nanami catches on to it. now that your debaucherous dream has become a vivid reality, you don’t know which is the right step to take. 

“but if not now, when?” a soft voice in your head whispers. if desire could embody a voice, you think this is it. gentle, yet seductive as if it attempts to give you a push to pluck and have a taste of the forbidden fruit. 

“how much longer do you have to touch yourself to the thoughts of your professor before you go to bed?”

“although this could be a one time thing, at least you’d know how it feels like.” 

you slowly get up from your seat and make your way towards him. nanami’s eyes trail up at you, down to the floor then back up at you; gesturing you to get on your knees.

you settle between his thick thighs and look up at him timidly through your lashes before you bring your hands to undo his belt.

“no hands.” he quickly demands. 

you lick your lips as you figure the structure of the belt and how you’re going to take it off without the aid of your hands. the taste of cold metal and leather instantly invades your palate as you feebly use your teeth to tug the front loop of his belt. your head shifts awkwardly side to side until you finally get to catch the buckle between your teeth, pulling it hard before the belt soon unfastens.

nanami only observes you indifferently from above, yet the large tent in front of you doesn’t conceal the excitement he currently possesses. 

you take a deep breath before you continue on succeeding your quest. you twist your neck as you find and tug on the fabric loop that holds the button.

“i know you’re a smart girl.” he praises as he rests his hand on top of your head while you struggle to lift up the zipper with your tongue and grasp it between your teeth. the simple praise inflates your confidence and you become more eager to complete your task so you can claim your awaiting prize.

with valiantness, you finally lock eyes with him as you pull down his zipper completely to reveal the huge bulge pressing against the fabric of his briefs and the tip slightly poking out from the top. 

“hm? you still have to take it out, no?” he smirks as he notices you gape at the outline of his cock. 

you quickly pull yourself together and lean back up to the stretchy band on his waist. he hisses when he feels your tongue purposely graze against the flushed tip before you pull down the briefs by force to reveal the one thing you’ve been desiring for so long. 

you press your thighs together as a dull ache forms in your core from the sight of his thick cock standing proudly in front of you. it’s nothing like you’ve ever imagined– it’s better and you’ve finally found it worth going through all that trouble of failing his class (and using your mouth to take off his pants).

“this is what you want, isn’t it?” he sneers, titling up your chin with his fingers, brushing your lips with his thumb and pulling the bottom lip apart so he can see a row of teeth.

“y-yes, sir.” you gulp and breathe as you wait for his next command. 

nanami’s lips tug into a conceited smirk, “suck.” 

leaning down your head to the base, you flatten your tongue underneath the shaft and slowly drag upwards in favor of reveling the veins on his hard cock. nanami lets out a sigh of content when he feels your tongue licking his tip and his hand tugs on your locks by reflex. you look at him as you wrap your lips around the tip, slobbering the tip with your saliva and his precum.

“fuck.” he curses under his breath and his head falls back when the warmth of your mouth finally engulfs his throbbing cock as you take most of the length inside your mouth.

you hollow your cheeks together, head bobbing up and down as you struggle to take more of his cock that you nearly choke whenever the tip hits the back of your throat, but the hand on top of your head grabs a fistful of your hair and he pushes your head down to sink all his length inside your mouth deeper. when you want to pull away, he only holds you in place and remains his cock down your throat. 

“through your nose.” he mutters. tears start to well in your eyes while your saliva just trickles down to his balls as he screws his eyes shut and relishes in the pleasure that washes throughout his body. “i needed this so bad, you know?” 

your whines only give him more stimulation and his hips jerk in response, “just wouldn’t think that a student– fuck– out of all people would choke on my dick.” he lets out a sardonic chuckle as if something just crossed his mind. “it’s wrong, but that’s what makes it feel so good, isn’t it?” 

nanami keeps you in the position as he ruts his hips slowly into your throat. his eyes are closed in concentration and his lips part slightly in fast and short pants. you work on your gag reflex as you let him fuck your mouth, enduring the sharp sting on your scalp when he tugs your hair harder– at least you know you’re making him feel good.

“if i cum in your mouth, you’d gladly swallow, won’t you?” 

you can feel his cock twitching when you let out a choke of assent from your throat but you splutter as soon as nanami abruptly pulls away his cock because of a sudden knock on the door that startles the both of you.

“get under the desk.” he urges and you quickly crawl to hide while he coughs and inches closer to his desk. “come in.”

you hear the door open followed by echoes of footsteps before it comes to a halt in front of his desk.

“didn’t i tell you to contact me before seeing me?” his voice is laced with irritation yet collected as he speaks. you can imagine the agitated look on his face, thinking it would be only natural for anyone to assume that he’s already having a bad day. and to them, interrupting the peak of his orgasm is most definitely not it. 

without a second thought, you take back his dick inside your mouth. a spur of triumph swells in your chest when you feel his body jolts in surprise. you think it’s only fair since he has choked you with his cock and what perfect timing to carry out your petty vengeance when the man is busy advising his student. 

however, nanami shifts on his seat to give you more access to take more length of his cock. he tries to stay composed as he feels your tongue gliding up and down his shaft but once the wet muscle prods against the slit, he emits an oddly sharp exhale. you can hear him almost stammering as he speaks and the way his tone changes to conceal the squelching sounds you elicit from underneath the table as you please his cock with zeal.

“so, i want you to fix the mistake and hmm..,” his hands ball into fists on the table as he takes a deep breath. “show me in class tomorrow.”

“sure. uh, are you okay, sir?” you hear the voice say. “you don’t look well.”

his eye twitches when your tongue wraps around his balls, taking one inside your mouth to suck harshly.

“yeah, fine.” he clears his throat. “thanks for asking.”

nanami only watches as his student turns to walk towards the door until the door closes behind him. once he’s sure that the student has left the door, he finally leans back on his chair in relief. 

“fuck.” he groans, glancing down at you as you look up at him innocently with doe eyes and your swollen lips wrapped prettily around his balls. yet, he looks dissatisfied more than anything. 

nanami grabs your arm and drags you out from under his desk until you’re on your feet, “i never took you as a fucking brat.” he lifts up your skirt and bites back a groan once he sees the damp patch on your panties. “did you touch yourself?”

you hum a ‘mhm’, feigning guiltlessness as he grazes his fingers on your inner thighs. 

“you’re just asking for me to touch you here, hm?” shivers run up your spine when his thumb ghosts over your wet slit and up to your clit.

“y-yes.” your breath hitches.

“begging for me to push your head on the table and ram my cock inside you?” he muses, pressing on your clit as he watches you squirm. “is that what you want?”

“please–” you roll your hips slightly to soothe the ache on his thumb but a hand comes down harshly on your ass, gesturing for you to stop in a fierce manner.

nanami chuckles mockingly, “well, that’s what exactly you’re not going to get.”

a whine elicits from your lips when he draws back his hands to his thighs and you glance at his dick; still throbbing and leaking precum from the florid tip. well, at least he hasn’t put it back inside his pants, so you still have a chance.

“come on. you haven’t shown me how much you’re sorry.”

with your inhibitions already flew out of the window, you stand in between his thighs, hoist the skirt to your waist and tug your panties to the side before squatting down to smear your slick on his dick. sparks of arousal swim through you as you grind your clit on the tip before you sink down, gasping as his thick cock stretches your cunt and down until you’re filled to the brim.

you glance at the male expectantly, waiting for him to move but he raises a questioning brow at you, “if you want something, work for it.”

not exactly what you sought for, but it should suffice. you begin to gyrate your hips slowly, adjusting to his size before you can pick up the pace. you fight the urge to hold onto him for leverage, in fear he wouldn’t appreciate the crumple on his expensive dress shirt later.

as you become more delirious, you start to hump his cock vigorously, whining like a bitch in heat as you feel every vein and ridges on his cock brushing deliciously against your walls. nanami lifts the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth and you quickly catch it between your teeth. 

“the door isn’t locked, you know.” he muses, staring at your bouncing tits with half lidded eyes; mesmerized and thick with lust. “what’s going to happen if someone comes in and sees you bouncing on her professor’s cock like a little whore?”

a low, guttural sound rips from his throat when he feels your walls clenching around him in response.

“you’d like that, don’t you?” he smirks, tugging your bra down slightly and brushes his thumb against the erected nipple, making you mewl through the fabric in your mouth.

“you know you’re not supposed to do this but,” he brings up his thumb to caress your cheek. “you’re just so eager to please me, aren’t you?”

you sniffle in response, hands clutching on his solid thighs as you melt into his soft gaze before it’s gone in an instant.

“but i don’t like brats.” he sneers, drawing his hand away to slap your breast. “i don’t like people making my job harder. are you a brat?”

you shake your head, he slaps again.

“you act like one. stop lying.”

nanami tugs down the shirt from your mouth, a part of the fabric already drenched with your drool. his large hand circles around your throat while the other grips your hip firmly to roll your hip even faster on his dick. 

“oh– feels good–!” you moan wantonly, eyes rolling back as you let him control your body and assert his dominance over you.

“fuck it does.” he presses your throat tighter on the sides, restricting air from entering your lungs but your walls squeeze harder in retaliation. 

“bratty little bitch. clamping down on me like that.” he grits out and slaps across your face. what seems to be a rather harsh form of treatment, the pleasure filled sting and the lack of oxygen only fuel your arousal that you don’t even notice the way you hump on his cock has become more rapturous.

“getting off to this?” nanami slaps your other cheek before he lets go of his grip around your neck and you’re finally able to breathe air again. yet, he doesn’t spare you time to gather yourself before he promptly lifts up your hips and starts to pound inside your cunt relentlessly. 

the position causes you to tip to the front and you immediately hold on to him; face burying on the crook of his neck while his cologne fills your senses and sends you into a state of frenzy. 

“you like me using your tight cunt like that?” nanami grabs your ass for leverage, the angle allows him to fuck you so deep that you’re able to feel his cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“y-yes–!” you cry, the pressure in your stomach building up as you inch closer to an orgasm.

“like it when i use you to take out my frustrations?” he spanks the meaty flesh; walls clenching tighter on his fat cock and more slick dripping down his balls. “you just want to be my little cocksleeve, don’t you?”

“yesyesyes– please–!” your body starts to tremble above him. “w-wanna cum–”

“then fucking cum.” nanami rams into your cunny faster, abusing the spongy walls until the pressure snaps and tips you over the edge. you moan breathlessly into his neck, while your pussy gushes and creams around his cock. 

“that’s a good girl,” he fucks you through your high, grunting and panting as he pushes through the pulsing walls in order to chase his high. “and good girls get rewarded, right?”

you hum in agreement, still dazed and swimming in ecstasy as you gawk at him with heavy lidded eyes; the sweat glistening his forehead and sharp eyes focusing on where your bodies join. 

“then you’re gonna get some huge load in this pretty pussy.” his pace begins to stutter, nails digging deeper into your skin before his cock twitches and his hips freeze as he paints your insides white with cum.

both exhausted bodies rest against each other, chests heaving as you and nanami take time to regain composure and come down from your highs. he lifts you up slightly to take out his spent cock and he tugs back your panties in place, not minding the cum that dribbles from your quivering hole. 

your legs tremble once you get off of him that you have to force yourself to find your footing as you fix your skirt while the older male pulls back his pants in place. 

“do your best for your next papers, no more of that bullshit.” he fastens his buttons and straightens his tie before raising his hands to brush against his sleek, light brown hair that’s mixed with a few strands of grey. “but if you have any problems, just come and see me in my office.”

nanami falls quiet for a brief second to contemplate and you straighten your back when you once again meet his icy gaze, “after hours.”

enjoyed this piece? wanna buy me coffee? :)

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[talesofadragon]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

Summary: After the events of the second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy thought himself broken beyond repair. That is until Astoria Greengrass walked into his life and healed all his bleeding wounds. Now married and leading a happy life with her, it appears that Draco’s past choices have come to haunt him. With Astoria’s days becoming numbered due to an ancient blood curse, she asks Draco for a child to remember her by. But even after Scorpius Malfoy is born, something else seems to be threatening Astoria’s already limited time.

Pairing: DracoxAstoria, DracoxDaughter!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abortion, miscarriage, and death.

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word Count: 3.8K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

Part 1

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲.

What was once a prideful and witty wizard became no more than a haunted boy with far too many nightmares and bleak memories living in his head.

Wherever he went, men, women, and children reacted unkindly. On rare occasions, they would cower and run away from him as if he was about to whip out his wand and kill them at any moment. Most frequently, however, the entire wizarding community would not let him walk peacefully after the peace of mind he and other Death Eaters had robbed them of.

“Get out of here, scumbag.”

“Come to torment us anymore? No Dark Lord to hide behind now!”

“You and your family will always be a disgrace!”

Draco tended to walk regardless of all the daggers planted in his heart. He had a simple rule when it came to such situations: keep your head low and don’t react.

After Malfoy Manor became Voldemort’s temporary residence, Draco dreaded his family home. It held far too many memories of meetings and torture sessions that he’d seen enough in his nightmares--which was why he preferred the busy streets of England despite all the harsh words that accompanied him on every one of his walks.

Sometimes, during his moments of self-reflection, Draco wondered if he merited such distaste from the people around him. After all, everyone makes mistakes in their younger years. Some of his were minor, like being a git of a teenager who cared and valued a meager pureblood status more than anything. But then the others were appalling, gruesome, and perhaps unforgiving, like letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts and serving the Dark Lord at the age of sixteen.

Draco was not proud of the actions he took in the past. But he knew if he somehow managed to get his hands on a Time-Turner, he wouldn’t change a thing because he was trying to protect his family.

After the war, the Malfoy heir became a shell of a man, reduced to a ghostlike figure that wandered around, watching people from afar without saying a word in return. He was no longer the slimeball Slytherin that taunted the entirety of Hogwarts. He was… well, he didn’t really know what he was.

The boy had forgone many things that previously made him who he was.

He abandoned his aspirations of being Hogwarts’ next Potions Master after the thought of returning to the school became too much to bear. He traded his Quidditch broom for books and his meetings with his friends for some much-needed solitude.

All he knew was that he was never the same. And he was incapable of healing.

One summer night, the Malfoys were invited for lunch at Greengrass Manor. They were old family friends, and one of the few sacred twenty-eight families that didn’t sever ties with Draco and his family.

The boy never fancied pureblood social gatherings, and after everything that had happened, he hated them even more. The façades, vanity, and the pureblood supremacy became too much for him.

Draco hesitated to step out of the house and into another pureblood vicinity. He hadn’t realized that caving to his mother’s wishes would change his life.

As he arrived at Greengrass Manor, he briefly greeted the hosts, engaging in a small talk with Daphne, one of his old friends at Hogwarts.

He was led towards the grand table and took a seat by his parents.

“Good evening. Welcome to our home, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy and Draco. I’m sorry for being late.”

Draco lifted his eyes to meet those of Daphne’s little sister.

“It’s alright, Astoria,” Mr. Greengrass spoke, gesturing to the seat next to his eldest daughter. “Take a seat, sweetheart. Dinner’s about to start.”

She nodded at her father before slipping into the chair next to her sister.

The older witches and wizards began conversing during the meal, although Draco had no idea about what. He tuned out the voices, his mind elsewhere as he played with the food on his plate.

His mother had taught him better as a child, and had he been his former self, he would’ve joined them and engaged in the conversation as Daphne did. But the new Draco was distant, gloomy, and far too solitary for his own good.

Draco dipped his head; it was second nature at this point after spending too many times sitting at the same table as the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. He rolled the carrots around with his fork when he felt someone’s heavy gaze on him. And when he lifted his eyes to see who it was, Astoria Greengrass’s hazel eyes fled almost instantly.

He sighed and placed his fork on the plate. It became suffocating to sit within four walls. “Thank you for the food, Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. If I may be excused, I’d like to get some fresh air.”

The adults nodded, instructing the boy toward the entrance of their garden. He dipped his head solemnly and walked out.

When the cool breeze hit his pale skin, only then did breathing feel less of a hassle. He walked ahead with no particular destination in mind, brushing his long and pale fingers over plants and flowers as if to ground himself instead of getting too far gone into another one of his nightmares.

He sat on one of the stone benches in the middle of the garden and stared at the moon. It amazed him how such a fragile and bruised thing could still find the courage and strength to shine so brightly.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing.” Draco tilted his head, coming face to face with Astoria. She smiled sheepishly at him, holding two goblets in her hands. “You didn’t eat anything, so I thought I’d at least bring you something to drink. It’s pumpkin juice.”

Draco hadn’t realized he was scratching his left forearm until he reached out to take the goblet from Astoria’s hand. He mouthed a small thank you and curled his fingers around the metal. “Would you like to stay?” he asked, seeing her about to turn on her heels. He didn’t know what came over him, but he was tired of being alone.

She nodded, smiling broadly as she gingerly sat beside him, keeping a respectful distance between them.

For a couple of moments, neither of them said anything. The wind picked up and flowed freely around them. Draco’s eyes lingered on his left forearm, his right index finger tracing the goblet's rim.

“It’s there, isn’t it?”

He lifted his eyes to meet Astoria’s curious ones. He knew what she was talking about, but Draco decided to play dumb. “What is?”

She gripped her goblet with both hands and looked down. “You know what I’m talking about,” she replied, meeting his cold and sharp eyes. Draco said nothing. He retreated his gaze back to the sky, occluding and compartmentalizing his thoughts. If there was one good thing that came out of the war, it was the Occlumency his late aunt Bellatrix had taught him.

“I suppose you too want a go at me?” he seethed without looking at her. Had he, though, he would’ve noticed the softness twinkling in her hazel orbs.

“No. I’m a little curious why you took it,” Astoria clarified. “I don’t like to judge without knowing someone’s background story first. I don’t mean to overstep, but you don’t look like you were proud to serve Voldemort.”

Draco winced at the mention of the wizard’s name. He looked at the witch incredulously. For a Slytherin, she was brave enough to say his name with no hint of apprehension nor fear. Even the greatest of wizards had refrained from uttering the name, opting for You-Know-Who instead.

Draco felt astounded at the girl’s boldness. For a fleeting moment, he didn’t want to answer. It was none of her business in the end. But then again, she was the only person willing to hear his side of the story. And Merlin knew the boy longed for somebody that would understand him.

“My father was in Azkaban,” Draco began, fleeing from Astoria’s solemn gaze. “The Dark Lord wanted me to follow in my family’s footsteps. He threatened to kill my father, to torture my mother in front of me, and should I fail the mission that was I assigned, the cost would be my life.”

“Family. You did it for your family,” the witch concluded, and the boy simply nodded.

“And I’d do it again. I regret many things, like letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts and almost killing Dumbledore. But protecting my family? That’s something I will never apologize for.”

Astoria carried so much kindness and understanding in her warm irises, Draco swore it made his pain dull.

She wanted to reach out and cover his hand with her own, but she feared crossing boundaries. So, she set her hands on her goblet but shifted in her seat to be slightly closer to him. “That was very brave of you. You sacrificed many things for your family’s safety. I think… I think you should be proud of that.”

It was the first time that Draco Malfoy felt his heart soaring. The corner of his lips itched, and he involuntarily found himself giving Astoria one of his genuine smiles, a smile he forgot all about ever since sixth year.

That night in the Greengrass gardens marked the beginning of Astoria and Draco’s blooming relationship.

Astoria and Draco started as friends, conversing and visiting each other now and then. They became inseparable because no one understood Draco as Astoria did, and no one made Astoria as happy as Draco did either.

And when the time came for Astoria to return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, she boarded the train hand in hand with the Malfoy heir, whom she convinced to come back and finish his studies.

It was hard. It wasn’t easy being back to the school that carried fond memories yet was a recurrent part of Draco's nightmares. It didn’t help that he was scrutinized and judged for the mark on his left arm. Draco Malfoy understood the consequences of his actions when he stopped being the bully and instead became the target. But with Astoria by his side, the hurt seemed to lessen.

She was always there to comfort him and be the shoulder he needed to cry on. She welcomed him with open arms and gazed at him with a look full of compassion and understanding. It didn’t take long before the two began to date, and when Astoria graduated from Hogwarts, Draco didn’t hesitate to ask for her hand in marriage.

But the world was not kind to Draco.

When he thought that he was healing with the love of his life, every wrong choice he made had to bite him in his ass.

An ancient blood curse bestowed upon the Greengrass bloodline resurfaced in Astoria, making her days numbered. The couple was numbed at this piece of information, tears welling up in each of their eyes.

All their dreams were shattered. Draco and Astoria didn't have long. They couldn't grow old together, nor could they get their happily ever after. All they had was now.

Astoria knew every one of Draco’s demons. She was aware of her husband’s fear of loneliness and the deafening silence he experienced before her arrival in his life. This was one of the reasons that made her come to a conclusion.

“I want to have a child,” she blurted out one evening after she couldn’t keep it in anymore.

She felt Draco tense from under her, and his heartbeats faltered beneath her touch. “No,” he declared with no room for negotiation, keeping his gaze away from her else he might falter.

Astoria sighed, knowing well he might react that way. She brought her face up to look at him, and her fingers brushed against his jaw. “Dray—”

“I love you,” Draco confessed, and his wife could see the tears glistening in his mesmerizing eyes. He tightened his arms around her petite figure. “You’re more than enough for me. I don’t need the bloodline to continue, nor do I need to be a father to feel accomplished. All I need is you. As much time as I can have you.”

Astoria choked on a sob. It was unfair that all her dreams were being ripped away. She didn’t know if she’d be able to deliver a child or live long enough to witness their growth. But all she knew was that she wanted a family. With Draco. So bad!

“I always wanted a family. And I don’t want to die without—”

“Don’t,” Draco commanded. Pushing himself against the bed’s headboard and pulling her away from him. “Don’t finish that sentence, love. Please.”

“I’m dying, Draco. I am, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she admitted, her honey-brown hair covering her face, serving as a shield to hide her watery eyes and wet cheeks.

“I’m going to find a way—I need to find a way,” he confessed, cupping her face gently as if she was made of porcelain.

She adored him. Astoria loved him beyond comprehension, and she knew how much he loved her. And even though she didn’t want to leave him, even though she trusted him blindly, she knew his words were no more than empty promises. But despite all of that, she held onto them tightly in hopes of them coming true.

“I want a child,” she restated. “I want a part of me to live on even after I leave—Draco, please don’t look at me like that—I love you so much, it physically hurts. I don’t want to leave. But I want to start a family with you. One baby. One mini you and me, please. I will not ask for anything else.”

Draco loved Astoria so much that he accepted. He could never deny her wishes. Even if that resulted in her turning frail, he gave her what she wanted, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.

Scorpius was a carbon copy of his father. Silver eyes, platinum blond hair, and pale skin. He was intelligent, sharp minded, and quick-witted. But Draco adored that he carried his mother’s traits so perfectly well. He was curious, gregarious, and compassionate. And Draco knew that he had Astoria’s heart.

He loved his little family tremendously, and he was ready to sacrifice everything to protect them.

Over the years, Astoria became paler and sicker. The pregnancy she went through was the obvious cause.

However, lately, it seemed that her case had worsened. She brushed it off whenever Draco brought up taking her to the hospital, telling her husband not to worry. “I won’t let death stop me from taking Scorpius’ hand and leading him to the Hogwarts Express,” she’d say, knowing they still had five more years before that moment.

But dread slithered in Draco’s bones the moment Astoria lost consciousness during one of their family picnics. She hadn’t been eating well, feeling nauseous at the slightest of smells, her head pounded frequently, and she seemed to be even more tired.

So when she fell into his arms, unconscious, he panicked terribly, thinking that was it. That was the end of their story.

He held onto her unconscious form tightly, whispering confessions of love and pleading with her to open her eyes until she finally did.

As Draco sat by her hospital bed, tightly clutching her hand. Astoria, who was now conscious, was sniffing silently. She was terrified at the idea of leaving her family behind. She wasn’t ready.

“Mrs. Malfoy.” Healer Abbot walked in with a comforting smile. “Feeling better?”

Astoria shook her head, her words were wedged in her throat and her tears cascaded freely. Draco’s hold on her hand tightened, his knuckles turning white at the firmness.

“Astoria, dear, this isn’t related to your condition.” Both Malfoys froze at the Healer’s words. They didn’t know whether this piece of information was meant to be comforting or not.

“What is it about, then?” Draco carefully asked, studying the witch.

She smiled at the two of them, her eyes telling them she had good news. “The test results came back. What Astoria is going through is normal as she’s still within the first trimester of her pregnancy.”

“What?” Draco stood up abruptly, forgoing his hold on his wife’s hand.

Astoria was in a trance. Her eyes widened at the information, and the monitor next to her beeped louder as her heartbeats picked up. Her trembling hands moved down to her stomach as she laid them there, still reeling from what she heard. “I’m pregnant?”

Healer Abbot nodded. “Eight weeks, to be exact. I deduce from your reactions that this wasn’t planned?” Astoria said nothing while Draco sank back in his chair, raking his fingers through his hair. The Healer sighed. “Astoria, I won’t lie to you. With your condition, this pregnancy might be a little tough.”

“How tough are we talking about?” The witch’s voice cracked under pressure. She could see her husband fist his hand and bite it from the corner of her watery eyes.

“There’s a probability that you might undergo a miscarriage. If you do manage to maintain the pregnancy through labor, there’s a risk that either you or the baby won’t make it. You can still opt for an abortion. It isn’t late. And should you choose to keep the baby, we will do our best to mitigate the risks and get you both through these couple of months safely.”

“Thank you. I.. uh.. I appreciate it. Can I please rest for now?” It was all Astoria could say before the Healer left, letting her sink into her bed and close her eyes.

When she woke up, Draco was no longer by her bed. Instead, he stood by the windows, watching the busy streets below. They were married long enough for her to know that his shoulders were stiff and his mind was cooking dreadful scenarios.

“I’m scared, too,” she admitted in a small voice, pulling him out of his daydream.  

He crossed the area and reached her side, pulling her in his arms. Draco buried his face in her neck, drowning in the intoxicating scent of her perfume that he adored. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I’ll be with you. Aborting the baby is the best option we have.”

Astoria gasped in shock. “What did you say?” She pulled away from Draco, looking at him in a mix of disappointment and disbelief. “Surely you’re not expecting me to terminate our child!”

“Yes. I am. You heard the Healer, Astoria. It’s your life or the child’s. I’m already losing you. I’m not ready for it to be so soon, which means the child has to go!” Draco declared angrily.

Astoria’s eyes filled with hurt. “How dare you, Draco Lucius Malfoy? I have not known you to be so heartless and cruel!”

“I’m neither of those things. Need I remind you of our agreement? One child. You asked for one child, and I obliged. You are now asking too much of me!”

“I remember that very clearly, but I didn’t expect to get pregnant again!”

“And you won’t remain for long,” he deadpanned.

Astoria was fuming. This was their baby, a product of their undying love. She knew she didn’t have long, but she was a mother, and as a mother, she was ready to die for her children.

So she did something she had never done before. She slapped Draco across his face. “I will kill anyone that dares to threaten my children. Including you, Draco! You will not touch him or her, or so help me Merlin, I’ll do much more than slap you.”

Without giving him a chance to let one word out, Astoria threw the covers of her bed aside. She put on her shoes, which were on the foot of her bed, and rushed outside the room.

And as she was walking, she saw her in-laws rushing toward her along with Scorpius and Daphne in tow.

“Mum!” Scorpius let go of his aunt and threw his arms around his mother. She held him tightly, inhaling his scent. “I missed you. Are you feeling better? Why are you crying?”

“I’m fine, my precious boy,” Astoria sniffed, fixing her son's fallen blond locks. She picked him up and hugged him with everything she had. She only hoped she’d live to do the same with her unborn child.

Narcissa put a hand on her arm, examining her tear-stained cheeks. “Darling, what’s wrong? Draco never informed us what the Healers told you.”

“Astoria!” Before the witch could answer, Draco’s enraged voice echoed throughout the corridor. He trudged towards her, then gripped her hand tightly, looking at her with anger and so much fear. “The conversation isn’t over.”

“Daddy? Why are you being mean to mummy?”

At Scorpius’ remark, Draco’s gaze softened. He loosened his grip on his wife’s hand and caressed his son’s face. The young boy seemed more relaxed. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to be angry. Love, come on, please. Let’s take Scorp home and finish our conversation.”

“No!” Astoria said sternly, taking a step back and pulling Scorpius away from Draco’s hold. “There’s no room for negotiation on this. Your wife and both your children are not going home. We’re staying at my parents’ instead. And once you come back to your senses and decide to accept your unborn child, then you know where to find us!”

Narcissa and Daphne let out a loud gasp while Draco and Lucius stood bewildered. Everyone’s eyes fell on Astoria, and while she was visibly shaking like a leaf with red-rimmed eyes, she held her ground firmly.

“Mummy?” Scorpius called, and Astoria turned to her oldest. “You said both. Does that mean I’m going to have a little sister like Auntie Daphne has you?”

Astoria chuckled, kissing her son’s forehead. “Or a little brother, yes. I’ll make sure of it, Scorp. I promise.”

The little boy beamed and hugged his mother tightly. Draco almost cried; if only Scorpius knew what that sacrifice meant.

Daphne shook herself out of her trance and held her sister's arm. “Let’s go home, Tori. You need to rest.” She threw a dirty look at Draco before leading her sister and nephew outside the hospital.

And Draco was left standing there, watching as the love of his life, the woman who healed all his wounds, walked away. And he dreaded the day she’d be walking away for good.

-----------------------

Any theories about what might happen next? 

Read Part 2 to find out more!

For those who want to be tagged, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

Until the next one xx

[howlingday]

I a got Arc spirits ask for you...hopefully it's a good idea.

Mordred before being captured....wounded, beaten, carrying a broken blade with a gem in the hilt. In his last moments before capture grips the gem citing his regrets, grievances, his message to future arcs and lastly....the vow he took to be a blade for those forgetten by the light to hunt those lurk in shadows.....before finally using the last of his strength to throw it the gem shining red as it seemingly disappears into the air.

I decided to go a bit dark with this one, so, uh... fair warning.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: Hey, Dad?

Papa Arc: Hm?

Jaune: I was looking through the archives, and I noticed something. The Arc family dates back the warriors of our family from you to great-great-grandpa, but I can't find anything after except the first Arc. Did we lose it?

Papa Arc: (Sighs) I think you're old enough. Come, it's time you learned about the Arcs. All of the Arcs.

---------------------------------------------------

"Mordred!" Joan called out. "Get over here right now!" No answer. "I'm going to count to three!" Still no answer. She took a deep breath. "UN! DE-"

A young Mordred Arc arrived at the doorstep before she could finish. He grumbled and dug his toe into the ground, refusing to meet her gaze.

"The Winchester girl and her mother were just here." Joan leaned down. "Were you throwing rocks at people again."

" 'S not my fault." Mordred grumbled. "If people were stronger, I wouldn't have to tough 'em up."

"Oh, you think you're stronger?" Joan grabbed his ear, making the boy wince in pain. "I'll show ya real strength, and I'll make sure you learn this time!"

Mordred Arc was, in the eyes of many, a bad child. He was rude, and violent, and killed and ate small animals like a savage instead of returning home. Mordred Arc was the first and only son of the Arc family.

---------------------------------------------------

Papa Arc: Your great-great-great-grandpa is purposefully locked away in the archives. He was... not a hero.

Jaune: What do you mean?

Papa Arc: He fought his own family and tormented innocents when he was younger, and fought for no one but himself on the battlefield.

Jaune: He... does sound awful.

Papa Arc: The first Arc denied him Crocea Mors, because he was deemed unworthy to weild it.

Jaune: Really? Then what did he use?

Papa Arc: (Opens secret door, Enters small room)

Jaune: (Follows, Mouth agape at the rusted toothed-cleaver hung on the wall)

Papa Arc: Sanguis Mors. The Cleaver of Nightmares. The weapon used by Mordred Arc to slaughter innocents.

---------------------------------------------------

Mordred stood in his home, staring at Sanguis Mors as it hung on the wall. He reached out and dragged his hands across the blade, smiling at the memories. The tyrants he cut. The murderers he bled. The beating of his heart in his ears as his Battle Lust took over.

Then came the less pleasant memories. His friends staring at him with terror. The innocent civilians who witnessed his actions and called him a monster. The chilling voice of his mother as she chastised him one last time.

"You are no Arc. You are an untamed and unruly beast. You are unfit to weild Crocea Mors."

A knock at his door awoke him from his stupor, and his daughter from her nap. He walked past the door to the bedroom to find his daughter being soothed by his love, who cooed and shushed the child.

"I have her." Morgan said. "See who's at the door."

Mordred nodded. In all his travels, he fought many men. He killed monsters more. He lay with... a number of women, who were drunk enough to accept him. But no one held him the way Morgana Fey held him.

Their first meeting was like a fairy tale. Hero fights monster, hero kills monster, damsel is rescued, damsel smacks hero for killing her game, hero offers to cook, damsel and hero become friends, damsel proves she's tough than the hero, hero instantly falls for the damsel. His mother was against the sudden union, but she relented after meeting her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Mordred opened the door and found a lanky, but lean man, covered in sweat as his snake tail waved anxiously. His hair was disheveled despite how much he slicked it down to his neck, and on his collar, his pendant of a snake circling a garden bounced against his chest.

"Yon?" Mordred asked. "I thought you were in Menagerie."

"Mordred, please!" Yon gasped, swallowing air as it entered. "Please, help me! They've captured my family in Mistral. They intend to kill my children if I do not submit."

"Who, Yon?" Mordred asked, feeling anxious himself. "Who would imprison your family?"

"A tyrant." Yon replied. "He calls himself the King of Rats! Please, Mordred," he fell to his knees, tears hitting the ground at Mordred's feet, "please, save my family!"

Mordred looked inside, where his wife entered from the bedroom. Her belly was swollen with her second child, and her breast was feeding her first. She looked helpless, so defenseless, until he looked in her eyes, which were all but those. With a nod, Mordred reached on his other side and pulled free Sanguis Mors.

Mordred reached a hand out to Yon, who looked up with tears. "Show me this 'King of Rats'."

---------------------------------------------------

Papa Arc: He abandoned his unborn son, who would one day grow up to become your own great-great-grandfather, to serve his own selfish cause.

Jaune: (Looking over the document) Who was his friend? This "Yon"?

Papa Arc: Yon the Butcher. He betrayed his own people to open a trade-line with Mistral. When his people called for help from the pirates who raided their trade lines, he turned his back on them. But when Mistral came for his head, he abandoned his family to recruit Mordred.

Jaune: Not exactly the best friend.

Papa Arc: No, and where he found a beast, he awoke a demon.

---------------------------------------------------

"Over here!"

Mordred climbed the hill to meet with Yon, who stood by with a grin. He looked back to the path his Battle Lust had taken him. The bodies cut open or cleaved apart by Sanguis Mors. He smiled. It was fewer bodies this time.

"Just beyond the wall." Yon said with a grin. "Climb over it, and you'll be closer saving my family!"

"Save your thanks for after they're safe, my friend." Mordred replied. "I'll let you know when the gate is open, and it's safe to enter."

"Of course, my friend."

Mordred buried his blade into the old stone of the fortress, pulling himself higher with his other hand in empty brick holes close by.

As he climbed, a thought occured to him. The men he fought were few in number, especially for someone who is referred to as "the king of rats". And how quickly he and his friend had reunited after the battle with no enemy reinforcements was also concerning. Even the climb was easy! As he swung over the wall, he feared he was dropping into...

"Spears! Up!"

An ambush! Mordred looked around, finding himself surrounded by dozens, if not a hundred soldiers, armed with an array of weapons. Spears, swords, axes, clubs, bows- everything meant to harm him was there, all surrounding a smug figure wearing a golden crown.

"Ah, the hero of the day!" The king smiled. "Mordred Arc, the Slayer of Men. My father spoke highly of your strength, but more so true of your wit." He looked to the side. Mordred followed his gaze to the gate, where he saw Yon wave at them. The king waved in return. "Such a good man. A pity a beast like yourself couldn't resist the temptation of tasting blood, but what else is to be expected of the monster who killed my brother?!"

Mordred felt a pain in his heart as he watched Yon leave. He was a close friend; the only friend he had left from his days of battle, and he had betrayed him. Sanguis Mors dipped low to the ground.

"Now the people are free once again! The king of rats shall take his throne as the Hero of Mistral!"

Mordred huffed once. Then again. Then his huff became laughs. An eager soldier stabbed him with his spear, right in Mordred's abdomen. Mordred took the spear by the wooden shaft and crushed it in his palm, bellowing a loud laugh. His eyes flashed silver.

"So you've caught me, hero? Then you should be ready to pay the price to do it!"

Mordred lept into battle, ready to put his blades to the dogs who conspired in Yon's betrayal. Sanguis Mors found purchase in a vanguard's shield, before Mordred launched himself over the battalion, and right to the king.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: So it was a trap from the start. (Starting on the fourth pile) What happened to great-great-grandpa?

Papa Arc: He was forced to flee with his mother and sisters. Seen to Mordred betrayed, Yon escaped and warned a local mercenary battalion to raze the village to the ground, using the same gold to pay for the unjust assault.

Jaune: But... why?

Papa Arc: I couldn't say. Perhaps he feared the consequence and sought to buy time in Mordred's grief. Perhaps he sought to salt Mordred's wounds for some betrayal from before. In whatever case, for whatever reason, he should have known that a devil like Mordred weeps for no one.

---------------------------------------------------

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Mordred wailed as he held his mother in his arms, her ashened skin flaking from his palms. She had died a heroes death, killing many others before taking her own life in a decision to burn as many bastards as she could before her passing. A column of burning wood collapsed, striking Mordred from above and knocking him unconcious.

He awoke later with a cough as he heard the howls of demons themselves. The damned mercenaries remained to laugh at the burning village, revelling in their revolting "entertainment" of murder, theft, and rape.

Tears fell from his eyes as he thought of his wife. His daughter. His unborn child. His mother.

"Looks like that hag that killed the old boss is properly buried now, eh?" One of them laughed.

"Hey, now, that's dangerous!" One of the others mockingly warned. "Here, let me help you put out that fire!"

New laughter erupted as cold liquid crawled closer to Mordred, his burning body's open wounds screaming from the sudden invasion of filth. These bastards- These animals did not deserve to breathe! Let alone breathe of his mother!

Wood creaked and snapped as Mordred pushed himself from the ground, surprising the cretins standing closest to him. With a quick swipe of his hands, his knuckles cracked against the faces of the pissing men, catching the attention of all the others. Scanning the horde, he found their leader sitting atop a heap of goods, surrounded by the defiled corpses of the villagers he once knew.

"Who the hell are you?!" It barked.

Mordred didn't answer. He couldn't stand to. He stepped closer, his eyes blazing. Any man who attacked was disposed of without much effort. Soon, he was standing before the king of filth, terror in his eyes. And with a blink, he was no more.

He turned to the others, now running in terror. Mordred returned to the house, remembering their faces, and dug out Sanguis Mors. He could still see their silhouettes in the night.

Mordred had heard of a new class of warrior. Those who dedicated themselves to the defense and protection of those who could not do so themselves. Before this day, he never considered them. But tonight?

Tonight, he would hunt men.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: ...What? That's it? Is that all?

Papa Arc: That is all that is on record, Jaune. So, tell me, Jaune. What are your thoughts on the Arcs darkest history? On the monster who taints our family name.

Jaune: I think... you're too hard on him.

Papa Arc: Excuse me?

Jaune: I think you were too hard on him. True, he was a schoolyard bully, but he grew out of it by the time he had his firstborn child.

Papa Arc: How can you be so sure?

Jaune: There's nothing written between then and when he was recruited. He must have lived a quiet life if there's nothing between his youth and when he was recruited years later.

Papa Arc: By Yon the Butcher.

Jaune: Who was his friend. I'm sure he saw Yon as a good man, and was heartbroken by his betrayal.

Papa Arc: ...Are you telling me Mordred Arc, the black sheep of our family, the demon who slaughtered dozens, if not hundreds of warriors, including his own allies, is not evil?

Jaune: Evil is subjective, Dad, and looking back on it, I think it might have been a semblance. Some of the records say he "had a red glow about him" when his bloodlust started. In the right context, he could have been a great hero.

Papa Arc: (Nods) You pass.

Jaune: Huh?

Papa Arc: There is one final piece that I have hidden from you. It is in regards to Mordred's fate before he passed. (Walks to a drawer) Tell me, son. How familiar are you with Echo Dust?

Jaune: Well, Weiss told me it's what scrolls are built around. Something about talking into it, and an echo returning.

Papa Arc: Yes, and I have the last Echo Dust used by Mordred Arc. (Pulls out Echo Dust) It was found by your great-grandfather when he returned to the village. We have kept it ever since. And now, I believe you are ready. (Taps the Echo Dust)

---------------------------------------------------

Mordred panted as he runs across the plains. The pelting rain showered over him, soaking him to the bone. Coming to the cress of the hill, he dropped to the ground into the destroyed village village below. Running through the shattered remains of the hamlet, he hides around a corner, steadying his breath.

A black shadow looms by, and he stops breathing. The monster, with skin paler than the moon, eyes redder than hot iron, and a soul blacker than any Grimm before, passed by him in it's slow stalk through the town.

As it searched inside a house, far outside of Mordred's view, and he quietly moved away, moving closer to the town's entrance, away from the beast. Ahead, he saw another Grimm, much smaller than his predator, serving as a guard. Rather than risking his being spotted, he ducked into a house, through a crack in the walls.

Surrounded, with no escape, Mordred pulled out the glowing, white stone. He found it amongst the mercenary's loot, long ago. The irony of using it in this same vilagge made him sick with rage, but he swallowed it down. And with a gulp, he began.

"My name... is Mordred Arc." He glances up, watching a Grimm patrol outside. "And this... is my end. I have made many enemies, and mistakes many more. I have let my lust for battle blind me to my companions and to the love I put in danger. If you are a man of most ghoulish intentions, then know that I am hunted by a creature far more foul. But, if you are the more finer warrior, more worthy to be called an Arc than I, then know that I trust you to do the right thing. In the past, they have called me Mordred the Black, or Mordred the Tainted, and much, much worse, but know that I did what I did because I believe the worst crimes deserve the worst punishment. And if this is an Arc who listens, then know this..."

The door screams as it is ripped from it's hinges. The devil that hunts him, the monster most foul who has been stalking him, was now mere feet away. Though her gait and stride were woman, her heart was evil of the most ill design. It smiled and cooed like a mother playing with her child. "There you are."

"...This is my end."

Mordred dropped the stone, and charged one last time.

[hotwings0203]

I JUST SAW FIGHT CLUB AND HOOOLLYYY-

Bro could you IMAGINE FightClub!Bakugo?

Tw:noncon, language, harassment

Okay okay get this: you’re down in the basement listening to the usual men holler and punch each other around while you do your job as their cute little “accountant”. While many of them have good jobs and a real life, the actual members don’t have time or the intellect to juggle the numbers and money around as fast as you can. You’ve been coming here for a while now, and you’re used to the jeers and wolf-whistles coming your way since you’re basically one of the few or only women who dare to come down here.

But there’s one fighter who just can’t seem to take no for an answer.

Bakugo fucking Katsuki.

The man is ruthless, he’s relentless, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. You swear he’s had to have taken a shitload of steroids in his youth, otherwise how else could he have built up that much muscle? There’s no way an average gym-goer has that kinda build.

He’s always the first and the last one out in the rink, swaying back and forth with his fists up, a twisted grin on his face that was so reminiscent of a wolf before it lunges for its prey.

It usually took more than two men to pull him off the unconscious bodies that he had just beaten to a pulp, effectively breaking one of Fight Clubs Rules: get up when someone is down.

But he’s too good to let go, no one has the balls to tell him to take his money somewhere else since they’re all scared shitless of him.

Which leads him to believing that he’s practically a god down here, that he can conquer anything: including you.

No one really calls it harassment because no one really cares. What’s so wrong in a guy having a little crush? What, you came down here seeing all this testosterone but you can’t deal with it yourself? Don’t be a prudish bitch.

“Bakugo, I’m at work right now, I don’t want to.”

“C’mon toots, this ain’t even real work, you’re just fumblin’ my hard earned cash.” He grins slyly and crosses his bulging muscular arms, leaning against the doorway of the little office you��re given to work your magic.

You turn in your rickety seat and glare at him, ignoring the way he licks his lips and lets his eyes roam all over your body. “If I’m so shit at my work then go somewhere else and stop bothering me.”

He chuckles in his baritone voice and shakes his head at you. “Naw, can’t do that sweets. If I did then I’d never be able to see your pretty face again now, could I?” Bakugo leers at you and you turn your face in disgust.

“I don’t wanna go out for lunch, or ever with you. Now get out before I have to call someone in here.”

“Oh, is that so?” He uncrosses his arms and steps through the threshold, his body growing larger and more menacing as he slowly draws closer to you. Luckily a fight had broken out near the office months ago so there was no more door from the aftereffects, but that didn’t mean you felt safe even with open space.

“G-get out. I’m serious, Bakugo-“

“-Call me Katsuki, angel. And you don’t really mean that, do you? Look at you, you can barely look me in the eye when you say such mean things.” His voice drops an octave as he comes to stand in front of your seated form, towering above your wide eyes, clenched fists and trembling figure.

He leans down and you flinch and gasp as his breath ghosts over your face. He places both arms on either side of your chair so you have nowhere to look but him.

“You’re such a nice breath of fresh hair down here, through all the blood and violence. You’re like a flower...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and breaths out a laugh when you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

“A flower, so fragile...a flower that smells so fucking good...” you feel like you can’t properly breathe as he leans in next to your ear and inhales deeply.

“A flower waiting to be deflowered herself.”

“What’s going on here?” A lanky body in the doorway appears.

Bakugo pulls back and turns his head ever so slightly towards the dude, growling under his breath at the interruption.

“We’re in the middle of something here, so you can just get the fuck ou-“

“-Well, it doesn’t really look like she’s into whatever you’re doing,” the man scoffs and takes in your pale face and shaking hands.

Bakugo stands to his fullest height, almost neck and neck with the man at the door.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear a complaint from her.” He cocks his head and stretches, allowing his muscles to ripple with each movement, something that didn’t go unseen by your much skinnier savior.

But he doesn’t back down. He only swallows and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, we’re all being called out to put our bets in for the next match anyways, so you better come out before we get our asses kicked.”

The blond grumbles about weak men and no balls, then casts a dark look at your frozen figure before shouldering past the man at the door, almost knocking him down.

As soon as he’s out of your line of vision, you exhale and relax into your seat.

“You okay?” The fallen soldier scrambles back up and cautiously approaches you, looking over your body in a way that didn’t remind you of Bakugo undressing you with his eyes...rather, it was a protective, and worried once-over.

“Yeah, he’s just...a lot to handle sometimes. Doesn’t know when to quit.” You laugh shakily and run a hand through your hair.

“No wonder the dude’s a menace. He’s used to getting what he wants, I guess.” The man acknowledges this grimly, and for the first time you’re relieved that finally someone hasn’t turned a blind eye to your harassment.

“Are they really calling us down for bets?”

“No, I just said that to get him off your ass. Didn’t seem like you liked whatever he was doing.”

You give him a wobbly smile and he returns it.

“Sooo we should probably run before he comes back up here, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” you actually giggle before leaping out of your seat and joining the man to bound up the steps two at a time to freedom.

You both end up bonding pretty well over the weeks, even going out for coffee and lunch dates here and there. You’ve come to really like him, his shyer demeanor more than a majority of the ragtag men down in the basements, his chivalry refreshing to you amongst the blood and foul language thrown around the ring.

You feel like a woman with him, not some piece of ass like you were used to.

Bakugo noticed all this, of course. You started avidly avoiding him, ducking your head down and hiding behind your new ally before he could open his coarse mouth and stalk towards you. He couldn’t find you in your dingy office anymore either, because your savior was up in a cafe doing the calculations with you, laughing away about the latest matches.

That has to change. Effective immediately.

“Yo, newbie. How you been? Haven’t seen you fightin’ here for a while,” Bakugo claps his meaty hand on the scrawny guy’s back, nearing sending him toppling over.

“Yeah, y’know, just haven’t been feeling it lately.” He rubs the stinging feeling away from his sore shoulders and side eyes the blond suspiciously. He had seen firsthand just how bad-news of a guy he was, and he didn’t wanna get caught up in all that.

But Katsuki wasn’t just all brawn. He had some brains, too.

“Look, I know I prolly gave off a weird first impression with Y/N back then. But it’s all in good health, ‘was just messin’ around like I always do.”

“Yeah, sure...”

“How ‘bout we get some coffee or somethin’? You seem like a solid dude, plus we got shit in common to talk about.”

Like fucking around with my bitch.

“Uh, you sure? I kinda’ wanted to see the last fight,” he trails off unsuredly, scratching his jaw as Katsuki steers him away from the growing crowd.

“There’ll always be fights, man. I wanna show you that I’m a nice guy.”

Bakugo Katsuki was not a nice guy.

And everyone knew that too, which is why when some shifted to give the duo a curious glance he met them with a death glare. Any gazes locked on Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the lanky guy’s shoulders were immediately casted down.

You didn’t see your savior for a while.

It had been two weeks since he mysteriously disappeared from his usual place in the outskirts of the crowd, because unbeknownst to you, a certain fighter was keeping him away from you and convincing him to have a friendly brawl over lunch.

You only found out about it on a Friday night, when a crowd much bigger than before was gathered in the dim basement, voices hushed and whispering.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?” You whisper to one of the usuals.

“‘Heard Bakugo’s fighting some dude that was handpicked by himself. He somehow managed to convince the poor bastard to have some kinda’ match with him.”

You felt your heart sinking.

“Who did he pick?”

“‘Dunno, some skinny guy, a newbie I think. Hasn’t been around for too long so I guess he doesn’t know how big of a monster he’s gonna be beaten by.” The groupie shrugged, and you felt the blood drain from your face.

Without saying another word, you spun around and started running around all over the place looking for either of the two.

You end up stumbling into the men’s bathroom, desperate beyond salvation to stop this bloodbath.

He’s there, he’s at the urinal and he yelps when he hears you barge in. You avert your eyes and let his adjust himself as he sputters indignantly.

“Y/N? What’re you doing in here? This is a men’s-“

“Don’t fight him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fight Bakugo, please, he’s gonna kill you, I know he is-“

“-Calm down, what’re you so worked up about? C’mon, I would’ve thought you’d had a little bit more faith in me to be able to stand my ground.” He teases you but you don’t find it funny, on the contrary you’re terrified out of your mind for his life.

“Did he put you up to this? How could you fight him, you’ve seen what he does to the other guys in the ring!”

“Well yeah, but he knows not to go that hard on me. Actually, he’s not that bad of a guy, we’ve gotten some drinks for the past two weeks and I was wrong about him.”

You gape at him. “Wrong? You saw how he cornered me that one day!”

He shrugs, not put off by the distant memory. “The guy just came back from a fight, he still had testosterone going through him. You can’t blame him for wanting to let a bit of it out, right? You should really give him a chance y’know, he talks about you all the t-“

But you can’t hear anymore, this is madness, there’s barely 10 minutes left until they’re going to call the two down for their death match. You need to find the source of this problem firsthand.

And somehow, a little voice inside your head tells you exactly where you know he is.

You round the corner to your office and there he is in all his glory, seated like a king on your chair, leaned back with his knees spread, carelessly looking through your bank statements and bet papers.

He barely looks at you as he says, “Oh there you are, I was starting to think you’d miss the show.”

You sink to your knees.

He looks up at that.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, your dry throat barely permits you to choke out, “Bak-Katsuki, please, please don’t do this. Please don’t fight him.”

He cracks his neck and leans forward, regarding you with dark vermilion eyes. He looks your position over appreciatively before speaking.

“Why not? He’s so good and great isn’t he? I’m just trying to show you how right you were, after all. I’m sure he’s got a fair chance of beating me.”

You shake your head vigorously, knowing what he’s playing at.

“No, no, you’re better, please. I was wrong about him, I shouldn’t have been friends with him, please don’t fight him Katsuki I’ll do anything-“

“-Oh you’ll do anything I say regardless of if I beat him to a bloody pulp or not. You wanna know why?”

You can barely contain a whimper as he stands and walks over right in front of you, his bulging crotch mere inches away from your face.

He suddenly grabs your hair and you cry out before he yanks your head up to meet his cold eyes.

“Because no one in here is gonna say shit to me. I run things here, toots. And if you want your little boy toy to live through today, you’re gonna watch every blow I give to him, and you’re gonna kiss the fucking knuckles I beat his face with. Got that?”

You sob as he grinds his clothed erection against your tear-streaked face, sniffling when he moans loudly and bucks into your open mouth.

A loud knock on the bare hinges stops Bakugo from pulling the front of his shorts down.

You both turn your heads and see a red-faced side-liner looking down and mumbling something about the match starting.

“‘Be there in a minute. Tell the guys to give my girl here a special front-row seat to this match, she’s gonna wanna see her man win, after all.”

The runner scampers off, leaving you both alone.

He bares his teeth down at you and you cower under his painful hold, the roots of your hair ripping from their strands.

He eventually tosses your head to the side after a few seconds of staring you down, and the second he does you clutch your sore cranium.

“I better see you down there in a minute sweet thing. You gotta get used to it anyways, since you’re gonna be getting accustomed to my rituals before and after matches.”