#i hope you spend a lot of time thinking how you fucked that up!!

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | epilogue

[chap seventeen] | [all chapters here]

Story Summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers, smut & nsfw themes

a/n: Well, we've finally made it, everyone, and I'm feeling emotional about it. This epilogue is just a lil something I thought up while I was considering what the future would hold for Eddie and ice princess, and I love it dearly.

wc: 3.2k

Epilogue

September 1985

I want to be somewhere big and interesting. New York, L.A.… fuck, even Florida for all I care, I just want out of Hawkins, out of this town.” “Then I guess we’ll be those high school sweethearts that run off to L.A. together after graduation, huh?” “Oh, I’m sure.”

September 1987

Eddie should’ve been home by now. You’d memorized his work schedule within his first week of starting at VIP Records, so you knew his shift always ended at 6pm on Tuesdays - so where the hell was he? It was nearly 8:30, and you’d been getting more and more antsy as the minutes ticked by, worrying over what could possibly be delaying him like this.

So much had happened in the two years since you and Eddie began dating back in Hawkins - your world had changed so much that sometimes you felt like a completely different person. It started with some big things, like reintroducing Eddie to your parents and begging them to start fresh with him - though your father resolved to never show any warmth to your boyfriend, at least your mother was kinder.

You decide that you wouldn’t be going to college following graduation, instead wanting to take a year to work, which was yet another thing your father didn’t warm to. Somewhere amidst that decision and the subsequent string of arguments that followed, you found yourself spending more nights with Eddie and Wayne than you did with your own parents, until one day you realized you had informally moved into the Munson home. So, by the end of summer ‘86, you were out of your parents’ house and working full-time to save up for whatever may come next (and to pay rent, despite Wayne’s insistence that it was entirely unnecessary).

You weren’t sure who proposed the idea first, but you and Eddie had decided one day that you were going to move out to California. Initially, this was just some fantasy for the two of you, something to give you hope that you’d hightail it out of Hawkins one day, but over time that fantasy started to look more and more real until finally you agreed that maybe the idea wasn’t half bad at all.

So, you began to set aside more cash, began to look into neighborhoods and cities around Los Angeles, began to tell everyone that the two of you would be leaving town soon enough. No one really believed you at first - all your friends were in support of the idea, but they didn’t think it was particularly realistic. And when you mentioned it on one of the very rare occasions you saw your parents anymore, your father had the gall to laugh right in your face. That, of course, only bolstered your resolve to get the hell out of Indiana, and a lot of your freetime was slowly consumed with library visits to figure out how exactly to make this move happen.

You and Eddie finally made the leap a few months back, spending a couple weeks road tripping your way across the country, finally arriving in Los Angeles with only your most important earthly belongings and little else. Leaving Hawkins had been harder than you expected - leaving Wayne being the hardest - but you found California to be utterly refreshing, to fit you almost like a glove.

After living out of a hotel for a while, you found this cozy little apartment down in Long Beach, and you’d been content ever since; sure, it wasn’t perfect and the neighborhood wasn’t impressive, but it was your space, and that made it just right for you and Eddie. You both got jobs to hold you over for a while, you started visiting bars and venues, hell, you even found a stray cat that you quickly adopted without a second thought.

You’d been leaving the dollar theater after seeing a re-release of Labyrinth when the little calico found you - something about the film, and David Bowie, had totally mesmerized you when it came out the year prior, and Eddie was happy to take you to the special showing that night. So, when this cat approached you curiously and began weaving playfully between Eddie’s ankles, you were both immediately smitten. You named the cat Sir Didymus only to discover it was female a few weeks later, but it suited her rascally personality just fine, and thus her name stuck.

And now here you were, five months into your new California life and driving yourself crazy over where the hell Eddie was and why he was late to return home.

You called the record store and asked if maybe he was working late and forgot to mention it, but his coworker informed you that Eddie clocked out right on schedule; he mentioned that Eddie seemed eager to leave, but didn’t have any further information for you. On the one hand, it made you worry that something had happened, but on the other, you were annoyed that he had possibly made plans without telling you, as unlikely as that may be.

You’d tried to think of all the places in town that he could have gone to, but nothing seemed particularly viable - he wouldn’t have gone to a show without you, wouldn’t have gone to the store without you, wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you. Not unless he was keeping some kind of secret, but you couldn’t fathom what that might be.

Considering that today was your birthday, you had originally thought maybe he was making a special stop to get you flowers or a cake or a last minute gift; it was so like Eddie to do that, even after you insisted he didn’t need to get you anything at all. But once 7 o’clock hit, and then 7:30, and then 8pm, you began to doubt this original line of thought and assume the worst instead. 

Decidedly, a few minutes past 8, you’d thrown on one of Eddie’s sweaters and your shoes, and made the short trek down to the convenience store on the corner - the two of you were in there practically every day, so maybe one of the employees had seen him. The familiar night clerks greeted you, but when you asked about Eddie’s whereabouts, they didn’t have a clue, which made your worries grow even more. As if to put your mind at ease, they gave you a free 6-pack and said they’d call you if they saw him.

You returned back to the apartment to Sir Didymus crying for dinner, which made you realize you forgot to set out food for her earlier. Cursing to yourself, you filled her bowl and began to pace nervously, trying to consider where the hell Eddie could be. Did you forget about a show that he had previously mentioned? Or was he hit by a fucking truck? Maybe he got caught up chatting with a customer like he was one to do, or maybe he got fucking mugged. All possibilities were on the table, and you hated each and every one of them for causing you such worry and distress.

Prying open a window, you crawled onto the fire escape and lit a cigarette, hands shaky with anxiety as you pressed it to your lips. The night was relatively quiet for your neighborhood, which wasn’t saying much - there were always cars cruising up and down the road, music blasting from a nearby bar, and people constantly arguing in alleyways and backyards. But the noise was soothing in its way, reminding you that the world was constantly in motion and that Eddie was probably just caught up in it all.

Sir Didymus came to sit beside you, meowing as if she, too, was wondering where the hell Eddie was and why he wasn’t back home. You considered throwing on some clothes to go searching for him, but aside from the bar and the convenience store, there was nowhere in the area that he would be; moments like these made you wish you two hadn’t sold your car, because it would’ve been really convenient to have right about now.

Each time you heard tires screeching or saw headlights shining down the road, you craned your neck to get a better look, but it was never Eddie. You’d already nervously polished off two cigarettes and were lighting up a third; Sir Didymus had retired to sleeping on the pile of blankets that she commandeered within a few days of moving in.

As you were caught up in your anxious thoughts, you thought you’d heard metal music from somewhere nearby, muffled and far off, but it caused your ears to perk; when you realized that it was specifically a Dio song playing, you immediately shot to your feet, clambering back through the window while dropping your cigarette into the ashtray.

Without bothering to slip on shoes, you rushed out onto the breezeway connecting all the little apartments in your complex, gripping the rails as you tried to find the source of the music, which was obviously louder from this side of the building. The street in front of your complex was crowded with cars, so if the music was Eddie’s, he must have had to park way down the block; eventually, the music stopped, and you became more anxious by the second.

When finally you spotted Eddie walking up the sidewalk towards the gate, you all but rushed down the stairs to meet him halfway; Eddie smiled largely, clearly not able to make out your concern under the flickering lights illuminating the path. A glare grew in your eyes as you realized he looked just fine; in fact, it seemed he stopped by the store, if the grocery bag in his hand was anything to go on. He held up his arms to greet you, but before he could get a word out, you hissed while jabbing him in the chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” Your eyes were alight with panicked concern, and you didn’t realize until that moment that you were on the verge of relieved tears. You swallowed, determined to hold them back, “It’s almost 9 o’clock, Eddie, I was worried out of my fucking mind.”

Eddie’s face fell, arms drooping at his sides; he didn’t expect you to have gotten so worked up over him not returning on time. He thought he could surprise you, that he could do something nice for your birthday, but the utter panic in your expression told him otherwise. He dipped his head down towards yours, hoping that he could sooth all the stress that had bubbled up inside you.

“I should’ve called--”

“No shit.”

Eddie clenched his jaw a little, taking a breath - he wasn’t about to get upset with you, he wouldn’t let himself, “Let’s go upstairs, okay?”

The impulsive side of you wanted to argue with him right here and now, wanted to grill him about why he didn’t come home and what he was doing. The more patient part of you, however, held back, shaky breaths heaving in your chest as you nodded with a twisted expression. You spun around on your heels and marched up the stairs, crossing your arms with a scowl; Sir Didymus sat just outside your open door, curiously waiting for you both.

Following just a step behind you, Eddie sighed to himself as he took in your rigid posture, realizing that he should’ve thought this through - after all, since your move to Long Beach, the two of you were essentially attached at the hip, doing absolutely any and everything together. Of course you would worry when he didn’t come home, when he didn’t call or give you a heads up - but, again, he’d just been hoping to surprise you, and hadn’t considered that a few hours would get you as stressed as you were now.

Back in the apartment, you took large strides towards the open window and retrieved your cigarette from the ashtray. To calm yourself down, you began to pace, watching as Eddie closed the door behind him and waited there a moment as if to collect his thoughts; when he turned to face you, you quickly looked away and took a deep drag.

“God, Eddie, I’m trying not to be mad, okay, I was just so worried and I thought maybe there was something you were keeping from me or that maybe you were in an accident or even dead in a fucking ditch, and I know it’s ridiculous to get so worked up over only a few hours but--”

“You can be mad.” He interrupted the inevitable rambling that was about to commence.

You had always struggled to express emotions considering the household you grew up in, so these past two years with Eddie had been a learning experience for you, which led to your feelings often spilling over when they became overwhelming. You shot him a confused look, still struggling to this day with the idea that it was okay to feel something; you bit your tongue so that you wouldn’t keep babbling, trying to collect your thoughts.

“I should’ve told you where I was,” Eddie started, walking the short distance from the front door to the kitchen, gently dropping the grocery bag atop the counter, “but I wanted to surprise you.”

You laughed smally, feeling stupid for getting so worried over seemingly nothing. Shaking your head, you took a deep drag from the cigarette and turned to face the window, eyes unfocused as you looked around. You dropped your head, beginning to feel more and more stupid the more that you thought about it; you could hear Eddie coming up slowly behind you.

“Get out of your head,” He instructed gently, to which you laughed again, “You’re probably already kicking yourself, am I right? As if you did something wrong?”

You narrowed your eyes at his reflection in the window - fuck, he knew you too well. Slowly, you turned to face him again, but you kept your gaze on the floor. Eddie took another couple steps closer, waiting for you to eventually look up at him.

“I’m sorry, princess.” He said simply, and the pet name nearly caused you to smile fondly; even after all this time, it stuck, and you figured it wasn’t going anywhere. You could tell in his voice that Eddie saw you resisting to grin, “I should’ve called, I just got caught up in the surprise.”

The corner of your mouth pulled up, and you looked at Eddie carefully through your lashes; his smile was gentle and sweet, eyes far more adoring than you thought you really deserved. Swallowing your trepidation, you asked smally, “What surprise?”

Eddie’s smile grew larger as he cocked his head, “Your dual birthday-anniversary surprise.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, relief slowly relaxing your shoulders as you took a final small inhale of the cigarette before tossing it out the window, “My birthday is not our real anniversary and you know it.”

You smiled fondly at the memory of meeting each other at that picnic table behind the football field, at the crazy fake dating scheme you had that ultimately led you to where you were now. It felt like a lifetime again that senior year happened, and yet it still felt as if it was only yesterday.

“So maybe we have two anniversaries.” Eddie teased fondly, his eyes taking you in as if you were still a breath of fresh air to him. Under those soft, adoring eyes, you could feel your ears growing hot even still.

You sighed affectionately with a shake of your head, crossing your arms as a gust of wind came up through the window; being near the beach, the air was always unexpectedly cold at night. As you took in the always pleasant sight of Eddie, you realized he had a bandage just above his collarbone, which caused your brow to furrow with concern as you looked between it and his face.

“What happened?” You asked, closing the gap between you two so you could worry over whatever the hell was on his neck; you wondered if maybe he nicked himself shaving, but the bandage seemed far too large for that. Did he hurt himself at work?

As you reached for the bandage, Eddie laughed, capturing your wrists in his hands before you could touch his neck. You met his eyes with confusion, to which he simply shook his head.

“That’s the surprise.”

Your expression deadpanned, “You getting hurt is the surprise? Geez, babe, how romantic.”

Eddie laughed again, fondly rolling his eyes, “Not hurt in the way that you think.”

Clearly enjoying your confusion, Eddie released your grip and reached for the bandage, hissing a little as he tried to gently peel it off. Your jaw dropped in both surprise and confusion at the injury beneath it, not prepared for what it would be.

It was a tattoo, though that wasn’t the surprising part, considering that Eddie was slowly becoming covered in them. No, what took you aback was that the tattoo was quite clearly your lips, done in a shade almost identical to the lipstick color you’d been trying just the day before. You stared dumbly at it, as if you couldn’t quite compute it, as if you didn’t quite think it was real.

When you finally managed to draw your gaze back up to Eddie’s face, he was smiling from ear-to-ear, eyes twinkling with clear delight at your stunned expression. You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times as you tried to find your voice again, eyes rapidly looking back and forth from the tattoo to his face and back again.

“You… got a tattoo for me?” Your tone was one of disbelief; saying it out loud made the moment more real, and suddenly your throat felt tight as if you could cry.

Eddie nodded with pride, “You like it?”

You stared at the replica of your lips, recalling the evening prior when you’d been testing out make-up samples that you’d gotten from work. Eddie always enjoyed watching you apply make-up, and of course lipstick was his favorite part; when he commented on a shade that he seemed particularly fond of, you leaned over and planted a loud, silly kiss at the base of his neck.

Considering that you crawled out of bed hours before him to get to your shift at the make-up counter, you didn’t see whether or not he’d ever cleaned the lipstick off; evidently, he must have worn it like a badge of pride all day until he could finally get down to the tattoo parlor and make it permanent.

Shaking yourself from your reverie, you looked at Eddie lovingly, your eyes a little more wet; god, you’d gotten so much more emotional since he entered your life, it was nearly ridiculous. Or maybe you’d just become more vulnerable, far less skilled at holding back when it was just the two of you alone.

You cupped his cheeks gently, being extra careful not to go near the fresh tattoo, “God, I love you.”

The smile he gave you was dazzling, mesmerizing even, “I love you, princess.”

You drew his lips down to yours, resting your forehead gently to his; Eddie hummed contently, whispering a tender “happy birthday” against your lips before kissing you fiercely.

.

.

addt. a/n: I'll try to keep this short and sweet. Thank you to everyone who has read this fic and watched it grow, to those that have been commenting and messaging with each update, and to all the incredibly fic writers I've met through this story! And, of course, a HUGE THANK YOU to my dear @eddiernunson for being so invested - you've helped me developed so many ideas, and it's truly warmed my heart to see someone else love the ice princess as much as I do <3 If anyone would like to be tagged in any future outings these two may have in store, please let me know!

@3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @adelalaaa @adversary713 @avalon-wolf

@costellation-hunter @daisy-munson @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie

@dreamerjj @eddiernunson @feralgoblinbabe @frogtape @fromasgardandback

@fckyeahlames @graciehams @kellsck @kthomps914 @littlexdeaths

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @maskofmirrors @mewchiili

@miaajaade @miss-celestial-being @mmmunson @moonisu @munsonssweets

@no-bueno-writer @nxrdamp @ollieolive @rach5ive @sapphire4082

@sav12321 @seatbacksandtraytables @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

@teethvenom @tvserie-s-world @twihard28 @urlivingdeadgirl @v1per1ne

@wefracturedmotivation @welcometohellsock @whats-my-question @xxsxdghxstxx

[certifiedsexed]

hey there! i don’t mean this in bad faith at all, and i’m not trying to use a term that’s a fascist dogwhistle. i promise i’m just confused😭

so i’m not a guy, nor have i ever been perceived as one, but in one of your recent posts, you said that men can’t experience oppression solely based on the fact that they’re men. which was kind of confusing to me — i don’t think you’re wrong, i think it’s me but i don’t know how to get to how you see it like that.

because in my experience, men can experience oppression because they’re men, although i don’t know if i’m saying that right or conflating the meanings of certain terms. i’m probably wrong, and would just love some clarification?

for example, my brother and i were always held to different standards growing up — it was expected of me to always cry and be emotional, and i was a ‘stone cold bitch’ if that wasn’t the case, but if my brother wanted to show negative emotions like sadness he was treated like there was something wrong with him too. and i know it wasn’t my brother — i spend a lot of time working with my high school’s diversity team, and in a lot of the events we organise, guys talk about how they feel enormous pressure to be angry and never sad, and to have stereotypically masculine interests and never deviate from that norm.

i also know men who’ve struggled to get jobs such as teaching as those are viewed as ‘female’ jobs and it’s a common view that men who want those jobs are ‘only in it to be around kids’. i’ve heard many women around me perpetuate sentiments like that, so i know they’re not making it up, even if it isn’t equal to the systematic oppression women face in almost every aspect of their careers.

i’m not providing these examples to prove you wrong, since i do think you’re right. i’m hoping that a window into the way i’ve always thought might help you clarify this in a way that can help me to change my mind, since i just think i’m lacking some clarity or context here. i think i’m conflating abuse and stereotypes with oppression, but i’m really not sure. any advice would be really appreciated!

i’m so sorry if this comes off badly, i don’t mean it that way. i’m just trying to learn, i promise i’m not trying to promote the kind of hate and close mindedness you’ve been seeing in your inbox as of late.

Hi! As always, I do not mind answering genuine questions!

The things you're talking about growing up and seeing boys around you pressured to present only certain emotions, that's part of the patriarchy!

Certain emotions are supposed to be "feminine" and thus boys shouldn't show them, while girls are often always considered "emotional" in some fashion. That's not oppression based on those boys being men that you're talking about.

It's the backlash that the patriarchy, and by addition trans/misogyny has on men. It's boys being pressured not to show certain emotions because those emotions are "feminine" and they're supposed to associate feminimity with weakness and shit.

What you're talking about there is also trans/misogyny!

The idea that men who do things perceived as feminine are predators, the idea that specific jobs are "female" jobs [while even in those specific female jobs, men are generally paid better and find it easier to get into those jobs than women trying to get into traditionally "male" jobs"]

[Though obviously this varies based on race and whether they're trans, etc, etc.]

To be a little more clear, all of the things you're talking about don't primarily affect cis men/boys. They fuck up transfems, because it's trans/misogyny.

You're right! It's not systemic oppression.

You might wonder if it's social oppression, which is also a no. Social oppression would require a historical/systemic oppression behind it. But that doesn't exist in this case.

What it is is the common issue oppressors run into. While they benefit greatly from oppression, there is also backlash they face from their own systems of oppression.

Like white people who fall into suicide cults trying to work towards white supremacy, or TERFs who fall into groups where they slowly pick each other off as they discover they're not all exactly the same and wind up accusing each other of not being "real" women, systems of bigotry simply do not work out perfectly even for the oppressors.

They never do.

To create the patriarchy, you must establish trans/misogyny, you must establish intersexism and you must push people to conform to those ideals, even if they hurt your own.

It's similar to how white supremacy can harm white people, despite white people obviously not being oppressed racially. The backlash of oppression hits even the oppressors sometimes.

Suppression, as a term, would honestly work far better to describe what you're talking about.

So yes, it's stereotyping, yes it's abusive to tell your children not to show/feel their emotions but it's not oppression based on these guys in your life being men! It's part of how trans/misogyny, transphobia and intersexism are enforced.

I understand exactly where you're coming from! It doesn't sound bad and I genuinely don't mind answering questions! Especially since you've got some good ones!

I'm not sure if I rambled too much to explain this properly but I hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions and/or need me to clarify anything here. <33

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!

Look 💦 I can’t speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for me—to quote Scar—“my words are a matter of pride.” And by confessing to (ick 🤢) LIKING LION… it’s throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.

I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore 💀 I call it a summary, but it’s still kind of long— It's below the cut for those who are interested!

To begin with, the promotional materials didn’t sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presents—from his arrogance to his “tough/bad boy” design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my liking…)—was so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only “good” thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.

Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? You’re supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a “new oshi” to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE 💀

One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didn’t win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didn’t like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.

AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT… All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a “delicate prince” or a “lost child”, those moments where he sasses others, times when he’s able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women… But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP 😭 Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styx’s lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE… Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says “You’re not like me,” to Jamil 😔 implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own… (I’m still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to “I’m not like you,” which makes him come off as way more arrogant 💦) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral 🌀 IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his… positive traits… (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and “big brother” figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???

Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event 💀 which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes 😭 Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT 💀 Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.

So now that the tables have turned, it’s really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt… It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?

But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments 😡 It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.

“What was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? … Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)

(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friend’s picture that they’re letting me use as a reaction image 😅)

THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORY…

[theitgirlnetwork]

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 2: Date 1 Pt. 1

Note: Thank you so much for the love you all have been showing this story so far! Thank you for reading, and for the kinds messages I have received thus far! I love interacting and seeing your thoughts and comments so keep 'em coming. I want to take this time to remind you that these characters will be flawed. Rafe is....Rafe, but we love him anyway. And Milan is...someone who is compatible with Rafe. They won't always be the depiction of a healthy relationship, but this is fiction and fun. This chapter isn't too bad, but those who have read the snippet know how it's gonna get. Once again, I have songs for this ship so if anyone is interested in them let me know, and feel free to share some with me if you catch a vibe. Finally, let me know if you have any questions or comments. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. This one is a lot shorter than chapter 1, but it is a 2 parter, so don't hate me. Love ya! <3333

“Wait.”

Rafe pauses, loosening his grip on Milan’s hair and pulling back slightly, irritated that she’d stopped him just as their lips brushed and she breathed the smoke he���d just poured into her mouth between them. “What? What’s up?”

“I don’t,” She sighs, her cool breath on his face, eyes still shut as if she’s forcing herself to pause this moment between them. “I don’t just hook up with guys, you know? Maybe we could…I dunno.”

Oh. Oh. Rafe understands. He’d…he’d forgotten himself for a moment. This isn’t some touron stumbling onto the couch next to him, throwing herself at him. She wasn’t one of those gold digging bitches that tries to fuck  him with faulty condoms in the bottom of her purse. She’s the kind of girl who has her own shit. She doesn’t need him for a come up. Or at least she doesn’t think she does. 

He arrogantly thinks to himself that Milan hasn’t met a man like Rafe Cameron. He’s spent most of his life preparing, becoming the type of man that can run his family, keep them safe and comfortable. The type of son fathers are proud to have and the type of man women want to give a baby. That’s the man who he’s made himself be. 

Rafe had been so focused, only allotting himself time for a little bit of fun once in a while, he’d forgotten that one day he might stumble across a girl that had the potential to be a woman. His woman. 

He nods slowly, a small smile forming on his face as he pulls back more, releasing her head completely and smoothing his hand back onto her knee. “Nah, I get it. We should get to know each other a little better. How ‘bout you spend the day with me tomorrow?”

Milan perches herself up at that, back straightening even more as her face lights up. “Really? You wanna spend the day with me?”

Rafe rests his head back on the top of the couch, sweeping his thumb on her bottom lip before biting his own and nodding. “Yeah, I wanna show you a good time. Get you a little more comfortable with me so I can kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

Both sets.

“Okay, wait, I’m excited. You’re gonna be my first friend here.”

“Friend?” Rafe scoffs. “‘M’not gonna be your friend, Princess.”

“Well,” Milan shrugs, “Like, I don’t know what I could call you, you’re not my man-”

“Yet. Not your man yet.” He and the woman next to him share twin smiles and Rafe only becomes more invigorated by Milan’s eyeroll and shy grin. “Roll your eyes if you want to, I’m a determined guy.” 

“Determined?”

“Yeah, like I know what I like, I work for what I want, so-”

“So what?” Milan giggles, “You…you want me? I should get ready or something?”

“Yeah.” Rafe says flippantly, as if he wasn’t essentially making a threat of courtship to a girl he’d just met like 12 hours before. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d fully wanted from her yet. But the need to have her was nagging at him. Maybe it was lust. She was hot, forbidden fruit for him. He could hear the curses Ward would spit at him now if he fucked around and ruined things with this girl, made an enemy of her dad. Maybe it was how sweet she seems. He’s always liked shiny, new things. When he was a kid, he had to have stuff before his friends did. Toys. Shoes. Stocks. Maybe he’s graduated to feeling that way about women. 

Something about how he doesn’t want to look away. Something about the way she was smiling at him, how he’s talked to her the most, how in a room full of guys drooling over her, those big pretty eyes were locked on him. Rafe felt like he had to look into this weird feeling she’s been stirring in his chest since he’d seen her. 

It’s what’s best for Milan anyway. None of the rest of these limp dick motherfuckers should have her. They’re not real men. Not like Rafe.

Milan hums as she removes the golden under eye patches from under her eyes, massaging in the serum they leave atop of her skin. Grimacing at a gust of damp wind from outside she pads against the marble floor of her bathroom and pushes the double doors leading to the patio attached closed. “Stupid, island humidity.” She pouts as she combs through her bob again, praying for no puffiness today.

The sky fights to brighten in the early morning. It’s 5:00 a.m. and Rafe Cameron was going to be picking her up in 30 minutes. 

After the party last night Sarah had run over to her on the front lawn, hugging her tightly before declaring she was going home with John B. and offering for Milan to come with them. When she declines with a smile, the blonde fixes her brother with a glare, to which he’d returned with a middle finger, and stumbled off in her man’s arms. 

Rafe drove Milan back to her house and parked them out front, eyes carefully rotating between staring at Milan sitting pretty in his passenger seat, and watching for a sign of her father at the door. He let her toy with his fingers as she fluttered her lashes at him and he described what he does throughout the day, Or, rather, what they’d be doing today.

When he’d mentioned picking her up after the gym Milan had jumped at the opportunity to go with him. She loved going to the gym every morning before she’d moved and she was happy to keep it going. And it wouldn’t hurt to see Rafe work out. 

It was all she could think about. It’s not just his height. Even though he’s so…so tall. At least 6’2. Rafe is big. Muscle. Strength. Yesterday he’d basically hoisted her full weight into his truck with one arm. The preppy boy polo that he’d thrown on for their families hadn’t hidden anything and his tight crew neck that he wore to the party basically outlined everything for her. 

She quite literally wanted him to throw her around like a ragdoll. Or let her climb him like a tree. Whatever, Rafe is hot. 

He has an intense vibe, seemingly takes himself very seriously. But, Milan figures she could relax him. Loosen him up a little bit. 

They were gonna have so much fun. Smiling at her own reflection in the mirror, Milan spritzes vanilla Sol de Janeiro and all but fucking skips down the steps and to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Milan, you’re awake early. I just started prepping for breakfast, but I could make you a coffee while you wait.” The private chef that her parents had hired a couple years ago had made the move with them. They’d paid for her to come with them to Outer Banks and offered to increase her salary because…well…it wasn’t their nice home in Quebec that she was used to. 

“No, thank you, Miss Ally.” Milan reaches over, stealing a newly washed strawberry and biting into it. “And my parents aren’t awake, right?”

“Of course not. You know your mother won’t roll out of bed until she smells the food cooking and your dad won’t come until I’ve had to warm it up twice. Why? Are you alright, honey?”

The younger woman nods, tossing the green stem into the trash and reaching for two travel cups. “Can you keep a secret? I have, like, a date today.” 

“Like a date?”

“Yeah, with a guy. He’s really cute, and sweet. So,” Milan begins sifting matcha, smiling down at the cup and resting her cheek on her shoulder. “‘M’gonna hang out with him today.”

“Less than 48 hours and there’s a boy, huh? Atta girl.” Miss Ally passes Milan the vanilla protein powder. “You’ve been worried about the move, thinking it was a bad idea, and here you are making friends.”

“Mhm, hot ones. With blue eyes and dimples.”

“And where,” Ally nudges Milan out of the way as she pours the hot water into the travel mug, “am I supposed to tell your parents you are when you’re out with Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples?” 

“Touring the island.” She chirps. 

“With who?”

“Just like…generally. They should be cool with it honestly, I just know they’re gonna make it weird, but like, he’s the son of Dad’s first friend here so he shouldn’t be mad. How come he gets a boyfriend and I don’t?”

“Oh, just say that to your parents, I’m sure they’ll go for it then.” Ally snorts, whisking the eggs as Milan seals the travel mugs, laughing to herself as the girl slides both of the pink cups to the end of the counter next to her gym bag.

When Rafe pulls up outside of the Cabot house, he texts Milan before hopping out of his truck and jogging up the cobblestone. He agreed not to ring the doorbell because her parents were awake but he’d be damned if he didn’t pick her up at the door. 

As he stands on at the doorstep he adjusts the hat he has rested on his head and rocks on his feet impatiently. He isn’t waiting long. The door swings open and he’s immediately hit with the sweet smell of vanilla and soon after is met with the walking wet dream carrying the scent. 

“Good morning!” Milan grins, tossing her arms around his neck, bouncing up into his arms. Rafe isn’t fucking stupid, he’s quick to catch her around the waist and squeeze, relishing in the feeling of her pressed against him. 

“Morning, princess.” he murmurs into her hair, squeezing her again for good measure before placing her back on her feet.  “You, uh, you always go to the gym in shit like that?”

“Shit like what? Stop.” she laughs as he snaps the elastic of her leggings. 

“You just look good. That’s all I’m sayin’.” He chews the gum in his mouth and nudges her chin with his knuckle, mumbling, “Watch your mouth.”

“Yeah? Thank you.” she grins, looking away from him briefly. “I made…I made you something, like a gym drink or whatever.

“That’s cute sweetheart, what do you like me or somethin’?” Rafe snorts, choosing to ignore the fact that the travel mug she was pushing into his hands was bubble gum pink. He holds his hand out to her, not even looking back as he starts guiding her over to his truck. When he hears a little shuffle from her he looks back and glances down at her feet. “What the fuck, your shoes aren’t tied.”

“Okay, one of them untied when I was making you this delicious protein shake and I didn’t wanna make you wait-” 

“Christ.” Rafe grunts, unlocking his car and wrenching the door open, planting his hands on Milan’s waist and hoisting her into the seat easily. He tugs her foot onto his lap and begins tying the lace of her sneaker tightly. “Gonna break your fuckin’ neck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall, Rafe-”

“You literally were letting me drag you down those steps.” When he’s done Rafe lifts her leg into the car, closing the door and walking around the driver’s side and climbing in. After he clicks his seatbelt on, he pauses and frowns when he sees Milan’s pout staring forward at the road. He puffs out a breath. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t said ‘thank you’. For your drink.” 

“Wh-are you serious?”

“Yes. You seriously haven’t said ‘thank you.’” 

“Uh…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he observes the girl. Arms crossed, dramatic frown on her pretty, glossed lips, knees pointed away from him. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” she immediately warms up, clicking her own seatbelt on and taking a sip of her drink, moving back to the middle of her seat. As Rafe tries to sort through what quick, guerilla warfare he’d just experienced, he starts driving the car. 

So that’s her game. She’s cute and pretty and pouts like a fuckin’ brat when she doesn’t feel like she’s getting what she wants. Or someone is saying something she doesn’t wanna hear. All she’s showing me is that I’m exactly what she needs.

“M’just sayin’ like your shirt’s a little slutty. Like it’s tight, I can see your nipples and everything.”

“Don’t say shit like that, what the fuck?” 

“It’s like tight and stuff, like it’s a little bit of a hoochie shirt.” 

“Hoo-hoochie shirt. Fuckin’ brat.” Rafe shakes his head. In the time it’s taken to drive to the gym and for Rafe to put his card down to get Milan a temporary membership, she’d clearly been trying to test him. She was pushing boundaries to see what he would and wouldn’t accept. And he would try to be patient. But the jokes weren’t gonna be as funny when he was using her mouth for what he really wanted to use it for. Not now. He had to wait. To humor her. She was cute. He’d give her that. Maybe he needed to be cute back. “Don’t work out in the damn shirt anyway,” 

Milan’s eyes widen as she stares up at Rafe from where she’s stretching on the floor. She bites her lip and shifts her gaze to herself in the mirror as he easily tugs the tight shirt off of his chiseled muscles, tossing it into his gym bag next to her. 

Jesus. She bites her lip, berating herself inwardly as she glances at the tanned skin he was now baring for the world to see, six pack on display as he starts doing some standing stretches. “Here, sweetheart.” Rafe crouches next to her, pushing one of his airpods into her ear. “You, uh, didn’t have headphones, so you can just listen to my shit.”

“Can we make a spotify jam?”

“What?”

“So, I can add songs too, can we make a jam? And we’d be listening to the same thing, at the same time, you know?”

“I mean, yeah, sure why the fuck not? You’re not gonna add any corny shit are you? M’trustin’ you with my workout. Like that’s pretty fuckin’ special.”

“Oh my God, Rafe, I’m…I’m sure we have basically the same taste in music.”

Rafe and Milan are at war for essentially their whole warm up. They agree to separate for cardio and then meet back up for them both to try some of each other’s usual workouts. With the shared music blasting in their ears, they both still felt like they were hanging out for the 40 minutes that they are apart. Rafe spent half of his run on the treadmill listening to Beyoncé and Sabrina Carpenter’s discographies while Milan genuinely flinched on the stairmaster with Travis Scott and 50 Cent pounding against her ear drums. Both of them looking at each other with sick satisfaction when it was their turn to pick a song, making a game out of picking something they thought would irritate the other more. 

Rafe had finally had enough and started skipping Milan’s picks when the High School Musical Soundtrack started playing, eventually coming to pluck her off of her machine to start doing weights as Troy began singing about wanting his own dream. 

By now they’d both finished their protein shakes and felt like they had a lot of energy. Well, at least they both did. Until Rafe started making Milan do his workouts.

She was both turned on and enraged as he demonstrates different forms of weightlifting, chuckling at her deeply as she struggles to do another set. “Mmkay, okay, that’s enough, I’m done with that.”

“Nah, you didn’t even finish that one, c’mon let’s go.”

“Rafe, no” she whines getting off of the bench. Milan immediately gasps as Rafe fists the fabric at the front of her leggings, lifting her off of her feet and physically placing her back onto the equipment. 

Slapping her thigh, he offers her a no-nonsense look that lets her know that she isn’t getting up until she completes this workout to his satisfaction. “Baby, let’s go, stop fuckin’ around.”

Shit. Yes sir. “I want…breakfast food after this. Like, waffles, and butter and stuff.”

“'Let me come to the gym with you, Rafe. I wanna where my cute little outfit and not workout.'”

“Asshole.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Wait…until we start doing my pilates workout. All those muscles will mean…nothing.”

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” He smirks, grabbing the weight to ease it down against her before helping her off. “That your excuse? Can’t focus?”

“Stop…being mean, worst date ever.” She whines, leaning her head against his chest. 

Rafe pats Milan’s ass twice before nudging her into the direction of the next machine. "Best fuckin' date of your life, brat."

“Are you gonna keep staring at my butt or are you gonna try again?” Milan calls over to Rafe. 

“My body is not built for that girly shit. You keep goin’ though.” He says. Milan rolls her eyes and continues on the machine, pausing when she sees the reflection of a camera flash in the mirror. “Damn, flash was on.”

“Rafe!”

“You look good, baby. I thought you’d like me to be all sentimental and shit, capture our first date.”

“Oh my God. You’re like, not even working out at this point.”

He shrugs, tilting his head to get a better view of her. “You’re the one who got an attitude when that girl asked me to spot her and made us change floors.

“She saw you with me.” Milan hisses through her teeth, pausing her movements. “She was trying to be funny.” 

“Think so?” Rafe scoffs, squirting water into his mouth from the bottle he’d kept in his bag. 

“Yeah, but if you liked the attention you could go back down.”

Rafe wets his bottom lip at that. Being at the gym with Milan has been fun. Turns out, he likes talking to her, which is more than what he could say for the majority of the population. She’s sexy, and doesn’t mind him being handsy. She seemed to all but expect him to pat her ass in encouragement after she finishes anything. She likes for him to teach her, guide her movements, place her on and off of machines. She likes to whine and have him sort her out. And she’s possessive. Jealous. Normally the concept of having someone police him sounds emasculating and unacceptable to Rafe. But watching her pretty little face turn into a scowl as she watched girls check him out or come up to him like they always did in the gym? It turned him on bad. 

She matched his crazy. It didn’t matter that it was their first date, the same way Rafe’s lip curled in disgust as he caught the fuckheads wandering the gym eyeing her before he stepped in their line of vision, Milan would physically place herself in front of his view, guiding his eyes to her and away from any girl delusional enough to think they were as bad as her.

But her mouth when she’s frustrated. That was something Rafe was gonna have to work on. Lucky for the both of them, a stern warning seemed to be enough for now. Rafe stalks over to where she’s sitting, stepping on the machine behind her and wrapping his hand loosely around her neck, pushing the back of her head to rest on the front of his stomach. Milan looks up at him through her lashes, as he pushes his thumb into her cheek, encouraging her to open her mouth and squirting a little water in from his water bottle. He fixes her with a disapproving look. “Chill out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I followed you up here, right?”

“Yeah.” she says softly, leaning into his hand.

“Alright then. Let’s not worry about the wrong things.”

After 3 hours at the gym the two of them hit the showers, separately despite both of their hesitation to separate again. They walk out of the building in different clothes and Rafe’s arm strewn over Milan’s shoulder, holding her hand where it came up to meet his own. He has to hide his smirk when he catches her making eye contact with the girl who’d asked Rafe to spot her as they walked out, a bright smile on her face. 

He was starting to like this pretty little thing more and more. Rafe lifts her back into the car, this time buckling her seatbelt for her before getting into the driver’s side. He finds that Milan can talk…a lot. She has jumped from topic to topic in the 15 minute drive more than Rafe thinks he can in 2 hours. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t find her annoying. Rafe finds his cheeks dimpling as he listens to her yap about her favorite tv shows, a movie she wants him to watch, her plans for her next nails set and thinking about getting highlights in her hair.

All the while she rubs his bicep, leaning into him as he holds her thigh in his large hand. He offers her small mumbles of acknowledgement to let her know he’s still listening. ‘Hm.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Sound’s good, baby.’ 

“You’re not listening to me.” she sighs, looking out the window as they pull into the restaurant. “M’talkin’ too much.”

“Nah, I like that shit. I’d let you know if I’d had enough.” Rafe places his hand on the back of her headrest as he backs into the spot. “But, uh, my head’s always movin’ right? I’m thinkin’ while I listen.”

Milan watches as he shifts gears and places his truck in the middle of two spots, declaring under his breath he doesn’t want anyone ‘fuckin’ up his truck’ to justify taking up two spots. “So…okay. What’re you, like, thinking about? While you’re listening to me.”

“Uh, honestly?” He asks. Intense blue eyes rest on soft brown ones. Milan just nods, turning more toward him. “How fuckin’ hot you are. Pretty fuckin’ distracting.”

“Oh.” She says.

“Yeah. Oh. Does that throw you off or something, like, oh is a weird response-”

“No, I was just saying oh, like-”

“Okay, because, I’m being pretty fuckin’ clear and you’re-”

Milan unclips her seatbelt quickly. Before Rafe can blink her soft lips are pressed against his and before he can kiss her back she’s back in her seat, pulling down the mirror and fumbling in her purse for her lipgloss. “I wasn’t supposed to kiss you until our first date was over. I can’t believe I did that. Oh my God.” Rafe chuckles lowly as she fumbles in her purse, dropping it and spilling its contents all over her lap and the floor of the car. “Oh my God.”

“Did you, uh,” He pauses, trying not to openly bark out a laugh at her, scratching his head. “Did you only bring lip gloss and perfume? Like, no wallet. At all.”

“Okay…” Milan starts slowly, “I understand that looks bad, and like, people believe in that 50-50 stuff now, and so I shouldn’t-”

“Baby, the fuck do I look like? I wouldn’t be taking you out if I couldn’t afford to, I’m not a fuckin’ pogue.”

“A what?”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about that fuckin’ peck, that wasn’t a real kiss.” It shocks her how easy it is for Rafe to scoot his chair back and pull her into his lap. “This is the shit you should worry about.”

Rafe Cameron pulls Milan Cabot into the nastiest kiss that either of them had ever fantasized about, let alone experienced. He holds her jaw, working his own open as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and humming against her. He separates their mouths briefly to kiss down her neck only to drag back up to her lips, chuckling darkly when she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, gripping her thigh with his free hand as he drools into her open mouth. 

When he pulls away for the final time he rests his head back on the headrest, pushing his thumb into her mouth and releasing a breath as he watches her obediently suck on it. 

By the time they step out of the car to head into the nice breakfast restaurant he’d brought her to, Rafe had willed his…friend to go down, and they had undone the damage he’d done to Milan’s makeup and hair. As he guided her in by the waist, tugging down the hem of her pretty little dress to cover the ass he’d just been gripping he felt a feeling of superiority. The woman next to him was relying on him and him alone to lead her around. All the loser fuckers they passed on the way to their table could stare all they wanted. They could take a mental picture and store it away in their sick little spank banks for later until they came to the realization they’d never get a girl like Milan and finally blew their fucking brains out. But she was here with Rafe. And that’s how he expected it to be from here on out.

He’d decided. She was gonna be his.

[kaisaerinlover]

michael kaiser

married life

tw: toxic relationship, abusive

you and your (not so) beloved michael kaiser finally decided to tie the knot. well, he decided, and you obliged. because what else are you supposed to do? you wouldn’t ever betray him, everything he wants is what you want too. he has you so well trained, doesn’t he? you went along with it because of how docile you are, how you’re basically putty in his hands. but you also had your own selfish reasoning, but you aren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet. no, you hoped that if you became his wife, maybe, just maybe, the tenderness he sometimes showed would be more common, the nosebleeds he bestowed upon you with his cruel fists would subside, the gentle nature he has somewhere inside of him would come out more often.

unfortunately for you, that’s not how michael kaiser works. and i think you know that too, don’t you? so why do you keep up the hope? you’re a true masochist, and he’s a true sadist. a very dangerous pair. dangerous for you, the one who subjects yourself to kaiser’s brutality willingly (it seems that way these days).

don’t get him wrong, kaiser yearns for love, yearns to be loved, yearns for you to keep on loving him ‘till the very end. and he knows you will, because you don’t have any other choice. michael kaiser is truly a master of his craft, a skilled manipulator and a very intelligent man. and now that you’re his wife, things really became a whole lot easier for him. he knows he has it drilled into your pretty little head that the only thing good for you in this world is him. him, him, him, him, him. pleasing him. loving him. being with him. being so sweet to him after he’s so mean to you.

he loves you and you love him. so why does the love he feels for his cute wife manifest in the most atrocious of ways? you know, he’s always making dumb excuses for why he’s this way. he thought if he was loved he would stop, then he thought if he got a girlfriend he would stop, then he thought that if he married you he would be able to stop too. he’s ran out of excuses now. he’s fucked up, all that psychology he’s polished up on throughout his life, all those books on human traumas and emotions, they should have made him realise what he really needs is the drive to change and a therapist a million times better than the average one. but he’s a little ignorant too, in that sense. or he was, he realises it sometimes, but he ignores it.

and besides, he’s not exactly one to complain about the arrangement you guys have. especially after marriage. you became so much more perfect, he didn’t even know it was possible. you’re the perfect, doting little housewife. and you’re all for him too, so cute, so docile. you like it too, but kaiser made you. you’re a little too stupid, a little too trusting and a lot too in love with kaiser to realise it. if you were just a little bit more intelligent than the girl he first met, he’s sure you would have realised something was seriously up by now. but it’s fine, ‘cause wits were never your strong point, nope, your sweet obedient nature was. and kaiser likes that.

you’re a great housewife. and he’s a great husband, you think. you’re in the kitchen, cleaning up, wearing a sweet little outfit kaiser bought for you. he’s so generous, he doesn’t have to spend money on you, yet he does. isn’t he just the best? so expensive too, he spends his hard earned money on you? isn’t your husband seriously just the best? you’re dressed in a cute vintage style dress, hair tied up into a cute ribbon and a cute pair of slippers and socks to go with it. haha, you don’t even realise it, but you’re playing right into kaiser’s weird fantasy. he always had a thing for housewives, everything. so now he has you dressed as one cleaning the kitchen whilst he’s hard at work. maybe he’s so obsessed with this dynamic because he never had it himself, his mother packed up and left as soon as he was born, of course. and his dad was an abusive sack of shit. fucking bitches. pieces of shit. ah, he’s getting worked up. he shakes off that feeling.

today, he tried to release as much of that pent up rage into the match. and he won, as always. he’s the emperor of the world. he wanted to get out all of his anger, because what he wants more than anything today is to be a normal couple with you. but that’s not going to happen, it never does.

he walks in, “where is mein engel, hm?” he stands waiting at the door, waiting for you to come greet him like you always do. after getting married you established this new routine. and you do come, you come so quickly to him and stand on your tip toes to kiss his cheek oh so lightly. “micha, i missed you sooo much” you bat your eyelashes at him. he has you trained so well, it’s impressive. you’re like some cute puppy, you’re actually incredibly well trained. he thinks he should indulge in this idea some time, he just likes any scenario where you’re completely submitting to him. but he shakes that thought off, he won’t get distracted for too long.

he wraps his arm around your waist and walks you to the couch, where he sits down and you stand in front of him, between his legs, looking down at him so innocently. you’re confused, maybe you’re not as well trained as he thought, because you sure don’t know what he wants right now. maybe a glass of wine? you go over to the wine cabinet and pull out a glass and pour in some wine.

kaiser is waiting impatiently, he trained you properly, didn’t he? so why the fuck aren’t you going along with what he wants. god, it’s pissing him off. he sees you walk away, ah, maybe you’re finally going to cook dinner as he wants. he picks up the tv remote and turns it to the bltv channel, today will be perfect, he’s going to simply sit with you, watch some soccer and then eat some nice homemad-

and there you are, standing in front of him looking oh so innocent holding out a glass of wine to him. are you fucking serious? you’re kidding right? you’re definitely doing this on purpose, don’t look so innocent. you’re just trying to piss him off, aren’t you? you fucking bitch. “what is this?” he asks you. he’s angry, but he’s being eerily calm. “wine, i thought you wanted a glass?” are you being dumb on purpose? no, you definitely did this to anger him, didn’t you? ah, he’s so mad now. “and why would i want a glass of wine, after such a long day of playing. wouldn’t i want a meal, hm? dumb girl” he patronises you. and you feel so small. “

but you do something unprecedented, something you haven’t ever done before… you have a… reply? you actually talk back? “y-yeah but how can i know what you want-“ enough. he’s even angrier now. why the fuck are you talking back to him instead of bowing and doing what he told you to do. you retarded whore. what the fuck? all that calmness is gone, he’s gritting his teeth.

poor you, you thought you could reason with him before he got mad, he seemed so calm. stupid, naïve you. you thought he wasn’t mad and now you’ll pay the price.

he knocks the glass out of your hand, the glass shatters everywhere, cutting your hand slightly. the wine pours on you, staining you red. and if that wasn’t bad enough, his fist hits you square in the nose. the pain doesn’t even register until you feel the first drops of blood, and then see them on that cute dress kaiser bought for you just days before. he’s towering above you, staring you down. you messed up, didn’t you? “you don’t talk back to me. ever. i didn’t teach you that. next time, keep your pretty mouth shut. you fucking bitch. did you forget your manners? that’s not how a girl like you should be acting. should i just find a new girl, hm?” he’s holding your throat with his tattooed hand. find a new girl????? no, don’t do that micha!!!! don’t do that to you, you didn’t mean to. but now you’re even doubting that, you definitely meant to. you just didn’t realise it. or something like that… it’s your fault.

he slightly releases the hold on your neck to let you talk, you have a chance to make things up with your words. a very slim chance. because he probably won’t care about what you have to say, whether it’s an apology or not. but he’s letting you talk, so use the opportunity before you get a black eye next too. “i-i’m sorry. i’m really incompetent” you don’t even make any attempt to grab his hands off of your throat, or even wipe up the blood streaming down your pretty lips. “i’ll not mess up again micha, i promise.”

your blood is covering part of his tattoo now too, he notices it and withdraws his hand, and laps up the blood. he always had an affinity for your blood, you taste so sweet. he likes tasting the hurt he’s caused you. it’s fulfilling, this is how he likes living. he loves hurting you, he doesn’t like admitting it often though, ironic for a monster like him. for some reason, that anger subsides. he’s not as mad anymore. maybe he’s going to apologise to you? you’re actually kind of hopeful for that, the small, rational part of you that knows it wasn’t your fault. but that part perishes as quickly as it was lit up. he ruffles your hair with his other hand and wipes the rest of the blood his tongue couldn’t quite clear up onto your rosy cheek. “it’s fine, don’t mess up again, ‘kay? i was nice this time, wasn’t i? you’ve had worse from me before. don’t take my mercy for granted, prinzessin.”

you’re so lucky for getting that mercy, thanks kaiser, isn’t he just so nice? you don’t even know how he managed to forgive you for such a horrible mistake. you’re a shitty wife, thank god your husband is so nice. and, ah, that dress, the one kaiser generously bought for you, it’s all ruined. all stained in the wine and blood. you ruined the dress with your incompetence. you messed everything up, god, why did he even marry you? you’re so stupid, and good for nothing.

he can tell what you’re thinking, he feels a little bad, but he’d rather you beat yourself up over it than him. it’s easier that way anyway. he pats your head again. “poor little thing, all bloodied up because of her own stupidity.” he chastises, and you look down in shame. he’s right, you’re so stupid. “let’s go get you cleaned up, little häschen.” and he does, he leads you to the bathroom sink, sits you on the side, and cleans the blood from you. he almost flinches at the newformed bend in your nose, and the bruise which just seems to be getting darker and changing between shades of nasty blues and purples every second. yikes, he forgets how delicate you are compared to him sometimes.

all you can think about is how generous he is, he hasn’t even changed out of his jersey yet. that’s how nice he is. and he’s bandaging you up too, a cute bandage to hide that hideous bruise. he wants to hide your mistake for you? that’s even sweeter, he doesn’t want you to look in the mirror and feel bad for it, right? that’s what he’s doing right? your husband really is the best.

and that night, you make up for your mistake. you serve him his favourite bread crust rusk, and a nice glass of water. get him changed into his robe. tie up his hair. give him blue-red glasses so he doesn’t hurt his eyes. you pamper him, ‘cause that’s what he deserves. you pamper him whilst ignoring that banging headache from the brutal assault on your nose. and the bruise on your neck. and arms. and legs. all from past outbursts of his. you tend to him and treat him like a king even though you’re so injured, but you’re too brainwashed by your husband, too eager to be the perfect housewife so he doesn’t leave you, and you end up ignoring all of this.

kaiser knows what you’re thinking, predictable little thing. he thinks you’re real stupid. he’s the one that should be scared of you leaving, he couldn’t ever find anyone better than you, anyone more willing. you’re perfect. but he won’t tell you that. he won’t give you an ego. keep being scared of being left alone, so that every second you spend with him you’re even more grateful. he’s scared too, but he’s confident most of the time you’re going to stay. he feels a little guilty for everything right now, ah, it’s one of those times. the weight of his actions presses heavy on him, but instead of taking it out on you again, he just pulls you next to him, opens his robe and drapes one side over you, feeds you a spoonful of your home cooked rusk and pinches your cheek affectionately.

“good girl, schatzi. so good. i love you. du gehörst für immer mir.” he nibbles at your ear a little.

and you just sit and blush. “i-i love you t-too micha, ‘s much.”

you’re the luckiest wife in the world, thank gosh your husband is so willing to put up with your incompetence and stupidity. being a wife is so great. you lean your head against his shoulder, and whilst you’re being so tender with each other, you can forget about all your physical pains caused by him, and he can forget about all of the things weighing and stabbing at his mind at all times, caused by everyone. you’re truly his safe place. a real angel sent from heaven.

“engelchen.”

[storytowrite]

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

PART 12

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Word count: 3302

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, slight BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess).

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it.

——————————

Several days have passed since the Minho incident. You have almost forgotten about his behavior, or at least pushed thoughts about it to the farthest corner of your mind. After a week's absence, you returned to the university, and your life seemed to go on. 

Admittedly, you were still dating Lee Minho, a lecturer who had “returned” to being THE Minho you had met in the beginning. You felt somewhat happy, but at the same time internally you felt fear. You feared that if you once again defied the man, you might face punishment. You didn't want to make him angry, because you knew what this could entail. Therefore, you did everything he told you to do - and his requests got weirder and weirder each time. 

“...I think it's high time I met your parents Y/N...” The man spoke up, breaking the silence in the car. You looked at him puzzled.

“'Why? My parents are busy, Minho.”

“Don't you think that as your boyfriend I should get to know them? Besides... You know, we could then test your stamina with the new toy I bought you.” He smiled in a perverse way. 

“You've got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed in surprise. “There's no option Minho, I'm not going to agree to something like that. You're crossing the line.”

“Don't exaggerate Y/N... just kidding.” He muttered, but was inconsolable. “But your parents I would actually like to meet.”

“What is the point? My parents won't accept that I'm with a guy who's fifteen years older than me anyway.”

“You don't want me to meet them because you're ashamed, right?” He started with a pouty face.

“What? No Minho, I'm not ashamed of you.” You denied.

“Great, then invite them to dinner on the weekend.” He suggested, smiling at you.

“No... I won't invite them.” 

“No? What did I tell you about disobedience?” He glanced at you, clearly displeased.

“Minho, it's non-negotiable, I apologize to you, but this time I'm not going to comply with your request.” You said with seriousness.

“We will return to this conversation.” The man replied coolly. There was silence in the car. Why did he want to meet your parents? Wasn't what was between the two of you enough for him? Your parents, although they approved of your every choice, would not have been happy with their child dating a man fifteen years older than her. And you knew it perfectly well. 

Minho stopped the car in the parking lot in front of his apartment. Since the last time you overheard his conversation, he demanded that you move in with him permanently. You had no choice but to agree to move. You were afraid that if you didn't agree to the man's terms, he would treat you the same way he treated Rheena and Lisa. After the last situation, you were sure that he was behind their deaths.

You began to form a “formal” relationship. You went on dates to the movies, restaurants, the park. Of course, you were careful, you didn't want anyone to notice you, because it could end unpleasantly, first of all for this person.

And you knew it. That's why you started to be even more careful. You moved a little away from your friends. You only saw Jeno at the university, as well as Jungwoo. Your other friends started going out without you. You watched on social media how people around you, your age, were having a great time without you. How they go to parties and spend their time the way you should spend it too - having fun. 

More than once you have wondered about the life you have begun to lead. Why did you let yourself get sucked into this “sick” arrangement with a lecturer and let the best years of your youth slip away? You became addicted to a man you weren't even sure you loved. But he was already sure - he loved you. You knew you couldn't walk away from him like that, especially after his confession. That's why you continued to play the game, to pull what was between you.

“Hello, Earth to Y/N!” Minho waved his hand in front of your eyes. “Everything ok?”

“Hm? Yes, yes... I was just thinking.” You replied after a while, sending him a gentle smile. “Did you say something?”

“Yes Y/N, I was... I asked if you were hungry, I will be making dinner.”

“Dinner? I'd love to eat something... what are you going to prepare?”

“I'm going to make chicken.” He winked at you. “I know you love it.” 

“Okay, I'll get my stuff together...” You replied and went to the living room, where your notes and laptop were waiting for you. 

The midterm was approaching. You spent more and more time studying. You neglected Minho in the process, but this is, after all, normal and the man was aware of this, right? In the end, he let you study as much as you needed, even though he knew that you would get only A's in his subject anyway. You didn't even have to try too hard. You might as well not even have come in for a final exam.

While making dinner in the kitchen, he watched you carefully. Every move you made made him smile. He saw you bending over the task, wrinkling your nose gently, trying to understand what it was about. To Minho, you looked adorable. He loved to watch you. It was a form of entertainment for him, and he appreciated every such moment. 

The apartment was relatively quiet. You were engrossed in your notes and repetitions, and Minho was making dinner. Would your lives always be like this again? Neither of you could answer that question. The man began to imagine your life together in the future, when suddenly his phone rang. He answered immediately.

“Hi Han, what's up?...Mhm, well...I'll drop by in about an hour. No, I can't go any faster. OK, I'll try.”

The man hung up. You looked at him with a questioning gaze. You were curious what it was about. 

“Han called.” He informed you. “He asked me to go and help him with something... Can you manage on your own in my absence?”

“Will you be gone for a long time? Friday is today and there may be traffic jams...”

“Don't worry, kitten. I don't know how long it will take me to help Han, but I'm sure you'll be asleep when I get back.” He said and walked over to you. “I'll be back soon.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and went to change his clothes, then left the apartment. 

You sighed quietly. Minho left more and more often as Han called him. You hadn't met his friend yet, but you knew that this whole Han thing was just as weird as your lecturer. You just hoped they didn't kill anyone else. The realization that another woman might have lost her life, in a very immoral way, just because she ran into Minho, did not give you peace of mind. 

You took several deep breaths. You couldn't concentrate on your notes anymore. Moreover, you were terribly bored, and you knew that waiting for Minho didn't make any sense at all. You knew the man wouldn't be back before five in the morning. His outings with Han always took that long. You glanced at your phone. Your friends were once again having a great time at the club. You decided it was high time to finally go out to people. So you texted Jeno.

[You]

Hi Jeno! Where are you guys? Can I join you? 

You didn't expect the boy to text you back. After all, you haven't spoken to each other much lately. You felt that Jeno might continue to be offended at you, but he texted back nonetheless. You smiled broadly at the phone. 

THE MANIAC Club. I will be waiting for you in front of the entrance, you have 30 min. 

You smiled broadly. It had been a long time since you had been to a club, and THE MANIAC was your favorite place. You were glad that Jeno hadn't cancelled your relationship yet and you could join him and his cousin. 

You showered and put on makeup at an express pace. You felt exquisite, getting ready for the party. You left your hair loose and slipped a short blue strapless dress over your body. On your feet you put silver stiletto sandals. You accessorized with a silver handbag, into which you packed your phone and keys, and left Minho's apartment. 

You were in the mood for the party. All the way to the club you were smiling broadly. You missed the dancing and the craziness, but you also missed your friends, and you knew that such an outing would do you good. You couldn't wait for the madness on the dance floor. It had been so long since you had been to a party.... 

“Y/N!” You heard your friend's familiar voice when you appeared in front of the club. Jeno immediately greeted you with a smile and hugged you. “It's been so long since we had fun together... What happened?”

“Nothing happened Jeno... I just didn't have time...” You returned the hug. 

“You didn't have time, or did the professor not allow you?” The boy asked with a wince, but inwardly he was very worried. 

“What, no, no... I was really busy.” You got a little mixed up. “ Anyway, it doesn't matter now, let's go inside, I want to dance!”

“Sure... But if something happens, speak up... Ladies ahead, Woo is probably already at the bar.”

You entered the club, and immediately smelled the distinctive aroma that wafted through THE MANIAC - cinnamon and vanilla. You smiled broadly, you loved the place. For the first time in a long time you were happy. 

You started to party. Jeno was watching over you, while you seemed to release all the brakes. You let yourself be carried away by the fun, the music, the dancing and the drinks that the bartender and Woo's new boyfriend Lucas prepared for you every now and then. 

You lost track of the time. The party with the guys lasted until the early hours of the morning. You had fun until the very end. You didn't care about the hour, as well as the fact that your boyfriend, Lee Minho, left you a mass of missed calls and messages. In a craze of fun, you completely forgot about the whole world and all the problems that had surrounded you up to that point. 

_________

While you were partying at the club Minho quickly dealt with the task Han had assigned him and returned home. When he did not find you in the apartment, panic began to overtake him. He checked every room in the apartment, even the smallest, but you were nowhere to be found. He decided to call you, but as luck would have it, you probably had your phone turned off. Panic began to grow in him more and more. Had you left him? Did you decide to run away from him? Fears began to overwhelm him, he could not let you leave him. He knew he would do anything for you. 

He quickly remembered the tracking app he had installed for you some time ago. You didn't even know about it because the app was very well hidden on your phone. He quickly checked your location on his device. Gotcha, kitten, He thought. 

Now that he knew you were at the club and had broken his ban he was overwhelmed with anger. He didn't like the fact that HIS girlfriend was partying in the company of other men. Of course, he was aware that you could break the ban. Ha! He even deep down desired it. He wanted you to show disobedience so that he could punish you. He loved to punish you... And he did it more and more often.

But now, the realization that you did not comply with his requests was unbearable. In quick succession, he found himself in his car and headed out in front of the club. He didn't have a long way to go, especially by car. He parked the car on the opposite street and watched the entrance to the club. He noticed you walking out smiling inside accompanied by your friend, Jeno.

Minho was overcome with jealousy. From the very beginning, he had not tolerated Jeno. He felt some competition in him, even though he knew that you were not interested in him. Or at least you hid it very well. However, he decided not to act too hastily. I'll give her time, I’ll let her play... As he thought, so he did. He waited outside the club until you left. He didn't expect you to spend so much time there. Once again you surprised him. 

He smiled slightly to himself, all the while watching the exit. The party had already ended, and drunk people began to roll out of the club. Some were still in a club mood, while others seemed fed up with all the hustle and bustle. 

Minho watched closely. Finally, he spotted YOU. You were dressed in a blue strapless dress that, in Minho's eyes, was far too short and too defiant. Your stilettos dangled from your hand - they must have hurt your feet a lot. Minho wasn't even surprised. 

He knew you liked to party, and your moves on the dance floor could be envied by many dancers. Your hair was gently tousled, and a wide smile was painted on your lips, highlighted with red lipstick, showing rows of white teeth. At the same time, the whole posture of your body indicated that you must have drunk a considerable amount of alcohol. He didn't like it. 

He sighed heavily. Even though he was angry at you, he had to admit that you looked very happy. Your whole appearance, the way you presented yourself, excited him to the limit. Oh kitten, what are you doing to me, He thought, for a moment imagining you writhing with pleasure under him, only to deny you an orgasm a moment later.

But life is not about imagination. He knew that if he allowed you to go with Jeno now, which you were obviously counting on, he could lose you. He got out of the car and walked through the deserted street. He stopped a few meters behind you. You burst out laughing. Jeno apparently cracked a joke.

Minho quickly looked at the boy before he spoke. Jeno definitely didn't have as much alcohol in him as you did. And he definitely didn't look at you JUST as a friend. And Minho didn't like that very much.

"Ahem!" He cleared his throat, drawing your and the boy's attention to himself.

"Minho!" You exclaimed with a smile and threw yourself around his neck. You hung on him, and the strong smell of alcohol could be felt from your lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for you, kitten. And what are you doing here?" The man spoke, pushing you away slightly. Minho hated the smell of alcohol.

"I'm having fun!" You smiled. You looked quite cute and innocent when you were drunk. "Do you want to join?"

"I guess I'll say no." He spoke to you and glanced at Jeno, who was watching you closely. "Come on Y/N, time to go home."

"What? But I don't want to!" You stamped your foot and made a dissatisfied face. "I want to go dancing!"

“The party's over long ago, and so is my patience, kitten... You broke our agreement, you know how this ends.”

“B-but…” Your mood changed a hundred and eighty degrees. “I don't want a punishment…” You looked at him with a pouty face.

“I don't give a damn what you want.” Minho growled, a bit harsher than he planned. He shouldn't be taking it out on you when you're drunk. It didn't make any sense, and he knew it perfectly well. You wouldn't understand anyway until you were fully sober.

“Wait, what punishment?” Jeno butted in, clearly concerned about your entire exchange.

“He'll punish me for disobedience.” You complained, moving closer to Jeno. “Jeno… I don't want punishment.” You groaned. The boy clenched his jaw and looked at Minho with a menacing expression on his face.

“What kind of punishment is she talking about? What do you want to do to her?” He began to ask, clearly nervous.

“None of your business, brat.” Minho growled. “Y/N, come on, let's go home.”

“No, she's not going anywhere with you.” Jeno hissed, hiding you behind his back. “I have no idea what you want to do to her, psycho, but I won't let you.”

“I won't do anything to her, she's drunk and probably made something up.” Minho tried to brush him off.

“Why don't I believe you? If Y/N says she doesn't want something and is clearly afraid of you, then that's how it has to be.” Jeno didn't give up.

“You don't know anything. Stop interfering!” Minho started to raise his voice, clearly irritated.

“I know enough!” Jeno raised his voice as well.

“Y/N we’re going home.” Minho walked up to you and grabbed your wrist tightly, too tightly, pulling you along. You winced a bit. Minho’s grip was really strong. Seeing your reaction, Jeno didn’t think twice and threw himself at Minho with his fists.

The men started to fight. Their fight didn’t last long, because the club’s security guards, seeing the whole situation, stepped in to separate them. Minho had a cut lip and would definitely have bruises on his stomach, where he got hit the hardest.

Jeno, on the other hand, didn’t come out of the fight in any better shape. His right eye was already starting to swell, and his ribs on the left side were throbbing. He knew that when he woke up the next day, he wouldn’t be in the best shape.

The men looked at each other with hostility. You, on the other hand, stood to the side, watching the whole thing. You were scared, but you knew that if you didn't want their conflict to end in a fight again, you had to agree to go back to the apartment with Minho. You sighed quietly. The whole situation had practically sobered you up on the spot.

"Minho..." You spoke quietly. "Let's go home, please."

“Wise decision, kitten.” Minho praised you and offered you his hand. Hesitantly, slightly reluctantly, you took it and walked with him to the car. You turned back to Jeno with an apologetic expression on your face.

You got into the car and drove away with your boyfriend a moment later. You felt bad. You knew that the fight between Jeno and Minho had happened because of you. You felt stupid. You felt that in a way you had let your friend down. You just didn't know if the boy would ever be able to forgive you. You didn't look at Minho the whole way, nor did you say a word. You knew that now you were safe, but the next day wouldn't be pleasant. 

Jeno, on the other hand, watched after the fight, shocked, as you decided to leave with Minho, whom you were clearly afraid of. He knew that you didn't feel safe in the company of a man, but he was aware that you wouldn't tell him the truth. He was worried about you. He wanted to help you at all costs. He made it his goal to do everything to make you feel safe. And that meant that he had to defeat Lee Minho in some way. He just didn't know how yet.

——————————

<- Part 11 | Part 13 ->

-> Series Masterlist

Taglist: @yaorzu-blog, @iovecb97, @hpnsfwaddict, @syedazarintasnim, @palindrome969, @biujulia

[emmaspersonaldiary]

Going into detail about how I feel about all of my friends:

School friends

Gym:

-S: she's nice, but sometimes she says or does something that kinda makes me feel like that wasn't nice or that wasn't necessary and some things about her tick me off but I love her

Socials:

-m: I fucking hate you. I'm only still talking to you cuz I don't want to be alone in that class. You're such a bitch. Every class you call me stupid, and I started acting like I didn't understand your jokes but I do. That one time you called me an ogre? I think about that every time I look in the mirror. Die.

-g: you're so nice. I don't really talk to you but you're chill

Engineering:

-a: you're so funny ily

-m: sometimes you do or say things that annoy me, but you're cool

-a: you're funny and nice.

-j: you're funny and cool

-h: I love talking shit with you and you're so fun to play mobile games with at lunch

Science:

-S: you're such a dick. I'm only friends with you because if I leave you I won't be able to eat lunch with j, and I'll have nobody. But you make mean comments about people and have made me and my friend cry before.

English:

-m: ily you're so nice. I wish I sat beside you so I could talk to you more

-n: you're nice, but your humor hurts me sometimes. You tell me to kms a lot as a joke and sometimes I lowkey debate it

French:

-j: ily. You let me yap about Jeremy and Evan and literally anything I want and you don't really judge

Art and Jewlery:

-t: you're so pretty and kind. Literally trust you sm and I became friends with you in September

-h: sometimes you do things that make me feel like you're not nice, but other than that you're okay

-k: you're nice 👍

-o: you were literally my friend crush for the longest time I love your style and your art

People I eat lunch with:

-a: You're so nice

-a: sometimes you say things I don't agree with, but you're pretty okay

-b: I feel so bad for you when we're talking shit about arianna cuz you're the only one friends with her and none of us really like her

-d: I literally love you so much. You're my best friend. I love your cat and your dog and I love your parents and I feel like I'm a part of your family. I hope we move out together after high school and we blast theater kid music all day and I love calling you and being around you.

Online friends:

Tumblr:

@alchemicalwerewolf

You're so cool and I love talking to you and I love seeing your posts and spamming your ask box

@steph-schuyler

I'm so excited for our art collab. You're so cool

@afireformyheart

I love telling you about all my crushes and I love bugging you about random shit while you're busy

@ilov3b00kss0much

Ik I met you today but I loved talking to you

@th3p0rtalmaker

I love talking to you. Idk what it is it's just so satisfying.

@tatelangdonsgirl

I know we don't really talk anymore but I love seeing your tiktoks. You're so pretty and I really love when we spend all night texting.

All my other tumblr mutuals:

I love seeing your posts. Idc if we don't talk. I love you guys too

Tiktok/snapchat friends:

-E: ily. You're so funny and I love calling you

-N: I don't really know you but I'm glad I met you

-A: you were my best friend for a year straight. I would eat sleep and breathe you. I would wake up thinking about you and go to bed thinking about you. Then you spaced away and wouldn't tell me why. Then you replaced me. And it really hurt. And no matter how much I try, it'll never be the same.

[birdricks]

just remembered the pheonixperson fight [walking into the ocean]

[nomairuins]

its so embarassing likee. going to talk abt a feeling you have but you already know ppl will be like Oh that sounds like depression lol and its like. well yes . i know . trust me i am so aware i am depressed . but its still like a thing ive been thinking abt and wanting to talk abt but ik itll just be like Ok hun 👍. idk idk what response i would want tho ig FNFNFNF

[orcelito]

There's also the impulse to be like "women ain't shit" but that's a lie I love our women. Not women as a whole's fault that one of them turned out a selfish bastard of a coward.

I just need to find a woman who doesn't treat me like That. Get me a good butch. I need me a good butch.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

the way she looks at him here... goodness...

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[casuallyanidiot]

More Yandere Nerd thoughts...

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! NSFW !

Tw. Dubcon/ Noncon, stalking, yandere, mansplainer supreme, voyeurism, dumbification

Yandere Nerd who stares at you every single day in class. He thinks you're so pretty and cute, and he fucks his fist to the thought of you multiple times a day. He thinks you're far too dumb to truly be on par with him, but he likes that you're just smart enough to understand the same things he does.

Yandere Nerd who loves the confused little face you make when he goes off about some niche, hard to comprehend topic that he spends far too much time researching outside of class. You're not a ditz, but he likes being the one to put you in the same place as all the other brainless, pretty faced sluts he sees prance around on campus. No, no see you've got substance, don't you? That's probably the only thing more alluring that that adorable little hole he knows you have hidden so unfairly underneath all of your clothes.

Yandere Nerd who seethes with jealousy every time you get a shred of attention from anyone else. He hopes you're not fucking someone else behind his back. If you are, he loses his mind. How could you go for someone so lackluster in comparison to him? He'd lavish you with gifts, praise and attention if you would just look his way. In fact, he'd give you a lot more than that. He'd pound into you until you were babbling, speechless, and all you had to worry about was how stuffed full of cum you were going to be by the time he was done with you.

Yandere Nerd who is so damn insufferable when he gets his hands on you. He loves the fact that he has a little cutie like you in his life, and sometimes online he'll post photos of your gaping, stretched out entrance onto some obscure forum just so he can brag about how his little fucktoy is the best one there is.

Yandere Nerd who wants to see you wearing shit from his favorite hentai. Microkinis with stockings, cat ears, bunny outfits, maid costumes, virgin killer sweaters: you name it, and he's slapping his card on the table just so he can pound you silly in it. He loves taking photos of you from lewd angles. He makes you sit down and compare the ones he takes of you now that you're "dating" versus the more rushed, unflattering ones he got while sneaking cameras into your old room. He also makes you masturbate to your own pictures. His little darling has got to practice self love, you know?

Yandere nerd who tries to get you into every fandom and interest he has. He'll strap you down and keep you tied to a fucking machine for hours if you get the lore wrong for his favorite video game or book series, so you better pay attention if you don't want to get any dumber.

Yandere Nerd who makes you come up with new ways to reward him every time he accomplishes something academically.

"If I get a 98 or above on this exam, you have to cock warm me with your mouth for at least three hours while you sit on a dildo as a treat. You will do it, right? For me? Don't I deserve a treat for once?"

He doesn't even have to try all that hard to score that high, he just likes seeing you hope that he fails even though you know it's no use. Yandere Nerd is an asshole, and he totally deserved to be rejected by you before you got kidnapped, but how're you going to tell him that when you're stuck sucking on his balls?

[11cupids-tarot11]

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Pile 1- Nine of Cups, Knight of Swords, Nine of Coins, Seven of Coins, The Emperor, Knight of Wands, and Queen of Wands.

Hi my pile 1 pookies ><

So this person hesitated a lot and although I usually do my readings starting off with pile 1 they made me skip them and work on pile 2's and 3's first instead? I think this person is really nervous about something. Kind of in a cute anxious way like 😅 but I had to listen because no cards would come out no matter how hard or long I shuffled. What's with this person? 🥴😭

Alright so this person feels very watery and emotional about you, I think their very thing about sex with you is definitely when you're on top, taking control. I think they really like the intimacy of the positions like cow girl or reverse cowgirl, they really like when you straddle their lap in general even when you two aren't having sex and just chilling on the couch. They really like watching your face as you ride them, they like watching your body move against them, they have the perfect view of you they said lol how cute eek ><

So if you don't want kids, that's okay, it's just in this person's fantasies they want to fuck you til the point the two of you actually want to take the condom off or maybe you both forget you have to pull out because you're both so emersed in pleasure and fucking each other? They want to get you pregnant but in such a wild way, they might not actually be ready for a kid yet, but the idea of it excites them so much they're hoping that you feel the same way and also want to have their babies.

This won't resonate with everyone but I'm picking up on a situation where you guys could already be married or just have children together already, this person could really like making babies with you, the sex that leads up to all, all the love that went into it!!

I think this person really enjoys angry sex, when you're mad at them and they get off their high horse and apologize first and they love to make up with sex afterwards, this person kinda just caves cause they love you and don't really want you to stay mad at them.

This person also likes it when you surprise them with sex, they love foreplay, they really like it when you two draw out sex and don't give it to each other right away, lots of teasing and just being playful until maybe you or them starts begging the other to do something more. I think this is partially because they really like spending time with you, this is only one of their favorite ways to spend quality time with you.

So this person could be a coworker or you might meet through work, something about business here. This person right now is at the top of their career, likes to present themselves as an Emperor. This person could really want to move forward in the connection with you if you know of them already, they're brainstorming lol. They really like you, they see you as a queen in their eyes, you could present yourself very carefully, like you have this clean look about you and you're pretty I heard! You take good care of yourself and your person really loves that about you! They're bananas for you? They said some cute cheesey pick up line or maybe a punch line that I'm unfamiliar with? ><

♡ Messages from them: "The way I have treated you was wrong."

"You are so different from everyone around me."

"You've triggered me."

"I can't handle your love."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

Pile 2- Seven of Cups, Three of Cups, Knight of Swords, Two of Pentacles, Seven of Coins, The Empress, and Ace of Chalices.

Hi my pile 2's!

So right away I feel like there's a message here for someone that you might know of this person already, that won't be for everyone so if it doesn't fit let it fly 🪽

So your future spouse might like how different you are in the bedroom than you are irl. Like you could come off as very shy or just someone that's not very kinky and your future spouse might've perceived you as inexperienced but your person loves it when you surprise them, take the lead and I'm hearing ride them lol. They like it when you're more dominant in bed, you don't have to be the dom every time but your person loves it when you are, they'll love for you to ride them until your thighs give out lol.

This person loves close sex, sex that's very emotional and clingy to one another. I think this person will have an emotional attachment to you, like even if you don't get married in 20 years this person will love you literally the same, even if you decide to take a break, this person will still carry so much love and respect for you! They love showing you how much they care for you during sex, they'll hold you a lot, and take the lead in bed most of the time to show you, they're very emotional when it comes to you. You guys might like to have sex in bed a lot, during the day, first waking up, because your person loves being close to you. I feel like they might like it when you lay there a lot while they give you oral, they love it when you're a pillow princess and they can bring you so much pleasure.

This person loves rough sex with you, the kinda sex the two of you can't keep your hands off each other and just can't get enough. They'll still be mindful and gentle with you, they love it when you communicate your needs and let them know what you want, they'll want to indulge in your kinks and make your fantasies happen, this person is safe to explore with. I think they might like to spank you if you're open to the idea! They're not super into bdsm but they're not vanilla either, I feel like this person actually wants to see how freaky you can get and they'd just match your freak so the sex will be better and better, it's never the same really, this person can be soft one night and super rough and wild another.

This person could love missionary a lot, bringing you to an orgasm in missionary so they can see your face, they could just love seeing you orgasm in general, in pure bliss beneath them, it's like it turns them on knowing they're the ones making you feel good. This person also likes that you're an Empress, you can stand your own ground with or without a significant other, they could love to watch you masturbate. I think this person loves chasing after you, it could turn them on lol! They love the idea of pleasing you, impressing you. They really want you lol how cute.

♡ Messages from them: "I know that we have a soul connection."

"I fantasize about you."

"They will never compare to you."

"You deserve better than them."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

Pile 3- Four of Pentacles, King of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, The Lovers, Three of swords, Page of Coins, and Three of Cups.

Hi pile 3!

So right away I heard a funny little message that this person actually likes it when you yell at them, they said it in a hushed way so I feel like this person doesn't want you to actually know that 😭 lol, this person will do all kinds of things just to see you a bit angry and frustrated with them just because they find it hot? Kinda sadistic if you ask me 🥴

Your future spouse is kind of a wild card, but you might be too. I think you wouldn't imagine in a million years to settle down with this person because they always feel like they're on the move and really hard to stay in one place because they're constantly thinking of other things to do, they're very work oriented or something but I feel like at first they might not pay much attention to the relationship, they might even go as far as seeing other people but this is only in the beginning of the relationship obviously, this person will feel very drawn to you and will feel like you're they're missing puzzle piece, suddenly they don't have to be on the move anymore because no one is as interesting as you to them, you'll fill their senses I'm hearing! They'll just suddenly be so enamored with you.

I think when the two of you are intimate this person will become selfish, they'll only want you to come to them for everything, they'll really want to be your knight in shining armor, even during sex, this person will be all touchy and very sensual, they like having passionate sex with you, even if they are usually rougher you've made this person want to be all soft with you, maybe not during the whole time, but this person will definitely slow down suddenly and start giving you slower and deeper strokes, they love intimacy with you and just want to savor the moment and make sure the both of you will remember it, they want you coming back to them for more and only them. Even if this connection starts as friends with benefits this person would slowly come to hate the title, and realize they're scared of you choosing someone else over them because the title isn't permanent enough.

This person could really want to rip the clothes off you, they could rip your underwear right off you and it might surprise you. This person really loves your breasts, regardless of size they really like to suck on your nipples.

This person likes when you let down your guards for them, it could be a flex for them that they actually get to touch you in a way that this person admires you a lot and in their head they're yelling at themselves like "omg I can't believe I get to sleep with THEM, THEY'RE ACTUALLY ALLOWING ME TO???848&(_(_(&!'(&(!_(" This person thinks you're adorable, they just adore you! You could catch them staring at you a lot, like a puppy with big ol puppy dog eyes, it's the sweetest thing ever.

Even if you don't like this person the first time around or something happens that you two decide to break it off, this person would try really hard to come back around, I heard they love you even after you break their heart.

With the Page of Coins I feel like this person is actively working on the things in their life right now, all the things they want to get done they're getting done, they might be a student and they could be focused on studying a lot right now as well, but I feel like this person can't wait for the day this all pays off and they can finally reconnect with not only themselves but with friends as well, they could be in a moment of isolation right now because they're so busy studying or working.

They feel sad and lonely and their favorite thing about sex with you is being with you, they want emotional and healing sex with you, just to be close and feel the warmth of you, something about not feeling as lonely anymore with the comfort of you. :(

♡ Messages from them: "I feel lonely."

"I don't want to be alone."

"Emotions overwhelm me."

"I am better with my mind than my heart."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

[artytaeh]

as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀��𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃��𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Isagi Yoichi going absolutely insane when someone talks shit about you, his one and only girlfriend.

And I'm not saying insane as in "Don't talk about her like that!". I'm saying insane as in "Say her name again with that filthy mouth of yours and I swear I'll cut your fucking tongue off."

He can handle people badmouthing him. It's not that deep, really. He's a football player, so, like every other athlete, he has fans and haters all around the globe (more fans than haters, but anyways). So, he developed the hability to just tune off all the hateful comments. Badmouth him all you want, that ain't changing the fact that he's a sucessful all star player and you're not.

What he can't handle, though, is when someone tries to talk shit about his relationship with you, his favorite person in the whole world.

Sadly for the media, you're not a famous singer or model. Yoichi and you met when you were both still little kids, dreaming about monsters, princesses and the world cup trophy. In kindergarten, he thought you were a very great friend. He realized you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen when you were middle schoolers, and, by the time high school came, he had already learned to accept the fact that he was head over heels for you. And so, like a "straight out of a movie" kind of scene, he confessed his love for you all sweaty and smiling in front of the whole world after his winning goal at the Blue Lock XI against Japan U20 match two years ago.

So yeah, you and Isagi had a cute love story. Every video of you together had millions of views and thousands of "couple goals" comments, and people loved you (honestly, how could they not? You're amazing, he's not even sure how he managed to make you fall for his "football rizz" or something, but he's glad you did anyways).

Apparently, not everyone appreciated you as much as he thought.

"Isagi, one minute of your time, please!"

"Isagi, for french press right here!"

"Yoichi, answer my question!"

"Wow. One at a time, guys!" Isagi smiled nervously yet kindly, sitting in a chair in front of the mass of reporters from all across the world who came just to interview him.

Smiling again, Isagi pointed at one of the what seemed like thousands interviewers.

"The lady over there, with the Sae Itoshi shirt"

"Thank you for the opportunity" The room became silent. The woman, seemingly in her late twenties, smiled "I'm Sol, from Spain's national TV press. I'd like to ask a question you about your relationship with (Name) (Surname)"

Smiling wide like a lovesick fool like he always did when someone mentioned you or your relationship, Yoichi urged the reporter to continue.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"It's a known fact that you and (Name) (Surname) have been in a relationship for a little over two years. And so, your fans are wondering: do you plan on getting married shortly?"

The silence in the room was papable. All the cameras and microphones turned to a now strawberry red Yoichi. But he wasn't embarassed because of all the attention he was getting or from the fact that the whole world was seeing this right now. He was used to this feeling of "pressure" already.

He was red because he knew you were watching this interview. He was the one who asked you to do so, after all.

"Uhm... well" he swallowed hard, eyes avoiding the cameras "We have a healthy and happy relationship. We both love each other very much and spend a lot of time together. So... I guess I'd be lying if I told you I haven't thought about it before, but..."

He couldn't even finish his sentence. The press' reaction was instantaneous. Cameras' flashes everywhere and the reporters voices overlaping eachother filled the room.

"BUT" Isagi tried to continue, but just gave up on shouting since his voice couldn't compete with the voice of the lots of reporters. So, he just said to the mic in front of him, almkst whispering, hoping it would capture his voice "I think it's still a little early. I want to make sure we're both mature and financially secure first!"

Reporters were still talking and trying to get his attention. With a sigh, he realized they wouldn't stop shouting until the next question came.

"T-the guy with the light shirt"

"Argentinian press right here" the man started.

Oh oh. Yoichi didn't sense a good vibe from this man. He doesn't know if it's his smirk or his posture, but something feels off. He looks almost dangerous.

I'm probably going crazy, Yoichi thought.

When the man opened his mouth again, though, Isagi realized his intuition was right all along.

"I know you said you love your girlfriend, but you do realize the fans think your girl is just keeping you from becoming the best version of yourself, right?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"What." Isagi said, the words coming out in a rather forced way.

Unlike before, the silence in the room was not only palpable. It was now suffocating, uncomfortable.

"Well, it's clear as water" the man shrugged, as if what he was saying made a lot of sense "She is stopping you from becoming the number one striker in the world."

All Isagi wanted to do now was jump across the room and send his fist flying straight to the man's face. He wanted it to realize how utterly wrong he was. How your relationship was actually the best thing that had ever happened in his life, and how he would have probably given up on football have you not begged him to go to the Blue Lock program.

And the though of you sweet, caring you watching this made Yoichi give up on his idea of hitting the man straight on the nose, even if his body was trembling just from thinking about it.

I have to keep my cool. For her.

"Why..." he swallowed. Hard. "Why do you think this is truth?"

"You're not using your time wisely. Instead of practicing, your wasting it because you keep giving for futile things like a relationship"

Oh, how much Yoichi wanted to jump this ugly looking clown. How he wished to hit him hundreds of times, over and over again until he swallowed his own words. Until he regretted ever learning how to even speak.

His fist was already trembling. He was taking deep breaths to keep himself steady.

But it seems like the argentinian doesn't know when to stop.

"Also, it gets kinda tiring living with the same person for a long time, no?" The man laughed "I wouldn't blame you if you're actually cheating on her too, I honestly wouldn't have just one girl if I was you. I mean, you're a star and she's just..."

"Shut. the fuck. up."

All the cameras turned to him again. Yoichi was red. But it's not cause he was embarassed, like the other time.

He was red because he was seething with boiling rage.

I'll kill him. I swear I'll fucking kill this dumb shit.

"Never" Yoichi narrowed his eyes "And I mean never say my girlfriend's name with that disgusting voice of yours again. If you as much as look at her, consider yourself fucking dead." He got up from the table, gaze harder than the one he wears on the field "That woman is the source of my happiness, and you have no right to talk about her like that. If you talk with me with respect you have to show respect for her too. Are we clear? Or is your skull too fucking thick for the information to get into it?

"Calm down, amigo! I was just saying what the fans think." The man smirked, gald to get a reaction from Isagi. If looks could kill, he would have been 6 feet under already "They think it would be better if you both break up..."

"You've fucking done it."

Yoichi jumped from the table, ready to kill the man.

He wanted to crush his skull with his bare hands, to show him just how much you mean to him and how mad he gets when someone mentions you in a degrading way.

Gladly, the japanese PR team removed the man from the room before things could get worse, or else Yoichi would realky have done some damage (he was an athlete, after all).

Watching the man leave the room with furrowed brows and a subtle pout (he really wanted to beat him, after all), Iaagu decided to use this moment to make some things clear. So, he turned to the main mic again.

"I hope this serves as a lesson" Yoichi said, somehow managing to look at almost all of the cameras at the same time "To everyone watching this. Don't expect to talk shit about my girlfriend and get out with all of your teeth in place. I fucking dare anyone to badmouth her. I won't let you get away with it." He glared at one of the cameras "This press ends now."

He then quickly got out of the room, ignoring all the reporters who tried to get him to come back.

With a sigh, once he was in the changing room, he grabbed his phone, not surprised to see almost 20 missed calls and 50 missed massages from you.

(My love ❤️)

-> YOICHI???

-> WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING

-> (1 missed call)

Don't worry, I'm going home now 😁 <-

Miss you ❤️ <-

-> Typing...

With a smile, he put his phone in his pocket and started to go home.

Man, he just really wanted to see you. Specially since he knew that the next day, the press would want more interviews about what happened.

Whatever. What really matters is that, at the end of the day, you're his and he's yours. And no amount of dumb reporters or media will ever change that.

~ A/N: not proofread. This sucks 💔 I wrote this to stop my growing Aiku obsession LOL

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